Erosan's Tears

by Jason Scott Gleason

  Jethu dipped a lobster tail in butter and took a massive bite, not bothering to savor the taste. “Don’t think he cares, honestly. He’s been waiting to sit in that chair for a long time. There are three boys after him, so one more heir won’t make much of a difference.”

  Raelyn considered Teoryn for a moment. Tall and powerfully built, Teoryn was the quintessential Oervan hero, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and comely features. He had earned the respect of the men of Galavan’s Port while serving in the Vashtik wars, coming home with a distinguished career to begin his own political ambitions. He was already a peer among the Council of Lords, and would certainly be the only lord other than the high lords here at the assembly this evening. We were born the same year, entered the service of our lords the same year. You came back a hero, and I came back a marauder, Raelyn thought with a sense of detached amusement. He had nodded to Raelyn when he entered the chamber, a familiar greeting from a distance. The two had never served together, but they had met numerous times and Raelyn liked him. Raelyn knew that in a few years his father would turn his lands over to Teoryn—and with those lands his place as a high lord in the city.

  He scanned the room, taking in a number of other familiar faces. Standing behind Lord Elotarn was Fethan, the lord’s seneschal. Also a Slovani, Fethan was of the same family as Drian, although Raelyn didn’t think they were closely related. Fethan looked almost identical to Drian from a distance, and Raelyn had to be close to tell the two apart, but the similarity had less to do with their shared surname than the fact that they were both Slovani. In temperament they were similar, professional and courteous with the aloof demeanor so typically displayed by men of the nation of Mitigol. But while Drian’s attitude seemed amused and friendly, Fethan’s seemed cold, with a practiced and almost inhuman manner. Rumors had circulated that Fethan was among the most powerful men in the city, as executor of Lord Elotarn’s will, but to Raelyn’s knowledge he had never exercised that power for his own gain.

  Also seated at the table was Lord Rennard, the youngest and perhaps most ambitious among the high lords. Only in his early thirties, the lord was the son of a wealthy merchant who had purchased a title along with large amounts of land along the docks. He had been born and raised in Orevanthar, which made him unpopular with many of the freemen of Galavan’s Port, but his wealth and ties to merchants gave him considerable influence in the port city. The father and son had achieved a rise to power as fast as any family could, and Lord Rennard had begun making his power felt. Raelyn knew him, and knew his reputation. The rumors that he was tied to crime in the city were not idle, and Raelyn wondered how deep those connections ran.

  Lord Rennard had not brought his seneschal, and Raelyn remembered hearing that Rennard had just brought on a Slovani to fill that position in his household. Rennard was known throughout the city for keeping an all-Oervan household, being mistrustful of other races. He had a reputation for his hatred of the Coscans, and was well known for making harsh statements about them in public, something that won him allies in the harder neighborhoods of poor Oervan, where Coscan laborers were not welcome. Apparently he has mellowed in his opinions a bit, Raelyn mused. Or perhaps he sees the value in hiring a man with a formal education, one skilled in letters and sums. It’s tough to find an Oervan man in the city who is well educated that would be willing to be a servant to a household.

  The three high lords sat and talked, sharing news of the city. Drian had gone to stand behind Lord Perinor, as was the custom with the seneschals, mentally making note of the details of the conversation. Raelyn looked at the others assembled at the meeting. In addition to himself and Jethu, Lord Erosan’s master of arms was in attendance, an older Oervan man named Chadin. There were also some household servants and Lord Elotarn’s herald, a young man from a household that escaped Raelyn’s recollection. Raelyn noticed that everyone was eating, but none quite so voraciously as Jethu.

  Lord Harin was the next of the high lords to arrive. The herald announced him as he had Lord Perinor, and he and his seneschal went up to join the other high lords. Jethu turned to Raelyn, his voice low. ”He looks well, considering what the summer has brought.” Raelyn gave him a blank look, and Jethu realized that he hadn’t heard. “He lost his wife. She came down with a fever early in the spring, and she never really recovered. He hired physicians from Orevanthar to help cure her, but the tinctures didn’t work. I guess he didn’t have any faith in Erosan’s women. The healers would’ve cured her good.”

  “The healers of Erosan might have done better, but Lord Harin’s got his reasons not to trust them.” Raelyn’s voice was low, and he was careful not to let anyone else overhear. “He took lands of theirs recently, just last year. Closed down one of their villages, claimed an ancestral title to the land. It was out to the west in the forest, about half way between Holdwood and Weddleton. Land had been unused for so long, the women of Erosan took it for their own, set up a cottage and planted some herbs. Pretty soon there were sheep grazing on a hill, and a few freemen had set up homes in the area. Once it became taxable, it became valuable. Harin, the old greedy bastard, couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  Jethu gave a low whistle. “That explains it. There’s gossip that his wife dying was payback. Thought it was woman-speak, but maybe there’s something to it. You think the healers hexed her?” Jethu made a circle on the table in front of him with his finger, a sign to ward off evil. Raelyn chuckled low.

  “They didn’t hex him. They don’t do that. There are women who will, but not them; they swear vows not to bring harm to anyone, and they take those vows seriously.”

  “I’m just saying, Rae. I wouldn’t want to mess with any of them, vows or no. I hear they can witch anyone with the power of their god.”

  Raelyn shook his head. “You give too much stock to the gossip of women. The only power they have is to heal, and even that has more to do with poultices and stitches than with magic words.”

  “What about the followers of Charnost or Litha? Litha’s women’ll do you good, have you dead in your sleep. And the Coscan god, Malundror, they say he’s the worst of all. His women can kill you with a look.”

  Raelyn turned his head slowly, fixing a skeptical look on his friend. “The Coscan god is Yefuol. Malundror was his prophet, and nobody really worships him. Besides, have you ever heard of anyone dead of witchcraft? I mean, seriously dead?”

  “Oh, just over the winter! A guy I knew, a Coscan laborer, he pissed off a witch. Told everybody about it, how he took a couple goats from her on account of her owing him some money for some work he did. Laughed about it real good. Next week, he ends up dead. Some scaffolding falls down while he’s working up on the hill, takes him right out. Now if that’s not good enough for you, I don’t know what is!”

  “Woman-speak, Jethu. Some scaffolding fell down. It wouldn’t be the first accident to happen and have some poor bastard killed, and it doesn’t prove witchcraft. There’s no such thing as magic. If witchery was real, hell, there’d be no need to put a knife in somebody. Aertis Millson would be dead in his sleep or fallen down a well, and we wouldn’t be sitting here, waiting on word for what to do about it.” Jethu shook his head, slowly, an unconvinced look on his face. “I’m telling you, Jethu, you got more to fear from knives or poison or falling in the bay than you do from women casting nasty looks in your direction. And all your warding signs won’t do you any good.” A sly smile was on Raelyn’s face. “Of course, there are plenty of women who would have hexed you if they could have—isn’t that right?”

  Jethu chuckled at this, his face turning bright red. He had a reputation for falling in love easily—and out of love just as fast. There were more taverns and ale houses in the Nobles’ District than not that he wouldn’t go into for fear of running into a wench that would like to separate him from his manhood for a broken vow of love.

  Raelyn’s ears perked up as Lord Elotarn dismissed his servants, asking them to wait outside of the hall and not to bother the
m unless necessary. Jethu took it as his cue to leave as well. “See you soon, Rae,” he said with a wink as he rose. Katest Illia rose to excuse herself as well, and all the men assembled at the table rose with her, affording her the dignity of a lady of the house. The fifth high lord, Gardwyn, had not yet arrived, but Raelyn wasn’t surprised. He was the son of the previous First High Lord, who had been the wealthiest of the landholders in the last generation. Now Lord Gardwyn was in the process of spending away the fortune that his family had spent generations accumulating. Wealth was his way of currying favor with every faction in the city, and he had little sense for politics beyond this. Although in his early forties, he was considered a child by many of the people in power, and a number of men in the Council of Lords were vying for the position to take over his seat when his star fell low enough.

  After Illia and the servants had left, Raelyn took stock of the men assembled—the four high lords, their seneschals, and Lord Teoryn. Raelyn shifted uneasily in his seat, wondering how his presence was taken, but Lord Perinor waved him over with an almost irritated gesture. Is it even proper for me to be here? he wondered, moving toward the head of the table and taking a seat next to Lord Perinor, who seemed to take for granted that his presence was appropriate. Although Lord Teoryn and Lord Harin seemed to give him little thought, Lord Rennard cast Raelyn a suspicious glance. Here it comes, Raelyn thought as Lord Rennard opened his mouth to speak, but Lord Elotarn preempted the question, addressing Raelyn directly.

  “Lord Perinor has informed me that you will be aiding in this investigation, and that you will be working with Sir Corlwyn on this matter. I thought it kind of him to offer the aid of the master of arms of his household. I know you have had experience in these sort of matters before.”

  Of course. Everyone knows. That’s why Rennard is looking at me suspiciously. He’s probably afraid of what I’ll dig up on him if this goes in his direction. Raelyn was at a loss of what to say; he didn’t dare handle this in a manner less than diplomatic, and diplomacy was not his strength. But Lord Perinor spoke up for him.

  “I thought it fitting, my lord. As you have said, Raelyn is well versed in inquiries of this manner, and he has experience in dealing with men from many of the districts in the city. His reputation is less fearsome than Corlwyn’s, and men who may hide from the more extreme methods of inquiry of the First Man of the Watch might be persuaded to share what they know with Raelyn. Furthermore, he is a man of my household, and can therefore be trusted to be discreet with whatever he may discover.”

  In other words, I’m your lap dog, Raelyn thought as the others nodded their assent. Only Lord Rennard still looked suspicious, but he could do nothing while Lord Elotarn sanctioned his involvement. The high lords were all equals in theory, but Lord Elotarn was undoubtedly the first among them, and his word in this small gathering was law. So I have Elotarn’s approval, and I’ll snoop around, doing what Corlwyn can’t. If I find out anything nasty, I’ll be expected to tell Perinor, and everyone else knows it. You’ve positioned me perfectly to be your pawn in a game of lords. Raelyn was beginning to feel nervous about what he had gotten himself into, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He felt his mouth go dry, his stomach drop out from under him, as he thought of the implications of making so many powerful enemies. He reached for his ale, finished the last swallow, and poured more from the pitcher on the table. Somehow I feel like the investigation is not what Perinor really had in mind.

  Lord Elotarn began the conversation. “I would like to take the opportunity to address the issue for which we are assembled. The murder of Sir Aertis Millson, member of the Chamber of Freemen, representing the Craftsmen’s District. He was slain, as I am sure you all are aware, either last night or this morning in his home. Sir Corlwyn Roberson reported to me only an hour before you three lords arrived that his investigation has not yet discovered the culprit. He has indicated that there were signs of robbery and that his personal effects had been ransacked. Many objects of value were missing from the household when Sir Corlwyn arrived, but he does not know now whether those things were taken by the murderer or members of the household. It appears that the culprit was a burglar of no small skill, but it is unclear what he was searching for. What concerns me the most is that papers in his personal collection had been gone through, and it is unknown whether or not any were taken. He was a rather influential man, and a rather wealthy one, who had ties to any number of men around this city—including, perhaps, some in this very room.

  “Now, gentlemen, I have called you together because I would like for us to be able to resolve this quickly. There are already rumors of unrest in the Coscan District, and that rabble-rouser, Thone Beardor, is calling for an uprising.” Lord Rennard sneered at this. “Sir Corlwyn is investigating the matter, and I am certain he will do an excellent job. But it would behoove us to aid him in any manner within our capacity. If there are any details of the late Sir Millson’s life or business dealings of which you are aware that may point to motive for this murder, I would have it out in this council so that we may inform Sir Corlwyn. The more that we give him, the more effective he can be in his investigation. Furthermore, if there is any reason that we may have to be concerned with the disappearance of letters or diaries of his, I would have us all know now. If anything that could damage this council comes to light, it would be best to prepare for it earlier rather than later.

  “As we all know,” Lord Elotarn added, “Sir Aertis was prolific in his correspondence.” He looked pointedly at the other high lords in the room. “With all of the allegations of his ties to crime, it would not look well on us if letters came to light implicating any of us in illicit activities.”

  Raelyn looked around at the men at the table and read their expressions. Everyone looked suspicious, but Raelyn had expected that; they each had something to hide. Lord Perinor was nodding in agreement with Lord Elotarn, seemingly confident in the position of his man. Lord Harin looked troubled. Raelyn didn’t doubt that something in every council member’s collection of letters would make Lord Harin look bad, but only because he was constantly scheming to try to increase his wealth. Lord Rennard was scowling, casting glances toward Raelyn. He felt the man’s eyes burning into him, and he reached for his cup again, nervous for the scrutiny. Lord Rennard is not a man to cross, he thought, recalling stories of his ties to organized crime within the Wharf District. He knew a few of the men he was purported to be in league with, and he shuddered to think of some of them coming for his head. I’ll have to tread carefully if I tread in his path.

  The high lord continued: “The craftsmen are already beginning to speak of this on the streets. He had a number of creditors and debtors, and the liquidation of his debt and holdings will be an issue for our court for a number of months to come, as we are presented with his estate. It will be a nightmare to unravel. Furthermore, his son is only twelve years old and will be a ward of the city until he comes of age where he can inherit what’s left of his father’s estate. We will have to appoint a guardian of the boy and of his holdings. The street has already started speculating, so it would be in our interest to ensure that our decision does not present the appearance of impropriety. The last thing we would want would be for the Craftsmen’s District to shut down for protestors.”

  “And what would they do?” Lord Rennard asked, his voice thick with its Orevanthar accent. “Stop working? Protest until their pockets were empty? That shall never happen. The Oervan craftsmen in the District need the money too badly; they have shops to run and families to feed. And the Coscan laborers they employ don’t matter. Beardor will try to drive them into a frenzy, threaten them with the damnation of their god if they do not support the protests, but he does that every few months. The only people who take to the streets are the ones who are not working anyway, and all they do is fight amongst themselves in Shacktown. One dead Oervan will make not a whit of difference to the workers, as long as they’re still earning their wages. Besides, it’s idle gossip r
ight now.”

  “And that’s where we need to keep it, Rennard.” Lord Harin spoke up, looking gravely at Lord Rennard. “As long as the gossip remains idle and the craftsmen ply their trade, things will settle down. But Lord Elotarn is right; there are a number of men in that district, even within the Chamber of Freemen, who consider the Council of Lords a threat to their power. Thone is only one of them. If someone like him got his hands on documents that suggest we had reason to have Sir Aertis murdered, it would not go well for us.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe that this may be the case, Lord Harin?” Lord Elotarn’s voice was casual, but the question was not. Lord Harin stumbled for a reply.

  “You all know here that Sir Aertis and I had dealings with one another,” he began, but Lord Rennard cut him off.

  “We all have dealings with any number of craftsmen. Merchants as well, and guildsmen, and any number of men of the city. Spare us your intrigue.”

  Lord Perinor raised a hand, looking at Lord Rennard with a cautionary glare. “Lord Elotarn asked him not to spare us his intrigue. It is precisely for such matters that we have assembled here tonight.” The two men locked eyes, and Rennard’s gaze softened. Lord Perinor turned to Harin: “Go on.”

  “Yes, well, he and I were in a certain business arrangement. I had financed a venture for him, at a cost of nearly twenty-one thousand tares. He has a shipment of fine wool from Greiston due to arrive down the coast, and has contracts for winter uniforms for the guard as well as a number of houses to offset the loan. Now that he is unable to repay me, I will become the inheritor of the cloth, although what I will do with a warehouse of Greistonii wool is beyond me.” A painful look crossed his face, although everyone assembled saw the falsehood of his complaint.

  “That presents little problem, Lord Harin.” Elotarn’s face was impassive, a faint smile on his lips. “You will simply have to postpone the collection of the debt. The contracts will be renegotiated with other clothiers and the wool distributed in turn. Your debtor will no longer be his estate, but rather the men with whom Sir Aertis had negotiated originally.” Lord Harin’s face fell.