Kestrin, Liedfuhr of Mansuur, paces back and forth in front of the desk in the upper-level private study. On his left arm is a mourning band of black and maroon, standing out against the sky-blue velvet of his tunic sleeve. After a time, he stops and laughs.
“And you used to tease your father for his pacing.” Murmuring to himself, he walks to the window behind the desk and stands there, looking out from the hillside palace at the wide river Toksul, smooth and broad, leading westward to the port of Wharsus.
With a deep breath, he walks to the bellpull and tugs it firmly, but not violently. Then he walks back to the broad desk and picks up the scroll. He has barely reread the short report when the study door opens.
“Yes, sire?” The trim lancer overcaptain steps inside, closes the outer door, and bows. His hair, mostly gray, with a few streaks of raven black, does not stir as he straightens.
“I read your latest report, Bassil.” Kestrin smiles, then shakes his head. “How long have you been writing these reports? Two-score years?”
“A score and six, sire.”
“Since just before the appearance of the sorceress.”
“Just after, actually.”
Kestrin pauses. “Does it not seem strange that she and father died within weeks of each other?”
“Given that they were the greatest rulers in Liedwahr,” Bassil says slowly, “and given that we have a world ruled by unseen Harmonies, perhaps it was not so strange.”
“Was she that great?”
Bassil pauses, almost imperceptibly. “Greater than that, sire.”
“Greater than my father?”
“Not in Mansuur, sire.”
Kestrin laughs. “Father warned me about you, Bassil. He said you would tell me the truth whether I liked it or not, and that the more questions I asked whose answers I didn’t like, the more I’d understand.”
Bassil smiles, not quite indulgently.
“How great was she?”
“Great enough that, had she more years and children, all Liedwahr would be united and at peace.” Bassil shrugs. “That is but my poor opinion, sire.”
“You don’t think much of Lord Robero, do you?”
“He is capable enough that he understood to change his name and that he listens to his sorceresses and his consort, and they appear most capable. And there are more sorceresses in Defalk than in all of Liedwahr. They train others, as well.”
“So…perhaps the long-departed Lord Ehara was right, that the men of Liedwahr will be ruled by women?”
“No, sire. There cannot be enough sorceresses to rule that way, and in all lands there are Ladies of the Shadows who oppose sorcery. Yet even with such opposition, there can be enough sorceresses that it will be dangerous for lords and holders to abuse women.”
Kestrin nods. “We cannot change that, one way or the other. What of Lord High Counselor Hanfor?”
“He is a most capable man tasked with governing a land that despises ability in anything but intrigue and plotting. Without your sister, he would have had a much more difficult time.”
“Father and I were glad that worked out. He seems to be a good man, and Aerlya is happy.”
“Your sister was most fortunate.” Bassil waits.
Kestrin lifts the short scroll. “I’ve read this several times. There is one question that remains unanswered. How did an entire company of lancers vanish? Where did they go?”
The older overcaptain shrugs. “Sire, I do not know. No one knows.”
“You’re telling me that a company of Mansuuran lancers stationed on port duty at Hafen just vanished? And my wretched seers cannot find them?”
“No, sire.”
Kestrin smiles lazily. “What ships ported there?”
“Ah…the port records—”
“—are missing,” concludes the Liedfuhr. “The lancers are on a ship, because that’s the only place where a seer would have trouble finding them. Someone bought them—and their captain—and they want to make trouble. It has to be the Sea-Priests.” He fingers his chin. “Where? Can’t be Defalk…no ports. Could be Nordwei…or Neserea or Ebra. Probably not Dumar.”
“Nordwei?”
“Just how would I explain to the bitch traders of Wei that I had no control over my own lancers after they raided or sacked some outlying port like Lundholn?”
“Dumar is the weakest land of all those bordering Mansuur,” Bassil points out.
“True enough, although without the sorceress-protectors of Defalk, Ebra would certainly be a ripe plum ready to fall, but…” Kestrin frowns. “With the golds it took, they could have bribed a company in Cealur, and it would have taken longer for us to learn, and it would have been far closer to Dumar. We will see. Too soon, I fear.” After a pause, Kestrin adds, “The sorceress is dead less than two weeks, my father less than four, and the world is changing.”
“Change it will, sire, for they were the two strongest rulers in Liedwahr.”
“Can I be that strong, Bassil?” Kestrin’s eyes fix upon the lancer overcaptain.
“If you work as your father did, sire. If you spend every moment thinking of Mansuur, and not of yourself.”
“And if I listen…carefully.” Kestrin laughs, ruefully.
Bassil nods.
“See if anyone can discover more about the missing lancers—before they appear in a dispatch I will not wish to read.”
“I can but try, sire.”
“I know.” As Bassil steps back, Kestrin turns and looks out at the river below, and at the gray clouds that herald winter sweeping in from the northwest. He does not move as the study door closes behind the overcaptain.