Treason, p.26
Treason, page 26
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
“They became too obvious. Adri thought they’d done all they could.”
“I doubt it. Letting them go to Oedran isn’t the sort of mistake I pay for. Next time, you ask! No-one takes unilateral decisions where to send my best men. Sicla, next you’ll tell me that Becka Tolse was the victim of a chance mugging. Who worked that one out?”
His companion shrugged. “Landis has been digging into his tenants’ lives. Becka thought someone had found her. She stupidly had the mark on her door. Wouldn’t be surprised if Landis or Wynfeld didn’t get wind of it. We offered to move her but she said that would be worse.”
“You don’t offer. You move her! Do you know how long it took me to find and convince her? I had to coerce her former landlord for a start. Do you know how much it takes to bribe a Lord of Anapara?”
“My vaults do. I pay the bribes,” muttered the man pointedly.
“Your vaults will be far emptier if this carries on,” observed Scanlon. “You have lost me three good men and one exceptional woman. I’ve lost one of the hues on my side and gained absolutely nothing from it. Have you found any others?”
“No. Not that’s worth the candle,” replied the man. “Syri hasn’t heard of any either. I’m limited by when I can visit. Oedran is closing off to us, Greatness. Oh, you’ve still friends at Court but there are more rumours circulating now. Especially since the Triniculum Plan.”
Scanlon’s eyes narrowed. “You wasted two years’ work there as well.”
“No, sir, we were unlucky. If the King hadn’t ridden for Ceardlann we’d have succeeded. Haster is no loss. Sergeant Hillbeck was an unfortunate complication. We had no inkling he’d be compelled to act on his suspicions.”
Scanlon snorted. “As soon as you ran into him, you should have stopped the plan. You don’t mess with valley-born. What’s this about the new guard for the Exarch?”
“He is your second cousin once removed; maybe the King is paranoid?”
Scanlon shook his head. “No. He’d have done it years ago if that was the reason. I overheard the commander and Fencible in Macia talking. The commander was saying he didn’t have anyone suitable and the Fencible saying the King wants it. They saw me and stopped talking. Something is happening! Find out what.”
“Could it be that the King is getting wise to you, Greatness? He’s going to protect his Representatives. Maybe you’ve been too obvious. All these failed plans—”
“These failed plans?” spluttered Scanlon, outraged. “Your failed plans! Yours and Syri’s mess! Sicla, death and damnation. You have almost destroyed my network in Oedran. Are you double-crossing me?”
“Oh, come now, that’s too paranoid even for you, Greatness. I like the glint of gold and the King doesn’t hold with buying men’s loyalty. He might outwardly be a weakling, but if I went to him with what I know, how long do you think I’d live? Syri saw Haster before he left. He said there were scars on his hands—”
“So what? He’s a guard! There’s scars on your hands too.”
“Yes, but then the King’s hands weren’t bandaged when I got my scars. I would lay your money on the fact he life-bound Haster, which doesn’t say ‘weakling’ that says playing a much longer game than you expected, Greatness. He’s charming people, then letting them know where the line is. If he life-bound me, I’d be dead within moments, so, if it’s all the same to you, sir, I’ll pass on double-crossing you to him.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. Are you playing your own game?”
“Me? What would I gain from it? This year has been an unfortunate series of mishaps. Starting with the King, or Queen Ira, discovering Wynfeld. Yes, we’re working to remove him, but, so far, the King has been unusually lenient. Do you know why?”
“He’s not going to tell me, is he?” Scanlon replied waspishly, evading the question.
“Well, we’re getting close to infiltrating the barracks. We’ve several hopefuls, but they may not make this year’s recruitment.”
“Fine! We’ve a lot to replace now. We need far more spies at Court. No-one just turns up in future. They’re either there by right or proper introduction. Landis invited Faran, they were quite open about that, but they didn’t warn the King. It suggests they didn’t want word to escape, which means it wasn’t accidental. Faran didn’t tell Eames he was leaving Lufian, he didn’t tell Adeone he was visiting Oedran. That breaks every rule. Landis knew about Meyer and Blunt, I’m sure. Who told him?”
“Take your pick from the grooms who saw Meyer and Blunt arrive—”
“Come in,” snapped Scanlon in response to a knock on the door.
Administrator Dwyer entered. “The King would like to know if you plan to be in Oedran for the Munewid and Prince Arkyn’s birthday, sir?”
“And that couldn’t wait?” demanded Scanlon.
“They are finalising preparations, sir,” replied Dwyer nervously.
“Fine. I won’t make the Munewid Banquet. I’ll advise about the other feast later. Get out.”
Once the door closed, Scanlon’s companion said, “You could at least see Syri if you go.”
“The way I’m feeling, I’m likely to murder him. Talking of which, if the Princes and King are together, it may be a good time for an attack. Are we sure the Lords of Oedran and Representatives would support me?”
“You can never be sure when it comes to that bunch. Of course, you could try life-binding, I’d be interested to see how that would mix with a truth-bind to the King. You need them to commit to treason and then hold it over them before they’ll do anything. I don’t trust any of them. Oh, they say they support you but given the chance, until you prove more than a figurehead, they’d argue amongst themselves then work against you. Don’t forget, if you are the only choice, killing you could mean one of them becomes king. They’ll work that out, eventually. You don’t have universal support from them. I reckon there’s two who support you wholeheartedly, but the King has the same number, possibly more. We’re working on others but, if the King and Princes died next week, no, I don’t think we’re ready. You need far more than the Court. In fact, you need the people running the cities, the palaces, the law houses; you need the infrastructure, the army – admittedly, the last might be difficult.”
“And how long will that take?” asked Scanlon sarcastically.
“At least a year,” replied his companion. “Instead of reacting like a petulant child, build your power over the men you need.”
“Petulant,” sputtered Scanlon. “How dare you?”
“Do continue to prove my point, Greatness. Your power comes from the King’s inability to disown you. What are you planning to do when you have the crown? Sit basking in its ardour? It won’t last. You don’t have a son; you don’t have a plan, beyond some half-hearted revenge for what? What did the King do that irks you so much? Other than being the older brother, more carefree, more likeable—”
“GET OUT!”
The man left, whistling. Fuming, Scanlon picked up his riding crop and whacked the table. Its unyielding surface gave him no pleasure. He called his administrator and worked off his rage with crop and fists. Dwyer should have known better than to disturb him. It was his fault he was suffering this beating. When the administrator passed out, Scanlon stormed from the room, his companion’s words resounding in his head. He didn’t have a son, didn’t have the spies, didn’t have the declarations of loyalty, didn’t have everything in place. He wouldn’t visit Oedran for Arkyn’s cisan-age birthday it would be intolerable. Success gleamed tantalisingly beyond reach amongst the fronds of failed plans. If Gad was the card he had left, he would change the deck but the man still had skills to use. He could make another attempt either winter or spring next year. If Adeone died, Arkyn would need a protector. The Lords of Oedran and the empire couldn’t quibble that the Justiciar was the right person. That could legitimately secure his power. Until then, he would target more strategically, he would build on everything he needed. He had some resources his companion didn’t know about, stashes of coin, friends in provincial capitals. Gad could have one last chance in late 1210. If he didn’t succeed then, he’d be of no further use there. Too many eyes would be hunting for him and he’d know too much if he was caught. For the moment, he had other things to concern him in the attics and cellars of Black Hills.
PART 3
Chapter 45
STORMS AND CALM
Cisadai, Week 12 – 23rd Lowal, 16th Lowis 1210
Inner Office
THE ANNIVERSARY of Queen Ira’s death dawned with storms. His heart heavy, Adeone dressed remembering the ride, the fear, the laughter and the devastation of that sunny day a year ago. The storms were somehow more appropriate. It wasn’t that everyone was tiptoeing around him but he knew they were intrigued by his decision not to visit Ceardlann. As the storms lashed the windows of the Palace, changing his mind wasn’t appealing.
Richardson had asked if he could leave Edward in charge of the Outer Office for the day as part of his training. Disinterestedly, Adeone agreed. It wasn’t like his day consisted of anything critical, Richardson had seen to that with the quiet competence that others often missed.
The morning dragged. Slipping into memories, Adeone wondered what Ira would make of their sons now. Tain, ten, lively and mischievous. Arkyn, fifteen, at Court, getting to grips with new duties and responsibilities. She’d have been proud, but Adeone couldn’t hear what she’d say. The link with her was fading, the loss burning brighter for it and the rain wept, drenching the grounds with the tears of the heavens.
From the Outer Office came the murmur of voices, Edward’s quietly reiterating that someone needed an appointment or must wait.
Moments later, Lord Anguis entered. “Your Majesty, about Imperadai—”
“I don’t believe you have an audience, Anguis!”
“Well, the pipsqueak courier outside—”
Adeone pursed his lips. “If you barge into my office again then, Lord of Oedran or not, there will be consequences. If you dare to disparage the men whom I have working for me, maybe you’d like to consider where such disparagement may land you. If my administrator or secretaries inform you that I am unavailable, then I am!”
Anguis reddened. “Refusing to see—”
Something snapped in Adeone. “If you need an audience, organise it properly! Edward was doing his duty, something that seems beyond your comprehension. I don’t want to see you at Court until the Munpyram. Get out!”
Anguis didn’t move. “I am a Lord of Oedran, Sire—”
“If you continue, you won’t be for much longer! No-one has automatic right of audience unless I’ve given them a token.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Do I need to call my guards to remove you to a cell for defying me?”
Anguis wrenched the door open and strode away.
“Edward!” The secretary entered hesitantly, but Adeone ignored the nerves. “You did the right thing. Thank you for trying. Cancel my meeting with Wynfeld, please.”
Once he was alone again, Adeone sank into his chair and rested his head on his hands. He felt the ghost of Ira’s hand on his shoulder and choked back his emotion. He wished she was there, beside him, with him, supporting him, calming him. He shouldn’t be here today; he should be with their sons but the rain was relentless and he hadn’t the heart to put others through the ride.
Simkins served his lunch without comment, brought in tea and biscuits, removed the detritus and lit the fire. Nothing shifted the memories and Adeone cursed himself.
Richardson entered the office late in the afternoon and saw how little the King had read. He crossed to collect the documents.
Seated in front of the fire, Adeone said, “Make sure I’m not this bloody stupid again. I should have been at Ceardlann! Presumably, as you’re here, you’ve heard about the incident earlier.”
Unsure what Adeone thought about it, Richardson said, “Edward did his best in difficult circumstances, sir. I can’t say that I’d have been much more successful.”
Adeone waved to a chair. “You think he’s worth all the trouble in the world, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I don’t think there is much more I could teach him if we had ten years together.” replied Richardson, sitting down. “I’d say he’s ready, but it’s not my opinion that matters.”
“Hmm. He’s a good secretary now. What about the other aspects?”
Richardson hesitated. “The scriveners say his mathematical ability is perfectly sound. The servers say he’s not going to be breaking the best glassware. He can ride, and he’s been taught how to care for horses. Your lawyers are happy he understands the treason laws. He’s grasped the finer points of King’s Tokens for communicating standing and favour, and for limiting automatic right of entry. Though I may also have told him that Chapa and Lady Amara get to walk over our best intentions.”
Adeone snorted. “Yes, sorry about that. I feel there is a ‘but’ coming in all of this.”
“But,” said Richardson with a small smile, “he’s pretty hopeless with a sword. He’s more likely to injure himself than an enemy.”
“Ah.” Adeone considered. His staff all needed to be able to protect themselves. “How’s his fist work?”
“Better than his sword skills,” replied Richardson dryly. “He did grow up in an orphanage.”
“Then, that’s fine. For what it is worth, I’ve been impressed with him over the last couple of days. This Pentadai, I’m going to see the Princes. He can come with me. Ensure I remember to add him to the Rex Dallin Scroll—” He broke off as the door opened.
“Not still here, Sire?” asked Landis entering without herald. “If there’s no rest for the wicked then there seems little point to you working.”
“That must have lost something in the translation,” muttered Adeone.
“You’re one of the good, sir. You need a break. I’m surprised at Richardson keeping you working this late.”
“My lord, I shall leave the King, with his permission, to your tender care,” replied the administrator.
King Adeone laughed for the first time that day. “All right, Richardson, you seem to have won. We’re done for the day. Enjoy your evening.”
Once Richardson had left, Adeone led the way into his private sitting room. He collapsed into a chair, and Landis followed suit.
Smiling slightly, Adeone asked, “How’s Cornelia?”
“Pregnancy suits her. There’ll soon be another Landis to give you a headache. You will stand as nearfather again?”
“Of course, if you and Cornelia wish it. Have you chosen a name yet?”
Landis said calmly, “We were wondering about Ira, if it’s a girl and you don’t mind.”
His voice only just in his control, Adeone said, “I don’t mind, Festus. I… Thank you, but what if it’s a boy?”
“We have some in mind, but Adeone is top of the list.”
Adeone got up and faced the windows, distracting himself but not seeing the sodden view. He took a deep breath and turned back to his friend. “You do me too much honour. Why?”
“We’re running out of ideas?” suggested Landis with bright eyes. He became serious. “You’re the best friend I’ve got, sir. The last five have had family names. This time I want to name the child for people I care deeply about, Cornelia also. We started thinking and realised the people for whom we care that deeply are Your Majesty and your family.”
Sitting down, Adeone studied his friend for a moment. “I don’t quite know what to say. Thank you both. I’ll try to get to see them all at some point soon. I promise.”
“I know you will. I’ll sort out a dinner invitation and pass it through Richardson so no clashes occur.”
Adeone nodded. “Avoid Pentadai. I’m going to Ceardlann. Come with me. I’m sure Arkyn and Tain would like to see you. If not, I’m sure young Calumiel will be too polite to say anything.”
Landis chuckled and, for the rest of the evening, their talk was about their families, interspersed with speculation on Court gossip.
Chapter 46
REX DALLIN
Pentadai, Week 12 – 26th Lowal, 19th Lowis 1210
Rex Dallin
ON PENTADAI, the Comptroller appeared slightly frazzled as he said, “Your Highness, maybe if we view it another way—” He turned to put some papers on the Comptroller’s Chest and bowed as he registered the King had entered. Arkyn whipped round and gave a short bow.
Adeone assessed the situation. He sighed. “Arkyn, are you wearing the Comptroller out again?”
“Not intentionally, sir. Hill Beck Farm, is having a hard year. We’re trying to work out how to help, but it can wait.”
“Good. I’ve brought you some help, by the way. Edward, come on in. Edward has agreed to take on the arduous task of being your administrator. I hope that you can both cope with the idea.”
Arkyn nodded. “Of course, father. Welcome to Ceardlann, Edward.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” replied his new administrator self-consciously.
The Comptroller took advantage of a pause. “Well, Sire, Your Highness, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll go and introduce Edward to Kadeem and show him his room.”
As they left, Tain tore into the office. Nearly bowled over as his son careered into him, Adeone gave him a much-needed hug. They perched in the Comptroller’s office talking for six minutes before Adeone persuaded Tain to spend time annoying his nearfather.
Once they’d gone, Adeone asked, “What’s the problem with the farm?”
“The farmer caught a chill and died,” explained Arkyn. “His son is only twelve. Too young to manage the farm on his own but it seems unfair for the sake of a couple of seasons to remove it from the family. There aren’t any cousins to help. There’s an uncle to the boy in Oedran, but he’s settled, from what I can gather. They don’t want to disturb his work there.”
