XIII
The envoy’s footsteps echoed loudly in Dor Malvegil’s great hall as he approached the Lord’s Table with smug expression, rolled up parchment in hand. A small man, slight and balding, but not old. He was smartly dressed in the style of Lomion City bureaucrats, fabric rich enough to announce his noble birth to those who didn’t notice his expensive perfume. He planted himself at least two steps closer to the Lord’s table than propriety permitted; a fact not lost on the Dor’s aged Castellan, Hubert Gravemare, who looked down on the little man with undisguised distaste.
“Your message?” said Gravemare, dispensing with the pleasantries reserved for more favored guests.
The envoy tilted his head and stared at the Castellan, amused, like an adult insulted by an upstart child. He turned his gaze to Lord Malvegil who sat before him, stoic and silent, his exotic lady at his side, silent as well. She rarely spoke in court; she didn’t have to. After audience with Lord Malvegil, most men couldn’t recall what he looked like, little less what he said, having spent all their willpower on not staring at his stunning consort’s matchless curves and near flawless features. Less refined guests stared openly. Either way, their distraction gave Malvegil good advantage in any negotiation. And he used it. This envoy, however, didn’t seem to notice her.
“Greetings, my Lord Malvegil,” said the man, his casual words appropriate only for a high-placed nobleman on par with a Dor lord. “I am Brock of Alder, duly appointed envoy of the Crown, here on official business of great import.”
“Of course you are,” said Gravemare, sardonically. He rolled his eyes on hearing the envoy’s name, as the Alders were not favored by the Malvegils, the feeling being mutual. “What is your business?”
“A small matter of funding,” he said, eyes locked on Lord Malvegil. “The Crown has authorized additional levies.” He presented his scroll and made to step closer but the point of Gravemare's walking stick poked his chest and held him back.
“No closer,” said Gravemare. “Hand me the scroll and get back in your place, Alder.”
Brock fingered the walking stick aside and held his ground. He handed Gravemare the scroll but avoided his gaze.
“It bares the King’s seal, my Lord,” said Gravemare, “the wax unbroken.” He stared down at Brock. “If the Crown petitions for additional funding, House Malvegil will of course consider the request and respond appropriately in due time. If there’s nothing else, good day to you, Sir.”
Brock shook his head dismissively. “This levy is not optional, my lord,” he said, a hint of distaste dripping from his mouth. “The High Council passed the edict, ratified in due course by the Council of Lords and signed into law by his royal majesty Prince Cartegian on behalf of the Crown.”
“The kingdom’s levy has stood at five percent for generations,” said Gravemare.
“Now it stands at fifty.”
“Fifty?”
“And will likely do so for as long, unless the Council sees fit to raise it the higher.”
“Ridiculous.” Gravemare tore open the scroll and scanned its contents, disbelief on his face. “This must be a jest.”
“The Crown does not jest,” said Brock, his tone now all too serious. “You noted the King’s seal and now see the prince’s mark. All is in order, I assure you, but examine it as closely as you will. Take all the time you want. It will change nothing.”
“What crisis provokes this?” said Lord Malvegil. “Is the Council raising a war chest against some enemy?”
“My Lord,” said Gravemare, “the writ implies this is a permanent levy.”
“Permanent?” said Malvegil.
“No Dor can operate under such a tax,” said Gravemare.
“Sheer madness. Robbery,” grunted Malvegil, his knuckles white against his chair’s arms. “The Crown has no claim to these monies. This is Malvegil revenue right and proper.”
“Legal decree gives the Crown the right to the revenue.”
“What is the purpose of this, Alder?” said Malvegil.
“It’s quite simple, actually. The Lomerian treasury requires substantial additional funding and you and the other Dor lords have the funds.”
“Funding for what?”
“I should think that would be obvious even here in the provinces. There are many needy people to care for throughout the realm — the poor, the old, the infirm, the sick, not to mention the foreign workers trying to establish themselves, good people come to Lomion seeking a better life for their families. There are many worthy segments of society long neglected and underrepresented. They need the Crown's support and they shall receive it. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the moral thing to do. And this edict makes it so.”
“By stealing my money?” said Malvegil.
“Not stealing, my Lord. These measures are being enacted completely aboveboard and within the law. The redistribution of revenue will be performed fairly and honorably. Every Dor will bear the same burdens, excepting those that themselves have been historically disadvantaged. In any case, my Lord, I’m certain you will understand that I’m not charged with debating the merits of these points with you. I’m here merely to inform you of the edict, to give you time to gather the funds for collection next month. No doubt, you will elect to sell various holdings to raise the sums. We understand that such matters take time. We wouldn’t want to catch you unprepared.”
“We will confirm the efficacy of this writ with Lomion City,” said Gravemare.
“By all means,” said Brock. “I would expect nothing less from the Malvegils.”
“The Dor lords will not stand for this,” said Malvegil. “Not one will give in to this madness.”
Brock looked amused. “So I’ve been told by a number of other Dor Lords. I will tell you what I told them. The Crown will not suffer any defiance on this. Any lord that fails to present the required funds will be stripped of his title and his holdings. All his property will be sold at auction, the proceeds deposited into the Lomerian treasury.”
“The Council has neither the stomach nor the strength to do such stripping,” said Malvegil.
“You people actually think the funds you collect are yours. They’re not. The council and the Crown grant you title and charter without which you’re nothing. By all rights, the tax should be one hundred percent. You should be grateful at fifty. . .”
“Grateful?” boomed Malvegil as he smashed his hand on his armrest. “I should be grateful?”
“You Malvegils have wallowed in wealth and extravagance all too long while the people starve and suffer. Look at this place,” he said as he gazed up at the high rafters and around the large hall. “Such a waste; the decadence. How dare you live like this when there are people starving, when there are people out of work for months, some for years? When I walk the streets and see the poor, the disadvantaged, and then I enter a place like this, it disgusts me.”
Malvegil's voice went slow and icy. “No one is starving on Malvegil land and any unnatural suffering is of their own making, not mine. Look around my streets — find me a beggar — there are none. Everyone has a job that wants one and is fit to work. Any man or woman that works hard here can make a good life for them and theirs.”
“And the rest are ushered out, disposed of like so much refuse,” said Brock.
“A man must take personal responsibility. He can’t just sit back and expect to be taken care of by the Crown or by others.”
“And why not? You think a hard worker is more entitled to live, to eat, to have a family or a roof over their heads than someone who isn’t? They’re not, they’re just different. And who are you to judge anyway? You think yourself better than the lowliest tradesman on your docks? You're not. All people have equal value and worth, no matter their skills, or station, or bloodline. Your blue blood means nothing in Lomion any longer. Times are changing, Lord Malvegil. The old system of Lords and peasants will soon be a thing of the past, a relic best forgotten. This is your one chance to do the right thing and change with it, or else be swept aside. Open up your halls, Lord Malvegil, and let the people in. Let the common folk dine at your table. Let them enjoy the comforts of your castle. It’s their right and due as much as it is yours, perhaps more so. After all, it was their sweat and blood that built these walls.”
“What? Are you suggesting I host a feast and open the Dor up to the public?”
“You’re as dense as a doorknob, Malvegil, and only half as interesting. I’m telling you that if you truly cared for your precious people you would abdicate your position and let the people govern your Dor as equal partners alongside you.”
Malvegil’s jaw was set; he gripped the wooden arms of his chair so tightly they threatened to break off.
“You have given us much to think on,” said Lady Landolyn as she reached out and put a hand over her husband’s — a gesture that at once comforted, calmed, and restrained. “When will your auditors arrive to review our ledgers?”
“Within a fortnight. The collection of levies will follow one to two weeks thereafter, if all is in order. Shall I assume that on further consideration you intend to comply with the edict, Lord Malvegil?”
Malvegil took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, his expression stoic once again, his voice now devoid of emotion. “The Malvegils have ever been loyal to the Crown and that will not change, edict or not. We will comply, under protest, but we will comply.”
Brock looked surprised, then smiled. “A wise decision, my Lord. Follow through with it, as I’m certain that you will, and we will enter a new age of peace and prosperity together.” Brock turned to leave, then spun back again. “I trust you will have no issue with the honor guard that will accompany the auditors and the levy collectors.”
“Who and how many?” said Gravemare.
“Irrelevant. Merely a squadron or two. Such is necessary in these dark times — the Crown’s monies must be safeguarded along the road.”
***
“I was about to order the guards to seal the door,” said Malvegil, tapping his sword hilt as he spoke. “I would have killed him. I would have cut him down right in our audience hall, in our home, but for your hand and your words that broke my fury and gave me the moments I needed to think better of it. You’ve served me well, my love, as always.”
“It would have meant war,” said Landolyn.
Malvegil nodded. “Had I killed him, Barusa would’ve dispatched an army to siege us. They may even have tried an assault.”
“And now? What of his promised honor guards? Do you think they’ll send only one or two squadrons as he said?”
“It will be a full brigade at least. It would be too easy for us to deal with fewer than that, and they know it. They will infiltrate us with spies and with their regulars, if they can. Once they do, it will be hard to displace them. If Barusa intends to seize control of Lomion, he may even send a full corps behind them. They will attack after their infiltrators disrupt us or commandeer the lifts.”
“What do we do?”
“We do the only thing that we can do, my love. We let them in with a broad smile and open arms. Then, when the time is right, we kill them all.”
Landolyn’s eyes went wide. “We can’t, Torbin. That will force Barusa’s hand. He’ll have to send an army against us. He may go after Glimador too. We can’t take that chance. If we wipe out a brigade of Lomerian Soldiers, the High Council will back him, even the Lords may take their side. There will be no safe place in all of Lomion for us, and one way or another, we will lose the Dor.”
“Most every path I see leads to war or to us losing the Dor,” said Malvegil. “These walls have stood unbreached under Malvegil rule for four hundred years. They will not fall under my watch and we will not be displaced.”
“We can't stand against the Lomerian army.”
“Aye, but mayhaps we can hold the siege long enough for them to lose their stomachs for it.”
“I don’t want to live on the run.”
“Nor will you. I will not abandon this place. If it comes to it, the Malvegils will make our stand here, on this ground, our ground. Woe to any who try to take it from us.”
“There may be another option,” said Landolyn. “Take the fight to them. Go to Lomion City and plead our case before the Council of Lords. Many will stand with you.”
Malvegil nodded. “That has merit. It’s bold. I like it. But it may be exactly what Barusa wants. He can't break these walls, but if he can lure me out, into the city . . .”
“Dead gods, do you think they’ll . . .”
“— try to kill me again? They don’t like me any better now, so yes, I imagine Barusa will try again, assuming he was behind the other attempt, which I’m not certain of.”
“Just forget what I said. I wasn’t thinking. Your place is here.”
“If I don’t go, more than likely we all die.”
“Not if we give them what they want. Pay the tax.”
“Never.”
“Not even if it means our lives?”
“Not even.”
“As your wife, that makes me angrier than I can say, but as Lady Malvegil, that makes me more proud than I say. You must go to Lomion. You must speak to the Lords if there's any chance at all of undoing this edict.”
“There's a chance. Not much, but a chance.”
“And if you fail? Then what?”
“Then I suppose I’ll finish what my nephew started.”
Landolyn looked shocked. “You mean to kill the Chancellor?”
“A duel, fair and honorable, though I’ll not show the mercy Claradon did.”
“I’ll not hear of it. You’re not a young man anymore, my love. Duels, if for anyone, are for the young.”
“I’m not as young as I was, but I’m not old either. Don’t treat me like some stooped graybeard. I’m still in my prime.”
Landolyn raised her eyebrows and shook her head, her mouth open to say something, but she thought better of it. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re not old.”
“Barusa is older than me by ten years at least. And I’m fit. Fitter than I’ve been in years.”
“He’ll never fall into such a trap again.”
“His ego won’t allow him to avoid it. But if it does, then I’ll do what needs be done.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means, if the edict isn’t overturned, one way or another, I’ll see Barusa dead. I’ll bring down the whole High Council if I have to, but I’ll not stand by and let Lomion fall to the Alders and their like.”
“Dead gods, has it really come to this?” said Landolyn.
“They’ve brought us to this brink,” said Malvegil. “If they want what we’ve built here, they’ll have to take it. I’ll not hand it over, edicts be damned.”
“They’ll try. One way or another, they will try.”
“And they’ll swim in blood for it.”