Tower Lord

“There are great iron beams in the wall, my lady,” Captain Adal told her. “They reach from the foundations all the way up to the top of the tower. Each floor is suspended from the beams, counterweights stop them from falling in on themselves.”

“I didn’t know our forebears were such skilled builders,” Vaelin commented.

“They weren’t,” the captain replied. “This is actually the second North Tower, built by my people when we were granted refuge here. The original was only half as tall and had a tendency to list.”

Vaelin’s gaze was drawn to a large tapestry hanging behind the Lord’s Chair. It was about twelve feet long and five feet high, embroidered with a battle scene. An army comprising warriors clad in a variety of armour, and bearing varying forms of weaponry, advanced against a host of men and women clad in furs, all with a savage aspect, standing alongside great cats with teeth like daggers. Overhead birds of prey crowded the sky, an unfamiliar species larger than any eagle, their talons outstretched as they flew towards the polyglot army.

“The great battle against the Ice Horde?” he asked Dahrena.

“Yes, my lord.”

He pointed at the birds. “What are these?”

“We called them spear-hawks, though in truth they’re a descendant of the eagle, bred for war. The ice people used them the way we use arrows.”

He peered closer, picking out the figure of the former Tower Lord, Vanos Al Myrna, a great bear of a man pointing a war hammer towards the Horde. Next to him stood a smaller figure with long dark hair and a bow in hand. “This is you?” he asked in surprise.

“I was there,” she replied. “As was Captain Adal. We all were, every Realm subject in the Reaches old enough to bear arms, fighting alongside the Eorhil and the Seordah. The Horde made no distinction between combatant and civilian, all hands were needed to fight them off.”

“Especially since no aid was forthcoming from the Realm,” the captain added.

Vaelin’s gaze lingered on the war-cats amongst the ranks of the Ice Horde and the blood-song swelled, turning his thoughts to the north-west. So, they found refuge here after all.

Dahrena gave a sudden gasp and he looked up to find her regarding him with a wide-eyed stare.

He raised an eyebrow. “My lady?”

She flushed and tore her eyes away. “I’ll show you to your rooms, my lord.”

“Please do.”

The room was situated three floors up, high enough to afford a clear view of the town and surrounding country. A large fur-covered bed was set against the wall and a sturdy desk stood in front of the south-facing window. A stack of papers sat on the corner of the desk next to a quill and a full inkpot.

“I’ve readied the petitions and reports for your perusal, my lord,” Dahrena said, gesturing at the papers. They were alone, the captain having offered to show Alornis her own rooms on the floor above. “Anything urgent is tied with a red ribbon. You may want to read the letter from the shipbuilders guild first.”

He glanced at the documents, finding a red-ribboned letter on the top of the pile. “My thanks for your thoroughness, my lady.”

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me.” She bowed and turned to the door.

“What is it?” he asked before she could leave.

She hesitated, turning back with obvious reluctance. “My lord?”

“Your gift.” He sat in the chair in front of the desk, reclining with his hands behind his head. “I know you have one, otherwise you couldn’t have felt mine just now.”

Her previously expressionless face became shadowed by fear, quickly replaced by anger. “Gift, my lord? I do not understand your meaning.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

They stared at each other in silence, she with resentment shining in her eyes, he realising the depth of distrust he would find here. “Where do I find my brother?” he asked when it became plain she was determined not to answer his question. “The blond fellow with the pretty wife and the war-cat.”

The Lady Dahrena gave a faint snort of amused annoyance. “She said you would know. That there was no point in lying to you.”

“She was right. Did she also tell you that you have nothing to fear from me?”

“She did. But she knows you, I do not. And neither do the people your King has sent you to rule.”

“I think you mean our King.”

She closed her eyes for a second, sighing in suppressed anger. “Quite so, my lord. I misspoke. Sella and her husband can be found at Nehrin’s Point, a settlement twelve miles to the north-west. I know they will be pleased to see you.”

He nodded, picking up the letter on the top of the stack. “What do they want? These shipbuilders.”

“The merchants guild have reduced the stipend they pay for the upkeep of their ships. They say the drop in trade thanks to the Alpiran war has reduced their profits too much. The shipbuilders request that you reinstate the original price under the King’s Word.”

“Do these merchants speak the truth?”

She shook her head. “Trade in certain goods has reduced, but the price of bluestone has doubled since the war. More than enough to make up the losses in other commodities.”

“The bluestone price has increased due to its rarity, I assume? King Janus once told me the seams were thinning every year.”

Dahrena frowned. “I cannot account for what our late king told you, my lord. But the mines have continued to produce a steady flow of stone for years. In fact my father was obliged to slow production to prevent the price from falling. It’s doubled in price due to the fact that Realm ships can no longer carry it directly to Alpiran ports.”

Vaelin swallowed a bitter laugh. Another strand to the old schemer’s web revealed as a lie. He opened the letter and signed his name to it, feeling her gaze on his hand as he laboured over the letters. “The shipbuilders’ request is granted,” he said. “What else do you have for me?”

Her gaze moved from his clumsy signature to the stack of letters. “Well,” she said, moving to the desk and opening the next petition, “it seems Captain Adal needs to buy the North Guard some new boots . . .”

? ? ?

They held a banquet for him in the Lord’s chamber that evening, a lavish but tense affair attended by the leaders of the town guilds, the senior brothers and sisters from those Orders maintaining mission houses in the Reaches, and a large number of merchants. They were the least taciturn, engaging the new Tower Lord in conversation whenever the opportunity arose, each working in a request for a private audience when time allowed. Dahrena had already warned him her father conducted all meetings in the presence of witnesses, a surety against accusations of graft, and he replied to every request with a statement that he saw no reason why such a wise practice should not continue.

He found himself seated alongside the representatives of the Faith at the top table. Only the Second, Fourth and Fifth Orders had Houses in the Reaches. The Sixth had never established itself here, local security resting in the hands of the North Guard by royal command. Dahrena said the official reason was that the security of the greater Realm was deemed of higher importance in the Sixth’s already long list of responsibilities, but her father always suspected it had more to do with Janus’s keenness to keep them well away from his supply of bluestone.

Vaelin was surprised to find Brother Hollun of the Fourth Order the most talkative of the Faithful. A rotund and jovial fellow with the permanent squint of the near-sighted, he talked at length about the history of the Reaches and his Order’s work in keeping accurate records of local trade, especially where bluestone was concerned. “Did you know, my lord,” he said, leaning closer to Vaelin than was strictly necessary, probably to get a clear look at his face, “more money passes through the three banks in this town in a month than in the whole of Varinshold in a year?”

“I did not, brother,” Vaelin replied. “Tell me, how regular is your correspondence with Aspect Tendris?”

“Oh”—the black-robed brother gave a shrug—“perhaps once a year a letter comes, usually with advice on how to ensure the Faith of my junior brothers doesn’t waver in these difficult times. At so far a remove from the Order House, we can hardly expect to occupy the Aspect’s attention when other matters are more pressing, I’m sure.”

Sister Virula of the Second Order was less talkative. She was a thin woman of middling years with a somewhat morose air, her conversation limited to softly spoken complaints about Captain Adal’s refusal to provide an escort for her intended mission to the horse-tribes of the Eorhil Sil. “An entire nation barred from the Faith through simple lack of will, brother,” she told Vaelin, seemingly incapable of addressing him by his correct honorific. “I can assure you my Aspect is very displeased.”

“Sister,” Dahrena said in a weary tone. “The last group of missionaries sent to the Eorhil Sil were found bound and gagged outside the tower gate. My father raised the matter at the autumn horse trade and the answer was quite clear; they don’t like to hear your bad talk about the dead.”

Sister Virula closed her eyes, briefly recited the Catechism of the Faith under her breath and returned to her soup.