The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (31 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Preface to the Chronicle of D’Olbriot,

As Recorded on the Authority of Maitresse

Sancaerise, Winter Solstice of the 9th Year of

Aleonne the Valiant

It falls to me to give this testimony to the year now past in the absence of my beloved husband, Sieur Epinal, and with his Designate, his brother Esquire Ustin, incapacitated by wounds received in battle. It is my sorrowful duty to record that the surgeons now despair of his recovery. On behalf of all the women of the House, I beseech Drianon to watch over our sons and grandsons, brothers and nephews as they take up their swords to repel the Lescari from our borders as a new year of struggle opens.

None could argue with the Emperor’s decree that all those under arms remain in their camps through the Festival. Aleonne has truly won his epithet of Valiant and vindicated time and again the trust of those who saw in him the military leader Tormalin so desperately needed. After the treacherous attacks launched by Parnilesse at Autumn Equinox, in direct spite of agreed truce, Winter Solstice celebrations in Toremal have been accordingly muted. I am pleased to report no word as yet of any such perfidy and the Imperial Despatch continues to bring regular reports from the battle lines, so we need not lament the uncertainty of silence.

The common purpose that unites us in these dark days perversely served to give those of us here a Festival of considerable harmony. When the coarsening effect of soldiering has of late been apt to give the court a masculine and oftimes uncouth atmosphere, so we ladies were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves in the ascendant with so many men away serving with the Cohorts. We were able to restore our spirits somewhat with peaceable diversions of music and dance.

As we remember Poldrion’s care of the dead at this season, let us be thankful D’Olbriot and the House of my birth, Den Murivance, have suffered such minor losses compared to some Houses. The twin scourges of war and camp fever have reduced Den Parisot to such a pass that the Name may never recover. On the other side of the scales, the year has seen two more Houses ennobled, by letters patent sent by Aleonne the Valiant with the endorsement of those Princes serving in the field, for the confirmation by those Sieurs remaining to gather in Convocation.

The only Sieur to declare against the proposals was Tor Correl, but that was to be expected and no one took any heed of his vicious insults to the Emperor. I confess myself amazed that the foolish old man sustains such malice and that the men of the Name do nothing to force him to stand down. It is ten full years after his abortive attempt to snatch the throne by force of arms was so comprehensively rebuffed. That Sieur’s continued claims to primacy solely based on ancestral military skills in legendary eras merely make his Name ridiculous. A House already so damaged and even stripped of its right to train men in arms cannot afford further injury.

I have paid my respects to the newly created Maitresse Den Viorel and the Sieur Den Haurient and find both worthy of rank and privilege. In this darkness that surrounds us, let us find some consolation in the way bright courage is bringing new Names to the fore. Let us hope that the Emperor’s belief in rewarding military merit, be it from never so lowly a station, will be vindicated with rapid victories and surcease from this suppurating war.

I find it perplexing that the financial records of the House show a far healthier situation than I might have expected. While the warfare in Lescar has entirely disrupted our links with Dalasor and Gidesta, our galleys continue to ply their routes to the burgeoning seaport of Relshaz and thus to Caladhria. Aldabreshin pirates whom all expected to increase their predations have turned instead to dealing with any and all entangled in the fighting, presumably finding greater returns for fewer risks. This western trade proves crucial in maintaining a continuing market for the finished wares and metals from our tenants, enabling us to trade for the necessities of warfare that we cannot supply ourselves. I find it ironic that my steward tells me our miners and craftsmen are making considerable advances in techniques and skills as a consequence of the increased demands of this ongoing strife. Perhaps we should ascribe that too to Raeponin’s sense of justice.

I was delivered this For-Spring past of my tenth child, our sixth son. As he begins to show signs of walking, I have been considering what name to bestow on him and wondering if his father will be home to share in those celebrations at his first steps. I am minded to call him Ustin, in memory of the uncle he will never know, whose life has been spent in the defence of we women and our heedless babes. Saedrin grant that peace has returned to us before any more of my children are of an age to take up arms with their elders.

The D’Olbriot Residence Gatehouse,

Summer Solstice Festival, Third Day, Morning

I woke with the dawn chatter of eaves-birds on the gables. My first half-conscious thought was regret for past Festivals. More generous Solstice rosters usually mean a chance of lying abed. But I couldn’t get back to sleep, not with that coffer of Kellarin artefacts waiting. A wash and a shave helped clear the weariness fogging my thoughts and, once outside, the cool morning air refreshed me. Gardeners’ boys carried buckets of water past me, silent maids were dusting the front hall of the residence and a heavy-eyed footman set some Festival garlands to rights.

“Ryshad!” A hiss from an upper landing stopped me and Temar ran lightly down the main staircase.

“On your way to the library?” I enquired.

“Indeed.” Temar strode through the house, oblivious to discreetly curious servants sliding past, an unobtrusive girl with an armful of fresh flowers, a shirt-sleeved valet with a pile of pressed linen. “Arimelin be blessed, we are finally achieving something!”

I waited until we were in the corridor to the library and no one else was within earshot. “I meant what I said last night, Temar.” He looked at me as I laid a warning hand on his arm. “If you go off without me again, I’ll take you round the back of the stableyard and beat some sense into you, Esquire or not! It all turned out well, but that’s no answer, not to you risking your neck. You’ve responsibilities to more than yourself now. How would Kellarin fare if Guinalle had to drop everything and come over here because you’d got yourself skewered in some back alley? I’m not saying you shouldn’t have gone, but you sure as curses shouldn’t have gone alone.” I’d lain awake long into the night, chilled by the thought of what could have happened to the lad and the mage girl.

This morning Temar had the grace to look faintly ashamed of himself. “I understand your concerns.”

I nodded. “Just don’t do it again.” But I’d finally slept when it had occurred to me that Temar had probably been as safe in the Lescari quarter, where no one knew his Name or face, as he would have been among Houses where Dastennin only knew what malice lurked behind the tapestries. Not that I was about to tell him that.

We reached the library and Temar rattled the handle with more irritation than was strictly necessary. “Locked, curse it!”

I knocked cautiously on the bland barrier of polished panels. “Messire? Dolsan?”

“Ryshad?” I heard Demoiselle Avila’s firm tread. “And Temar?”

“Of course,” he said crossly.

The key turned with a swift snap. “You took your ease this morning, did you?” There was a spark of laughter in her dry face as she opened the door.

“I should have realised you would scarce let the dew dry off the grass,” Temar retorted.

I followed him in and we both looked rather nervously at the coffer open on the library table. Gold, silver, enamel and gems gleamed lustrous on a broad swathe of linen.

Avila made some uninformative sound. “Since you are here, you can help.” She handed us each a fair copy of the list of artefacts so eagerly sought by the waiting folk of Kellarin.

Temar and I shared an uncertain glance.

“Oh get on with it. You need not even touch anything.” Avila picked up a distinctive ring, wrought with two copper hands holding a square-cut crystal between them. This morning she was wearing a plain brown dress, hair braided and pinned in a simple knot, looking more like one of my mother’s sewing circle than a noble lady.

“Can you tell which ones carry enchantment, Demoiselle?”

I tucked my hands behind my back as I bent over the array of treasures.

“Sadly, no.” Avila sounded more irritated than regretful. “We would need Guinalle for that.”

Temar made some slight noise but subsided under Avila’s glare.

An elegant pomander caught my eye. Shaped like a plump purse tied with cord, the gold was cut away around a circle of little pea flowers on either side, blue enamelled petals undimmed through all the generations even if its perfumes had long since perished. I searched the list in my hand, where five artefacts were still untraced for every one with a note of success beside it. Temar’s stomach growled, the only sound to break the silence.

“There’s bread and fruit.” Avila nodded absently to a side table.

“Can I bring you anything, Demoiselle?” I offered politely.

“Thank you, no. So Temar, what are your plans for the woman and her child?” Avila asked in that deceptive tone women have, the one that sounds so relaxed when in fact the wrong answer will bring the ceiling down on your head.

“We will recompense her,” Temar said cautiously.

Avila reached for a pen laid across an inkstand. “Hand her a heavy purse and send her on her way?”

Temar hesitated. Agreement would plainly be the wrong response but he was struggling for the right one. I kept my eyes firmly on my list.

“You take no responsibility for their fate?” Avila noted something with a decisive flourish of her quill.

“Perhaps the mother could be found work within the residence?” hazarded Temar. “Some menial task?”

I glanced up to see him looking hopefully at me. “The House Steward won’t be interested,” I said slowly.

“If the Sieur instructs him, as a charity?” Temar suggested with a hint of pleading.

“Messire won’t do that,” I told him reluctantly. “The Steward earns his pay and perquisites by taking all responsibility for servants’ concerns, and the other side of that coin is the Sieur doesn’t interfere.”

Avila sniffed. “In a properly regulated House, master and mistress know all their servants by name and family and treat them fittingly.”

Hearing an echo of loss beneath her tart words, I kept quiet. I found the pomander and ticked it off my list with an absurd sense of achievement. One more to be woken from the chill of enchantment; Master Aglet, a joiner, according to the record.

Temar took the quill from me and dipped ink for his own note, our gazes meeting for a moment. “Sheer luck or not, you’ve made a success of your trip with this haul alone,” I commented.

“Grant Maewelin her due,” said Avila in quelling tones. “The goddess surely took charge of these hidden minds, just as she holds seed and bud sleeping through the dark days of winter.”

“Which would explain how the pieces came to her shrine,” Temar nodded thoughtfully.

He was convinced, no question, but few people I know give Maewelin more than a passing thought beyond the close of Aft-Winter. Hunger in the lean days after Winter Solstice prompts some to cover all options with an offering to the Winter Hag, but even then it’s a cult mostly limited to widows and women past any hope of marriage. That reminded me of something.

“The shrine to Maewelin in Zyoutessela is a refuge for women without family or friends. I know the Relict Tor Bezaemar makes donations to all manner of shrines, Demoiselle. You could ask if there’s any charitable sisterhood in Toremal that might take in the woman and her daughter?”

Avila’s severe expression lightened a little. “I will do so.”

“I have one,” said Temar with relief as much to do with my answer to the question of Maedura as with identifying an artefact. He pointed to a ring, modest turquoise set within silver petals. An inexpensive piece in any age but for some reason I knew beyond doubt it had been given with love and cherished with devotion.

“The woman with three children.” I shivered on sudden recollection of a little group still lost in the vastness of the Kellarin cavern. The sorrowful wizards hadn’t wanted to wake two children to the news that their sister and mother couldn’t yet be revived.

“The boy had my belt, with the buckle you recovered from the Elietimm.” As our eyes met I saw the lad through Temar’s memory, wide-eyed but determined not to show his fear, clinging to the buckle of Temar’s belt and to the promise that everything would be all right.

“This was for the youngest child.” Avila held up a tiny enamelled flower strung on an age-darkened braid of silk, her voice rough.

“Then we can wake them all.” Tangled emotions constricted Temar’s voice.

Avila looked down on the motley collection of valuables and trinkets. “But so many of the men held to knives or daggers,” she said softly. “Where are those?”

Sudden inspiration mocked me for a fool. “Weapons would’ve been laid in sword school shrines! I’ll wager my oath on it!”

I’d have explained further if Messire’s clerk hadn’t come in.

“Oh.” He stood in the doorway, nonplussed.

“You have something to say, young man?” Avila asked with all the confidence of rank.

“Surely you should all be getting ready to attend at the Imperial Law Courts, my lady.” Dolsan bowed respectfully but there was no mistaking his meaning as he looked at Temar’s creased shirt and Avila’s plain gown.

“In my day, substance counted for more than show among persons of high birth,” said Avila with a stern glare.

“In this age, my lady, show and substance are often one and the same.” Service to the Sieur made Dolsan equal to this challenge. “Chosen Tathel, Esquire Camarl’s valet was looking for you.”

I excused myself hastily to Avila and Temar and hurried upstairs. The Esquire was still in his shirt and an old pair of breeches, sorting through his own jewels for suitable ornaments for public appearance. “You weren’t in the gatehouse or the barracks, Ryshad. How’s my valet supposed to find you if you don’t leave word where you’ll be?”