The Rex left quickly by a side door and was unobserved until he and his party and guards had almost reached his coach. Shots rang out, and the Rex’s coachman fell, fatally wounded. Another guard took over as driver, and the Rex and those with him escaped without further injury, according to reports from the Chateau Guard and the Civic Patrol. The reason for the attack is unknown, as is the attacker, who was never seen.
The protesters are members of a religious cult called the True Believers. They believe that choristers have moved away from the teachings of Rholan and are slaves to those of wealth and power, while enriching themselves. There have been reports of scattered protests at other anomens across Solidar …
The story in Tableta was rather different.
Our beloved Rex must have a habit of making enemies. On Solayi evening, someone shot at him as he was fleeing a True Believers protest during evening services at the Anomen D’Rex on Solayi. The only casualty was his coachman, who died on the spot. Once again, Rex Charyn is fortunate enough that his enemies are poor shots. But how long can his luck last? Luck is useful, but luck alone will not solve the difficulties facing Solidar …
After Charyn finished reading Tableta and dropped it on the desk, he walked to the window and looked out at what promised to be another hot and hazy harvest day.
Momentarily, he debated shutting down Tableta. He supposed he could order the army to occupy the building, but, as he recalled, the High Holder rebels had done that, and within days, the newssheet had been printing again. So what would shutting down the newssheets do besides give the impression that he was opposed to the True Believers and that he was as high-handed and uncaring as they’d thought his father had been? He opposed the Believers’ methods, but even before he’d become aware of them, he’d been skeptical of both Saerlet and of Refaal’s predecessor.
What Charyn had since learned about Saerlet and even Refaal suggested that something needed to be done about the way choristers handled their anomens—and the coins that passed through them, all too many of which seemed to have found their way into Saerlet’s hands … and splendid garments. But what can you do? More important, what should he do?
That reminded him about the fact that he hadn’t seen a draft of the proclamation he’d asked Sanafryt to draft about the duty of Civic Patrols to protect anomens and choristers. So he walked to Sanafryt’s study and asked about it.
“I’ll have it to you this afternoon, sir.”
“Once the wording is final, you’ll also need to send a copy to the Civic Patrol in L’Excelsis and the rest of Bovaria, and to the regional governors.”
Sanafryt nodded.
“Do you have any more thoughts on the poaching problem?”
“No, sir. As I told you earlier, there are laws against poaching, but if no one sees or knows who the poacher is—”
“Or no one is willing to say who it might be. But doesn’t that suggest that something is wrong, if an entire hamlet is silent?” Or that they’re all short of food?
“Those problems don’t lie with the law, Your Grace.”
Charyn had to admit that Sanafryt had a point there.
He smiled ruefully and headed back to his study.
A quint or so past eighth glass, Moencriff announced, “High Holder Delcoeur is here to see you, Your Grace.”
“Have him come in.”
Ferrand’s words seemed to rush before him. “I just heard about what happened on Solayi. I can’t believe it. Who could possibly…” Ferrand waved his hands, as if he couldn’t find the words to finish his sentence.
“Who could possibly want to kill me? Apparently, there is someone. It could be a True Believer, or it could be a disgruntled crafter, or possibly an unhappy High Holder or heir … or someone who just doesn’t like Rexes.” Charyn kept his tone of voice dry.
“But how could anyone think that removing you as Rex would benefit anyone? There would just be another Rex, and he wouldn’t be as good as you.”
Considering Bhayrn, Charyn had to agree, but … “Ryel wasn’t thinking about Solidar. Neither were the rebel High Holders. They were all thinking about what they wanted.”
“In time, they still would have been worse off.”
“That’s what I think, but we’ll never know for sure.” Charyn barked a laugh. “And you’ll pardon me if I say that I’d rather not have you find out.”
“I’d agree with that.” Ferrand paused. “Bhayrn’s still in Rivages?”
“So far as I know, and Mother would have let me know if he’d left.”
“He doesn’t seem to like being in the Chateau.”
“He may not, but part of that’s my doing. Then I insisted he spend time in Rivages learning something about … I already told you that.”
“You did. He’ll do better there than carousing with Laamyst and his brother.”
“He’s never mentioned the brother. Well … perhaps in passing. He did mention that Laamyst liked to get away from his father whenever he could.”
“Laastyrn’s the heir. I’ve only met him once or twice. I wasn’t impressed.”
“I wouldn’t know. Bhayrn’s also made friends with Gherard D’Ghaermyn.”
“The Ghaermyns … they’re still as much factors as High Holders. Why would Bhayrn associate with them?”
“He met Gherard through Laamyst, I think.”
“I’ve never met High Holder Laastyn or Laamyst.”
“I’m about to meet Laastyn,” replied Charyn. “He’s among the High Holders who live close to L’Excelsis who are coming with you to dinner this Samedi.”
“With all the balls, you’ve never met him?”
“His hold is thirty milles north of here, barely close enough to be considered local. Also, his daughters are much younger than Laamyst,” said Charyn wryly. “It’s more than enough work to learn about the High Holders with eligible daughters.”
“Why did you even ask him, then?”
“Because Bhayrn spends time with Laamyst, and I probably should at least be familiar with Laastyn.”
“That makes sense.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d spend some time with Laastyn, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“I can certainly do that.” Ferrand paused. “What about Alyncya D’Shendael?”
“We’re exchanging letters. She spent several weeks in Vaestora.”
Ferrand frowned.
“Calkoran’s daughter is a close friend.”
“Oh … I’ll likely have to deal with that with my sisters…”
After another quint or two, Ferrand left.
As soon as he did, Moencriff, trying to keep his face impassive, handed Charyn a letter.
“Thank you.” As soon as Charyn saw the handwriting, he understood, but he just nodded to Moencriff and walked toward the table desk, not slitting the envelope until the study door was closed.
He began to read immediately.
Your Grace—
While I have not had time to fully consider the matters we have been discussing in our correspondence, when I read about the attack upon you and your guards on Solayi evening, I had to convey my concerns about your well-being and my heartfelt wishes that you are unharmed and in good health.
I very much look forward to seeing you at dinner on Samedi evening.
Again, my concerns and warmest regards.
Warmest regards? Those words could mean anything, but the underlined “had” and the “very much” were definitely more hopeful.
While there were other matters stacked on one side of his table desk, Charyn decided to reply immediately, the immediacy hopefully conveying his appreciation as much as what he might write. After several failed attempts and the passage of more than a glass, he read over what he had written.
My dear Lady-heir—
Your concern for my well-being was most deeply appreciated, and I can assure you that I am unharmed and remain in good health. My spirits are sound, and certainly uplifted by your immediate correspondence and your warm
words.
Although I am in good health, and much cheered by your letter, I am concerned about the various occurrences that have befallen both the people and the city of L’Excelsis in the past few weeks, particularly the violent events involving the Anomen D’Rex and the wanton destruction of factors’ goods and property. Both reflect, in a differing fashion, a certain discontent with those who appear to have increased their golds to the disadvantage of those less fortunate.
This presents a problem to me as Rex, for a ruler cannot effectively, and should not morally, decree what each man should receive for his labor or for his skill and effectiveness in marshaling the labors of others in support of his lands or enterprises. Yet it seems less than right that the wages of one man should be arbitrarily depressed so that another may prosper more greatly than before. If a factor or a High Holder comes up with a new manner of improving goods or the manner of producing them and reaps rewards for such, should those who toil for him not also benefit? Is it untoward for a Rex to entertain such thoughts, do you think?
Perhaps I should not pose such questions, but you, as a most intelligent woman, think clearly and consider matters deeply, and is it not wiser to avail myself of your wisdom than to ignore your perception and intelligence?
In closing more hurriedly than I would wish, I do indeed look forward to seeing you at dinner on Samedi.
He read it again. It could be better. But then, anything could always be better. He signed his name, and then sealed the letter.
23
Just before third glass on Meredi afternoon, Charyn approved Sanafryt’s second draft of the legal proclamation declaring that violence against anomens and choristers was just as much a criminal offense as violence against any other persons or structures, and returned it to the Minister of Justice, with a request that copies be made and dispatched as soon as possible.
Immediately after that, Charyn donned a Chateau guard’s dress uniform, along with the black mourning sash, checking to make sure his pistol was in place. Then he walked down to the rear courtyard, where Maertyl and half a squad of guards attired in the same fashion as he was were forming up. Several of the guards appeared surprised as they saw the Rex.
“I didn’t tell anyone you were joining us,” explained Maertyl. “I thought it was better that way.”
“Much better,” agreed Charyn.
Within a few moments, the group rode down the drive, with two guards leading the way, and with Maertyl and Charyn immediately behind them.
“Have you heard anything else about the True Believers or whoever’s smashing factors’ goods?” asked Charyn.
“No, sir, but it strikes me that it has to be artisans and crafters, not ruffians from the back alleys of the taudis. Those low-life toughs wouldn’t know what to look for.”
“I’ve gotten that feeling.”
“It’s not about machines or the like, Your Grace. It’s about coins and respect … like … well…”
“Like it was with the Chateau guards?” asked Charyn dryly.
“I’d say so, sir.”
“You’re likely right about that as well.”
The guards went from the Ring Road onto L’Avenue D’Commercia for roughly a half mille before turning left onto a street that didn’t seem to be named. Three blocks later, they reined up outside a small single-story anomen—the Anomen D’Sud.
After they dismounted, leaving the mounts with two of the guards, Charyn handed a leather pouch to Maertyl. “This is in addition to the usual death golds.”
Maertyl raised his eyebrows.
“It’s not much, just five golds, but two didn’t seem like enough for what happened.”
Maertyl nodded slowly. “You don’t want to give it to her?”
“Somehow…” Charyn paused. “Or do you think I should?”
“It might mean more.”
“If you think so.” Charyn raised his hand and took back the pouch.
Then he and Maertyl led the way into the anomen, taking a position along the wall on the left side of the nave, roughly halfway between the door and the low wooden dais. Standing beside Maertyl, Charyn studied the anomen, taking in the ceiling and the time-aged beams. The inside walls were whitewashed plaster over the stone outer walls, a plaster that was clean, but with an uneven finish that had doubtless resulted from decades of patching and repainting.
Small as the anomen was, even after a few more handfuls of mourners entered, by the time the chimes sounded fifth glass, less than two score stood waiting, not including Charyn and the Chateau guards.
“Emmalyn’s the dark-haired one just below the pulpit, with the white-haired woman,” murmured Maertyl.
“Thank you.” Charyn couldn’t see her clearly in the dim light, but he could tell that she didn’t want to exchange glances with anyone, because she looked straight ahead without ever turning her head.
When the last chime sounded, a balding chorister in dark green vestments with a black and green chorister’s scarf stepped up to the pulpit. “We are gathered here today in the spirit of the Nameless, in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do, and in celebration of the life of Staavyl D’Guard.”
The opening hymn was “The Glory of the Nameless,” followed by the confession.
“We do not name You, for naming is a presumption, and we would not presume upon the Creator of all that was, is, and will be…”
When the confession was finished, the chorister offered the charge. “Life is a gift from the Nameless, for from the glory of the Nameless do we come; through the glory of the Nameless do we live, and to that glory do we return. Our lives can only reflect and enhance that glory, as did that of Staavyl, whom we honor, whom we remember, and who will live forever in our hearts and in the glory of the Nameless.”
The hymn that followed was “In the Footsteps of the Nameless.”
“When we walk the narrow way of what is always right,
when we follow all the precepts that foil the Namer’s blight…”
Then the chorister said, “Now we will hear from Staaryn, speaking for the family.”
The young man in faded blue stepped up on the low dais and turned to face the forty or so who had come to pay their respects to the family and to Staavyl. He swallowed several times before he finally spoke. “Staavyl was my brother. He was a good man and a good brother. When we didn’t have enough to eat, he gave me half of what he had. He was like that with everyone…”
When Staaryn finished, barely able to utter his last words, the chorister stepped behind the pulpit once again. “At this time, and in the spirit of the Nameless, let us offer thanks for the spirit and the life of Staavyl and let us remember him as a child, a youth, a man, a husband, and a father, not merely as a name, but as a living breathing person whose spirit touched many. Let us set aside the gloom of mourning, and from this day forth, recall the glory of Staavyl’s life and the warmth and joy he has left with us…”
With those words, all the women let the mourning scarves slip from their hair.
Then came the traditional closing hymn—“For the Glory.”
“For the glory, for the life,
for the beauty and the strife,
for all that is and ever shall be,
all together, through forever,
in eternal Nameless glory…”
As the last words of the hymn faded away, a few people at the back of the anomen began to depart, but most remained, moving forward toward Staavyl’s widow. Charyn and the guards remained at the side of the anomen until most of those mourners slipped away. Then Maertyl and Charyn walked forward.
The widow saw the uniforms and stiffened.
“Emmalyn,” began Maertyl, “you may recall me. I’m Maertyl, and I’m now guard captain. Not all the guards could be here, but the ones with me represent those who could not come.” He turned. “This is Rex Charyn.”
Charyn inclined his head. “I’m sorry for your loss. I wish it could have been otherwise. Staavyl was a go
od man.” His words sounded trite, and Charyn knew they were. “There aren’t words for a time like this. I know. My father was shot less than a year ago. I think I understand a little how you must feel.”
The dark-haired woman’s eyes were bloodshot, and she looked at Charyn, then asked, her voice slightly hoarse, “Why? Why did someone shoot my Staavyl? He was not a Rex. He was a man who drove for you.”
“Because they wanted to stop him from driving me away, so that they could shoot me,” replied Charyn evenly.
“Did you know someone was going to shoot at you?”
“I didn’t know that. I used the unmarked coach just so that fewer people would know where I was. When we left for services, I had no idea someone was going to shoot at me. This is the only time ever that someone has shot a driver.”
“Staavyl is still dead.” Her voice was flat.
“He is. I cannot change that.” Charyn lifted the leather pouch. “Nothing will bring him back, but I hope this will help you and your family.”
“Coins are not life.” She took the leather pouch gingerly.
“No, they are not, but no one can grant life. I can only express my concern and hope these will help make some of the other parts of life a little less difficult.”
Emmalyn looked directly at Charyn. “At least you came. I thank you for that.”
“In fairness to Staavyl and to you, I could do no less.” Charyn inclined his head slightly, then stepped back.
The widow inclined her head, then turned.
Charyn nodded to Maertyl, and the two made their way from the anomen, followed by the other guards.
“You meant that about doing no less, didn’t you?” said Maertyl quietly.
“I did. I try to be as truthful as I can be.” Which isn’t always possible.
But Charyn had lied about one thing. He’d put ten golds in the pouch, all out of his own personal funds.
Endgames Page 21
