L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

The wiry guard frowned. “Can’t say as I’d be knowing that, ser. Some say that Lord Sillek was the fifteenth lord of Lornth; others say he was only the eleventh. Don’t know as that helps much.”

“How big is Lornth?”

“Well…I’d not know how many kays from here to there, but now that Lord Sillek added Rulyarth, those that owe him allegiance hold lands that run from the headwaters of the river near Clynya all the way to the sea, and from the Westhorns least halfway through the grasslands. Clynya’s a good eight-day’s ride, maybe more, right up the river from Lornth. Berlitos-that’s the nearest place you’d call a town in Jerans-it’d be a good seven days’ ride west from Rohrn.”

“Where’s Rohrn?” asked Ayrlyn.

“’Bout two days’ ride upriver-on the west side. Pretty town. Older than Lornth, but the Jeranyi used to raid it a lot, back a hundred years or so. Least, that was what my da told me.”

“Are the Jeranyi still a problem?”

“Not since Lord Sillek burned out their fort near Clynya and sent them packing. Lord Ildyrom even paid tribute last year.” The wiry guard snorted. “This year might be another thing. Except we don’t have to worry about the Suthyans or the Westhorns, and that means ser Gethen could send a force right after them. Ser Fornal’s been out gathering armsmen, and I’d guess that means ser Gethen has no great faith in Lord Ildyrom’s promises. Who would? His consort has a bigger mace than he does-begging your pardon, angels.” The wiry guard flushed.

“What’s expected at dinners here?” Nylan tried for a less controversial subject.

The two guards exchanged glances and shrugged.

“You might ask Genglois, ser,” said the taller guard. “He’s the seneschal, and he has a study at the base of the stairs, but you’ll have to take the other steps-back up that way.” His head inclined toward the other end of the cross-corridor.

Nylan got the impression that it was time to move on. “Thank you.”

Ayrlyn smiled, and they retraced their steps back up the cross-corridor and down the steps, then back down the empty lower cross-corridor. No lamps or candles were lit, and the corridors were darker than early twilight.

The door to Genglois’s chamber was open.

“You be the angels, I see,” said the heavyset man in purple, looking up from the small table that served as a desk and, from the greasy shoulder joint and bread on the platter there, as a dining table as well. A single candle flickered in a wall sconce in the windowless room.

“The guards suggested you might be able to help us.”

“Me? I can get the pages to bring you food and more water, or to empty the chamber pots, or direct you to the stablemaster or armsmaster. That sort of thing-not much more.” The seneschal paused. “Fine child, there.”

“Thank you,” said Nylan.

“We don’t know much about Lornth or the regents,” offered Ayrlyn. “We’d rather not waste time when we meet with the regents asking questions about things everyone in Lornth knows.”

“Some of that…some of that, I know.” Genglois gestured to the two stools. “Not that I’ve much room, but stools are fine for pages, not for warriors like you.” He paused, and the deep-set eyes centered on Ayrlyn. “You are all warriors, are you not?”

“Yes. Some are better than others, though.” Nylan took the stool directly across from the seneschal.

Genglois took a gulp from the greasy goblet on the table. “Jegel said that the head angel-”

“The Marshal?” asked Ayrlyn.

“He said the Marshal threw her blade, and it went right through Lord Nessil’s breastplate. That true?”

“Yes,” Nylan said.

Genglois shook his head. “Jegel-he always said what was-but I wondered about that. Maybe…maybe you angels will keep old Karthanos in line, though. He be a devious one. Anything else you want to know?”

“The other regent, Zeldyan’s sire?”

“Old Gethen, you mean? He and Sillek-they took Rulyarth, and he reorganized the whole port. Had it making coins when the Suthyans couldn’t. Course, it took the two of them. That’s how Sillek met Zeldyan, they say-went to Carpa to talk strategy with Gethen-he was a friend of Sillek’s sire, too-and he met her there. Never saw a lord so in love with his lady. She still loves him, and it’s been more than half a year.”

“What about the Suthyans?” pursued Nylan, easing a piece of chalk from Weryl’s hand, and looking at the characters on the slate-apparently a personal form of shorthand for a menu-that night’s meal?

“The Suthyans-they’re traders, and coin is all that matters to them. Had a big banquet last year-every year, almost-for Lygon of Bleyans, except that the regents said he would not be welcome in the keep again. Seemed all right for a trader, and he even paid his respects to Lady Ellindyja. But you wanted to know about the Suthyans. They have ships, and they sail everywhere. Bled us dry when they had Rulyarth, but matters are better now, thanks to Lord Sillek. Poor man-did so much, and got pushed into fighting you angels. You know”-Genglois lowered his voice-“he didn’t want to. His holders pushed for it, and he was not ready to stand against them all-that’s hard for a lord even as old and respected as ser Gethen. Had Sillek lived longer, he might have. Then who knows…matters might have been different.”

“They could have been,” Ayrlyn said. “We did not wish to fight, either. But there’s nowhere to retreat on the Roof of the World.”

“Told that to Koric, and he just laughed. He be dead, and that says much. An old seneschal, and I prattle too much.” Genglois stopped and refilled the goblet with wine so vinegary that Nylan could smell it.

“How do the protocols work for dinners here?” Nylan asked.

“There be few indeed. No spitting at table, and no belching. Just follow the Regent Zeldyan. Most proper, she be, most proper without being all stiff like…anyway. Most bring their daggers, but I lay out some, dull ones. Eat hearty.” The seneschal smiled. “Anything special you like?”

“Pastries,” admitted Nylan. “We see few on the Roof of the World.”

Genglois laughed. “I will tell Visen.” He looked toward the empty hall behind the angels.

“What can you recall about Cyador?” Nylan asked, ignoring the seneschal’s glance.

“Not a great deal, ser.” Genglois shook his head, and his jowls wobbled ever so slightly. “The trouble with the mines-that was in the time of Lord Sillek’s grandsire or before.”

“We’re strangers, remember?” Ayrlyn explained. “Could you explain what the trouble with the mines was?”

“Oh…that was when Berphi was Lord of Cyador-must have been twoscore years back, maybe threescore. Lord Berphi asked for the return of the mines and the removal of all Lornians. Except he called us barbarians.”

“What happened?”

The ample functionary shrugged. “Nothing. Lord Berphi went to his ancestors, and there was some disturbance in Cyador, and the whole matter vanished.”

“Until now?” suggested Nylan.

“If you see troubles riding their pale horses toward you, angel lord, it often pays to wait to see how many actually cross the river bridge. Even I have found that few make it that far.” Genglois stood. “If you will excuse me, ser, I needs must visit the kitchen.”

“Of course.”

From the seneschal’s cramped place, they crossed the courtyard to the stables.

“Ser and ser?” A slight youth in scarred leathers met them even before they had put three steps inside the stables. From the depths of the structure came the brawk ing of chickens.

“We wanted to check our mounts,” Nylan said.

“Good beasts,” the youth said. “They are in the second row.” He turned as if they would follow. “So is the gray you used as a pack animal.”