The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (21 page)

Yesterday, for example, the patrol brought Fowler out of the hut's storage room, where he had been lying since his wounding. He was groggily conscious at that time, and I felt uncomfortable being in his presence, so I went into the storage room to see what lay there.
I'd never seen a room that was filled with so many items. Iron shelves jutted out from the stone walls, from floor to ceiling; I could dimly see them in the lamplight. Stacked on the shelves, in an orderly manner, were food supplies, bowls and spoons, fire-pots, swords, whetstones, boots, blankets, bandages and dried medical herbs, splints, fire-flints, firewood, a death mask . . .
I asked Devin about this last item when he entered the storage room a short time later, in order to fetch a fresh linen cloth for Fowler. "That is Sublieutenant Carle's notion," he explained, pouring wine into a flask from one of the kegs. "When we execute Emorian prisoners, we send their bodies back to Emor for burial, but we burn Koretian bodies here and spread their ashes. That is why the ground around the hut is so fertile – it contains a thousand years' worth of dead Koretians. The sublieutenant thought our relations with Koretia would be better if we burned the bodies in the Koretian manner: placing death masks over the corpses' faces, reciting one of Koretia's less disagreeable death rites . . ."
He gave a disarming smile as he said this. He was speaking in Border Koretian, which was kind of him, so I took the opportunity to ask him what it means when an Emorian shares his wine with another person.
His smile disappeared then, and he gave me a look that I could not interpret, but he answered my question readily enough, even though it took me time to realize what he was saying.
When he did, my breath was driven out of my body by the realization of what Carle had offered me. The Emorian reader for whom I began writing this journal, if he has not long since disappeared, must have been shaking his head during the past couple of entries, wondering at the ignorance of Koretian-born men. Truly, how could I have known? But I understand now what Fenton meant when he said that the Emorians don't take blood vows. After all, a life-binding vow need not be exchanged through blood. It could just as easily be exchanged through wine – and could be just as binding.
I was thinking all this through after Devin left, and was feeling the weight of what had happened fall upon me, when I noticed that Carle was standing at the door to the storage room, watching me with a serious expression. I was tongue-tied for a moment. What do you say to a new blood brother when you had not even known that you had exchanged blood? The matter was taken out of my hands a moment later, as Carle spoke.
"Now that you're well again," he said in a firm voice, "I suppose we'd better start your patrol training, and part of that training consists of learning the law. The first thing you need to understand is the concept 'without clear understanding,' which played such an important role in your trial. It's more than simply a trial sentence; it's a term that pervades the whole of the Chara's law. The premise behind it is that no man can be condemned by the full force of the law unless he deliberately breaks the law, and that requires him to understand that he is breaking a law. Likewise, no man can keep the law in full unless he understands the law that he is keeping. Thus, Emorian law declares that an oath is not binding upon a man if he does not understand, at the time of his oath-taking, what vow he is making . . ."
Carle continued in this vein for several minutes. Gradually, it dawned upon me that Devin had reported to him what I had asked, and that Carle was telling me, in as tactful a manner as possible, that I need not consider myself his wine-friend, because I had not understood what he was proposing at the time he offered me his wine.
It was an awkward moment. Because Carle had spoken in the way he had – rather than raise the subject overtly, as Fenton or Hamar would have done – I tried to answer in the same way, making clear to Carle, through my comments about the law, that I would have accepted the wine in any case and that I was honored and overwhelmed to learn that he wished us to be bound in this way. But I had no practice in this type of sideways speech, and after a while, I found myself falling into helpless laughter.
Carle looked deeply hurt at first, as though I had pulled my blade on him while his back was turned, but after I explained, he grinned and said, "I suppose there's something to be said for Koretian forthrightness."
So then I poured wine into one of the flasks from the shelves, and this time I was the one who offered the wine, and everything was all right after that. But it made me wonder in how many ways I have hurt Carle's feelings since my arrival, without clear understanding of what I was doing. I have so much to learn about being an Emorian.
The twenty-third day of October in the 940th year a.g.l.
I'm writing this entry under candlelight; it is not quite dawn yet, though from where I sit, next to the window, I can see the sky turning violet above the stone houses of the city. A few men are walking about already, all unarmed; my ears still burn when I remember Carle's laughter yesterday when he noticed how I gaped at such men. Yet I think he understood my reaction better than anyone else would – certainly better than our host would have.
Yesterday evening, after we had delivered Fowler safely to the city physicians, I thought that we would proceed directly to the army camp, but Carle shook his head. "Never disturb an army official when he is off duty," he said. "That's the first rule you should learn as a bottom-ranked soldier. Of course, that rule doesn't apply to me and the lieutenant, since we're always on duty alert, but other army officials appreciate their leisure time. We'll see Wystan in the morning. In the meantime, I'd like you to meet Neville."
Neville, it turns out, is the palace clerk I heard Carle talking about several days ago; he was a mountain patrol guard for a year. "He's the eldest son of a town baron," Carle explained as we wound our way through the market, drawing stares from passersby who noticed Carle's uniform and sword. "He doesn't stand on ceremony, though. He considers himself to be just another patrol guard."
I'm glad Carle explained this to me; I never would have guessed otherwise.
We sat a little while later in Neville's living chamber, surrounded by a dozen lamps. Made of glass. I'd never seen glass before, but Carle assured me that that was what they were. Certainly the lamp-glass made the light much brighter than if the candle-flames had been shining through horn, which allowed me to appreciate in full measure the rich tapestries, satin cushions, gilded plaster, and jewel-spangled wine cups. No less than six servants hovered at our sides, offering imported Koretian wine, delicate pastries from Emor's Central Provinces, and Marcadian berries that exploded with flavor when one bit into them. The only missing objects of richness were Daxion nuts, and Neville apologized for their absence.
"My father has cut down on my allowance," he explained with a cheerful smile as he held his cup carelessly to the side. The servant next to him promptly stepped forward to pour the wine. "I think he wants to encourage me to work harder as a clerk so that I can win my elevation – hence the incentive. And here I've been promising for three years to introduce you to the delights of fine eating, Carle."
"There's no hurry, sir." Carle, much to my surprise, was sitting relaxed among the opulence, barely glancing at the servants, but his voice had taken on the same tone it did when he was receiving orders from Quentin. "This winter will be soon enough to begin my introduction to the decadent ways of civilian life."
Neville laughed appreciatively before turning to address one of the servants, who had brought forward a new wine bottle for inspection. I was sitting on a couch next to Carle; I took the opportunity to whisper into his ear, "I thought you said that Neville was a bottom-ranked soldier. Why do you keep calling him 'sir'?"
I decided afterwards that patrol-level whispers should be spoken only when the room does not contain third parties who formerly served as patrol guards. Neville turned instantly, his eyebrows shooting toward the mosaic ceiling.
His voice was even, though, as he said, "Rank is always a difficult subject for Koretians to master."
I felt Carle stir beside me, clear his throat, and then draw breath and hesitate, as though reviewing in his mind the text of a book entitled, "How to Rebuke the Man You Have Just Called 'Sir.'" His face must have reflected what he was thinking, for Neville quickly added, "My apologies. I meant 'Koretian-born Emorians,' of course."
"But we have ranks in Koretia," I said, then added belatedly, "sir."
Neville smiled then, the laughter lines crinkling in his face. He is eighteen, a year younger than Carle, but the wave of the hand with which he dismissed the servants was so authoritative that I began to wonder whether I had misheard what Carle had told me.
"Certainly you have rank in Koretia," he said. "You have slaves, lesser free-men, lesser . . . No, you tell me. What ranks do the Koretians recognize, and what do the titles signify?"
It was then that I began to feel acutely uncomfortable and to wish that I'd taken more opportunity to talk with Carle during our journey. But I replied obediently, "Slaves are . . . Well, they're slaves. Lesser free-men are free but not noble. Lesser noblemen are village barons and their heirs. High noblemen are rulers, lords, town barons, and their hei— Oh, I see." I felt my ears grow warm.
Neville made no further reference to the matter, though the look he gave me managed to convey the fact that he expected me to be grateful for his mercy. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Carle and said, "That reminds me, Carle. Last week, the Chara handed down a new decision which was meant to settle the question of whether honorary lords are equal in rank to council lords."
"But it didn't settle that question, sir?" Carle leaned forward; I caught a glimpse of the spark in his eyes.
"Apparently the Chara's clerk and the council law researchers have been working late into the night to try to decipher the implications of the decision. Part of the decision, you'll be interested to hear, cites titles given to members of the royal family over the years, and another part of the decision rests on the question of whether a younger son automatically becomes heir to a nobleman if the eldest son dies. Apparently that issue ties in with the question of whether honorary lords are under the care of the Chara or whether, as the lordship of dominion governors would appear to suggest, they are in fact under the care of the Great Council—"
"Was the decision of the Chara Rufus's reign mentioned, sir?" Carle broke in. "I understand the Chara cited that in a case eight years ago, when he confirmed that the heirs of cousins in the royal family normally cannot inherit nobility – not that that needed to be confirmed. But that case also dealt with the question of whether being under the immediate care of the Chara brings obligations of special duty—"
I lost track of what was being said after that. Instead, I was noting how swiftly Carle turned the conversation from the general discussion that Neville had begun, transforming it into a minute examination of past court cases dating back to the early years of Emor. Within a short while I was dazed, and I think Neville must have been as well, for he eventually leaned back in his chair, gave an indulgent smile, and said, "We don't want to discuss law matters too difficult for your partner to follow, Carle. Perhaps Adrian has a question or two about what we've been discussing?"
It was a generous remark, and it was aimed entirely, I could guess, at having me ask the ignorant questions that Neville himself was afraid to voice. I didn't dare look Carle's way, but I saw the steady manner in which he set down in his cup on the marble table before him, and I knew that he too had guessed Neville's motives for turning the conversation toward me.
It was in my spirit to ask Neville the question that was really bothering me – why he baroned his rank over Carle when Carle knows so much more about the law than he does – but instead I said, in a voice that was a tad bit too cool, "I was still wondering about Emorian rank, sir. Forgive me for my great ignorance of such matters, but I don't understand why what we discussed before has any application to this evening's conversation, since we're meeting in private and are not discussing official matters."
Neville lifted his eyebrows again; this time a sardonic smile was on his face. "Carle," he said, "can you make any sense of your partner's thoughts? I confess that his reasoning is somewhat high for me."
"I'm afraid I can, sir." There was genuine regret in Carle's voice, and I realized, with a lowering of heart, that this must mean I had acted the fool. "In Koretia, rank is linked with duty, so that when a nobleman is off-duty – when he is meeting privately with friends, for example – he will address the friends as though they were his equals."
"Ah." It was amazing how, in that single syllable, Neville managed to convey his full opinion of Koretian barbarities. "Well," he said, his voice taking on the tone of a schoolmaster, "matters are different here in Emor. Here in Emor, if you meet a nobleman— No, perhaps we should explain this by way of the law. Carle?" The largesse of his gesture conveyed the impression that he could easily explain the matter himself but was allowing his inferior guest the honor.
"Let's take a court case," Carle replied. "A lesser free-man strikes another lesser free-man. He is judged to have acted without clear understanding. What sentence does the judge give him?"
I felt warmth run through my body as though it were a Koretian summer night rather than a cool Emorian evening. It was not simply that Carle had mentioned the case without revealing to Neville that I had been the prisoner. It was that he had mentioned the only law I yet knew, thus allowing me the opportunity to display my knowledge before Neville, who was so sure of my Koretian ignorance.
"Twenty to sixty lashes," I said in a casual voice. "In most cases, forty lashes would be the sentence – unless, of course, the man was a soldier and had previously been sentenced to a rebuke."
I noticed the slight intake of Neville's breath, but he covered it quickly by sipping from his wine and then saying, "The same man has struck a nobleman, rather than striking a lesser free-man. What is his sentence?"