“Against the Gallosians.”
“I see.”
The squad leader doubtless did, but what he saw was what Beltur implied, not the entire truth. His eyes went to Jessyla, belatedly seeing the healer greens. After a long moment, he extended the leather case and handed it back to Jhotyl. “Thank you, Mage, Trader, Healer. I wish you safe travels. I doubt you will have trouble.”
“And we wish you success in your patrols,” returned Jhotyl.
The squad leader guided his mount off the road, watching as the riders and wagons passed. Beltur could sense the squad leader’s puzzlement for some distance.
Once they were a good kay farther east on the river road, Jhotyl looked to Beltur. “Your presence made that encounter … less difficult than it might have been.”
“I understand that mages not under the … auspices … of the Viscount would likely be regarded with some suspicion.”
Jhotyl laughed. “That squad leader is still suspicious, but he’ll never dare to ask. He’ll just report and hope a superior officer will explain.”
Beltur nodded. “Something like that was my hope.”
“Mage … I thought … blacks had … some difficulty in … avoiding the truth.”
“They do,” replied Beltur. “That’s why everything I told the squad leader was true.”
The trader shook his head. “I foresee interesting times for you.”
So did Beltur. He just hoped they wouldn’t be too interesting.
XCIII
The next five days were long, tiring, and uneventful, except for a hailstorm that swept over the party on sevenday afternoon, which, as the hail melted, left the road ahead muddy, but not impassable, for almost four kays, just about to the point where the Corum River met the River Estal, and since the Estal was larger, that was the name of the river that led the rest of the way to Rytel.
While mornings were chilly, by midday Beltur shed his coat, but kept wearing his gloves. When there seemed to be no other travelers near, Beltur took time with both Taelya and Jessyla, giving them exercises, starting Jessyla on containments as her shields strengthened.
Just before noon on threeday, as the travelers rode past small steads set back from the river, much higher with the greater flow from the Estal, Jhotyl gestured ahead. “Once we’re around that curve past that orchard, you’ll be able to see Rytel.”
“How big is Rytel?” asked Jessyla.
“Larger than Axalt and smaller than Elparta. Considerably smaller than Jellico.”
When they rode past the orchard, Beltur saw that the trees showed a hint of green, as if the leaves were just starting to break from their buds. They looked like apple trees, but he hadn’t seen an apple tree not in full leaf before. “Are there many apple orchards here?”
“Some, I think. I’m not much on trees.” Jhotyl gestured ahead.
All Beltur saw ahead was a welter of cots, many little more than huts, crowding the right side of the river road. Half a kay farther along was a low pier that extended possibly ten yards into the river. Beyond the ramshackle pier, an earthen wall began, and after another hundred yards the road merged with the top of the river wall. The cots from there on were several yards lower than the river wall. A narrow lane ran along the land side of the base of the wall.
“Does the Estal flood often?” asked Beltur.
“It never floods,” replied Jhotyl. “The Jellicor floods often. When it does, some of the floodwaters back up into the Estal.”
Looking ahead, Beltur squinted. It seemed as though the road ahead was higher. He looked back over his shoulder, then forward again. After they had ridden for another quint, Beltur looked back once more. They were higher, but the road and river wall seemed level, and the ground to the right of the road was higher as well, so that the road was only about a yard higher than the accompanying lane. The cots had given way to wooden houses, and farther to the south, Beltur saw low forested hills.
“The Estal meets the River Jellicor another kay to the northeast,” declared Jhotyl. “We won’t be riding nearly that far. We’ll take the South Market Boulevard east to the factorage.”
“Factorage?”
“I have an arrangement with a factor—Greshym. I stay with him in Rytel, and he stays with me when he travels to Jellico. Neither of us travels that much, and it suits us both.”
“Since we’re not accompanying you to Jellico, where would you suggest we stay in Rytel?” asked Beltur.
“If you don’t mind cramped quarters, you can stay in the stable rooms at Greshym’s.”
“Ah … what will he say about that?”
“Nothing. You’re part of my party until we go our separate ways.” Jhotyl offered an amused smile. “Greshym used to trade in horses. Now he trades more in wagons and whatever may happen to be in them. He changed some of the stable into lodgings and locked spaces for other traders and factors who visit Rytel. Those he does not know well pay a modest sum for the safety of their wagons. Others trade accommodations and security with him.”
“You’re one of the others?”
“Of course. A secure haven in Jellico is costly otherwise, and that I can provide.”
Beltur nodded, as much to himself as to Jhotyl, who, it was becoming most clear, was far more than a mere fur trader. But what exactly was another question.
Off to the right, less than half a kay away, a yellow brick wall some three yards high surrounded other buildings, and squat square towers on each side of a gate suggested a much larger post for the Viscount’s Guard.
“Another guard post?” asked Beltur.
“Indeed. Two companies of the Viscount’s guards are posted here, but a company is always patrolling the River Jellicor road. That’s why there are seldom brigands there.”
“What about the road to Montgren?”
“There are some brigands near the hills that separate Montgren and Certis, but they prey on those who cannot defend themselves. The pickings are too slim to support large numbers of brigands. I would doubt you will have that sort of trouble, not from what I have seen.” Jhotyl pointed beyond the post. “After the Guards’ Bowl public room is the South Market Boulevard. It’s not far from there.”
Even after what Jhotyl had said, Beltur was surprised when they reined up inside a compound the size of a small square surrounded by a red brick wall two and a half yards high, and with solid iron-bound gates. At the rear was a house roughly the size of Johlana’s, except it was wider and only had two stories, but a large covered entry. Unlike the three other long buildings, one of which was clearly the stable, all of which were constructed of the same red brick as the wall, the dwelling was built of what looked to be limestone blocks and had large glazed windows.
More than a glass passed before Beltur and Jessyla had taken care of the horses, the mule, and carried their personal gear from the stable to the long barracks building, where they stood with Lhadoraak, Tulya, Taelya, and Jhotyl.
“These two rooms are yours,” said Jhotyl, handing two keys to Beltur. “There’s a washroom for clothes three doors down, and a pump there for wash water for your rooms.”
His eyes went to Beltur. “Greshym has invited you and your consort to dine with us.” Jhotyl looked to Lhadoraak. “You and your family are welcome to eat in the small public room with Paastar and the others.” The fur trader grinned. “You won’t find anything that good elsewhere … and it’s far cheaper.”
Lhadoraak raised his eyebrows, then said, with a smile, “When a trader says I won’t find anything better and less dear…”
Jhotyl laughed. “Greshym charges everyone the same. One copper for a meal, and that includes one ale or lager. Every ale after the first costs four coppers. He found that tariffing teamsters and factors less for ale … caused certain … damage.”
Beltur could definitely see that. He didn’t like excluding Lhadoraak, not that he had a choice. At the same time, he also didn’t want to offend Greshym, who was providing safe lodging without requiring payment.
> “Go and enjoy yourselves,” murmured Lhadoraak.
Tulya nodded as well.
“That’s most gracious,” said Beltur.
“As much self-interest as grace, I think,” said the trader. “He expects us at fifth glass.”
“Thank you … and Greshym.”
“At fifth glass, then,” said Jhotyl, turning and striding across the brick-paved courtyard toward the large house.
When Beltur and Jessyla entered their room, he could see that it was not large, but neither was it small, four yards square. It held a bed for two, a bench at the foot of the bed, a wash table with a pitcher and two basins, wall pegs for clothes, a side table, a stool, and a chamber pot. There was one window with inside shutters. The bed had a brown quilt, with the only design being a large “G” in a lighter rust brown, over a blanket.
“Can we afford the price of this free lodging?” asked Jessyla wryly.
“We’ll find out at dinner,” replied Beltur.
“We need to make ourselves presentable … and you do need to shave. You only look shabby, not dashing, with that stubble.”
“I know. I know.”
“And wear the mage-healer tunic. It’s the cleanest, anyway.”
“You think so?”
“You look more distinguished.”
Beltur doubted anyone his age looked distinguished, but he nodded anyway.
“Should I show the patrol medallion?” Beltur had worn it under his outer tunic since leaving Axalt.
Jessyla shook her head. “Not here, I think.”
More than a glass and several quints later, when Beltur and Jessyla reached the entry of the large house, where a tall doorman in dark green livery stood, Jhotyl stepped out to meet them, wearing a fine gray tunic that Beltur hadn’t seen before. Beltur was glad to have taken Jessyla’s advice about wearing his mage-healer tunic.
“I thought it best to meet you here and escort you in.”
In moments, the trader guided them across the polished white limestone floor of the entry hallway into a small parlor, whose limestone tiles were largely covered by a green and rust carpet. The wall hangings flanking the windows were dark green trimmed in a light brown. The mantel and fireplace were of limestone, and a low fire burned there.
The man who rose from the armchair wore a cream dress tunic under a dark brown jacket that matched his trousers and even his polished boots. Greshym was almost a head shorter than Jhotyl, with jet black hair, and black eyes that seemed to bore into Beltur. “Mage Beltur, Healer Jessyla, thank you for accepting my invitation. After the few words that Jhotyl has spoken about you, I did so wish to make your acquaintance.” He gestured to the settee and the armchairs, arranged in a semicircle facing the fireplace. “I thought we might enjoy a drink before dinner.” His eyes went to Beltur. “I understand you prefer pale ale.” Then he looked to Jessyla. “Your preferences vary more, I hear.”
“If you have a smooth dark lager, I’d like that.”
“My preference as well.” Greshym nodded to the young man in dark green livery, who had stood silently in the corner, and who immediately left the parlor.
After the four had seated themselves, Beltur and Jessyla on the settee, with Beltur nearest to Greshym, their host went on, “Jhotyl has told me of your prowess in vanquishing brigands.”
“I’m sure he was too kind,” demurred Beltur.
“He’s never kind that way. His judgment is excellent, I’ve found. It’s too bad that you can’t stay in Certis, but that wouldn’t be for the best. Not for anyone.” Greshym smiled, almost regretfully. “I understand you are headed to Montgren.”
“We are,” replied Beltur. “We’ve heard it might be amenable to black and white mages.”
“Montgren is amenable to most anyone who follows the laws and doesn’t mind a plethora of sheep. The Duchess, I understand, values productivity and honesty over any form of blind belief. That is both a virtue and a weakness, I fear.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Jessyla pleasantly.
“I may be mistaken, but those who believe blindly usually try to press their beliefs on others. Of course, they insist that what they believe is only the truth, and who could possibly object to supporting the truth, with force, if necessary. Those who do not value such ‘truth’ as highly are inclined to dismiss those who do until they are facing lances, blades, or chaos fire. By then, they are usually at a disadvantage. But … I really am being far too pedantic.” He smiled again as the server returned with a tray, presenting a beaker of dark lager to Jessyla first, then one of a faintly golden ale to Beltur, and more dark lager to both Jhotyl and Greshym.
Jessyla sipped the lager, then said, “While I’ve not tasted that many lagers, this is the best I’ve ever had.”
“I’d be surprised if it weren’t at least among the best,” added Jhotyl.
“The pale ale is also excellent.” Beltur paused, then took the bit in his teeth. Better now than later. “You’ve been incredibly kind and welcoming—”
“And you’re wondering why, and what I would like in return.” Greshym nodded. “I do prefer polite directness. It’s much easier and more refreshing. I would like several things, all dealing with what you know. Knowledge, I’ve found, is far more valuable and enduring than most other objects people value.” He chuckled humorously. “It also makes the acquisition of objects, as well as golds and silvers, far less costly in the long run.”
“What would you like to know that you think I can provide?” Beltur took another swallow of ale, savoring it.
“What do you think of the traders of Spidlar and their Council, and why do you think that?”
Beltur thought for a moment. “They think too much in terms of how many golds or silvers they can obtain at the lowest possible cost.”
“Doesn’t every merchant or trader?”
“That’s true, but … well … when you want to control things to the point of driving people who are producing things … I can’t talk around it. I worked with a smith to produce cupridium. We did moderately well, enough that I could pay off debts I owed to those who hosted me when I had to flee Gallos. Then the Council passed a proclamation declaring that we could not sell what we produced ourselves, and that what we produced had to be sold through a trader, at whatever price he would pay. We left Spidlar.”
“I see what you mean.” Greshym looked to Jhotyl, then back to Beltur. “Why did you leave Axalt?”
“The Axalt Council decided that our producing cupridium in Axalt was … I guess I’d say … too disruptive for Axalt to handle. The smith has family there. I didn’t. He stayed. We left. Also, Jessyla is a healer, and they pay healers less in Axalt than in Spidlar.”
“Jhotyl tells me you’re a healer as well. Isn’t that what the green bands mean?”
“That’s correct. I’m not as far along in healing as in magery, though.”
“In some things,” corrected Jessyla. “In others, he can do more than most healers. He can find tiny bits of wound chaos before others can.”
“I’m curious about another matter. You were an arms-mage when the Prefect attacked Elparta, I understand.”
“I was.”
“The Prefect has many white mages, and Spidlar none, but Spidlar prevailed. How did that happen?”
“It wasn’t just arms-mages. I was with a recon company, and it looked to me that the armsmen in Spidlar were better trained. They were also fighting to survive. The black mages in Spidlar had solid shields against chaos fire, and when the chaos bolts weren’t effective because of those shields, it looked to me that the Gallosians lost heart when they took casualties.”
“Interesting. I would have thought it would work the other way.”
Beltur shook his head. “A weak chaos mage will likely always best a weak ordermage. But a truly strong black can withstand several strong whites, that is, if he’s careful. The blacks of Spidlar were careful.”
“That is very interesting.” Greshym turned to Jhotyl. “Don’t you thin
k so?”
“I do.”
“Do you think either Certis or Spidlar or Gallos could conquer Axalt?”
“Why would they want to?” asked Beltur. “The border walls are the highest and thickest and strongest I’ve ever seen. The winters are brutal, and there’s nothing of value there except the skills of the people. Any conquest would destroy those. The fact that Axalt doesn’t belong to any of the other three lands is what makes it useful.” He looked at Greshym. “But you likely know that already.”
Greshym laughed. “Of course, but I wanted to know if you did.” He looked to Jessyla. “You’re young, attractive, and clearly skilled as a healer. Why did you consort Beltur, rather than an older, more powerful mage? Besides for love, that is?”
“Besides love?” Jessyla smiled. “Because he cared for me, because he valued me. And because he was able to protect me … and teach me.”
“Those are good answers. Very good answers.” Greshym stood. “I do believe it’s time to dine. At table, in return, I will tell you what you may not know about Certis.”
The dining room was not excessively large, with a dark wooden table that could have seated twelve comfortably. The wood of the chairs, as well as the sideboards, matched that of the table. The green tapers of a single branched silver candelabrum in the middle of the table provided the only illumination besides the fading light of twilight coming through the high windows on the east side of the room.
As Greshym seated himself at the head of the table, gesturing for Beltur to sit at his left, Jhotyl his right, and Jessyla beside Beltur, he said, “I would have made preparations for a less modest meal, had I known I was to have company. Would anyone prefer a change of beverage from your customary? I can offer good white or red wine as well as ale or lager. Dinner will be what I call beef Viscount. I prefer red wine with beef.”
“As do I,” said Jhotyl.
“I’ll try the red wine,” offered Jessyla.
“I’ll stick with the excellent pale ale,” declared Beltur.
“That would have been my second choice, I admit.” Greshym waited until the server had filled the three goblets and one beaker, then lifted his goblet. “To friendship, despite the perils we all face.”
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