by Dora Machado
The Twins protect mankind against shrewd women. “You’re right, my lady,” Hato said. “I came ‘cause I heard my lords Bausto and Arnulf may attend. I have a question to ask of you.”
“Yes?” Bausto crammed a stuffed olive in his mouth.
“My Lord Brennus proposes to restore the house of Uras’s archives,” Hato began. “You may remember the archives were mostly destroyed, along with my Lord Edmund’s precious library, during the purge’s seventeen days.”
“After Edmund and Ethan died, yes,” Arnulf said.
“I remember hearing about it,” Bausto said.
“We’ve been canvassing the Free Territories looking for items that could enhance the archives with a memory of Lord Edmund’s time. It’s an urgent quest, you realize—”
“Timely too,” Ernilda said, “since the line of Uras is about to end.”
Hato kept his composure. “I was wondering if my lords have among your archives any items that might add to Laonia’s collection, family heirlooms, shared proclamations, agreements, letters—”
“Please.” Bausto waved a limp hand. “Don’t you remember? Edmund and I seldom saw eye to eye. Had he written me a letter, I might have burned it on the spot.”
“Are you sure?” Hato said. “Can’t you recall any occasion in which you might have exchanged letters?”
“None at all,” Bausto said, chasing after a tray of steaming lampreys.
Hato looked to Arnulf.
“Yours is a noble effort,” Konia’s lord said. “I wish I had a grown son who’d seek to honor my memory as Bren proposes to do. Alas, I can offer no help. However, I’d like to speak to your lord about what happened at the back borders.”
“Surely you received my lord’s messenger contesting Riva’s charge that Laonia attacked your back border posts?”
“I’ll still speak to your lord.”
“You do realize that Riva’s trying to draw a wedge between the territories with these baseless accusations—”
“I might be old, but I’m not daft, Hato.” Arnulf lowered his voice. “Word is that you’ve lost something on this bank of the river.”
Hato’s face froze into a blank expression.
“Suit yourself,” Arnulf said. “You’re not the only one playing the game. You might want to check on a certain shortage of ships.”
“Ships?”
“Ferries, to be specific. I heard about it when I crossed to come here. Someone is offering big money for ferries, without crews, mind you.”
Considering that more than half of Riva’s army was missing, the news was alarming. On the other hand, ships were always in great demand around the time of the White Tide procession. Hato’s knee began to throb in earnest.
“Politics continues to muddle the great river,” Arnulf said. “And yet one must strive to flow with the Nerpes if one’s to survive.” He bowed. “Tell Bren to come and see me before—tell him to come, and soon.”
Hato watched the proud old lord take his leave from the hall, admiring the man’s stiff elegance, the archaic grace of a generation on the brink of extinction—his generation.
“Interesting.” Ernilda had been so quiet that Hato had almost forgotten she was there.
“My lady?”
“Arnulf the fox, they used to call him when he was young,” Ernilda said. “The game is always best when played with cunning.”
“Whose cunning, my lady?”
“Yours, I suppose, but maybe mine as well, given what I know.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know about Louis Lambage.”
Hato hoped his face held no expression when he met the woman’s chilling blue eyes.
“Not to fear,” Ernilda said. “I like Lambage. He’s a thorough fellow, a most capable scribe, although thanks to my husband’s neglect, he won’t be able to save the whole of Barahone’s archives. He must have found the letter and the strip.”
“How do you know about that?”
“My poor, dear Hato.” She smiled. “I’ve known about that strip since the day it arrived from Laonia, sent not to Bausto, as you supposed, but to me.”
Hato could barely believe his ears.
He had known Bausto and Ernilda all his life. A scion of the land’s highborn, she had presided over Barahone’s functions like the grand lady she was, attending Teos every year in the company of her husband, notable for her towering height and her bluntness but always proper, conventional and predictable.
Until now.
Hato had to clear the cobwebs from his throat. “The Lord Edmund sent you the letter?”
“We kept it quiet,” Ernilda said, smiling a greeting to someone across the room.
“You and Edmund were—?”
“Lovers.”
The revelation hit Hato in the gut. Was it possible that the woman was telling the truth? If she was, how come that Hato didn’t know about it? And perhaps most importantly, what else had Edmund managed to conceal from Hato?
Like most lords, Edmund had had his share of lovers over the years. In his trusted position as Chamber Lord, Hato had known about most of them and had often conspired with his lord to facilitate his escapades. But by the Triad, how had the Lord of Laonia managed an affair with the very married lady of Barahone?
“Edmund had a gift for discretion,” Ernilda said. “He liked my big, crafty feet.”
Hato blushed to the root of his balding pate, but Ernilda’s knowledge of Lord Edmund’s intimate preferences dispelled any doubts he might have that she was telling the truth. No wonder Edmund and Bausto had kept their distance.
Hato wondered if Bausto had known. The woman was alive, so no, he couldn’t have known. But Bausto may have suspected. Dear gods, Edmund. How did you manage it?
“Forgive me, Hato, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Ernilda said. “Don’t be mad at Edmund. Lords have secrets from even his closest confidantes. I should know. Edmund wasn’t always a faithful lover.”
“If I may ask,” Hato said. “When did you receive the letter and the strip?”
“I’m afraid my answer will not be helpful to your timetable.”
“My timetable?”
She straightened, hoisting the heavy load of her still beguiling cleavage to the level of Hato’s nose. “Don’t treat me like a witless ninny. Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever wondered what happened to Edmund? Do you think I didn’t try to figure it out? You think that if you can figure out what happened, you might be able to save his last boy. For years, you’ve been trying to establish a timeline of events. But you haven’t been able to learn anything helpful. And that little strip of vellum won’t help you any more than it did me.”
She could be right, but still, Hato had to ask. “When did he send it to you?”
“It wasn’t at the end,” she said. “It wasn’t around the time when he died either. It was almost ten years before he died, twenty years ago, the year that Laonia defeated Riva’s forces at the Narrows.”
“Oh.” Hato couldn’t conceal his disappointment.
“I know how you feel,” Ernilda said. “I, too, wished that scroll had something to do with Edmund’s affliction. At least we’d have a fair explanation for his death. But this all happened too early to matter.”
“You might be right,” Hato admitted. “But … why did he send you the strip?”
“I think of it as a parting gift. He sent me the lovely token after our very last encounter.”
“But if all you say is true, if you knew what Lambage was up to and if you valued the token so highly, why did you allow Lambage to make away with it?”
“Ah, that.” She flashed a sad smile. “Barahone archives are rife with neglect. Our history, even as we speak, crumbles into ashes. My spineless husband will never care enough to save it. He’s all about appearances. Should such a token be found among my things when I die, surely the letter and the strip would be destroyed to keep his name and reputation intact.”
“So you deposited the letter a
nd the strip in the archives, hoping Lambage—or someone like him—would find them?”
“Precisely.”
“I don’t understand,” a flummoxed Hato said, loath to betray his ignorance but also aware that this could be his only chance to make sense of the strip. “Why?”
“Edmund is gone, and I’ll be gone too someday.”
“No offense, my lady, but we all die.”
“Spoken as the practical man you are.” Ernilda took a deep breath. “Your mind may never understand my reasoning, Hato, but perhaps your shriveled old heart someday will. Come my end, Edmund and I will be separate annotations on some genealogical volume, tiny, illegible characters, irrelevant initials. My name will be suspended against a line without issue.”
“Yes?”
“It’s a simple thing, really,” she said. “I wanted something of ours to remain in this world.”
* * *
Hato’s mind reeled as he made his way out of the crowded hall. He couldn’t believe he had never known, never even suspected Edmund and Ernilda’s affair. The discovery altered Hato’s perceptions in a fundamental way. Before, he had believed he knew everything of importance about all of his lords. Now, he knew he didn’t.
“My Lord Hato.” Riva stood before him like a massive fortress. “How kind of you to come to my feast.”
“I was just leaving, my lord.” Hato bowed and tried to sidestep the king, but Riva would have none of it.
“Stay.” The king hooked his arm on Hato’s elbow and strolled forth, grabbing a full goblet from a passing servant and thrusting it into Hato’s hand, all the while greeting his adoring subjects.
With a glance askance, Hato had to admit to a measure of envy. Riva had lost none of the grace and vitality that had made him such an appealing youth. His black hair curled full and rebellious from a gloriously staunch hairline that showed no inclination to recede. His muscles retained the strength that had given him a reputation as “Riva the Invincible.”
The man was a fearsome foe. He had been his own champion at the games until three years ago, when rumor was that his councilors had begged him to choose a royal champion, not because the king was any less invincible than when he was twenty-five—never that—but because so few of the kingdom’s highborn remained either unharmed or willing to face the king in mock battle.
Hato had to give the man credit. Riva had risen out of the obscurity of the house of Estes, a lesser known highborn line with little fortune or prospect. Despite his humble beginnings, Riva had become a luminous star, engaging a fearsome mercenary army, accumulating wealth and consolidating lands faster than any other lord in the history of the Free Territories.
Beyond that, Riva had created a legend. Looking at him, a man could forget injustice and forgive greed to believe in kingship. Only the deep lines radiating from the corner of his eyes betrayed either his age or cunning. Even then, the lines reinforced his face’s distinguished features, also serving to disguise his penetrating gaze with a sense of friendliness capable of charming even the most reluctant man to his allegiance.
But Hato knew better. An autocratic will and a deceitful mind hid behind Riva’s impressive façade. A ravenous insatiability for land and power drove the man’s voracity. It was Riva’s greed for Laonia that had first led Hato to believe that the king had to be responsible for contracting the curse that had afflicted Edmund and Laonia. But thus far, neither Hato nor Teos’s extensive inquests had found any evidence to that.
Hato had to admit that no man in his right mind, not even Riva, would risk his life and his territory by defying the sacred island’s prohibition on curses. Besides, no other ruler had done more to combat the rise of oddities in his lands.
“And how’s your lordling doing?” Riva said, walking side by side with Hato.
“My lord thrives,” Hato said, “despite the obvious difficulties.”
“Difficulties, you call them?” Riva laughed, the strong healthy cackles of a king with no cares. “You’re to be admired for your steadfastness. No man should be called to pay allegiance to the dead. I could use a wise and experienced man like you. Those who serve me faithfully enjoy long and comfortable lives.”
“As you well know, my lord, my family has served the house of Uras for over a hundred generations,” Hato said, treading carefully. “And I already serve a noble lord.”
Riva’s gaze hardened into a penetrating stare. “I hear rumors about your lord. That he’s dead or incapacitated, that he’s imprisoned in this place or that.”
“Rumors?” Hato said. “Surely, my lord, you know better.”
“I do know better, Hato; I do.” Riva put an arm over Hato’s shoulder and drew him in, leading him towards the massive hearth. “Do you forget that your lord is an outlaw in my kingdom?”
A fit of anger coursed through Hato. He wanted to do nothing more than to shake off Riva’s embrace. And yet Hato had to set his pride aside. He couldn’t afford to offend the king in front of all of his loyal subjects and supporters. Hato had come tonight as an invited guest, and as such, he depended on the fastidious rules of highborn hospitality to survive the night. Many a war had been launched by something as foolish as a yawn. The slightest affront could serve to justify his host’s righteous indignation. After that, the rules of hospitality didn’t apply.
The people in the hall were watching them, pretending to be engaged in conversations and laughter, yet tracking them closely. The music was too loud for anyone to hear their conversation, but there were always the lip readers and the Twins knew that highborn had made a blood sport of interpreting body language.
The mood of the hall was determined by the king’s mood, and right now, the crowd was trying to figure out what that was. But none of the faces parading in the periphery of Hato’s vision met his eyes. None were brave enough to interrupt or intercept. All were watching and waiting.
Hato reigned in his temper, kept on the blank, diplomatic face that served him best, and leaned on his staff more heavily. An old, infirm relic of a time gone by would surely present a smaller target. Hato wouldn’t mind living a little longer and he would achieve nothing for his lord or Laonia if he ended up in prison or dead.
Riva led Hato to the massive fireplace, where the roaring flames put out heat meant for the entire hall. The king dragged a chair closer to the fireplace, and offered it to Hato with a gallant sweep of his arm. “Hato?”
Hato took the seat, mostly because he couldn’t afford to slight his host. “Why, thank you my lord,” he said, making a show of seating with great difficulty.
The king leaned against the fireplace and took a sip of his wine. “Tell me Hato,” he said. “Of all kingly duties, which one do you think is the most difficult?”
Hato shrugged. “Of kingly duties, my lord, you know much better than I ever could.”
“Many duties compete for a king’s attention,” he said, staring into the fire. “But the one that burdens me more is justice.”
“Ah,” Hato said, planting his staff between his legs. “That’s a good one.”
“I never question the fate of outlaws,” he said. “It’s only just that they should have a suffering death to account for their crimes. But sometimes, I waver when it comes to their accomplices. I mean, if a man is pledged to serve another man who by his crimes becomes an outlaw, is it fair that the first man should suffer for his master’s crimes?”
“A difficult decision indeed, my lord,” Hato said cautiously. “Fortunately, the law lightens your burden, since outlaws—and their accomplices—are to be brought to the sacred island and highborn are judged exclusively at Teos.”
“But is it practical to haul an offender all the way to Teos, when a ruler has the means and wisdom to make a decision?”
“Practical?” Hato shook his head. “I’m not sure. Wise, absolutely, as Teos expects compliance and anything else would give the appearance of impropriety.”
Riva’s eyes darkened, but to his credit, he flashed his dazzling smile. “Teo
s’s purpose is peace,” he said. “Whereas my purpose is justice.”
“Of course, my lord,” Hato said, flashing an equally visible smile. “But the authorities at Teos may disagree with your conclusions.”
“I might rile them now and then.” Riva shook a bejeweled finger in the air. “But they won’t be happy when your lord fails to answer Teos’s summons.”
“Teos has not yet called,” Hato pointed out.
“Word is that the Chosen are sailing upriver as we speak.”
What? Hato hadn’t heard anything of the sort. He kept his composure. “It’s still too early.”
“The White Tide is about to begin,” the king said. “The Lake of Tears will release its treasure soon. What is it? A fortnight from the lake to Teos with a good northerly wind?”
Damn the Twins. The heat coming from the hearth was unbearable. Hato was sweating like a roast on the spit. He had to wipe off the beads of sweat from his upper lip. With Bren gone, an early call to tribute was the worst possible news for Laonia. Riva knew that. Hato could tell that this despicable usurper whose lands had been won by his mercenaries’ brute force relished his courtly games just as much as he liked his wars.
“Laonia will answer the summons,” he said as evenly as he could manage.
“Of course Laonia will,” Riva said. “You’d never allow it to be otherwise. Your lord might be brash and reckless, but you are truly Laonia’s warden, a Chamber Lord fit to rule.”
Hato bowed his head, if only to hide the disgust on his face. “I’m honored to be found worthy.”
“I’m a great admirer of loyal men,” Riva said, crouching before Hato and placing his hand just above his swollen knee, where a little bit of pressure set his joint on fire. “I’m a collector of reliable heroes. Haven’t you noticed how well my men have respected you while you camp in my lands? You have not been harried or disturbed, have you?”
Ah, yes, Hato had noticed and had fussed about it quite a bit. On the one hand, the Twenty were hard to find when they didn’t want to be found, and Riva was probably bluffing because he would never pass on the leverage that capturing one or more of the Twenty would bring him over the Lord of Laonia.
