He forced all such musings out of his head as he rode into the square beyond the gate. His duty was to protect the Master and the Chancellor, and he could hardly do that if his mind brooded over the Empire’s social arrangements.
The square looked like a prosperous market. Shops and taverns lined the square, and to the south Tyrcamber saw a large stone church. In the center of the square stood a statue of a bearded old man in the robes and miter of a bishop, a winged lion sitting next to him. A winged lion was the symbol of the apostle Mark, so Tyrcamber supposed the market and the church both had been dedicated to St. Mark.
The column left the market and followed a street leading into the heart of the city. Tyrcamber looked around with watchful eyes, partly to stay on guard, and partly because he was curious. Stately houses of brick and polished timbers lined the street, rising three or four stories high. Tyrcamber guessed that minor merchants and perhaps more prosperous craftsmen lived here. In the distance, he glimpsed tall wooden tenements that had a rickety look. No doubt that was where the merchants’ apprentices and workers lived in rather less comfort.
“Alderman,” said Radobertus. “A question for you.”
“Of course, my lord,” said Vordin. He was polite, but he had no choice. The aldermen of Falconberg did not dare offend the Emperor and his officers. If the Emperor decided to revoke Falconberg’s charter, the city would be at the mercy of Duke Cormarl and the surrounding nobles.
“We passed through the village of Tolbiac on our way here,” said Radobertus.
Vordin offered an apologetic smile. “I hope you did not take to heart anything Sir Rumric told you, my lord. He has frequently sued the city in the Emperor’s courts, and there is considerable…ill-feeling between us.”
“When we arrived, Sir Rumric’s levees were about to fight a contingent of soldiers from Falconberg,” said Radobertus. “They claimed to be trying to exploit mining rights in the dark elven ruin near the village…”
“What?” said Vordin. The old man looked taken aback.
“But we discovered they had opened a tomb in the hill and taken a relic from within it,” said Radobertus. “They were commanded by a man named Michael Gantier. Have you any knowledge of this?”
Vordin shook his head. “I do not. I do know the name, though. Michael Gantier was once a captain of our soldiers. He was a poor choice for such responsibility and began taking bribes to overlook crimes. One of our other officers discovered it, and Gantier murdered him. But he did so in sight of witnesses, and Gantier had to flee the city. There has been a price on his head ever since.”
“I see,” said Radobertus.
“The men we saw wore the colors of Falconberg,” said Ruire.
“Any man can wear a green tabard with a falcon badge and claim to be a soldier of our city,” said Vordin. He sighed. “But it would not surprise me to learn that Gantier falsely claimed the authority of the city for his venture. Such a man would not scruple from any crime.” He hesitated. “The matter should be brought to the attention of the Shield and the aldermen. But I beg you, my lords, do not let this interfere with the parley with the First of Sygalynon. Too much is at stake.”
“I am surprised you are so concerned, alderman,” said Ruire. “Falconberg is far from Urd Mythruin where the Valedictor rules and the Duke of Ribaria’s lands lie between your city and Sygalynon.”
“Aye, but our sons march in the Emperor’s levees,” said Vordin. “Falconberg meets its obligations to the Emperor. Our sons will die upon the field of battle with the rest of the armies of the Empire if the Valedictor claims victory.” He shook his head. “And if the Valedictor triumphs, it will be only a matter of time before he comes here.”
“I trust the Shield of Falconberg understands this as well,” said Radobertus.
Vordin hesitated, just a little too long. “The Shield is committed to our duty to the Emperor. And it is fortunate that the First agreed to meet with you here, Lord Chancellor.” Vordin waved a hand at the spires of the great cathedral rising from the heart of the city. “I suspect you shall have an easier time impressing the First here than you would in a rural castle or town.”
Radobertus laughed, once. “A worthy thought, alderman, but misplaced. Nothing about humans ever impresses the umbral elves. They think of themselves as the rightful rulers of the world. The Empire has been here for eight centuries, but to the umbral elves, we are merely recent interlopers.”
“There is one thing that the umbral elves respect,” said Ruire. “Strength. And while they think little of humans, they hate and fear the dark elves far more. For the dark elves were once the masters of the umbral elves.”
“Let us hope that is enough for us to make common cause against the Valedictor,” said Vordin.
“It isn’t,” said Ruire, “but it may be enough for the umbral elves to stay aloof from the fighting while we take the war to the Valedictor.”
With that, the conversation turned from the umbral elves and the Valedictor to more mundane pleasantries. Vordin inquired after their journey and began to point out features of the city as they rode – prominent churches, halls of the craft and merchant brotherhoods, and the chapterhouses of the Order of Iron and the Order of Winter. All five Imperial Orders maintained chapterhouses in each of the Imperial Free Cities, which no doubt went a long way towards helping keep the cities loyal to the Emperor.
Tyrcamber listened with half an ear to the description, his eyes scanning the alleyways and streets as they passed. He saw more beggars than he expected, which made him wonder how prosperous Falconberg truly was. If one of the great merchants lost his fortune, hundreds of men would lose their positions, and they and their families could end up on the street. He also saw numerous iron grates in the alley, leading to the city’s sewers. It seemed that Falconberg had an extensive sewer system. That boded well for the city’s health. Plagues were less likely when waste could be carried out to sea rather than left to stink in the streets. But underground passages were often lairs for thieves and brigands…and sometimes goblins and worse things used the sewers to gain entry to a city.
They rode into the great market at the heart of Falconberg, named Cathedral Square in honor of the great stone Cathedral of St. Paul that reared over the plaza. The massive church rose on the north side of the square, the long nave flanked by two massive square towers that rose nearly five hundred feet into the air. A huge rose window of stained glass overlooked the plaza, and below it the cathedral’s great doors were plated in copper and carved in scenes from the scriptures. It was indeed an impressive building, equal to many that Tyrcamber had seen in the Imperial capital.
On the south side of the square stood Falcon Hall, where the aldermen and the masters of the city’s merchant guilds met to discuss business. It was just as grand as the cathedral, though not as large, a long-basilica like building with high, narrow windows. Twin wings of stone jutted off from the Hall on either side, no doubt holding the small army of clerks and scribes who maintained the city’s records and tax ledgers. Soldiers in armor and green tabards lined the square, spears in hand as they stood guard.
A party of the city’s leaders waited on the front steps to Falcon Hall. Over twenty men in red robes stood on the stairs, faces solemn. They were the city’s aldermen, either middle-aged or elderly, and most of them were fat. Their wives stood with them, clad in their best finery and jewels. The bishop of Falconberg stood a little apart in his white robe and miter, both hands grasping his crozier as he leaned upon it. Men robed in blue or green stood near the aldermen, and to judge from the gold chains hanging against their chests, they were the leaders of the city’s guilds.
Among the flock of rich merchants and their wives, the Shield of Falconberg stood out like a wolf among sheep.
It was an ancient office, Tyrcamber knew. The aldermen elected the Shield from among their number, and he served as the leader of the city and the commander of the militia. When the Emperor called, the Shield led the soldiers of the city to war
or sent one of his lieutenants.
The Shield of Falconberg was a man in early middle age, but unlike most of the aldermen and merchants, he looked fit and vigorous. He had a mane of graying black hair around a hard face, and icy blue eyes watched the approach of the Chancellor’s party. Unlike the aldermen, he eschewed finery and wore only a simple crimson tunic, boots, trousers, and a broad leather belt. A sword with a hilt wrapped in worn leather hung from his belt. A green mantle draped his shoulders, pinned in place by a brooch wrought in the shape of a golden shield.
He was charismatic, and something about him drew the eye in an almost magnetic fashion.
Yet the woman standing slightly behind the Shield held Tyrcamber’s attention.
She was slightly shorter than the Shield, and about Tyrcamber’s own age, maybe a few years younger. Her rich gown of green and gold fit her well, and her long black hair had been braided into an intricate crown. Her face was pretty and held something of the same magnetic quality as the Shield. Tyrcamber’s first thought was that the woman was the Shield’s wife. But as they drew closer, he saw the family resemblance, saw that they shared the same blue eyes and similar features. His daughter, then, or perhaps his younger sister.
He spotted Angaric staring at the woman. He, too, had noted her beauty.
The Chancellor and the Master reined up before the stairs to Falcon Hall, and Vordin steered his horse forward.
“Aldermen and merchants of Falconberg,” said Vordin. “Lord Shield, I present Radobertus, Count of Vilmar and Chancellor of the Imperial Court, and Ruire, Master of the Order of Embers.” The Shield, the merchants, and the aldermen bowed deep, and Tyrcamber thought the Shield’s bow had a degree of cold, arrogant precision to it. “Master Ruire, Lord Radobertus, I present Karl Rincimar, the Shield of Falconberg.”
“My lords,” said Rincimar, spreading his hands. His voice was deep and commanding. “In the name of our lord the Emperor, I bid you welcome to Falconberg. The men of Falconberg stand ready to meet our duties to our liege lord the Emperor.”
“Thank you, Shield,” said Radobertus. “You have made the preparations?”
Rincimar’s lips thinned, for just the barest second. The man did not like being addressed as a servant. Likely he was used to wielding unquestioned power in Falconberg. But no one in the Frankish Empire outranked the Emperor, and his officials spoke with his authority. “Falcon Hall is ready for the meeting. The First and her retainers and guards shall be housed here, and you will be able to negotiate with her in total privacy. Meanwhile, I do not wish to be rude. A feast has been prepared for you, my lords, and I invite you to dine with the aldermen and me and the chief merchants of the city this evening.”
“We should be glad of the refreshment, Shield,” said Radobertus. “It has been a long journey from Sinderost, and there were difficulties on the road.”
Rincimar nodded. “Goblin raiders, I expect. The Valedictor and his followers have been stirring them up.”
“Muridachs as well,” said Ruire in a bland voice, “not two days east of here.”
“And the muridachs were assisted,” said Radobertus, “by a man named Michael Gantier, who claimed to be acting under your orders.”
A thunderous scowl went over Rincimar’s face, and the woman turned a surprised look in his direction.
“Gantier,” said Rincimar. “Still he troubles me. I put the price on Gantier’s head myself for his crimes, my lord. He does not possess my authority and does not act in my name.” His scowl intensified. “Perhaps the umbral elves shall take his head on the way to Falconberg.”
“Perhaps, Shield,” said Radobertus. “Though I hope not. No doubt the First would find a way to turn that to her advantage in the negotiations.”
“Indeed, my lord,” said Rincimar, and Tyrcamber saw the man force back his temper with an effort. “But, come. You have not traveled all this way to trouble yourself with the criminals of Falconberg. Food has been prepared for the feast, and the grooms shall see to your horses.” He beckoned, and a small army of grooms and servants emerged from one of the wings of Falcon Hall. “This is my niece, Sigurd.”
Sigurd Rincimar turned a beaming smile in Radobertus’s direction. “My lord Chancellor, it is a great honor to meet you.” There was something simpering and girlish in her voice that Tyrcamber disliked, though Radobertus turned a smile in the woman’s direction. Yet there was a coldness in her blue eyes that never wavered. Tyrcamber wondered if Radobertus saw it.
Sigurd performed a curtsy deep enough that Radobertus could see right down the front of her gown. Tyrcamber’s first thought was to wonder if Sigurd intended to leave Falconberg as the Chancellor’s mistress. The Lord Chancellor was married, but it was well-known that he had enjoyed the company of a string of mistresses. (His wife remained indifferent so long as none of the mistresses infringed upon her prerogatives.)
Tyrcamber’s second thought was jealousy that he didn’t have a better view.
Annoyed with himself, he shoved the thought out of his head.
A groom in livery came forward to take his horse, and Tyrcamber nodded and dismounted.
“My lords, this way,” said Rincimar. “I am eager to show you the hospitality of Falconberg.”
###
Tyrcamber no longer shared his father’s loathing for the men of the Free Cities, but neither would he trust the burghers very far.
Nevertheless, he had to admit that the hospitality of Falconberg was excellent indeed.
The interior of Falcon Hall was a huge space, shadowy and dim in the light of the sky fire leaking through the tall, narrow windows. Yet the servants lit the hearths and cast long-lasting Light spells to provide illumination, and that gave the lofty hall a warm feel. Pillars marched down either side of the hall, supporting balconies, and a dais rose on the far end. Tyrcamber knew that much of the city’s legal business was transacted here, with the aldermen gathering to govern the city.
Three long tables had been set up in the hall, and Tyrcamber, Angaric, and the other knights sat there, eating and drinking. Another table had been set up on the dais, and the Master and the Chancellor sat there, flanked by the Shield and the aldermen. Servants brought out courses of food, and Tyrcamber ate more than he usually did, filling his belly after the exertions of the road.
“I’ve come to an important decision,” said Angaric, spearing a piece of beef on his dagger.
“Hmm?” said Tyrcamber around a mouthful of excellent chicken pie.
“I am going to seduce the Shield’s niece,” said Angaric with solemn gravity. He tended to get more serious the drunker he got, and Angaric had already quaffed a large quantity of the Shield’s wine.
“Are you, now?” said Tyrcamber. “She seems to have her eye set on Count Radobertus.”
Angaric snorted. “A fat old man.”
“Yes, you’re a fat young one,” said Tyrcamber. Angaric gave him a sour look. “And he’s rich, powerful, and the Chancellor of the Empire. You are none of those things.”
“I am a Knight of the Order of Embers,” said Angaric. He took another drink of wine and held out his goblet for one of the servants to refill. “And I know the secret spells of our Order. We wield the magic of elemental flame, and I know a spell to put a fire in a woman’s blood.”
“And if you get caught using those spells, the Master will have you flogged,” said Tyrcamber. “Or if you make the Order look bad.”
“Mmm.” Angaric considered this as a servant refilled his wine cup. He drained it and then held the cup out again. “You may have a point, Sir Tyrcamber. You may indeed have a point. Perhaps I shall simply enjoy the Shield’s excellent wine. Though for a commoner, Sigurd is a fine-looking woman. God! If I got her into my bed, I would…”
“Best keep those thoughts to yourself,” said Tyrcamber. “If they get back to the Shield, he’s bound to take offense.”
Angaric grunted. “A good point. An odd fellow, isn’t he?”
“The Shield?” said Tyrcamber.
/> “Aye, Karl Rincimar,” said Angaric. “He seems out of place among the aldermen of Falconberg, doesn’t he? The aldermen are elected from among the rich merchants of the city, and the aldermen choose the Shield. So, usually, it’s a group of fat old men choosing which fat old man will lead them.”
Tyrcamber glanced across the hall to where Rincimar sat talking with the Master and the Chancellor and some of the chief aldermen. “He doesn’t seem like a merchant or a burgher. He looks like a soldier.”
“A warrior,” said Angaric. “Still, appearances can be deceiving.” He smiled and thumped himself on the chest. “Look at me.”
Tyrcamber had to concede the point. Angaric looked like a blustery oaf. Which, admittedly, he was. But he also had a formidable mind, and he was capable of deadly battle magic. Given how valuable he was on the battlefield, Tyrcamber didn’t mind keeping Angaric out of trouble. Usually.
Which, given the hungry glances Angaric kept sending in Sigurd’s direction, might prove necessary soon enough.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Tyrcamber. “Perhaps you had best stay away from Sigurd. Maybe she will wish to wed you and insist that you resign from the Order and stay away from whores.”
“God preserve me from such a fate,” said Angaric. “You may have a point, Sir Tyrcamber. You always give me sound counsel…”
He trailed off, and his eyes widened in his wine-flushed face.
Sigurd had descended from the dais and was walking towards them. Tyrcamber stifled a groan. Had she seen Angaric staring at her? Though given that a goodly number of men in the hall were looking at Sigurd, how would she notice him among the throng of her admirers? Angaric started to straighten up as she approached. Sigurd stopped in front of them and offered a curtsy.
This time Tyrcamber could see down the front of her gown. It was as good of a view as he had suspected.
“Sir Tyrcamber?” said Sigurd.
Angaric looked disappointed.
“Aye, mistress?” said Tyrcamber.
Malison: Dragon Umbra Page 4
