The Arkhel Conundrum (The Tears of Artamon Book 4)

by Ash, Sarah

  The guard checking papers glanced up, his expression at once bored and hostile.

  “There’s a queue,” he said. “Wait in line, like the others.”

  Gavril thrust his right hand in front of his face, displaying the ornate enameled signet ring of office that the Emperor had bestowed upon him. The guard blinked and then got to his feet, knocking over his chair in his confusion. Other guards turned around, alerted by the disturbance.

  “Forgive me, my lord. It’s just that we weren’t told to expect an official visit.”

  “So I see.” If Gavril had not been so worried about Kiukiu and Larisa, he would have taken some enjoyment in the man’s embarrassment. “You’ll be better prepared next time, I trust.”

  “Please come into the guardhouse, my lord. We keep the records locked in there.”

  Gavril followed him into the gloomy inner room in the base of the round tower, Semyon hovering at his heels. The guard lit an oil lamp and, gesturing to Gavril to sit at the wooden table serving as a desk, unlocked a tall armoire to remove a ledger, and put it in front of Gavril. “We use a different book for each day of the week,” he explained, opening it up and turning to the previous night’s entries.

  “Were you on duty last night?” Gavril asked, finding it hard to decipher the inky scrawl with tired eyes. “I’m trying to trace Chinua the tea merchant.”

  “No, my lord; we change the guard at dawn and dusk and I’m in the dawn detachment. But I know Chinua; he comes and goes every two months or so.”

  He pointed at an entry at the bottom of the page. “There. He left the city at sunset, just before the gate was closed for the night. That’s late for him to set out, even in the spring.”

  “Does it mention if he had any passengers?” Gavril asked. “I’m told he often gives lifts to farmers.”

  “He’s got his regulars,” said the guard, painfully eager to please now. “But we don’t usually write down who goes on whose cart. Not enough time.” He indicated the queue outside the window with his thumb.

  A sigh escaped Gavril’s lips; in spite of his determination not to lose heart, he was beginning to fear the worst. I’ve made so many enemies.

  “My lord?” Semyon could read him too easily; the time they had spent together hiding from the Commanderie in Francia had forged a strong bond of understanding between them.

  Gavril closed the ledger and rose. “I’ll speak to Lord Stoyan about increasing the number of guards on the gate to ease your task.”

  “Thank you , my lord.” The guard bowed low as Gavril made his way back out into the street.

  “So all we know is that Chinua left the city last night.” Semyon said, following close on his heels.

  “And Chinua’s got half a day’s lead on us already.” Gavril set out, heading back toward the mansion. “I’m going after him. Even if Kiukiu and Larisa aren’t with him, he may know something.”

  “Let me ride on ahead,” offered Semyon. “I can ask in the villages on the road leading up to the pass. If my lady’s with Chinua, someone will have seen them. There’s no way to cross into Khitari without going through Fire Falcon Pass.”

  “Very well.” Gavril could not drop all official business and disappear into Khitari without notifying Lord Stoyan. “Wait for me there, at the mountain customs house. I’ll follow with Vasili.”

  Semyon took to his heels and was soon out of sight; Gavril followed, trying to stop his imagination from conjuring up more and more alarming images.

  It’s not as if I’ve never been apart from her before. I survived that hellhole in Arnskammar Prison. Stripped of everything, even my name, I managed to endure by thinking of her. But if she’s abandoned me too . . .

  Chapter 32

  The track widened as it wound on up the deep-sided gorge toward Fire Falcon Pass, named after the elusive birds of prey that nested in the highest rocks above. Their pinions and beaks were tipped with scarlet and they could sometimes be spotted, circling high above the lower peaks, the rays of the setting sun turning their feathers to flaming red.

  Kiukiu could see other carts ahead of them, approaching the customs house. There was a queue and as Chinua called to his ponies to stop, she realized that it would be some while before their turn came.

  They had almost reached the customs officials when she heard a man’s voice, breathless from riding against the wind, asking in Azhkendi, “Have you seen Chinua the tea merchant?” Against the fading light, she saw the silhouette of a horseman bending down in the saddle to interrogate the other travelers.

  Have we been found already? She shrank down in the seat, wrapping her shawl about Larisa, hoping no one would point them out.

  “My lady?” The man dismounted and came hurrying over the rock-strewn path toward the cart.

  She recognized the agile gait and untidy sandy-red hair. “Sem?”

  “What on earth are you doing all the way up here?” cried Semyon, reaching the cart and leaning on it to gaze up at her, his face twisted into an expression of incomprehension. “Lord Gavril’s beside himself with worry.”

  Kiukiu sniffed. “So worried that he sent you in his stead.”

  Semyon thumped the side of the cart, making her jump. “He’s following on behind. He couldn’t just abandon all his official duties and disappear without a word. As you did.” The fiery light of the setting sun enhanced the look of accusation burning in his eyes.

  “Are you telling me off, Sem?”

  She saw him swallow hard. “I know it’s not my place,” he said defiantly, “but you shouldn’t have given us all such a scare.”

  But what else was I to do? I have to take Larisa to a place of safety.

  “And where’s Larisa?” Larisa popped her head out of Kiukiu’s shawl as if playing peek-a-boo and beamed at Semyon, showing off her new tooth. “Well, thank goodness you’re safe—and little Risa’s safe too.”

  “Why?” Kiukiu said sharply, pulling the shawl over Larisa’s auburn wisps of hair. “Has anyone been asking for Larisa? Anyone . . . strange?”

  Semyon gazed at her quizzically in the darkening twilight. “What’s up, Kiukiu?” he asked more gently, dropping all formalities. “Has someone threatened you or the baby?”

  She shook her head. If only I could tell you, Sem. I want to share this burden so badly.

  “Come back with me. Lord Gavril will pay you generously, Master Chinua, for all your trouble.”

  “No!” Kiukiu said quickly before Chinua could reply. “I can’t go back. I have to take Larisa to see someone in Khitari.” She floundered, wondering what excuse would convince Semyon, let alone Gavril.

  “Who?” Semyon looked blank.

  “Someone with . . . special skills.”

  “A healer? Is Risa sick?” Semyon said anxiously, one hand hovering to stroke Larisa’s head. Larisa cooed cheerily back at him. “She looks as lively as ever to me.” And then he reached out and took Kiukiu’s hand instead, pressing it between his horseman’s calloused fingers. “Please come home,” he said. “I’ve never seen Lord Gavril look so worried before. He was searching the city into the small hours. I don’t know if you’ve had a falling-out and I know it’s not my place to interfere, but I can’t bear to see him so unhappy.”

  Gavril unhappy. Every word Semyon said made Kiukiu feel more torn until she tugged her hand free. “Stop it, Sem!” she said, her voice hoarse with the effort to hold back tears. “I can’t go back yet. Tell Gavril that I’m really sorry—but I have to go alone.”

  “At least tell him so yourself.” Semyon’s steadfast gaze made her glance away. “Tell him to his face, so he isn’t left without a proper farewell.”

  “Since when did you learn to speak such good sense, Sem?” she said, her words freighted with regret. “But I can’t wait for him, can I, Chinua?”

  Chinua gave a little shrug. “There’s an inn up ahead on the Khitari side of the customs house. I was planning on us staying there overnight.”

  “You’d better stay too, Semyon,” sa
id Kiukiu, realizing that she could hardly make out his features any longer. “It’s almost dark.” The air was bitingly chill now that the sun had disappeared.

  “I’ll give Varnava a rest and grab a bite of supper at the inn,” said Semyon. He glanced up at the clear sky overhead in which the first stars were beginning to glitter. “But the moon’s almost full. I’ll have moonlight in plenty to see me safely down through the pass. Just wait here a little longer for me to bring him to you.” He stroked Larisa’s cheek and turned back toward his horse which was contentedly grazing the sparse grass beside the track.

  Kiukiu rested her chin on top of Larisa’s head as she watched Semyon climb up into the saddle and ride away into the night. Her heart felt even heavier than before.

  “Lord Gavril is not the kind of man to let his wife and child leave him without putting up a fight.” Chinua shook the reins and the sturdy mountain horse obediently started off along the track. “What are you going to say to him? He may take Larisa away from you if you refuse to go back with him.”

  “Is there any kind of glamour you can cast to cover our tracks?” Kiukiu asked. “Some kind of barrier? Or disguise?”

  “You mean the kind where the people we pass think they’ve seen two old farmers and their dog?” Chinua chuckled; he seemed amused at the prospect. “I might be able to conjure something of the sort.”

  Chapter 33

  “And so I must leave the governance of Azhkendir in your capable hands for a few days until I return.”

  Gavril was just signing and sealing the letter to Lord Stoyan when he heard a clatter of hooves in the courtyard.

  Is Semyon back? Has he found Kiukiu? He jumped up from his desk, abandoning the letter, and ran eagerly toward the hall.

  “Where’s Lord Gavril? I must see him!” Gavril recognized the deep rasp of the horseman’s voice as that of Gorian One-Eye, Askold’s senior lieutenant.

  “Gorian?” he called, hurrying out onto the steps. “Is all well at the kastel?”

  Gorian dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Ivar. His face was glowing from the fresh bite of the wind.

  “No; all’s far from well.” He was breathing hard and gripped the stone balustrade to keep himself upright. Gavril resisted the urge to offer a steadying hand, knowing that it would be proudly shrugged off.

  “Come inside and have something to drink,” he said, leading the way inside, wondering what new problems had arisen in his absence. “Taina, bring beer for Lieutenant Gorian.”

  Gorian sat down at the kitchen table and drained the mug in one long draught as, one by one, the other members of the household filed in.

  “There are men on the Waste,” Gorian said, wiping the froth from his lips with the back of his hand. “Several cartloads of them. They’ve set up camp and they’ve started to dig.”

  “Exactly how many cartloads?” cried Vasili. “And what d’you mean, ‘dig’?”

  “The Bogatyr said you should be informed straight away,” Gorian said to Gavril, ignoring Vasili. “It looks to us as if they’re mining.”

  “The Caradas Company.” Gavril had been so worried about Kiukiu and Larisa that he had forgotten about the matter raised at the boyars’ council the day before.

  “You know about this, my lord?” Gorian said accusingly.

  “Oris Avorian promised me he would look into it.” Just as I feared; matters have already overtaken us. “I had no idea that work had started already. There is—as I’m sure you all understand—some legal dispute as to who owns the land.”

  “Well, this crew obviously don’t care a fig for the law or lawyers.”

  “Caradas?” said Sosia.”That’s not an Azhkendi name. What are foreigners doing digging up your lands?”

  “They’re not strictly my lands—” began Gavril.

  “You’re Lord Volkh’s son,” said Gorian, thumping the table with his fist, making the crockery rattle. “And Lord Volkh won those lands in battle for the clan when he defeated Stavyor Arkhel—”

  The distant jangle of the doorbell echoed from the hallway and a few moments later Karsibor appeared to announce, “Maistre Avorian has arrived.”

  “Show him down here,” Gavril said. “The druzhina need to hear what he has to say.”

  Karsibor’s eyebrows rose in an expression of shocked disapproval.

  “In the kitchen , my lord?”

  “Very well.” Gavril rose, suppressing a sigh of irritation . Why now? I need to be looking for Kiukiu, not arguing about mining rights. “I’ll receive him in the morning room. But I want everyone there; this matter concerns us all.”

  ***

  “So, Maistre Avorian,” said Gavril when all the members of his household had crowded into the morning room, “what have you discovered about the Caradas Company?”

  Oris Avorian glanced around at the glowering faces and Gavril sensed considerable reluctance on his lawyer’s part to share the news he had brought.

  “I told you, my lord, that the claim was filed under the name of a certain Brigadier Denys, Baronet Caradas, of Tourmalise.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath before continuing. “Lord Denys is dead, but his daughter, Lady Tanaisie is very much alive, as is her husband, Ranulph.”

  “Ranulph,” Gavril echoed beneath his breath, remembering the Emperor’s warning.

  “Get to the point, man!” growled Gorian. “Why are these foreigners digging up our land?”

  Avorian glared at him over his spectacles. “Lord Ranulph is no foreigner. He has a valid claim to dig in the Waste. In fact, he is the legal heir to the Waste and the Arkhel lands.”

  “Heir?” repeated Sosia, clutching at Gorian’s arm. “How can he be? All the Arkhels are dead!”

  “Lord Ranulph is Ranozhir Arkhel, Lord Stavyor’s youngest brother who was far away in Tourmalise when Lord Volkh attacked and destroyed the Arkhel clan.”

  Avorian’s last words were drowned as Gavril’s servants and bodyguards began to protest until a sudden sonorous metallic clang rose above the angry voices. Karsibor was banging the dinner gong to quieten them down.

  Such a predictable response. Gavril sighed, pressing one hand to his forehead, feeling the first warning throb of an imminent headache.

  The major-domo glared coldly at the assembled staff and said, “Have you forgotten your duty to Lord Gavril and our visitor? Have the good manners to listen to what Maistre Avorian has come here to tell us.”

  “Gorian has just ridden over from the kastel,” Gavril said. “He’s brought a message from Askold, informing me that mining has already begun in the Waste. But now that we know this name ‘Caradas Company’ is merely a front for the Arkhel clan, this places us in a very difficult situation.”

  “Drive them out!” said Gorian, thumping the table with his fist again. “What right does Ranozhir Arkhel have to come back to stir up trouble?”

  “Every right,” said Avorian dryly. “Let me remind you that he is Lord Stavyor’s youngest brother.”

  “Then we’ll have to persuade him and his men to leave,” muttered Gorian. “Drive ’em back to Tourmalise.”

  Gavril glanced at Gorian and saw from his ferocious expression that he had meant every word. This revelation couldn’t have come at a worse moment. The last thing I need now is the old hatreds between our clans stirred up once more, spreading like a contagion through Azhkendir.

  “How many have signed on to work for Lord Ranozhir?” he asked.

  “Askold and I counted at least a hundred men, if you include the guards posted around the site. Armed guards,” added Gorian, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

  “A hundred?” This was considerably more than Gavril had anticipated; he found himself wondering how many of his own druzhina would be ready to fight if hostilities arose. “Lord Ranozhir must be investing a lot of his own funds in this venture to employ so many workers.”

  “Not to mention the office and warehouse he’s opened at Narvazh to handle the export side of his business,” said Avorian. “
I hear his steward, Iarko, has already made an arrangement with a Tielen merchant captain.”

  “A business venture on this scale can’t have been set up in just a few days!” Gavril was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have investigated matters in the autumn when he received the warning letter from Eugene. “How long has Lord Ranozhir been in Azhkendir? And why didn’t we know he was here?”

  “It seems he set up the mining venture using his wife’s name in late autumn. But no one in Azhgorod paid any particular attention to Ranulph Caradas, Baronet of Serrigonde. Why would they?”

  “Do we know what he’s mining?” Gavril asked Avorian.

  “My clerk overheard Iarko warning the carters to move the casks with extreme care. He heard the words ‘volatile’ and ‘explosive’ used.”

  “That sounds like firedust.” Gorian scowled as he pronounced the word; the druzhina had never forgotten being forced to mine for firedust when Tielen soldiers invaded Azhkendir.

  “But how could the Arkhels know about firedust?” Sosia turned to Gavril. “The Tielens kept it secret. Who could have told them?”

  Gavril was remembering the Emperor’s last letter. “Lilias Arbelian,” he said. Why does this have to happen now—just when I’m so worried about Kiukiu and Risa? Is Lilias out to stir up the old hatreds between the clans?

  “ That woman?” Sosia clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Don’t tell me she’s mixed up in this, Maistre Avorian?”

  Avorian shook his head. “There’s been no mention of Mistress Arbelian—thus far. Although she filed a claim last year in the name of her son, Stavyomir, to be officially recognized as the sole heir to the Arkhel estates—which makes her a rival claimant. But as she has no legal proof that she was ever married to Jaromir Arkhel . . .”

  “First Kiukiu and the babe disappear and now that shameless hussy dares to meddle in our affairs again,” Sosia muttered to Taina.