Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  I will be returning to Tempre on Quattri afternoon. I trust we will be able to meet then to discuss the situation. I look forward to seeing you.

  He’d written that he looked forward to seeing her rather than looking forward to the meeting. Was she reading too much into the last line?

  Possibly, but you’ll know when he shows up. Exactly what she’d know … that was another question.

  She replaced the message in its envelope, then slipped it into the flat and narrow left-hand drawer of the desk. Then she looked at the petitions, including several more from the Vyanhills area, doubtless from vintners who had suffered a late frost the previous spring. If they were like the other petitions, the vintners wanted their tariffs reduced. She had problems with that, because their tariffs were based on their production and income—and if they hadn’t produced and sold as much, their tariffs were already going to be lower. None of them seemed to care that they still wanted the services of the Lady-Protector but not to pay as much for them. How did they expect her to provide the same services with fewer golds?

  She sighed. Of course, they were like everyone else. They really didn’t care about anyone else, just about what impacted them. She’d known that, but it was a truth that was driven home harder every day that she was Lady-Protector.

  After a long moment, she opened the next petition and began to read.

  More than a glass—and ten letters, pleas, and petitions—later, Chalmyr rapped on the study door.

  “Lady-Protector, Forester Loryalt is here to see you.”

  “Have him come in.”

  Loryalt was a small and wiry man with a deeply tanned face and short-cut jet-black hair shot through with streaks of white. His bow was somehow both compact and courtly. “Lady-Protector … Much has changed since I departed Tempre.”

  Mykella gestured to the chairs. “It has indeed. Cerlyk has been most helpful in your absence, but I did wish to hear all that you learned from your tour and inspections.”

  “I cannot say that my news is good.” Loryalt’s smile was wintry. “I will provide you with a written report shortly. By Octdi, I would judge.”

  “Given what I have already discovered, I did not expect your news to be the best. My uncle, the would-be usurper, diverted … thousands of golds from the Treasury.” Mykella had almost said “tens of thousands of golds,” but had caught her words. “That included some of the revenues from the early cuts.”

  “I had recommended against those cuts. I can show you copies of my recommendations if you wish.”

  “Cerlyk didn’t mention those.” And I wonder why not.

  “He didn’t know I’d presented them to your father.”

  “They weren’t in the records for the Forestry Ministry,” Mykella said. “Or in the Lord-Protector’s files.”

  “That may be. I did present them to your father, but he told me he needed to consult the Finance Ministry. I then received letters signed by your uncle, as Finance Minister, declaring the need for greater revenues and stating that the cuts were necessary. I have kept those copies safe.”

  Mykella sensed the absolute truth of the Forester’s words. “I do not doubt that in the slightest. What did you do after that?”

  “I told your father that he would be hard-pressed to gather much in the way of timber revenues from the lands he held for several years to come. He told me that he and the Finance Minister had discussed it and that the revenues were needed.” The wintry smile reappeared. “There was little I could do then.”

  “What about tariffs on private timber sales?”

  “There will be some. How much I cannot say, but they will be lower because so much was cut this past year from your lands that no one will cut until they have to because the prices of logs and lumber have declined so much.”

  Mykella kept the wince to herself and decided to change the subject. “I’ve received two petitions so far from landowners protesting levies you laid upon them for excessive numbers of water oaks on their lands.”

  Loryalt sighed and shook his head. “Every year there are some. Water oaks are called such because they resemble oaks. They are not. They also require much water, and their roots drain it from other trees…”

  Mykella nodded although she knew much of what Loryalt was telling her.

  “… stunts forest growth around them. They grow much faster, and their wood is softer, almost as soft as that of the southern pines. For that reason, timber stands must be thinned of water oaks while they are young. No more than two trees in a hundred should be water oaks. Landowners who have excessive numbers of water oaks face higher tariffs. They complain because they said that their timber sales are already lower. They fail to take into account that with too many water oaks, less water runs off the land and into the streams and rivers, and less water means fewer crops can use the river water. Also, timber growth on lands lower on the slopes that may belong to others is hurt.”

  “Who determined all that?” asked Mykella, fascinated by how the trees affected the rivers, something she had not thought about.

  “The Alectors of olden times, but Mykel the Great affirmed that policy soon after he became Lord-Protector. He said that not all that the Alectors had done was evil. At least, that was what my grandfather’s grandfather said.”

  Mykella laughed softly. “Tell me more. Tell me what every Protector should know about the forests that most don’t know.”

  Although Loryalt nodded politely, Mykella could sense the astonishment at her words.

  “Lady-Protector … I do not know where to begin…”

  “Wherever you wish … I need to know as much as I can.”

  Loryalt frowned. “Cerlyk said … it was as though you can tell if a man tells you falsehoods…”

  “I usually can … Unless he lies to himself as well.”

  For a moment, the Forester was silent. Then he began to speak. “The forests of Corus are old, and the oldest trees are those that can live in the coldest climes…”

  Mykella listened.

  40

  Tridi had not been much better than Duadi, and the first glasses of Quattri appeared to be turning out no better, although Mykella had not refrained from smiling when the Table had shown her the Northcoast forces riding through a severe rainstorm. The disturbing aspect of that had been that the storm had seemed to slow them very little. Then she had gotten a report from Nusgeyl that the additional damage to the towpath west of the Great Piers—caused by the second storm—would require more material and time to repair, even with the additional men. And almost at noon, she was reading a particularly obnoxious missive from one Seltyr Chuylt.

  Lady-Protector—

  It is with great regret that I send this missive to you, for I know that you must deal with many matters both significant and less significant. However, since the storms of over a week ago, the area around the villas to the southeast of that of the First Seltyr has been covered in a fog of stench arising from damages to the sewers, or possibly from deficiencies in their construction that were undiscovered until the present.… Even so, it would appear disconcerting, if not intolerable, that almost two tendays after this damage, some repairs and relief cannot be afforded …

  First, Seltyr Pualavyn had tried to bribe Duchael to repair the sewers serving the Seltyrs first, and now Chuylt was complaining—but none of them thought anything really wrong with plundering the Treasury to their own benefit if they could get away with it, and all of them complained about paying tariffs. Still … Mykella kept on reading to the bottom of the second page, when she gathered together the sheets and the envelope and walked out into the anteroom.

  “Yes, Lady?” The faintest hint of a smile lay behind Chalmyr’s words.

  “Please draft a long, an exceedingly long and terribly courteous reply to Seltyr Chuylt explaining that the Ministry of Highways and Rivers is working hard to make repairs and that we have employed extra laborers to do so, and that, on the advice of the First Seltyr, we are repairing those areas that affec
t trade and commerce first.”

  Chalmyr nodded as he accepted the Seltyr’s complaint.

  Mykella left the antechamber and made her way to the breakfast room, where she forced herself to eat a midday meal before hurrying back to her study, only to find Lord Gharyk waiting. She motioned for him to join her, then closed the door behind them and sat down behind the desk that she still felt dwarfed her. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I had thought to bring this matter up in the ministers’ meeting, but the more I have discovered, the more that I thought you would like to hear about it earlier and privately.”

  Mykella waited.

  “As you know, I have not been pleased about the situation with Head Gaoler Huatyn, but the responsibility for the deaths of offenders in custody is difficult to prove.” Gharyk smiled apologetically. “On the other hand, the Seltyrs are more interested in … the misuse of golds.”

  “What have you discovered?”

  “Huatyn’s brother has been the one supplying the gaol in Tempre with the victuals for the prisoners. Victuals might be too good a term for their food, but the costs charged to the Ministry of Justice have recently increased twofold. What is most interesting is that the number of prisoners has decreased by a third, and the costs of food in the markets is little higher. I requested an explanation for the increase in costs, and I received this in return from Head Gaoler Huatyn.” Gharyk handed several sheets across the desk to Mykella.

  She took them and began to read. One phrase immediately stood out.

  “… reviewing the supplying of victuals as a result of your inquiry, and I am most certain we can reduce the costs without depriving the prisoners…”

  She raised her eyebrows. “That’s almost a confession, a statement that you’ve caught him doing something wrong.”

  “He won’t see it that way, but…”

  “Keep his reply safe, and tell him you expect the quality and quantity of the fare not to decline.”

  “I had thought to do so.”

  How long could she put off dealing with the gaol problems? Mykella wondered.

  After Gharyk had left, Mykella had another session with Haelyt before Chalmyr announced the arrival of Areyst, and the chief clerk slipped from the study.

  Mykella stood as the Arms-Commander entered. For the briefest of instants, before he bowed, his eyes met hers, and she sensed a wave of warmth. She managed to keep a pleasant smile on her face although she felt she already showed too much.

  “Lady-Protector.” Areyst smiled, a touch more than pleasantly.

  “Arms-Commander.” She paused, then added, “I’m glad to see that you have returned safely and, I hope, without incident.”

  “I have, Lady, although I would wager that you have faced far, far greater dangers than have I.”

  “There have been a few … incidents.” Belatedly, she motioned. “Please do sit down.” She took her own seat behind the desk.

  “Thank you.” He laid a folder on the corner of the desk. “Here is my report on the condition of the Southern Guards and a general plan for dealing with any invaders, should it come to that. In the simplest form, we would use Commander Choalt’s special company, and other companies as necessary, to harass them until they are well into Lanachrona. We would tell the people of the first three towns along the highway to leave. All are small towns…”

  “They won’t like that.”

  “No … but the terrain there is too flat and open, and that favors the larger force. The towns are not large.”

  Mykella understood, unhappily. “I will read it with interest. If I have questions, I will let you know.” After another moment of silence, she said, “The Northcoast forces rode through a heavy rainstorm this morning. It did not seem to slow them. They appear to be north of Arwyn.”

  Areyst nodded. “From Arwyn to Hieron is almost two hundred fifty vingts, and from there to Salcer more than three hundred. It will be the end of the first week of summer before they reach our border … if that is their intent.” He smiled ironically. “I cannot imagine any other intent unless they wish to attack Prince Skrelyn.”

  “They would not attack him now. They have already persuaded him to join in the attack on us, with the implication that the army she and her brother command could always be used otherwise, and with the promise of wedding him. It might be an unspoken promise.”

  “If Chalcaer is good at battle planning and scheming, he will work to have Skrelyn’s forces take the heaviest casualties.”

  “If he isn’t, Cheleyza will advise him.”

  “She was wise to flee you,” Areyst observed.

  “Do you think I’m that evil?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not evil at all. If anything, you may be too even-handed. It’s not evil to put an end to evil.”

  “If you know what evil is,” she replied softly. “The problem is that everyone thinks what they do is right. Or they believe their acts are justified by what they believe others have done to them. Cheleyza believes she has every right to attack and kill me because I killed her husband and his son, and that they should have ruled Lanachrona because my father was weak and his weakness was destroying the land.” She offered a sad smile. “They were right about that. His weakness was hurting Lanachrona. Every day I discover something else.”

  “Did they help him, or did they encourage his weaknesses?”

  “You and I both know the answer to that.”

  “Unlike all of them, you see what is,” he said quietly. “You do not shy from changing it.”

  “Trying to change it,” she corrected.

  “You have already wrought change.”

  Not enough but more than most want. “There will have to be more if Lanachrona is to prosper.”

  “Even the Seltyrs know that.”

  “Oh … they know it.” She laughed softly. “They just want someone else to pay for it.”

  “As it ever was.” His eyes rested on her.

  She couldn’t help but sense the admiration—and attraction, but she managed to keep her thoughts—mostly—on what she needed to say. “You will be at the season-turn ball, as my escort and heir.” Mykella watched him closely as she finished speaking.

  “Lady, you know that I would not be your heir … and not as Arms-Commander.”

  “We have no choice. You are the best choice for Arms-Commander, and your presence as my heir keeps the Seltyrs in line.”

  “Your power keeps them in line.”

  “It does,” she admitted, “when they are near me. But they know that, should anything happen to me, you and the Southern Guards will oppose them. Your designation as my heir also protects my sisters.”

  “Perhaps for now.” Areyst smiled. “Undercaptain Salyna is well on the way to protecting herself.”

  “I’m afraid she’s more interested in protecting me,” Mykella found herself saying. “That’s not good for her.”

  “If people don’t want to protect you … the ruler, then the land faces great troubles.”

  Mykella realized what he meant, and that, once more, warmed her. “You’re kind, Arms-Commander, but I fear there are many who would not lift a finger to protect me.”

  “In time, there will be many.”

  If we survive the next year. “We can hope.” She smiled at him.

  For another long moment, he was silent. Then he cleared his throat. “You understand that it would not be for the best were I to remain in Tempre until season-turn. I had thought to return to Viencet on Novdi afternoon.”

  “I had not thought you would remain. If you could return with a company for the season-turn parade, perhaps on Septi or Octdi of tenweek.”

  “You think that the parade should be held as usual.” Areyst’s words were not a question.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I would judge that would be for the best, but that decision is yours.”

  “Then we are agreed?” Mykella found her eyes looking into his, and his linked to hers.

  Fo
r a moment, neither spoke.

  After a silence, Areyst looked at the pile of letters and petitions on the side of her desk. “You are reading and answering all of those?”

  “Who else knows what I’m thinking?”

  “At the least, you should have another scrivener to write out your responses.”

  Half the time I don’t even know what they’ll be. “In time … in time. Right now, it’s faster for me to scrawl something and have Chalmyr rewrite it diplomatically for my signature.”

  He nodded. “You need more assistants.”

  “Finding assistants I can trust would take more time than I have.” And untrustworthy assistants helped do in Father.

  “Everyone can be tempted, Lady. Fear and respect inspire trust even in those who are most tempted.”

  “You’re saying I have to be willing to be ruthless.”

  “Am I telling you what you do not already know?”

  She wanted to laugh, not out of humor, but because he had caught her out … and he’d done so gently but firmly. “You already know me well.”

  “I know little about you, Lady.”

  He might as well have said that he wanted to know more because those unspoken words hung between them. After a moment, Mykella said, “You will come to know more, Commander, whether you will it or not.”

  “I would will it, Lady.” His eyes met hers again.

  Mykella forced herself to stand, but her eyes remained on him for a long moment.

  He stood quickly, and bowed. “If you have any questions”—his eyes went to the report—“you only have to let me know.”

  “I will.”

  Again … their eyes locked for a moment. Then he offered a pleasant smile, behind which was concern, affection, and embarrassment.

  After Areyst had left, Mykella just sat behind the desk. Was Rachylana right? Are we like cautious dustcats circling each other? She shook her head even as she had to admit there was truth in the observation. But she wasn’t ready to ask him to be a consort, and he wasn’t in a position to ask her.

  A quick rap on the door was followed by Rachylana’s entrance. The redhead shut the door quietly but firmly, and marched up to the desk, where she sat on the corner and looked down at Mykella. “I saw the Arms-Commander leaving the palace…”