A bed was made for me in the middle of the floor, the blankets so flea-ridden that I could scarcely sleep at all. In the middle of the night I was awakened by a small hand touching my face, and when I sat up in alarm, discovered the boy Plekto, who told me that he thought there were robbers trying to get in. Worried for the family, I roused myself and looked around, but found no sign of intruders. When I returned, I found the boy rooting through my possessions again. When I demanded that he stop, he saucily asked me what I was hiding, that I was so secretive.
My good lord Tiamak, I think that your trusted guide Madi is not so trustworthy as you thought, or at least his family is not. Should I find another guide instead? I fear we will have to leave Meremund before this will reach you, but perhaps you can send a letter for me to Kwanitupul advising me what to do.
Against Madi’s urging, I moved the second night to St. Agar’s and found there much more comfortable surroundings. In fact, I have been at the abbey since, and this letter is written in the refectory, which is wonderfully free of vermin. Best of all, the abbot kindly gave me permission to use the abbey’s library, and I found something of interest there.
The book of which we spoke before I left the Hayholt is not to be found here, of course, but I did discover a volume by Tertissis of Gemmia that discusses it. He says of it, ‘the great sin of Fortis is not that he describes the devilish methods of the Old Ones’—by this he means the Norns and their cousins, the Sithi—‘but that he speaks of those methods as though they can teach something to Godly men. These snares of the Devil have driven men mad before. It is said they drove Bishop Fortis himself mad, and it is rumored that he spent his last days in confinement in his own abbey.’ I tell you this, Lord Tiamak, not because I think you do not know the dangers already, but because I fear for any others who might come into contact with it. Have you told the king and queen? I know they would be most anxious for any knowledge of their son, even this, but I would feel very sad if they were exposed to this dreadful book because of me.
Also, although I went to the Princess Idela to examine Prince John Josua’s books on Lord Pasevalles’ behalf, in the course of many distractions and worries in those days I never told Pasevalles what I found. I leave it to you whether he should know about it.
Do please advise me whether I should seek a new guide when I reach Kwanitupul. I remain your servant in God.
Etan Fratilis Ercestris
• • •
“Well?” said Aengas.
Tiamak looked up, more than a little startled. Although he had been reading aloud, he had all but forgotten that he had company. “Well what? Am I going to tell Lord Pasevalles about the Treatise? I think not. I think that I will speak only to those who need to know.”
“Like the king and queen?”
“Yes. Eventually. But before I worry and upset them with news about their dead son, I would like to know a bit more about the book, and take time to review the rest of his library.”
Aengas stretched his arms. His large wooden chair, which his servants had erected in a spare bedchamber with all the ceremony of builders raising a miniature cathedral, took up a great deal of room, and although it could be wheeled from place to place, it took two men to do so—three if Aengas was in it. This made for many complications, but Tiamak did not mind them because there were few scholars in all of Osten Ard who knew more about forbidden and ancient books than the former viscount. “In any case,” Aengas went on, “all this about the book was not the question I was trying to ask you, dear fellow. I wanted to know whether you had intentionally given poor Brother Etan into the hands of Hyrka thieves.”
“Oh, that.” Tiamak made a sour face. “I am not pleased to hear about Madi’s family, nor do I doubt I will be dunned for the miserable night’s lodging he gave Brother Etan. Despite what Etan has seen, though, I think Madi is a good man. I have known him for years, ever since my first journey back to Kwanitupul. He is a bit of a rascal, and clearly not the best father, but I swear his heart is good. I have known him a long time.”
Aengas rearranged the Treatise atop the large board that lay on his armrests as a makeshift table. “And you are certain there is no one else you wish to bring into our discussion, like Lord Pasevalles?”
“I am fairly certain, yes. Lord Chancellor Pasevalles is a good man—a very clever man, too—but I think that the fewer folk who know we have this book, the smaller the chance of it slipping out by mischance. Beside, Pasevalles is a devout Aedonite. I do not wish to demand his secrecy and pit his faith against our friendship.”
“But your own faith does not trouble you about it?”
Tiamak smiled. “My faith, old friend, applies only to Wrannamen and is all but mute on the subject of drylanders, let alone the Sithi. He Who Always Steps On Sand enjoins us to seek boldly but not to abandon caution entirely. I think that makes for a reasonable approach. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. The book, what little of it I have managed to translate, is full of ideas both inspiring and terrifying.”
“Lucky for you that you have no faith to be outraged.”
“Oh, I have faith,” Aengas said. “Would you hand me my cup? Bless you. I have faith that mortal Man cannot be trusted with gold or with power over other men. I have faith that learning will always frighten stupidity, and that stupidity will often strike back, sometimes murderously.” He took the cup from Tiamak. Because he could not easily lift it to his lips, he sipped instead from the hollow reed, drawing watered wine to his mouth. “Now, shall we continue?”
Tiamak smiled again. “You renew my own faith that some things truly are eternal, Aengas. You are as cynical as ever you were.”
“More so. My cynicism grows like a weed. Someday it will choke all the weaker flowers like charity and hope that live in my garden.” He cleared his throat. “Now be quiet if you wish me to read this to you.
“Beside these great scrying-stones, which the elders only may use, there are other charms and tokens that can carry such whispers through the aetheric fluids and across great distances. It is said that some of the adepts can speak not just over earthly spans, but across the boundary or veil between the world of living and the cloudy halls of death.”
“God give you good day, Your Majesty.”
Simon looked up. “Ah, Lord Pasevalles. Good to see you.”
“And you, Majesty. May I trouble you for your royal hand and seal on these?”
The king shuffled through the curling rolls of vellum. “What am I signing my name to?”
Pasevalles smiled. “A dozen different things, all of them rather boring, as you may see if you examine them—confirmations of land titles, a report from the royal mint, three petitions begging you for tax relief. And of course the letter from our ambassador at the Sancellan Mahistrevis about the visit of Lector Vidian’s legate. I showed you that already.”
The king frowned. “S’Bloody Tree! Ah, forgive me, Pasevalles, I forget myself when I’m vexed, and this matter is vexing me fiercely. Why must I sign something for our own ambassador? The damnable legate is on his way whether I want it or not.”
“I took the liberty of writing a reply for you to Count Froye, thanking him for his letter. These are the things I must do with Count Eolair gone from the castle.”
Simon thought he heard a note of self-pity. “And you do them very well, man. I realize we ask a great deal of you, between the Chancelry and all else that has fallen to you with the Hand of the Throne gone off with the prince. Don’t think the queen and I will forget this service.”
Pasevalles looked down. “You are kind, as always, my king, especially to one as unworthy as myself. I have already been given a gift by you and the queen greater than any I could have hoped to receive otherwise, just by the bestowal of your trust.”
“Good God, man, you talk like all the other courtiers around here. Don’t start complimenting me too much, or I won’t
trust you anymore. It’s your honesty I crave. No king—or queen, for that matter—can live without honesty from at least one person they trust.”
“I hear your rebuke, Sire.” He smiled. “I will strive to tell you more unpleasant truths.”
Simon laughed. “That was good! More unpleasant truths.”
“But you are surely fortunate, Sire, that you have a queen who is both honest and extremely wise. And I do not say that to flatter.”
“No, you’re right. The problem with my Miri is that when she’s angry at me, I don’t want to listen to her good advice because it makes me feel like a fool.”
“You have my sympathy, Majesty.”
“And you have never married yourself, Pasevalles. Can you find no one who appeals? From what I hear, there are many ladies here in the court who have set their caps for you.”
“I am married to my work, Your Majesty. It leaves me little time for things like a family.”
“But what of the future? What of your name?”
By now his smile had vanished. “My family name, I am afraid, likely died with my uncle, the baron. Perhaps someday when my labors are over—or at least have become less all-consuming—I will think about changing that.”
“There’s no shame to waiting,” Simon said hurriedly. “Don’t get me wrong. Dear old Tiamak is older than I am, and he married only a few years ago. He’s as happy as can be.”
“Lady Thelía is a fine woman.”
“She is, she is.” But Simon was a bit confused now. Had he offended his lord chancellor? He hadn’t meant to. Perhaps Pasevalles was one of those men who didn’t like women. Simon had always found the idea strange himself, but it seemed too commonplace to be merely sin. God had made all kinds of people upon His Earth, from Simon’s old harper Sangfugol, who even in his old age had still had an eye for attractive young men as well as women, to those like Archbishop Gervis, whom Simon had once seen walk past a drunk, half-naked woman without even noticing her as she lay singing on her back in Market Square.
Despite his own marriage and his still powerful desire for his wife, the dark secrets of the bedchamber often confused Simon. If God had meant the act to be only between married men and women, why did He fill the world with so many temptations? Why did He make the desire so strong and the act so pleasurable . . . ?
“I am sorry, Majesty, I have distracted you from your thoughts,” Pasevalles said. “Please just fix your seal on these last few and I will leave you in peace.”
“No, I was woolgathering,” Simon said, dripping wax on the last document. “But this talk of ours has put me in mind of another thing I would discuss with you. This visit from the legate.”
“I have made the arrangements, Sire. The only question remaining is whether he should stay here in the Hayholt or at St. Sutrin’s, which is the usual place for important religious visitors.”
“I feel no strong urge to put him up in the castle,” Simon said. “But it is not the arrangements I want to discuss, it’s the thing itself.”
“Sire?”
“The thing itself. The wedding of the duke’s brother Drusis. You have heard that the Lector is requesting the queen and myself attend, and then use the opportunity to force the two arguing sides to make peace. You are from Nabban and you know the southern mind better than I do. What do you think?”
Pasevalles stood, his arms now full of vellum rolls with dangling seals. “Well, Majesty,” he began.
“Oh, sit down, man, before you drop everything,” Simon said, pointing to a bench. “I want your thoughts.”
Once seated, Pasevalles was quiet for some time, considering. At last he stirred and said, “If I may be perfectly truthful, my king, I think you should go. Both of you.”
“Really?” Simon was pleased, but he wanted something more he could offer to Miriamele, because he knew she thought it a bad idea. “Why?”
“Because this is no mere feud between families, though feuds are nearly as common in Nabban as an afternoon meal. It stems from a real problem, but there is another cause too.”
“What is this real problem, do you think?”
“For years now, the northern and eastern lords of Nabban have been pushing into the grasslands, building castles and settlements in lands the horsemen have always thought theirs. The Thrithing-folks, as you know, Sire, are a disorganized rabble, each band with its petty chieftain, and even the most powerful chief that they have, Rudur Redbeard, is only Marchthane of the Meadow Thrithing, and cannot call all the clans to war. But still there are many of them, many thousands of armed men who are raised to fight. In the past, most of their fighting has been against each other. Now they perceive two common enemies—Nabban and Erkynland.”
“Erkynland?” Simon was startled. “What have we done to them?”
“Nothing like what the Nabbanai are doing, but the grasslanders have a long memory, and they still are angry about the last war they fought against us, despite it being one of their own who roused them to violence and led them into defeat. We also share a long border with their lands, and many new settlements have been built along the river road as far west as Gadrinsett, the town that had grown from a camp where Prince Josua fought against his brother, King Elias.”
“Still, there has been very little fighting in the High Thrithing lately, Lord Chancellor. We have kept a close watch on those towns for exactly that reason, so as not to follow the bad example of Nabban.”
“True, Majesty, but the horsemen have trouble distinguishing between the Nabbanai nobles and the High Throne here in Erkynland that permits those nobles to encroach on Thrithings land.” He raised both his hands at Simon’s outraged expression. “I do not say it is true, Majesty, simply what I fear the grasslanders believe.” The chancellor leaned forward, his face serious. “I know these people, my king. I grew up on the verges of the Lake Thrithing. They are a fierce folk, and they not only nurse grudges, they pass them down from generation to generation. If nothing is done, one day another leader will rise among them and there will be bloodshed all along the border—not skirmishes, but all-consuming war. I am sad to say it, but I believe it is true.”
“Good God, man! Good God.” Simon was shaken. “But what does all this have to do with that damnable wedding?”
“It is the greatest issue dividing the two sides in Nabban. Most of Dallo Ingadaris’ followers are eastern lords. They fear the Thrithings-men despite the fact that it is they themselves who have angered the horsemen. They want to punish the grasslanders so fiercely that they will give up their raids entirely. But Duke Saluceris is of a more careful mind, so the Stormbirds, Dallo’s faction, call him a coward who will not defend his own people. Thus, any end to the struggle between the two factions will require some solution to the towns and great houses being built on Thrithings territory.”
“Good God,” said Simon again. “Now that is a poser. But I think you said there was something else at work as well? Or have I misunderstood?”
“No, Sire, you are right. And it is this: Drusis is a leader who is loved and respected by his men because he is fierce. He plays on the fears of the easterners, who live near the threatening horsemen, or perhaps he truly believes it all himself—I could not say. But I think that those who lived through the days of the Storm King’s War can appreciate exactly what the problem is between him and his brother.”
Simon was a little confused again. “Which is?”
“Which is that although the younger brother Drusis is bold, resolute, and never lets himself be distracted by complication of any kind, Duke Saluceris is the opposite, a man who would rather give something to everyone to keep the peace, and who will not stoop to lying for advantage.” Pasevalles gave the king a significant look. “Does that remind you of any two brothers you have known?”
Simon nodded. “Of course. Our own King Elias and Prince Josua.”
“Exactly, Majesty. Now imag
ine that Josua had been born a year earlier and was raised to the throne, while your wife’s father had been given little of importance to occupy himself and his vaunting ambition. What do you think would have happened then, if Josua had been the older and Elias the younger? That is what is at the root of Nabban’s problems. The brother who most think should have been the duke is not the duke.”
Simon sat back, overwhelmed. “I have not thought of it in this way before, Pasevalles. I thank you. And you think the queen and I should attend this wedding? But I do not want my wife endangered. You make it sound like Nabban is little better than the Thrithings these days.”
“It will take the full prestige of the High Throne and the High Ward, I think, to solve this problem.” Pasevalles stood. “I beg pardon if I have been too forthright in my talk, but you asked to know my thoughts. Matters in Nabban are more delicate than they have been since the Storm King’s War. The High Throne must take the lead, I believe, if only to remind the Nabbanai that they are part of a larger kingdom.” He bowed. “Forgive me for taking so much of your time, Majesty. If you will excuse me, I must get these letters back to the Chancelry so they can be dispatched.”
Pasevalles backed up several paces before turning his back on his king, always the correct courtier even in such an informal situation. After he had gone, Simon could only sit, staring at his royal seal and the stick of wax, wondering whether he and Miri were to spend the rest of their lives trying to prevent fools from harming themselves and others, and never to have a little peace for themselves.