by Simon Brown
For Gos, happiness was a wide plain with as few potholes as possible. And a purpose. Most of all, Gos wished for a purpose. Now that Sayenna was secured, what was his task? Did the council back in Kydan expect him to rule this town? Or did they want him to return immediately? His messengers informing the council of the success of his mission should have reached Kydan a tenday ago, so hopefully their instructions would not be long in coming.
‘Thank you for letting me join you today,’ Velan Lymok said easily. The two men were riding side by side, leading the half-troop of dragoons. Behind them, the very top of Sayenna’s citadel was the only sign of the town. In front, the trail they were on climbed a few more longyards then stretched out north and west for mile after grass-covered mile, while east The Wash ran almost due north.
‘I felt the need for a gallop,’ Velan added.
*
Gos said nothing. The Rivald officer had invited himself, and Gos had not been discourteous enough to tell him to go away. He sometimes wished he had the kind of courage that allowed some to be effortlessly rude, but where he did not doubt his ability to face longgon, lance or sabre, he could never willingly give offence. On occasions like today Gos thought it a weakness in his character, and promised to do something about it in the future, knowing even as he made the promise it would be broken. All of this did not improve his mood, despite the prospect of leading his dragoons flat out in a charge, then wheeling and charging back in the other direction.
Gos Linsedd did not like the way Velan Lymok assumed an air of leadership, even when, technically, he was still a prisoner, or at least under parole. It was the way he dressed, as if he was always on parade, and the way he rode his horse, as if he was escorting the empress herself. He wanted to stick his sabre up the pompous man’s arse.
‘I have to say, Commander, these are excellent troops,’ Velan observed with the air of an inspector-general.
Gos could not help blushing a little with pride even as he rankled with the condescension.
‘I have had little experience with cavalry on the whole, but having had the honour of receiving your unit’s last charge, I cannot help but admire their dash.’
‘Not cavalry,’ Gos said between his teeth.
‘Sorry?’
‘They are dragoons. Mounted infantry. They charge if they must, but mainly they are trained to fight on foot.’
‘Excellent,’ Velan said, more to himself than to Gos. There was a slight pause before he continued. ‘We must . . . I mean, you must, Commander . . . give thought to Sayenna’s defences.’
‘I have no instructions on that,’ Gos replied.
‘You need instructions on that?’ Velan inquired genially.
And Gos felt a fool. He cursed himself for reacting to Velan personally rather than to the officer’s recommendation. It was a sensible one, after all, and could easily occupy all his time until he was recalled to Kydan. After all, who more than himself in the New Land would be better suited?
*
Poloma could not remember ever having had a conversation with Arden. In fact, he could not remember meeting him except in a larger group, and even then not being formally introduced to him. He was aware of Arden as someone involved with Heriot Fleetwood, but to what extent was a matter of conjecture, although he suspected some degree of intimacy. The only other thing he knew about the man was that he was very big, and could probably wield a tree as easily as an axe. Certainly his size was impressive up close and in the confines of Poloma’s small office in the Assembly.
‘We have not met,’ were the first words Arden said.
‘I know who you are,’ Poloma said. And I know your reputation. You are highly respected among the new Kydans.’ He cleared his throat. And I assure you among the first Kydans as well –’
‘I am here about Heriot.’
Poloma blinked. ‘In what respect?’
Arden said nothing for a long moment, and then muttered, ‘No. I am here about me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Sayenna is secured?’
‘We have received communication from Commander Gos Linsedd that Sayenna is in his hands.’
‘You will not let Sayenna go its own way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Kydan will rule Sayenna. You will not let Rivald win it back.’
‘The council has not yet deliberated on this. The decision to secure Sayenna was a military one, taken outside of the Assembly. I imagine you are right, however; for the foreseeable future Sayenna will stay in our hands, or at least under our thumb.’
‘You will need people there to help establish your rule. Get things organised.’
‘That is certainly true.’
‘Few are aware of this, but I am an Axkevleren. I was an Axkevleren. To a very high-ranking member of Lerena’s immediate family. I have experience in organisation and administration.’
‘I have seen this with my own eyes,’ Poloma said, nonetheless surprised that in a previous existence Arden had been an Axkevleren. He absently wondered what member of Lerena’s family he had belonged to. Then he understood what all this was about. ‘You want to go to Sayenna.’
Arden drew a deep breath. ‘As soon as possible. There is little left here for me to do. The construction work on Karhay is almost all done. There is no immediate threat to the city. The colonists are now Kydans, so the Colonists’ Guild is, apparently, redundant.’
‘Is it?’ Poloma said, surprised by this revelation. And relieved, he admitted to himself. One thing Kydan did not need was competing political structures. He thought the city was now united enough for the soon-to-be expanded council to represent every Kydan, new and native.
‘I need to do something,’ Arden said without answering.
Poloma silently agreed. Someone with Arden’s intelligence, obvious charisma and leadership ability, not to mention sheer size, should be put to constructive use. And, Poloma could not help thinking, the further away from the new Kydans the better. Sayenna, indeed, would be perfect. For a moment the idea of suggesting he be made ambassador to the Hamilayan empire flitted through his mind, but then he imagined Arden at a palace ball trying to make chitchat with some of the more snotty Kevlerens and their hangers-on. Poloma shuddered, remembering his own encounters with that kind. Kydan and Hamilay would be at war before the year was out.
And then there was the matter of Arden’s relationship with Heriot Fleetwood. Arden had sideways admitted, accidentally (probably), providentially (no doubt), that he wanted to leave for Heriot’s sake. Or for his sake. Or perhaps it was all the same thing. Poloma could not help feeling his own spirit lift with the possibilities that might open for him if Arden left the city.
‘Indeed, you need to do something,’ Poloma said carefully. ‘I will use my influence as you ask, but cannot promise you will get what you want.’
Arden made to leave. He hesitated at the door to Poloma’s office and half turned as if there was something else he wanted to say, but shook his head and left without speaking.
*
Autumn rains had swept up from warm seas and washed along the New Land’s southern coast, bringing long drizzly days to Sayenna. Velan Lymok looked out from the single window in his room in the town’s small citadel and remembered how suddenly the weather could change here. At times like this he remembered Beferen, but even in his current depressed state recalled that Beferen was barely this warm at the height of its summer.
Velan could not get over the thought that there was something distinctly unhealthy about wet days not being bone-chillingly cold. It made him think of disease and fever, as if the rain was being sweated from the grey sky rather than falling from it. He perspired and breathed heavily after only moderate exercise. Commander Gos Linsedd’s dragoons were finding it hard, too, but the months in Kydan had gone some way to acclimatising the horses and their riders.
The citadel was beginning to stink of mould and rising damp, and he had to make sure his uniform was aired and his l
eather boots and belts and straps thoroughly cleaned every day.
His hair was curling. He hated curly hair. And everyone in Sayenna was jumpy and short-tempered.
He moved his meal around his plate with a fork. Fish. He was tired of eating bloody fish, the only meat that seemed to be available this time of year. Fillets, casseroles, soups, dried, salted and dressed. Bloody fish with their sharp, tiny bones and glassy, accusing eyes. He was born to eat red meat, and solid tubers and vegetables, not the lank bits of leaf they grew down here. He was meant for better things.
And another thing . . .
Velan stopped his litany of complaints. He was feeling sorry for himself, that was all, and he hated that. Considering what he had gone through, the narrowness of several escapes, he was fortunate to still be alive.
He dropped the fork on the plate and pushed the meal away from him. He wished he could eat down in the mess with everyone else, but he was an officer and had to maintain the division. If Gos Linsedd would eat with him they could have a table to themselves, but the commander ate by himself in his room, consigning Velan to the same fate.
If only he could see a future for himself, something to work towards. In fact, if only he had some work. He had nothing to occupy him. Nothing to keep his mind in a straight line instead of continually turning over like a wheel suspended in the air.
He heard a shouted command from outside and recognised Gos Linsedd’s voice. He looked out the window and saw him ordering around some of the new local militia, trying to get them to march in close order. He was not having a great deal of success.
Velan stood up so quickly his plate clattered to the stone floor. He ignored the mess, put on his jacket and hurried down the keep’s winding stairway. He hurried onto the training field and went straight to Gos Linsedd.
‘Let me do this,’ he said, trying to keep his voice from pleading.
Gos stared at him. ‘You?’
‘Because they know me from before,’ he said hurriedly, then shook his head. ‘No. Because I’m an officer, because I have nothing to do, because I can do this better than you. Look, Commander, you’re used to your dragoons and professional soldiers. I helped train Numoya’s army. They made good soldiers. I know how to do this.’
For a long moment Gos said nothing, then he took a deep breath and nodded slowly. ‘Very well. I will trust you this far. Train the militia, and we will see how they do.’
Velan almost laughed in relief. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he said earnestly.
*
The next gathering of Kydan’s council was, as far as Galys was concerned, short and sweet. It was an extraordinary meeting held chiefly to initiate the new members from the now settled island of Karhay. Popularly elected by the new Kydans, Heriot Fleetwood, looking strangely and unexpectedly subdued, Belwyth Stark, an old man with thin white hair and a large nose, and a tall, pale, almost gaunt young woman called Hamly Ket, stood behind new chairs at the elliptical table and swore an oath to uphold the laws of Kydan, and to serve the city to the best of their ability. Once that was done, Poloma asked Galys to report about progress on the initiatives she had proposed at the last meeting. After a general discussion, the siting of the new foundry and port on the island of Kayned was unanimously supported, as was Kysor Nevri’s position as the site’s superintendent.
Poloma then took over, delivering the report that Sayenna had been successfully, and bloodlessly, neutralised and was presently occupied by troops from Kydan. There was general acclaim from the Assembly, and it was ready for the next punch. Poloma passed once again to Galys, and she strongly recommended that Kydan take Sayenna under its wing.
‘It no longer has any leaders of its own, and had no function except to allow Rivald an outlet for its trading ambitions. Well, Rivald has been forced out of the New Land –’ Galys had to wait for more applause to die down ‘– and Sayenna needs our help. There is little point in leaving it open to reconquest, and it seems best to me that we use it as it was intended, for trade. Sayenna opens up the south of this continent to our merchants and gives us better access to the Walking Mountains and all the wealth they hold.’
Again, there was applause. Galys could see the faces of the merchants who sat on the council lighting up like beacons.
‘I now make two recommendations to the council. The first is that Sayenna be incorporated into the body politic of Kydan, and that although its own citizens be allowed to rule themselves in purely local matters, this council sets trade, foreign and defence policy for that city, policies to be supervised by a governor chosen by the prefect of this council. The law of Kydan will be the law of Sayenna, and the rivers between the two cities will be the ropes that bind us together.’
Swept along by the speed of events managed by Poloma and Galys, the council found its enthusiasm fuelled by the enthusiasm of those in the gallery, giving no one time to reflect on the power just handed over to the prefect without debate. Poloma closed the meeting, and the Assembly emptied in minutes as everyone rushed out to be the first to pass on the news about Sayenna to family and friends. Very soon there were only four left in the building: Poloma, Galys, Kadburn and Kysor Nevri. Sensing trouble, Galys and Kadburn flanked Poloma, and all three faced Kysor.
The councillor smiled disarmingly. ‘That was clever of you both. Prefect and Strategos. I have never seen the council managed better. Give them good news and take what you want. I daresay you will promote one of the new Kydans to the governorship of Sayenna.’
Poloma translated for the other two, then said to Kysor, ‘You, least of all, have a right to complain. You are the new superintendent of the foundry and port.’
‘He is not complaining,’ Galys said falteringly in Kydan. ‘I think he is letting us know he understands what has happened.’
Kysor’s smile actually widened. ‘You are right. You have learned to understand me as well as you have learned to understand our language. So will it be you, Strategos Galys Valera? Are you the new governor of Sayenna?’
‘Would you believe me if I told you I was not interested in governing anyone?’ Galys asked.
The councillor studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. ‘If you told me, yes.’
‘I do not want the governorship,’ she said flatly.
‘Then who will you give it to?’
‘I have not made up my mind,’ Poloma said.
‘Will you take my advice on this?’ Kysor asked.
Poloma paused. Considering their past relationship, he was reluctant to take anything from Kysor, let alone his advice. Yet in taking the position of superintendent Kysor had accepted something from him, and Poloma was smart enough to realise he was being offered something in return. ‘I will take advice, but understand I will take no obligation with it.’
Kysor sighed, and he seemed to relax then, as if he was releasing a great tension. ‘That goes without saying,’ he said without rancour. ‘My advice is this. Do not appoint a soldier. A civilian governor will be seen by people here as well as those living in Sayenna as signifying that Kydan’s rule will be just and fair, based on persuasion rather than coercion.’
‘I accept your advice, and will act on it,’ Poloma said immediately. ‘Your thinking follows my own, and encourages me to believe it is right.’
Kysor then bowed his head. The action was so unexpected that Poloma, Galys and Kadburn did not think to return it before Kysor was gone.
‘What just happened?’ Kadburn asked, whose knowledge of Kydan was not enough to let him follow every sentence.
‘Kysor Nevri has just made peace with us,’ Galys said. She turned to Poloma. ‘Have you decided on whom to send as governor of Sayenna? From what you said to Kysor, I assume you are not planning to let Commander Gos Linsedd stay on in that capacity.’
‘No. I want him here, training our militia and regular units. And to help raise some new units.’
‘New units? For Sayenna?’
‘And Kydan. I will discuss this with you and Kadburn when G
os returns. Nor do I think it appropriate yet to trust Velan Lymok to the extent of giving him any real authority.’
‘Then who will you send as governor to Sayenna?’ Galys persisted.
‘I have not made up my mind.’ He faced Kadburn. ‘I was considering sending you.’
Kadburn blinked in surprise. ‘Me? A governor?’
‘You are Warden of the Citadel.’
‘That is a military position. I am well suited to it. I am in a real sense as much a soldier as Gos Linsedd. In fact, my master Maddyn and I campaigned with the commander for several years. I cannot imagine handling civilians, and I am not remotely sure an Axkevleren would be best suited to rule in a city where a Kevleren so lately reigned.’
Poloma nodded as Kadburn spoke. ‘I have considered everything you have said, knowing something of your history, and agree in every respect except the last. I think an Axkevleren is exactly what is needed in Sayenna.’
‘You can’t be thinking of Quenion,’ Galys interjected. ‘She is still recovering from her ordeal with Numoya Kevleren. I do not think she is in any condition to take up such a responsibility, and especially not in Numoya’s own city.’
‘I was thinking of the one called Grim Arden. Arden Axkevleren as he must once have been known.’
Galys’s expression showed her surprise, something which deepened when she saw that Kadburn accepted the news with equanimity. ‘You already knew this?’
Kadburn grunted. ‘After Maddyn’s death, Arden gave me some counsel that eased the grief I felt, and the guilt, counsel that could only have come from an Axkevleren who had himself experienced the loss of a Kevleren.’
