by David Weber
“It’s not a joke, damn it, Yalith!” Sharral waved both hands in frustration.
“No, it’s not,” Yalith agreed more soberly. “But whether we like it or not, at this particular moment Soumeta is only saying what a dangerous number of other war maids think. So I can’t just let you or Balcartha step on her—not without giving her a little more rope, first, at the very least—without running the risk of further alienating the people who already think I’m being too accommodating. Like Saretha and her crowd.”
Sharral’s lips tightened as if she wanted to dispute that. Unfortunately, she couldn’t.
“All right,” she sighed. “You win—or lose, or whatever it is you’re doing! I’ll show her in.”
* * *
“Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Mayor,” Soumeta said as Sharral closed the office door behind her and Yalith pointed at a chair on the other side of her desk.
“Did I do that?” Yalith asked pleasantly, arching both eyebrows and steepling her fingers in front of her chest as she leaned back and rested her elbows on the arms of her chair. “That’s odd. I could have sworn Sharral just told me that you had an appointment with me.”
Soumeta flushed, and Yalith smiled internally. Had the other woman really expected that a meaningless polite formula could somehow convince Yalith to gloss over what amounted to an arrogant demand that the mayor see her?
“I suppose I shouldn’t have done that,” Soumeta muttered after a moment. “It’s just that it’s important that I speak to you, and I didn’t think Sharral was even going to tell you I was here.”
“Sharral tells me about everyone who asks to see me, Soumeta,” Yalith said evenly. “Whether she likes them or not.”
Soumeta’s flush deepened. It was especially obvious in someone with her fair skin and golden hair, and Yalith let her stew in her own juices for several seconds.
“Very well,” she said finally. “You’re here. What was so important that you simply had to see me?”
“Mayor Yalith,” Soumeta gave herself a visible shake and leaned forward in her chair, “the situation in Lorham is worse than ever, and it’s getting steadily worse still. We have to do something!”
“And what, precisely, would you like me to do, Soumeta?” Yalith asked with deadly patience.
“We can’t just stand there while Trisu and his toadies systematically tear down everything we’ve accomplished in the last two hundred years!” Soumeta protested. “It’s bad enough that he’s violating our boundaries with that gristmill of his, or our prerogatives with those road tolls, but now his so-called market master in Thalar is squeezing us completely out.” She bared her teeth. “Do you think for one minute that someone like Manuar would dare to do that without Trisu’s backing?”
“First,” Yalith said levelly, her dark eyes trained on Soumeta like twin ballistae, “we’re not ’just standing there.’ Second, there seems to be some question as to exactly what Master Manuar is or is not doing in Thalar. Third, when the Council and I specified that you were to be our official representative to him, we also instructed you not to be confrontational. The object was to make a firm statement through a spokeswoman official enough to make our concern plain, not to antagonize the man.”
“Antagonize him!” Soumeta exclaimed. “Mayor, he claimed Jolhanna was responsible for all our difficulties!”
“I’ve read your report, Soumeta,” Yalith said. “It’s … unfortunate that you excluded Theretha from your meeting with the market master.”
“Are you accusing me of misrepresenting what Manuar said?” Soumeta demanded harshly.
“I’m saying a second viewpoint on the conversation would have been useful.” Yalith held the younger woman’s angry eyes with her own. “And I’m suggesting that Theretha, who knows Manuar personally, might have been able to prevent the conversation from getting so out of hand so quickly. And, frankly, Soumeta, I’m also suggesting that intransigence is often in the eye of the beholder. You went into that meeting with blood already in your eye—and don’t pretend to me, or to yourself, that you didn’t—and that’s hardly the way to evoke a cooperative atmosphere.”
“I went into that meeting determined to be just as reasonable as Manuar allowed me to be,” Soumeta snapped. “You and the Council had sent me as our official representative—was I supposed to just stand there and let him lie to me about Jolhanna without calling him on it?”
“Yes, we sent you as our official representative. We also stressed the importance of being reasonable. Of bending over backward, if that was what it took, to make it abundantly clear that we aren’t the ones provoking the problems.”
“And letting him shuffle all the blame off on Jolhanna would have made us look ’reasonable’?” Soumeta barked a sharp, angry laugh. “It would have proved to him that we were weak enough to let him get away with a barefaced lie!”
“What you ought to have done was to tell him that you could not believe Jolhanna would have deliberately or knowingly provoked problems between us and the Thalar merchants. You should never have accused him of lying about it. Instead, you should have assured him that both I, as Mayor, and the Town Council would look into his allegations most carefully. And you should have pointed out to him that while we were looking into them, it remained his responsibility to ensure that the Thalar market, as opposed to the individual merchants in it, abided by the terms of our charter.”
Soumeta muttered something under her breath and looked rebellious, and Yalith suppressed a sudden burning desire to snap the other woman’s head off. She settled for glaring at Soumeta for a breath or two before she continued in that same, meticulous tone.
“You should also have listened to Theretha. She wanted to stay, to look for Herian. For that matter, to speak to Manuar herself. Instead, you bustled her back off to Kalatha.”
“The Council charged me with responsibility for her safety,” Soumeta grated through clenched teeth. “In my judgment, her safety was at risk in Thalar.”
“But it’s the soundness of your judgment which is really in question here, isn’t it, Soumeta?” Yalith asked softly.
“If you didn’t trust my judgment, then you shouldn’t have sent me in the first place!” Soumeta shot back.
“You weren’t my choice,” Yalith told her flatly. “I didn’t object to it, which I probably should have. But I didn’t choose you for the job because, frankly, I was concerned that something just like this might happen.”
“It’s time we stopped being afraid of them!” Soumeta said fiercely. “It’s time we pushed back instead of just letting them push us!If you can’t see that, then others can! We’re just lying down for them, reacting to every fresh infringement with one more tearful protest instead of kicking them in the balls, and that’s not being reasonable! It’s spreading your legs for them and inviting them to—”
“That’s enough!“ Yalith slapped her desktop so hard her hand stung, and Soumeta’s mouth snapped shut in shock. The mayor leaned over the desk towards her, her normally mild eyes crackling with anger, and the younger, taller war maid shrank back in her chair.
“You’re young,” Yalith told her icily. “Older than Theretha, perhaps, but that’s not saying all that much, is it? You’re impatient, you’re angry, you’re not terribly smart, and you’re just spoiling for a fight. Well, unless we’re luckier than we have any reasonable right to hope, you may have found us one. I don’t expect you to understand just how serious the problems you’ve helped create really are, because you’re too busy patting yourself on the back and congratulating yourself on having ’taken a stand.’ But I do expect you to obey the instructions you’re given. I also expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you address the Mayor of Kalatha. And you’d better remember both of those things, girl, because if you can’t at least pretend to the most basic courtesy or obey the instructions your superiors give you, then I will discuss with Balcartha whether or not you are fit to be trusted with any responsibility, including
your position as an officer of the Town Guard. Is that perfectly clear, Fifty Soumeta?”
Soumeta stared at her, more terrified and cowed by Yalith’s freezing cold precision than she would ever have been by any shouted confrontation. Yalith held her eye for another handful of heartbeats, then nodded very slightly.
“You may go, Fifty Soumeta. And the next time you tell my assistant you have an appointment to see me, you had better have an appointment. Because if you don’t, you will never have one again. Is that also clear?”
Soumeta nodded quickly, and Yalith snorted.
“Then go,” she said, and Soumeta seemed to levitate up out of her chair. She disappeared through the door much more rapidly than she’d entered, and it closed behind her.
It opened again after a moment, and Sharral stuck her head back into Yalith’s office.
“I thought you said we couldn’t step on her?” the assistant said mildly.
“No, I said you and Balcartha couldn’t step on her.”
“Isn’t that more or less the same thing?”
“Not even remotely.” Yalith grimaced. “What I just did was to personally counsel and reprimand a junior officer because I was dissatisfied with the fashion in which she’d carried out the instructions I’d given her. Well, I did smack her for insubordination, too, but that was on a personal level. What I did not do was to have one of my subordinate minions—that’s you, Sharral—whack her, nor did I overreact by having one of her military superiors—that’s Balcartha—give her the same reprimand.” The mayor shrugged. “Not even her sponsors on the Council can suggest that anything that just transpired in this office was remotely improper on my part. Or that she didn’t just give me ample justification for the hammer I did bring down on her.”
“And just which member of the Council do you expect to be fooled by all of this dancing around the point?”
“I don’t expect to fool anyone,” Yalith said. “You know what sort of juggling act I’m already doing with the Council. The sides are pretty clearly drawn, but as long as I stay within the bounds of custom and usage, Saretha’s clique doesn’t have a pretext to call for an open vote of censure.”
“Do you really think it’s that bad?” Sharral looked at the mayor, her expression both dismayed and surprised.
“Do I really think that? No.” Yalith shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean I’m right. And it also doesn’t mean the situation can’t change. So until I’m positive about exactly what it is Saretha wants—and that I can keep her from getting whatever it is—I’m not planning on taking any chances.”
She shook her head again.
“This thing has been building for a long time now, Sharral. I don’t like the way the intensity has suddenly started climbing over the last year or two, either. And, to be honest, I’m just as angry as Soumeta or Saretha could possibly be. But right this minute, the situation is hanging on the very brink of going out of control. We don’t need some silly confrontation—or anything!—to make things even worse.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bahzell Bahnakson stood on the battlements of Hill Guard Castle, gazing off into the distance and worrying. Brandark Brandarkson stood at his left elbow and helped him do it.
“Why do I have the feeling this was a really bad idea?” the Bloody Sword hradani murmured.
“Coming up here?” Bahzell looked down at him and cocked an eyebrow, and Brandark shook his head with a tight grin. It wasn’t raining. In fact, the sun shone bright, and clear blue patches showed through fitful breaks in the clouds. But the blustery wind was much stronger up here on the walls, where no obstacles blocked or abated its power, and both hradanis’ warrior braids blew out behind them.
“No,” Brandark said. He gestured at the road, stretching off to the east. “I meant Tellian’s haring off this way.”
“It’s not as if he’d any other choice, is it now?” Bahzell replied, and Brandark shrugged.
“The fact that something’s the only choice someone has, doesn’t make it a good idea when he does it,” he pointed out. “Especially not when he has as many enemies as Tellian does. I don’t like the thought of his dashing about out there with no more than a score of bodyguards, Bahzell.”
“First, it’s only by the gods’ grace that he’s any bodyguards at allwith him,” Bahzell snorted. “Once Tarith turned up and he’d confirmation of all Leeana had done, he was all for heading out with naught but Hathan beside him. Now that, I’m thinking, is something as most anyone would think was after being a bad idea.”
“You know,” Brandark observed, “you’re developing quite a gift for understatement, Bahzell.”
Bahzell only snorted again, louder, but both of them knew he was right. Even Tellian had known that much, although both Hathan and Hanatha had found themselves forced to sit on him—almost literally—before he’d admitted it. That had been harder for Hanatha than for his wind brother, but frantic as she was over her daughter’s safety, she was also the wife of one great noble and the daughter of another. Despite the unmatchable speed with which any wind rider’s courser gifted him, the Lord Warden of the West Riding had no business at all putting himself at risk by gallivanting around the countryside unprotected. It was entirely possible that one of his enemies might be keeping an eye on his comings and goings with an eye towards a quiet little assassination, assuming he was foolish enough to offer an opening, and not even a courser could outrun an arrow. Besides, as Hathan had grimly pointed out, Leeana had stolen enough of a lead that it was unlikely even coursers could overtake her short of her destination, so there was no reason to dash out like reckless fools.
“Second,” Bahzell continued after a moment, “that’s his daughter out there, Brandark. He’s a noble and a ruler, aye. But he’s after being a father before he’s any of those other things.” He shook his head. “He’ll not give over, no matter what.”
“But is that really what’s best for Leeana?” Brandark asked more quietly. Bahzell looked at him again, sharply, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. “I know he loves her, Bahzell. And I know he wants her safely home again. But Leeana’s no fool. Whatever other people may think, you know—and so do her parents—that she didn’t do this on a whim. If she thought it through as carefully as I’m sure she did, perhaps what she’s doing is actually for the best.”
Bahzell grunted. He’d thought the same thing himself as he remembered the pain, and the fear—and not for herself alone, he realized now—in a pair of jade-green eyes. But he knew that even if Tellian had come to the exact same conclusion, it wouldn’t have made any difference to his determination to protect the daughter he loved from the consequences of her own decision.
“It might be you’ve a point,” he said finally. “I’ll not deny I’ve wondered the same. But in Tellian’s boots, I’d make the selfsame choice, and well I know it.” He shook his head again. “It’s a hard thing, Brandark. A hard thing.”
They fell silent again, gazing off into the wind, and wondering what was happening out there beyond the eastern horizon.
* * *
“Milord Champion!”
Bahzell looked up in surprise. The delicious odors of one of Tala’s dinners—rich, hot curry, chicken, beef, and potatoes—drifted tantalizingly upward from the bowls and dishes on the table before him, and evening was busily giving way to night outside the window. He’d invited Gharnal and Hurthang to join him and Brandark for supper, but he hadn’t expected any other visitors this night. And he certainly hadn’t expected to see Sir Jahlahan Swordspinner turn up in his quarters in person.
“Aye, Sir Jahlahan?” he said mildly, setting down his knife and fork. “And how might it be as I could be of service?”
He waved at a chair on the other side of the table, inviting the human to be seated, but Swordspinner remained standing.
“I apologize for interrupting your supper, Milord Champion. And yours, Milords.” He nodded with abrupt, almost spastic courtesy to Brandark and the two other Horse Stealers, and Bahzell’
s ears pricked as the jagged edges of the other man’s voice registered. Sir Jahlahan was the seneschal of Hill Guard Castle. In Tellian’s absence, he commanded the garrison not simply of Hill Guard, but of Balthar itself, and Tellian Bowmaster hadn’t picked someone who was prone to panic for that post. Yet at this moment, that was what Sir Jahlahan appeared dangerously close to doing.
“There’s no need to be apologizing, Sir Jahlahan,” Bahzell said after a moment, glancing at the other hradani. “I’ve no doubt only pressing need could have caused you to.”
“You’re not wrong there, Milord Champion,” Swordspinner agreed in that same, jagged voice. “We’ve just received a messenger from Lord Warden Edinghas of Warm Springs,” he continued. “That’s one of the West Riding’s smaller holdings, up on the northeast border. Up between the west fork of the Spear River and the shore of the North Ice Sister.”
He paused, and Bahzell nodded his understanding of the geography. That meant this Warm Springs was almost as far north as the southern edge of Hope’s Bane Glacier, about as far as you could get from Balthar and remain in the West Riding. Yet even as he nodded, he had the odd feeling Swordspinner hadn’t paused to be sure Bahzell was following him. It was more as if the seneschal needed to pause. As if whatever had brought him here was terrible enough that he needed time to steel himself for the actual explanation.
Sir Jahlahan drew a deep breath, then looked Bahzell in the eye.
“Milord Champion, Lord Edinghas’ message is—Well, it’s one I don’t have the least idea how to answer. I doubt Milord Baron himself would know! But this much I am certain of: if any man can know what to do, it’s a champion of Tomanak. Please, Milord. I need your help—badly.”
* * *
Bahzell’s expression was as grim as his thoughts as he and Brandark followed Sir Jahlahan into the seneschal’s office. He’d considered bringing Gharnal and Hurthang, as well, but decided against it. This meeting might be difficult enough without piling that many hradani into it. Besides, if what his instincts—and that indefinable link which always connected him, however lightly, to Tomanak—were telling him was true, someone had needed to go and alert the Order’s sword brothers that they might be needed.
