Emissary

by Thomas Locke

  Joelle stayed until she heard the first cries rise from the corridors leading to the mages’ quarters. When she returned to her body and rose from her bed, the one thought she held was of how Trace had not merely silenced the alarm when she attacked the door but had saved her from precisely that same assault. As she began her duties, ignoring the shouts and commands and havoc about her, Joelle realized another thing. Trace had not been granting her a chance to escape. He had been allowing her to safely test the Long Hall’s power. He knew she could not escape. He wanted her to find a bitter peace in remaining.

  She liked him more now than ever.

  But her affection for the old wizard changed nothing. Either she broke free or she died trying. And just then, it scarcely mattered to her one way or the other.

  23

  Hyam slept in great stretches. His slumber cut swaths from a day and a night and much of the next day. He woke to eat and stretch and check on his horse and bathe a second time and groom the dog, and then he slept again. He gorged on the inn’s ample fare. His bedroom was both comfortable and luxurious, with a pair of windows opening to the field that separated the manor from the river and the city proper. He was awoken the second morning to the brassy cry of trumpets, and for a terrifying instant he was returned to the field of battle and the rise of the unearthly hordes. Then he opened his eyes, walked to the window, and watched horsemen in shining armor ride toward one another with gaily colored lances at the ready. He ignored the crash of metal, the cries, and the cheers, as one would the squalling of infants. But he knew that sleep had been taken from him, at least for a time. He went in search of more food.

  When Hyam asked if there was an Ashanta banker in Havering, the innkeeper stood on the table’s other side, her arms crossed over her broad girth, her hands hidden respectfully in her sleeves. “The house allied to the Ashanta stands just down the road from us. They don’t care for the city crowds.” She hesitated, then added, “There’s word recently arrived of a dispute between the royal house and the Ashanta, good sir.”

  “So I have been told.”

  “There’s others who might keep a safer hold on your gold, if you catch my meaning. I know of several whom I trust myself.”

  Hyam thanked her and finished eating. He returned to his room and donned his set of tailored clothes, then took Dama for a good long walk, carrying the orb sack slung from his shoulder. He kept well away from the crowds still flocking to the festival grounds. Then he left the dog guarding the sack in his room and headed out.

  The banker’s estate was shaped like a fortified manor, with stables and storerooms joined to a high stone wall enclosing a large forecourt in front and an even larger garden in the back. Watchtowers punctuated the four corners, with guards on constant duty. But the guards appeared more interested in the jousts than yet another well-dressed noble who sought the banker’s time. Hyam was waved through the front gate. He crossed the interior courtyard, climbed the stairs, and pounded on the front door.

  A serving woman opened the portal, gave him a swift glance, then said, “The banker is busy. Come back tomorrow.”

  He blocked her from shutting the door in his face. “I would have word with the master today.”

  “Release your hold!”

  “I come from the Ashanta village at Eagle’s Claw. I carry important news.”

  A voice from farther inside called, “Let him enter.”

  The woman had a face that was made to look sour. “His seal belongs to no great house. He’s just another young squire who demands time his lordship doesn’t have.”

  “Then you will have the pleasure of shooing him away. Now open the door.” She stepped away, revealing a man in the flagstone who stood holding a feather quill and a pair of reading glasses. A man. Not Ashanta. But his manner held the imperious ease of one who had held power so long he assumed it was his by right. “State your business.”

  Hyam stepped through the portal. “That is for your ears alone.”

  One brief perusal of Hyam’s royal charter was enough to cause the banker to go as pale as the parchment he held in his trembling hands. He gave back the charter, left the study where they were seated, and in the distance Hyam heard him order the housekeeper to bar the doors and refuse all entry until he said otherwise. He returned and locked the study door and closed the window shutters. In the gloomy half-light, he demanded, “What is it you want?”

  “Where is the nearest Ashanta settlement?”

  “I am utterly forbidden to speak of such matters.” The banker’s name was Vanier, and his fear was enough to send a tremor through every word he uttered. “The king has decreed that we might remain, but only because they need our gold, and only if we refuse to claim any such alliance.”

  “What can you tell me of this expulsion?”

  He carried the document to the window and held it so the light slipping past the shutters fell directly on the parchment. He studied it carefully, then allowed, “I suppose this is genuine.”

  “It is.”

  “There hasn’t been an emissary for over a century.”

  “I know.”

  He handed back the decree and dropped into his seat with a heavy sigh. “The edict of expulsion was the new king’s first act.”

  “But . . . the king was crowned four years ago.”

  “Correct. For months we who serve as the Ashanta’s local financiers lived in terror for our lives. The Ashanta were officially under indictment of treason and ordered to depart the empire. But why? What had they done? And were we to cease in our financial activities? We sent our own emissary to the palace and were forced to wait. Every morning for two weeks our representative presented himself, only to be turned away. Finally we were met by the new king’s chief moneylender. A role which before we had always performed ourselves.”

  The banker’s chair squeaked as he shifted his bulk forward, until mere inches separated them. “We were told that all debts held by the Ashanta financiers from the old king were erased. We protested that the treaty covering our repayment was not founded upon the Oberon line but upon the realm itself. The new king’s new moneylender said, in that case, the expulsion took effect that very hour. So our representative agreed to erase the debt. What choice did we have?”

  “And now?”

  “Since that time, we have heard nothing. Neither that the edict has been repealed nor that we are safe. Until two months ago. Then a royal messenger arrived, and ever since we have lived upon the knife’s edge.”

  Hyam leaned back, his mind whirling. “I don’t understand.”

  “What is there to understand? The new king escaped from beneath a mountain of old debt. And in the process we lost a fortune. The realm owed us six tons of gold!”

  Hyam pondered whether he should say anything at all about the battle. Then he decided that if the Ashanta wanted their role to be known to the outside world, or to their local representatives, they would have said it themselves. “Do you have a means of communicating with the Ashanta?”

  The tension rose to where his jowls shook. “I am forbidden to speak of that as well.”

  “But such communications must be possible, if you are able to receive or make payments that are available anywhere in the realm, at any moment.”

  The banker set his jaw and did not reply.

  Hyam raised the scroll to where the banker had no choice but to look. “I ask that you pass on a message.”

  “I am not saying that such a thing could be done. But if it were . . .”

  “I need quill and parchment.” When the banker supplied both, Hyam demanded, “Do you read Ashanta?”

  Grudgingly the banker said, “All who serve in my role are required to learn their script.”

  “Excellent.” Hyam bent over the parchment and wrote swiftly.

  When he was done, the banker squinted and read aloud, “‘Your shield was erased, but I survived. The orbs are again in the world.’”

  “Correct.”

  “This seems hardly
worth breaking a secret that has ruled my profession for centuries.”

  “It is what the Ashanta would wish, I assure you. They must know this now.”

  “To answer your question, the nearest Ashanta settlement is nine days’ hard ride west and north from here, in a secret vale carved from the Galwyn Hills’ trailing edge.”

  “Too far.” Hyam rose to his feet. “One more question and I will trouble you no longer. I’m told there’s a Long Hall near Havering?”

  The banker worked this question with the caution of a man who had spent his lifetime guarding other people’s gold. Finally he said, “Follow the river-road east and north, to where it veers away from the hills. You’ll see a waterfall. At the pool by its base, you’ll find a trail through the forest. The Long Hall is half a day’s ride from the pool.”

  Hyam stowed his charter in the satchel slung from his shoulder. “I am staying at the Three Princes if you need to reach me.”

  The banker remained where he was. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I would be a happy man if I never laid eyes on you again.”

  24

  When Hyam returned to the inn, weary knights clustered by three shaded tables. Frothy tankards of ale stood before them. One sneered as Hyam crossed the courtyard and called, “What have we here, a coward in noble garb?”

  “I am here on urgent business for my liege,” Hyam replied, and kept walking.

  But when he tried to enter the inn, a boot rose to block his way. “What manner of emblem is that you wear? I know it not.”

  “I am of the Three Valleys, beyond the Galwyn Hills and the great forest.”

  One of the fellows said, “The Galwyn Road is blocked.”

  “I found it empty of life or threat,” Hyam replied.

  “I do not understand this.” The first knight had a lazy manner of speech, which was slurred somewhat by drink and a welt rising on the side of his face. “What country lord would send his squire to the tournament and order him not to compete?”

  Hyam tried to defuse the situation with humor. “One who values my services, since I have not been trained in the arts of war.”

  “Nonsense. Every squire is ordered by royal decree to learn a weapon. Tell me yours, I demand it.”

  “Leave your game,” the other man complained. “We are weary and beaten.”

  “You may be defeated,” the knight replied, his gaze burning hard. “I am resting for the morrow. Speak, country squire, or I shall be forced to show you steel.”

  “None of that!” The innkeeper appeared in the doorway and swatted at the boot blocking Hyam’s entry. “This is a house of peace and good cheer.”

  “Speak,” the knight snarled.

  “The bow,” Hyam said.

  “Well then. See how easy that is?” He dropped his boot. “You shall be competing tomorrow on the field of green.”

  “I am called away at dawn.” He started to enter, only to have the boot rise once more. “I answered your question.”

  “And I shall call anyone who refuses to compete a coward and expect to meet him in the courtyard!”

  Hyam sighed his defeat. “I serve my liege away from Havering tomorrow, and for the next day as well. What would it take for you to release me to my duties?”

  “You must accept a challenge.” He glanced behind him, his head made unsteady by ale. “What say you, fellows, is that not a reasonable exchange?”

  “I say you should let him go.”

  “Nonsense. This one must stand for his hayseed of a liege.”

  One of the others shrugged. “Have him shoot the target now.”

  “A smashing idea. What say you, Sir Hayseed? Will you shoot now rather than on the morrow?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Most certainly.” The knight took evident pleasure in laying his sword on the table.

  “I’ll go get my bow.” Hyam returned to his room and slipped his bow from its leather cover. He slung it and a quiver over his shoulder. He then unfolded his pallet and belted on the Milantian blade. He might never have seen a tournament, but he understood the threat well enough. The knight drinking on the inn’s veranda had been defeated on the tournament’s first day. His pride was bruised. He was also a bully. He saw in Hyam a weaker foe, and his pride demanded a victory.

  Hyam hesitated, then decided that against such numbers he needed Dama with him. But he could not leave the orb here unguarded. So he knelt and emptied his quiver.

  “Bowman!” The voice came from outside his window. “This way is guarded, so don’t try fleeing!”

  Hyam pressed the orb down the length of the quiver. The fit was very tight, and he hoped he would not scar or shatter the thing. “Coming.”

  “Through the inn’s gates and around to the pasture by the river, that’s a good hayseed squire!”

  He refilled the quiver with a score of arrows, then snapped his fingers at Dama and said, “Let’s go.”

  Two fellows stood by the front portal waiting for Hyam and ignoring the irate innkeeper, who said when Hyam appeared, “Good sir, say the word and I’ll set my guards upon them.”

  “And they’ll perish steeped in their own blood,” one snarled.

  “It’s fine,” Hyam said, yet he sensed that it was anything but. For their grins told him they had come up with some twisted manner of ensuring he lost the contest.

  But their grins vanished at the sight of Dama. “What manner of beast is this?”

  “I told you it wasn’t no dog,” one of the others said, drawing his sword partway from its scabbard.

  “This is a forbidden breed if ever I saw one,” his fellow agreed.

  “The king himself keeps wolfhounds,” Hyam replied. “Release your blade or the contest is off.”

  They did not like it, but there was no disputing the fact that Hyam and his dog were already crossing the courtyard. They muttered, but they sheathed their weapons and followed.

  When Hyam appeared around the corner, the waiting throng took stock of Dama and their lethal pleasure diminished. One said, “He’s brought reinforcements.”

  “What does that matter, when we are eleven,” the bully declared. He grinned and waved a mailed glove at Hyam. “This way, hayseed squire! Now then. See the post planted at the end of the festival ground? That is your target.”

  The post was as thick as his thigh and rose to twice the height of a man. A red circle was painted at head height. “What is that at the target’s center?”

  His question drew a booming laugh from the assembly. “Why, that is the prize! Whoever strikes the center of the king’s coin wins the tourney of archers!”

  Hyam nodded. “Where do the archers position themselves?”

  “There by the bridge, see the rope making a stall? No, no, hayseed. That is for tomorrow. You are to shoot from here.”

  The men found that mildly hilarious. The fact that Dama neither growled nor even looked their way caused them to ignore the dog entirely.

  Hyam examined the target. Between him and the dark post was a stretch of green, the river, and the entire length of the festival grounds.

  “Call it seven hundred paces,” the bully offered.

  Hyam looked at him. “If I hit the target, you will let me go in peace?”

  The bully mocked him with, “Oh, most certainly, squire. To strike a target the king’s archer could not hit. Do this and you will have our best wishes for your task tomorrow. But when you fail, you will have me to contend with.”

  Hyam did not respond. He had expected nothing less.

  “Call it punishment for cowardice, hayseed.”

  Hyam looked at the beast and pointed to the space before the gathered knights. “Dama, keep them away from me.”

  The dog ambled over and planted herself in front of the assembly.

  “Call off your pet.” But the bully spoke too loudly, or perhaps he’d started toward Hyam, for Dama responded with the same roar that had preceded her attack on the witches. The bully staggered back and was only kept from
going down by the grip of his fellows.

  Several of the knights drew their swords, and Dama’s howls grew more savage still. The traffic along the road running to Hyam’s left stopped and stared. The bridge’s railing became clogged with watchers.

  “Dama! Silence!”

  The dog stilled her roar, but the hair remained bristled over her back, and her teeth were fully bared.

  “Sheath your swords!” When they hesitated, Hyam shouted louder still, “I have agreed to your contest. You have agreed to let me shoot!”

  A cry rose from the inn’s window. “And I stand as witness!” The innkeeper pointed to the throng now watching from the roadway. “As do they! Hold to your bargain, or I will see you banished from the festival and the city both!” A finger trembled as it took aim at the bully. “And I know you’re the sheriff’s son, but it won’t do you no good with a hundred witnesses to your deeds!”

  Reluctantly the knights sheathed their blades. Hyam turned back to the target and sought to still his trembling limbs.

  “Good sir, allow me to fetch other nobles here for the tournament! They’ll see these ruffians receive the treatment they deserve!”

  Hyam was tempted, but he knew they would only seek another reason to challenge him. Or draw together more allies of their own. So he waved his hand to silence her and focused upon the distant pole.

  When he was ready, he drew an arrow from his quiver and inspected it carefully. The shaft was straight, the point sharp and well fixed, the feathers firmly attached. He notched the shaft, took a long breath, and walked another ten paces farther from the knights.

  He stood and stared at the pole. But his attention was no longer held by the target. He knew that the people lining the road and bridge had gone silent. He knew also the sheriff’s son sought to distract him by flashing a plate of his armor into Hyam’s eyes. None of this mattered at all.

  He felt the power rise from the orb. He willed it to gather in his shoulders, his arms, his hand. Only when the force united him with bow and arrow, binding them with his gaze and his aim and his strength, did he lift the bow.