Vesteal 01 – 01 – Ghost in the Yew

by Blake Hausladen

  Someone had brought several wagons full of wine, probably the tavern owner whose name I had known for longer than I cared to remember, and bottles of it went into the meeting hall by the crate.

  From slaughter to celebration, the town rejoiced as it surged inside. The bottles were poured, and hands were shaken. The mix of woodmen, craftsmen, and refugees was odd, but they had a topic in common that proved a quick glue—my prince and their new lives.

  Despite this, the event did nothing to cheer me. I had little interest in meeting more Zoviyans when Enhedu’s people were on the verge of becoming slaves.

  I spotted Fana moving toward the castle with Gern and a man I did not know. They talked in hushed tones. I followed them all the way up to our alcove and approached with my arms folded. The man stood and bowed.

  Fana smiled. “Dia, this is Selt Sestar. He was senior scribe to Crown Prince Rahan before his assassination. Barok just hired him. Selt, this is Lady Dia, the Matron of Urnedi. She knows everything.”

  I was furious. “You told them?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “And you trust this man?”

  “Matron,” the man interrupted, “I know these laws well. Fana has explained the situation, and I have vowed to help.”

  “You are bound to the prince, not to this scribe,” I said with a frown. Fana could only manage that nervous smile of hers. Gern looked as skeptical as I was.

  Fana tried to flatten her grin, while the stranger said with calm eyes and too much confidence, “I understand your concern but also know well who it is you are fighting. Enhedu is lucky it is on the far side of those mountains, or everyone here would already be in chains. I am dedicated to this effort, matron. It is a good fight, and I will win it.”

  “I do not think you know what you have become involved in here, bondsman.”

  “Bessradi has taught me the dangers of this world well, matron. I understand who we fight, just as I understand why the alsman brought those men, despite the enemies they have.”

  “You know so much about us so quickly? Tell me then.”

  “The craftsmen Alsman Mertone brought from Bessradi have the same enemies as the prince. They escaped with their fortunes, and they are masters all. I recognize many of them. I also admire Barok for giving his alsman such authority. Trust like that collects able men and makes them loyal. Please believe me, matron, when I say I understand what is at stake here and am glad for the opportunity to employ my skills in such a cause.”

  “You are too eager. Did your last prince spend his days so dripped in intrigue that you cannot stand to be away from it?”

  “Prince Rahan?” the bondsman laughed weakly. “No. He spent his time hiding. The capital has always been a dangerous place, but being the fourth son was terrible. He was senior enough that people had expectations but too junior to have power enough to satisfy any of them. The Yentif do not respect weakness. He lived a doomed life.”

  It was terribly uncomfortable listening to him so casually discuss the Yentif and the dead. Fana, at last, seemed similarly unsettled. Selt had stopped talking, though, and had let his gaze fix on something out the window. Perhaps he had heard his words, too.

  I turned back to the open book on the table—the same text of laws Fana and I were struggling to interpret. I cleared my throat, and Selt’s focus slowly returned.

  “You know these laws?” I prompted.

  “Yes. May I explain so you will trust my skill in this?”

  I nodded reluctantly. I glanced to Gern who was simply looking on. He had not been convinced either and was very likely to go straight to Barok with news of it all. Him I could deal with, though. I turned back to the stranger.

  “Very well, Selt, explain it to us.”

  He took hold of the law book and showed me the relevant page much as Fana had, saying, “The law in question requires that every man and woman of a churlish nature serve a twenty-year term of municipal service. A churl, as I am sure you know well, is anyone found guilty of a long list of crimes or born to parents who are churlish. After serving twenty years, their churlish nature is forgiven.”

  Fana asked, “And if a man cannot prove his parents were not churlish, he must serve?”

  “Correct. Proof must be kept. Any person upon the plains who has no proof can be taken.”

  “And if it can later be proven, then the service is forgiven?”

  “Yes. Late petition is allowed, though they are rarely ever heard.”

  “So,” I said, “all we have to do is document the parents of every person living in Enhedu so that they do not have to serve?”

  “As daunting a task as that would be, it would not be sufficient in this case.”

  “That is where I become confused.”

  Selt tried to smile reassuringly, but Fana and I frowned back at him until he gave up the effort, cleared his throat, and explained, “Yes, well, the chancellor has stepped beyond the Churlish Law. The writ he delivered applies to Enhedu as a whole. We are not defending the people one at a time. We are defending the entire province all at once. Fana was very right to have kept the prince from receiving the chancellor’s letter. She saved Enhedu, in point of fact.”

  “Because?”

  “Because if Barok had acknowledged the writ in any way without also making argument against its charge, the right to do so would be forfeit. A legal argument must be made and made immediately that Enhedu is not churlish. If Barok surrenders this point, the courts will accept it as fact. The 4,000 would have to be delivered. Late petitions would have been allowed, but for each man that you saved, another would have to be sent to serve in his place. Enhedu would have become a slaver’s paradise.”

  Fana shook softly as he said it, tears leaping suddenly down her face. I took hold of her hand. Gern set his softly upon her shoulders.

  I asked, “Shouldn’t we tell the prince now?”

  “I would not. Keeping him clear of it will also allow him to blame everything on me if something goes wrong.”

  “Convince me,” Gern said then after listening on so silently. His steely tone was startling.

  “It is the same, Lieutenant, as what Book Two so carefully taught you. We can guard Barok and Enhedu best by holding them apart from this. Responsibility would end with us.”

  “At the cost of our lives?”

  “Yes. That is the way of it.”

  “So be it,” Gern replied.

  “You would shoulder that blame?” I asked them. “You could end up with your skin stretched out upon the chancellor’s gates.”

  Selt said, “You are not a bondsman unless you are willing to take a spear for your lord.”

  Gern nodded in agreement.

  “I do not understand this sudden and unflinching loyalty of yours, Selt. Barok is a stranger to you.”

  “Milady, I am marked by Rahan’s death. No one in Bessradi would hire a man who was soaked in a crown prince’s blood. Barok took me on without a thought to it, Rahan trusted him, and the challenge of the work here promises to make for a life well spent. It is more than most know to wish for.”

  “Are you sure you are from Bessradi?”

  He laughed, as did Fana, the last two tears from her cry blinked free as she did it. She squeezed my hand.

  “Quite sure, milady,” he replied. “I am sorry to confuse you by not trying to extort or pander.”

  I smiled back at him a touch, despite his coyness, but kept to our business. “So what must we do?”

  “We must document every person in Enhedu and then also demonstrate that there are no undocumented persons living in the province. That is the tricky part. It requires a census. The chancellor put some thought into this. Only a specific type of census would be sufficient.”

  “I think you like this fight.”

  He laughed heartily, losing his words for a moment. “Ah, yes, quite, milady. The priests wrote the laws of Zoviya to hurt the enemies of those in power. Rarely does anyone use a point of law against them. Parsatayn will lose a gre
at deal of his power if Enhedu outmaneuvers him in this. Perhaps even his head.”

  “You know the man?”

  “No, but everyone in Bessradi has suffered him. The prisons and slaver’s pens are full because of his warrants and writs. Entire families disappear to die digging in Aderan’s wheat fields.”

  “Why is he after Barok? I have never understood his interest in us.”

  “His motives are very transparent, milady. Do you know of the Council of Lords?”

  “Of course. They pick a new Exaltier if a ruling family fails.”

  “Yes, that’s highest on a long list of powers that includes governing authority over all commerce and debt between the confederation of provinces. The chancellor, though, votes for Enhedu.”

  “Barok does not have a vote? I did not know.”

  “Quite, milady. Enhedu’s vote has belonged to the sitting chancellor of Bessradi since the Council of Lords was formed. Before them there was only the Exaltier and the Chamber of Deputies.”

  “Chamber of Deputies?” Fana asked. “What did they do? I have never heard of them.”

  “Same as the Council—they ruled the provinces. They did so from Bessradi, however, which was always a problem because of the great distances. Rebellions were frequent. The Council of Lords was formed to give the provincial landowners a voice, though the authorities of the body were largely illusionary. But in the years that followed, the affluence of the provinces grew. An historic treaty was signed between the provinces that gave the Council of Lords the power to rule on matters of trade and debt between them. The Ataouk Exaltiers and their Chamber of Deputies tried to dismantle the Council shortly thereafter, but they had waited a generation longer than they should have. Lord Vall’s father Sol was chairman of the Council at the time. He and the Urmand Yentifs were more than a match for the Ataouk. They were swept aside, the Council became an ally of the Exaltier instead of an adversary, and the Chamber of Deputies was subsumed. The Council has never been more powerful than it is now. Parsatayn, Serm of Aderan, Kuren of Trace, and all arilas of the east stand together with Bendent of Urmand. Their majority rule over the Council is nearly as powerful as Lord Vall or the Sten.”

  “So Parsatayn is worried Barok will try to reclaim Enhedu’s place on the Council?”

  “Precisely. If Prince Barok can get Enhedu’s tax rolls long enough, he could make a good claim. Many at the capital worry about it. It was considered quite a joke when he was given such a worthless title to take with him into banishment, but once the humor wore off, ideas of what he might do with it began to dawn on people. Lord Vall can’t take the title away, and if Barok were to reclaim Enhedu’s vote, the balance of power would shift dramatically. Parsatayn would lose his seat at the table, and the influence he lords over so many would vanish. Bendent could lose his chairmanship, and everything would be up for grabs.”

  “But isn’t this all moot if more princes or Lord Vall are slain?” I asked.

  “Oh, I would not worry after the health of Lord Vall or Crown Prince Evand. The Exaltier has the Hessier and Evand has the respect and loyalty of the Hemari. Neither will be leaving this life soon. The smart money is on those responsible quietly disappearing during the long winter. If I were Barok, I would count the attempt as a failure and focus my efforts on claiming Enhedu’s seat on the Council.” He nodded oddly then as if thinking it through, but must have decided he agreed with himself. He added, “Yes, the Council of Lords was not harmed by the palace fire, it was strengthened. The event this season that mattered most to them is still Alsman Mertone’s trip to the Kaaryon. It was a direct challenge to Parsatayn—years before anyone thought it possible. Barok has made an impression, and this writ is the chancellor’s response.”

  “I have never heard the prince speak of any of this,” I said.

  “No surprise there, either. Before Haton and his band arrived, Barok would have been dreaming to think it even possible. But I assure you, Parsatayn and Bendent wake and sleep with Barok on their minds.”

  “What should we expect next from Parsatayn then? Fana’s letter will not go unchallenged.”

  “Very true. We can expect a second sending of the writ, but as long as it does not come with representatives or a witness who outranks me, we can treat it like the first.”

  “And if it does come with representatives, then we have what? Four maybe five days at best to complete the work?”

  “If that is all the time we have, it is hopeless. We will need thirty days at least. A few here getting things set up and at least a half-day in each village. If we can put off Parsatayn’s next sending, we might just have enough time. If we can stand up this writ with a census well done, I would count my life a success and could go to my grave smiling.”

  I liked Selt, I decided, smug and dramatic though he was. He was just another cast-off looking to put a knife back into the beast that had harmed him, and the dagger he carried was very sharp, indeed.

  “Very well, Selt. Tell us what needs to be done first.”

  “A great deal can be done here. My biggest worry is finding enough blank ledgers for the task.”

  “That will not be a problem. The prince brought a wealth of blank books from Bessradi. I will bring them down.”

  He looked at me sideways. “You are so free to handle his possessions?”

  “I ... well, yes. A matron is not without authority.”

  The bondsman nodded, but I saw something in it. He had thought the title an empty one. His Zoviyan notions had me cast into a very different role. I narrowed my eyes on him.

  He looked away. “That is fine, then. Bring down what you can in the morning, and we will start preparing the documents we’ll need.”

  60

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  I was sad to see Dia walk away from the party the new men threw. The bitter topic of murdered princes was ever on their lips, and her presence would have made their dark humor more tolerable. Leger’s quick report of them had washed off the feelings of doom that had come at the first sight of them marching down my road, but the Zoviyans must have thought me delighted to hear it the way they numbered, named, and cursed my slain brothers. I had too many Edonian memories of murdered kin to find even a grin at hearing the stories.

  I was getting ready to make my escape when Leger called all quiet so I could be heard. He ignored the dark look I sent him, and I was left to face the crowd. I cleared my throat and stepped up onto a riser at the top end of the hall. The crowd was quiet—too quiet for its size.

  “I am sorry for the length of our road,” I began, coughed, and charged on, “but am glad you trusted my alsman enough to make the trip. The promises he made will be honored, and as he has told you, I mean to build here a harbor and market. Many of you will be heading north to one of Enhedu’s many villages. Please know that the men and women of those quiet communities are very dear to me and that I will suffer no abuses of them or their generosity. None of the men who joined us from Trace have been sent south, but be assured that any transgression will earn a swift exit.”

  “Lighten up, Arilas,” Leger whispered. “Try welcoming them, eh?”

  My mood for it was missing, but I gave it another try, smile and all. “You are welcome here. Your crafts and your dreams for better lives are welcome. It is warm and green and wet in Enhedu, but I hope that like me, you will soon delight in all its color and will count yourselves lucky to call this your home.”

  As I finished, I worried what reaction my trite little speech would earn. The sudden cheering was startling. I credited it to the wine.

  “Knew you could do it.” Leger smiled.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say as I stepped down from the riser.

  Haton approached and offered me his hand. “We almost didn’t believe him.”

  I shook it heartily. “Pardon?”

  He laughed. “Your alsman. It was quite a moment, I tell you, when he pulled out your seal. Not one other royal would give over so much authority and trust.”


  “Yes, the Yentif are a bit tightfisted,” I said, and was startled by the comparison. It was hard even to think how much different I was. A Yentif would not have tolerated the setting, my alsman’s authority, the company, and certainly not the grip of this lowly barkeep’s hand.

  “What’s left of them, anyway,” Haton joked to the delight of those near enough to hear.

  I pantomimed a laugh and tried to turn the conversation. “How badly hurt is the capital in your estimation?”

  “Hmm. Difficult to call the city hurt, unfortunately. By the time we were on our way out of Bessradi, it was already clear that the lesser royal families were hungrily bidding on the scorched plots. The city will be rebuilt quickly. It’s better, I think, to think of things in terms of which families were strengthened and which were harmed. The lesser royals in Eril for instance—the white stone from their quarries will be in high demand for years to come. It will be a long while before Bessradi builds with timber framing. Bendent and the lesser Yentifs are the real losers in all of this, though. Much of the property and persons claimed by the fire were theirs.”

  I groaned inwardly at the pervasiveness of the topic and turned to Leger with hopes of escaping.

  But my alsman asked, “And Lord Vall?”

  Haton shrugged. “He couldn’t care less as far as I can tell. What is the loss of a hundred sons, after all, to a man who had 130? Bessradi’s problems of jumbled streets and overcrowding have been solved. If I am any judge of the man, he will pour his gold into rebuilding the palace bigger and better than ever, rather than do anything as human as mourn.”

  “Is that the current count then?” Leger asked. “Thirty of the infants survived?”

  “Near abouts. As best I know, there are still five princes of age and twenty-five under the age of three. Pity they didn’t have those bars just a bit closer together, ehh?” The room chuckled along with him.