Sinner (6 page)

Outside the tower looked plain, even though it imposed with its height. Completely windowless, it climbed some one hundred paces into the crimson sky – the sun ascending almost directly behind it.

Zenith stood motionless for long minutes, drinking in
the view of the tower, the lake, the stunning city rising on the far shore.

“How wrong I have been to so secrete myself in Sigholt,” she whispered, then sprang into the air with a glad cry, her arms wide as if to embrace the entire world.

Leagh was sitting at her mirror-table, brushing the tangles from her hair and trying to stop yawning.

There was a rush at the window, as if it had been struck by a great gust of air, and then a small pale fist was tapping impatiently at the panes of glass.

“Leagh!” a muffled voice called, “Leagh! Let me in!”

Leagh sat and stared for long minutes, unable to believe what she saw, before she finally roused herself enough to walk over and open the windows.

Zenith almost fell through, enveloping her friend in a great hug.

“Leagh! Leagh! You and Askam are to come to Sigholt – can you believe it?”

Leagh just stared at her.

“And Zared is to be there, too! Come, sleepy-eyes, what shall you wear?”

Zenith did not think it wrong to give Leagh a day of hope and excitement. And it
was
true. After at least two years, Leagh would finally see Zared again.

Z
ared sat on his chair on the slightly raised dais in his reception gallery, trying to hold his temper. Generally he enjoyed holding open court, but this Thursday afternoon had brought such evil news he knew there would be little delight left in the day.

Ranged before him were six men, four peasants from his southern border with the West, and – for the gods’ sakes – Jannymire Goldman, the Master of the Carlonese Guilds himself, and one of his merchant cronies, Bransom Heavorand. The tidings they had brought would sour anyone’s day, Zared thought, let alone mine.

“A third…a third!” he muttered yet again. Obviously the guilds, as the merchants, would be crippled by the tax, but these peasants…gods! They’d had a third of their year’s grain confiscated!

“Gustus!” Zared called, and his captain of the guard stepped forward. “See that these peasants receive recompense from my treasury for their losses.”

Gustus nodded, and moved off. The peasants effused thanks to their Prince, then scurried after the captain.

Zared eyed Goldman thoughtfully. As Master of the Carlonese Guilds, Goldman was one of the most powerful
non-noble men in Tencendor. He controlled not only great wealth, but was the voice of the traders, craftsmen and businessmen of Carlon and, by default, most of Tencendor. Why come north himself? And why complain to
Zared?
Surely his complaints would be more effective directed at Caelum?

“Askam will grow rich at your expense, good sirs,” Zared remarked.

“As yours,” murmured Heavorand.

Yes, as mine, Zared thought, his dark face remaining carefully neutral. Shall I now risk sending my goods to the southern markets via the Andeis Sea? But even pirates would not risk those treacherous waters, and Zared knew he’d lose considerably more than a third of his goods if they went south via the Andeis. Askam had him trapped. He had no choice but to send his goods via road, where they would be snaggled in the web of crossroad taxation posts, while his river transports would not escape the castle of Kastaleon, which sat with its brood of archers on the great central bend of the Nordra like a rabid spider itching to spit its venom at tax evaders.

Gods, what was Askam doing to the people of his own province if he could inflict this hardship on the North?

“It is strange to see you so far north,” Zared said to Goldman. “And at
my
house.”

Goldman shrugged expressively. “It is a long story, my Prince, and one not suited to this reception gallery.” He looked meaningfully at Zared.

Zared hesitated slightly before he spoke. “My dinner table is ever lacking in long stories, gentlemen. May I perhaps invite you to dine with me this evening?”

Goldman bowed. “I thank you, Sir Prince. Heavorand and I will be pleased to accept your –”

The twin doors at the end of the gallery burst open and two men strode through, Gustus at their heels.

Zared’s mouth sagged, then he snapped it shut, keeping his seat only with an extraordinary effort as Herme, Earl of Avonsdale, and Theod, Duke of Aldeni, stopped three paces away from the dais, saluting and bowing.

Goldman and Heavorand, who had quickly stepped aside for the noblemen, shared a glance that was both surprised and knowing.

“Herme? Theod? What brings you here in such haste? I had no warning that you –”

“Forgive us, Zared, but this news cannot wait,” Herme said. More formality should have been employed, but Herme had something to say, and he wished to waste no time. Besides, Zared was an old friend and one-time family member; Isabeau had been Herme’s sister.

To one side Theod fidgeted. He, too, was a close friend of Zared’s, and his higher ranking than Herme should have seen him speak first. But Herme was older and had the longer acquaintance with Zared.

“Sir?” Gustus put in to one side, but no-one listened to him.

“If it’s about Askam’s new taxes, then I have already heard it,” Zared said, gesturing towards Goldman and Heavorand.

Herme and Theod glanced at them, then looked back at Zared.

“My friend,” Herme said, “matters have come to a head. We cannot –”

“Sir?” Gustus said again, but was again ignored.

“– endure under such taxation! Belial must be turning over in his grave! I suggest, and Theod agrees with me, that we must take this matter to Caelum instantly.”

“
Sir!
” Gustus all but shouted.

“Gustus, what is it?” Zared said shortly. Never had he had open court like this! Were half the merchants and nobles of the West en route to complain to him?

“Sir,” Gustus said, “one of the Lake Guard has this minute landed with a summons from StarSon Caelum.”

Every eye in the reception gallery was riveted on the captain of the guard.

“A summons?” Zared asked quietly.

“Sir Prince, StarSon Caelum summons the heads of the Five to Council, to be held at Sigholt three weeks hence.”

Zared stared at him, then shifted his gaze back to Herme and Theod. “I seem to be holding a dinner party this evening. Would you two gentlemen care to join me?”

Goldman placed his fork and knife across his plate, and decided it was time to direct the conversation to more important matters. So far they’d discussed everything from the weave of Corolean silk to the exceptional salinity of the Widowmaker Sea, and Goldman was tired of the niceties. He smiled at the young, impish Duke Theod across the table. Theod was a rascal, but good-hearted, and once he’d grown five or six more years, and survived a tragedy or two, he would become as fine a Duke as his grandfather, Roland, whom Goldman remembered well from his youth.

“You must have ridden hard to reach Sever in from Aldeni, Duke Theod, as must,” Goldman glanced at Herme, “your companion…who had to come yet further.”

“Herme and I were both at my home estates, Goldman. We share a common interest in the management of the Western Ranges.”

Goldman nodded to himself; Theod’s home estates were close to his northern border with Zared. No wonder
they’d managed to get here so quickly. “And no doubt you were both as horrified as Heavorand and myself to hear of Askam’s new taxes.”

“No doubt,” Herme said carefully. He was not quite sure of Goldman, nor of the motives which saw him at Zared’s court.

“Enough,” Zared said, throwing his napkin on the table and leaning back in his chair. “Goldman, you came north to say something. Say it.”

“Sir Prince, as you know, Prince Askam’s taxation measures will place an unfair burden on many Tencendorians, rich as well as poor, traders as well as peasants.”

Goldman paused and looked about the room, pretending to gather his thoughts.

“Yet if Askam’s taxation measures affect poor and wealthy, peasant and noble alike,” he continued, “these taxes
do
differentiate between
types
of people.”

The entire table stilled. Heavorand, who knew what was coming, looked hard at the napkin in his lap. But the other three men’s eyes were riveted on Goldman’s face.

“Continue, good Master Goldman,” Zared said.

“Sir Prince, Askam’s measures affect those people living in the West and North, not those living in the rest of Tencendor.”

“And your point is…?”

Goldman took a deep breath. “Sir Prince, the Icarii and Avar do not feel the strain of Askam’s petty taxation, yet the Acharites –”

“Be careful with your phraseology,” Zared said quietly.

“– yet the human population of the West and the North, good Prince, are direly affected by it. Sir Prince, there are many among the Achar – ah, the western and northern populations of Tencendor – who stoutly believe
that Askam’s taxations are unfair in that they discriminate against one race out of three.”

“The Ravensbundmen are affected by it as well,” Herme put in carefully.

“Sir Duke, the Ravensbund only trade with the people of the North. They care not if Askam starts demanding a life per cargo of goods transported through the West.”

Zared steepled his fingers before his face and pretended an interest in them. “And so your request is…?”

“That you raise the issue with StarSon Caelum at the Council of Five, Sir Prince. StarSon is the only one with the authority to rebuke Askam. To force him to rescind the tax.”

That had not been the original request that Goldman and Heavorand had come north with. Their plans had been hastily revised with the news of the Council of Five. But they were not dismayed. Far from it. StarSon Caelum had played right into their hands.

“The tax is the very reason Caelum has called the Council, and Caelum is a reasonable man,” Zared said. “I am sure he will listen to what I have to say. So your lengthy trip north was needless, Goldman. I have ever intended to raise this issue.”

“Zared,” Herme began, “I will not rest until I know that Caelum has clearly understood what hardship this tax will impose –”

“Do you doubt my ability to state the case, Herme?”

“Not at all, my friend. But I think it important that Caelum listens to someone from Askam’s own province, as well as your objections. If only you speak against it, well…”

All knew what he meant. The history of conflict between Askam and Zared was well known.

Zared opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled by Goldman.

“Sir Prince, Earl Herme speaks wisely. Caelum needs to hear from the peoples of the West, as much as from you. I suggest that Heavorand and myself will be as suitable witnesses as the Duke and Earl.”

“Are you saying that I should take you
all
with me to Sigholt?”

Zared’s four guests looked at him steadily.

“Ah!” he said, giving in. “Very well. Your support will be useful.”

“There is one other associated issue, Sir Prince.” Goldman’s voice was tense, and Zared looked at him sharply.

“Out with it, then.” He waved his servants forward to clean away the plates.

Goldman waited until the men had gone. “Sir Prince, many among the human race of Tencendor, the
Acharites,
my Lord Zared, for I am not afraid to use the term, feel that Askam’s taxes are not only unfair, but illegal.”

“And why is that, Goldman?”

“The talk of the taverns and the streets of Carlon argues that Askam is not the legal overlord of the West, Sir Prince.” Goldman paused, gathered his courage and spoke his treason. “Most Acharites believe that you are.”

Silence.

Zared’s eyes regarded Goldman closely over his fingers. “Yes?”

“Sir Prince, when Axis created the nation of Tencendor he created Belial as Prince of the West. Few were loath to speak out against that. Belial was a loved man, and remains a loved memory. But his elevation essentially replaced the office of King of Achar. Axis destroyed the throne of Achar after he defeated his brother, Borneheld. Zared,
you
are the only legitimate heir to the throne of Achar.”

Herme leaned back in his chair. True, true and true,
good Goldman, he thought. I could not have put it better myself. Speak on, man.

Goldman did indeed hurry on. “Sir Prince, you may have been disinherited of a crown, but more importantly, the Acharites have been disinherited of their throne and their nationhood.”

Zared spoke again, his voice now noticeably tight. “Continue.”

“Have not the Icarii, the Avar and the Ravensbund their leaders, their titular heads? Yet the Acharites have lost their monarchy and, in so losing, their pride. Sir Prince, why is it that the Icarii, Avar and Ravensbund retained or gained kings when the Acharites lost theirs?”

“Perhaps,” Herme put in carefully, for this was something Zared could not say without proving disloyal to at least one of his brothers, “it is because Borneheld, as King of Achar, was far too closely allied with the Seneschal and pursued a policy of hatred and war towards the Avar and Icarii. Axis rightly wanted to ensure that would never happen again.”

Goldman looked directly at Zared. “Sir Prince, I am not asking you to resurrect the beliefs of the Seneschal, only your people’s pride and nationhood. Prince Zared,” his voice slowed and he stressed every word, “your people want you back. They want their King. With few exceptions, western Tencendor would rise up to back your claim.”

Goldman glanced at Herme and Theod, hoping he had not read them incorrectly. “True, Sir Duke? Sir Earl?”

“We would not speak against it,” Theod said slowly.

Herme hesitated, then said curtly, “No king of Achar ever treated us as vilely as Askam does.”

“You all mouth treason!” Zared said, and pushed his chair back as if he intended to stand. “I do not intend to –”

“Treason?” Heavorand repeated. “Is it treason to speak of that which is our wish and your
inheritance?
”

Zared had stilled, his face expressionless.

“They are right, Zared,” Theod added. “
Right!
Achar needs its King back! Look how Askam is tearing the heart and soul out of the West!”

“May I remind you, Theod,” Zared said very carefully, “that as a Duke of the West, you are under Askam’s direct overlordship?”

“As am I,” Herme said, “and yet I find myself agreeing with both Theod and these two good merchants here.”

“Recreating the position of King of Achar would tear Tencendor apart,” Zared observed, but his tone was milder, and his eyes thoughtful.

“It is going to tear apart anyway,” Goldman said very quietly. “The tensions between Acharite and the other races would see war within a generation. You understand the Acharite perception of injustice, Zared. You share it. Sir Prince, you
are
rightful heir to the throne of Achar. Take it. Take it and direct some of this tension rather than letting it swell out of control. Take it…sire.”

When Goldman and Heavorand retired, Zared waved at Herme and Theod to remain.

He sat motionless, silent, for a long time before he finally spoke.

“My friends, I do not know what to think. My parents raised me to believe in Tencendor, in Axis’ and then Caelum’s right to rule over all races. They raised me to believe that the Achar nation, and its monarchy, was dead.”