“All twenty-five are delivered,” said Luthair. “And all twenty-five factors have agreed to meet you tomorrow for a sampling.”
“Really?” said Corthain. “All twenty-five? I’m impressed. How did you manage to pull that off? I hope you didn’t pay too much in bribes.”
Luthair laughed and held a bulging coin pouch. “Actually, they paid me.”
Corthain frowned. “They did?”
“You underestimate your own notoriety, my lord domn,” said Luthair. “Araspan sent a deputation of Swords and Adepts to Dark River, you’ll recall.”
“Yes,” said Corthain. “The Jurgurs had blood sorcerers among them. That was why the Conclave joined the alliance.”
“So all these Swords and Adepts came back to Araspan with stories about the Hammer of Dark River. You're something of a celebrity. The banished son of House Kalarien returning as a hero after twelve years? It makes for quite a story, wouldn't you say?” said Luthair. He sipped at his beer and sighed. “So all those seneschals are curious to meet you.”
That made sense, though Corthain hardly liked it. “And the bribes?”
“Well,” said Luthair, jingling his coin pouch. “I may have hinted, ever so subtly, that I am a longtime friend and confidant of the Domn Corthain, and that he often heeds my counsel. So for a suitable…gift, I could make sure the young domn looks upon a petition in a favorable light.”
Corthain laughed. “Well done.”
Luthair gave a bow. “Thank you, my lord. Though one thing hampered my efforts.”
“Oh?”
“The…ah, circumstances surrounding your banishment,” said Luthair. “I can spin a tale when I feel the need, as you well know. But the details…ah, with the details, I could have told a tale that would have help my listeners rapt. The young man banished for his forbidden love, returning at last to the city of his birth. Or the young lord unjustly banished from his home, returning to claim what is rightfully his. Without those details, I can only…conjecture.”
Corthain snorted. “You never give up.”
“My lord!” said Luthair. “You wound me. I have only your best interests at heart. My curiosity is wholly irrelevant to the matter.”
“Oh, very well,” said Corthain. "You can hear it."
Luthair leaned out the doorway. “Rikon!”
Corthain lifted an eyebrow.
Luthair grinned. “I bet Rikon five crowns I couldn’t get the story out of you by tomorrow.”
Corthain sighed.
Luthair spread his arms. “I’m getting older, my lord, and I’ve got to start thinking of my retirement.”
“As you will. Close the door,” said Corthain, as Rikon entered the room. “And pay Luthair his five crowns already. His smugness is becoming intolerable.”
Rikon sighed and handed over five coins to Luthair, who added them to his pouch. Corthain set aside his pen and walked to the window.
“Why do you think,” said Corthain, “that I was banished?”
“A woman,” said Rikon and Luthair in unison.
“Why does everyone always say that?”
“Well, begging your pardon,” said Rikon, “but…you don’t exactly exert yourself with the ladies. In the time I’ve known you, I think you’ve taken only three lovers.”
“Four,” said Luthair. “There was that woman in Orlanon.”
Rikon nodded. “I’d forgotten about that. And you’ve been domn for three years. Most men in your position would have married by now. Morwen thinks you secretly have a wife in Araspan.”
“I think you seduced a married woman,” said Luthair.
“That’s your game, not mine,” said Corthain. “The truth is actually much worse.”
Both men watched him in silence. Rikon had been with him for nine years, Luthair for seven, and both had stayed with him through some very dangerous times. Dark River had only been the worst of it. He trusted them as much as he trusted anyone, and he supposed they deserved to know.
“My father,” said Corthain at last, “is Arthain Kalarien, Lord of House Kalarien and a Magister of the Conclave. House Kalarien is one of oldest in Araspan, and its members have almost always been Adepts as well. I am the only Kalarien to be born without magic for generations.” As a child it had been a crushing embarrassment. But after seeing the horrors magic could wreak, he thought it a blessing. “I was something of a disappointment to my father, who wanted another son with the talent. But he still made use of me. At fifteen I joined the Swords of Araspan, and by eighteen I was a captain, with my own company. It was my father's influence, not any skill on my part.”
“So what went wrong?” said Luthair.
“You remember Dark River?” said Corthain. “How the Jurgur shamans used blood sorcery to call demons into the bodies of living men, to turn them into monsters?”
Luthair’s smile faltered, something that rarely happened. “It’s…not the sort of thing a man forgets, my lord. Even if he wants to.”
“The Conclave considers guarding mankind against demons to be its chief responsibility,” said Corthain. “The Adepts will kill any man they find practicing blood sorcery, or worshipping demons, no matter his wealth or rank or power. But there was an Adept, a Magister, named Paulus. He considered the Conclave’s rules outmoded, antiquated. He summoned a high demon, bound it to augment his own power. And it worked. Though it drove him horribly mad in the process.
“His depredations came to light, and the Conclave declared him a traitor. Adepts and Swords were sent to hunt him down. My older brother was given command. Solthain Kalarien. His name was Solthain.”
Even now, twelve years later, speaking Solthain’s name threatened to bring a lump to his throat.
“Solthain was everything I was not. A powerful Adept, more powerful than many Magisters twice his age. My father loved him, as much as he loved everyone. You’d think we would have been rivals, but no. I worshipped him. So when he asked for my company of Swords to join the attack, I jumped at the chance.”
Rikon frowned. “I can see where this is going.”
“We went to Paulus’s tower,” said Corthain. “He was ready for us. He had slain all his slaves, every last one of them, and bound demons into their bodies, raising them as ghouls. There were hundreds of the damned things. I…told Solthain that we were overmatched, they we should return to the Ring and get reinforcements. But Solthain told me not to worry. He said that he could handle Paulus, that we only needed to keep the ghouls away from the Adepts. He said that we would win. And I trusted him. So…my men attacked.”
“What happened?” said Luthair.
“They were slaughtered,” said Corthain. “Almost all of them, Adepts and Swords alike. Paulus annihilated them, and any that Paulus missed the ghouls claimed. It was a massacre.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of battles go bad. But that was still the worst.”
“How’d you survive?” said Luthair.
“By accident,” said Corthain. “I was on the third floor of Paulus’s tower, near a balcony, trying to rally what was left of my men. Paulus cast a spell at us. There was an explosion…it threw me out the balcony door. I broke my leg on the street, and passed out. Only pure chance that I'm still alive.
“The entire Council of Magisters attacked Paulus after that. His tower, and everything for about three blocks in all directions, was blasted down to slag. And it was only luck that I lived through that, too.” He pulled back the right sleeve of his coat. “Those burns? The last explosion ripped off the top of Paulus's tower, and almost killed me. And that was that.”
Rikon frowned. “So why did they banish you? It seems they would have been glad that someone lived through that mess.”
“They wanted someone to blame,” said Corthain. “And I was the only survivor of the first attack. My father was…half-mad with grief. Solthain’s body was destroyed in the explosion. They found his cortana in the rubble, but that was all that was left of him. My father said that my cowardice had led to Solthain’s death,
that Solthain would have been triumphant, if I hadn’t sabotaged him.”
“That’s absurd,” said Rikon.
“It was,” said Corthain. “But my father swayed the Council, and I was banished for ten years. As soon as I was well enough to walk, they gave me a sword, put me on a ship, and dropped me on the coast. And that was that.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“Now that’s quite a tale,” said Luthair. “Though it would have been more exciting with a woman.”
Corthain gave a bitter laugh. “That’s your solution for everything. Find a woman.”
“A pity about your brother,” said Luthair.
Corthain shrugged. “He was a fool.”
They seemed surprised at that.
“He was,” said Corthain. “I loved him, of course. But he should have listened to me. He shouldn’t have ordered the attack. If he had…perhaps he would still be alive. And all those other men. But he did not.”
“You’ve…no other family?” said Rikon.
“A sister,” said Corthain. “If she’s still alive. But she was an Initiate when I left. She’d be a full Adept now, assuming she survived the Testing…that’s the trial Initiates undergo to become full Adepts. It kills about half of the Initiates. But she blamed me for Solthain’s death, and I doubt she’s changed her mind in the last twelve years.”
“So you won’t see them at all?” said Rikon.
“No,” said Corthain. “My father already hates me, and the fact that I’m a Callian domn now would only enrage him. And my sister…no, I’m only here for business. Not to dig up the ghosts of the past. Speaking of which, we ought to get to work. Luthair. Tell me more about the seneschals.”
Luthair rubbed his hands together, and began to speak.
It was the future that concerned Corthain now. Not the past. And his family was part of the past.
Chapter 5 - The Summons
“Well, then,” said Corthain, lifting his goblet. “To…opportunities, shall we say?”
He sat at a table in the Great Market, where the foreign merchants came to do business, and where the Conclave's seneschals came to sell the enchanted objects manufactured the Ring's foundries. Stalls and booths crammed the vast square, and the hubbub of a thousand negotiations filled the air. It was said that you could buy and sell anything under the sun in the Great Market. Corthain had passed a man selling spelllamps, another selling scrolls, and another selling virgin girls who had never known the touch of a man, or so he claimed.
In Callia, Corthain would have hung him for that.
The man on the other side of the table lifted his own goblet. He wore a fur-lined black coat and a golden chain of office around his neck, and his gray hair and neat-trimmed goatee gave him a look of shrewd respectability. He was Salorin, the chief seneschal of the Ring, the man responsible for clothing, housing, and feeding the Adepts.
And provided them with wine.
Salorin drank, swished the wine around his mouth for a moment, and sighed. “This is indeed very fine, my lord. Very fine. Where did you say your domnium was?”
“Moiria,” said Corthain. “In the hill country of southwestern Callia. Quite a lovely place.”
“Rather different from Araspan, I imagine,” said Salorin.
“Easier to grow grapes, for one,” said Corthain.
Salorin laughed. “A source of constant vexation to me, my lord. The Adepts have an insatiable thirst for wine, yet the Isle’s climate is ill-suited to the growing of grapes. So we must import wine from Orlanon and Saranor. The expense, as I’m sure you can imagine, is considerable.”
“Perhaps the vintners of my domnium may be of service in that matter,” said Corthain.
Salorin gave a thin smile and set aside the goblet. “I will be frank with you, my lord. I am here mostly out of curiosity. Everyone in the city knows the story of your banishment. You should have died in obscurity on some distant shore. Instead, you rallied the armies of the West to victory at the Battle of Dark River, and you’ve become a renowned hero. And now you are here, selling wine.”
Corthain shrugged. “It’s hardly remarkable. When I was banished, I had to make my own fortune. And captaining one’s own mercenary company can be quite lucrative. As for Dark River…I was in the right place at the right time. I did what was necessary. After all, if the Jurgurs had won at Dark River, they would have sacked Callia and Orlanon and Saranor and every other nation of the West. You’d have a rather difficult time purchasing wine then.”
“True enough,” said Salorin, taking another sip of wine.
“As for selling wine, the King of Callia rewarded me with a title and lands after the battle,” said Corthain. “And that may be an honor, but it comes with responsibilities. The people of my domnium require a domn who will look after their interests.”
“A strange attitude from an Araspani nobleman,” said Salorin.
“I was banished, remember,” said Corthain. “Now I am a Callian domn. And in Callia they do things differently. The individual freeholders expect their domn to defend them and see to their interests, and may withdraw their support if he fails."
“What a curious notion,” said Salorin. “Here the Adepts claim to protect us from demons, and therefore have the right to do whatever they wish.” He sighed and set down the goblet. “This is indeed very fine wine. However, there are some...difficulties in purchasing it.”
Corthain smiled. He had been expecting this.
“Oh?” he said.
“We already have contracts with vintners in Orlanon and Saranor,” said Salorin.
“For wines of inferior quality, I am sure,” said Corthain. “When I was still a mercenary, they said if you had a choice between drinking horse piss or Orlanish wine, go with the horse piss.”
Salorin gave a brief smile. “Indeed. And the Orlanish wine must be mixed to be palatable in any case. But it is cheap, and plentiful. As for fine wines, for special occasions…Saranian wine is the finest in the world, no question.”
“You mentioned difficulties,” said Corthain. “There are others?”
“Well…forgive me for mentioning what may be a sensitive matter, but there is your father, the Magister Arthain,” said Salorin. “I assume that you and he are not…amicable?”
“We haven’t spoken in twelve years,” said Corthain.
“I suspect he would not be pleased if he found the Conclave purchasing wines from you,” said Salorin.
“Indeed? Have you ever spoken with my father?” said Corthain. “When has he ever concerned himself with the management of a household? That is the business of slaves and seneschals, not of a lord and Magister.”
“True enough,” said Salorin. “But this almost certainly the finest wine you have to offer, and the Saranian wines are better. Which means that your common wine is little better than the Orlanish horse piss you mentioned. So, alas, my lord, I fear that we have little to discuss.”
“Your cleverness does your credit,” said Corthain. “Still, there is one other thing I would like you to taste before we conclude. Consider it a parting gift.”
Salorin gave him an indulgent smile. “If you wish.”
“Luthair.” Luthair stepped out from behind Rikon and the other guards, bearing another goblet of wine. Salorin took it and peered into its depths.
“What’s this?” he said at last. “Another wine?”
“Taste for yourself,” said Corthain, leaning back in his chair.
Salorin shrugged and took a sip.
At once his eyes grew wide. He sloshed the wine around in his mouth for a moment, and then swallowed.
“This…” he said.
He took another sip, tasted it, swallowed.
“This is exquisite,” he said at last. “Where did you get it?”
“Why, from my domnium, of course,” said Corthain, smiling. “I fear I may not have been entirely clear. The wines you tasted earlier were the common ones from my freeholders. They drink those wines every day. Thi
s wine…this wine is the choice wine, the rare wine. Saved for special occasions only.”
Salorin stared at him, blinking.
“I should point out,” said Corthain, “that I can offer the common wine, the wine you thought almost as good as the Saranian vintages, for the same price as that Orlanish horse piss. Perhaps for even slightly cheaper, if you are particularly persuasive.”
Salorin laughed, and lifted the goblet in salute. “My lord. Shall we turn our discussion to more…substantive matters?”
They got down to business.
###
“The look on his face,” crowed Luthair, walking next to Rikon. “I thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head. I swear it was all I could do not to laugh.”
“It’s just as well you didn’t,” said Corthain, stopping next to the wagon. Two more of his guards stood watch over the casks. Corthain would not have put it past some of Araspan's bolder thieves to snatch the entire wagon, horses and all. “It would have rather ruined the effect.”
“My lord domn!” said Luthair with an air of injured pride. “You wound me. I was swindling noblemen out of their money when you were still learning which end of the sword was the pointy one, begging your pardon.” His grin returned. “Though that was cleverly done.”
“It will help,” said Corthain. “Noble-born Adepts are the most influential men and women in Araspan. If they take a liking to our wines, the other Adepts and lords will follow suit, sure as night follows days.”
“Or as stink follows shit,” grumbled Rikon. The more he saw of Araspan, the less he liked it. Corthain could hardly blame him.
“Come,” said Corthain. “We’ve more meetings yet today.”
###
Corthain spent most of the day talking to seneschals. Some ignored him altogether. Some wanted bribes, which Corthain refused to pay. Some were resistant, and some simply enjoyed elaborate verbal fencing. Fortunately, the contract with Salorin gave Corthain a strong bargaining chip. By the end of the day, out of twenty-three separate meetings, he had secured eleven contracts, all of them lucrative. And he might yet secure more. When Salorin's decision became public, more seneschals might change their mind and decide to purchase wine from Moiria, just to hedge their bets.
The Third Soul Omnibus One Page 4
