Trial of Intentions (69 page)

These morning strolls, handling vegetables and fruits, looking over kitchen tools and fabrics both coarse and fine, had become her best way to stay connected to the people. Prices inside Recityv walls had driven the poor to this market road beyond the walls to buy their salt and shoes. The state of her politics and the health of her economy could be understood most clearly in the exchanges heard here. What's more, she could deduce the needs of her people by the items available for purchase and their prices. It was a simple practice her father had taught her, and one that somehow escaped the understanding of so many merchants.

Today, she was disturbed to find an inordinate number of weapons dealers. Carts of handknives, small swords, arm-bows, axes, and short spears abounded up and down the market road. For the most part, the workmanship was poor, but it probably matched the skill of their buyers. And while the threat from the Quiet was real enough, she didn't think the demand for weapons came from those rumors alone. Regardless, citizens who were scared and armed would prove a dangerous mixture.

But more alarming than the weapons was the small number of carts displaying food—it had dwindled significantly. Seasonal fruits were either coming late this year, or not at all. In either case, a simple apricot bushel was priced at three thin silver, nearly eight times its usual rate.

The man at the fruit cart smiled vaguely at her, and she gave him a single thin realm mark, taking two apricots from his display. She handed one to Artixan, and rubbed the other against her overcloak. Then she bit through its rather crisp skin, her mouth filling with a tangier-than-usual nectar. The fruit had been harvested too soon, rushed to market. She didn't mind the taste, though, and took another bite, savoring the freshness and wiping some juice from her chin.

It was a delightful moment, and her favorite reason for coming here. “The people might blame us for these prices,” she said to Artixan.

“You don't give them enough credit,” he countered. “They know it's you who makes commerce on the roads safe and keeps taxes low.”

“And what of this weapons trade?” She motioned toward a cart loaded with knives.

“Troubling,” Artixan said. “But the people will also remember that it was you who changed the laws about private knowledge and made it accessible to everyone, not just those who could sell and profit by it. My guess is there are more new tradesmen than citizens carrying knives.”

“I think you're pandering to me,” she said, and grinned.

“And I think you should hear the excitement I do when I speak to the merchant houses who no longer talk to you.” Artixan took a bite of his apricot.

Her brows went up. “Oh?”

“Your Convocation has them excited at the prospect of trade across many nations and king roads.” He wiped his chin. “Your vision is winning you new respect.”

She hoped it was true. “Speaking of trade across nations, I haven't heard from the Mors yet. I'm going to send an envoy. I've spoken with Belamae at Descant, and he says he has a young student who should go with us. Apparently her song is something like the Refrains. He believes it will help.”

Artixan nodded. “Sounds promising.”

“Now, if I could just get
Roth
to see that we share some common ground.” She took another bite of her fruit.

At the next merchant stand up the road, Artixan showed more than casual interest in a variety of personal items set out on a broad swath of black felt. Helaina continued to enjoy her apricot as she watched him thoughtfully pick up several items and examine them at arm's length with his aging eyes—a pen set, complete with sander; a better-than-average hand mirror; a walnut-wood snuffbox; a silver locket large enough to hold a small item or two.

He kept at it, shopping with a will now … until he picked up a pinch comb with a pearlescent finish. He turned it over in his fingers twenty times before a satisfied smile touched his face. He raised a hand to the merchant, inquired on the price, and paid the man without a single word of dickering.

“It's not even my name day,” Helaina said, joking over the intention of the purchase.

He turned with a bit of apology on his face, then saw her smile, and laughed. “It's for Yolen. We've been together … my skies, must be fifty years. Just a small token to celebrate.”

She looked at the fine pinch comb in his hand. “You're a dear man not to have resorted to buying an older woman practical things.”

“My Yolen ought to have a chest of these for tolerating me,” he said, holding up the comb.

“I won't argue with you on that.”

His easy laugh came again. “Our friends will bring practical things. They think she needs household items. We have enough stoneware for one of your midwinter receptions.” He shook his head with good nature. “But they mean well.”

“I have a gift for you both. Delightfully
im
practical.”

He half-bowed. “Thank you, my friend. And though you'll think me ripe with sentimentality, waking up to Yolen each day is gift enough.”

“You're a rare one. But for all the right reasons.” She hooked her arm in his and they continued on.

And despite their small diversions this morning, her interests were more than casual. A few carts down she found one of the usual traders. A good man. Nonperishable items. And one of the rare merchants who worked the realms east of Vohnce.

“Timothy,” she said warmly.

The man stood up, bracing his back a bit and uttering a small groan.

“You,” he said, keeping her identity secret, as was their standing agreement. “What'll it be this morning? I have a few hand vases, turned in Kuren.” He uttered a rough squeal. “Oh, and a poem book out of Naltus Rey.
Pain poets,
wouldn't you know.” He finally turned and winked. “That one would set you back several full real marks.”

“I'll take the poem book,” she said, and stepped close enough that she could whisper without being overheard. She handed him ten thick silver marks. “And your understanding of the best trade route into Y'Tilat Mor.” She quickly added, “Keep your voice low, and just look bored.”

The old merchant didn't miss a stitch. As he plopped the coins into a purse at his waist, he fumbled for the book and spoke softly. “One day, you'll tell me why, since only fool traders go that way. But the best road starts at the south of Falett Range. Cardal Point. Hard to miss. But also hard to follow once it hits the forests of the Mors.”

He then proffered the book. She took it and turned away casually, raising a hand of thanks. She wasn't sure she'd need Timothy's information, but she knew enough to be ready if she did.

She'd returned to her routine and gotten past another handful of carts, when in the distance, the sound of urgent hooves broke the morning's peaceful spell. When she turned, she saw three riders moving fast in her direction. In the predawn light, she couldn't make out their garb, though it appeared uniform.

Helaina turned into the road and waited, Artixan beside her. A few moments later, out of the dark of early morning, Roth and two of his ranking lieutenants appeared, coming to an abrupt stop before her. Their horses chuffed in the chill, their nostrils flaring. Roth didn't step down, but rather bent forward, extending a hand filled with papers.

“You'll want to read these,” he said.

Even before she received the parchments, she noted that the leagueman had known where to find her. He'd likely been tracking her movements for months. She might have guessed it, but was disappointed her Emerit guard—hiding somewhere out of sight—hadn't discovered that she was being trailed.

Roth gently shook the parchments once. “Please, my lady.”

Helaina stepped forward and took hold of them. “Do you intend to make me read these, or will you simply tell me what they say?”

He sat tall again in his saddle, resting his hands on the horn. “The time has come for more decisive action, my regent.” He looked at Artixan. “You have remained lax on issues that concern your people. I've taken their interests to heart, and secured the votes I need to act on that order.” He pointed to the parchments in her hand.

“And what is it?” she asked.

“The Civilization Order,” Roth replied.

“Which is already law.” She glanced at the parchment, confused.

“An amendment has been added, witnessed and signed by over half of the High Council.” Roth softened his voice, adopting a more personal tone. “Whatever you may think, Helaina, I didn't really wish to do this. But there have been rumblings since this Vendanj conjured his abomination in full view of your Convocation. Even I feared riot if we didn't take action.”

“What action, Roth?” she demanded.

He stiffened. “No longer will abstention from rendering the Will be sufficient. Members of the Sheason Order will be killed on sight.” Again he softened his voice, playing both sides of this game. It sickened her. “Their very presence unsettles the people, makes them distrustful, even violent. There have been fights these last two days between those who support the order and those who fear it. Fights, my lady, with steel.” He pointed a finger toward a nearby cart, where Helaina had a moment before been browsing a selection of weapons.

Artixan's calm voice rose from beside her. “This isn't binding,” he said. “Such an order must be discussed in chambers. How are we to have full faith in these documents and signatures? Any more than the diary of Sodalist E'Sau? No, Ascendant, this will not be considered law until it can be heard in Council.”

Roth drew forth another parchment and threw it at Artixan's feet. “A transcription from the books of Judicature by First Counsel Jermond himself. I'll spare you having to hunker down to pick it up,” he said mockingly. “It says that witnessed votes of the members of the Council can serve as proxy for a meeting had in chambers. And before you ask, Jermond himself validated the urgency of immediate action, and witnessed every signature. It is law. I do you the honor of letting you know before the order is executed.”

“A coup,” Helaina said, her voice distant. “Why haven't you used this maneuver before?” Her question was aimed at herself, as she began thinking of her next step.

Roth dismounted, and came to stand before her. “Let's you and I be honest. You hate me as much as I do you. But I don't tamper with the proper order of things. I will avail myself of every possible avenue to see the civil mind arise in Recityv, and elsewhere. But I won't do so by immoral means.”

Artixan gave one of his mild, derisive laughs. “You have a double tongue, Roth. But worse than this, you—of all people—force civil unrest at a time when we should be forging common bonds. Your purpose is political gain. No one's deceived about that. But would you really risk civil war now? When the Quiet presses across the Pall? It's madness. Even if you still believe the Quiet are a child's rhyme, help us prove it. Help us prove it before you tear down the halls of servants that would stand with us to defend against the onslaught.”

“Artixan,” Roth said coolly, “the only
Quiet
I believe in are Sheason, who play at arcanum and keep men subservient and indolent.”

Helaina rested a hand on Artixan's arm to calm her friend before he said or did something that might get him killed.

“Roth, I will return to the city, and I'll visit every witness to this decree.” She leveled a look on him that bore all the weight of her office. “I want you to acknowledge that the execution of any Sheason before I can attend to this matter will be treated as murder, and you, as the Ascendant of the League of Civility, will be held fully accountable.”

“I will not—”

“Moreover,” Helaina pushed on, “I will expel the League from Recityv, from all of Vohnce. Even if it means that the fires that burn in our squares carry the smoking offal of their broken bodies.”

Roth raised a defiant chin, but didn't speak. The time for further speeches or councils had passed. They had each stepped over a line, and would either keep their grim promises or recant.

After several moments, he gave a slight mocking bow of deference to her, and climbed back into his saddle. Before reining around and galloping back to the city, his face relaxed again, becoming frighteningly impassive.

“I do you the honor of giving you time to say good-bye to your friend, Helaina.” Roth nodded toward Artixan. “Though you should know that many suggested he be the first taken. When we meet again,” he warned, “my honor will be to the will of the people, as should yours.”

Roth kicked his gelding into a full gallop, his men doing the same. Behind them, Helaina dropped the damned document and began to run as fast as her aching legs would carry her back toward the city gate, Artixan at her side.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Fields of Wheat

An attack of Will, which is Resonance, can take many forms. The least-consuming of your own energy is to drive an attack through space at your target. Much more of you is required to cause spontaneous and immediate Resonance inside your enemy.

—Allocating Forda, a senior course of study in Estem Salo for Sheason studying Influence

T
haelon arrived unannounced to Exemplar Odea Ren's battle training sessions. Her preparations were taking place in a meadow high above Estem Salo that was flush with unharvested mountain wheat. Warm sun touched everything with a golden hue and lit chaff raised from the shuffle of feet through knee-high grasses. A group of Sheason stood behind Odea, watching their fellows take turns at the meadow's center. Thaelon stood a stride back, so as not to interrupt or distract them.

A woman had just taken position out in the meadow, surveying several rough scarecrow figures fashioned of white pine limbs and aspen branches. Near each scarecrow stood a Sheason who would provide the actual attack on the woman taking her turn.