Erosan's Tears

by Jason Scott Gleason

  “Well, there is the matter of interest….”

  “There will be no interest in this matter,” Lord Perinor cut in. “We can ill afford the appearance that we are profiting from the death of a member of the Chamber. We must be above all suspicion.”

  “Of course you would say that,” Lord Rennard interjected. “You were his friend, a supporter of his. You worked with him on a number of issues. That’s why you’re so eager to have your master of arms help with the investigation. Tell me, Perinor, what will we find in those letters that you fear are missing? What plots and schemes will be uncovered?” Lord Rennard’s face was sharp, his words dripping with acid. It was clear that he had been waiting for the opportunity to confront Lord Perinor, but Perinor only smiled.

  “Yes, he and I worked together, but there was nothing secret about our friendship. We disagreed on a few matters, but we agreed on a great many. You know that, and so did every member of the Chamber.”

  “I’m sure you’re not concerned with what everyone in the Chamber knew about,” Lord Rennard said, leaning forward. “I think you’re more concerned with what we all have not considered, what we haven’t yet learned.”

  Lord Elotarn looked at Lord Perinor. “Is there truth to what he says? Is there something about your relationship with Sir Aertis that would damn this congregation?”

  “Idle speculation, Lord Elotarn,” Perinor said soberly. “And it would be wise not to make baseless accusations. It is no secret that Lord Rennard and I are at odds with a great number of issues, particularly where the Coscans are concerned, and that Sir Aertis and I were in league in these matters. Neither this congregation nor my household need fear any correspondence between Sir Aertis and me coming to light in the city.” Lord Rennard looked skeptical, and Lord Perinor turned to him: “Do you have evidence to charge me with, or can we turn to other matters?”

  “I don’t charge you with anything, Perinor. You’re above reproach. As always.” Raelyn hid a smile as Lord Rennard accepted defeat. That attitude won’t last long, but at least I can enjoy it right now.

  “May we move on to other matters?” Lord Elotarn asked, his demeanor separating the two. All eyes at the table turned to him. “I have brought this up for a number of reasons—but not the least of which is my own. Although none of you at this table may have anything to fear about his correspondences with you coming to light, I have reason to be wary.” The lords assembled exchanged glances, surprise evident. Raelyn studied their faces, their reactions. Lord Elotarn continued:

  “Over the past few months, Sir Aertis and I have been in correspondence about a number of political matters. I have been trying to judge the response in the Chamber as well as in the Craftsmen’s District to a measure which would relax restrictions on Coscan ownership of land within the city, as well as outside of the city. I suspect that it would lead to greater representation of Coscans within the Chamber of Freemen, and perhaps even create a Coscan lord or two—although I could not imagine that it would have so profound an effect as to allow the Coscans to overrun either body.”

  “But my lord, that is exactly what you’re proposing!” Lord Rennard was visibly upset. “If the Coscan are unchecked, they will marshal their resources, buy up whatever they can! Do you not remember why the restrictions were put in place to begin with?” His voice was growing louder, and he leaned over the table; Raelyn slid his hand to the dagger on his hip, his senses tingling with the stress of the conflict. “We cannot let the streets of Galavan’s Port become the latest battleground in the Vashtik wars, where lords of the Vashtik states buy land through proxies! This is madness!”

  “Silence!” Lord Elotarn’s command echoed through the hall as he snapped to his feet. “You forget yourself, Rennard Perrin, son of Orevanthar! You are not speaking to a merchant or ship’s captain in this hall! You are in my chamber, and you will speak to the First High Lord of this body with the respect that he demands, or you will find yourself turned out on the street as a common man!” Lord Rennard froze.

  “Sit,” he snapped. Lord Rennard. Lord Elotarn fixed his gaze on him for a long moment, watching Lord Rennard’s posture shrink. He still has the authority of a king, Raelyn thought, witnessing Lord Elotarn dominate the younger man with his stare. He’s almost seventy years old and cows a man in his prime like a whelp of a dog. It’s no wonder why he’s maintained control of the Council of Lords for so long.

  Finally Lord Elotarn sat, regaining his composure. Raelyn looked at Teoryn, who was also staring intently at Lord Rennard. His hand had slid to the hilt of his dagger as well, a movement that Lord Rennard would not have been in the position to notice. He’ll never know how close he came to being stabbed, Raelyn thought, looking at Teoryn’s steely eyes.

  “I had been discussing this measure with Sir Aertis, over the course of five letters. When Sir Corlwyn came to me and told me that his personal correspondences were strewn about the room, it disturbed me. Those letters could have been taken out of their appropriate context to imply that I was either overly sympathetic to the Coscan cause—or,” and Lord Elotarn emphasized this statement, looking directly at Lord Rennard, “that I was attempting to manipulate them for political purposes. In them I confide that the primary purpose of the measure is to generate additional monies through the Coscan land tax, and that the measure would be delicately balanced to ensure that their representation in the Chamber would not increase to greater than one-third, and their representation in the Council would not number more than two or three, in a congregation of forty.”

  Lord Elotarn paused, allowing the implications of his words to be felt by all assembled. He looked at Lord Rennard, whose mood was still foul but who no longer appeared on the verge of another outburst.

  “If those letters—or any other correspondence that had been in Sir Aertis’s possession—fall into the hands of political rivals, we could find our support in the city diminishing. I would not like to see the true firebrands of the city announcing in the Laborers’ District that the Council of Lords is conspiring to keep the Coscan as slaves of their own city. Our reign as high lords would be deeply marred if Coscan unrest drove this city to a halt.”

  Lord Rennard spoke again, his tone under control. “I understand your position, Lord Elotarn, but I must take issue with it. You seek to appease the masses by giving them more power. How does this keep them from rising up against us? I have enough of a problem letting them sit in the Chamber of Freemen, and own land within the city walls. But what else would you propose to let them buy? Land in the Nobles’ District? The Garden District? Relax restrictions on how much of the Wharf District land they can own?”

  “I have not come to discuss the particulars of a measure that has not yet been introduced,” Lord Elotarn countered. “Now is not the time nor the place to enter into debate about it. I am referring to the potential damage that these letters may cause, not arguing over Coscan rights. Do not forget that we are still a neutral state in the Vashtik wars, whether or not our men may volunteer for the armies of Shaelwyn or Orevanthar, and even though almost all of us assembled here have fought against the armies of the Vashtik States at one point.” This last was a dig at Lord Rennard, the only person in the room aside from the seneschals who had not commanded men against the Coscan forces. “At any rate, any man of any nation is free to come and go in the city as they please, regardless of their race. This equity drives our economy, enticing merchants from all over the world to our city to trade.”

  “Even so, Oervan control over the politics of Galavan’s Port is tenuous enough. I would not see our hold weakened even further.” Lord Rennard looked at Lord Elotarn, his eyes hard. “Is that the conclusion of our business?” he asked.

  “There are other matters to discuss, Lord Rennard, but they are matters of little consequence in comparison. Our reason for assembling is concluded.”

  Lord Rennard rose. “Then I shall take my leave of you all. It is late and I grow weary, and my wife is soon to bear our child. She took a fever,
and her nurse maid is a silly fool who does not see the value of the counsel of Orevanthar physicians. I do not wish to leave her for so long in her care. I bid you all good night.”

  The other lords rose in response, offering their well wishes to his wife. Lord Rennard turned and left the hall, and the air of tension left with him.

  Lord Harin glanced around and managed a nervous chuckle. “Well, now that he has left us we may be able to talk about something a bit more positive. Not that I dislike Lord Rennard, but he has a rather chilling effect on conversation.”

  “Yes, he does,” Lord Elotarn replied, as if he was talking to himself. He looked at Raelyn. “Would you be so kind as to invite my servants to rejoin us? I would have fresh ale and some wine.” Raelyn looked at his own goblet and realized that he had drunk it dry twice over; the pitcher was empty.

  Raelyn rose and gave a formal bow. “Yes, Lord Elotarn,” he replied, his voice controlled. When he rose he felt the ale tugging at his bladder. He walked to the side door where the servants had left the hall and opened it, telling the two guards on the other side that the servants were welcome back in the hall. He made his way down the hall and through the kitchen, crossing the garden to the privy.

  Fethan was waiting for him when he was finished. “I would speak with you privately for a moment,” he said, ushering him into a small room. He closed the door behind him and turned to Raelyn. “My lord wishes to express his gratitude to you for agreeing to work with the lords in this matter. He wants you to know that he appreciates your civic mindedness, and that if there is anything he can do to help you in your investigation, you need but ask.”

  Raelyn was skeptical of Fethan’s motives and his words. He had always been suspicious of Fethan. He had known a number of Slovani and had grown accustomed to their reserved demeanor, but Fethan’s was that of a serpent, cold and unfeeling. He squinted in the low light of the parlor. What is it that you want from me? he wondered, as if he could see into the heart of the seneschal.

  Fethan placed his hand into his doublet, drawing out a small pouch and a parchment envelope sealed with the First Lord’s mark. “He would like for you to have this. There are two letters in the envelope. The first letter informs the reader that you operate under the First High Lord’s jurisdiction. You are to be denied no entry and cooperation that the High Lord himself would not be denied, under penalty of law. Use it as you will, but only if you must. The second letter instructs the reader to turn over to you any correspondence that you deem fit in your investigation, so that you might secure any of Sir Aertis’s letters that may do harm to the city.”

  And by the city you mean its masters, Raelyn thought.

  Raelyn took the letter and the pouch, and felt the distinct click of coins. “I will not fail the city in my service,” he replied, looking Fethan in the eye. Fethan nodded his satisfaction with the response.

  “My lord is counting on you. The city is counting on you. And we will all be in your debt when this is concluded.”

  Raelyn bowed slightly, casting his eyes downward for a moment, and replied, “Your lord will be satisfied by my service. I will make both of our masters proud in this.” Fethan returned the bow and left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Noise was coming through the cracked door from the servants in the kitchen, and Raelyn paused, looking through the door to make sure nobody was watching. The moon was setting in the sky above, a sliver beginning to dip over the wall of the garden. A young scullery maid was out picking parsley, and she nodded her head to Fethan as he passed, but didn’t seem to notice Raelyn. His fingers untied the leather thong on the pouch, and he poured five silver coins into his hand.

  He’s got a lot of nerve, Raelyn thought, surprised at his bitterness. He had not expected Lord Elotarn to try to buy his silence in this matter, but the idea that he could be bought so cheaply was an affront to his position and experience. Five tares isn’t even a day’s wage. I would expect someone so wealthy and powerful to offer something more, something worth taking a risk for. The maid walked back into the kitchen, her apron full of gathered herbs, and he moved closer to the door so that he could see the servants cleaning up at the end of the day. His household was reputed to be among the most well paid in the city, his staff the most handsomely compensated. I’ve heard stories that his chambermaids’ daughters are given a dowry from the lord when they’re married. Is it just woman-speak, or does he really pay his staff well? And does he just think I’m so low, so inconsequential, that I can be bought for so little? Raelyn shuffled the coins about in his hand, looking at a kitchen lad who was scrubbing viciously at a pot. What do you earn, scrubbing pots? Have you seen a tare for a day’s wage, or does the lord keep his fortune by paying you in copper pecks and feeding you well? He shook his head, amazed by the audacity of the First High Lord of the city.

  Raelyn opened the pouch and let the coins fall back into it; but as they fell, something caught his eye, something that seemed not quite right. Puzzled, he reached back in and pulled a coin out. On the front was the stamp of the seal of Galavan’s Port, which characterized all coinage of the city. But on the back was the unmistakable image of a radiant sun, with thirteen beams of light stretching out in all different directions.

  By the gods, Raelyn thought, sucking his breath in. He’s paid me in platinum.

  Chapter Four

  The sun came through the shutters, lancing into Raelyn’s head. He rolled over with a groan, cursing himself for forgetting to draw the curtains. What time is it? he thought to himself, cursing his pounding head. He vaguely recalled the end of the previous evening, drinking with Jethu back at Lord Perinor’s estate. Some conversation, something about a meeting in the morning. Something about….

  Raelyn groaned again, his stomach sinking. The shutters were thrown open, light pouring into the room, and he turned back over, clapping a hand over his eyes. There was the sound of boots clicking on the hardwood floor as he let his eyes adjust to the light, slowly drawing his hand away. He had a visitor.

  “I must admit, I’m not surprised to find you here.” The voice was deep, gravelly. “Some things don’t change, do they Sergeant? Still drunk from last night? Did Jethu tuck you into bed yet again?”

  “Good morning, Corlwyn. Or do you prefer ‘Sir’ Corlwyn?” His eyes were beginning to adjust to the light, and Raelyn sat up in bed, pulling himself to rest against the headboard. He had managed to get his boots and belt off the night before, but not much else.

  “You were supposed to meet me in the courtyard. When you didn’t show up, I knew where to come looking for you. Of course,” Corlwyn smiled, “this is the second place I looked.”

  “Let me guess,” Raelyn replied, “you checked the cellar first.”

  “No, the cellar would have been too cold, and too long a walk. I checked the pantry in the kitchen. Warm, only a few strides away from the hall, full of wine.” Corlwyn fixed a glare on Raelyn, then reached down, picking up Raelyn’s belt. “Get dressed,” he snapped, throwing the belt onto the bed, sword and all. “We’re going for a walk.”

  Raelyn bent down and pulled his boots on, his small knife still tucked away in the side. His head was throbbing, the slow, steady pound of his heart in his ears, and bending over didn’t help. He stood up, smoothing down his tabard and pulling his sword belt around his waist. He was having trouble collecting his thoughts.

  They went downstairs, Raelyn following Corlwyn’s long strides. Corlwyn was considerably taller than Raelyn, well over six feet in height, with long, slender features and short brown hair. He cut an imposing figure in his long black surcoat, and the blackthorn cudgel at his hip was more menacing than his sword.. He’s taken to wearing all black. The better to intimidate the masses, I guess.

  After stopping long enough for Raelyn to drink some water and grab some cheese and bread for the walk, they stepped out into the street. Raelyn immediately shielded his eyes from the sun, silently cursing its heat. He was glad his shirt didn’t have sleeves, but the tabard felt like a
horse blanket over his shoulders. “Those clothes must be killing you,” he said to Corlwyn. “Aren’t you sweating? Summer is the wrong time of year to be wearing all black, particularly with sleeves.” Corlwyn quickened his pace.

  “We’re on our way to Sir Aertis’s home,” he replied, ignoring the comment about his clothing. “I have been instructed by Lord Elotarn to include you in every phase of the investigation. I don’t know why he feels it necessary, but I suspect it’s to humor Lord Perinor, as he and Sir Aertis were friends.”

  “Something like that,” Raelyn replied offhand. And he’s counting on me to collect information for his purposes—he and Lord Elotarn both. I wonder if you realize my reason for being here? I wonder if you’re being played the way I am?

  They walked through the city, travelling South and then West towards the Craftsmen’s District, passing through the great gate in the wall that separated it from the Nobles’ District. The Lords’ Wall, as it was called, was once the outer curtain wall to the city, and the gate between the two districts was still the original, massive gate that saw the transit of goods in and out, complete with the Coscan-style portcullis and battlements. The road was dry and dusty in the summer sun, and traffic was brisk along the wide road. Men and women of all sort were walking along the South Road, and vendors and merchants with small carts were selling their wares on the side of the street. Raelyn stopped for a drink of water, thirsty from the heat of the day.

  The two men turned North at the gate, walking down one of the wider streets. The roads were not as well kept here as in the Noble’s District or on the South Road, where the street was fashioned from large, flat pavers fit by masons rather than the older, rounded cobblestones. Raelyn had been in these neighborhoods many times, but it had been a while. He was surprised at how well kept the buildings looked, the white-washed walls of the row houses and shops gleaming in the sun. The gutters were clean as well, with the portals that ran down to the sewers well rinsed even though it had been over a week since it had last rained. The architecture was an eclectic mixture of old Coscan wide-beamed buildings and lighter Oervan framing, with an odd mixture of square and vaulted doors and windows that pointed to decades of inhabitation by different cultures. The only thing that they all had in common was the red-orange clay tiles, ubiquitous throughout the city.