by J F Rivkin
Nyctasia only nodded encouragingly and said, “Yes?” as a polite indication that she was still waiting for him to come to the point. Mutual trading privileges were all very well, but they did not require two cities to merge their interests to the extent of a bond of union.
Lord Aithrenn sipped his wine and continued in the same unhurried manner, “More than prestige or provisions, however, Ochram needs space to grow. We are hemmed in on three sides by the sea and the cliffs, and by Rhostshyl Wood on the fourth. Our success as a mercantile port has swelled our populace beyond what our borders can reasonably hold, but we’re unable to expand those borders. The city’s growing too crowded already, and that leads, of course, to crime and sickness. Now, Rhostshyl has recently suffered a great loss of her citizenry. If the two cities were one, under the law, our people could make good that loss, without forfeiting their guild-rights or violating yours.”
“So you mean to swallow up Rhostshyl on your way east, do you?” said Nyctasia, sounding amused. “Yet my advisors believe-and I agree-that if the two do indeed become one, that one will be Rhostshyl. This city too is growing, sir. Since you traveled here with a band of students, you must know something of the scholarly work being carried out at court?”
“My claims to scholarship are as modest as Your Ladyship’s are renowned, but I have heard reports that you were in possession of the fabled Cymvelan library.
It seems to be more than idle talk.”
“It is indeed. Many of the greatest scholars living are gathering here to consult the Cymvelan books, and I intend to make it worth their while to stay.
And where scholars go, naturally students follow. My intention is no less than to make Rhostshyl the center of learning in the west, to rival Celys in the east.”
“Why, this becomes more and more interesting,” Lord Aithrenn said thoughtfully.
“In a word, you are speaking of the Maritime University.”
“Exactly! If my plans bear fruit, Rhostshyl will become a far more important and illustrious city than she ever was before. Ochram may be no more than the portal to Rhostshyl, in days to come.”
He waved this aside with a smile. “Ochram would be a great trading harbor, with or without Rhostshyl in our backyard, This design of yours, should it come to pass, will be altogether in our interests. The students you anticipate will naturally dock at Ochram on their way to the university. And just as students follow scholars, merchants and artisans follow students. Rhostshyl will need bookbinders, copyists, victualers, clothiers, shoemakers…”
“Very likely we shall. And of course guild-rights would be extended to the tradesfolk of Ochram, were we bound by such ties as you propose. But do not deceive yourself that you will be allied to a dying city, or that you will build on her ashes.”
Lord Aithrenn grinned, “Certainly not, Rhaicime. Such an idea never entered my mind. In witness to which, you will find me as determined as ever to pursue the treaty, despite your plan to restore Rhostshyl’s fortunes by bringing down a horde of students upon us. We’ll have to double the night watch, I suppose.”
“Or lock up our young people,” Nyctasia agreed. “But students are free with their money, whatever else may be said against them.” She raised her goblet to clink against his. “Then as long as we understand one another, sir, let us leave to posterity to see which city will devour the other. We can relieve you of some of your overflowing populace, and grant tracts of land for your use as well-particularly if you employ Rhostshylid laborers to clear it and harvest your crops.”
“Willingly,” he said, “but as to clearing the land, now, that brings me to the most important of Ochram’s needs that Rhostshyl may fulfill.”
At last, thought Nyctasia, and said, “I am all attention, sir.”
“Wood,” said Lord Aithrenn, striking his hand against the arm of his chair.
“Wood for the shipyards of Ochram. At present, we have to bring timber from the south, at great expense-with Rhostshyl Wood at our very doorstep! Hitherto, the Rhaicimate has been adamant in its refusal to allow the trees to be felled, but now, surely Your Ladyship will agree, Rhostshyl needs the revenues more than the forestland.”
“The woods are valuable hunting-grounds,” Nyctasia explained, and this time it was she who gestured for him to hear her out. “But there could be no possible objection to the clearing of a road through Rhostshyl Wood-on the contrary, a road is precisely what my plans require. It’s absurd for travelers to have to skirt the wood or brave the bandits. Rhostshyl should be directly linked to the seaways, all the more so if we’re to join our two cities. What’s wanted is a broad, safe thoroughfare, one that can’t easily be ambushed by robbers. It should be patrolled by road wards day and night, so that even a lone student, who doesn’t know a sword from a spindle, may travel it without peril. Of course, to accomplish this, a wide swath through the wood would have to be cleared of timber. I’ve long contemplated the need for a direct route to the coast, but I lack the resources to carry out such an undertaking, since the war has depleted the City Treasury.”
“Yet from what I’ve seen in the streets of Rhostshyl, you have people enough who’d be glad of the work.”
“The difficulty is not in finding laborers, but in feeding them. Now Ochram, as Your Lordship has been at some pains to point out, is a wealthy and flourishing city. A roadway to Rhostshyl would benefit your people as well.”
Lord Aithrenn surrendered with a laugh. “So you’ll have a road and food for the hungry of Rhostshyl.”
“And you will have a road and wood for the shipwrights of Ochram. I feel confident that we can reach mutually acceptable terms in this matter.” She consulted a list she had drawn up earlier, and asked, “Have you made a study of Rhostshyl’s laws? I am not, I must admit, familiar with those of Ochram. There may be differences which will have to be reconciled if our people are to enjoy citizenship of both municipalities.”
“The disparities are mainly minor, but in certain cases the laws of Rhostshyl are considerably more lenient than our own. I’ve been trying to bring about these very changes for some time, and I have been opposed by influential merchant interests on the City Council, but now I mean to take this opportunity to get my way. The Council wants the alliance with Rhostshyl, you see. I shall report to them, with your leave, that you make it a condition of your consent to the treaty that our laws be brought into conformity with those of Rhostshyl in these particulars. You would oblige me by confirming this fiction.”
“Done.” Nyctasia said with relief. “Consider it an unalterable demand on my part, sir.”
“Many thanks, Rhaicime. Shall we say spring for the ceremony, in keeping with tradition?”
“An auspicious time. My sister’s child is due in the spring. You have been told, I trust, that I myself am barren? You must not look for an heir from this union of ours.”
He shook his head. “I’ve heirs enough to satisfy the city.”
Nyctasia knew a moment’s confusion before she realized that when he said “the city,” he meant of course Ochram, not Rhostshyl. “My late brother’s daughter is my heir,” she informed him, “unless my sister should bear more than one girl-child before my niece comes of age. I’ve never thought that likely, as we are not a prolific; family, but then neither did I think to see her with child so soon, so I suppose that anything may yet happen, Our lines of descent must be made clear and indisputable by treaty, lest either side should try to lay claim to rule of both cities, in the future, and set off wars of sovereignty.”
“True,” he said soberly, “We don’t want to repeat the wars of Kehs-Edre. Far safer not to mix our lines, now or in later generations. Perhaps we can establish a prohibition to that effect. But our envoys can attend to these details, if you and I are agreed as to the essentials.”
“I believe we are,” said Nyctasia. “In the spring, then?”
“In the spring. I shall, of course, send you a formal invitation to make a state visit to Ochram in the meantime.”
> “I shall look forward to it, sir.”
Lord Aithrenn kissed her hand, and she suddenly began to laugh. At his quizzical look, she shook her head helplessly and said, “Forgive me-everything seems to be happening so quickly. I was thinking of a time when I was first learning to ride, and a horse ran away with me. No one could catch the beast, and I didn’t know how to control its flight, so I just held fast and kept my seat as best I could. In my ignorance, I had great faith that my mount knew what it was about.
“In time it stopped to graze in a field, while I waited to see what it would do next, and my people caught up to me. I don’t recall what my feelings were, but I’m told that I said, ‘How exciting, but it makes one quite giddy, doesn’t it?’
I had no idea at all what danger I’d been in. And now I feel my plans have runaway with me… We can only hold tight and hope that all turns out well.
It’s exhilarating, without doubt, but it does make one giddy!”
20
matters continued to progress at a dizzying pace during the months that followed, and Nyctasia was kept so busy that she was hardly aware of the passage of time, as autumn gave way to winter, and winter wore on toward spring.
Preparations for the marriage-alliance alone could have occupied most of her hours, had there not been so many other claims on her attention as well. Not only must arrangements be made for the ceremony itself, but the terms of the treaty necessitated endless discussions of diplomatic precedents and jurisdictions. Dignitaries from Ochram arrived almost daily to confer with Nyctasia and her advisors. It was settled at last that the formalities would begin in Rhostshyl with Nyctasia’s vows, carried out in a simple court ritual, and would then proceed to Ochram for the conclusion of the solemnities, and the festivities to follow. This arrangement satisfied the counselors of both parties by giving precedence to Rhostshyl, but prominence to Ochram. For the court and Council of Ochram meant to host an impressive celebration that would demonstrate to the entire Alliance the importance of their city. A tournament of sporting contests would be held, musicians, acrobats and troupes of actors would perform, and all the city would be feasted amid revelry and splendor. Nyctasia was only grateful that the City Treasury of Rhostshyl would be spared the expense of such extravagant displays. She was officially invited to the court of the High Lord, she duly accepted, and the visit took place and was over all in a few days’ time. Corson accompanied her as bodyguard, but Nyctasia refused absolutely to bring Trask along. She promised, however, to let him come to Ochram for the wedding.
Scholars from near and far continued to gather in Rhostshyl, even during the winter, when the traveling was most difficult. As their numbers grew, so grew Nyctasia’s confidence that her dream of the Maritime University would indeed be realized. She began to speak of it openly, consulting with those who came from Celys, and from most she met with an enthusiasm for the idea as keen as her own.
To be part of the creation of a new university was an unheard of opportunity for a scholar to achieve a position of influence and authority. Nyctasia, who had never been to the Imperial University herself, needed a good deal of advice about how such an institution should be governed, and her learned visitors were more than willing to supply it. She sent for architects, and commissioned plans for the great halls she hoped to have built, just outside the city walls. At times the Fourteenth Divination haunted her with its mocking uncertainty. When she had cast the lots, years ago, to learn whether she would ever attend the University, she had received only that same unsatisfactory answer, but now she was struck by its unexpected fitness. True, she had not been granted her desire to study at Celys, but it began to seem ever more likely that she would, after a fashion, attend the University…
Corson came and went during the winter months, usually bringing Trask, who was always eager to show Nyctasia his latest accomplishment. “Steifann’s vexed with you, Nyc, for letting him learn to read,” Corson told her. “Now he has to lock up his letters, or that one will read them out to the whole taproom.”
“That wasn’t my doing, far from it,” Nyctasia objected. “Tell Steifann he’d do better to leave the letters lying about, and lock up Trask instead.”
Though the time sped for Nyctasia, to Corson the winter seemed to drag on endlessly. It was a relief to be able to escape to the court now and then, when life at The Jugged Hare began to feel too confining. It was no time for long journeys, but an occasional visit to Rhostshyl helped to satisfy her restlessness, and she was always willing to escort Nyctasia’s couriers to and from Ochram. Her appearances were frequently a relief to Nyctasia as well, for Corson often took it upon herself to rescue her from the others, the better to have Nyctasia’s attention to herself.
As spring approached, Tiambria complacently grew enormous, but remained as willful and lively as ever, scorning all suggestions that she rest quietly and let others tend to her. She declared that she felt wonderfully well, and worried her young husband Jehamias to distraction. Nyctasia too was rather alarmed for her, though she concealed her fears from Jehamias, but Master Anthorne and Dame Tsephis informed her that nothing was amiss, and that the signs were all favorable.
“The physicians say we’re to let her do as she likes,” Nyctasia assured Jehamias. “And we may as well accept their advice, since she’ll do as she likes anyway.”
Corson too had her say on the matter. “Physicians are all very well when you’re sick or wounded,” she stated, “but your sister’s not ailing, she’s just carrying a child. What good are a lot of leeches to her? What she wants is a good midwife.”
Nyctasia felt as surprised as if Greymantle had offered his opinion. “Corson, you amaze me. How do you know about such things?”
“I don’t. But Walden does. He said to tell you to send for his wife Omia. She doesn’t usually go so far as Rhostshyl, but Walden says she’ll come as a favor, since you’re a friend of the house.”
“I’m honored,” said Nyctasia, “but tell them they needn’t worry. I have the best midwives in Rhostshyl at hand. The physicians will only assist in case of need.”
“The best in Rhostshyl, maybe, but I’ll wager that among the lot of them they’ve not borne as many brats as Omia-nor birthed as many. And she’s never lost a babe, nor a mother either. Oh, Walden wants her to have the glory of delivering a baby Rhaicime, I know, but all the same he’s right. There’s no better midwife on the coast. Anyone in Chiastelm will tell you the same.”
Nyctasia asked only one person in Chiastelm, and when Maegor sent back a message warmly confirming Corson’s claims, she quickly made arrangements to accept Mistress Omia’s services. In days to come, she would employ such magical healing arts as she possessed on Tiambria’s behalf, but at present she had done all in her power for her sister.
With all these matters to attend to, Nyctasia saw little of Erystalben, who found that the Rhaicime of Rhostshyl was a different woman from the mistress of the Smugglers’ House. It was one thing to be on intimate terms with a stranger who cared for one, and quite another thing to make claims on the time of the ruler of a city. He immersed himself in study of the books of spells and counterspells that now seemed to hold his only hope. He had not yet remembered anything of his past, and his dreams of the Yth had not ceased. Nyctasia saw him growing more distant and withdrawn, but with the passing of the winter she had less time than ever to devote to him.
When she received word from Corson that another shipment of books had arrived at the Hare, Nyctasia was astonished to realize that the trade route through the Valleylands to the east must have been clear for some time. The spring thaw had come sooner than seemed possible. She could not spare she time to go collect the books herself, but she sent ’Malkin to take charge of them, and gave him a letter to deliver to Corson as well.
’Malkin was still curious about The Jugged Hare. Nothing in Trask’s descriptions of the tavern had made it clear to him why the Rhaicime should make a habit of visiting the place, nor had the sight of the Hare itself explain
ed the mystery.
It was perhaps a little larger, and cleaner, than most-clearly a prosperous concern-but still it was only a common ale-house like hundreds of others he’d frequented in his student days. Hardly the haunt of Rhaicimes, he thought.
’Malkin had been in far shabbier establishments, and more recently than he’d have cared to admit, but after his months at court, the Hare looked barely respectable to him. He felt an unwonted sympathy for Trask.
He’d arrived in Chiastelm too late in the day to think of starting back till the morrow, so he’d taken a room at one of the better inns, then had a meal, bathed and changed his travel-worn clothes before going about his business. He didn’t expect anyone at the Hare to notice or care how he looked, but as the Lady Nyctasia’s courier and emissary it behooved him to make a decent appearance nevertheless. It was therefore nearly closing time before he arrived at the Hare, and the taproom was almost empty. Corson was nowhere to be seen, but
’Malkin recognized Steifann from Trask’s description and asked him where Corson might be found.
Steifann regarded him with marked disfavor. Not the usual sort of good-for-nothing reaver Corson kept company with, but a scoundrel of some sort, no doubt. “You’re not a Rhaicime in disguise, are you?” he asked with a scowl.
“Er… no, unfortunately,” said ’Malkin.
“Good. The last time I threw one of Corson’s lovers out of here, it turned out I was dealing with a Rhaicime, and it was an awkward business all ’round. But you-”
