The Warrior's Bond

by Juliet McKenna

  “Is he the only one?” Gelaia demanded with some indignation.

  Temar took her hand to lead her down the middle of the other couples. “I had barely realised I was being considered as a suitable candidate for your hand. Why am I now so quickly rejected?” Completing the last steps of the dance Temar turned with Gelaia to bow to the rest of the set.

  Gelaia fanned herself, faint colour rising beneath her mask of cosmetics. “There are too many complications.”

  Temar looked at her in silent expectation.

  “I know Toremal, I know how to dance the measures, how to play the games,” she said with sudden forthrightness, pulling her hand free. “You don’t, but you’ve already made dangerous enemies. I’ll marry to suit my Sieur and I’ll manage whatever affairs my new House requires of me, but I’m not ready to play for stakes as high as Tor Bezaemar. I don’t know what else you’re caught up in, and that worries me. You’re laid low with a knife wound and yet sorcery has you healed by the following day. You associate with wizards who pluck a falling man out of the air.”

  “I had little choice over any of that,” said Temar, stung.

  Gelaia forced a smile. “I do have a choice, Esquire. I choose not to get involved. I’m sorry.”

  Temar bowed low and watched Gelaia hurry away to the security of her family. Looking round he smiled blandly at discreetly curious faces before sauntering over to Allin who was sipping a glass of wine, face flushed with pleasure. “May I have the honour of this next dance?”

  “Let me catch my breath.” Allin puffed out her cheeks inelegantly.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Temar asked curiously.

  “Oh, I’m determined to,” said Allin with a glint in her eye. “Poldrion can loose his demons on these patronising women if I don’t, especially that charming Den Rannion Demoiselle over there. She tells me how very old-fashioned my dancing is.”

  “Your steps can scarcely be less up to the moment than mine.” Temar was about to continue but a flurry of activity turned every head towards the throne room door and the entire vast space fell as silent as an empty shrine.

  Jainne the chamberlain’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke into the expectant hush. “Tadriol, called Provident by the grace of his peers and Emperor by the will of the Convocation of Princes.”

  Temar realised he was badly placed to see anything going on but he wasn’t about to draw attention to himself by moving. Movement spread in slow ripples from the far side of the room, the nobility clearing the floor to stand arrayed against the walls. Emperor Tadriol walked into the centre of the vast room. He wore plain breeches beneath a full-skirted coat of the same bronze silk brocaded with black. A wide collar of knotted gold links around his shoulders carried a central pendant of a mighty golden bull, head low and brandishing defiant horns. A narrow band of square-cut rubies set in gold confined the simple frill at his shirt collar. Matching stones shone on the brooches catching back the cuffs of his coat, revealing bracelets of thick gold chain adorning his wrists rather than lace. Each of his fingers bore a different ring in a mismatch of styles and gems that could only come from an extensive collection of heirlooms. The Emperor made a slow circuit of the floor, his pace never varying, his slight smile widening a touch as he made a brief half bow to each Sieur.

  “I apologise for my tardiness and I hope you’ve been enjoying the music and wine.” Tadriol spoke with composed sincerity as he returned to the centre of the floor. “I won’t insult your intelligence by assuming that has been easy in the present climate — and I’m not talking about the weather.” His tone grew more formal. “We are all aware of the unusual events of this last year and that matters have reached a crucial juncture. It is my duty to guide the Empire down the road most beneficial for all, so this lays a heavy responsibility on my shoulders. That’s why I took this opportunity to consult with the Sieurs of those Houses directly concerned and also with those who have held themselves aloof. My thanks for your patience while I gained a fuller perspective.”

  Tadriol paused to allow the whispers started by mention of Kellarin to run their course around the assembled nobles.

  “Imperial verdicts are normally given in the Imperial Court, of course, but with the considerable ill feeling I see blighting the better judgement of some most influential Princes, I think it best to settle matters as swiftly as possible.” Tadriol’s words were cutting in their measured delivery. “I’ve heard representations in court and in private from the Houses concerned and I find the whole matter confused by malice, envy and misunderstandings both accidental and wilful. Outside interference has only worsened an already difficult situation. Accordingly, I have decided to issue a series of Imperial decrees.”

  From the collective intake of breath, Temar judged this must be some considerable departure from normal practice. Allin gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. Temar squeezed back absently as he looked around for Ryshad. The chosen man was some distance away, Velindre and Casuel flanking him.

  The Emperor raised a hand to brush back an errant wisp of hair. The chains around his wrist chinked, a slight sound heard in every corner of the room.

  “The Imperial decree is not a power I use lightly,” Tadriol continued severely. “I do so to prevent these disagreements getting any further out of hand, to the potential ruination of the Empire. This unseemly bickering has already done our Names no credit at all with the commonalty. It is my order that every House abandons these petty quarrels, on pain of my extreme displeasure.”

  The Emperor smiled suddenly, speaking in more conciliatory tones.

  “Look to the future rather than past grievances. But to the formalities. Firstly, I declare the House of D’Olbriot has no exclusive rights to deal with Kellarin or any persons living there. Any other Name or lesser trading concern is entirely at liberty to make whatever arrangements they see fit, free of D’Olbriot restraint.”

  Temar glanced at Messire D’Olbriot but the Sieur’s face was unreadable.

  “Secondly, I declare the House of D’Alsennin has no claim on properties presently enjoyed by Tor Alder or any other Name. Grants and bequests made countless seasons ago cannot outweigh generations of care. I will not see ancient legalities used to upset the trades, households and livelihoods of so many innocent tenants. This decree also denies claims by scions of Tor Arrial, Den Domesin or any other noble House that ventured over the ocean in times past.”

  The Emperor’s tone of mild regret was no comfort to Temar, who felt sick misgiving hollowing out his belly. Was he being sent back to Kel Ar’Ayen deprived both of D’Olbriot aid and of any property that might have yielded coin to pay the mercenaries he’d surely need to defend his hapless colony now?

  “But Raeponin’s scales must be balanced, if justice is to be done.” The Emperor’s stern words interrupted congratulatory smiles being passed between Tor Bezaemar and Den Thasnet. “Just as D’Alsennin has no claims on this side of the ocean, no Name here may assert rights over or demand dues from the people of Kellarin. Haffrein Den Fellaemion was determined his new settlement would offer freedom from the shackles of greedy nobility…” Tadriol paused just long enough for affront to settle on various faces around the room. “Hardly surprising, given they were fleeing the debauched excesses of Nemith the Last. I am minded to honour that great seafarer by respecting his wishes, so I repeat: no Name here has any rights over Kellarin.”

  The Emperor took a slow sip from a glass of water.

  “But the prestige of all our Names rests on the care we take of our tenantry. You have granted the House of Tadriol the additional responsibility of caring for the Empire as a whole and its peoples wherever they may be. I cannot simply abandon these colonists. Every Prince of the Convocation would rightly condemn me if these blameless people were left undefended, their wealth plundered and their liberties curtailed by unwanted settlers heedlessly shipped overseas.

  “Fortunately, we have a ready solution to hand. If the House of D’Alsennin is a dead tree on this side of
the ocean, it has a flourishing offshoot in the present holder of the Name. Accordingly, I decree that Temar D’Alsennin be raised to the dignity of Sieur of that House, with all the obligations and entitlements of that position. He will sit as the equal of any Sieur in the Convocation, where he may call any House abusing his tenants before the judgement of Emperor and Princes. All colonists of Kellarin are hereby designated tenants of the House of D’Alsennin and as such are under his protection. Anyone wishing to trade across the ocean must refer their proposals to the Sieur and submit to his scrutiny. I’m not about to leave Kellarin as a D’Olbriot monopoly but I’m not having some free-for-all where these people are bamboozled by any chancer who can hire a boat!”

  The Emperor’s sudden lapse into breezy informality won smiles from various Houses, some relieved, some reluctant. Tadriol raised a hand as subdued comment threatened to break into open conversation.

  “But one man cannot build a House on his own. Since there are other sprigs of nobility planted in Kellarin’s distant soil, I decree that these and their descendants be considered cadet lines of D’Alsennin and I ask the Sieur to ensure that they style themselves accordingly.”

  The Emperor reached into a pocket and the entire room fell silent as he walked over to Temar. Temar swallowed hard. The hollowness he’d felt when he’d thought Kel Ar’Ayen was being abandoned was nothing compared to the crushing weight he felt resting on his shoulders now.

  The Emperor halted in front of Temar and held out an open hand. A silver badge lay on his palm, three holm oak leaves, parallel and overlapping. “Your insignia is granted, Messire.”

  Temar studied the brooch for a moment, until he could be sure his hands wouldn’t tremble as he pinned it to the breast of his coat. The leaves shone bright and untarnished against the dark blue silk that echoed the great sapphire of his father’s ring.

  “My undying gratitude, my Emperor,” Temar said with archaic formality.

  “From you, that’s quite some promise,” murmured the Emperor in an undertone.

  An isolated pair of hands began clapping somewhere in the crowd, soon joined by others. The Emperor turned to acknowledge the applause and the expectant faces.

  “There are a few more trifles to settle before we can all enjoy the rest of the afternoon. One of the most noteworthy aspects to the Kellarin tale is the sudden reappearance of magic in our midst. I confess I’m still uncertain of much that’s gone on, but some things I am sure of. Firstly, while the colonists of Kellarin owe a great debt to the wizards of Hadrumal, that changes nothing on this side of the ocean. All Houses may make whatever use they wish of magecraft, just as they have always done, and I will continue to listen to the advice of the Archmage Planir or any other wizard who wishes to offer counsel. But I will not grant such words any undue weight nor allow any wizard undue influence within Tormalin.”

  Temar could see various people glancing smugly at the Sieur and his brothers, eager to see how they were taking this perceived rebuke.

  “Indeed, what need do we have of Hadrumal’s magic?” the Emperor asked abruptly. “It was Tormalin Artifice saved the people of Kellarin in those far-off days, the same ancient skills that helped Correl the Stalwart carry Tormalin rule to the very edge of the Great Forest. I confess I’m curious to see what benefits Artifice bestows on Kellarin, and who knows, we may all benefit from judicious use of its proficiencies in years to come.” Tadriol paused and took a thick silver ring off one finger.

  “But we cannot expect the people of Kellarin to share their Artifice with us if we deny them those still hidden in the enchantment that protected them through their lost generations. As many of you already know, Messire D’Alsennin came asking for our help. He needs to find the jewels and ornaments, the swords and badges of allegiance that safeguarded the very minds of his people as they slept.” Tadriol shrugged. “I do not pretend to understand how this was accomplished, but I am shocked to learn some people have been tempted to extort coin or advantage in exchange for these items, all but demanding ransom for the very life of some helpless individual. This is my final decree, and I will summon a muster of the Cohorts to enforce it if need be. Every item that Messire D’Alsennin even suspects may be needed to restore his people is to be surrendered, without question, objection or recompense.” The Emperor’s outrage shaded into scorn. “We can all stand a little loss, even of heirloom pieces, and we gave up putting a price on a life in Tormalin when Inshol the Curt closed the slave markets.”

  Tadriol handed the ring to Temar. The faceted band was flattened on the top into a hexagon carrying an inscription worn illegible by age. Temar’s first thought was he’d never be able to manage the concentration needed to summon any image from the ring, his next that doing so would in any case be a very bad idea. He ransacked his memory, but before he could match the ring to any sleeper the Emperor had walked away to stand squarely before the Sieur D’Olbriot.

  “Messire, as Adjurist of the Princes, do you need to summon a Convocation to ratify these decrees?”

  D’Olbriot smiled calmly. “Since we are returning to ancient forms today, shall we content ourselves with a simple show of hands? Forgive me,” he commented dryly. “I didn’t know I’d need the rod of office.” He turned to borrow Leishal’s stick and thumped the floor three times. “Stand forth, Sieurs, to uphold the dignity of your Name!”

  The crowd shifted to allow the assorted heads of the Houses to stand forward.

  “Do you commit yourselves and all who claim the shelter of your House to abide by these decrees? I charge you by the duty you swore to the Names that elected you and to the Convocation that accepted you. Your oath remains to defend Tormalin from enemies without and tyranny within, with arms, with counsel and by enforcing the Emperor’s writ.”

  Temar watched as the Sieurs of minor Houses put their hands up at once, some hesitant, some with alacrity. Den Muret obstinately refused to look at Den Thasnet but Tor Priminale directed scathing contempt at Tor Bezaemar before slowly raising his hand. Den Murivance and Tor Kanselin both looked well content as they signalled ready agreement, a move spurring rapid compliance from Den Hefeken, Den Brennain and a score of others.

  “Temar,” Allin hissed. “Put your own hand up!”

  Heat rising in his face, he did so, and was gratified to see that it prompted a further wave of agreement.

  Messire D’Olbriot looked impassively at Temar before turning to Camarl, who was trying to hide his chagrin. “As Adjurist, I must naturally call on my Designate to vote,” he remarked in an amiable aside to Tadriol that the entire room heard. “Esquire Camarl? Does D’Olbriot stand with the Emperor for good governance?”

  Camarl cleared his throat. “Naturally, Messire.” He stuck an emphatic hand in the air.

  Now all eyes were turned to the Sieur Tor Bezaemar. He raised a limp hand with a sickly smile in stark contrast to the white-faced fury of his aunt.

  “Then we are all agreed,” said the Emperor happily. “Thank you all for your patience. I suggest we enjoy ourselves.”

  The musicians who’d been sitting studiously looking at their feet all this while began a lively tune but no one seemed inclined to dance. The crowd shifted and mingled, conversations breaking out on all sides.

  “What are you going to say to Messire D’Olbriot?” breathed Allin at Temar’s side.

  “I really do not know,” he replied, still studying the Emperor’s ring.

  “He’s coming over,” said Allin nervously. “Do you want me to stay?”

  Temar saw she was ashen with apprehension. “Go and see what Velindre makes of it all,” he suggested.

  All the same he felt uncomfortably bereft as he watched Allin sidle past Messire as the Sieur and his brothers advanced in matching step.

  “Messire.” The Sieur D’Olbriot bowed politely and Temar returned the compliment.

  “An unexpected turn of events,” was the best he could find to say.

  “Indeed,” replied the Sieur. “Quite unforeseen.”
>
  “Can you manage all the affairs of Kellarin by yourself?” demanded Esquire Camarl, his voice hovering between belligerence and concern.

  “Not without your help,” replied Temar forthrightly. “I heard nothing forbidding me to ask anyone’s counsel.”

  “There’ll be Houses queuing up to offer you advice,” said Camarl sourly.

  “Then I will have to test it, to see if it’s as sound as the guidance you have always given me.” Temar hoped Camarl wasn’t going to sulk about this for long.

  The Sieur smiled. “We can discuss all this at our leisure. I just came to wish you luck, Temar. You’re certainly going to need it.”

  His brothers murmured their agreement, but Ustian surprised Temar with a friendly wink. “Don’t look at me like that, Fresil,” he rebuked his brother. “Think it through and then argue if you must. While you do, I want a drink.” The Esquires and Sieur bowed and walked away, their conversation amiable.

  “They’ll be talking about this dance for years to come.”

  “Ryshad!” Temar turned gratefully to find the chosen man at his elbow. “Where were you?”

  “With Casuel.” Ryshad nodded. “He’s choking on the ruination of his plans to be Imperial Sorcerer and Velindre’s planning some come-uppance for Planir, if I’m any judge.” He broke off. “It looks as if the Sieur Den Ilmiral wants to speak to you.”

  Temar heaved a sigh. “I would rather wait until I have some notion of what to say. Could we leave without causing undue offence?”

  “Not really.” Ryshad frowned. “But you can say you don’t want to talk business on the last day of Festival. That’s always been the custom, and if anyone doesn’t like that it’s their problem, not yours.”

  “I hardly think that would be courteous, given the precedent the Emperor has just set,” muttered Temar glumly. “How much longer does this entertainment last?”

  “Not long, and I’ll watch your back.” Ryshad managed a half-smile. “The Emperor’s Dole is distributed to the commonalty on the eighth chime of the day. That’s when most of the nobility will leave.”