Zandru's Forge (24 page)

The sergeant announced the opening of the session and everyone bowed. Rakhal took the scroll bearing the day’s agenda and presented it to the King, who nodded his willingness to hear these cases.

The first order of business was the proposal to finance the rebuilding of Tramontana Tower. Carolin did not think that even King Felix would dare keep Liriel waiting through lesser matters, not with her sitting in the front row, back straight, hands precise in her lap. Not a single detail of her appearance or demeanor was less than proper for a lady of her rank,
Comynara
and Hastur. By her very presence, she lent solemnity to the proceedings.

The evening before, as Carolin lingered after the last cup of wine with his uncle and Rakhal, he had broached the subject. Few important decisions were made during public session. Rakhal already knew of the proposal.

“When Tramontana fell, we lost a valuable resource.” Carolin made his argument point by point, carefully watching the King for signs of understanding. “Now communications with the Hellers are unreliable. It would not take much to cut us off from them entirely, or reduce the speed of messages to the pace of a fast horse.”

“We must have an outpost there,” Rakhal said, moving restlessly in his chair. “But the relays are the least of our problems. The more powerful Hastur becomes, the more desperate our enemies. We must expand our defense capabilities, and that means more Towers under our control.”

“I don’t know what the world is coming to,” Felix said, shaking his head. “Old Towers, new Towers with the same name. It’s all so confusing. I don’t understand why things can’t just stay the same.”

“That’s what we are trying to do, Your Majesty,” Rakhal said soothingly. “To put up a new Tower in the same place so that things will be just like they were.”

“Oh, yes, well then, that is good.”

Afterward, Carolin said, “I do not think the
leronyn
who made the proposal intended a military outpost or a factory for
clingfire,
but a place to train new students, to do peaceful productive work.”

“They will do whatever we command,” Rakhal answered, smiling. “In the king’s name, of course.”

“I have lived among Tower folk,” Carolin reminded him, “and I would not so lightly dismiss their independence and resourcefulness. Their discipline is as great as any soldier‘s, nor are they peasants who can be whipped if they do not obey. I think it unwise to create such expectations in the King’s mind. The Towers are a power in their own right. If we do not accord them that respect and self-determination, the day may come when we have no choice.”

“What, would you have us go to the expense of rebuilding a Tower and then demand nothing in return?”

Carolin shook his head. “On the contrary, I would have the Tower free to do the work it does best.”

Now that conversation came back to him. With little discussion, King Felix read aloud the brief statement approving the project. From the front row of the
Comyn
section, Liriel met Carolin’s gaze and then, very slightly, inclined her head. She might owe him a favor in return, but he very much doubted that included blind obedience.

The next several documents appeared to be routine business, matters which were already settled and required only the consent of the King. There was some discussion over the next, a tariff dispute between the cities of Hali and Thendara. The issue was unfamiliar to Carolin, and he listened with interest as the two representatives put forth their cases. Hali invoked an obscure legal precedent that Thendara challenged, calling upon the testimony of the
cortes
judge.

“We must weigh the welfare of the respective parties involved,” the judge said. “Each has an interest here. The point is whether the strength of this prior verdict is sufficient to counterbalance the compelling arguments for damage.”

“The issue is clear,” said Thendara, glancing at Rakhal. “We cannot allow a minority to defy the wishes of so many. We need a new precedent, one based on today’s reality, not the whim of some judge who was probably bribed.”

“Bribery is a serious charge,” Carolin said.

“This is exactly the type of case where we need protection,” Hali retorted. “Your Majesty, as defender of
all
your subjects, we appeal to you—” His eyes lifted to the face of King Felix, who had been gazing out the window for the past five minutes.

“You have all made your points amply clear,” Rakhal cut in, “and my uncle will give them due consideration. Complicated matters such as these cannot be so quickly decided. Come back next month and we will discuss it further.”

The two representatives, who had only a moment ago been adversaries, exchanged an appalled look. Hali swallowed, visibly choking back a retort.

“Highness,” the judge said, his voice taut, “this case has already been continued for an entire season. The parties have compromised upon every aspect except this. Without a ruling on the exact percentage of tariff impounds, the grain will sit in the warehouses for the rest of the winter.”

“I don’t understand the urgency of the situation,” Carolin said. “Surely it won’t perish in the cold.”

“There is already hunger in Thendara,” the representative of that city explained. “The price of wheat has risen past what poor people can pay. Hardest affected are those who depend upon the bounty of the King, for those supplies come from taxes paid in kind.”

“We must have a ruling either way,” said the judge. “And because the precedent decision was made by His Majesty, only he can determine its relevance.”

“Uncle,” Carolin said, gently breaking into the old man’s reverie, “I think it wise to give these good men a decision. It is our own people who will suffer if this case goes any longer without resolution.”

“Then I suppose I must,” King Felix said. He shook his thin shoulders, as if recalling himself. “Yes—ah—quite. Let me see the record you are referring to.”

Rakhal shot Carolin a furious look and fumbled in the papers, finally producing one. Its edges were discolored and curled with age.

Felix studied the document, lips moving as he ran his finger along each line of text. “Yes, well—ah—Elhalyn? Do you remember this business?”

The old lord straightened in his chair and his eyes brightened. “Majesty, I do. As you will recall, the base tariff was much lower in those times. This ruling was meant to be a temporary increase in order to equalize the relative costs of the different routes of transport, but it has since become permanent. The taxes involved have been raised a number of times for other reasons. Were this ruling to be invoked now, the result would be a far larger burden upon the merchants than was ever originally intended. Than Your Majesty intended at the time, that is.”

“Of course,” Rakhal said, “Your Majesty is free to reinter pret the ruling in whatever manner you see fit.”

Carolin did not like his cousin’s oily tone, nor his disrespect for the old lord. Elhalyn might be reduced in royal favor, but he was still the senior member of the council and, what was more important, he was the only one among them who remembered the original circumstances.

The king sighed. His gaze wandered to his right and for a moment he seemed surprised to see Carolin sitting there. “What—what would you advise, my boy?”

Carolin drew a breath. The expedient thing would be to keep with the precedent. The merchants might complain privately about the increased costs, but they would find ways to increase their prices to compensate. One way or another, by impounds or taxes, the price of grain would rise. The people who would pay were those least able to afford the extra burden.

All those years ago, the king had made a bargain with his people, even if it were not written into law. The King was certainly able to proclaim whatever he pleased or rather, whatever his soldiers could enforce. But was it just? Was it honorable? Was there not some implied obligation on the king’s part to reconsider a temporary measure when the need had passed?

“I do not agree with the precedent,” Carolin said. “His Majesty decreed the original tariff in view of special circumstances. I do not see that these hold true now. The most important thing is to allow the passage of this grain to the people who will need it the most. No one should profit from another’s hunger or helplessness.”

Rakhal said in a low voice that only Carolin could hear, “If you take that position, Cousin, then your treasuries will be empty in no time. How do you think we arm our soldiers or pay for our dinners, if not by tariffs and taxes?‘

“That may be true, but whether it is wise is another matter entirely.”

Carolin had spent too much time on the streets, both here at Hali and at Arilinn, to so easily dismiss the temper of the people.

“I fear that your season at Arilinn has left you too easily swayed, Cousin,” Rakhal said, leaning on one elbow as he turned a smiling face toward the audience. “You should take greater care for the good opinion of the king, and far less for that of the rabble out there. It is their duty to supply our needs, not ours to compromise our goals in consideration of theirs. I refer you to your history lessons. There is a good reason why we
Comyn
rule and those head-blind cattle obey.”

Carolin stared at him. Like all educated people of his generation, he had studied the worst excesses of the Ages of Chaos, the
laran
breeding programs and the strange and terrible Gifts they produced.
Comyn
flew wherever they liked in aircars, their homes were heated and lit by
laran,
and whole circles were devoted to shaping beasts for whim or pleasure. Until now, however, he had given little thought to how all this was paid for, and how many people labored so that a few might live in luxury. He had no excuse save ignorance and the heed lessness of youth.

Both can be remedied,
he told himself, and wondered if the same could be said for greed.

17

On Midwinter Festival night, the great hall at Hastur Castle glowed with a thousand lights. Garlands of greenery, tied with ribbons and winterberry, filled the air with pungent sweetness. Since the night before, the delicious aromas of spice bread and nut cakes from the bakeries had mingled with that of the oxen roasting over the open pit in the courtyard.

The feasting began in the early afternoon with the formal blessings of the king. First the royal family, then the other Hastur kin, and finally the assembled noble guests and courtiers took their places beside the feasting tables to hear the time-honored words.

Carolin thought his uncle had not looked so vigorous in years. Perhaps it was because Felix Hastur spoke not merely for himself, but as the incarnation, the descendant of the first Hastur, the son of a god, who had taken on human mortality for the love of a woman.

In some places, the mantle of the Blessed Cassilda was taken by the woman of the castle, standing beside her husband as Lady and Lord of Light. Together they embodied the ancient cycles of light and dark, winter and spring, resting and rejoicing, birth and death. The Towers were said to have their own Year’s End Festival, with
kireseth
and all manner of licen tiousness. Since he had not yet passed a Midwinter at a Tower, nor was he ever likely to, he would never find out.

No such scandalous behavior would take place here, although there were babes enough born nine months after Midwinter. Still, an aura hung about the old King as he raised his hands and chanted the ancient words. His reedy voice rang out in the hall. Then he clapped three times and the audience broke into wild cheering.

Musicians in the galleries struck up a lively tune. A veritable army of servants issued forth from the corridors where they had been waiting, bearing platters laden with succulent meats, joints and roasts and huge dripping chops, savory pies decorated with stylized emblems, fowl stuffed and glazed, and baskets of holiday breads. More servants brought beakers of wine and hot spiced mead, the drink favored by King Felix.

By the time the dancing hall was prepared, the throng had swelled, with every dignitary from Hali and the surrounding lands joining the castle guests, family, and courtiers.

This evening’s program began with King Felix and Lady Liriel partnered for a stately promenade. Watching the king who had been gray and old ever since he could remember, Carolin saw the echoes of a former grace, for the blood of the
chieri
ran in the
Comyn
and especially in his own family. Felix might have outlived his years in human terms, but when the music was sweet and the candlelight soft, his step was as light as any.

Old Lady Bronwyn had come down for the feast and stayed to honor the King’s first dance with her presence, then retreated to her chambers. Carolin, as usual, danced with a procession of female relatives, beginning with the highest-ranked, who was Liriel. Like an ice statue in flowing white and silver, she moved flawlessly through the intricate movements of the set. Carolin, like all of his caste and time, had been given dancing lessons as soon as he could walk, but he could not match her cool precision.

Orain was sitting out this part of the evening, claiming he was saving his strength for the more athletic dancing once the older folk had gone to bed and the holiday mead fueled the young. Orain’s wife had retired immediately after the ceremony. Carolin suspected he was tired of dancing with his cousin Jandria and much preferred the wild masculine energy of the sword dance.

Carolin caught sight of Eduin and Dyannis together. They circled the room, oblivious of the other couples. On any other night, it would have been unseemly, if not scandalous, for an unmarried couple to dance the
secain
in public. Carolin thought they looked very well together. The girl’s pink dress shone like a pearl from the sea beds of Temora against the rich bronze satin doublet and short cape of her partner. Eduin bent his head close to hers, his arm protectively around her.

A slender figure in simple, somber colors stepped onto the dance floor and paused, rigid with tension.