Treachery's Tools

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “We’re home a little early,” replied Alyna. “We’ll all be waiting for dinner. It’s cooler out here.”

  Once chairs were gathered together, Zaerlyn looked at his daughter. “Tell me about your day.”

  “It was a day. We ran and got washed up and dressed and ate breakfast…”

  Much later, after dinner and getting the girls to bed, the three adults met in the study, where Alastar briefed Zaerlyn on what had occurred as a result of Enrique’s disappearance.

  When Alastar had finished, Zaerlyn frowned. “I can’t say I understand why young Laevoryn was so rash.”

  “You mean that there are other better ways to deal with uppity merchanter types?” asked Alyna gently.

  Zaerlyn flushed. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but … yes.”

  “Factoria Kathila told me that Laevoryn is not all that well resourced for a High Holder, and young Laevoryn has been losing large sums, and losing them consistently,” said Alastar. “You wouldn’t happen to know whether he’s facing difficulties, would you?”

  “Not really. Except that he doesn’t have any factoring activities, and his lands are all here in old Bovaria…” Zaerlyn shrugged. “It could be that his son is one who can’t stop gaming, and feared his father’s wrath.”

  “So he and some friends snatched Enrique, killed him, took his winnings, and disposed of the body?”

  “It could happen, but it seems so stupid.”

  “I’ve noticed, begging your pardon, that with some High Holders, arrogance makes them stupid. I think I mentioned the case before Lorien, where Lenglan beat his wife to death and crippled Farlan’s son … and feels that it was self-defense?”

  Zaerlyn laughed sardonically. “You did. And if some High Holders hadn’t been that stupid I wouldn’t be a High Holder today.”

  “None of this is going to help the High Holders with Lorien, do you think?” asked Alyna, looking to Alastar.

  “If he doesn’t get too arrogant himself, it won’t, but he’s not saying anything, and it looks as if I’ll have to force myself on him tomorrow. He needs to know just how bad matters could get.”

  “Are things really that bad? Just because two or three young men vanished … you’re acting as though Solidar is about to erupt in a war between factors and High Holders.”

  “I could be wrong. I could be very wrong,” admitted Alastar. “But Cransyr seems determined to restore power to the High Holders, and make the factors totally subservient to them. Lorien doesn’t understand how dangerous the situation could become. Almost all the grain and root crop stocks in the midsection of Solidar are in factors’ warehouses, and someone is ordering large numbers of new rifles. I doubt it’s the army.”

  “Then…?”

  “If I had to guess, and it’s just a guess, those grain and produce factors are hiring and arming guards because they believe that they’ll need them.”

  “How bad could that be?” asked Zaerlyn.

  “If Elthyrd is right, any High Holder who doesn’t have a stock of golds laid up, or some very good neighbors, if not both, may face a very long winter and a spring without enough seed for planting. That’s in the middle of Solidar and in the northeast. I can’t speak to the south or the southeast. The factors may refuse to sell grain, and other produce, as well as iron, copper, or tin except for golds and at very high prices.”

  “Why iron or copper?”

  “To make those High Holders who have factorages pay more. They’re tired of paying more in tariffs and getting less, and they can’t trust High Holders to pay their debts. So, if it’s not bought with golds…”

  “Won’t Lorien do anything about that?”

  “What? If he uses the army and kills unwilling factors, how will that help? There are too many factors spread across Solidar. The only people he can use the army against, effectively anyway, are the High Holders, and he doesn’t want to do that, because he can’t collect tariffs from the others, and he can’t use the army against enough of them to seize enough golds to keep things going. That’s because the holds are so spread out.”

  “You don’t paint the most cheerful picture, Alastar, but I see what you mean.” Zaerlyn paused, then cleared his throat. “I’ll be leaving in the morning. I’ve already told Malyna. I’d planned to stay longer, but … she’s settling in…”

  Alastar thought he understood. Alyna nodded.

  “… and I have to say, with what you’ve told me, I need to get back to Rivages as soon as I can. Maraak and I need to work out something to obtain coal-bearing lands—even if the cost is significantly higher than we had planned to pay.”

  Alyna frowned.

  “There is a holding … we’d thought the price too high. Now … it’s better to pay and have an assured supply.” After a pause, Zaerlyn went on. “Some High Holders may be … may live in the past. I don’t want to be one of them. No matter what happens, we’re likely to lose access to the coal we’re now getting, and the land isn’t going to get cheaper. We’ll also have to make provisions so that we can put guards on our barges if we need to.” He looked at Alastar. “That is, if you’re right.”

  “I hope I’m wrong, and I’m trying to keep things from getting worse, but using imaging or imagers directly right now would be like throwing gunpowder and lamp oil onto a bonfire. Both the factors and far too many High Holders absolutely believe that they have been wronged and want things to change, and they want the Collegium on their side.”

  “Which side do you favor?”

  “Neither. Too much of Solidar is effectively still governed by High Holders. The factors would like nothing more than to destroy all of the High Holds and the High Holder system, and that would be a disaster.”

  “You don’t sound happy with either, Alastar.”

  “Too many High Holders revere and want to maintain absolute unbridled power, and too many factors believe in obtaining as many golds as possible regardless of the costs to everyone else.”

  “Are imagers any better?” Zaerlyn’s voice was level.

  “At heart, no. In practice, at the moment at least, yes. To survive we’ve had to hold the powers we have in check and work for everyone’s betterment, as we could. We’ve had to compromise and even bend and scrape and bow. We’ve had to kill innocents and let some of our own innocents be killed so that High Holders and factors would realize that we only used our abilities in self-defense … to maintain our independence without seeking power over others.”

  “You’re rather eloquent for a man—”

  “Zaeryl.” Alyna’s voice was like ice. “Don’t.”

  The High Holder paled.

  “Everything Alastar has said is true. You don’t have to like it. You don’t have to agree, but your survival and Mairina’s depend on what Alastar can do to keep the anger and rage on both sides from turning into complete carnage. Cransyr’s arrogance makes him stupid. Lorien is barely competent, and has only survived because Alastar and Chelia are there to guide him. The factors are fed up with being trampled on by High Holders, and they control too many of the supplies High Holders need and have too many golds to be forced back into a subservient position.”

  Zaerlyn bowed his head. “My apologies.” He looked at Alyna. “Some have said you’re almost as powerful as Alastar. You two are—”

  “No. We’re not. We might be strong enough to keep the damage within some bounds, but there will be damage. It’s already too late to avoid.”

  “But … only a few young men have died. Surely…”

  “Those deaths,” replied Alastar wearily, “are not a cause. They’re a symptom.” Even as he spoke, he wondered if he was seeing more than was really there. “Do you honestly think that the factor who bought those coal lands would ever return them willingly to Staendyn? In his boots, would you? Do you think any factor is going to loan golds to a High Holder the way things are going, knowing he may never be repaid. Or would you extend golds to most other High Holders, if the only way to get repaid was by bringing the
matter before the High Justicer? Within weeks, the price of flour and bread will climb again. Will the High Holders pay the prices the factors want? Will the factors reduce prices after what the High Holders are demanding?”

  “Nothing will happen that quickly,” said Zaerlyn.

  “Possibly not,” conceded Alastar. “But will that make matters better when winter comes? When wagons have trouble traveling even the high roads? When what has been laid aside gets even more scarce and the prices get higher? If Lorien demands lower prices, the factors won’t comply. They’ll lower prices on a bushel and find another way to charge more, and the army can’t be everywhere. Neither can imagers.”

  “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “So do I, but I have my doubts.”

  “I think we’ve whipped this horse enough,” said Alyna quietly. “We’re going to have problems, but none of us know whether they’ll be difficult or even more so. Zaeryl has a long ride tomorrow.” She looked to Alastar. “And you have to explain all this to Lorien.”

  A faint smile crossed Zaerlyn’s lips before he said, “I agree. We’ve said all we can, knowing what we do.” With that, he nodded to Alastar, then turned and left the study.

  Once a tired Alastar and a weary Alyna had retired to their sitting room, she looked at him. “Now you see, I think.”

  “About Zaeryl, you mean? That while he can understand in his mind what might happen, he’s still a High Holder at heart, albeit more enlightened than most?”

  “More enlightened than the vast majority of them.”

  “I don’t think he still understands how bad this could get. It’s not like a war, or the rebellion of the army, or a few High Holders trying to force the rex not to raise tariffs.”

  “Those weren’t exactly good.” Alyna sank into one of the armchairs.

  “They all occurred in or around L’Excelsis. What happens if there are fights and riots in a score of cities and towns? The Civic Patrols don’t have enough men to deal with that sort of thing, and the army commanders are predominantly from High Holder backgrounds, while most of the field grade officers are from merchanter or factor backgrounds.”

  “Zaeryl did point out that nothing has happened yet.”

  “You think I’m overreacting?”

  “You’re usually right about this sort of problem.”

  “But because no one else sees it all, including your brother, they think I’m overreacting?”

  Alyna nodded.

  And Lorien thinks he has trials now. Alastar shook his head. “You’re saying that I need to keep my mouth shut about how bad this could be until things get bad enough that others can see it as well.”

  “It might not hurt.”

  Alastar laughed softly but ruefully. “You’re doubtless right about that. I’ll just tell the senior imagers that things could get worse, but we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Alyna rose. “We both need some sleep.” She paused. “Sleep, dearest.”

  Alastar wasn’t about to argue.

  12

  On Vendrei morning, Alastar, Alyna, and Lystara said their farewells to Zaerlyn and then retreated from the front porch of the Maitre’s house to the study to allow Malyna space and time to say whatever she wished—or not—to her father.

  “Did Malyna say anything to you about her father leaving?” Alastar asked Lystara.

  “She said she would miss him, but there was no place for her besides here. She’s glad we’re here.”

  Alastar wondered if that would last, but merely nodded.

  “No matter what she says,” Alyna added, “she’ll be sad for a time. Please be kind to her.”

  “I know that, Mother. She cried some last night. She won’t talk about it.”

  Like someone else you know. Alastar did not voice the thought, but did offer his wife a sad smile.

  In return, he got a barely noticeable headshake.

  Before long, Zaerlyn moved toward his mount, and the holding guards who waited, and Alastar, Alyna, and Lystara joined Malyna on the porch, each offering a final good-bye before watching the High Holder ride down the avenue toward the East Bridge.

  Then Lystara and Malyna began the walk toward the administration building, followed shortly by Alastar and Alyna. Once they reached it and Alastar saw Alyna on her way, he checked with Dareyn and Maercyl, but there were no messages and, for the moment, no new problems needing his immediate attention, and he had time to check the new entries on his copy of the master ledger before he left the Collegium on his unannounced visit to Lorien.

  He’d barely opened the ledger when Maercyl appeared.

  “Maitre Bettaur…”

  “… wishes to see me,” finished Alastar. “I only have half a quint or so, but he’s welcome to it.” He stood because he wanted to keep the meeting short.

  In moments, Bettaur appeared, nodded respectfully. “Sir…”

  “You’re inquiring about your request, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Normally, I would have decided, but as you doubtless know, Maitre Zhelan died, and I have to consider the matter of his successor. Until I make that decision, I don’t think it would be prudent to decide on your request.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand that. If … if you decide to send someone from here to be maitre there, we would accompany that person … that is, if you agree that we could go to Westisle.”

  Alastar smiled. “I appreciate your willingness to be accommodating, and I promise, once I decide on the new Westisle Maitre, I’ll also have an answer for you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I do appreciate it.”

  Alastar moved slightly toward the door.

  Bettaur caught the gesture and inclined his head again. “I won’t bother you again about this, sir. I do appreciate your considering it.”

  Once Bettaur had departed and closed the door, Alastar took a slow deep breath.

  At two quints after seventh glass, accompanied by Harl and Noergyn, Alastar rode away from the administration building. His departure was later than he would have preferred, but timed to arrive at the Chateau D’Rex near eighth glass, since Lorien tended to be in a foul mood earlier in the day. At the same time, arriving in the afternoon on Vendrei risked not finding Lorien because he was out riding—and trying to arrange a meeting when Lorien didn’t want to see Alastar meant that days might pass, and in the end, Alastar would end up riding to the chateau without an appointment in any event in order to corner the rex.

  Upon reaching the chateau, Alastar dismounted, handed the gelding’s reins to Harl, absently brushing away a mosquito, and started up the immaculate white stone steps to the main entry.

  As he reached the top, an older chateau guard—Guard Captain Churwyl—hurried toward Alastar. “Maitre … how might we assist you?”

  Not a good sign, not at all. “I’m here to see Rex Lorien.”

  “He’s not at the chateau, Maitre,” replied the guard captain.

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “He rode out into the hunting park a short time ago. Where, none of us could say.”

  “How short a time ago?” asked Alastar mildly.

  Churwyl did not reply, and his eyes did not quite meet Alastar’s.

  “Were, perhaps, your men ordered to report to the rex immediately if I were to appear?” Alastar waited.

  After a long silence, the captain replied. “There have been orders to that effect for several days.”

  Not a good sign, not at all. After a long moment, Alastar said, “Then I will see the Lady Chelia. Please do not tell me that she is not in the chateau.”

  Churwyl swallowed, then moistened his lips. “The rex said…”

  “I do not care what the rex said. I will see her. Now. You can escort me, or I can find my own way. Those are your choices, Captain, and you will have fewer than that if you attempt to divert or detain me. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Maitre.” The captain’s resigned tone expressed the sense his only choice was which death faced him
. “This way. I believe she is in her private salon.”

  The salon was the same room in which Alastar had once verbally fenced with Lady Asarya, and one he had not visited since, although the upholstery for the loveseats and armchairs had been changed from silver and green to soft blue accented with cream, giving the chamber a far warmer feel.

  “Maitre Alastar … I thought I might be seeing you.” Chelia rose from the delicate secretary set against one wall, closing the slanted desktop with a graceful gesture. She was an attractive woman, tall and well proportioned, if fully figured even after three children and years of living with Lorien, which had to have been a strain. Her face was slightly square-chinned with a barely noticeable dimple, a straight nose, a fair but not pale complexion, blond hair, and brilliant blue eyes. Her smile was warm and welcoming, as her father’s reputedly had been, and her eyes went to the guard captain. “Thank you, Captain Churwyl.”

  As Churwyl departed, leaving the salon door ajar, Chelia gestured to the armchairs, then made her way to one and seated herself, waiting for Alastar to sit before saying, “You must have something important to say, and something Lorien would prefer not to hear. You hope, I presume, that I might be able to convey it to him.”

  “I have no doubt that you are able to convey whatever you wish, Lady. The only question is whether he will hear the words you speak and wish to understand what they mean.”

  Chelia offered a nod of acknowledgment, not necessarily one of agreement. “Go on.”

  “Yesterday, a High Holder shot and killed the head of the Factors’ Council of L’Excelsis. Two nights before, the High Holder’s son lost two hundred golds to the factor’s nephew. The nephew was forced into a closed coach later that night and is likely dead. The nephew was greatly loved by the factor, and the young man’s father had been ruined years earlier by the High Holder. The High Holder claims he was justified in shooting the factor because the factor entered his dwelling uninvited and likely with force, although he carried no weapons. This is the third time in the last few weeks that a young merchanter or factor has vanished. At the same time, a number of High Holders have not only refused to pay debts owed to factors and to both the Banque D’Excelsis and the Banque D’Aluse, but also have lodged petitions with your husband claiming that they are exempt from the jurisdiction of regional justicers and, in fact, even the High Justicer, unless the dispute or offense involves another High Holder.”