Lescari Revolution 03: Banners In The Wind (53 page)

Tathrin managed to smile apologetically as Failla pulled him away. 'Where are we going?'

'Through the little gate behind the inner keep.' Failla was almost running to match his pace as they passed through the great hall. 'No, don't slow down.'

Tathrin cut across the inner ward's once sacrosanct lawn. Halcarion, goddess of love and luck, combed her hair in the midst of the fountain, newly freed from its winter shrouding. Crystal water glistened on her white marble curves.

Tathrin sighed. Precious little else in Lescar was untouched by all this past year's upheavals.

'My love?' Failla squeezed his hand.

He halted. 'I don't know if it's all been worth it.'

'You're tired.' Her eyes were warm with love and sympathy.

True enough but he still felt a flare of irritation. 'It's not only that.'

But he didn't know what it was that left him so dispirited.

'Come on,' she urged.

Too weary to argue, Tathrin let her lead him to the small door in the castle's far wall. Failla knocked three times on the weathered wood.

A key turned and the door opened. 'Password?'

Failla set her hands on her hips. 'Ferl River white?'

'Good enough.' Gren stepped back.

As soon as they were through, he relocked the door.

'How long have you been hiding here?' Tathrin didn't know whether to be pleased or angry.

'Barely long enough to open a bottle of wine,' retorted Aremil.

'Ferl River white or Angovese red?' Kerith stood by a small table holding bottles and mismatched goblets.

'The Angovese, please.' Tathrin looked around. He'd never had occasion to visit this private garden. Some dead duchess's folly, it had been laid out between the castle's curtain wall and the deadly cliff face. The crag plunged sheer into the gathering dusk far below.

'We decided we deserved something of a celebration.' Branca sat on a bank of cushions on a carpet plundered from the castle.

Aremil lay propped beside her, looking more at ease than Tathrin could ever recall.

'Serafia.' Tathrin accepted the wine that Kerith offered and raised the glass to acknowledge her.

'Fair festival.' As she smiled, Tathrin saw how truly pretty she was.

It would be churlish to say this had been the most tediously unrewarding festival he had ever spent, so Tathrin nodded. 'Fair festival.'

But he recalled what Failla had confided a few nights ago. She was pleased that Kerith had brought her bereaved cousin some comfort but she couldn't help pitying Milar. The tavern keeper had loved Serafia so long and so hopelessly. Every time she looked at his ruined hand, though, she recalled her beloved Elpin's death in that same battle.

It seemed to sum up so much for Tathrin. No success was without its blemish.

'Why so glum?' Sorgrad sat cross-legged on another rug.

Tathrin shrugged. 'Just tired. How are you?'

'Tired of Master Welgren asking,' Sorgrad said lightly, 'but as neatly mended as a thrifty housewife's apron.'

As it turned out, Karn's dying blow had gouged along Sorgrad's ribs rather than penetrating his vitals beneath.

Tathrin forced a smile as he raised his glass. 'Your-- Lady Litasse.' That was all the title she would answer to. 'How are you?'

'Master Tathrin.' She inclined her dark head, her expression as impenetrable as ever.

Karn had so nearly killed her, his blade penetrating her lung. Without Master Welgren's skills she'd be dead.

'I am very well, thank you.' Litasse shared Sorgrad's rug, her skirts neatly tucked around her slender ankles. Was there some yielding in her reserve as the Mountain mage poured wine into her goblet? Tathrin knew Gren was taking anyone's wager that his brother's persistence would outlast her resistance.

Tathrin wasn't about to bet against him, not after seeing Sorgrad vanish from Marlier Castle in a snap of azure magelight. Even so, he had barely been in time for Master Welgren to save Litasse.

He wondered if Litasse had any idea of the bond between the brothers. Gren would have charged straight for Marlier's stables when his brother disappeared, killing anyone standing between him and a horse to gallop all the way to . . . where?

Thankfully Aremil had tripped Gren with a crutch between his shins and Ridianne had wrestled him to the ground. Then Branca's urgent call through the aether had told Aremil where Sorgrad had gone. Naturally she had seen all that had transpired through her beloved's eyes.

'I wonder how much of Lescar you can see from here.' Charoleia stood on the unfenced precipice, silhouetted against the evening sun.

Tathrin had a good head for heights but he wouldn't have gone so close.

Charoleia stepped down to safer ground. 'Are you heartily sick of this Conclave? Of the pettiness and squabbles and rivalries and factions?'

'Sullying this honourable peace that we secured with so many deaths and threats and lies?' Suddenly reckless, Tathrin drained his glass. 'Have you been learning Artifice to read my thoughts?'

'No, but I've seen so many golden hopes descend to tarnished reality. You should polish up your triumphs afresh,' Charoleia teased him. 'Is anyone actually fighting? Isn't that an improvement on what's gone before?'

'A couple of guildsmen came close to trading punches this afternoon.' Gren sprawled on the dewy grass.

'The Conclave has made considerable progress,' said Aremil firmly. 'We have comprehensive agreements on all tolls and levies.'

'And laws.' Kerith nodded. 'Quarterly assizes will be held in each province to try those who fall foul of each district's watchmen. In the meantime, there's an amnesty for those who honestly served their dukes in the recent battles and an edict against private revenge. Accusations of any misdeeds over this past year will be tested by a panel of judges drawn by lot from all the estates of the Conclave.'

'We have agreed how claims may be made by the dispossessed, and tested,' Aremil added, 'in the case of exiles returning in hopes of their thrice-great-grandsire's inheritance.'

'Who's to manage all that?' Tathrin winced at the prospect of shouting crowds waving tattered documents and affidavits at him.

'Each dukedom had its reeves and clerks and notaries,' Aremil assured him. 'They're as happy, if not happier, to use their skills to serve the Conclave and the cause of peace in Lescar.'

Kerith continued. 'Those without home or livelihood can apply to the Conclave to take a vacant land-holding or a workshop in hand for a year to prove their fitness to full title.'

Tathrin wondered how his erstwhile mercenaries would feel about such protracted legalities, more used to taking what they wanted at the point of their swords.

Aremil was still speaking. 'Thanks to Lady Litasse, we have also made remarkable progress with those still thinking they have some claim to a dukedom. Most now accept the lands that they hold are as much kingdom as they're likely to see.'

'Given the choice between that and the bleakest of futures, dispossessed and disinherited.' Litasse's smile was as inscrutable as ever.

'But can this truly work?' Tathrin stared into his empty glass. 'All the Caladhrian barons do is talk and talk and they make a worthwhile decision as rarely as there's a moonless night.'

'Caladhria's barons know there'll still be food on the table if they wear out the timepieces with their debates,' Charoleia said tartly. 'Lescar's Conclave has no such luxury and that's a powerful incentive to avoid wasting time so that merchants can get back to their wagons and farmers can till their fields.'

'Everyone wants to rebuild,' Aremil assured him. 'They have to cooperate to do that.'

'And stand shoulder to shoulder to deter Caladhrian and Tormalin interference,' added Charoleia, 'or another Reniack.'

'That fear should keep the most resentful nobles honest,' Litasse observed.

'Even Lord Rousharn of Nolsedge sees the wisdom of our arguments,' Sorgrad pointed out. 'He is returning to his alchemical and philosophical studies.'

'Lady Derenna will educate Garnot's younger daughters,' Failla told Tathrin quietly, 'until they're of an age to inherit their manors granted from their mother's dowry.'

'And if they inherit their mother's resentments?' He still couldn't put his worries aside.

'Can you think of a better solution, long lad?' Gren demanded. 'No, and nor have any of these scholars and priests who've been sweating over these questions. Can you think of any worse answer? Of course you can and so can we all. So let's settle for the least worst plan and drink with our friends while we still have the chance. Tomorrow's soon enough to deal with tomorrow's problems.'

Aremil laughed. 'You can congratulate me on my own challenges ahead. The Conclave has granted me seizin of Fordetal. That's a modest estate to the west of Chinel.'

'Congratulations.' Tathrin wondered how much he had already had to drink.

Sorgrad saluted Litasse with his goblet. 'My lady is chatelaine of Abrewold, a day's ride north of Sharlac.'

'It was the manor traditionally granted to Sharlac's heir. With my brother Jaras dead, I deprive no one of their rights.' She was looking down into her wine. 'I shall care for my mother's dowry manors till my sisters are of age to leave her and return to Lescar.'

Tathrin recalled hearing that Duchess Aphanie was still beseeching Tormalin princes for their aid in restoring her, but the sieurs of the great houses took their lead from Emperor Tadriol.

He had proclaimed his support for the Lescari Conclave while granting a pension to the erstwhile Duke of Draximal. In return, Secaris had lodged the decree of his own abdication with the Imperial Courts in Toremal, to join those signed by Ferdain and Iruvain.

According to Charoleia, Ferdain and his family had established themselves in Relshaz, more than comfortably provided for. Iruvain by contrast was steadily drinking his way through the coin realised from the sale of his family's heirloom jewellery, which had been dispatched from Triolle.

Tathrin set his glass down. He couldn't stay here with everyone so content while he was so unaccountably ill at ease.

'Wait.' Failla opened her reticule and produced two letters and a document with a freshly stamped lead seal dangling from a ribbon. 'This is the title to Inderast Manor.'

'No.' Tathrin was adamant.

He had made his refusal plain when Aremil first raised this question. Tathrin had never looked to his own advantage when he had set this rebellion in motion. Now he couldn't bear to think that he might profit from all those countless deaths.

It was different for Aremil. His infirmity limited his ability to make his own way in the world. Tathrin would earn a living digging roads if needs be.

'It's not for you.' Failla looked sternly at him. 'It's where Anilt was born. I think she deserves that much.'

Tathrin opened his mouth but could find no words. Now he felt even worse.

'Will you make your home with us?' Failla challenged him. 'Will you look after her interests till she's old enough to manage the manor herself? Shall we build a future with whatever children of our own may follow her?'

Tathrin felt an utter fool.

'I recommend you agree,' remarked Sorgrad. 'Before Gren and I throw you off that cliff for discourtesy to the lady.'

Tathrin drew a deep breath of the cool evening air, as if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He looked ruefully at Failla. 'I asked you to be a Spring Festival bride but we've missed our chance. Shall we settle for the summer instead?'

'Why not?' She smiled. 'I'll have a better choice of flowers.'

He would have embraced her but she held up the letters. 'These are from your father and mother.'

'We advised Ersegan on how your family may claim restitution from the Conclave,' Aremil called out, 'to rebuild the Ring of Birches.'

'The first thing you must do is replant those trees,' insisted Gren.

Failla tucked herself under Tathrin's arm. 'Your mother wrote to me as well. She invites us all to visit them in Viscot as soon as this Conclave is concluded.'

'More wine?' Kerith offered Tathrin back his glass, refilled with ruby liquid.

'Thank you.' He accepted it with a sheepish smile.

Branca cleared her throat. 'If you're to wed at midsummer, perhaps we could celebrate together.'

'You're to marry?' Tathrin's exclamation was lost beneath everyone else's congratulations.

'Come here.' Aremil beckoned to him. 'I can't get up.'

Tathrin went over with Failla still close in the circle of his arm. They sat down on the cushions together.

'Fordetal Manor is where I was raised, before I was sent to Vanam. It was Lyrlen's home.' Aremil glanced at Branca, who had risen to return Charoleia's embrace. 'We're going to Vanam, to fetch her.' He hesitated. 'And to share everything with Mentor Tonin - all that we've learned of Artifice, good and bad, through all our trials and errors. I don't imagine we'll be back before Summer Solstice.'

'Do you want me to come with you?' Tathrin wondered briefly whether Sorgrad intended to present himself to the Archmage. They had neither seen nor heard from the magewoman Jilseth since Charoleia had left her in Tormalin.