The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (8 page)

Glannar walked with me to the door, red-faced embarrassment struggling with fury at his men. “All right, you don’t have to tell me. All four wheels came off this cart, good and proper. I’ll kick their arses from now until Solstice for not sending me word when the relief didn’t show. But in all justice, Raeponin be my witness, I never thought there’d be theft, not with a decent watch set for all to see. Bremilayne can be rough, I’ll grant you, but it’s a small place for all that. There are too many trading interests here for wholesale thieving to go unchecked! One warehouse gets robbed, every sworn and chosen turns the town upside down. We catch the bastards and they get a flogging to warn off any others thinking of trying their luck. That’s as long as we get the goods back, mind. If they’ve nothing to trade for their lives, it’s the gibbet on the end of the seawall.” He fell silent, out of words as well as breath.

“Start turning over rocks and see what crawls out,” I told him tersely. But I was as cross with myself as I was with Glannar. I should have realised a tarnished arm ring was a bad sign; you have to keep the talents that warrant it polished up along with the copper.

“Ryshad!” I turned to see Temar wave a parchment at me.

I left Glannar without a word. “What’s all this?” I shifted a splintered scrap of deal with one boot.

“We brought mostly woods unique to Kel Ar’Ayen,” explained Temar. We both looked at the cords of logs untouched in their ropes. “But our joiners made prentice pieces, to show how it can be worked.” He passed me a tiny drawer scarcely the length of my hand, one jagged scratch marring the smoothly waxed front. “Those pieces were all boxed together. My guess is they broke open the case thinking it was something valuable.”

I looked inside the shattered top of the rough wooden box to see miniature copies of fixtures and furniture like the ones Messire’s craftsmen make for the Sieur’s approval when some residence or other is being refurbished. “Have any been taken?”

Temar shrugged. “I think not. Some of the furs are gone though, the small pelts, the finest ones.”

I bent to retrieve a torn sheet of parchment. “What’s this?”

“Notes from our artisans.” Temar frowned. “Nothing important, but everything is unsealed.”

“Thieves looking for information more than valuables?” I mused.

“Anything valuable has gone,” scowled Temar. “There was some copper, but it is nowhere to be found.”

“We all grew up with tales of the riches of Nemith the Last’s lost colony.” I looked at him. “Gold and gems. Were there any?”

Temar smiled grimly. “All still safe in my personal baggage back at the shrine.”

“Along with any maps or charts that might give away Kellarin’s secrets?” I hazarded, relieved to see him nod. “But whoever broke in here wasn’t to know that.”

“So was this just sneak thieves taking advantage?” Temar wondered aloud.

I sighed and nodded towards the door. “I don’t suppose the inns down here serve tisanes, but I’ll buy you ale if you want it this early.”

Temar shook his head as we walked out into the sunshine and both drew thankful breaths of clean, fresh air, crossing the dock to sit on a baulk of timber.

“Glannar’s men have got a sorry tale of thoughtlessness adding to mishap piling on stupidity.” I scrubbed an irritated hand through my hair. “It could just be some bright-eyed lads taking the chance they saw offered, certainly. A ship from unknown lands, all but dragged off the rocks by wizardry, the whole town would have heard the tale before their dinner yesterday, and a fair few would have been curious to know just what you’d unloaded.”

“Curious enough to search through every scrap of parchment?” Temar was as keen as me to find an innocent explanation but equally alert to more sinister implications.

“There are plenty of sailors keen to know the currents and winds between here and Kellarin,” I mused. “Some might be foolhardy enough to risk the crossing without magic if there’s enough profit to be had.”

An unwelcome voice hailed us in a strangled shout.

“What has been going on?” puffed Casuel as he reached us, hair unbrushed and mismatched buckles on his shoes.

“Some of the Kellarin cargo has been stolen,” I said flatly, hoping his precipitate arrival might go unnoticed.

“By whom?” he demanded, outraged.

“As yet, we don’t know,” I replied calmly.

“Why aren’t you out looking for them!” Casuel looked around the harbour, presumably for some slow-footed miscreant draped in stolen pelts.

I turned my attention back to Temar. “It could have been pirates. They’ll be interested in knowing what comes from Kellarin and how it might compare to the Inglis trade.”

“And they would certainly be interested in looking for charts,” agreed Temar.

“Thieves or pirates, what’s the difference?” Casuel folded his arms abruptly, scowling.

“Otrick was keeping Velindre informed, hadn’t he?” I took a step closer to Casuel, using my greater height to force him back a pace. “Otrick was well liked by pirates all along the coast, wasn’t he? If Velindre has similar friends, perhaps she let something slip?”

“Impossible,” snapped Casuel, affronted.

“From her manner last night, I hardly think the lady would be so careless,” Temar said cautiously.

“Unlikely,” I agreed. But not impossible, and anyway the notion had Casuel too distracted to interrupt again.

“But what if it’s neither?” I said to Temar.

“Elietimm?” He nodded, expression dour. “People forgetting what was agreed, forgetting to mark the time, that could be Artifice at work”

“What?” Casuel looked from Temar to me and back again, eyes horrified. “There’s nothing to suggest Elietimm, is there?”

“No, but nothing to suggest it wasn’t, as yet.” I heaved an irritated sigh. “But how by all that’s holy can we tell? Could Demoiselle Tor Arrial tell if these men had been enchanted?”

“I am afraid not.” Temar looked thoughtful. “But she can look for anyone working Artifice hereabouts.”

I stared at the warehouse. “Copper is copper, and melted down it could have come from anywhere, so I don’t think we’ll see that again. But furs are too easily identifiable to risk selling them here, if our thieves have any wits.”

“So they ship them out with goods honestly bought and paid for?” Temar guessed.

“Organise a search!” cried Casuel. “There’s only one road out of here, so anything going overland can be stopped. Isn’t there some chain to close the harbour to pirates? Get that in place and turn every ship inside out!”

“On whose say-so?” I enquired mildly. “Planir’s? Archmage he may be, he has no authority here, not over Tormalin citizens when nothing’s been proved against them.”

“Is Messire D’Olbriot’s word not good enough, even by proxy?” Temar asked hesitantly.

“No, not for a general search.” I tried to recall the little I knew of Old Empire law. “A Prince’s power is still absolute over his own tenants and property, but that’s as far as it goes. Houses on good terms with D’Olbriot would cooperate, but those that aren’t would refuse, whether or not they had anything to hide. Self-governing traders and artisans will hardly compromise their independence by yielding to D’Olbriot influence like that. Forcing the issue will set them appealing in every court up to the Emperor himself.”

Temar was looking puzzled. “Are many people living outside the security of tenantry?”

“A great deal changed as a result of the Chaos,” said Casuel officiously. “The autonomy of sufficient men of business is an important check on the influence of Princes.”

“Casuel’s father is a pepper merchant,” I explained. “Anyway, even where someone’s officially beholden to a Name, the ties may be no stronger than ribbon sealed on a parchment.”

“But who safeguards their interests?” Temar looked genuinely concerned.

“The Emperor and the justiciary, naturally.”

I interrupted as Casuel drew breath to explain twenty generations of precedent and custom. “The best way to be sure we’ve no Elietimm creeping in the shadows is to find those stolen goods. I’ll call in the few markers I have hereabouts and see if the strength of the D’Olbriot name can get the most likely places searched at least. Temar, go back and have your breakfast, then see if Avila can find any sniff of aetheric magic. Casuel.” I gave him a warm smile. “Go and ask Velindre if she has any contacts among the free-traders.” I raised my voice over his incensed protests. “I don’t suppose she was involved in anything, but free-traders are most likely to be offered unusual goods at half their market value. We might get a scent that way. If she refuses to help, that might be worth telling Planir.”

Casuel’s indignation subsided as Temar managed to control a smile I could see tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Feathers!” the mage said suddenly.

“Of course!” I snapped my fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I don’t suppose your lady has much time for the heights of fashion,” Casuel smirked.

I let the jibe go as I saw Temar looking at me and the mage as if we’d both taken leave of our senses.

“Feathers, bright ones in bold colours are worth, oh, I don’t know how many times their weight in gold,” I explained.

“No lady would dream of going out without a fan of plumes carefully chosen to match her dress or in the colours of her House,” Casuel broke in. “And then there are the combinations that signify—”

“If someone thought you’d brought back exotic feathers unique to Kellarin, that would definitely be worth a break-in.” Much as I hated to give Casuel any credit, his suggestion made simple theft a far more likely explanation.

“I must tell Guinalle to send hunters out with some nets,” said Temar with well-bred amusement. “Strange that none of the mercenaries or mages mentioned this.”

“Well, mercenaries just sweat and I don’t suppose wizards have much time for the heights of fashion either.” I nodded with mock politeness to Casuel, but baiting the mage wasn’t going to get us anywhere. “I’ll see you back at the shrine at noon and we’ll share anything we’ve found out. If there’s any hint it’s something more sinister than thievery, then we get on the road to Toremal where we’ve got the Name and the men to back us.”

“But what if we’re attacked on the road?” Casuel bleated.

“Then you show us some magic, Master Wizard,” smiled Temar.

CHAPTER TWO

Appendix to the D’Olbriot Chronicle,

Winter Solstice Concluding the First Year of

Tadriol the Thrifty, As Written by Esquire Fidaer,

Castellan of the Tailebret Estates

Solstice celebrations have seen some relaxation of the austerity enjoined on us in the immediate aftermath of the new Emperor’s election, much to the relief of tradespeople the length and breadth of Toremal. But all the gowns and furbelows adorning our ladies must be paid for with solid coin this year, now merchants have Imperial sanction to refuse open-ended credit to even the noblest of Houses. Well, Tadriol’s strictures may be unpopular with giddy girls obsessed with fashionable competition and Esquires keen to cut an elegant figure, but I write this after submitting my annual accounts to the Sieur of my Name with the best set of balances for some years. With Messire’s approval, I plan to use these funds firstly to support the tenantry who suffered in the recent floods around Nymet, and thereafter to expand whichever of our enterprises will benefit from sustained investment.

On the Sieur’s insistence, all branches of the D’Olbriot House heeded the retrenchments urged by Tor Tadriol earlier than most. Thus, the increased coin taxes levied on our strong rooms have not hit us too hard. It is also consolation to see Tor Tadriol’s thrift does not fatten his own coffers under the threadbare guise of Imperial necessity. This winter has seen a wide extension of Imperial munificence to the commonalty, even without unduly harsh weather, and Tadriol used the occasion of Convocation to announce that the Emperor’s Dole at Summer Solstice will be a substantial gift for the truly indigent rather than token silver for notables of shrine fraternities and craft guilds.

Speaking purely for myself I am relieved to report no return to the costly, stifling ceremonial so beloved of the Name so lately gracing the throne. The Convocation of Princes was a brisk affair, the Adjurist’s rod duly broken after the briefest of addresses by the Emperor thanking the Sieur Tor Sylarre for his many years of loyal service to Tor Bezaemar. The Sieur Den Thasnet echoed these sentiments in florid terms but was soon caught by the Imperial gaze and wound up his eloquence. Tadriol may not have that knack of making friends that so characterizes the Esquires of Tor Bezaemar, but the man has undeniable presence in debate.

My Sieur D’Olbriot proposed Messire Tor Kanselin for the now vacant office, and once Den Murivance and Den Gennael had backed him with patent enthusiasm the other Houses voted accordingly, led by Den Janaquel. Tor Priminale held aloof, but that is hardly remarkable, given the extensive bonds tying that Name to Tor Bezaemar. The Sieurs Tor Sauzet and Den Ferrand then acknowledged new Designates before Convocation. Each is a younger son, but both can claim established friendship with the newly elevated Tadriol, and, of course, our new Empress was born Tor Sauzet.

Marital propsects for the ladies now entitled to style themselves Tor Tadriol have been understandably enhanced by their Name’s accession. Within the privacy of these pages, I wonder if his superfluity of daughters influenced Messire and the Sieur Den Munvance when Den Tadriol proposed this particular scion as candidate for the Imperial throne. Alliance by marriage has to be the speediest way for a new dynasty to secure its position among the preeminent Houses, after all. As I write this, my wife sits across the library, studying cadet lines of Tor Tadriol in hopes of finding some younger son or daughter who might be amenable to a match with us, while the lesser lines of that House still remember we were both of equal standing so recently. I hope I have some success to record in these pages next year.

Betrothal of the Emperor’s eldest legitimate girl to a senior line of Tor Kanselin was announced at the dance concluding the Festival, and I imagine all five younger Demoiselles quite wore the feet out of their slippers, they were so much in demand. The illegitimate girls are being similarly courted among the upper echelons of merchantry, prompting Esquire Den Muret to tactless jokes that Tadriol’s enthusiasm for spreading his seed before marriage was all part of some long-held plan to endear himself to the commonalty. In my experience, youth needs no encouragement for such exuberance and, while such large a posy of byblown children is unusual, it is hardly unheard of. More importantly, there is no hint that Tadriol has dishonoured his vows since his marriage, whereas we can now openly condemn the late Bezaemar’s scandalous profligacy with his favours.