Joel Shepherd - Petrodor

“It's rumoured he and his brother don't get along well,” Errollyn said thoughtfully. “There was that missing Ameryn shipment, and the shortchanging of the moneylenders.”

“Perhaps the moneylenders tried to get even,” Rhillian suggested.

“Or perhaps his wife beat him up again!” Aisha laughed. “She's a fierce one!”

The three serrin continued the commentary as house after house passed with their laden carts down the Corkscrew. Their knowledge of the inner doings of the Petrodor families seemed inexhaustible. But then, the talmaad served Saalshen. It was their business to know, and they had plenty of gold to spend for the knowing.

Sasha's interest increased considerably as the cart of House Halmady came into view. The livery was black and red, the statue of Saint Sadis pointing with one accusing forefinger, eyes intent above a flowing beard. The crowd of followers about the Halmady cart seemed particularly large and vocal. The trailing musicians made a din that could barely be described as music.

“You'd think the second-most powerful house in Petrodor could afford some decent musicians,” Sasha suggested with a wince.

“Look,” said Rhillian, with a deadly straight stare. “By the left wheel. He wears a silver bracelet.”

“Oh yes,” Aisha agreed, leaning on the wall to peer closely. Errollyn, Sasha noticed, was watching the windows and rooftops of surrounding buildings. His vision was even sharper than Rhillian's and he'd strung his bow. His skill with that bow had to be seen to be believed. “That's a silver chain. Pretty.”

“So what?” Sasha said.

“Duke Tarabai's men have a liking for silver jewellery,” Aisha explained, her blue eyes not leaving the scene. In the confusion of men, alive with shadows in the light from many torches and lamps, Sasha had no idea how they could make out individual pieces of jewellery. “Danor has some marvellous silver mines. We trade for silver quite frequently, there's not much in Saalshen.”

“Thieves,” Errollyn added. “We've not had a fair price from them yet, since there's so little competition. Tassi was the only one who came close.” There was a sadness in his voice. Aisha looked sad, too. Sasha remembered their friend Tassi, and then the sadness was hers as well.

“To his left now is Daneri Belary,” Rhillian added.

“Truly?” Aisha peered more closely. “Errollyn, can you see?”

Errollyn spared the approaching cart a brief glance. “Daneri Belary, and Jonti Maer,” he said.

“Where?” Rhillian searched. “Oh yes, in the cart, supporting the statue.”

“Daneri Belary would be Duke Belary's heir?” Sasha wondered.

“No, second son,” said Rhillian. “Duke Belary and heir will be at the Steiner Mansion. The Endurance is a boy's adventure. A symbol of trust and allegiance between the dukes and House Steiner. Jonti Maer is the heir to Family Maer, another of Vedichi's most prominent.”

“Steiner's allegiance grows wide,” Sasha observed.

Rhillian nodded. “The question is how wide?”

Duke Tarabai was the feudal lord of the northern Torovan province of Danor. Duke Belary was the lord of western Vedichi. Sasha knew little enough of Torovan lords and their doings, except that here, the land was worked and owned in feudal ways that had not yet been successfully introduced in Lenayin, and spirits willing never would be. Sasha had led a rebellion, in part, to prevent such a thing. And had been exiled from her homeland by her own father, King Torvaal of Lenayin, for her trouble.

The relationship between the city of Petrodor and its feudal provinces, she was gathering, was curious. Most of Petrodor, when drawn upon a map, fell within the province of Coroman, but two hundred years of accumulated wealth and power had made the city a power unto itself, far beyond the control of feudal dukes. Petrodor was also the seat of Verenthane power in Torovan, and indeed in all northern Rhodia. Most of Torovan's wealth found its way through Petrodor at one time or another, and regional dukes and nobles who knew what was good for them paid homage, and were rewarded.

Until recently, the great houses of Petrodor had needed the Torovan dukes for one thing only-trade. Now, with war afoot in the Bacosh, the houses discovered that the dukes had one other thing that Petrodor could use. Soldiers. At the bidding of the holy brotherhood in the Porsada Temple, House Steiner and its allies were trying to raise an army to reclaim the “holy lands”-the Bacosh provinces of Rhodaan, Enora and Ilduur, which had fallen under the sway of Saalshen two centuries before. When the then-king of all the Bacosh, Leyvaan, had failed in the invasion of Saalshen, Saalshen's counter-invasion had taken the three nearest Bacosh provinces for a buffer, and changed them beyond recognition. That change had profoundly disturbed Rhodia's holy brotherhood, leading finally to the Archbishop of Petrodor's most recent declarations of Holy Crusade. And the Petrodor talmaad , under the archbishop's very nose, now attempted to disrupt those preparations for war by any means possible.

Rhillian drew a deep breath, a hand on her stomach. She belched, softly. “Too many prawns?” Sasha suggested.

Rhillian smiled. “Humans can claim most follies as their own, except excess. We serrin invented that.”

“And arrogance,” Errollyn added. Rhillian shrugged. “Indecisiveness,” Errollyn continued. “Self-importance. Complacency. Lust.”

“Oh no,” said Aisha, shaking her head, “I like lust.”

“Ambiguity,” said Errollyn. “Moral equivalence. Laziness.”

“Never knowing when to shut up,” Rhillian added, with a sharp glance. Errollyn met her gaze with a half-smile. For a brief instant, the air between them seemed to crackle.

A loud crash from upslope interrupted. Music and shouting on the road below paused. Then came distant yells from around the uphill corner. The crowd began to surge in that direction.

“There was bound to be at least one,” said Errollyn, sliding to his feet, bow in hand. “Come on.”

They abandoned their rooftop and made their way along the dark back alleys parallel to the road. When the shouting grew louder, Rhillian led them up another winding stairway. The alley mouth opened onto the road. Rhillian took the left corner, Errollyn the right, with Sasha in the middle. Aisha remained behind, to cover their backs.

To the left, now downslope after their climb, a confused crowd pressed about an overturned cart. The Sadis statue had clearly fallen, injured men were carried from the press, some clutching broken limbs. Others yelled and gave directions, frantically, searching for family or friends.

“House Ragini,” said Rhillian. “Another of House Steiner's lackeys.”

Errollyn, Sasha noted, was once again searching the surrounding buildings, with barely a glance at the chaos. He held his enormous bow like a staff, one hand lingering by the quiver of arrows at his hip.

Now from the crowd, a man was being carried, arms limp, head lolling. His hair was wet with blood. “Looks like he broke more than just his arm,” Sasha observed.

“That's Randel Ragini.” Rhillian's voice was hard, with suspicious certainty. “Patachi Ragini's heir. How convenient.”

Sasha frowned. “Convenient?”

“In Torovan it's maradis nal-maradis ,” Rhillian explained. Fortuitous ill-fortune, Sasha translated. She almost hadn't noticed they were still speaking Saalsi. “The convenient accident. Like when the Endurance statue topples over, and it just happens to be the family heir who's killed.”

“How do you know it's no accident?” Sasha replied. “This whole crazy festival's just an accident waiting to happen!”

“Those are the best kinds,” said Errollyn, his eyes not leaving the surrounding buildings. “Welcome to Petrodor.”