Cham was a long time dead but his kin shared his vision. They would support the lost king’s grandson while the younger Bragi continued policies parented by Queen Fiana and the first King Bragi.
Kristen was a believer. Her father had been a Wesson soldier who had risen to become King’s Champion.
Kristen’s party assembled in a banquet room in the Mundwiller compound, which was a minor fortress. From without the public saw a square, three-story structure a hundred forty feet to the side, without windows at ground level. Light entered the second level through archers’ slits. There were regular, shuttered windows on the third floor. Stepping back, the outsider would see the stone tower that stood in the yard inside. That final refuge could be entered only by climbing a ladder.
All important Sedlmayrese families lived in some sort of urban fortress. Business and political disputes could become quite animated.
The Mundwiller compound stood out because its architecture had been adopted from cities farther west.
During the reigns of Fiana and Bragi, Sedlmayr had become a semiautonomous city-state acknowledging the Crown while disdaining the nobility and any feudal obligations.
There were other, similar charter towns. All were rich. Sedlmayr was weathering the current chaos with less hardship than any Nordmen demesne.
There was jealousy and resentment. Naturally. But prevailing economic conditions made it impossible for the Nordmen to impose themselves.
All of which Kristen learned within minutes of her arrival. She and hers were in a room so crowded with Sedlmayrese that the heat was becoming intolerable. Many of those bodies had gone too long unwashed, as well.
Body odor was not something most people noticed. Kristen did so because the Sedlmayrese diet was heavy on pork. Sedlmayrese smelled different.
Bight Mundwiller was the youngest of the surviving Mundwiller brothers. His family had assigned him to Kristen. He stuck like a jealous lover, left hand always on the hilt of a long knife. Kristen suspected that he had not been pleased with the assignment before he met her. Now she feared she would not be able to get shut of him.
Dahl and Aral Dantice were amused.
Bight was seventeen.
The grand dame of the clan, Ozora Mundwiller, called for silence.
Silence rained down immediately.
A raised eyebrow from Ozora Mundwiller could alter the destiny of the clan.
The old woman said nothing after the silence fell.
Aral stepped up to address the crowd. He told everyone that Queen Inger’s writ no longer had any force outside Vorgreberg’s wall. Kristen whispered to Dahl, “What is he doing?”
“I’m not sure. How about we listen and find out?” He slipped an arm around her waist.
Dantice went into detail about the situation in Vorgreberg. Kristen found his report depressing.
Inger had a staff sorcerer. He appeared to be competent. His main assignment was to find the missing treasury money.
Those who thought young Bragi should be king had little more influence in the countryside. The Nordmen nobility were content to operate without any strong central authority. Kristen thought they were being short-sighted. In time they would realize that life was better when there was a strong king in Vorgreberg.
She whispered her thoughts to Dahl. He said, “Tell these people.”
She understood. They wanted to know if she could think. So she spoke up.
Ozora Mundwiller nodded. “That’s true, child. But I think you see the flaw in your argument as well. Periods of prosperity and peace were few and brief because we were so often at war, if not with El Murid or Shinsan, then with one of our neighbors. And if not with any of those, then with ourselves for whatever reason seemed fashionable. Those who ponder such things believe Old Meddler caused most of the turmoil.”
Ozora Mundwiller had to be ninety, yet was neither stooped nor frail. She had no trouble making herself heard. “The remarkable truth is that, given any window of peace, even as briefly as a few months, Kavelin produces wealth and makes life better for its peoples.”
The woman surveyed her audience. “We have entered upon such a period of peace, if only because every faction is exhausted. Things are getting better. Those who look backward do not see that. They see wanderers on the road, looking for work. They do not see that work found everywhere, in field and forest. They see castles falling into disrepair because the nobility have squandered their fortunes on aggression. They do not see the new mills and mines. They do not notice the caravans beginning to move through the Savernake Gap. Where they are particularly constipated of outlook they have failed to see the remarkable explosion in agricultural confidence brought on by what has been the most benign and propitious climate to bless us in a generation.”
Ozora paused. Tentative applause tickled the silence. Kristen realized she knew nothing about what the woman was saying. She did, in fact, have very little idea what was going on anywhere in the kingdom. Which might be the old woman’s point.
One theme had run through the reigns of the old Krief, his childbride Fiana, and her lover King Bragi. Each had been determined to do what was best for Kavelin, not for themselves. Each had made huge mistakes and had committed dreadful sins but none of them ever forgot that they were part of something bigger than themselves. Each, in his or her way, had been married to Kavelin, forsaking all others.
Kristen looked up at the old woman. She understood where this was going.
Sedlmayr would support Bragi II-provisionally. Sedlmayr would not spend lives or treasure to put him on the throne. He would be protected till time decided between him and Fulk.
Ozora Mundwiller suffered from the disease that had afflicted Kavelin’s last three monarchs. She would not support anyone who would not keep the peace and who would not keep the state hard on the course those monarchs had plotted.
Inger wanted to shift course. Her support had collapsed. She could make no changes. She was a fever that had to run its course.
The only guarantee that Kristen and Bragi would follow the desired course was the girl’s word.
Ozora Mundwiller painted her into a corner. Her only exit was to publicly swear to pursue the ideals of her father-in-law.
She glared at Aral Dantice. Had he shaped this situation deliberately, perhaps with the connivance of Michael Trebilcock?
…
Babeltausque joined Queen Inger for breakfast, at her request. “Tell me you have something positive for me,” she said.
“You will have to judge.”
“About what happened to Colonel Gales?”
“Those who held him have scattered like startled mice. We did identify a girl known as Haida Heltkler. Miss Heltkler hasn’t been seen since she left the Twisted Wrench with a pail of beer.”
Nathan Wolf had told Inger all that already. “And the butcher was cleared?”
“Mr. Black claims he was framed. He might actually have been.”
“Who would do that? And why?”
“The girl. She’s his niece. Busybodies in the neighborhood think she might have been getting back for him having taken indecent liberties.”
The sorcerer was alert for any nuance of response. He was sure Inger’s male relatives had taken liberties with her when she was young.
He needed to know how much she would tolerate.
He was safely free of the Duke now. He was in a good place to indulge his own secret needs.
Those had begun to surface the night he looked into the eyes of that girl Haida.
The Queen shrugged. “Is that important?”
“Only in the sense that someone may have wanted the butcher to suffer.”
“It’s an odd thing to be distressed about. But I’ll take your word.”
“Most gracious of you. Majesty, we will continue to look at that, hoping the villains give themselves away. Meantime, I must deliver some unhappy news. Mr. Wolf and I have identified the spy.”