Part 66 (2/2)
”I would like to be of service to Lady Secca,” answered Falar with his roguish smile. ”And I will do my best.”
”She's too young for you,” Anna said with a laugh, ”you smiling devil. You can start things, but I'd like you to come with me. But don't worry. I always reward loyalty and skill.” Who else can you leave? You'll have to talk to Himar about that, You still need Falar under your thumb. What about Lejun and one of the captains?
”That she does,” murmured Liende, standing at the top of the stairs.
Falar bowed.
”Have you got the players settled?” the sorceress asked the chief player.
”We are settled. Will you need more playing?”
”Not that I know.” Anna paused. ”Thank you. I know it's been hard on you. . .
and on them.”
”They will all remember these days, lady and Regent, and few players can say such. Few indeed.”
Few indeed... but how will they remember them? Anna smiled sadly in yet another twilight She walked slowly along the wall, looking down as her boots kicked a Vorkoffe stone that skittered along the floor tiles. A tile Secca might have used on a day past, a more innocent time. Had those times been better? Or merely more cruelly innocent?
The sorceress turned and looked westward. Another sunset... the clouds almost bloodred. Her lips curled into an ironic smile as she watched the red sky fade.
110.
MANSUUS, MANSUUR.
”Sire...sire...” Ba.s.sil stands barely a yard inside the carved door to the Liedfuhr's private study. Outside the windows, rain patters against the shutters, and a cool dampness seeps into the room.
”What? Ba.s.sil....” There is a long pause. ”Don't tell me. You have even worse news from Esaria or Defalk?” Konsstin stands up from behind the desk.
”Worse? I.... ah. . . perhaps you should read it. . . I mean, them, yourself sire.” Ba.s.sil extends a scroll, still sealed in wax and bound in purple ribbon.
A second follows, sealed with severe blue wax and wrapped with a strip of dark blue felt.
”You have not opened them?”
”They were addressed to you, and brought by the same courier from Neserea. There are two scrolls. One from the sorceress-Regent and one from one Hanfor, Lord High Counselor of Neserea.”
”Two scrolls... both filled with trouble.” Konsstin snorts. ”As if I had no other difficulties.” His eyes fix on the dark-haired officer. ”Why did I ever listen to you? Why?”Ba.s.sil swallows.
”Why? Answer me!”
The officer squares his shoulders, then meets the Liedfuhr's blistering scrutiny. ”Because I have given my best judgment, whether it later proved wrong or not. Because I have never lied to you, and because that is greater loyalty than flattery.” The lancer officer swallows, and the sweat pours down his brow and cheeks.
Abruptly, the Liedfuhr nods. ”And you have the nerve to tell me so.” He sighs.
”Best we read these.” He breaks the purple wax seal and unrolls the scroll.
Ba.s.sil watches.
The Liedfuhr's frown deepens as he reads. Silently, he finishes the first scroll, then breaks the seal on the second, a much shorter length of parchment.
Near the end of the scroll, suddenly, he laughs, and shakes his head. 'Things could be worse... far worse.”
”Sire?” blurts Ba.s.sil.
”She has appointed a professional armsman as Lord High Counselor of Neserea, and she has gone back to Falcor-or somewhere. She has also suggested that I support the new regime in Neserea, and rather politely suggested that she'll forgive my sending lancers into Defalk, but that she'll do the same to them again if I send any there or into Neserca.” Konsstin pursed his lips. ”She'll probably live longer than I will, and that means Kestrin will have to deal with her for a time as well.”
”But the second one?” prompts Ba.s.sil.
”Oh... that is from the armsman. He was quite short, if most circ.u.mspect. He just said that Neserea regarded Mansuur as its friend, and Defalk as its protector, and hoped that I would understand why it must be so.” The Liedfuhr drops both scrolls on the s.h.i.+mmering polished wood of his table-desk. After a moment, he begins to pace back and forth. ”What to do... what to do...?”
Ba.s.sil holds his tongue, waiting.
Konsstin straightens, nods to himself. ”It might work. It will work.”
The lancer officer leans forward, as if encouraging the Liedfuhr to explain.
”Aerlya. . . she's sixteen,” Konsstin says. ”If he has no consort, and I'd wager he does not. Is he not the one who was her arms commander?”
”Who?”
”This Hanfor.”
”She had an arms commander of that name. That was what your envoys reported.”
”Aerlya... she needs a consort, and what would be better than the new Lord High Counselor of Neserea?”
”Sire?”
”Ba.s.sil. . . if you are going to say something trite about Aerlya being too sweet. . . that's the point. The envoys-I remember their report-they said this Hanfor was honorable. If he's survived in Defalk and if he survives in Neserea,he'll be most intelligent as well-his scroll shows that. If the sorceress trusts him, he'll be a good man. A bit hard, perhaps, but good, and he will not treat women badly. Not after what the sorceress has done, he couldn't have survived.
And...he'll know treachery. What an honorable man is most influenced by is by honest respect and, in a woman, sweetness. Aerlya is strong, but she's not a schemer. Not too much, anyway.” Konsstin laughs. ”And this Hanfor, he will have to balance between us, and Aerlya, she has seen enough scheming to respect honor.”
”She may not love him.”
”She may not. But he cannot afford to turn her down, and she cannot afford to turn down being the consort of a ruler. And her being his consort will ensure both his rule, and the succession of their children. So... Kestrin's heirs will have a chance. While the sorceress lives, no one else will take Neserea.”
Konsstin shrugs. ”Even if that doesn't work out, I'll have grandchildren ruling both lands.”
”Yes, sire.” Ba.s.sil's face bears a faintly puzzled expression.
”You'll see,” predicts the Liedfuhr. ”You will.”
111.
Anna looked over the lane leading to the house-not really a hold-that now belonged to Lady Herene. The trees beside the packed clay were bare, and the cold wind out of the northeast swirled fallen leaves along the ground. The scars in the plaster and timber of the outbuildings had been painted or oiled over, and the air smelled merely of damp leaves and fall, unlike the odors of her last visit.
<script>