Assassin's Price

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He needed to think about that … more than just a little.

  50

  Samedi turned colder and grayer, and from before dawn snow fell in fast flurries followed by bitter winds, with more snow falling after the winds. From the windows in the Chateau D’Rex, Charyn could see that there was almost no one on the ring road.

  While trying to ignore the whining and moaning of the intermittent winds, Charyn buried himself in the Codex Legis, looking for something that might help him deal with Ryel and the two councils, while Howal and Alucar were working with Norstan in teaching him the new bookkeeping system for the chateau ledgers.

  After more than a glass, Charyn came across one section that could prove helpful:

  … the lands and property of any man found guilty of treason, before the High Justicer, become the property of the rex, for him to keep or dispose of, as he sees fit …

  He kept looking. After several glasses’ worth of search and study, during which he was unable to discover any other provisions that appeared to be even marginally useful in dealing with Ryel and his current situation, he finally set aside the Codex, stood, and walked to the window. The window hangings were cold to the touch, and when he pulled them back, he immediately felt the cold that seemed to radiate from the frosted glass. He scraped away the thin ice and frost from a section of the pane and looked at the courtyard, its stones still swept. Letting the hangings drop back into place, he stepped back.

  What if Ryel isn’t behind all this? But who else could it be? One of the threats had mentioned the waste of high tariffs and had arrived only two days after his meeting with the councils. That meant that the writer had to be located in or near L’Excelsis. It also pointed to a council member or someone close to him. But the threats from Solis and Tuuryl demonstrated both knowledge of regial properties and the resources to arrange significant destruction. What happened in Solis must have been arranged far in advance.

  Charyn smiled sardonically. That also might provide a very good reason why there were no dates on any of them. Interestingly enough, the one from Solis, the most distant point, had one of the more general threats, at least in terms of how it was couched.

  He was still pondering over the matter when Howal returned, closing the study door firmly but not noisily behind himself.

  “How are matters coming with Norstan?”

  “Slowly. He really didn’t understand numbers.”

  “How could he not be able to count?”

  “Oh, he can add and subtract, but he really didn’t understand that the second column represents ten times the first, and that’s why the columns have to be lined up, and why we use commas, for silvers, and decimal points for coppers. Once Alucar saw that, we explained it very simply. Then Norstan understood. I mean, he knew that ten coppers make a silver, and ten silvers a gold, but he’d never related that to the use of commas and decimal points. He also didn’t think about writing the numbers clearly. There were a few other things, too. He also seems relieved that he won’t have to keep the ledger for the stablemaster.”

  “It sounds like your morning was well spent. Have you talked to Dylert or Kaylet about how they’re coming in cleaning up the Chateau Guard and the stables and barns?”

  “Dylert has matters well organized. Kaylet’s having to do a lot of teaching.”

  Somehow neither situation surprised Charyn.

  “Oh … for some reason, there’s not enough firewood to last out the winter. The head cook…”

  “Hassala.”

  “She says she told Norstan back in Finitas. He remembers it, but thought he’d sent a message to the estate foresters. I drafted another message for him, and we sent it off.”

  “How much wood is there?”

  “Enough for two weeks.”

  “We might have to thin some of the trees in the hunting park if it gets too bad,” said Charyn. “There must be some that need pruning or others that are sickly.”

  “I’ll mention that to Kaylet.”

  Charyn nodded.

  The momentary silence was interrupted by a rapping on the study door, followed by Maertyl calling out, “There’s a courier from Marshal Vaelln.”

  “Have him come in.”

  The courier was neither fresh-faced nor grizzled, but a lean trooper perhaps a year or two older than Howal, his face red from the cold. He bowed, then handed the envelope to the imager, who had stepped forward.

  “Does the marshal request an immediate reply?” asked Charyn.

  “No, sir. He said it was information you should know.”

  “Thank you. Stop by the kitchen and get something warm to drink before you leave the chateau.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” The trooper bowed, then left the study.

  Howal handed the envelope to Charyn.

  “A message on Samedi that I should know about cannot possibly be good,” opined Charyn sardonically as he took the smaller letter knife, the one Howal had imaged, and slit the envelope. After easing the single sheet of paper from the envelope, he began to read.

  Your Grace—

  We have just gotten word that two of our frigates patrolling off Stakanar were attacked by two Jariolan third-rate ships of the line on the thirty-first of Finitas. The frigates, having superior speed, and a favorable wind, managed to escape with minor damage. The presence of the Jariolan warships prevented them from intervening when a Jariolan privateer stopped and looted a Solidaran spice merchanter out of Kherseilles.

  I regret the result of the incident, but for the captains of the frigates to have engaged warships far superior in armament would only have lost both ships to no purpose. Because of the concerns voiced by many factors, I thought you should know about this immediately.

  Wordlessly, Charyn handed the brief dispatch to Howal.

  Howal read it, then returned it to Charyn, also without saying a word.

  “There will be more dispatches like this,” Charyn said quietly. “It may be years before we can stop the piracy, and the factors and those High Holders who engage in trade may well lose patience with their rex and his deliberate plans.” He laughed harshly. “Not that I have any other choice except to be deliberate.”

  “Don’t you think many of them will understand? They may not like it, but they should appreciate that it takes time to build warships and train crews.”

  “I suppose I could commission privateers as well, but that would give the Oligarch greater excuse to use his warships against all Solidaran shipping. I’d prefer not to do that until later.” Seeing Howal’s quizzical look, Charyn went on, “I’m limited in what I can do. I cannot build ships faster. If I delay commissioning privateers, then when the outcry grows louder, I can do so. That will show action on my part, and it will also delay giving the Oligarch an earlier opportunity to prey on our ships even more widely than is presently happening.” At least, you hope that will be how it turns out … and that it won’t be even worse.

  He just hoped there were no more dispatches from Vaelln—or anyone else—any time soon.

  51

  When Charyn woke on Solyai morning, the winds had died away, and the regial bedchamber was chill. Palenya was still sleeping beside him, and for a time he just watched her, thinking, If only she were a little younger … and could have children. The age difference wasn’t impossible, but the fact that she both was not highborn and could not have children made any future with her—on any terms she would accept—absolutely impossible.

  A rex had to have heirs, even if they were female, although that had occurred only once, and the regina and her husband had ruled together, if, it was said, uneasily. She had abdicated on her son’s twenty-fifth birthday, five years after her husband’s death, and most Solidaran histories said little about her reign, besides the fact that it was unexceptional.

  Palenya slowly opened her eyes. “You’re staring.”

  “I am. I enjoy looking at you.”

  “It’s cold. All you can see is my eyes and nose.”

  “I
still like looking at you. You have beautiful eyes and a good nose.”

  “It’s a cold nose.” Palenya offered a mournful expression.

  “I’ll put some wood on the coals in the hearth. Then I’ll ring for breakfast.” Charyn had to admit that he liked having the bellpulls in the regial rooms, rather than having to arrange for meals in his quarters in advance.

  More than two quints passed before breakfast arrived, more than enough time for both of them to make themselves moderately presentable, and for the renewed fire to warm the sitting room. Once the servers had left, Charyn gestured to the small table, then seated himself as she sat down.

  “I’m still glad you’re here.” He poured tea into her mug and then his. He did not say what else was on his mind—that their times together were numbered.

  “I’m glad you are.”

  He raised his mug, as if in a toast. “To your being here.”

  She lifted hers. “To your wanting me here.”

  “How could I not?”

  “Very easily … if you were most men.”

  “You flatter me … I think.”

  “A woman needs to keep a man a little off-balance at times.” She lifted the mug and took a small swallow, then lowered it and said, “You know I have to play for your mother’s gathering this afternoon?”

  “You have mentioned it once or twice, I believe.”

  “I am a musician, and that’s what I’m being paid for.” After the briefest pause, Palenya added wryly, “Mostly, anyway. It is a good idea for a musician to be seen playing or teaching, if not both.”

  “Maybe we should play the duet together. For the gathering.”

  “I can’t forbid you,” she replied, “but I don’t think it would do much for your regial image to be seen playing with a mere musician.”

  Not in any form of play. “We could play it together later, but before the gathering … and you could work with me some more on the nocturne. I haven’t spent as much time on it as I would have liked.” Charyn took a bite of the cheese and egg casserole, not hot, but still warm after its journey up from the kitchen.

  “We had best do that well before the gathering.”

  “I think we can manage that. It’s only eighth glass, and no one will be arriving until just before third glass.” He looked at Palenya, who, for a moment, had looked distracted. “What were you just thinking?”

  “About Aloryana, if you must know. I miss teaching her. She was always so interested, and she worked hard. You’re like her in that respect. I wonder … Does the Collegium have any musicians?”

  “I don’t know. I should write Aloryana and ask.” Charyn frowned. “I should have written her sooner. I also should ask her if there’s a clavecin there somewhere. I didn’t see one in the Maitre’s dwelling. I could arrange to buy one and send it if they have a place for it.” He managed to conceal a smile at what Palenya had just managed. Let her think that you don’t see it. Besides, if Alastar would agree, Palenya would be far safer on Imagisle than anywhere else in Solidar that Charyn could think of.

  “That would be very sweet of you.”

  “Aloryana more than deserves it.” And so did Palenya. “I’ll write her while you’re entertaining the ladies of the gathering.” With a smile, Charyn refilled his mug and took a swallow of the tea that was now only slightly more than lukewarm. He suspected that Palenya knew that he knew, but it was better—for now—that neither of them spoke of it.

  He intended to enjoy what of the remainder of Solayi that he could, knowing that the future remained uncertain … and that he would not have Palenya’s company for all that much longer, no matter how the events of the coming month played themselves out.

  52

  A light snow began to fall after sunset on Solayi, and kept falling through Lundi afternoon until it was more than knee-deep across L’Excelsis. From what Charyn could see from the upper windows of the Chateau D’Rex, the only places that were kept clear were the courtyards and the drives of the chateau itself. By midafternoon on Mardi, the ring road was again barely passible, and a few wagons and riders began appearing. Mardi night saw the last of the clouds vanish, leaving the air even colder, and Meredi dawned bright and bitter.

  Despite the snow and cold, when Charyn, wearing a heavy woolen jacket, entered his study, a copy of Mardi’s issue of Veritum lay on the corner of his desk. He picked it up and began to read as he stood there. One story reported that the River Aluse was now frozen over beginning a hundred milles north of L’Excelsis, so solid that wagons could be driven on the ice. The second story was headlined “More Ships Lost.”

  Fourteen merchant ships and three Solidaran Navy warships are known to have been sunk by Jariolan warships and privateers in the last two months of the previous year … Rex Charyn’s efforts to build more Solidaran ships of the line represent a good first step in dealing with Jariola … the first question is why it took the new rex and his predecessor so long … second question is what else will the rex propose and how long will that take … only hope the beleaguered factors of Solidar aren’t asking that question a year from now … Marshal Vaelln confirmed that the planned shipbuilding is on schedule …

  Charyn shook his head as he set down the paper. It hadn’t taken him that long to get the tariffs to pay for the additional ships. And what about the poor beleaguered rex? He turned to Howal. “Did you read Veritum?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s one of the coldest winters in years … and they’re complaining that you’re not doing enough to deal with the Jariolans.”

  “Have there been any letters from the Collegium?” Charyn was hoping for a response from Aloryana, since he’d dispatched his letter the first thing on Lundi morning, despite the snow.

  “No, sir. There is one other matter. Norstan has informed me that with the snow so deep, we won’t receive any wood from the regial woodlots to the north until the middle of Fevier.”

  “You mentioned this the other day. Just how did it happen?”

  “The firewood falls under the stablemaster because he is in charge of the stone barns…”

  “Keithell, again? He didn’t tell Norstan until it was too late or not at all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you make certain that word gets to everyone, quietly?”

  Howal smiled. “I believe it has already. Hassala told me this morning. She mentioned that it was just another place where Keithell hadn’t been doing his job.”

  “Did she say anything about Kaylet?”

  “They all seem to like him and respect him, from what I’ve seen. He can be very funny, although you wouldn’t see that. He has a way with all animals, but horses particularly.”

  “Why is everyone who’s an imager so talented?” Charyn regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken, although Howal showed no reaction beyond a thoughtful expression.

  “I’d have to disagree there, sir. We have more than a few imagers who cannot image very much, and who do not have great natural talents. Because there are so few of us, Maitre Alastar insists that everyone become good at something. At times, it takes many years. Some never become more than imager seconds.”

  “What you’re saying is that those who are seen off Imagisle are the best.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Even so … Charyn wanted to shake his head. He’d had his life saved by a young woman younger than himself, and then by two junior imagers not that much older than he was. The three junior maitres seemed to be more accomplished than most men years their senior. “You all seem rather accomplished.”

  “We’re accomplished in a different fashion, sir. Might I point out that there is no one on Imagisle, except your sister and Maitre Malyna, who could play a clavecin with the skill you have shown. You also write well, and that is not a skill easily mastered.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like my uncertain skill with the clavecin bruited about.” Charyn’s lips curled wryly, but he couldn’t really contest Howal’s point.

  Remembering something he’d a
lmost forgotten he’d meant to do, he took a sheet of paper, and his pen, and began to write out the names of the High Holder members of the High Council and then the factors on the Solidaran Factors’ Council, each name followed by the city or closest town to each. Then he drew a line under the last name and wrote two other names beneath the lines: “Solis” and “Tuuryl.”

  Charyn was still thinking if there might be something else that he should add when Sturdyn rapped on the study door.

  “Guard Captain Dylert to see you, sir.”

  “Have him come in.” Charyn gestured to the chairs in front of the desk, then waited for Dylert to seat himself.

  “You had asked for my recommendations for the next guard captain and a guard undercaptain.”

  “I did.”

  “I would recommend Maertyl as the next guard captain, sir, with Fhaelln as the guard undercaptain.”

  “Why did you pick those two? Besides the obvious, that you feel they’re the best?”

  “Maertyl has been in charge of the armory when he hasn’t been on duty up here, and the armory is in excellent condition. Everything was so well stored that even the explosion that Churwyl set off didn’t affect anything. He has a natural command demeanor, and he has also been second-in-command of training the newer guards. He’s respected…”

  Charyn listened as Dylert outlined his reasons. He was especially attentive when the imager talked about Fhaelln, since he knew little about the man except his name. And what does that say about you? That you still don’t know enough about the people who protect and support you?

  “… Fhaelln would not seem an obvious choice, but he is quiet and effective … notices details, and knows which are important and which are not…” When Dylert finished his assessment of Fhaelln, he paused, then said, “I would also recommend creating three lead-guard positions for older and more experienced guards. We talked about this earlier. There’s no structure and no line of authority. Creating those positions would provide both.”

  “And that is as it should be,” agreed Charyn. “You have names in mind?”