On the Sieur’s insistence, all branches of the D’Olbriot House heeded the retrenchments urged by Tor Tadriol earlier than most. Thus, the increased coin taxes levied on our strong rooms have not hit us too hard. It is also consolation to see Tor Tadriol’s thrift does not fatten his own coffers under the threadbare guise of Imperial necessity. This winter has seen a wide extension of Imperial munificence to the commonalty, even without unduly harsh weather, and Tadriol used the occasion of Convocation to announce that the Emperor’s Dole at Summer Solstice will be a substantial gift for the truly indigent rather than token silver for notables of shrine fraternities and craft guilds.
Speaking purely for myself I am relieved to report no return to the costly, stifling ceremonial so beloved of the Name so lately gracing the throne. The Convocation of Princes was a brisk affair, the Adjurist’s rod duly broken after the briefest of addresses by the Emperor thanking the Sieur Tor Sylarre for his many years of loyal service to Tor Bezaemar. The Sieur Den Thasnet echoed these sentiments in florid terms but was soon caught by the Imperial gaze and wound up his eloquence. Tadriol may not have that knack of making friends that so characterizes the Esquires of Tor Bezaemar, but the man has undeniable presence in debate.
My Sieur D’Olbriot proposed Messire Tor Kanselin for the now vacant office, and once Den Murivance and Den Gennael had backed him with patent enthusiasm the other Houses voted accordingly, led by Den Janaquel. Tor Priminale held aloof, but that is hardly remarkable, given the extensive bonds tying that Name to Tor Bezaemar. The Sieurs Tor Sauzet and Den Ferrand then acknowledged new Designates before Convocation. Each is a younger son, but both can claim established friendship with the newly elevated Tadriol, and, of course, our new Empress was born Tor Sauzet.
Marital propsects for the ladies now entitled to style themselves Tor Tadriol have been understandably enhanced by their Name’s accession. Within the privacy of these pages, I wonder if his superfluity of daughters influenced Messire and the Sieur Den Munvance when Den Tadriol proposed this particular scion as candidate for the Imperial throne. Alliance by marriage has to be the speediest way for a new dynasty to secure its position among the preeminent Houses, after all. As I write this, my wife sits across the library, studying cadet lines of Tor Tadriol in hopes of finding some younger son or daughter who might be amenable to a match with us, while the lesser lines of that House still remember we were both of equal standing so recently. I hope I have some success to record in these pages next year.
Betrothal of the Emperor’s eldest legitimate girl to a senior line of Tor Kanselin was announced at the dance concluding the Festival, and I imagine all five younger Demoiselles quite wore the feet out of their slippers, they were so much in demand. The illegitimate girls are being similarly courted among the upper echelons of merchantry, prompting Esquire Den Muret to tactless jokes that Tadriol’s enthusiasm for spreading his seed before marriage was all part of some long-held plan to endear himself to the commonalty. In my experience, youth needs no encouragement for such exuberance and, while such large a posy of byblown children is unusual, it is hardly unheard of. More importantly, there is no hint that Tadriol has dishonoured his vows since his marriage, whereas we can now openly condemn the late Bezaemar’s scandalous profligacy with his favours.
As we wait for the new year to open tomorrow, I find myself full of optimism. Tor Tadriol is a young man with an open mind and considerable intelligence, ready to look beyond the confines of his House, with an astute eye to the wider interests of Tormalin. After nigh on a generation of rule by that Bezaemar called the Generous but whose largesse was so often confined to those of his own circle, I am confident we cadet lineages will benefit from all manner of new opportunities over the next few years. The first of these will be playing our part in deciding what epithet to bestow on our new Emperor; I fully intend to make sure we lesser voices are heard.
In the Archive of the House of D’Olbriot,
Summer Solstice Festival, First Day,
Morning
I was none too keen on lessons as a boy and watching someone else learning their Emperors was truly boring. I stifled a yawn and leaned back in my chair to stare up at the long barrel of the wooden vault high above us. The lynx and chevron badge of D’Olbriot was repeated all along the top of the wall, interspersed with insignia of Names allied in marriage to the House over the years, and I squinted as I tried to identify them. At least when Casuel had been burying himself beneath parchments in libraries the length and breadth of Tormalin, I’d been able to idle the time away with other chosen men once I’d delivered any messages from the Sieur to whatever Esquire of the Name managed that particular estate. Officially I’d been advising my counterparts on their training regimens, but in practice we’d usually spent more time swapping fighters’ tales, all the while cosseted by housekeepers and stewards impressed with my new status. It had certainly made a pleasant change from my days as a sworn man, when, visitor or not, I’d been expected to take my turn at all the duties customary for my rank.
The yawn escaped me and a clerk laden with ledgers spared me an indifferent glance on his way past. We were sitting about a third of the way along a long line of identical tables running from one pair of vast double doors to another, hemmed in by serried ranks of bookshelves reaching out from the walls, dark leather bindings of close-packed tomes enlivened here and there as a flash of gilt caught sunlight filtering through narrow windows to remind us of the morning outside. In the few scant stretches of unshelved wall, niches held statues and a few ignored curios forlorn in polished glass cases.
“Do you have it straight?” Casuel demanded curtly.
“I think so.” Temar ran a cautious finger down a parchment.
“Then recite the rote, if you please,” ordered the mage.
I tried to look interested. Temar did need to know such things if he wasn’t to embarrass himself and his hosts, and the first of Festival’s social gatherings was after noon today. When Casuel had insisted on reviewing Temar’s lessons, we’d reluctantly had to agree it was a sound notion.
Temar dutifully shut his eyes, brow furrowed. “Modrical the Ruthless, Modrical the Hateful—’ He broke off. “How in Saedrin’s name could the Princes pick a title like that for their Emperor? Calling Nemith the Reckless was the worst slap in the face the Convocation could think of for him! What did this second Modrical do?”
I shut my mouth at a glare from Casuel. “No one is really sure,” said the wizard tightly. “The Chaos was still raging. Indeed, he was assassinated at the Summer Solstice Festival of his second year, when he was acclaimed as Hateful.”
“Presumably when he was already dead?” Temar opened his eyes, grinning at me.
“And who was elected to replace him?” asked Casuel.
“Kanselin.” Temar sighed. “Kanselin the Droll?”
“Kanselin the Pious, then Kanselin the Droll,” the mage corrected.
“Then Kanselin the Rash, Kanselin the Blunt, Kanselin the Confident, and lastly Kanselin the Headstrong, who presumably had not the talent of his father and uncles,” Temar suggested.
“When you have the leisure to study the period, you’ll find it rather more complicated than that.” Casuel visibly curbed his impulse to explain. “And the next House awarded the throne?”
“Decabral,” Temar ventured slowly.
Casuel took the parchment from the younger man’s hands. “And the first was acclaimed as what?”
“Decabral the Eager. Then the Patient, the Nervous,”
Temar smiled again. “The Virtuous, the Pitiless, whom the Houses deposed after a couple of years, and lastly the Merciful. But do not ask me who was whose brother, son or cousin, I beg you.”
“Getting the rote correct is sufficient.” Casuel tried to sound encouraging.
“Sauzet next, the Worthy and the Quiet.” Temar ticked the names off on his fingers. “They were shoved off the Imperial cushions by Perinal the Bold, who found himself edged out by Leoril the Wise.”<
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“I see no need for flippancy,” commented Casuel. “Next?”
“Leoril the Dullard.” Temar looked at me but the question died on his lips as he caught Casuel’s sour expression. “Leoril the Eloquent, Leoril the Affable. Then Aleonne the Valiant.” He fell silent.
“Acclaimed the Valiant when the Lescar Wars rose to such a pitch they spilled over our western borders,” I prompted. “So we needed Aleonne the—?”
“Sorry.” Temar drew a sudden breath. “Aleonne the Defiant, the Resolute and then Aleonne the Gallant.”
“You need to know more detail of events after that.” Casuel sorted through books stacked neatly before him, sparing a disapproving glance for the untidy array by Temar’s elbow. He handed one over with evident reluctance. “Annals of Tor Bezaemar. Read as much as you can, and do be careful, it’s my own copy and such things are expensive.”
Temar turned the pristine tome in his hands. “I thought Inshol the Curt succeeded the last Aleonne.”
“Correct.” I nodded my own approval at Temar. Once we’d left Bremilayne behind us and travelled without incident for a few days, Casuel’s fears of being called on actually to make magic had faded. Then he’d applied himself to teaching Temar everything he might conceivably need to know for a visit to Toremal and plenty he’d have no use for as well. I was impressed to see how much the lad had learned. After long days in the saddle on our interminable journey across the highlands, the last thing I’d have wanted was a tutor like Casuel, his charmlessness woefully exacerbated by leagues jolted along in a carriage shared with Avila Tor Arrial. Temar and I had stuck to our horses.
“And when he died, his relict married the Sieur Den Bezaemar, who became?” The wizard wasn’t about to give up.
“Bezaemar the Modest,” said Temar after a pause. “His son was Bezaemar the Canny, who must have seemed like a permanent fixture after reigning for nearly fifty years. His grandson was Bezaemar the Generous, then the Princes wanted someone less free-handed with their coin and chose Tadriol the Thrifty. Thrifty but none too healthy, so his brother soon stepped up as Tadriol the Staunch. He stepped down after a handful of years, but Convocation picked the wrong nephew because Tadriol the Tireless dropped dead in under a year. They had better luck with his brother the Prudent, who ruled for eleven years and was already well provided with children, including your current Emperor Tadriol, his third son, acclaimed the Provident last year!” He grinned at Casuel.
“The rote is correct but please keep facetious comments to yourself.” Casuel shot me an indignant glance. “I imagine that’s your interpretation?”
“We had to talk about something as we rode,” I shrugged. We’d used the time to review the previous day’s lessons and to talk about family, friends, life in Kellarin and in Tormalin. With Casuel sitting on his dignity in his coach, we’d reaffirmed our tentative friendship and incidentally smoothed the most jarring archaisms out of Temar’s speech.
“Well, I hope you took note of the insignia of the Imperial Houses as I told you to, Temar.” Casuel reached across the table for a roll of parchments laced together across their top with scarlet ribbon. “You need to study this as well. I’ve asked the Archivist for a copy but he says all the scribes are too busy with the courts sitting, so you’ll have to make your own.” He handed over paper and a charcoal stick in a silver holder.
Temar looked blankly at the tightly drawn columns of names and figures, little heraldic symbols heading each entry. “What is this?”
“Last year’s Land Tax register.” Casuel stared at Temar.
“There was no such thing in the Old Empire,” I reminded the wizard. “Each House and Name pays an annual charge to the Imperial coffer, based on its holdings and assets.” I explained to Temar. “The old system of levies for specific wants was abandoned generations ago.”
Temar shook his head. “I wonder my grandfather’s shade did not return from the Otherworld and kick me awake at such insult to Princes’ privileges.”
He stood up abruptly, pushing himself away from documents, ledgers, leather-bound volumes and screeds folded within sealed ribbons. I watched as Temar turned slowly on his heel, looking grimly at the racks of rolled parchments, shelves of bound tomes, flat cases holding maps, charts, records and plans. The only sound was the susurration of turning paper, broken by the muted rasp of the ladders attached to each set of shelves being pushed along its rails. Every day must bring some new shock to remind the lad just how much life had changed on this side of the ocean, I thought.
“Sit down,” Casuel hissed as curious heads peered down from shelf-lined bays in the galleries above. High windows transmuted golden sunbeams into reds and blues, greens and browns, the alchemy of stained glass spilling blurred jewels across the dun matting.
Temar shook his head as he slowly resumed his seat. “My grandfather kept all deeds of grant and records of tithe in one locked chest. Granted, it was as long as a man and an armspan deep but—”
“Remember just how much time has passed,” Casuel interrupted. “This archive holds the record of twenty-five generations, twenty-five years to each one.”
“I allow I am ignorant of much, Mage D’Evoir, but I know how many years to a generation,” said Temar acidly.
I hid a smile behind my hand as Casuel paled. Temar’s unconscious aristocratic inflexion belatedly reminded the mage of their relative rank.
“I only meant—’ said Casuel hastily, “oh, never mind. Documents became far more important after the Chaos. In the Old Empire everyone knew which House held what lands, whose service was owed to whom. Things had stayed constant for so long, after all. When the rule of law was re-established, rival claimants arose to land and property and written proof of title was invaluable.” Casuel tapped the taxation roll sharply. “Please apply yourself, at least to the first two or three leaves. Names are listed in order of taxes paid, so it’s a good indicator of the wealthiest. The first fifty or so are Houses you’re likely to visit or meet but it wouldn’t hurt to have at least read through the first few hundred.”
Temar ran a thumb over the unbound edge of the stack of parchments. “In my grandfather’s day all the Sieurs of all the Houses sitting together wouldn’t have filled these tables.”
“I’d advise you to get your bearings in Toremal as it is rather than repine for what is past.” Casuel lifted his chin defiantly as I gave him an icy look.
Temar bent over the close-written list. “I do not see why we cannot have ink in here,” he muttered as he smudged his notes.
“Because the Archivists forbid it and quite right too. Who knows what accident or mischief might be done.” I noticed Casuel glance at the floor by his feet as he spoke. He’d done that several times today. “The right document can make or break a family.”
“Half the Names I knew are gone and many of these mean nothing,” said Temar at length, rubbing a hand round the back of his neck. “Where are Tor Correl, Den Parisot? What about Den Muret? Who in Saedrin’s name are D’Estabel, Den Haurient or Den Viorel?”
“Many Houses fell into ruin during the Chaos.” Casuel couldn’t resist another glance at the floor by his chair and I shifted myself to see what he’d got there. “It’s nigh on unheard of for a modern Name to fall extinct in the male line, but when warfare racked the Empire there were many casualties. New grants of nobility were made later, or indeed simply assumed.”
“Nemith has much to answer for,” spat Temar. “Poldrion grant demons drown him yet in rivers of sorrow.”
“Of course—you knew him.” Casuel blinked. “Forgive me, this is merely history to us.” As he leaned forward, a leather satchel resting against his chair slid flat to the floor unnoticed by the fawning mage.
“I knew him, so far as a cadet of a minor House had anything to do with an Emperor,” said Temar grimly. “Enough to learn he was a whorestruck drunkard wasting the gold the Houses sent for troops to defend the Empire on debauchery and enriching his favourites.”
“In all just
ice, Nemith’s folly wasn’t the only evil blighting the Empire,” countered the wizard.
“True, Raeponin forgive me.” Temar sighed and reached across the table for another of Casuel’s books. “Your man Minrinel, in this so-called Intelligencer, he doesn’t even mention the Crusted Pox.” Temar’s mouth yielded to a brief grimace of grief. “Three other sons of the House of Nemith might have been elected Emperor had they not been ashes in their urns even before their grandfather the Seafarer breathed his last.”
I looked up from trying to reach the strap of Casuel’s satchel with my toe as the wizard scribbled notes eagerly in the margin of his own papers. “Do you know what went on at the Convocation of Princes when the Imperial throne fell vacant? Why did they make such a disastrous choice?”
“I have no notion.” Temar’s eyes were distant with a memory of mourning. “I was not of age and my grandfather didn’t attend, too busy with the affairs of House and tenantry. The Crusted Pox killed all the men of my father’s generation and my own brothers and sisters besides.” Temar bent suddenly over the taxation list, scribbling furiously. I shut my own eyes on an echo of my own remembered grief, the death of my only sister.
“Indeed.” Casuel twisted his fingers together uncertainly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to distress you. But all the weeping in the world won’t uncrack an egg, that’s what my mother always says.” He coloured slightly.
“Just how powerful is D’Olbriot?” Temar asked me suddenly, curt words echoing in the hush.
“Please lower your voice,” Casuel begged in muted entreaty.
I nodded at the list before Temar. “At the last taxation, Messire D’Olbriot was reckoned to control a twentieth part of Tormalin revenues and commerce.”
“Add in about seven or eight other families and those Names are responsible for just less than half the entire commonalty of the Empire?” Temar pursed his lips.
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