Lescari Revolution 03: Banners In The Wind (28 page)

As they followed the lad's diligent broom, Branca found him a silver penny.

'Candied violets?' Charoleia frowned as the sweet-seller's lad opened the door. 'Wouldn't you prefer honeyed almonds?'

'Actually, I would.' Branca supposed she should hardly be surprised that Charoleia had noticed.

'Relict Den Sarascol!' As they entered the shop, Yadres Den Dalderin turned with every appearance of surprise. 'And your charming companion. Fair festival to you both.'

He was dressed in the height of Tormalin fashion. Indeed, Branca thought, emulating Charoleia's expert eye, he was trying a little too hard with so much lace at his shirt cuffs and collar, those jewelled rings on every finger and such florid silver buckles for both his knee-breeches and his shoes.

'Dear boy,' Charoleia cooed as Branca curtsied. 'Fair festival.'

'Are you going to see the lanterns?' Yadres extended one arm to Charoleia and the other to Branca. 'Shall we walk there together?'

'Why not?' Charoleia laid her hand on his forearm.

'Thank you, but the flagway isn't wide enough for three abreast in this crowd.' Branca also preferred to keep her hands warmly in her muff.

'Will you be visiting the pleasure gardens after seeing the lanterns?' Yadres asked brightly as they left the shop. 'There's to be a concert and a marionette show.'

'That sounds delightful,' agreed Charoleia.

'It will be my honour to escort you.' Yadres smiled somewhat fatuously before gesturing to his lackey. 'You there, go and find your own amusements for the afternoon. I'm sure there's some festival ale you'd rather be drinking.'

'As you command, Esquire.' The man grinned and slid off into the crowd.

Not for the first time, Branca wondered what the other sieurs made of Yadres; those formidable princes who governed the great houses of the Tormalin Empire.

Did they think Eofin, Sieur Den Dalderin, advisor to the Emperor, had chosen wisely when seeking an apprentice among his considerable quantity of nephews and cadet cousins? Or did they dismiss Yadres as no more than he seemed: an amiable youth trustworthy with some letter or simple task but too lightweight to be privy to his uncle's secrets? How hard did they look instead for some stealthier enquiry agent?

They turned down a glass-roofed arcade where coaches couldn't follow and fewer pedestrians seemed to have business. As the crowd around them thinned, Yadres glanced at Charoleia.

'My uncle tells me the renegades are burned out of Wyril.'

No messenger could have carried that news by hand to the Tormalin capital, not even by riding several horses into the ground. So as Branca and Charoleia suspected, there were still Tormalin spies in Lescar cherishing their last few courier birds.

Charoleia smiled winningly. 'As we've always told your uncle and his dear friend, we're committed to bringing peace to Lescar.'

'You told us the Soluran was leaving for home.' Yadres wasn't smiling now. 'That he wouldn't lead men into battle again.'

'He was leading his men and those mercenaries still with him north to the Great West Road.' Charoleia met the young man's gaze unperturbed. 'What other route would you have him take in the midst of winter?'

Yadres shook his head. 'Do you take my uncle for a fool? The Soluran's men killed those renegades.'

'Perhaps a double handful, but no more than that.' Charoleia slid her hand free from his arm.

'Those few who'd escaped the trap that Captain Sayron sprang in Wyril,' added Branca.

'That's not the tale told in Toremal's tisane houses,' Yadres insisted.

Charoleia continued through the pillared walkway. 'Then please tell your uncle to tell his gullible friends that he knows for a certainty that Captain-General Evord is on his way home to Solura. He's taking those mercenary companies with him, intent on taking King Solquen's coin when the fighting season arrives in the Wildlands.'

Branca knew Tathrin still suspected Charoleia had some hand in that. She wouldn't mind knowing the answer to that question herself.

'You may assure your uncle and his honoured friend that Lescar's army will secure Lescari peace and prosperity from this festival onwards.' Charoleia paused to look sternly at Yadres. 'There will be no more mercenaries in Lescar to excuse Tormalin's legions intervening to save their hapless neighbours.'

'Other than the ones your Captain Tathrin Sayron has recruited in the Carifate,' countered Yadres.

Charoleia shook her head as she continued walking. 'Tathrin has recruited men and women of Lescari birth, willing to stake their lives on Lescar's peaceful future, to serve as sergeants and captains for Lescar's town militias and Watch contingents.'

Yadres pursed his lips. 'Doubtless those militias will be glad of Tormalin's legions' assistance in curbing the anarchy sweeping through Parnilesse.'

'Parnilesse is hardly suffering the upheavals you seem to imagine,' Branca objected. 'Captain Tathrin established that much on his march north from Carif.'

Yadres shrugged. 'Those who seized Parnilesse Castle have imposed their will on the Guild Councils of Brynock and Inchra and executed those who oppose them. Their next step will be to subjugate Hardrew, and after that Quirton. As long as they hold all those towns, they have mastery over every villager and yeoman in between who needs a market to sell produce and buy household goods.'

Unfortunately Branca couldn't argue with that. If Reniack's reign of terror had proved less widespread than they'd feared, Tathrin had found that the dread of his men's reprisals had the common folk thoroughly cowed.

She also knew he feared how much more brutal Reniack's rule might become once the quelling cold of winter had passed.

'As I have been at pains to assure your uncle,' Charoleia told Yadres sharply, 'now that we've brought peace to Wyril, bringing freedom and concord to Parnilesse is our most urgent priority. I have every faith in Captain Tathrin.'

'Unfortunately, the Convocation of Princes has now agreed that Tormalin intervention is the best guarantee of Tormalin interests.' Yadres betrayed exasperation, but not with Charoleia.

Branca wondered if that was an echo of his uncle's feelings. And of Emperor Tadriol's?

'After seeing the Soluran take up arms again,' the young nobleman explained, 'those princes who suspect King Solquen's malign interest in our affairs have made common cause with those who fear Parnilesse's anarchy will soon spill across the Asilor. They agree prevention is better than cure.'

'I wouldn't wish to belittle that honoured assembly's wisdom, but such interference will do more harm than good.' Neither Charoleia's face nor tone betrayed the intense annoyance Branca knew she must be feeling. 'Captain Tathrin is more than capable.'

'Perhaps he is,' Yadres allowed, 'but he cannot be in two places at once. Who will be dealing with all the fresh unrest in Carluse and Marlier if his attention is turned to Parnilesse?'

'All what unrest?' Charoleia coloured her response with amusement as well as disbelief.

Yadres heaved a sigh and halted. 'Madam, I am truly surprised that you need ask. These past ten days have seen homes and farms burned all along the Marlier bank of the Rel. These past few nights have even seen incursions into Caladhria by these mercenary brutes.'

He abandoned the usual pretences of their conversations entirely. Branca could see Charoleia was as taken aback as she was.

'Mercenaries from Marlier's winter camps are raiding Caladhria?' the older woman demanded.

'No one knows where these curs have sprung from.' Yadres shook his head. 'Ferdain of Marlier is utterly outraged. He is calling on Caladhria's parliament to muster an army at once, as well as writing to every friend he has in Tormalin's Convocation.' He lowered his voice, glancing around to be sure no one was within earshot.

'My uncle tells me Duke Ferdain is offering generous inducements to the Sieur Den Breche. Gold to show Marlier's goodwill has apparently already been dispatched, along with the firm assurance of more once the first legions cross into Parnilesse.'

Branca couldn't help asking: 'Why does Ferdain want Tormalin's legions in Parnilesse?'

Yadres looked askance at her. 'So they can march on to Draximal and Sharlac after securing that dukedom, while Caladhria's barons send their men to drive your Captain Tathrin's companies out of every town in Carluse and Triolle. If they have their way, come the spring, your captain will have every battle that the Soluran won last year to fight all over again.'

He returned his attention to Charoleia. 'The Sieur D'Orsetis is getting letters from Duke Iruvain, begging him to back Den Breche in the Convocation's debates.'

'What's Iruvain offering?' Charoleia demanded.

'Lots of pleas and promises but no gold as yet.' Yadres' grin relieved a little of the tension. 'My uncle says D'Orsetis won't move till he has silver in his hand, so that gives us a little time.'

Charoleia wasn't amused. 'Den Breche has fewer friends than he imagines but D'Orsetis' voice will carry a fair distance. That's before Secaris of Draximal begins asking for aid to reclaim his dukedom too.'

'I don't imagine Duchess Aphanie will be slow to plead her case,' Branca commented reluctantly.

'Quite so,' Yadres agreed.

Charoleia halted at the end of the arcade. 'What will Tadriol need to stop Tormalin's legions marching?' she asked bluntly.

Yadres had a ready answer. 'You say Duke Orlin's murder and all that's followed is the work of comparatively few men? Give his Imperial Majesty proof that he can lay before the princes of the Convocation. Bring those men responsible to answer for their heinous crimes. If you uphold the rule of law, there's less case to be made for Tormalin's legions doing so. But you have to act fast and you must show some firm plan for the peaceful governance of Lescar, while your friends curb whatever banditry's plaguing Marlier and Carluse,' he warned. 'Once Caladhria's barons send an army over the Rel, Tormalin's legions will march.'

'Indeed.' Charoleia nodded.

Branca felt a pang for Tathrin. She could already imagine his weariness, when she had to tell him there was no respite in the demands made of him and his army. And how were they to come up with some new rule of law for Lescar without Aremil's scholarly contribution? She felt hollow inside. Were they ever going to see a conclusion to all their endeavours?

'I must give all this careful consideration,' Charoleia said after a long moment. 'You may call on me the day after the Solstice, to discuss how we might proceed in all our best interests.'

'Then I'll wish you both fair festival till then.' Yadres offered a courteous bow. 'I hope you enjoy the concert.' He smiled with sudden charm. 'I would take it as a personal favour if you were to tell anyone who asks that I accompanied you there.'

He bowed again and went out of the arcade.

Branca watched him stride across the broad square beyond. 'Where do you suppose he's going in such a hurry?'

'I don't know and I really don't care,' Charoleia said frankly. 'Now let's see these cursed lanterns and get back to the inn to start writing letters. We need more news and quickly if we're to make any kind of plan.'

She hitched up the hem of her cloak and walked swiftly across the square. Branca hurried along beside her.

'Fair festival, good ladies.' Even before they had crossed half the expanse, an eager priest approached with an enamelled ceremonial urn.

Seeing Charoleia was wrapped in thought, Branca hastily searched her reticule for some more silver pennies.

'Health and happiness for the year to come.' The priest approved the rattle of coin into his little urn with a smooth benediction before hastening to intercept a family crossing the square.

Branca wondered what had brought him to this life. Country priesthoods were often held by lesser noble sons, the office inherited in lieu of some share in those lands where the shrine had stood from time before memory. Some such lordlings merely mouthed the festival litanies but others found true purpose in the charities and education that shrine fraternities offered the local populace. Master Ernout had proved adept in finding such priests to argue the cause of peace and prosperity in Lescar, even if sacrificing the dukes might be needed to secure it.

Town shrines were a different matter, at least in Vanam. Branca had found priests and priestesses there equally divided between those driven by genuine dedication to their god or goddess, and those whose piety went no deeper than devotion to the food and shelter their sacred robes secured without the need for strenuous labour.

She contemplated the vast building ahead. The Solland shrine to Ostrin that sprawled in all directions was no mere temple of pious hopes for healing. While it showed a graceful outward face, blessed with the most expensive, most Rational architecture, the halls enclosing the hot springs and accommodating the sick had grown with each generation, thanks to priests more concerned with the demands of the suffering than with their own comfort and prestige..

The main gate to the shrine's precincts rose in the centre of a long colonnade. Ostrin's statue was honoured above the entrance. Six niches adorned the precinct wall on either side, harmoniously set within the pillars, housing exquisite statues of the other gods.