Kysumu rose. Yu Yu scrambled to his feet beside him. He tugged at Kysumu’s robe. “What about assassins?” he asked.
“The dead man was the assassin,” said Kysumu.
“Oh.”
Kysumu sighed. He bowed again to Waylander. “I will send your guards to fetch the body.”
Waylander nodded, then walked away from the two men, entering a lantern-lit room at the rear of the building.
5
MATZE CHAI SLEPT without dreams and awoke feeling refreshed and invigorated. The suite of rooms assigned to him had been decorated with sublime taste, the colors of the walls delightfully matched in pastel shades of pale lime and pink. Works of art by the most famous and sought after Chiatze artists adorned the walls, and the hand-painted silk curtains filtered the morning light, allowing Matze Chai to appreciate the beauty of the dawn without the harshness of the sun’s glare on his delicate eyes.
The furniture was exquisite, embellished with gold leaf, the bed wide and firm beneath a silken canopy. Even the pot beneath the bed, which Matze had used three times during the night, was embellished with gold. Such elegance almost made the trip worthwhile. Matze Chai rang the golden bell alongside his bed. The door opened, and a servant stepped inside, a young man employed by Matze for the last two years. He could not remember his name.
The servant offered Matze Chai a goblet of cool water, but he waved it away. The young man left the room and returned with a ceramic bowl filled with warmed, scented water. Matze Chai sat up, and the servant pulled back the covers. The old merchant relaxed as the boy helped him remove his nightshirt and hair cap, allowing his mind to wander as the servant gently sponged and dried his skin. The boy then opened a pot of sweet-smelling cream.
“Not too much,” warned Matze Chai. The servant did not answer, for Matze Chai did not allow conversation so early in the day. Instead he lightly smoothed the cream into the dry skin of Matze Chai’s shoulders and arms. After that he pulled loose the long ivory pins in Matze Chai’s hair, applied fresh oils, then skillfully combed and brushed the hair, drawing it back into a tight bun at the crown before slipping the ivory locking pins into place.
A second servant entered, bearing a tray on which sat a small silver tisane pot and a ceramic cup. Setting the tray by the bedside, the second servant moved to a large wardrobe, taking from it a heavy gown of yellow silk beautifully embroidered with gold and blue songbirds. Matze Chai stood and stretched out his arms. The servant expertly slipped the gown over the outstretched arms, moving to the rear to button the upper portion of the garment before attaching the lower section to ivory hooks at Matze Chai’s waist. Swinging the golden sash around his master’s waist, the servant tied it, then stepped back with a bow.
“I shall take my tisane on the balcony,” said Matze Chai. Instantly the first servant moved to the curtains, drawing them aside. The second gathered up a wide-brimmed hat of artfully fashioned straw.
Matze Chai stepped out onto the balcony and sat down on a curved wooden bench, leaning his back against a large embroidered cushion. The air was fresh, and Matze believed he could detect salt in it. The light, however, was bright and unpleasant, and he gestured to the man holding the hat. He ran forward and placed it on Matze’s head, angling it so that his face was in partial shadow before tying it gently under Matze’s chin.
The stone of the balcony was cold under the merchant’s feet. Glancing down, he wiggled his toes. Brief moments later one of the men knelt down and placed fur-lined slippers on his feet.
Matze Chai sipped his tisane and decided that all was well with the world on this fine day. Waving his hand, he dismissed the servants and sat quietly in the morning sunshine. The breeze was fresh and cool, the sky a clear, cloudless blue.
He heard movement behind him, and the merest touch of irritation disturbed his tranquillity. Liu, the young captain of his guard, moved into sight and bowed deeply. He said nothing, waiting for his master’s permission to speak.
“Well?” asked Matze Chai.
“The master of the house requests an audience, lord. His servant Omri suggests that he could attend you presently.”
Matze Chai leaned back against his cushion. For all that he was a roundeye Gajin, Waylander had perfect manners.
“Convey to the servant that I would be honored to entertain my old friend,” he said.
Liu bowed again but did not depart immediately. Irritation once more touched Matze Chai, but he did not show it. He looked quizzically at the young soldier.
“One more matter, lord, that you should be made aware of: There was an attempt on your … old friend’s life last night. At the ball. Two men with knives attacked him.”
Matze Chai gave the briefest of nods, then waved his hand to dismiss the soldier.
Was there ever a time, he wondered, when someone was not attempting to kill Waylander? One would have thought they would have learned by now. His cup was empty, and he looked for a servant to refill it, then remembered he had dismissed them. And his golden bell was all the way across the room by the bedside. He sighed. Then, glancing around to see that he was not observed, he filled the cup himself. Matze Chai smiled. To serve oneself was quite liberating. But not civilized, he chided himself.
Even so his good mood was restored, and he waited patiently for Waylander to arrive.
A different servant ushered him in, removed the pot of tisane and the empty cup, and departed without a word. Matze Chai rose from his chair and offered a deep bow to his client, who responded in similar fashion before seating himself.
“It is good to see you, my friend,” said Waylander. “I understand your journey was not without excitement.”
“It was, regrettably, not as dull as one would have liked,” agreed Matze Chai.
Waylander laughed. “You don’t change, Matze Chai,” he said, “and I cannot tell you what a delight that is.” The smile faded. “I apologize for asking you to make this journey, but I needed to see you.”
“You are leaving Kydor,” said Matze Chai.
“I am indeed.”
“Where to now, Ventria?”
Waylander shook his head. “Across the western ocean.”
“The ocean? But why? There is nothing there save the end of the world. It is where the stars flow into the sea. There is no land, no civilization. And even if there is land, it will be barren and empty. Your wealth would be meaningless there.”
“It is meaningless here, Matze Chai.”
The elderly merchant sighed. “You have never been content to be rich, Dakeyras. This, in some strange way I have yet to fathom, is why you are rich. You care nothing for wealth. What is it, then, that you desire?”
“I wish I could answer that,” said Waylander. “All I can say is that this life is not for me. I have no taste for it.”
“What is it that you wish me to do?”
“You already manage one-sixth of all my ventures and hold two-fifths of my wealth. I shall give you letters to all merchants with whom I have business dealings. These will inform them that from the time they receive my instructions, you will speak for me. I shall also tell them that if they do not hear from me within five years, then all my ventures and capital become yours.”
Matze Chai was aghast at the thought. He struggled to come to terms with what Waylander had offered. Already wealthy, Matze Chai would become instantly the richest man in all of Chiatze. What would there be left to strive for?
“I cannot accept this,” he said. “You must reconsider.”
“You can always give it all away,” said Waylander. “But whatever you choose, I shall sail from this world and not return.”
“Are you truly that unhappy, my old friend?” asked Matze Chai.
“Will you do as I ask?”
Matze Chai sighed deeply. “I will,” he said.
Waylander rose, then smiled. “I will tell your servants to prepare your second pot of tisane,” he said. “They really should have brought it by now.”
“I am served
by cretins,” admitted Matze Chai, “but then, if I did not employ them, their stupidity would see them starve in the streets.”
After Waylander had left, Matze Chai sat lost in thought. He had long ago ceased to be surprised by his fondness for his Gajin client. When Waylander had first come to him all those years ago, Matze Chai had been merely curious about the man. That curiosity had led him to engage the old seer. Matze had sat on the silken rug at the center of the temple’s inner sanctum and watched as the elderly priest cast the bones.
“Will this man be a danger to me?”
“Not if you do not betray him.”
“Is he evil?”
“All men carry evil within them, Matze Chai. The question is imprecise.”
“What, then, can you tell me of him?”
“He will never be content, for his deepest desire is unattainable. Yet he will become rich and make you rich. Is that enough for you, merchant?”
“What is this unattainable desire?”
“Deep in his heart, far below the level of conscious thought, he is desperate to save his family from terror and death. This unconscious desire drives him on, forces him to seek out danger, to pit himself against the might of violent men.”
“Why is it unattainable?”
“His family is already dead, slain in a mindless orgy of lust and depravity.”
“Surely,” said Matze Chai, “he knows they are dead.”
“Of course. As I said, it is an unconscious desire. A part of his soul has never accepted that he was too late to save them.”
“But he will make me rich?”
“Oh, yes, Matze Chai. He will make you richer than you could ever dream possible. Be sure, however, that you recognize the riches when you have them.”
“I am sure that I will.”
The stooping servant Omri was waiting in the corridor outside Matze Chai’s apartments. As Waylander stepped out, Omri bowed briefly. “Lord Aric is waiting to see you, sir, along with the magicker Eldicar Manushan,” he said. “I have had refreshments served to them in the Oak Room.”
“I was expecting him,” said Waylander, his expression cold.
“I must say that he looks well. I believe he has dyed his hair.”
Together the two men walked back along the corridor and up two sets of stairs. “The bodies have been removed, sir. Emrin had them loaded onto a wagon and has driven it into Carlis. He will make a report to the watch officer, but I expect there will be an official inquiry. The incident is, I should imagine, the talk of Carlis. One of the young men was due to be wed next week. You even received an invitation to the ceremony.”
“I know. He and I spoke of it last night, but he was in no mood to listen.”
“A shocking incident,” said Omri. “Why did they do it? What did they have to gain?”
“They had nothing to gain. They were sent by Vanis.”
“That is disgraceful,” said Omri. “We must inform the watch officer. You should lay charges against him.”
“That will not be necessary,” said Waylander. “I do not doubt that Lord Aric has a plan to resolve the situation.”
“Ah, I see. A plan that no doubt involves money.”
“No doubt.”
They moved on in silence, emerging onto a wide arched hallway on the upper floor.
As they reached the doors of carved oak, Omri stepped back. “I have to say, sir,” he said in a low voice, “that I am not comfortable in the presence of this magicker. There is something about the man that I find disturbing.”
“You are a good judge of character, Omri. I shall bear that in mind.”
Waylander pushed open the doors and entered the Oak Room.
The room, paneled with oak, had been designed in the shape of an octagon. Rare weapons from many nations hung on the walls: a battle-ax and several hunting bows from Vagria, spears and curved scimitars from Ventria. Angostin broadswords, daggers, and shields vied with tulwars, lances, pikes, and several embossed crossbows. Four armor trees had been placed around the room, boasting ornate helms, breastplates, and shields. The furniture consisted of twelve deep chairs and three cushion-covered couches set on a scattering of Chiatze rugs of hand-dyed silk. The room was lit by sunlight streaming through the high arched east-facing windows.
Lord Aric was seated on a couch below the window, his booted feet resting on a low table. Opposite him was the magicker Eldicar Manushan, his blond page standing beside him. Neither man rose as Waylander entered, but Aric waved his hand and gave a broad smile. “Good morning, my friend,” he called out. “I am so glad you could find time to join us.”
“You are up early, Lord Aric,” said Waylander. “I have always been led to believe it was considered uncivilized for a noble to rise before noon unless a hunt was in the offing.”
“Indeed so,” agreed Aric, “but then, we have pressing matters to discuss.”
Waylander sat down and stretched out his legs. The door opened, and Omri entered, bearing a tray on which was set a large silver pot of tisane and three cups. The men sat in silence as he filled the cups and then departed. Waylander sipped the brew. It was chamomile sweetened with mint and a little honey. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste on his tongue. Then he glanced at Aric. The slim noble was doing his best to appear at ease, but there was an underlying tension in the man. Transferring his gaze to the black-bearded magicker, Waylander saw no sign of unease. Eldicar Manushan was drinking his tisane quietly, apparently lost in thought. Waylander caught the eye of the little blond boy, who smiled nervously.
The silence grew, and Waylander made no attempt to disturb it.
“Last night was most unfortunate,” Aric said, at last. “The two boys were well liked, and neither of them had ever been in any kind of trouble.”
Waylander waited.
“Parellis—the blond boy—is … was … a second cousin to the duke. In fact, I understand the duke had agreed to stand alongside Parellis at his wedding. It is one of the reasons the duke decided to bring the Winter Court to Carlis. You see the complications that are beginning to arise.”
“No,” said Waylander.
Aric seemed momentarily bewildered. Then he forced a smile. “You have killed a relative of the ruler of Kydor.”
“I killed two assassins. Is this against the law in Carlis?”
“No, of course not, my friend. As to the first killing, there were hundreds of witnesses. No problems there. But the second … well,” he said, spreading his hands, “no one saw that. It is my understanding that there was only one weapon: a ceremonial sword belonging to Parellis. This would indicate that you dispossessed him of that weapon and killed him with it. That being so, it could be argued that you killed an unarmed man, which, according to the law, is murder.”
“Well,” Waylander said easily, “the inquiry will establish the facts and then make a judgment. I will abide by that.”
“Would that it were so easy,” said Aric. “The duke is not a forgiving man. Had both boys been killed in the ballroom, I think even he would have been forced to accept the outcome. But I fear that the relatives of Parellis will seek to have you arrested.”
Waylander gave a thin smile. “Unless?”
“Ah, well, this is where I can help, my dear friend. As one of the leading nobles in House Kilraith and the chief magistrate of Carlis, I can mediate between the factions. I would suggest some reparation to the bereaved family, merely as a gesture of regret over the incident. Say … twenty thousand gold crowns to the mother of the boys and the canceling of the debts owed by their uncle, the grieving Vanis. In this way the matter will be solved before the arrival of the duke.”
“It touches me that you would go to such lengths on my behalf,” said Waylander. “I am most grateful.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. It is what friends are for.”
“Indeed. Well, let us make it thirty thousand gold crowns for the mother. I understand she has two other younger sons and that the family is not as wealthy as once they we
re.”
“And Vanis?”
“By all means let the debt be canceled,” said Waylander. “It was a piffling sum.” He rose and gave a bow to Aric. “And now, my friend, you must excuse me. Much as I enjoy your company, I have other pressing matters of my own to attend to.”
“Of course, of course,” said Aric, rising from his seat and offering his hand. Waylander shook it, nodded to the magicker, then left the room.
As the door closed, Aric’s smile vanished. “Well, that was simply done,” he said coldly.
“You would have preferred it to be difficult?” Eldicar Manushan asked softly.
“I would have preferred to see him squirm a little. There is nothing quite so stomach-churning as a peasant with wealth. It offends me that I am forced to deal with him. In the old days he would have been dispossessed by his betters, his wealth used by those who understood the nature of power and its uses.”
“I can see how much it must grieve you,” said the magicker, “to come to this man and beg for scraps from his table.”
All color drained from Aric’s thin face. “How dare you?”
Eldicar laughed aloud. “Come, come, my friend, what else can it be called? Each year for the past five years this rich peasant has paid your gambling debts and the mortgage on your two estates, settled your tailor’s accounts, and enabled you to live in the style and manner of a noble. Did he do this of his own volition? Did he come running to your house and say, ‘My dear Aric, I have heard how fortune has fled you, so please allow me to pay all your debts’? No, he did not. You came to him.”
“I leased him land!” stormed Aric. “It was a business arrangement.”
“Aye, business. And all the moneys you have received since then? Including the five thousand crowns you requested last night?”
“This is intolerable! Beware, Eldicar. My patience is not limitless.”
“Neither is mine,” said Eldicar, his voice suddenly sibilant. “Shall I ask for the return of the gift I gave you?”