Soarers Choice (79 page)

“How
large an area could you protect...”

“Why
should we trust you ...”

“What
protections would we have ...”

Mykel
noted that Amaryk occasionally murmured words to Gheort, asked no questions,
but listened intently as Mykel replied to the inquiries.

When
the last of the questions died away, Mykel smiled again, then looked at Gheort.
“Would you care to offer the first draft of the agreement, or would you prefer
that I do?”

“Several
of us will present a draft to you by Septi.” Gheort’s voice was cool, and Mykel
sensed the calculation behind it.

“It
seems to me,” Mykel replied politely, “that I have laid out the duties required
of the Protector of Tempre clearly, as well as the level of tariffing required.
Those duties and powers cannot be less. Nor can the costs of operating what
will be a government. What would be most helpful is a structure of how you
suggest tariffs be structured, in a way that is fair to you, as well as to
smaller merchants and crafters, and a listing of what you believe to be the
rights of all who live in Tempre.”

Surprisingly,
that statement elicited nods from most of those present. Even Amaryk nodded.

Mykel
listened as they left, but heard only a few scattered comments.

“...
going to be Protector... like it or not...”

“...
might work ... can’t hurt to try ...”

“...
who does he think he is?” Mykel smiled at the last.

Once
the front courtyard was empty, Mykel walked up the wide stone center steps to
the upper level of the building and to the corner study that had once been the
regional alector’s, and where cases of files remained, with judgments and
reasons for them. He had the feeling that he’d find them very useful — assuming
matters did work out.

Rhystan
was waiting.

“How
was your morning?” asked Mykel.

“Sendryrk
caught the brigands who’d been lurking to the west of the piers. Most of them
used to work the river.”

“Could
we put them on some sort of work gang to rebuild the damage? We’ll need the
piers before too long.”

Rhystan
laughed. “You’re already acting like the Protector of Tempre.”

Mykel
sank into the overlarge chair that had been used by the regional alector and
looked at Rhystan. “They’ll agree. They won’t be totally happy, but they’ll all
see that the alternatives are worse.”

“That’s
more encouraging than in some places.”

Mykel
laughed. “We’re just giving them back a familiar structure. They’ll complain,
but they’ll adapt to it.”

“Just
so long as you’re strong and fair.”

“So
long as we are. You’re going to need some more recruits. We’ll need to fill out
Fourth Battalion and add at least one more battalion. That will give some heft
to the Southern Guard.” Mykel had wondered about the name, because there were
other parts of Corus more to the south, but Tempre was south of the Vedra, and
anything that was had always been considered “southern.” He also had to look
ahead.

“Two
more by the end of next year,” suggested Rhystan. “More than that if you want
to expand the area we protect.”

“We
really need to include the whole square — Krost, Syan, Hyalt, and Tempre — and
probably Borlan,” mused Mykel.

There
was a knock on the door. “Sir?”

“Yes.”

“Do
you know someone called Viencet? He claims he’s your brother.”

“He
probably is,” Mykel replied. “I do have a brother named Viencet.” Or I did.

Rhystan
put a hand on the hilt of his sabre.

Mykel
stood and moved beside the wide table desk. “Have him come in.”

The
door opened.

The
young man who walked into the study was clad in shabby work trousers, boots
almost without soles or heels, and a stained brown jacket. His long blond hair
was bound up behind him in a sloppy braid.

Mykel
immediately sensed that he was indeed Viencet. “Viencet... I wasn’t sure ... I
heard about Faitel...” He smiled warmly. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Mykel...
Mykel... I knew you’d make it.” Viencet straightened. “You’ll put things right
for me, won’t you?”

“What
about Mother? Father?”

Viencet
shook his head. “Sesalia... the children?”

“They
were all too close ... half of Faitel... it exploded ... there’s a big lake
filled with black water. It steams.”

Mykel
stood silently for a time. He’d had that feeling, and he’d tried to push it
away. Now, all he had left of his family was the last letter from his mother...
and Viencet. Finally, he asked, “How did you ... ?”

“I
was in Naerton ... not more than a hamlet...”

“A
work gang?” asked Mykel.

“You
would ask that. Your own brother.”

Rhystan
edged forward.

Mykel
repressed a sigh. He’d been glad to see Viencet — for a few moments — until he
realized that nothing had changed.

“I
need coins, Mykel. Surely, you’ve got silvers. You’re in charge.”

“I
think we can find you a job here in Tempre, Viencet. There’s a lot to be done.
Or you can join the Southern Guard.”

“You’d
... make me work? Your own brother?”

The
outrage flowed out, so obvious to Mykel’s Talent-senses that it turned his
stomach. He took out his wallet and handed over four silvers. “That’s what I
have, Viencet. You may have it all. None of us has been paid in more than a
month. Before long, we’ll be back on a better schedule, but for now, that’s all
there is.”

“You
should make all the fat merchants pay.” Viencet stuffed the four silvers into
his wallet.

“They
can’t pay because I need coins or you do.”

“But
you’re in charge!”

“I
have to work within the rules, Viencet. Everyone does.” And you never saw that,
or wanted to.

“You
could change them. You’ve always been good at that.” Viencet smiled hopefully.

Mykel
could sense the calculation behind the smile. “No. I’ve been able to work
within the rules, and sometimes improve them, but even when you’re the one who
sets up rules, you need to follow them.”

“You’re
just like Father and Sesalia. There’s always a reason. You’ve never understood.
You never will.”

“Viencet...
I think you’d better go. Anytime you want me to help find you a position, I’ll
be here.”

Viencet’s
eyes widened. “You’d turn me out... like that?”

“You
want everything handed to you. You always have. I’m here because men trusted
me, and some even lost their lives following my orders. You don’t even want to
work for coins. How can I ask men to follow me and then turn around and give
you coins for doing nothing? Tell me, Viencet.”

“But
I’m your brother.”

“You
are. That’s why you should know better.”

“Some
brother you are.”

“I
think you’d better go,” Mykel said again. “If you want to earn your coins, I’ll
be here.”

“I’m
sure you will be, in your cozy study, while I’m in some hovel.” The sense of
entitlement and anger was even more violent than Viencet’s words.

“That’s
your choice.”

Without
another word, Viencet turned and walked out, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Rhystan closed it, silently.

What
had happened to Viencet? He’d always been self-centered, but... now? Mykel
walked to his right and looked out the window, watching, as Viencet slouched
out the main entrance below and to his left, then walked across the front paved
area, spitting once on the stones. He did not look back. Before long, his brown
jacket disappeared into the park across the boulevard.

Mykel
turned.

Rhystan
smiled sadly. “We all have some in the family like that. My cousin Vyrn would
have said the same things. He did. He came to my father and told him that he
had to take care of him, that my father owed it to his older brother.”

“He’s
the only one left... but... what else could I do?” If he’d taken Viencet in,
Viencet wouldn’t have changed. He’d just have spent silvers and then golds — or
Mykel would have had to have thrown him out later.

Rhystan
said nothing, but Mykel understood what Rhystan felt as though he had, and the
answer was that Mykel, being who he was, could have done nothing else.

Mykel
forced a rueful smile. “Worrying isn’t going to get us through the next week.
Can we cut back on the boulevard patrols now?”

“I
was going to suggest that. Loryalt also thought that we ought to arm the local
patrollers with truncheons as well as those shortswords. There are times when
you need force, but you don’t want to run someone through. They’ll let a
cutpurse or a grifter go rather than do that.”

“We
could try that...”

Rhystan
stayed for another glass before leaving, and Mykel continued to work on trying
to figure out how to structure the tariff agents so that they didn’t divert
coins, but so that he didn’t have to pay people to watch other people.

Abruptly,
Mykel got up from the table desk and walked to the window. He could feel...
something. Outside, the sunny morning had given way to a gray and cloudy
afternoon, one that threatened snow or a cold rain.

A
carriage rolled up to the entrance, but so close to the steps and mounting
blocks that Mykel could not see who stepped out. One of the factors?

He
turned, wondering even if whoever had come was there to see him, but why else
would anyone come at the moment?

He
looked out at the clouds, but it would be a while before it rained ... or
snowed.

“Majer,
sir?” said Roryn, one of the wounded rankers who was serving as an orderly in
the outer study. “There’s a ... someone ... You’d better come out, sir.”

Who
could it be? Certainly not Viencet. Not so soon, and not in a carriage.
Possibly one of the factors or seltyrs trying to cut a deal of some sort? That
was most likely. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, then stepped
to the door and opened it.

Rachyla
stood there.

He
stood there, frozen. He had hoped so much ... yet until he was Protector of
Tempre... a man of power and substance ... he would not have dared to approach
her, not until he was certain he could fully protect her.

“Won’t
you ask me in?” Her voice carried a trace of humor, but behind it was a
tightness. Apprehension?

“Certainly.
You’re always welcome.” Mykel bowed, then gestured for her to enter. Why had
she come? Amaryk?

He
closed the door.

She
walked to the window and gazed out, not immediately looking at him.

As
always, he could not sense what she felt, and that worried him.

“You
have a good view from here, Majer. Or should I say, ‘Protector?’ “

“I
don’t think that’s been settled, Lady.”

She
laughed, and melodic as the sound was, Mykel thought he heard nervousness in
it. Rachyla, nervous?

“They’re
always self-centered, and often fools, but they are not complete idiots. They
would not tell you, but already they had worried about how to protect
themselves. Gheort had looked into expanding his private guards, but the cost
would have destroyed him had the others not done the same. They will send you a
document, and it will try to protect all that they wish, but so long as you are
close to reasonable, they will accept your terms and changes.”

“Were
you sent to tell me that?”

“No
one sent me.” Rachyla turned from the window. “Once ... once ... someone of
great power came to me and offered an apology and asked a favor.” There was a
pause. “I... I would do the same.”

“You
do not owe me any apologies, Lady. I will do you a favor, if I can.”

She
stepped forward and extended the sheath that held the dagger of the ancients.
“Would you take this back? Or take back the words with which you called me an
enemy?”

“I
don’t have to, Lady. I never was your enemy. You declared that you were mine,
and I was forced to acknowledge that, against my will and my desires. I am not
your enemy, and you have never been mine. That I will affirm. If you still
wish, I will take the dagger, but only if you wish.”

“Then
... I will keep the dagger ... for now.” She slipped the dagger into her belt
and took another step closer.

Mykel
forced himself to keep from swallowing.

“You
understood my words when you last left Tempre, didn’t you? Your letter seemed
to indicate that.”

“I
believe so. Especially those about children. That is one reason, one hope,
behind my attempt to become Protector of Tempre. That and your message about my
injuries. How did you know that?”

“I
felt something the first time, in Dramur. It was worse when you were injured
here. The pain was almost unbearable this last time.” Rachyla offered a low
laugh. “You think of me often, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I
had ... thought so ... hoped so.”

Mykel
waited. He wanted to hold her. More than anything.

“Even
Amaryk cannot complain about my wedding the Protector of Tempre. In fact, he
said that he would not oppose such a marriage.”

“Your
marriage?” Mykel thought he knew what she meant, but after so long, he feared
that he might be disappointed.

Rachyla
lowered her eyes and then her head. “Mykel... do not make me beg. I will if I
must, but...”

He
remained motioneless, mute. She had never used his name, not alone, not without
a title. “Lady ... you do not have to beg. From me, you will never have to
beg.”

“I
am no lady — “ She looked up.

The
shock of seeing those deep green eyes so close went through him like a blade,
as did the warmth of her presence.

“If
you wed the Protector of Tempre, and he loves you, how can you not be a lady?”
My lady. He smiled, then took her hands in his, and gently, he bent and kissed
her cheek, daring no more.