She stopped. "After that, he just goes into exhausting detail about the trip up from the mouth of the river to the fork, which he describes in such a way that it can only be where Khalar is now."
"So, all we need do is to follow one fork of the river?"
"Yes, that's my guess."
"There's nothing else that describes the trip from the fork to the mountain of ice?"
"No."
"Which fork?"
"I have no idea."
"Then we don't really know anything," he grumbled.
With a hard look, she asked him, "Do you want to turn back?"
"No."
"Then let's finish our baths. I'm ready to go to sleep." She handed him the first cloth, took another, and began to wash her face.
He knew he should be mad. While he could not specifically accuse her of overtly lying to him -- or, at least, not recently -- she had certainly let him believe that she could lead him to the second of Oyraebos' texts.
But he was not mad. Some annoyed, certainly, but not mad. She had gotten what she wanted, perhaps deceptively, but he still had -- he decided with half a smile -- gotten the best of the deal.
He finished his own toilet and then started to wash her back, but this simple courtesy quickly turned into something else and thereafter he realized he was rather happy that she had deceived him.
THIRTY-FIVE
142nd Year of the Reign of the City
1st Year of the Regency of the Brotherhood of Phaelle
(Tenthday, Waxing, Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
Mhajhkaei
The Senate Hall, formally known as the throne room of the Principate, was uncustomarily subdued. Normally, prior to any assembly of the Senate, there would be a jumble of voices -- the exploration of alliances, commercial, political, or social and both temporary and otherwise, genial banter, earnest contention, gossip, even wagering -- but today those present, either from fear, shame, or simple stupefaction, sat silently with blank expressions. The seventeen legislators occupied chairs separated from each other by a goodly distance and few allowed their eyes to meet.
The spectators, seated in rows of chairs near the great doors, whose scars showing the removal of the Great Seal had been freshly covered over with paint, were likewise circumspect. Only a handful of Mhajhkaeirii merchants and municipal officials were present, but those that were had apparently come of their own volition, eager to garner favor with the new rulers of the city. The Phaelle'n had invited observers from all of the Sister Cities, but tellingly only two, Jzaegleomyri and Praae, states nearest the monks' domains in the Bronze Archipelago, had sent official emissaries. However, a number of other foreigners were also in attendance, persons who, although they had declined to proffer credentials, would no doubt report the proceedings to their respective princes and potentates.
No monks were in evidence, but Bhergowist had no doubt that agents of the Brotherhood were also in observance. With careful circumspection, he took his place at the prominent podium. It and its circular platform, placed at the foot of the dais -- the position of the former throne being now the exclusive prerogative of the Archdeacon -- the new addition had been expressly ordained by Brother Traeleon to inject a greater sense of order into the proceedings. Bhergowist tapped his gavel three times, the unnecessary sound echoing jarringly through the vast hall.
Only seventeen senators had accepted the Brotherhood's offer to reassume their offices, and Phaelle'n scribes had speedily but unobtrusively rewritten the Senate's bylaws to permit a quorum with that number.
When the Black Monks had taken the Palace, they had roughly arrested Bhergowist and the other Senators and confined them all under heavy guard. He had been locked away with three others -- Minister Bhelx, the philosopher Khlavatre, and a horse factor named Ghob'ihs with whom he had had only a passing acquaintance -- in one of the old cells beneath the North Tower. Existing in near total darkness, there had been nothing to mark the passage of time except for the infrequent and irregular arrival of their meals, which without fail alternated between corn porridge and water and fish broth and water. After a several meal cycles, the number of which Bhergowist did not bother to count, even Bhelx and Khlavatre, who had originally occupied themselves with polarized intellectual debate, became morose and silent.
Once, while Bhergowist slept, Bhelx had disappeared from the cell and was not heard from again. Another time a long while later, when the Phaelle'n guards brought their food, their lanterns revealed that Khlavatre had quietly hanged himself with a cord made from his own trousers. He had ingeniously wedged the buckle of his belt in a mortar joint in the wall behind him, but since the wall had not been high enough to accommodate his appreciable height, it had been necessary for him to kick out his legs so that the noose could bear his complete weight while he asphyxiated.
When the monk finally came to offer Bhergowist and Ghob'ihs a return to their previous status, the former had made a logical decision. Any misplaced loyalties that he might once have felt toward the Prince had no place in the new reality. As far as he knew, the recalcitrant Ghob'ihs remained in the cell.
"I call this meeting of the Senate of the City of Mhajhkaei to order," he declared. He glanced down to read from the written agenda lying on the podium. "The first matter before us today is Resolution Number One of the Loyal Senate of Mhajhkaei, the acceptance of the kind offer of the Brotherhood of the Great Phaelle to establish Regency for the Principate until such time that the Heir, whose current whereabouts are unknown, can be located or verifiable proof established of his demise. All those in favor, please signify by raising your right hand."
Seventeen hands raised almost in unison. The Archdeacon, by this vote made Regent, had decreed the old legislative procedures of the Senate to be obsolete and had instituted a more streamlined process.
The technicality that the Senate had authority only over the city and not the entire Principate was deemed not worthy of consideration.
Bhergowist continued down the agenda. There were four other resolutions that would be passed today.
To deal with the normal business of government, a group of prominent citizens, merchants, and Phaelle'n volunteers would be appointed as new ministers. A list of names and the positions that they would hold was attached.
The longstanding but infrequently enforced prohibition against magery, recognized in this newly enlightened age to be clearly in error, would be rescinded.
The worship of false gods would no longer be encouraged by the government of the Principate, either passively or actively. All temples and shrines would be subject to a surtax of five thousand gold each year, a requirement for annual registration, and unannounced inspections by a select, non-religious organization of learned men.
The rebellious adherents of the usurper, Ghorn, formally Prince-Commander of the Principate, would be declared traitors to Mhajhkaei and placed under sentence of death.
THIRTY-SIX
Khalar proved to be only a bit more than five leagues from the site of their camp, though it took most of the day to get within sight of the promontory of the Old City. Knowing it would be remarkably stupid to approach the city during the day, Mar turned the still occasionally unresponsive skyship out to the west of the Red Ice fork, avoiding all signs of habitation. Both to lessen the chance that they might be observed and because of the inherent danger of a higher altitude to the wounded vessel and her passengers, he held Number One to no more than a manheight or two above the tops of the trees. When the keen-eyed Chaer identified a clearing where some seasons passed storm had toppled several large canopied oaks, Mar guided Number One to it and lowered her into the concealment of the surrounding forest.
During the slow flight, Mar, for the most part, had spent his time working through and refining his plan to bring the skyship into the city without revealing his own identity or the magical nature of the vessel. While Quaestor Eishtren, Legate Rhel, and the rest of the crew, including Wilhm, set about clearing the underg
rowth, deadfalls, and brambles below so that he put the skyship solidly on the ground, Mar explained his ideas to Ulor.
"A merchant? It'll take real money to make that believable. Two hundred silver wouldn't even make a start."
"Would twenty thalar be enough, do you think?"
Ulor raised his eyebrows. "I don't doubt it would, my lord king. But that's a good sum of money and would be instantly missed if you were to 'informally requisition' it."
"I won't have to. I know right where it is, and, as a matter of fact, it actually belongs to me."
Being the low season, the river had not been in flood and he felt sure that the bar where he had thrown down his money belt those many fortnights ago would remain intact and relatively undisturbed. It was also entirely unlikely that anyone might have stumbled across the isolated island and he thought the odds to be extremely high that the gold would still be where he had left it.
Once the keel of the skyship rested securely in place on the more or less level ground of the clearing, Mar briefly explained his mission to Telriy and the others, taking care to give precise, unambiguous instructions to Wilhm to remain with the skyship. Then he, Ulor, and Phehlahm took one of the rowboats and set off back to the south, following the river. It took them much of the remainder of the day to reach the sandbar, readily identified by its distinct sunbleached-driftwood crown, and during the journey, Mar described the Imperial City to the two marines, and instructed them in her potential dangers, peoples, and peculiarities.
On landing and taking a quick look around, he realized that he could not remember exactly where he had discarded his once so very precious fee. Only after searching for most of an hour, well into the twilight, did the three of them find it, half buried on the leeward bank under a pile of leaves.
Phehlahm whistled at the still shiny gold coins as Mar emptied them out into his hand. "I've never even seen that many gold rounds in one place, my lord king. How'd you ever steal -- er, I mean, 'informally requisition' that much, if you don't mind me askin'?"
Mar laughed. "I didn't steal it. It was a payment."
"For what, my lord king?" Ulor asked with casual curiosity.
Frowning, Mar thought about that for a long moment. "For a job that I haven't yet finished."
For Mar, the night was a busy one after they returned to the skyship. To represent himself openly as a merchant come up from the south to do business in the Imperial City, it was necessary that he have the proper travel clothing, something that would suggest that he was well-to-do while being neither new nor easily distinguishable. Likewise, Ulor, who was to act as his factor, would need the expected accoutrements of ledgers, writing materials, and perhaps a locked satchel. No merchant would travel without guards, so Phehlahm, Chaer, E'hve, and another of his marines, Nehl, would also need accompany him on his first foray into the city. The armsmen's armor and weapons, whose Mhajhkaeirii'n origins, even with blazons and insignia removed, would be impossible to disguise, would require replacement.
Thus, for several hours in the darkest part of the night, he trolled through the slumbering Old City, flying a rowboat from one familiar rooftop to the next and then slipping in and out. He never lifted more than one or two items from any particular place, and distributed the thefts over many boroughs, taking care to select as targets shops and homes where there was little likelihood that the missing items would be immediately noted.
To insure the integrity of his ruse, Mar intended to enter the city in an ostensibly normal manner, approaching from the south along the Imperial Highway. This required mounts -- no merchant would walk up from the coast, after all -- so early the next morning, he flew Ulor, Phehlahm, Chaer, and E'hve north to a breeder's farm that he knew of on the western bank of the Red Ice. With silver in hand, the rowboat hidden, and dressed in nondescript clothing, he and the Mhajhkaeirii had no difficulty purchasing gentled horses and tack. As he was not part of the factor's normal clientele, Mar had thought that the man might ask after their business and had prepared an elaborate tale of misfortune and banditry on the forest road, but the gruff fellow had only been interested in the unexpected and profitable opportunity to unload some excess stock.
While Mar returned with the rowboat, the Mhajhkaeirii rode and led the horses back through the forest, arriving just after midday at the grounded skyship. After a short period of preparation, Mar left general instructions for Eishtren, who would command the remaining armsmen with Rhel as his second, asked Telriy to monitor Wilhm, and then led his chosen party to the Imperial Highway, intercepting the well-maintained relic about a league south of the Red Ice Bridge.
After watching for several minutes to make sure that the highway was clear of traffic, he urged his horse from the shelter of the forest and cantered across the grassy shoulder. The sorrel gelding balked slightly at crossing the brick paved ditch, but he gave it a nudge with a spur and it submitted, clattering down and up to gain the raised granite pavement. There he reined in and gave his five companions final instructions.
"Everybody in Khalar is a busybody and a lot of them get paid to carry information, but they're used to closemouthed merchants. As much as possible, let me do the talking, which is what they'll expect anyway. And, whatever you do, no salutes and don't even once address me as my lord king. Everybody got that?"
"Aye, sir," Ulor answered. The other four just nodded.
Mar thought a moment. "In fact, it might be best if the lot of you said almost nothing. Anyone that has traveled to Mhajhkaei would, if they heard you talk for a few minutes, know that that's where you're from."
Ulor looked surprised. "I didn't think our accent was that thick, sir."
"It's not, and besides, Phehlahm's is altogether different. It's just that you all talk like Mhajhkaeirii."
"How's that, sir?" Phehlahm asked, clearly confused.
"There's an unabashed pride in the way you say things. The Princedom is -- or was, I suppose I should say -- the most powerful state on the Silver Sea. You've all taken that as the natural state of affairs for so long that the attitude is fixed in the way you speak."
Ulor nodded. "Understood, sir. We'll all keep our mouths shut."
After a few minutes' ride, the highway curved to the east and the Red Ice River Bridge and the walls of the fortress that guarded it came within sight. Knowing what to expect, without stopping Mar guided his horse up toward the open gates of a guard post that straddled the foot of the ramp leading up through the defensive works. The Khalarii legionnaires stationed at the post, a low stone tower and fortified brick barracks building, had the inattentive look of armsmen who expected only another boring day guarding a road that saw little traffic.
A ceannaire and two legionnaires, who had been sitting in the shade of a roofed patio, emerged into the sunshine to wait in the center of the highway. As Mar drew near, the underofficer, a tall, stout man with a large, well-groomed mustache and a breastplate that had been so well polished that the steel had the look of silver, raised a hand.
"Greetings, travelers! What business have you in the Imperial City?"
"Greetings!" Mar smiled broadly at the man. "I am Drath of the Merchant House of Khaelelyr of Bhrisnia. I have come to your fine city to investigate the trade in wines and finished metal goods."
Mar pitched his voice so that it sounded educated and moneyed, but not particular to any single region. He specifically avoided any idioms unique to either to the Imperial City or to The Greatest City in All the World.
The Imperial legionnaire gave Mar and the men following him a cursory, disinterested glance. The Mhajhkaeirii did not have to make any pretense to appear as the armsmen they were; they held themselves as men well accustomed to armor and the sword. For Mar's part, it was entirely plausible that a man as young as himself would head a trade delegation. Merchant houses the world over customarily dispatched younger sons on trading missions where little profit was expected, which involved arduous journeys, or were comfortingly far enough away that news of any youthful misdeeds or
indiscretions could not possibly return home.
"Well met, Merchant Drath," the Khalarii offered cheerfully. "I'm Ceannaire Ehlse and I'm in charge of Duties and Fees."
Mar gave Ulor a look, and the subaltern dismounted and produced a purse.
"These are just the Imperial charges," Ehlse advised. "You'll need to negotiate with the local merchant houses to get permission to trade." The ceannaire turned to address Ulor, who, outfitted in a short leather jacket, blue trousers, good boots, and a cap with a single worn, blue feather, listened respectfully.
"There's the Entrance Fee, which is one hundred thay -- if you're not familiar with that coin, a thay's a full copper round -- per man. And animal, of course. You've no wagons, so we'll waive that charge. The Imperial permit to do business is ten thal -- silver. The travel tax and Army tax are a flat five silver each. Then, there are the surcharges."
Ehlse swung his head to eye the cut of Mar's heavy travel clothes. He paid scrupulous attention to the silvered spurs attached to his knee-high riding boots. "They'll come to another ... twenty, uh, five silver."
The "surcharges," of course, were just a bribe. Though all the amounts were outrageously higher than the going rates known when he resided in the city, Mar made no complaint. A merchant such as he purported to be would take this as a normal cost of doing business, and, as someone reputedly new to the city, he should not know the extent to which he was being fleeced.
Wordlessly, Ulor counted out coins into the underofficer's palm.
Ehlse pocketed the money, started to wave them through, then spoke again, "Ah, do you have the books, good merchant?"
Not understanding, Mar smiled to cover an awkward instant and clarified, "My ledgers?"
"No, sir. It's always been that travelers from the south have to donate books for the Viceroy's Library."
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