Lord of the Changing Winds (8 page)

It was a reasonable question to throw to Bertaud. The Delta had belonged to Linularinum as often, in the convoluted history of the two countries, as it had belonged to Feierabiand. But a hundred or so years ago, when the King of Linularinum had become a little too overbearing in his attempts to force the Delta to comply with a handful of Linularinan laws that it did not favor, its allegiance had swung decisively toward Feierabiand. Even the cleverest threats devised by the most subtle Linularinan legists had done nothing but make Keroen son of Betraunes order a Linularinan banner made so he could throw it down under the hooves of his horse, trample it into the mud, and invite Daraod Safiad to make him an offer.

But more than any other region, the Delta still mingled the peoples and customs of both Feierabiand and Linularinum. Bertaud considered the king’s likely intentions and desires against his own estimation of Linularinan attitudes. He said after a moment, “The Linularinan people respect, ah, creative interpretations of the law. This is not Casmantium: We have neither the custom of the murderer’s
geas
nor the cold mages who might inflict it, for which I suppose Enned son of Lakas may well be grateful. But what if we borrowed the general idea rather than the actual practice? Perhaps you might require this man’s life, rather than his death. You might give the young man over to the army, my king, and thus take his life while not requiring his death. Military service is hardly as severe as the Casmantian
geas
, but perhaps it could be seen to satisfy the requirements of the moment.”

The king rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned his chin on his hand. “A worthy suggestion. And you think Jasand or Adries will take him among his soldiers? A hot-hearted fool like this?”

After a moment, Bertaud realized where Iaor was heading with this question. He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan and in the end made a sound midway between the two. Iaor smiled.

“Oh, earth and iron,” Bertaud said resignedly. “All right, then. Give him to your guard, if you must, and I will take him. I’m sure Eles will be delighted by the gift I’ll bring him.”

Enned looked from the king to Bertaud cautiously, bewildered, but beginning to hope that he might, in fact, not die this day.

“Will you take him, then?”

“If it please you, my king.”

“Then he is yours,” the king said briskly, and waved a hand to show the decision was made.

Bertaud gestured to the guardsman, who, face professionally blank, leaned forward to cut the young man’s bonds and lift him to his feet. Bertaud said, “Enned, son of Lakas, do you understand what the king has decreed?”

“I—” stammered the young man, who clearly was not sure. “I know—I think he gave me to you, my lord—”

“I am Bertaud son of Boudan,” Bertaud said, striving, with some success, he thought, for a severe tone. He tried for the tone Iaor himself used when displeased, and thought he copied it rather well. The young man seemed impressed, at any rate. “Among my other duties, I serve the king by overseeing the royal guard, to which you now belong. I think you will do well. You had better, because for you there is no return to your father’s house. The mercy of the king, while considerable, is not endless. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Enned said faintly. “My lord.”

“You are fortunate to be alive. On your knees, and thank the esteemed Ferris son of Tohanis, who had no duty to seek mercy for you, for your life.”

After the merest pause, Enned turned to the judge, dropped to his knees—still awkwardly; he would have to learn better grace—and said fervently, “Thank you, esteemed sir. Thank you very much.”

The judge inclined his head. “I will inform your father.”

“Thank you,” the young man repeated, and looked nervously to Bertaud.

Bertaud crossed his arms forbiddingly over his chest and said, “Now, as you have not yet done so, thank the king.”

Still on his knees, Enned turned back to the king and said humbly, bowing his head, “Thank you, your majesty. For your mercy.”

Iaor inclined his head by a minute degree, effortlessly royal.

“Now, get up and present yourself to me,” said Bertaud, and waited for Enned to find his feet. The young man was flushed, still disoriented by the suddenness and unexpectedness of the king’s decision. He probably, Bertaud was aware, had very little idea what the duties of the guard even were. He looked Enned up and down, maintaining a stern visage, then glanced at the guardsman. “Annand.”

“My lord,” said the guardsman.

“Present this man to Eles. If the captain has any questions or reservations about this assignment, tell him he may apply to me.” Bertaud gave the king an ironic glance on this last, and Iaor crooked a finger across his mouth to hide a smile.

“My lord,” repeated the guardsman, and put a hand on the young man’s elbow to escort him out. Enned went, not without a wide-eyed backward look over his shoulder at Bertaud and the king.

Bertaud waited until the door was closed behind the two men, gently, by the guardsman. Then he let himself laugh at last.

Iaor, too, was grinning. “You did that well. So stern! Anyone would quail.” He stood up and clapped Bertaud on the shoulder. “I impose on you, I fear, my friend.”

“How could I possibly desire anything other than what you desire, my king?” Bertaud was having a hard time finding a serious tone. “No, no. A hot-hearted proud young fool is meant for the guard—just ask Eles.” Eles was not a man who suffered foolishness from any proud young men. The captain of the guard certainly hadn’t ever been inclined to suffer it from Bertaud in years past, when he had already long been the captain and Bertaud merely Iaor’s page and companion. Dour and emotionless, he had seemed to Bertaud then; only much later had Bertaud learned to catch the occasional gleam of unspoken humor in the captain’s eye. He hoped Eles would be amused by this unexpected gift the king and Bertaud had sent his way.

“So I thought,” agreed Iaor. He sounded pleased with himself, as well he might. It was a solution worthy of a Linularinan legist. No one, not even the old Fox, could say the king had passed lightly over the young man’s crime; even without imposing an actual
geas
, Iaor might be said to have imposed a rather severe sentence. Or, by taking the young man into his own guard, he had done him honor. And giving him into the hand of the Lord of the Delta was a nice touch: that might be a slight concession toward Linularinan sensibility… or a slight insult to Linularinan conceit. Depending on how one regarded it.

Thus, both Feierabiand pride and the king’s justice had been preserved, and without doing actionable violence to any legal understanding between Linularinum and Feierabiand. It was an excellent maneuver, worthy of a Safiad. Even so, the king’s glance at Ferris was less amused, and less pleased.

The judge saw this change in manner, too. “Your majesty, of course the boy did, without question, offend your law—the law that I swore an oath to uphold. And yet I brought the matter to you. Justly might your majesty rebuke me.”

“Am I not the proper authority to hear such appeals?”

“Your majesty cannot have hot-hearted young fools knifing merchants, honest or otherwise, in dark alleys.”

“Not even if the young man in question broke my law in answer to a sly slipping of its intentions? Was that not your argument?”

“The misuse of the law to protect dishonest dealing offended me. The boy’s honest crime, if I may call it so, offended me less. I did advise him he should rightly have come to me in the first place. It would have been a good deal easier to appeal the matter to your majesty before blood was shed. As you yourself pointed out.”

“Mmm.” The king was still frowning.

Ferris lowered his eyes. “I am rebuked, then,” he said, and formally, “I ask your majesty’s pardon.”

“Ah. No. I do not rebuke you.” Iaor lifted his chin decisively. “Find out the extent of the merchant’s losses to the Linularinan merchant. I will pay him compensation for the loss of his son. Out of my own personal monies.” He paused.

The judge, reading this pause correctly, bowed. “Perhaps your majesty will permit me to provide that compensation, as it was my decision that led to this expense.”

The king smiled, satisfied. “You may pay half. That is only just, I think. Good.” He stood, took the older man’s arm, and turned with him toward the door. “Walk with me, esteemed sir. I do esteem your judgment, I assure you. I promise you, I have no rebuke to offer. I am glad you brought this to my attention. I am certain Eles desires nothing more than to gain a young hot-hearted fool for his command. Walk with me, if you please, and tell me about the particular intricacies of Linularinan law that allowed this Linularinan merchant to cheat—lawfully!—my honest Feierabiand tradesman.”

The judge smiled and said, “Gladly.” He appeared resigned to the unofficial fine the king was imposing. At that, Bertaud reflected, even a sizable fine was far less to be dreaded than a royal rebuke.

Bertaud trailed them, sighing. He knew the signs. Iaor had been drawn entirely into kingly concerns. It seemed unlikely he would find time now to ride out with hawks, no matter how tedious his companions might find the threatened intricacy of law. No, he thought, not even if Iaor’s young wife greatly desired to try her little falcon.

The trace of jealousy—unworthy, even shameful—in that thought disturbed him at once, and Bertaud called himself to stern order and tried to fix his mind on law.

However, they had hardly got out into the hall before the ring of quick-striding boot heels brought them all to a startled halt. The king released the judge’s arm and drew himself up. Ferris cocked his head to one side, looking curious and alarmed. Bertaud himself laid a hand on his sword, ready to draw: Generally, no one ran down the halls of the king’s house.

However, this person proved to be a messenger—one of the king’s own couriers: a young woman with the king’s badge at her shoulder and her courier’s wand thrust through her belt. Iaor preferred young women for his couriers, a custom his father had begun; the old king had famously declared that girls rode more lightly and were more careful of their horses than boys, which, as Iaor had once commented, among other effects had ensured that the young men became at least somewhat more careful as well. But the courier-master still accepted more girls than boys for the king’s service.

This courier’s name was Teien, daughter of Kanes. Bertaud knew that Teien was posted to the south of Tihannad; her rounds included many of the smaller villages and towns along the Nejeied River. She went to one knee and saluted the king carefully. Her breathing was fast, but not desperately so.

“Yes?” said Iaor impatiently.

The woman bowed her head briefly, sucked in air, and said rapidly, “Word from Minas Spring and Minas Ford, your majesty. This is the word: Griffins have come across the mountains. They despoil your country, your majesty, turning good land into sand and sending hot winds across the young barley; they are killing calves in the pasture and game in the forest. Your people ask you for help in their need.”

“Griffins,” said Ferris, without expression.

“Did you see these griffins yourself?” Bertaud asked the courier.

“Yes, lord: So I could report clearly, I went to Minas Spring and up into the high hills behind the village. There are indeed griffins there. The very rock of the hills has changed its character; it is all red stone and sand there, now. The wind comes the wrong way, from the east, off the mountains. Coming from the heights, it should be a cold wind, but it is hot, and so dry it pulls moisture from the earth—I saw good soil turn dry and crack under that wind. I saw griffins there. I spoke to the folk of Minas Spring and Minas Ford. They say there are many griffins in the hills there, hundreds maybe; that they make all that country their own.”

“Hundreds, Teien?” Bertaud said, drily.

“I saw only two,” confessed the courier.

“It’s more than one or two, to bring the desert wind to this side of the mountains,” Ferris observed.

“I would be surprised to learn that there are hundreds of griffins in all the world,” said the king. “I much doubt there are hundreds at Minas Spring.” He looked seriously at the courier. “Do they kill the people there? Or only calves?”

“So far, they say, only calves and the odd sheep.”

“Still,” said Bertaud, “we can hardly have griffins settling along in the hills on our side of the mountains, making a desert out of our good farmland. Aside from ruining the land, it would not do to show weakness of either arms or resolve.”

The king made a small, impatient gesture of agreement. “Obviously not.” He signaled to the courier to rise. “Go find General Jasand and send him to me. Then go and rest. In the morning, present yourself to your captain. I suspect he will have a task for you.”

“Your majesty,” said the young woman, pulling herself to her feet and departing quickly.

To Ferris, the king said, “Esteemed Ferris, forgive me, but if you will excuse us. Please write me an explanation of the legal matters that created the problem for, ah, Lakas, and send it to me. I assure you I will be interested.”

The judge, restraining his interest and curiosity, bowed acknowledgment and withdrew.

Bertaud said, in wonder, “Griffins?”

Iaor began to walk, waving to Bertaud to accompany him. “Teien saw them herself. Do you doubt her veracity?”