The Swordsman's Oath (Einarinn 2) (6 page)

“I’d say his debts must be pressing indeed if he’s prepared to flee across an ocean to escape his creditors! No, I’ll believe Den Rannion is setting down his arse along with his coin when I see it. You don’t think he’s simply turning a quick coin out of playing on the hopes of the gullible? From what I hear, he’ll have to recoup a handsome sum to keep pace with your friend Vahil’s spending.”

Why did the old man keep mentioning Vahil? With a shock, Temar realized his grandfather had no real argument to make and was simply trying to end the discussion by provoking a quarrel. He stared at the old man and blinked as what he saw changed, as if transmuted by some evil alchemy. This was no longer the impressive head of a once Great House, no lordly figure holding the reins of many lives, curbing some and slackening others to keep the whole equipage on an even course, not even the unquenchable source of reassurance and security that Temar had depended on as he grew, too early, to manhood and duty. His grandfather was simply an old, old man, weary and afraid, bereft of his sons and the future of his House, facing his dotage alone and uncertain.

Temar rose to his feet and grimaced as he rubbed his knees. He went to sit on the step of the dais as he had done so often as a child, when the hall was thronged with tenants and clients, his uncles circulating as the Sieur dealt with the suppliants. Temar made himself comfortable and looked up at his grandfather.

“I really want to do this, Grandpa. I’m never going to be any good capering at court, ferreting out gossip and trying to turn it into advantage and gold. You know me; I’m used to speaking my mind, as you taught me yourself. I’m tired of trying to salvage coin and dignity from every tide of disasters and knowing all the while that the next time the Emperor nails his own foot to the floor, I’ll be back up to my neck in a flood of ripe gurry.”

The old man rubbed a hand over his face; his eyes dimmed with momentary despair. “Better that than drowning in the deep of the ocean, surely? How many ships set sail with Nemith the Seafarer and never returned?”

“Messire Den Fellaemion returned, Grandpa, and he has made the crossing a handful of times since. I trust him.” Temar tried to keep any rebuke out of his voice. He failed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” The old fire flared in the Sieur’s eyes. “You trust him? You see a better future riding as his postilion, do you, rather than as master of your own team? You’re planning to abandon your own name and take his, perhaps?”

Temar stood abruptly, shedding his efforts at unaccustomed humility. “My concerns are for the future of my name, Messire. I intend that my sons and grandsons will revere my ashes and bless the inheritance I bequeath them.” He clenched his fists unconsciously and felt the band of his father’s ring press into his flesh.

“So what will you be doing with my funeral urn, then? Using it as a doorstop? Ungrateful hound!” The Sieur raised one twisted hand and very nearly struck out at Temar. “Am I to blame that first the Crusted Pox stole away the sons of my House and then a pox-rotted whoremonger has pissed away our lands through chasing his deluded ambitions?”

Temar opened his mouth to reply in kind in the usual fashion of D’Alsennin family discourse, but something in his grandfather’s face halted him. Abiding grief underlay the wrath in the old man’s eyes and prolonging the fight seemed suddenly pointless.

“I did not mean to insult you, Grandpa; I didn’t mean it, not the way it sounded. I know full well our House would be ashes blown on the wind many years since, if it were not for you.”

Whatever the old man would have said was lost in a paroxysm of coughing and Temar looked around hastily for water or wine.

“Leave it.” The Sieur produced a handbell from the folds of his mantle and its silvery jingle brought the chamberlain scurrying in.

“I will consider your petition, Esquire.” The old man managed to control his coughing and looked up at Temar, high color masquerading as a brief pretense of good health. “I have other affairs to see to. You may attend me in my study before we dine.”

He got to his feet with some difficulty but waved away the hovering chamberlain with irritability and stalked out of the salon, head unbowed.

Temar watched him go and could not decide if he were more worried or annoyed by the old man’s behavior. What other business could he have to deal with? Most likely, he was just delaying a decision by going for a nap. Well, Temar wasn’t going to kick his heels in this cinder-shrine all afternoon, he decided with characteristic speed. He strode rapidly from the room and slammed the ponderous doors with an energy that drew a startled plume of smoke from the little fire.

The nails in his boot heels snapped angrily on the stone treads as he made his way down the back stairs and into the kitchen.

“Temar, my duckling, how lovely to see you.” A sparely framed woman in a clean if faded livery looked around a cupboard door, a half-full jar of spices in her hand.

“Jetta! Well, I must say I’m glad to find you still here.” Temar tried for a light touch but his words fell flat. He slumped into a chair and stared moodily at the grain in the white-scrubbed tabletop, picking at it with a ragged nail. “I was starting to think everything and everyone had been sold off or sent packing.”

“You reckon it’s all looking a bit bare above stairs, do you?” Jetta’s sardonic voice made Temar look up, startled.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’d had loan-broker’s men in!” he responded bitterly. “What’s the old fool been doing? Paying some alchemist for potions? Hoping to get him a doxy to bear him a better heir?”

“He’s been keeping what’s left of the tenantry in shelter and food, young man.” Jetta’s eyes were bright and not only with passion. “The Sieur is always mindful of the obligations of the House.”

“You think I’m not? Don’t you start blaming me,” Temar snapped. “I’ve been working from first light to last moon, both halves of summer, to keep what’s left of the estates producing some sort of income. I’d have an easier time milking pigs for cheese and probably have more to show for it! Why do you think I’ve not been back here for so long?”

“Don’t you start ripping into me, just because you’re feeling guilty, young man. I put you over my knee when you wore soft shoes and I’ll do it now if need be.” Jetta’s smile belied her words and she put a plate of sweetcake in front of Temar.

“Thank you.” He took a piece and felt unaccountably comforted.

“Are you dining here?” Jetta closed the cupboard and moved to the hearth to swing a kettle over the fire.

“It would seem so. Grandfather has ordered me to attend him in his study beforehand.” Temar’s sarcasm had somehow lost its edge.

Jetta sniffed. “What have you been saying to upset him so badly, then?”

“How do you know he’s upset?” Indignation colored the guilt in Temar’s face.

“Why else would Master Othneil be ringing down for a bridesbell tisane?” Jetta pointed to the open door of the lackey-lift in the corner of the room.

“Is he ill?” Temar tried to ignore the qualm in his belly at the thought.

“No more than any man of his age but his winter cough has started early and he’s spending too much time in his study and not enough in his bed.”

So much for imagining his grandfather had nothing to do with himself. Temar dragged the newly polished silver clasp out of his hair with an irritable gesture and could not think what to say.

“So, how’s your mother?” Jetta busied herself with cups and hot water.

“She’s very well, thank you.” A fond smile lightened Temar’s whole face. “She’s growing her hair for a wedding plait.”

“Is she now?” Jetta halted, smiling herself, herb canister in hand. “So who’s going to be cutting that to lay on Drianon’s altar?”

“He’s Rian For Alder; do you know the name?”

Jetta frowned momentarily. “He deals in wool, doesn’t he? The family run sheep in the mountains on the Bremilayne road?”

“That’s him.” Temar nodded. “They’ve been friends for a couple of years now and he’s finally persuaded her to marry him. I’m so pleased, for him as well as her. He’s a good man and I know he’ll make her happy.”

“I’ll tie a ribbon to Drianon’s door to wish her well. She certainly deserves some happiness!” Jetta remembered what she was doing, and tied sharply fragrant herbs into a scrap of muslin. She dropped the bundle into a cup of hot water. “Have you told the Sieur?”

“Not yet.” Temar poked at his tisane with a silver spoon. “I think it would be best if she told him herself but she’s always been so nervous of him. She thinks he’ll feel she’s betraying Father’s memory and the D’Alsennin name.”

“Nonsense!” Jetta shook her head emphatically. “He’ll be delighted for her and I know your father would never have wanted her to spend so long as a widow, not once her year’s-mind was spent in the Sieur’s care.”

Temar fished the steeped herbs out of his cup and sipped the steaming drink carefully. “That’s what I told her.” He stared unseeing, into the fire. “I wish I knew what advice he’d give me, Father I mean.”

“What about?” Jetta covered one of his hands with her own.

“I want to join Messire Den Fellaemion’s colony.”

Jetta stared at him. “Is that what you came to tell your grandfather?”

Temar nodded. “I have to do something, Jetta, or I’ll go mad from frustration. Things are going from bad to worse and I’ll be cursed if I join the rest of the scavengers picking at the stinking carrion that’s left of the Empire.”

“You sound more like your Uncle Arvil than your father.” Jetta blinked away an unbidden memory.

“What do you think my father would have done?” Temar held her with his pale gaze.

“He’d have done what he felt was best for the House.” Jetta gripped Temar’s hand. “But he’d have been honest enough to know that it had to be something he felt was right for himself as well.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s what I’m doing,” sighed Temar. “But I do sometimes wonder if I’m just looking for somewhere to run off to, some way of getting out from under all the duty and obligation.”

“It’s hard being the only one left to carry the Name,” Jetta comforted him. “You know, when your grandfather crosses to the Otherworld, it’s not Saedrin who’ll be asking the questions before he opens the doors. The Sieur is going to want some answers about just what that cursed plague was supposed to be for. They’re going to have to be good ones!”

Temar smiled. “Do you suppose the old man will demand free passage from Poldrion as well? On account of his ferry having so much trade from our House already?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him!” laughed Jetta. “Now, if you’re staying for dinner, you can make yourself useful. Go and get some sea-coal in from the yard and then you can make a start on the vegetables.”

Temar made her a mocking bow. “At once, Mistress.”

Doing something both useful and undemanding helped Temar to relax. He had very nearly managed to put aside all thoughts of the future, duty and conflict by the time he was concentrating on washing the earth out of the last greens of the autumn. The jangle of a bell high up in the house startled him and he looked ruefully at Jetta.

“I think that’s my summons.”

She came around the table and wiped his hands on a cloth as if he were still a child. “Try not to let him get you cross; you know what he’s like. If you’re sure of what you want, he’s going to have to accept it eventually.”

That was easy enough for Jetta to say, Temar thought, without heat, as he climbed the narrow stairs back to the formal rooms of the house. How often did any man called D’Alsennin give in gracefully? About as often as a bitch whelped kittens, he’d say.

He remembered to pull the clasp from his pocket and clip back his hair before he reached his grandfather’s study. He paused for a moment and looked at the gleaming silver, remembering how long it had taken to get the tarnish out of the deeply carved leaves. Temar sighed, remembering how the candlelight had used to catch at it when his father turned back to the door after coming to check on the children last thing at night. Well, he couldn’t ask his father’s advice, so all he could do was be true to himself and his Name.

He knocked on the black door and braced himself.

“Enter.” His grandfather’s voice was firm and Temar saw that his face was determined but more at peace with himself.

Temar closed the door and took a seat across from the old man, keeping his face impassive as he wondered what part all the ledgers and rolls on the table were going to play in their discussion.

“I have been considering your petition,” the Sieur began formally. “While you are the sole heir of this House, safe-guarding the future of the Name must be my first consideration. However I realize I must also do justice to your own wishes and needs.”

He paused. Temar sat silent, trying to look attentive and deferential.

“I cannot see any benefit to you joining Den Fellaemion and crossing the ocean on your own.” There was a challenge in the old man’s eyes as he took a sip of wine but Temar refused to take the bait, remaining still and quiet.

The Sieur snorted and replaced his glass in its silver holder. “However, it is certainly possible that these lands overseas could offer us estates and position to replace what we have lost in recent years. I cannot ignore that. I have decided to allow you to join this endeavour on certain conditions. Provided you agree to my terms, you may go with my blessing.”

“What are your terms, Messire?” Temar asked politely, fighting to keep the relief and exultation out of his face.

“We have many dispossessed tenants and those that remain on our lands are suffering in the present tensions.” The old man began laying parchments before Temar. “You need to see the figures to see the whole tapestry.”

Temar clamped his teeth on an impulse to remind his grandfather he was the one who’d provided most of the ledgers and records and looked where the old man was pointing.

“You see, here and here? Compare the figures with as recently as last year.” The Sieur sat back in his chair. “These are good people, suffering through no fault of their own and if you are to go any way toward fulfilling your obligations to your tenantry, you should offer them the chance to join you in this quest.”