Part 37 (1/2)
The column neared the distance until Anna could make out the dusty figure of a man seated on the cart seat.
Abruptly, with a fearful glance toward the armed riders that Anna led, the driver turned his single horse cart down a side lane that was little more than a rutted path between fields filled with green shoots. Anna didn't know the plants, but thought they might be beans of some sort.
Dust puffed from under the waist-high wheels and from the hoofs of the bony gray horse as the cart bounced southward down the uneven lane and away from Anna's force.
”Sargol has spread the word,” said Hanfor dourly. ”We are here to destroy and pillage.” His eyes followed. the dust raised by the farmer and his cart.
”Best we disappoint their expectations,” growled Jecks. ”Save for Sargol himself.”
”No pillaging.” Anna said. ”Destruction will be bad enough.”
Hanfor nodded.
They rode eastward, not speaking, to the sound of hoofs on the dusty clay.
43.
ENCORA, RANUAK.
The Matriarch descends the wide polished limestone steps to the floor of the Grain Exchange. Men and women standing around the raised platform in the center watch the tally poles, as the prices are changed periodically. Several glance toward the round-faced and gray-haired woman in pale blue on the stairs, their eyes alternating between the tally changes and the Matriarch.
A tall thin woman in a sea-blue tunic and trousers steps to the front of the platform, and a gong reverberates through the high-ceilinged s.p.a.ce, the tone echoing off the stone walls and columns.
”Trading is temporarily suspended,” she announces, ”for this visit of the Matriarch.” She extends a hand in a vague gesture toward the older woman. ”We would not wish. any to be distracted or to lose coins by another's distraction.”
”You are most kind, Abslim,” answers the Matriarch as she nears the head of the Exchange.
”What brings you to our humble Exchange?”
”Me? The harmonies, I suppose. I had heard rumors that the Exchange was considering a surcharge on handling grain and transactions that involved Defalk. I thought I would come to see for myself”
A series of murmurs whisper across the polished white floor.
”The surcharge was begun yesterday. There is much unrest in Defalk.”
The Matriarch nods as she proceeds through and around the traders and toward the trading platform at the south end of the hall. ”Are you imposing a surcharge on Ebra? Or Dumar? Or Neserea?”
There is a moment of stillness.
”Not at the moment.”
”Ebra has a civil war brewing and no central government. Neserea has a struggle between an outside regent and an underage lord. Dumar has accepted the presence of a Sturinnese fleet. Do not those merit consideration?”
”We will consider such.”
”Ah. . . Abslim. . . why does the Exchange deal so harshly with Defalk?”
Abslim squares her shoulders. Finally, she speaks. ”Is it not true that the sorceress continues the old ways in Defalk? She has announced that the new heir to Synfal will be young Lord Jimbob. She has not allowed any of the consorts to dead lords to become full n.o.ble holders in their own rights, but only administrators for male heirs.” The tall and thin woman in sea-blue tunic and trousers smiles coldly across the floor of the Exchange. ”This lady Anna may be a woman, but she has done little or nothing for women.”
”That may be, although I would suspect you have not stated all that has occurred. Still,” muses the Matriarch theatrically, as she steps from the trading floor to the platform, ”what has the sorceress to do with the cost of transactions involving Defalk?”
”It raises their costs,” answers Abslim. ”Because you are the Matriarch, we have acceded to your request to allow normal credit to the lords of southern Defalk. Now we find that they are in revolt against the very regent who has guaranteed that such loans would be repaid.”
”She never guaranteed more than repayment of past debts,” answers the round-faced Matriarch quietly, yet her voice carries, and the whispers die. ”She has repaid half of a debt she did not incur. How does that make her responsible for guaranteeing the debts of those who rise against her?”
”She is the Regent of Defalk.”
”There is no authority in Ebra, but you have no surcharge there,” points out the Matriarch. ”You have oft said that the price itself knows the problems of trade. Why have you changed that?”
There is no answer.
”Abslim, what do you desire?”
”I desire that the Matriarch use her power and the harmonies to improve the lot of women throughout Defalk, not to impose her wishes through the Exchange.”
”You are imposing your wishes through the Exchange. Banning further loans to Defalk reflected your wishes. Or those of the SouthWomen.” The Matriarch smiles.
”The marketplace is always right,” says Abslim. The Matriarch shakes her head. ”The prices set by the market are right, in the end, but that does not mean you or the traders are right.” A gentle smile follows.
”You know that, and so do the harmonies.” She turns. ”1 have said what I will say.”
The whispers on the trading floor remain low until the round-faced Matriarch has climbed the stairs and vanished.
Abslim's face remains as cold as the limestone columns, long after trading resumes.
44.
The dusty road wound around yet another orchard covered hill, with a narrow strip of bean fields sep- arating road and orchard. The fields appeared to have been recently tended, but nothing moved in the still morning air, warm already, with the sun barely above the trees and low hills.
The road was empty as well. It had been all the way from Cheor, except for an occasional dog, one or two farm carts that vanished upon seeing the riders, and a handful of older women in the fields, most of whom slipped out of sight behind trees or hedgerows once the riders appeared.
Anna sipped the last drops from her second water bottle, then replaced it in the holder. She readjusted the uncomfortable breastplate, hoping she wouldn't need it, but knowing that she should get used to wearing it. Under the light armor that rested too heavily on her, the scar from the crossbow bolt still itched, and the itching was worse because the plate made her sweat more. The slash on her arm itched as well.
”Glories of warfare, Liedwahr style.” she murmured, half wondering, far from the first time, how a singer who'd hated fantasy had ended up in a world with two small moons, music magic, and medieval warfare.
”G.o.d, or the harmonies, have a nasty sense of humor.”
”Pardon, Lady Anna?” asked Jecks.
”Nothing, Lord Jecks. I was just muttering to myself” As you find you're doing more and more.
Jecks nodded, but did not pursue the conversation. Riding beside Jecks, Hanfor studied his map, and oc- casionally spoke to the riders who shuttled messages to and from the scouts.
The sorceress slowed Farinelli as they neared a brick marker-a road stone that read, ”Osuyl-2 d.” She peered eastward, but could see nothing except those scouts who rode almost a dek ahead and the fields, which slanted gradually upward and ended in arise about a dek away. Osuyl had to be beyond the low hill.