The direst news I can attest to this Mid-Winter is that deaths of those bearing our Name have outnumbered births in this past year and who knows how many to those infants will succumb to the privations of hunger and disease in the seasons to come. Spurred by this, I have charged my scribes and Esquires to list each property remaining in the D’Olbriot Name, with a full list of every tenant, their claims upon us, the charges they have made on our coffers these five years past and the benefits we have gained from their loyalty. Raeponin be my judge, I have not seen the results as yet, but I predict a sorry tale of an ever shrinking fiefdom and who dares hope that there is not yet worse to come.
Let these words and the parchments appended thereto act as my defence down the generations, to whatever sons of D’Olbriot might survive to carry forward our Name, for the actions I am about to take.
We can no longer stand alone, on the dignity of our inveterate independence. The lone sheep is wolves’ meat and we are beset with marauders on every side. I purpose therefore to join with those following the Den Modrical pennant, trading what force of arms we may muster for aid in defending our lands under direction of the Sieur Laenthal. I have watched over the seasons as this youth has risen to rule his House through proven skill as a warrior and by virtue of a character more forceful than any I have seen, even in men twice his age. Minor Names, cast adrift with the breaking of every tie to their earliest loyalties, have been flocking to his banner. Inside a year he has raised a formidable force, winning notable victories against the predations of brigands from the Dalasor grasslands.
Why must I seek to justify my course when Laenthal is so clearly an effective leader of action and resolve? Because I have reservations about both Den Modrical ambitions and practices and wish to make these known under the seal of our Name, lest I die before I can nominate a Designate in proper form and confide such vital matters in person.
I can forgive a young man the conceit that prompts him to invent spurious claims to a legendary lineage but I wonder why Laenthal encourages his fellows to swear so fervently that Den Modrical descends from so many ancient Houses. Whether this is truth or lie, the facts are lost in the mists of time. How do such fictions serve, when any man of my generation recalls full well the lowly status of the Name in the Nemith era? Are we supposed to be impressed with his array of pennants and badges of yore purloined from a miscellany of Houses? Still, such trifles are largely harmless compared to the daily perils we face.
Less harmless is the youth’s assertion that anyone not with him will be deemed against him. Demanding allegiance at sword point can never be but folly. Nor can I approve Laenthal’s subsequent tactics to ensure continued loyalty. True enough, service as a page to a companion noble House has always been part of an Esquire’s education, but in these uncertain times the custom has been in abeyance for nigh on a generation. For my part, I see the gang of youths now travelling between the Modrical possessions under ostensible guard against bandits as little better than hostages for their families’ good conduct. Yet I must nominate an Esquire from every branch of D’Olbriot, senior and cadet, and deliver them into Laenthal’s custody before I can expect him to bring his lances and swords to drive the northern reivers and masterless men from our lands. That they will certainly learn their letters and reckoning at another’s expense is scant consolation when I foresee they will also be inculcated with Laenthal’s peculiarly ruthless philosophies.
But what other path is open to me? The gods have all but abandoned us, with every Artifice that priests were wont to use in our service found wanting. Shall I resort to these unsanctified sorceries that some can wield without blessing of god or man? Laenthal makes no secret of his loathing of such fell arts, putting any showing such skills to the sword without fear or favour. I might suspect some self-seeking in his ready condemnation but I cannot deny it gives any Sieur desperate enough to consider using a wizard pause for thought.
Den Modrical have been claiming their victories are proof of divine favour. Then let Raeponin weigh Laenthal’s sincerity in the balance and Saedrin can judge him as he sees fit. I will not do so. All my efforts must be spent in service of my House, and as Poldrion is my witness I see no better choice to defend D’Olbriot than Den Modrical. Thereto I set my seal.
The D’Olbriot Residence, Toremal,
7th of Aft-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident
The Sieur’s compliments and will you attend him in the library.” The footman delivered the message with a bland lack of emotion and I received it with a similar nod.
I was in the gatehouse watch room amending a duty roster, one of a whole collection of tasks allotted me as soon as the Festival had ended. With Naer and Stoll both senior to me, I was chosen for all the most tedious and recurrently exasperating responsibilities. That’s always the way of it, I reminded myself sternly as I took my penknife to the recalcitrant quill. I had no right to complain. The lowliest sworn find themselves emptying privies and sweeping the floors until the sergeant-at-arms recruits someone new for them to look down on in turn. It’s the longest sworn who man the gates, bowing and courteous to passing nobles and pocketing passing silver.
By that same custom Stoll was out visiting a swordsmith on the House’s behalf, while by this chime Naer would be sharing a companionable flagon with Fyle, discussing just who they might recognise out of the eager would-be sworn who fetch up after every Festival. Which is why I was trying to make sense of hastily scribbled notes working out how to allow Verd leave to visit his sick father when Indar was out of the reckoning on account of coming back from Festival with a broken hand.
I took one last look down the roster; surely that would suffice? Then I cursed under my breath, seeing I’d placed three raw recruits all on the same watch. There was no way that could stand, with no one experienced to stiffen their backbone.
“Pense, you’ve got the duty.” I snapped the lid on the inkwell and set down my pen. The senior sworn man came in with alacrity to take a stool in the watch room. “Make the most of it,” I advised him lightly. “We’re on duty in the stableyard this afternoon.”
Pense groaned. “Tell me we’re seeing the back of the last guests today?”
I nodded. “As far as I know.” I’d be as relieved as anyone else not to spend my days ferrying trunks, caskets and frivolous purchases to the carts and coaches that had cluttered up the yard and lanes for the last few days.
I walked through the empty grounds to the residence. The halls were strangely silent after the constant commotion of Festival. Everywhere was clean and polished, garlands all tidied away, the few servants round and about taking their time over minor tasks. There was a faintly tired air about the place.
Messire was alone in the library, where everything was once more in its customary place. The chests of documents and deeds brought out in anticipation of battles in the courts had been returned to the archive. Avila’s casket, its hidden treasures and her lists were nowhere to be seen. Everything connected to Kellarin had been removed to a salon on the far side of the residence; everything D’Alsennin might need set apart. Temar had been receiving a steady flow of visitors while D’Olbriot held firmly aloof.
“Good day to you, Ryshad.” The Sieur sat in a chair on one side of the empty fire. He didn’t motion me to sit.
“Messire.” I bowed.
“I understand you were summoned yesterday by the Justiciar gathering evidence for and against Kreve Tor Bezaemar?” Messire enquired.
“Indeed. I told him everything I knew.” And much that I suspected or merely guessed; it was the Justiciar’s job to sort the wheat from the chaff. If he’d questioned everyone in the same exhaustive detail he’d demanded of me, it was going to be a long job.
“If you’re on duty with the guard, D’Alsennin must be out this morning,” he observed. I’d been placed at Temar’s disposal along with the empty reception chamber for whenever he was within D’Olbriot’s walls. Beyond he was on his own, at least until he swore some men of h
is own.
“Where is D’Alsennin?” the Sieur enquired.
“He’s visiting the Sieur Den Janaquel,” I replied promptly.
“In connection with what?” Messire raised an amiable eyebrow.
I hesitated half a breath before answering. “To discuss that House’s holdings around Kalaven.”
“To discuss how Den Janaquel grain might feed D’Alsennin’s people,” said the Sieur with a faint hint of reproof. “In exchange for what? Wood? Ore? Hides?”
“I can’t say, Messire.” I said simply.
“Can’t or won’t?” Messire raised a hand. “I’m sorry, but then that’s not the first time I’ve said that to you, is it? I don’t suppose you’re finding this division of your time any more satisfactory than anyone else.”
He paused, clearly expecting an answer.
“I do my duty as it’s presented to me,” I said stiffly. I’d found the constantly changing demands on me something of a trial, true enough, but at least it meant I’d been too busy to think about anything beyond that day or the next.
“D’Alsennin plans to sail for Kellarin around the turn of For-Autumn, I understand,” Messire remarked. “When you’re no longer so indispensable, we must arrange a grace house for you. You can send for that redhead of yours, if you’re still so inclined. Then we’ll assign you some permanent duties within the household. I know Leishal wants more assistance, and as a chosen man you should be helping manage the affairs of the House from a comfortable chair, not scurrying around wearing out boot leather.”
Something must have shown in my face because the Sieur burst out laughing.
“Forgive me, Ryshad, but you look like Myred bracing himself to dine with his aged aunts. It’s my fault, I suppose. I kept you out on the roads for so long as an enquiry agent you’re spoiled for this kind of duty, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t sure I liked that, but equally these past few days had shown me with brutal clarity that I really didn’t like barracks life any more. “I’ll soon get used to it.” As soon as I spoke, I wondered how long the words would remain a lie.
“No doubt you would,” said the Sieur briskly, “but it wouldn’t alter the fact you’d be as well suited to it as a saddle horse pulling a coal cart. And there are other concerns.”
He paused again but I stayed silent.
“The time’s come to speak frankly, Ryshad.” Messire leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands beneath his chin. “You’re a good man, always have been, but no man can serve two masters. D’Alsennin looks to you for advice—no, I’m not objecting. After Tadriol’s decrees, there are few enough people he can turn to under this roof, and Saedrin knows the boy needs someone to guide him. But I cannot ignore the potential dangers. I’m sure you give of your best, you wouldn’t do anything else, but sometime soon you’re going to find what’s best for D’Alsennin doesn’t serve D’Olbriot, or conversely D’Olbriot interests will run counter to Kellarin’s.”
This time his silence demanded a response and one sprang from the most basic precepts of my training. “My first loyalty is to my oath.”
“Forgive me, Ryshad, but however much you might believe that I’m no longer convinced it’s true.” Messire’s conversational tone couldn’t mask the severity of his words. “Again, I bear much of the responsibility. I encouraged you to use your own initiative as an enquiry agent, your own judgement, but over this Festival I’ve seen too many occasions where your judgement has been to place D’Alsennin priorities over D’Olbriot’s. You’re acting as D’Alsennin’s Steward in all but name as it is, and you cannot do that with a ring bearing my badge around your arm.”
I managed to keep my voice emotionless. “Are you saying I should be wearing D’Alsennin insignia?”
“My business isn’t with D’Alsennin, it’s with you,” Messire shrugged. “My concern must always be for this House and that means dealing with realities, however unexpected or unpleasant they might be. Some day, and one probably none too distant, you’ll find yourself with a choice of either being true to yourself or true to your oath. I refuse to be responsible for putting you in such an invidious position, Ryshad, and that means I must hand you back your oath.”
Hollow confusion filled me. “You’re dismissing me from your service?” The Sieur’s words and my own echoed inside my head.
“It’s time for you to be your own man again,” the Sieur said with a sigh. “You’re a good man, Ryshad, and a loyal one. Since you’d see this choice as a betrayal, I have to be the one to make the decision for both of us. If I’m wrong, tell me so and I’ll beg your pardon most humbly, but I gave you that armring to honour you and I won’t see you wear it until it chafes you beyond bearing.”
All I could do was slide the gleaming copper down my arm and over my wrist. A selfish qualm assailed me; I could hand it back to the Sieur spotless but leaving his service like this would surely tarnish my reputation irrevocably.
Messire held out his hand and I took a step to place the gleaming circle on his palm.
“Thank you.” The Sieur turned the ring with careful fingers, frowning. “I gave you this to honour you, Ryshad, and I won’t see you dishonoured by such a turn of events. None of us could have foreseen the way this game would play out.”
He set the armring aside, reaching down into the shadow between his chair and the wall. Grunting slightly, he lifted up a pale wooden box, decorated in squares and rectangles cut with precise black inlay. “This should convince you of the value I place on your service.” He fished in a pocket for the key to the neat brass lock. “And anyone else looking to crow over you. You’ll have to move out of the gatehouse, naturally, and it won’t be fitting for you to eat with the servants any longer, but you can stay in a grace house until the turn of the season at least, longer if need be. Take your time to decide what you want from your future, Ryshad; don’t make any hasty decisions. Don’t let other people’s needs sway you either, not D’Alsennin’s nor anyone else. As I said, it’s time for you to be your own man.”
I was still tongue-tied. I tucked the key in my belt-pouch and took the box. It was wide enough to need both hands and surprisingly heavy for its size. As I tucked it under my arm, the tight-packed contents made barely a chink.
“Come and see me if you’ve any questions,” the Sieur said briskly. “Naturally, I’ll vouch for you with any merchant or landlord or—” Inspiration failed him and I saw sadness hanging heavily over his head.
That wasn’t something I could face so I bowed low. “My thanks, Messire.”
Finishing the duty roster didn’t seem important. I walked out of the residence and round behind the kitchens to sit on the stone rim of Larasion’s fountain in the middle of the herb garden. I set the wooden box down beside me and looked at it. When a chosen or proven man is handed back his oath on retirement, all those sworn to the House assemble to see the Sieur hand over some valuable expression of his esteem. By long custom the man thus rewarded hands the coin back, declaring that the privilege of having served the Name has been honour enough. When that day came for Stoll or Fyle, they’d be well able to pay the Sieur such a compliment, secure in the knowledge that they had a grace house until their death and a pension to draw from D’Olbriot coffers at the start of every season. Now I had no such shelter from whatever storms might fall on my unprotected head.
I wondered what was in the box but made no move to unlock it. Whether it was copper or noble Crowns made no real difference. For the first time since I’d fetched up on D’Olbriot’s doorstep, a lad desperate for some direction in his life, I was facing a future without certainties, without any right to a roof, to food, to support from my fellows.
So why did I feel so absurdly relieved? Emotions were tumbling through my mind in the peace of the herb garden and trying to make sense of them was as easy as trying to catch the sparkles of sunlight in the water of the fountain, but time and again what I felt was relief. It gave way to apprehension, then turned into perverse defiance, but each time I came
back to relief.
I got myself in hand. What would I do now? Where would I go once my period of grace was over? The prospect of trying to convince my mother I’d not been turned out in dishonour was a daunting one, and the year would have turned and come full circle before Hansey and Ridner ran out of sly comments. That alone made the notion of going back to Zyoutessela unwelcome. Anyway I could no more go back to stonecutting than I could beg the Sieur to swear me to his service again.
Then there was telling Livak how dramatically our plans had gone awry. There’d be no future for the pair of us as proven man and his lady managing D’Olbriot affairs in some comfortably distant city. So some good had come out of all this, I smiled wryly to myself. The Sieur was right; I’d forgotten just how tedious close attendance on the Name could be. My smile faded. Perhaps he had done me a favour, but I still felt rebuffed. True enough, it was plain things couldn’t have gone on as before, but I wasn’t sure I liked having the decision taken out of my hands like this.
But that’s what swearing your service away does for you, some rational corner of my mind scolded me. Sitting here in the sage-scented calm, I had to admit that submitting to other people’s decisions had been galling me of late. Whatever else I might do, I decided, I wouldn’t be swearing myself to Temar. Swearing service as a young man had been easy, putting my fate into another’s hands a relief. Life had been clearer then, a puppetry tale of predictable characters in stock dilemmas making black and white decisions. As a grown man I’d learned life was far more complicated. My own desires were a mass of contradictions to begin with and I knew full well people around me wore more faces than a masquerader.
Which was all very well as far as philosophical musing went, but what next? My mother had never been one to tolerate indecision. “You can’t buy a bun and still save your penny,” she’d always told us as children. I unlocked the box to see how many buns I could buy with Messire’s assessment of my worth.
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