Treason, page 16
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
Jones modified his tone, the Exarch commanded respect by his very posture. “I didn’t exactly lie to Captain Sharparu, Your Excellency. I don’t know, sir. Captain Wynfeld ordered me to leave Oedran. I suspect he means me to carry on with the work of the intelligence regiment.”
“Yes. He only seconded you to this regiment, not transferred you. He could recall you to Oedran or move you on with no notice; therefore, do not annoy anyone here. Your work is, or could be, too valuable. Find a couple of trustworthy men here and get them collecting information. You must appear to be a regular sergeant. That is imperative. One last thing, keep on the right side of the law and be discreet. No-one can protect you if you are arrested. Lord Scanlon mustn’t get to know of your work. One of my agents will be in contact with you. Password will be minarets of Oedran. He will put you in contact with others who might be of help. I have my own informants; You may work for Oedran but do not tread on their toes. Goodbye, Jones.”
“Sir.” He held the door open for the Exarch and stayed holding it open as Captain Sharparu re-entered.
“What did His Excellency say to you?” enquired the captain.
“Nothing much, sir. Asked after Oedran mainly.”
“If I lose another good sergeant because of your arrival, I will not be happy, Jones! Is that understood? There is a ban on all leave that gives you time enough to reach Oedran. I hope that’s also clear.”
“Crystal, sir,” replied Jones, unnerved again.
“Good, because if I have another morning when the King gets in touch to tell me I’ve lost a sergeant, I shall have to take it out on someone. Now, I believe you have recruits to get up to scratch. Bugger off.”
He snapped to attention, saluted and left, wondering what Captain Sharparu had been talking about. It didn’t take much digging for him to find out it was Wynfeld’s commission. He suddenly wished he knew how Wynfeld had got his commission; the captain had obviously been liked and respected here, taking aggravation from Sharparu to save others. That hole still needed filling. No-one here knew of his aspirations and disappointments. He could start again.
* * *
For all it was part of the empire, the province of Bayan chose to believe it was independent. The country of the chieftainess who had become the first Sundrian, its people had been fighting Anapara for centuries, eventually bowing to the pressures of an empire but with a knife hidden in their boot. Oedran was rarely mentioned.
Garth’s towers and minarets inspired the city to be reaching ever upward, but after the 1169 Bayan Rebellion, King Altarius had disbanded Garth’s City Guard, leaving law enforcement to the militia.
For all he admired the spirit, Jones watched the inhabitants of Garth carefully. For his first few weeks, he walked the streets half-dazed, his eyes more often watching the sky than the ground, the spires drew the eye. Along the steep, winding streets were brightly draped market stalls, between them ran alleys crammed with shops or houses. They wended their way, narrow and steep, to hidden courtyards or great squares until he became disorientated but he began to understand why Wynfeld had said that it wasn’t so different from Oedran. The pride of the inhabitants might be more noticeable but the same motives drove them; their lives had the same markers of their passing. Violence and poverty lived side by side here with love and riches.
His new regiment had responsibility for guarding the Exarch. It meant he was constantly at the Citadel and Trades Hall and, whilst there, Jones overheard many different conversations. Some he reported directly to Oedran, some to the Exarch’s agent. Occasionally he waited to see if rumours were substantiated. Always, though, he kept in mind the fact that he was trying to protect the FitzAlcis.
After the first few weeks, his annoyance at Wynfeld had all but disappeared. It still rankled occasionally but there was no fire behind it. The challenge of something new helped and he was benefiting from it. The recruits yielded three trustworthy spies. Being raw recruits, no-one thought twice when they seemed to be listening keenly. It was assumed they were trying to learn how things worked. One man mastered the art without anyone ever realising he was listening. In the sergeants’ mess, Jones heard about more than the doings of the Garth Lawhouse and Citadel Court. Guarding the Exarch meant he got to hear the conversations at the top of society but missed the small tell-tale everyday gossip that was sometimes more illuminating. He became good friends with one sergeant from a different regiment which patrolled the city and they were often seen sitting chatting the night away over a tankard of ale. They would discuss the day’s happenings and the antics of their regiments without an obvious thought for anything else, but Jones learned much.
Chapter 29
ELIZA’S STORY
Imperadai, Week 19 – 18th Meithal, 4th Meithis 1209
Ceardlann
AROUND THE SAME TIME as Jones arrived in Garth, Prince Arkyn was poring over a plan in the Comptroller’s office at Ceardlann. Suddenly, he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing. The Comptroller glanced at him in concern but, noticing determination, didn’t comment.
Six minutes later, Prince Tain burst in through the door with his normal verve, saying excitedly, “Arkyn, come and see this.”
Arkyn laughed seeing Tain covered in mud up to his knees. “Can it wait a bit?” he asked half wistfully.
“Suppose,” said Tain, deflated.
The Comptroller seized his opportunity. “Your Highness, if you want to go and see what Prince Tain has been doing, I can finish off here.”
“No, thank you. Father is expecting me to do this.”
“I think he is also expecting that you learn how to delegate, sir. We’ve been at this for well over two hours. Go and get some fresh air.”
“Comptroller…”
“No, sir. If you want to, come back later and carry on, but you need a break and, to tell you the truth, so do I. Your father won’t be too pleased with either of us if—”
Arkyn faced the Comptroller and the Comptroller faced Arkyn.
Tain resolved the matter. “Arkyn, stop being a fool. Come outside.”
Arkyn again saw Tain muddied up to the eyeballs and with a face blown into smiles. “Am I being a fool?”
“Yes, but if you weren’t, I’d wonder if you were ailing for something,” observed the Comptroller without any hint of deference.
Arkyn and Tain grinned. Suddenly, both of them were boys.
The Comptroller smiled. “Now, what time would you like dinner?”
Arkyn glanced at Tain. “What do you reckon?”
“Ten!”
“Past your bedtime,” pointed out Arkyn with brotherly directness. “We’ll go with eight, Comptroller.”
“But that is my bedtime,” cried Tain.
“Yes, and you won’t be up quite so late as though it were ten, will you?”
Tain dragged his brother to the trout stream that fed the River Encil. They found Fitz there, trout rod in hand.
Feeling better, Arkyn said, “What have you been up to?”
“Trout fishing, without a rod. See? I caught those.” Tain pointed to a couple of smaller trout.
Fitz merely chuckled to himself as Tain pulled Arkyn over to the stream whilst explaining, his enthusiasm obvious.
Quarter of an hour after they left Ceardlann, the Comptroller was intrigued to see Adeone dismounting looking frazzled. He walked to the stables to greet the King.
“Sorry for the unannounced visit, Comptroller; I needed to get away for a time. Where are the terrors?”
“With Fitz, sir, fishing in the trout stream above the bridge. Prince Arkyn has only just gone.”
“I shall go and find them. What time did they order dinner for? I’ll probably stay for it.”
“Eight, Sire. Prince Tain did try his luck for ten, but Prince Arkyn is learning compromise more effectively than I could try reason.”
Adeone clapped the Comptroller on the shoulder and left.
When he reached the trout stream, Arkyn and Tain were both kneeling on the bank, one arm up to the elbow in the water.
Adeone grinned, recognising the posture and found himself relaxing properly. He turned to Fitz. “Are you teaching your Princes poachers’ skills?”
“Looks like I might be, Sire, and not for the first time. Why don’t you have a go? See if you remember how.”
Adeone’s lips twitched. “Well, as you did teach me, I shouldn’t complain. How are things?”
“All quiet, sir. Truly, there’s nothing for you to worry over. They’re doing all right. Prince Tain does remind me of you at his age.”
Adeone watched for a moment. “A bundle of trouble, you mean? It’s nice to see him happy, thank you. Have the afternoon off properly. You deserve it.”
“Shall I send up a guard?”
“No, not today. We’ll be all right.” Adeone walked up behind his sons and whispered, “Nice you notice when I arrive.”
Arkyn almost lost his balance with the speed at which he turned. Tain caught him with brotherly exasperation. Two seconds later, both boys received bone-crushing hugs before Tain dragged his father to examine their catch.
“We should let Cook have those. He does a good pan-fried trout.”
“I must tell mother…” Tain trailed off as tears welled. He tried to pull away, but his father pulled him close. He struggled, trying to free himself, trying to run from memories and himself.
Adeone knew that battle as he knew himself. He held his son tightly pouring all his love and support into their embrace. Tears ran down his face. His sons shouldn’t be suffering this loss.
Arkyn collapsed onto the grass, knees drawn up and his head resting on them. He stared into the distance fighting for control. Seeing his father was also crying, he let go, tears washing his face.
Tain finally stopped struggling and collapsed onto the ground, sitting like Arkyn. Adeone settled himself in the middle of his sons, an arm round each of them.
Finally, with the tears all shed, Tain started to apologise.
“There is no need to apologise,” chided Adeone gently. “We need to acknowledge our loss when we can. I was about your age when my mother died. I know the loss.”
“What was Queen Eliza like?” murmured Tain.
Adeone lay gazing at the clouds. “She was beautiful and always laughing. I remember that most of all – always laughing. It’s why my father married her. He always said she brought merriment to his life.”
Overcome with curiosity, listening to the wistful note in his father’s voice, Arkyn enquired, “When did he meet her?”
“It is an odd story; I’m surprised I’ve never told you it. Father was riding through Oedran and badly cut his leg somehow. His guards noticed the sign for a doctor up one of the side streets and knocked the poor man up. They carried father into the man’s front room and he was made comfortable whilst the doctor tended to his wound. Suddenly, not knowing what the commotion had been, a lady walked into the room carrying a fresh stock of bandages. The doctor asked her to give him a hand and introduced her as his cousin, who kept house for him. She was about twenty-three and vivacious. Halfway through seeing to the cuts and bruises, the doctor commented that they’d have to find a husband for her as her skills shouldn’t be wasted on him. She readily agreed, saying that the last thing she wanted to do in life was to take care of a layabout cousin. They carried on wrangling for six minutes, completely forgetting, it seemed, just who the patient was. They were all chuckling by the time the doctor had finished dressing father’s leg. They carried on talking and laughing for some time. So long that father forgot he’d hurt his leg and when he got up to leave, he put his weight on it and almost crumpled to the ground again. The doctor’s cousin was quick and supported him. Father left the house feeling younger than he had for years. He went through the next couple of days in a dream and the next time he was passing, he called unannounced on the doctor, who took the visit with his normal eccentric affability. Father offered him a job and the doctor, not quite believing it, did the unthinkable and asked for time to consider it. Father agreed, saying the doctor would have to talk it over with his cousin. The doctor grimaced, revealing that his uncle had effectively ordered her home, stating it would be easier to find a husband for her there. Intrigued by the doctor’s frankness, father was more disturbed by the idea of his bright cousin marrying. He made up his mind then and there. At that point, the door opened and the doctor’s cousin entered. Not noticing father, she said something like, ‘As I can’t trust you to feed yourself on Millie’s half-day, I’ve brought you dinner.’ It was only then that she saw my father; she beamed, dropped into a curtsy and excused herself. Doctor Chapa has always said that from that moment on, whenever she was in the room, my father had eyes for no-one but Eliza, his cousin. Father approached her father and then asked Eliza to marry him. She never quite believed it. I’ve been told her last words were, ‘I’ll wake up in a minute. It’ll be ten years ago and this will all have been a dream.’ She never woke. The doc also accepted my father’s offer of a job and we’ve been lumbered with him ever since. Mind you, we’ve also been laughing ever since,” finished Adeone tolerantly.
Grief had unlocked memories; family history that Adeone had never told his sons flowed from him in waves. He told them stories about his father and grandfather. He’d never met his grandfather, but there had been enough lords when Adeone had been young, who had talked to him about King Apolinar Aldous. He spoke of his father’s first wife, who had died from a fever – along with their son – whilst King Altarius dealt with the Bayan Rebellion. Their deaths kept secret until he was home. Intrigued, Tain asked why King Altarius’ siblings hadn’t informed him. Lachlan had been with Altarius, whilst Amara had been in Tradere. Neither of them had been advised their wed-sister had died.
Enraged, King Altarius had executed his nearfather as a traitor for keeping the news from him and ordering others to. He dismissed the then doctor and never believed anyone when they told him it had been natural causes. After that, Altarius hadn’t trusted anyone for years. Adeone wryly thought to himself that Scanlon was showing some of those traits that resided in the FitzAlcis blood.
* * *
Lord Scanlon was concentrating his thoughts on his contemporaries. His plans were failing, and Wynfeld’s endeavours certainly needed curtailing. He’d heard the captain had saved Adeone’s life, but that had been a mere fluke. He was interested to hear that he had spent the afternoon of the Queen’s death talking with her and Adeone, but that didn’t concern him. He knew the history of that meeting. With the last bit of compassion that he’d ever feel for his family, he was pleased Ira was comforted when she died. She’d tried to reach out to him when she’d married Adeone and he’d been nine years old. Scanlon pulled himself out of the past as his advisor remarked,
“What about Prince Tain? Surely, he’s a threat, Greatness?”
“Do not presume to instruct me. Tain is too young to die. If he dies now, the King will get a lot of sympathy and questions will be asked. He is too full of life to have a fatal illness, too nimble to have an accident. Give it a few years and his mischievous side will get him into trouble, one way or another. He is like the King was. People won’t stand for a practical joker as a justiciar; they will turn against him because of it. He will engineer his downfall. I’ll not let him reach twenty, but he must live for a bit longer. The longer he lives, the less chance there is of the King remarrying to get more heirs. He will be security for my plans for a couple more years yet.”
“Very well, sir. I’ve heard that one of the younger Traderian lords is upset with the King. He’s cursing him in private and is planning an accident for him.”
Scanlon considered his advisor steadily, “Deal with him. I don’t want people getting ideas. I want to know my plans are settled when the King dies. I will be the one who succeeds in saving this empire from his influence, no-one else. Make sure the lord realises who he’s upset before he greets his ancestors.”
Bantling said gravely, “Very well, Greatness. I shall attend to it directly.”
“Do so. Have you heard the rumours about the intelligence system?”
Knowing the Justiciar’s temper, Bantling opted for the truth. “I have, sir, but I think Wynfeld might be finding his days numbered. He’s a sergeant with no experience of command, promoted beyond his capabilities. He’s already disgraced after the Triniculum Plan. One more mistake and he’ll find himself demoted. At least, that is my information, sir.”
“Arrange a mistake then. You can go.”
Chapter 30
LANDIS’ SECRET
Afternoon
Oedran – Landis House Study
LORD LANDIS WAS OSTENSIBLY staring into a gold bowl of clear, steaming water. What he saw though was the steam, twisting and parting into the shapes of clouds, and he forced his mind’s eye past them down into the streets of Oedran. Searching. Somewhere in the city were the would-be assassins. The Teran Sector had yielded nothing. The men might be in the buildings but entering them was dangerous for him. Ullian seers and espiens, scryers and mediums could know he was scrying. In a confined space it was more likely that they’d sense him; therefore, he kept out of houses.
The ethereal silence of scrying didn’t help him find two men who didn’t sound Oedranian and Hillbeck’s description could fit a hundred men in any sector of the city. It was a hopeless case, but determination drove him on.
Rubbing his face, he pulled himself from the mists, wondering for the thousandth time whether he should tell Adeone that Ull’s Legacy affected him. He’d kept his scrying secret for years, telling himself over and over that Adeone didn’t need to know, that the skill could only adversely affect their friendship. Adeone might try to get him to use the power granted by the hue too much, and he might come to rely on it. Landis wasn’t worried about the motives, merely the strains it could place on their relationship – the frustrations and attached blame when it didn’t work. No, it was better Adeone didn’t know. Better that he lived in ignorance and ruled the empire without drawing on magical spirits and hues. It had been thus since the Fall of the Cearcall and should continue to be. Even the Bard, when he overthrew the Age of Tyranny, had only used the magical spirits as a last resort, or so the stories told them. It was a better world without the magic that Ull had brought onto Erinna. Magic shouldn’t be used to rule – of that, Landis was certain.
