Lord of the Changing Winds (7 page)

Niethe was in her early twenties, little more than half the king’s age—her youth accounted fortuitous for the production of heirs. But, despite any calculation that had been involved in the match, Niethe seemed as pleased by Iaor himself as much as by her new royalty. Certainly she loved proof of his love for her. She loved flowers, and loved best of all the ones her lord brought to her with his own hands: She loved to be courted and made much of. And the king made much of her… a little overmuch for some of his court, who found themselves, this spring, somewhat displaced from his attention.

Bertaud tried hard not to feel jealous of the new queen; he knew it was neither just nor sensible to resent Niethe. But sometimes he found Iaor’s focus on his new wife a little trying. He supposed he would view the matter more favorably if he found a wife of his own—but the Lord of the Delta would need to marry a woman of the Delta, and as Bertaud had no desire at all to return to his own lands, he was not eager to pursue the question. He said now, mildly, “I suppose we must enjoy the spring while it lasts; soon enough we will have the full heat of summer closing down upon us.”

“And then we will need to contend with the bother of moving to the summer house,” Iaor agreed, but still smiling. “Well, we shall ride out when we can and, as you wisely suggest, enjoy the spring while it remains to us! But I fear, much as I might desire otherwise, we’ll have no time for either hunting or hawking this morning. One of my judges has appealed a case to me. No doubt it will be some strange, convoluted matter, or why else appeal to me?” He made a face, though to Bertaud it was clear he was actually looking forward to finding out what the problem involved.

Iaor went on, “However, I have hope this judgment will not take long. Perhaps this afternoon there will be time to take the hawks out. You know the Linularinan ambassador just gave my lady one of those miniature falcons they are so proud of. A pretty little thing, though I have a certain doubt as to its ability to take anything so large as a rabbit.”

Of course Iaor’s first thought was of Niethe. Bertaud would have died before allowing Iaor to glimpse any hint of jealousy, though sometimes he could not help but remember a time before the young queen had intruded into the closeness he had once shared with the king. He said smoothly, “I think they mostly hunt mice. Do you suppose the queen would like mice?”

“She might, if it was her falcon caught them. She thinks the bird is charming—well, so it is. We shall have to try it on young rabbits and see how it does. Or persuade the cooks to try what they might do with mice, hah? See if the judge is here, will you? I gave him the third hour.”

They had arrived at the king’s personal reception room, a small, cheerful chamber with broad windows, shutters thrown back this morning to let in the light and air. The king himself had a chair, set up on a low dais; there were no other furnishings.

The judge was, of course, already present in the antechamber—it would not do to risk keeping the king waiting, so the judge had come early, bringing with him the principal from his case. That proved to be a young man, about Bertaud’s age, with bound wrists and—reasonably enough—a sober expression. The prisoner had a narrow face, brown hair, and long hands. From his dress, which was plain but good, he was likely the son of a tradesman or minor merchant. A guardsman was also present, standing behind the young man.

The judge was Ferris son of Tohanis, a man Bertaud knew a little. He inclined his head to the judge and said, “Esteemed sir.” He did not glance at the other men, other than one swift look to be sure the guardsman looked professional and alert. The guardsman returned a small nod. The captain of the royal guards answered to Bertaud. That responsibility did not normally accrue to the Lord of the Delta, but so Iaor had granted it, despite Bertaud’s youth. Bertaud was fiercely proud of the honor and strove to be worthy of Iaor’s trust—though with the royal guard, his duty largely consisted of leaving Eles, their captain, a free hand.

“My lord,” the judge answered formally. “If I may ask—”

Bertaud smiled. “He is curious what you may have for him. He is, I believe, rather in the mood for tangled thoughts, and looks forward to finding out what you have brought him.”

The judge nodded and sighed, not returning Bertaud’s smile. “I hope his majesty’s mood is still inclined that way after he hears me. This matter is not so much complicated as provoking—or so I have found it. Well… well, thank you, my lord, and is his majesty ready to see me, then?”

“If you are ready to present your case, esteemed sir, his majesty is prepared to hear it.”

The judge was, of course, ready. Bertaud let him lead the way down the hall and to the small reception room.

The king nodded as they entered. The young man, guided by the guardsman, came forward to the foot of the dais and, pressed down by firm hands on his shoulders, went awkwardly to his knees. The guardsman stood behind him. The judge clasped his hands together before his chest and bowed.

“Esteemed Ferris,” said the king. “What does your diligence bring me?”

The judge bowed a second time and straightened. He said, his manner somewhat pedantic, “Your majesty, this man is Enned son of Lakas. He was brought before me on charges of mayhem and murder. He has not denied guilt—indeed, his guilt is not in question. The circumstances are these: A Linularinan merchant—a dealer in salt, linen, and metals, who has traded in Tihannad every spring for the past seven years, a respected and wealthy man—offended against the father of this young man, Lakas son of Timiad. This Lakas is a tradesman of Tihannad. He makes goods out of linen, buying the linen from Linularinum, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed the king. “An equitable arrangement, I expect. And?”

The judge tilted his head to one side. “In fact, the Linularinan merchant, one Mihenian son of Mihenian, had for several years been going to some effort to ensure that the arrangement was
not
equitable. Indeed, due to certain contracts drawn up by a Linularinan legist, Mihenian’s fortunes had risen substantially, whereas Lakas son of Timiad was very close to being ruined.”

“Ah.”

“On this fact being discovered—having exhaustively investigated the matter, your majesty, I am satisfied that it is a fact—Lakas went to the merchant Mihenian and attempted to gain satisfaction. However, confident that Lakas would not be able to collect monies owed him legally, due to an interesting principle of Linularinan law, which—well, your majesty, to be brief, Mihenian refused to regularize his dealings with Lakas son of Timiad. He was, in fact, directly insulting. He went so far as to strike Lakas in the face.”

Iaor nodded, interested but also a little impatient.

“It being clear that the monies would be impossible to collect, and severely offended at Mihenian’s callous disregard of his father’s ruin, this young man then laid an ambush for the merchant and killed him. Due to an exceptionally alert guardsman, whose name, my king, I have given to the captain of your guard for commendation, he did not succeed in doing so secretly. When this young man was approached by the guard, he surrendered without resistance and cast himself on the mercy of the court; that is to say, my mercy.”

“Yes?” said the king.

Ferris inclined his head. “Well, your majesty, I would be inclined to grant it, except of course I have no way to do so, legally. The Linularinan merchant behaved in a most offensive manner. It’s true, of course, that Lakas son of Timiad might have brought charges against Mihenian for assault, only the witnesses to the act were all employees of Mihenian. And, legally, Lakas had no recourse for the business dealings that Mihenian had employed against him. Evidently, he was prepared to accept his losses and the blow to his pride, but his son was not.”

“Nevertheless, despite the lack of disinterested witnesses, you are satisfied as to what occurred.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Then I, too, am satisfied.”

Ferris inclined his head, gratified, and continued. “In the strictest legal sense, Mihenian son of Mihenian was not at fault. The contract was, to even the closest reading, legally unassailable. However, from the standpoint of disinterested justice, Mihenian clearly acted without regard for just and proper dealing. On the other hand, he was a citizen of Linularinum, which broadens the scope of this matter in a most unfortunate way.”

“Yes,” agreed the king, with distaste. Linularinan opinion was often too inflexible for his taste, but impossible to take lightly. As the people of Feierabiand frequently held an affinity to one animal or another, as the people of Casmantium were famous for their making and building, so the people of Linularinum were well known for the magic many of them could weave with quill and ink. “When you sign a Linularinan contract,” the saying went, “count your fingers afterward—and remember as the years pass to count the fingers of your children and grandchildren.”

When a Linularinan legist set the magic of the binding word into his work, a contract might unroll its meaning in unexpected directions—and be very difficult to rewrite. Iaor would not want to give the old Fox of Linularinum any opening to claim that legal impropriety had been done. Dismissing a justified charge of murder done upon a Linularinan merchant, for example, might very well provide such an opening.

“So I appeal to your majesty,” said Ferris, opening his hands. He inclined his head.

“Yes,” said the king again. He surveyed the young man. Enned son of Lakas looked back steadily. He was rather pale. But he had too much pride to flinch from the king’s searching gaze. Looking at him, Bertaud was not surprised that this young man had been willing to risk his own life to retrieve his father’s pride and punish the man who had ruined him. And what would the father think of that? Surely any normal father would be appalled? If not at the murder, than at this aftermath?

“Have you anything to add?” the king asked him. “Do you concur with what the esteemed Ferris has recounted?”

Enned bowed his head over his bound hands. “No, your majesty. That is, yes. Everything he said is true.”

“You understand that the penalty for murder is death?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the young man answered. He was afraid, Bertaud saw, but not defiant; he looked back at the king frankly and honestly. His voice was not, however, quite as calm as his face.

“Do you think your father would regard the trade of your life for the death of his business rival as a fair and good trade?”

The young man shook his head, stiffly. “His grief will be hard. I didn’t mean to get caught. I’m sorry I was. And I’m sorry if you think I was wrong. But I can’t be sorry I killed the Linularinan. My family was not wealthy, your majesty, but we were not poor, and my father worked hard to build our business. And he is a good man, and no one to cast aside like a beggar!”

“As you cast aside my law?”

Enned looked startled. Color rose in his face. “I… confess I didn’t think of it that way, your majesty.”

The king tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the arm of his chair. “My law exists for a reason. My courts exist to give legal recourse to wronged men.
I
am here to hear appeals, where the courts cannot give satisfaction. And yet you did murder on your own account, on account of your own pride.”

The young man could not, evidently, think of anything to say.

The king leaned forward. “I conclude you are a fool.” He looked, and sounded, more and more severe. “If every man whose business associates bested or offended him drew a knife, if the law were disregarded every time a rash young man felt his pride touched, how would we all live? And in what disorder? Enned son of Lakas, the esteemed Ferris brought you to me because he felt you deserved mercy he could not give you. I don’t know that I feel so. If the Linularinan merchant offended your father’s pride and your family’s well-being, how much more have you offended my pride, and the well-being of my kingdom?”

The young man swallowed, bowing his head.

Straightening, the king looked thoughtfully at the judge.

Ferris shrugged, opening his hands. “If every man who did business was upright in his dealings with his business associates, then their business associates would not suffer through their actions and young men would not be offended, however proud they might be. Though I grant you, this one is proud. He is also the only son of his father. His father came to me and begged for the life of his son, which I, of course, have no authority to grant.”

“But you would have
me
grant it.”

“The law is stern, your majesty, but I serve it gladly. Except when it is flouted by men who use sly cunning to slip its proper bounds. Then I am unable to be glad in its service. Still, at such moments, as I am not the final authority, I have recourse. Your majesty, of course, does not. Forgive me if I was wrong to appeal to your majesty.”

The king leaned back in his chair and stared for a long moment at the young man, who flinched under that stare at last, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The king’s eyebrows lifted. He said severely, “My brother king Mariddeier Kohorrian will be offended, and rightly, if he finds his merchants cannot travel to Feierabiand without being knifed in dark alleys by proud young fools.”

Enned son of Lakas said in a faint voice, “Yes, your majesty.”

“Bertaud,” said the king.

Bertaud straightened attentively. “My king?”

“Though he is without doubt a proud young fool, I am inclined to spare this young man’s life. But do you see a way I may do so that would satisfy Linularinum?”