by David Weber
Cassan’s eyes prickled as he looked across the table at her, and pride in her filled his heart. Yet he couldn’t help hoping Shairnayith and Thorandas’ lives together would be more complete than his own with her mother. Indeed, despite his disgust and contempt for Tellian, there was a tiny corner of his own heart which had never quite been able to stop envying him, as well, when he thought about the closeness which had kept him from setting Hanatha aside. Stupid, willful, and selfish of him, yes; it had been all of those things and worse, just as it had been the stuff of those bad ballads and worse novels of Shairnayith. Yet still that tiny piece of him envied the two of them for having something he himself had never had. Felytha Blackhill had wed a much younger Cassan Axehammer for the same sort of “reasons of state” Shairnayith faced, but there’d never been anything of fire or passion—or love—between them, and unlike her brother Rulth, she’d always hated the “great game.” She was far too intelligent and properly reared to ever let that hatred show, and Cassan doubted that even their children were aware of just how bitterly unhappy she’d been over the years as he waged his fierce, unremitting war against Tellian of Balthar. And however unhappy she’d been, she’d never shirked for a moment on her responsibilities to her house, her husband, or her position.
“Watching you leave Toramos will break my heart,” he told his daughter softly, “but you’re right. I’ve always known the time would come when I’d have to let you go, and perhaps I’ve been selfish not to have done it sooner. Yet the truth is that Thorandas is probably the only match I could make which could possibly be worthy of you.”
“I’m less concerned with worthiness than I am with binding our house more closely to the Daggeraxes for the good of them both...and for the Kingdom as a whole, as well,” Shairnayith replied.
“I’ve never doubted that for a moment, but I hope you’ll forgive a father for trying his best to find his daughter the husband she deserves...and the position for which she’s so well fitted.”
Shairnayith smiled and made a tiny waving away gesture with her right hand. Then she straightened and pushed her chair back from the table.
“I’m sure you’re actually thinking about all sorts of other things right now, Father.” She shook one finger at him teasingly, her voice and manner almost—almost—normal. “I know you too well to think anything else could be possible! But with your permission, I think I’ll leave you to your plans and machinations while I go for a ride to think about what we’ve discussed this morning.”
“Of course, my dear,” he agreed. “Just be sure you take your armsmen along.”
“And here I was, planning on sneaking away without them.” She sighed and shook her head. “Very well. Since you insist.”
“Such a dutiful daughter,” he said, a deep, gentle note underlying the humor in his voice, and she bent to kiss him lightly on the cheek before she rustled out of the room in the whisper of her skirts.
He sat looking after her for a long, still while. Then he took another sip from his chocolate cup and made a face as he discovered how it had cooled.
He put the cup back down, rose, and crossed to one of the dining room’s windows, gazing out it with his hands clasped behind him while he considered his children, their places in the Kingdom, and the dangerous decision which had made itself as Talthar brought him the latest news from Sothōfalas.
His gray eyes turned bleak and hard, and his jaw clenched. He’d tried so hard to avoid crossing that final line in his conflict with Tellian, yet now Tellian and Yurokhas had left him no choice. They’d convinced Markhos not simply to allow their accursed canal, but actually to grant it a Crown charter! That was intolerable. Even if Shairnayith’s marriage to Thorandas Daggeraxe were to bring the North Riding into alignment with the South Riding and the East Riding on the Great Council, the success of Tellian’s project would permanently tilt the balance of power towards Balthar. It could be no other way when the floods of wealth Shaftmaster was predicting at the Exchequer began to flood into the West Riding and the Kingdom. Tellian’s position as the gatekeeper of that wealth would inevitably establish him in an unchallengeable position as the Kingdom’s most powerful noble, and if that happened, Cassan’s power base would be destroyed. Worse, he told himself, it would mean Tellian’s obscene alliance with the bestial hradani would succeed, and that was unacceptable. He’d rather see the Wind Plain inundated by ghouls and trolls than see those horse-stealing bastards actually accepted as Sothōii allies—as equals—after everything they’d done to balk his own plans at every step of the way!
No. He shook his head, eyes like gray flint. No, it was the only way, and it wasn’t simply Tellian and Yurokhas who were to blame. The gods knew he would never have raised his hand against his King if his King hadn’t driven him to it! If he hadn’t proven how unworthy of his crown he was. But Markhos had—worse, he’d broken faith with countless generations of Sothōii who’d known the enemy when they saw it. All he’d had to do was to say no, to refuse to lend his approval to Tellian’s insanity, but he’d refused to do that. He’d taken his stand with the enemies of the Kingdom, not those who had it’s best interests at heart, and in doing that, he’d left Cassan no choice, no option.
If Crown Prince Norandhor should suddenly inherit his father’s crown, the Kingdom would be looking at a regency at least sixteen years long. And if the North Riding aligned itself with Cassan and Yeraghor on the Great Council and neither Markhos nor Yurokhas were there to oppose them, then they would name the Crown Prince’s regent...and that regent would not be someone named Tellian Bowmaster.
Talthar’s right, damn him, Cassan thought bitterly. I know he’s after more than just all the kormaks he’s had from me. The man has plans of his own, and I don’t trust him as far as I could throw a warhorse. But I also know he’s here, where I can keep an eye on him once the dust clears. If I can’t keep him under control with that starting advantage, then I’ll deserve whatever happens to me! And even if that weren’t true, he’s still right. I have to act, and act now, before Markhos officially promulgates his charter for Tellian at the fall Council session. And I have no choice but to make sure he and Yurokhas both die.
Something inside him flickered rebelliously at the thought, but he suppressed it sternly. The die was cast, now it was simply a matter of arranging things as carefully as possible. As he’d suggested to Shairnayith, there were outsiders who would do almost anything to see Tellian’s canal fail. The trick would be to make certain any suspicion within the Kingdom fell upon those outsiders, instead of Cassan.
And if Talthar’s right and Yurokhas means to continue ignoring his brother’s summons home and stays right where he is on the Ghoul Moor, his death can probably be made into an accident—and one Tellian will be blamed for, since it’s his expedition Yurokhas is accompanying. He smiled thinly at the thought. Having him “killed accidentally in battle” will decouple his death from Markhos’, too, now that I think about it. Just a dreadful, tragic coincidence...and one which would never have happened—just as those “outsiders” would never have had any motive to murder the King—if not for Tellian’s perverted alliance with the hradani and Dwarvenhame!
The smile grew broader and colder as he contemplated the possibilities. If he was going to be forced to do this thing, then he would do it as well and as effectively as it could be done.
And he knew just how to go about doing that.
He turned from the window, crossed to the table, and tugged on the embroidered silken bell rope. No more than two or three seconds passed before the door from the pantry into the dining room opened and one of the under butlers stepped through it with a bow.
“May we clear away now, Milord?” he inquired.
“You may,” Cassan replied brusquely. “But first, send word to Sergeant Warshoe. Tell him I want to see him in my office as soon as possible.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Excuse me, Sir Dahlnar, but you have a visitor.”
Sir Dahlnar Bronzehelm fr
owned as he looked up from yet another of the endless documents on his desk. But the frown disappeared as he recognized the well dressed man standing behind the smiling clerk in his office’s doorway.
“Master Talthar!” Bronzehelm stood, the last of his frown turning into a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“I didn’t expect to be here again so soon,” Talthar Sheafbearer replied. “Obviously, circumstances changed.”
“Probably because kormaks were involved somewhere,” Bronzehelm said shrewdly, and nodded dismissal to the clerk as he waved Sheafbearer into the office proper and pointed at the comfortable chair in front of his desk. His visitor seated himself, and Bronzehelm sank into his own swivel chair and tipped it back.
“There are kormaks involved, aren’t there?” he said.
“Well, I did just happen to find myself in possession of a particularly nice set of rubies I thought Baroness Myacha might like,” Sheafbearer acknowledged with a charmingly modest smile. “That’s what brought me back here so unexpectedly.”
“I see. Well, it pleases me immensely—speaking purely as Baron Borandas’ seneschal and the protector of his private purse, you understand—to inform you that you’ve missed her. She and the Baron won’t be back from Leehollow for at least another three days.”
“Oh.” Sheafbearer grimaced, but then he shrugged. “I suppose that’s what I get for not checking to see whether or not they’d be here.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t bankrupt a merchant of your deep pockets to spend a day or two in an inn here in Halthan while you wait for them. In fact, I think that would be a marvelous idea. At least someone here in the barony would recapture some of the disgusting amount of hard currency you’ve been sucking out of the Baron’s treasury ever since that first visit of yours.”
“I’m sure I don’t have the least idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, of course not!” Sheafbearer rolled his eyes. “And I suppose it’s pure happenstance that you keep turning up here with such spectacular pieces which just happen to be perfectly suited to the Baroness’ coloring?”
“Well, perhaps not pure happenstance,” Sheafbearer conceded, and Bronzehelm laughed.
A few of Dahlnar Bronzehelm’s clerks and assistants had been surprised by how quickly and thoroughly the seneschal had warmed to Master Talthar. It wasn’t that they didn’t understand how charming the gem merchant was, for he was unfailingly courteous even to the most lowly bureaucrat, and he radiated a gentle, charming warmth that was rare indeed. No doubt that natural geniality of his helped to explain his obvious success as a merchant, yet no one who’d spent more than a very short time in his company could have doubted that however useful his charm might be to him, it was also completely genuine. Nor was Sir Dahlnar a cold and distant personality, either. In fact, all of his clerks were devoted to him, for he was a naturally warm and generous man himself, and one who always appreciated wit and humor when he encountered them. So it surprised no one that he and Master Talthar should find themselves kindred sorts.
But for all his own warmth, Sir Dahlnar was also shrewd and conscientious, well aware of the implications of his position as Borandas Daggeraxe’s seneschal. Any number of people had attempted to take advantage of him, use him as a way to influence the baron or to profit from him over the years; none had ever succeeded. Yet Master Talthar, a merchant who was obviously making a great deal of money here in Halthan, had quickly—almost effortlessly—become a visitor Sir Dahlnar’s clerks automatically escorted to his office whenever he arrived.
Of course, it was also true that however many kormaks might be spilling into Master Talthar’s purse, his wares were worth every copper he’d ever been paid. In fact, on those occasions when Sir Dahlnar had been able to convince Baron Borandas to let him serve as his agent rather than dealing with the merchant directly, he’d driven a hard, hard bargain, however much he might like Master Talthar. Indeed, the price of Talthar’s gems in those cases had been low enough the merchant might well have actually taken a loss on the final price. And no one could have been more disinterested in the North Riding’s politics than Master Talthar. He kept himself informed upon them, but that was only to be expected from a shrewd and prosperous Axeman merchant who frequently carried a not-so-small fortune in gems about with him. Yet aside from the sort of information any merchant might have found useful, he paid them no particular heed, and he’d certainly never used his own contacts with Baron Borandas to try to influence him in any way.
If anyone had looked more closely, they might have begun to realize that rather than Talthar cultivating Bronzehelm, it was the seneschal who’d cultivated a relationship with the merchant, at which point things would have started to make much more sense. Bronzehelm had always had a shrewd eye for worthwhile sources of information, an ability to recognize observers who were both intelligent and insightful, and for all Master Talthar’s dry humor and warmth, that described the gem-dealer quite well. The quality of his wares meant he dealt with many of the wealthy and powerful, in the Empire of the Axe and even in the Empire of the Spear, not just the Kingdom. He obviously knew quite an extraordinary number of people, and he had factors or at least contacts in what appeared to be every major marketplace from Bortalik Bay to Sothōfalas to Belhadan. Indeed, in his more modest fashion, his network of connections clearly echoed that of the great trading houses, like Clan Harkanath itself.
He paid the same attention to politics and attitudes elsewhere that he did here in the North Riding, for the same reasons, and he was perfectly willing to share his observations with Bronzehelm. He refused to violate any personal confidences, which only made the seneschal respect both his judgment and his character even more highly, but that didn’t detract from the value and clarity of his analysis.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for this, Talthar,” Bronzehelm said now, “but I know damned well it’s not ‘happenstance’!” He shook his head. “I see how you’ve become so immoderately wealthy, given that eye of yours.”
“Rubies do go well with her hair, don’t they?” Sheafbearer observed, and Bronzehelm snorted. “On the other hand, however good my eye might be, I don’t seem to have a very good sense of timing, do I?” The merchant grimaced. “I seem to’ve developed a positive talent for visiting Halthan while the Baron and his lady are away!”
“I suppose so.” Bronzehelm nodded. “On the other hand, given how expensive it is whenever you don’t miss them, I’m not going to pretend I’m brokenhearted by it.”
“The Baron truly does love to surprise her, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does, bless him. And every time he does, Her Ladyship scolds him for ‘wasting money’ on her...and then you come along and convince him to do it all over again.”
“Nonsense. I don’t convince him to do a thing, and you know it.” Sheafbearer waved a finger at the seneschal across his desk. “I simply assist him in doing exactly what he would have freely chosen to do without any prompting from me at all.”
“I suppose that’s one way to describe it,” Bronzehelm said dryly, and Talthar chuckled.
“Well, I’m not going to get rich trying to sell you anything, now am I?” He shook his head, surveying the plainly dressed seneschal. Bronzehelm was always neatly, even impeccably, attired, yet he obviously had no taste for the rings and neck chains many a Sothōii noble favored.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to restrain my tears of sympathy,” Bronzehelm said even more dryly. “In light of how rich you’re getting off of certain other parties here in Halthan, that is.”
“Such heartlessness,” Sheafbearer sighed. Then he brightened. “On the other hand, I might actually have something to tempt you with this time.”
“You can try, anyway,” Bronzehelm told him.
“All right, I will.”
Sheafbearer unlocked the sturdy gem case he carried with him everywhere. He reached into it and rummaged about for a moment before he brought out a remarkably plain golden ring, its band
set with a single modest-sized (though very well-cut) emerald. He held it in the palm of his left hand for a moment, stroking the emerald with the tip of his right index finger as if it were a small, friendly animal, then offered it to Bronzehelm.
“I think this might be plain enough even for you,” he said, extending it across the desk.
“Really?” Bronzehelm reached for it, and the merchant dropped it into his hand. “I’ll admit, I never been partial to the more gaudy—”
The ring’s emerald flashed brightly, just once, and Sir Dahlnar Bronzehelm’s froze, sightless brown eyes locked to the small golden circlet on his palm.
* * *
Master Varnaythus smiled at the abruptly motionless seneschal of the North Riding. There was an undeniable edge of nervousness in that smile, yet any anxiety was more than compensated for by sheer satisfaction.
Bronzehelm had worked out even better than Varnaythus had anticipated. His susceptibility to the rather exotic “herbs” the wizard’s art had unobtrusively introduced into his diet was even more pronounced than Varnaythus had allowed himself to hope. It often worked out that way, however. Intelligent people accustomed to thinking clearly and concisely seemed to have less inherent resistance once someone managed to begin suggesting things to them with the proper...pharmaceutical enhancements. That very clarity and concision could be marshalled against them, put to work in the service of justifying and rationalizing the ideas others had inserted into their thoughts.
It was just as well Bronzehelm was more susceptible to them, though, Varnaythus thought, his smile fading, given how much more rapidly he’d found himself forced to act in the seneschal’s case. He hadn’t anticipated that Markhos would decide to come out so unambiguously in Tellian’s favor so soon, and he’d hoped for at least another two or three months—possibly even the full length of the summer—to “adjust” Bronzehelm’s thinking, if only to keep anyone from wondering about the rapidity with which it had shifted.
