Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  The work of Umera’s Entrance Hall Clothier was startling to see all at once as Urnedi gathered just after dawn to await our guests. The guardsmen stood tall in their handsome knee-length green overcoats faced with chainmail, their heads and hands plated with other metal from the armory. Their lieutenant looked like a general—his cuffs, hems, and lapels trimmed with gold-sewn silk. Leger’s vest was as proper, and he seemed well at ease dressed like an alsman at last.

  Umera’s transformation was as great, though she was not entirely comfortable with the praise and attention. Her barmy hair had been wrangled into an elegant braid, and the blue silk she wore was softer than most women know to dream of. Around her, the members of our sewing circle were a field of linen flowers. The yellows and reds glowed in the morning sun.

  But all paled to the royal robes and dalmatic of our prince. The golden thread sewn into the layered green silk shone brightly in the sun. And I, sheathed in flawless white linen trimmed with the same green brocade, belonged nowhere but upon his arm.

  Behind us the town was ordered and proper, the meeting hall before it was warm and inviting. Its roof slanted in four directions, and smoke issued gently from the hole at its center. Its north face opened onto the festival grounds, and along the edges of that wide field, thirty massive hogs had just begun turning over fires. North and east of it all, as if on display, were Urnedi’s wide fields and the many buildings the timbermen used for their work.

  This view of prosperity was what the villagers saw as they arrived. They gaped and grinned and were just as pleased and surprised by what they saw as I was by the size of the crowd. 7,000 men, women, and children was the number we expected, but it seemed even more than that had made the trip. The grounds were packed. I simply could not meet them all, though I tried hard, tugging Barok through the crowd so everyone could get a look at him.

  He said very little, which didn’t leave much of an impression, but I knew enough of the villages that I was able to make small talk with just about everyone. We were separated once, and you would have thought him amputated the way he spun around to find me and stuck out his elbow so I could take his arm. I stayed as close as I could after that.

  Everyone seemed a bit unnerved by the crowd. Only Leger was at ease, having lived most of his life in the streets of Bessradi. But remedy for it came very quickly. The early meal was to be a great smorgasbord. Everyone had brought one dish or another they were particularly proud of. The great procession of women carrying it all into the meeting hall was quite a show. The air filled with the smell of bread, roast duck and lamb, great kettles of stewed mushrooms and beans, custards, and pies by the dozen.

  In four great lines, the people of Enhedu filed along Urnedi’s broad streets, through the hall, and back out the north side with bowls stacked high. The tastes and talk of it all caused an outbreak of smiling.

  Enhedu gathered with joy, cheered the wrestlers, watched the races, and gorged itself mightily. The brother guardsmen, as expected, wrestled each other in the final match. Gern surprised everyone by winning the horse race. Sahin, the previous year’s champion, came in twentieth, though all of the men who beat him were from the garrison. Urnedi’s fitness was on display.

  I saw so many people introduce themselves to each other that I very nearly cried. The blossoming town was beautiful, and in the talk of it, you could not distinguish Tracians from locals. They had built it together and shared the pride.

  Word made it to us that the glazed pork was ready, so my prince called everyone together around the well, said a few nervous words, and pulled up the first copper bucket of cool water. Everyone cheered, and the prince led the crowd into the hall.

  The true feast started in earnest. I could not sing a note but others could, and while the glazed pork was devoured, many sang and most danced. The ten great casks of wine brought from Almidi were cracked open and went quickly, as did the beer and cider the villagers brought of their own accord. I liked the wine, but the cup of cider I was handed was startlingly good. After so long without a taste of it, Urnedi’s residents were soon red-faced and full of extra humor. Around each of them, the villagers gathered to hear all they could about life in Barok’s town. And our prince was also able to find a measure of comfort, at last, when we happened upon a large debate about some point of taxation or the like. His measured explanation of his opinion drew a large crowd. A question about the consortium made him smile, and he began to explain in great detail its purpose and authority. The audience became enormous.

  I excused myself after a time and drifted through the crowd, adding my smile to each happy topic I could find: the huge crops of wheat the villages would harvest that autumn, Sahin’s careful handling of the fledgling consortium everyone was so keen to talk about, and all the newly-made furniture and small things from the villages that would soon be filling Urnedi’s empty homes. It was all such simple talk, but on that day, it was the sound of our future.

  Everyone called me “milady.” I had always liked it, but in such a fine crowd, the word made me tingle. I brushed my hands across my stomach much of the time, so very pleased that I had discarded the mangor root. I would take the dose in a few days, but to pretend was so delightful. I imagined the tiny flutter of a baby kicking away inside, happy from the food, cider, and all the pleasant sounds.

  “Milady,” someone else said, and I turned with a great smile.

  It was Leger. I bowed to him, considered a joke about his soberness, but bit it back quickly.

  He stepped close and whispered, “Do you know what day Barok comes of age?”

  I flinched.

  Barok and I, except for our groggy baths and the occasional meal, had been without each other’s company for many days. How had we forgotten? The crowd was its own answer.

  I whispered back, “The 69th of Spring. We missed it.”

  “As many days back as that? Rot, that’s what, eight days ago?”

  “What do we do? I doubt anyone in town knows he is that young.” I was awed by the thought. It simply had never occurred to them. “None of the women have ever asked me the question. They must have all assumed he is already of age. Should we do something private for him?”

  “The three of us? That might be best, but other than words, I cannot think of anything we could give him.”

  “This is terrible,” I said with a shake of my head, but spotted Fana on the far side of the meeting hall. “I can think of one thing he might like.” Leger followed my gaze. His brow tightened, and he scratched his chin.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just, well ... aren’t you?”

  “By myself? For now. You flatter me too much, alsman, or you have been too long without a woman if you cannot remember the last time you had one but wanted a second. He has been after her since the day he arrived. She is exactly what he would want.”

  “You can arrange such a thing?”

  “She and I have discussed it. Now would be the perfect time. You have to stop scratching at your chin. It gives you away.”

  He realized his hand and put it down. He gently took my elbow and led me outside and around the far side of a shed where no one would hear.

  “I don’t know if he is the same kind of man now, Dia. The men of Enhedu and the men who were Edonian only take one wife.”

  “One?” I laughed. The thought was too bizarre. “Men aren’t capable.”

  Leger put his nail hard across his chin, on purpose, I guess. Was he serious? Best to let the subject go.

  “We do not have to do anything tonight if we are going to make it private,” I said. “What else could we do for him?”

  He let whatever was bothering him pass. “I was hoping you would know.”

  “Hmm. Well unless we can think of something worth doing, we shouldn’t do anything at all. In fact, unless it is something utterly spectacular, like Yarik’s or his father’s head in a box, we should let it pass.”

  Leger’s brow tightened darkly, so I leaned in toward him a
nd said, “You’re not still loyal to the Yentif are you? Unbelievable,” I laughed. “One woman and loyal to two thrones? They will never make you Chaukai acting like that.”

  His head pitched forward as if I had stabbed him in the heart. What had this silly drunken girl done. I listened to the memory of my hasty words and understood instantly. They had made him Chaukai, and he was wearing the weight of two oaths. I had hurt a friend. I tried to say something to mend it, but before I could, he turned and marched toward the castle.

  Part III

  Reckless Borders

  40

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  I did not sleep well the night of the festival. The event had proven me ignorant of too many crucial details of my town, but worse yet, the sea of faces had renewed the frenzy of the ghosts that possessed me. I dreamt of the great crowds that had gathered in the plazas and parks of Kyoden’s capital, and woke again and again to the terror of its destruction.

  I gave up the effort as the dawn approached, worried I would not find rest until I saw it all remade.

  “Leave me be,” I whispered to them.

  ‘Lost, all is lost,’ the dead king wailed suddenly, and my head throbbed as he and his kin crowded noisily inside. I lost control of my body, and we leapt out of bed, raced to the window, and flung open the shutters. The predawn view of the quiet town did not satisfy them.

  ‘Where is our city? Gone. All is lost,’ they boomed inside my head.

  We wept, and we fell to the floor. The torment would not subside. Everything we knew or loved was gone. We felt each of the wounds that had killed us and longed for the touch of our kin—longed to see the smile or hear the coo of our children.

  ‘Why? Why did you kill my daughter?’ Solon screamed, and his rage pushed out the rest of the ghosts.

  We leapt up, looking for a fight. Looking to kill.

  But the view of the room was too confusing. The smell of the place was strange, and the woman that slept there was a stranger.

  “Where am I?”

  We blinked, and then I was alone. I leaned into the wall and gripped my throbbing skull. But closing my eyes threatened to renew the bloody crawl of dead men’s memories.

  If I don’t get moving, I will go mad.

  I fumbled with the embers in the fireplace until I managed to light the wick of a candle. I sat down at my desk with it and looked for the proposal Leger and the mason had prepared for a quarry they wished to establish in the hills south of Urnedi. Sitting on top of it, though, was an unopened letter. It must have arrived sometime during the celebration. It did not bear the name of its sender but was sealed with the black diamond of the Chancellery. I hurried to open it, and by the time I had read halfway, the vapor of ghosts had let go of me, and I was running down to the great hall.

  * * *

  The 64th of Spring, 1195

  * * *

  Barok of Enhedu,

  The case has been sufficiently made to the Council of Lords that you have made repeated use of Enhedu’s timber without providing compensation to Arilas Kuren Pormes of Trace as required by the long-standing timber contract between your provinces.

  Let this letter serve as notice of sanction for this offense.

  It is the decision of the Council that you will surrender to Arilas Kuren Promes of Trace 500 weights of gold by the 1st of Summer or forfeit your freedom to the Chancellery until you can.

  * * *

  Signed and stamped for

  Helet Parsatayn, Chancellor of Bessradi, by

  Bailiff Smerith Serrat

  * * *

  I should have known it was coming, especially after my conversation with the carriagemaker. Kuren profited a great deal from the one-sided timber contract, and my trip to Almidi had made too plain my plans—a horrible mistake in perfect hindsight.

  Sanctions were a penalty the Council of Lords had the power to impose upon its members. Ever since Bendent was voted chairman, he and Chancellor Parsatayn had been imposing penalties on the minority factions of the Council with increased frequency and only the thinnest injuries as an excuse.

  I spat and cursed as I descended the stairs. A banished Arilas with no vote upon the Council was such an easy target, and taking the gold of my stipend and putting me in a dungeon was likely the very least of what some had in mind for me. A minor royal like Kuren Pormes, arilas or not, had nowhere near enough pull on the Council to sanction anyone.

  I found Urs and Leger in the hall enjoying breakfast with the Dame. I handed the letter to Urs and said to Leger, “I have been sanctioned 500 gold weights by Kuren.”

  “What madness is this?” Urs shouted.

  “Could we raise that much?” I asked Leger.

  “Not possible. We would have to sell your swords, vases, the horses, books, everything. A trip to anywhere that would buy it all would take too long. The same goes for an appeal. Even if we were at Bessradi now, it could be winter before the Tanayon would hear your case. And judging by this, you would lose.”

  “And if I can’t pay?”

  “Not many options left. You can rebel against the Council or surrender yourself to Kuren’s jailors.”

  “That is what I thought. Call everyone together that we trust.”

  Urs had calmed, and both men nodded and rose. On my way back up, I met Dia in the hallway.

  “What is it?”

  “Very bad news. Everyone is gathering in the hall. I will see you in a moment.”

  She wanted me to explain, but I needed time to think. I kissed her, and she relented. Back in our room I washed my hands and face and rushed into clothes. What could I do?

  A bowl of stewed apple I had left on the bedside table was still half full. I grabbed it, scooped it down, and lost my thoughts for a moment to the ever-surprising flavor. I looked around the room. The white dress Dia had worn to the festival hung neatly next to another of green and two of blue. They would be lost, along with everything else—the king of Edonia laid low by a miserable little arilas from Trace.

  I reconsidered the bowl and the dress. A plot began to take shape, and I made my way back down. Everyone was there, and voices were loud. Urs was fuming, his arms moved about him as angrily as his words. Thell was as dour.

  “Everyone sit,” I interrupted.

  Dia stepped in beside me. “What has happened?” she asked, as the small crowd settled around the long table.

  It was interesting to see which people Leger considered to be in our trust, and I took note of them. All of the guardsmen were there, what looked like all of the original residents of Urnedi, and all of the Enhedu craftsmen who had joined us from the north. The mayor and one of the carpenters were the only Tracians in the room.

  “I have been sanctioned,” I began. “If we cannot pay the arilas of Trace 500 weights of gold by the first day of summer, I will be jailed until I can. They know I cannot pay it now. This sanction is meant to put me in irons and rob me of my stipend. Kuren makes a great deal from the timber he cuts from Enhedu, and my trip to Trace tipped him off that the contract is in jeopardy. I am vulnerable, and he is the least of those who mean to be rid of me.”

  I asked Urs, “What kind of apple crop could be harvested this autumn?”

  The reeve seemed unsure. Thell spoke in his place. “The problem isn’t the number of good trees. It is the amount of work it would take to properly tend them.”

  Gern stood up out of his chair and offered out of turn, “There are many in the north who would come, many more than were brought from Almidi—hundreds.”

  His voice was full of hope, and I learned again that I should have extended my offer of land and homes to the men of Enhedu first. The entire situation would have been avoided if I had done it. Perhaps it was not too late to correct. I nodded my agreement at him and looked around the hall.

  I noticed the old groom again and imagined him as a nobleman. My plot took more shape.

  “We cannot pay Kuren,” I said, “so we have to convince him he does not want the gold.”
/>
  “Tell us what to do,” Leger said calmly.

  “Fana,” I said, “I want to send him a letter.”

  She rushed to the writing table and wet the ink stone. By the time she had brush in hand, I was resolved.

  * * *

  The 78th of Spring, 1195

  * * *

  Lord Kuren Pormes, Arilas of Trace,

  I have received the notice of sanction from the Council of Lords and do humbly apologize for any injury I have cause you or your royal family.

  I have the sum of gold required by the sanction and invite you to visit Urnedi Manor at your earliest convenience so that you might collect it and enjoy the hospitality of Enhedu.

  * * *

  With regret and kindest regards,

  Prince Barok Yentif

  Arilas of Enhedu

  41

  Matron Dia Esar

  Arilas Kuren Pormes

  There was a new name on my list of those who would die. But what was one more arilas on such a long list?

  Gern’s sergeant rode south with the very clever letter, and we spent the rest of the morning and several days preparing for Kuren’s arrival. Leger kept his distance, and I did not get a chance to speak to him before he too rode south.

  It was early in the afternoon on the 86th when smoke from Leger’s signal fire told us Kuren was approaching. It had taken our sergeant just eight days to make the trip and back, and Kuren was only two days behind him. I hoped that was a good sign.