“Yes, ser.” A grim smile appeared on Lyasa’s face as she straightened, then turned and left the reception hall.
The color drained out of Tyldar’s face. Hystryr looked dumbly at Cerryl, his eyes avoiding the chandler.
Cerryl smiled. “You don’t understand, do you? You’ve seen but a fragment of the power of the Guild.” His eyes went to Hystryr again. “While we’re waiting for trader Kestrisal, you can answer a few more questions.”
The bravo straightened slightly. “I don’t know nothing.”
“Were you promised gold by the viscount’s officers…?
“Did you do other…work…for Kestrisal…?
“For other traders…?”
Cerryl plodded through a long series of questions, the reactions of the bravo providing greater certainty that Rystryr had indeed been attempting to subvert the Guild’s hold on Spidlar, but the bravo showed no reaction to other names.
As Cerryl questioned the bravo, the chandler’s expression varied between fear and horrified interest.
Cerryl broke off the questions when the reception hall door opened. The bound trader who had to be Kestrisal struggled as the lancers set him on the stone tiles a good dozen cubits back from the table.
Cerryl mustered the slightest chaos flame, letting it elongate toward the angular trader. “I suggest you stand there quietly.”
Kestrisal stiffened, and his goatee quivered.
“This bravo from Certis has indicated-unwillingly, I must admit-that you directed him to harm the chandler Tyldar. Did you do this?”
“Of course not,” sneered Kestrisal. “I’m scarcely that stupid.”
“Like your tool…Hystryr”-Cerryl had to struggle for the bravo’s name-“you lie.”
Kestrisal looked at Cerryl impassively.
Cerryl looked at the list. “Did Querialt have anything to do with this?”
There was neither answer nor reaction.
“Yurtal?”
“Sieral?”
Cerryl smiled. “Note the name of Sieral.” Behind him, Lyasa nodded, and Cerryl continued down the list.
Although the trader refused even to speak, Cerryl could see the slow deflation of the man.
Finally, Cerryl stopped the questioning of Kestrisal and turned to Lyasa. “See if you can find the other four and bring them here.”
“Yes, ser.”
As the black-haired mage left, Cerryl turned back to Kestrisal. “We might as well discover what else we can.”
The factor’s eyes dropped.
“Were you approached by agents of Viscount Rystryr of Certis?
“…of the prefect of Gallos?
“Were you promised the support of Certis for a new Council of Traders on which you would serve?
“Were you given golds to continue to oppose the Guild…”
Cerryl finally paused and had one of the lancers bring him water, so dry was his throat. He had barely resumed when the next trader appeared, also bound. Cerryl motioned for Kestrisal to be moved aside and began to question Sieral, repeating his questions, ignoring the growing headache the effort engendered, but nodding to himself as Sieral silently confirmed the pattern.
With each of the two succeeding traders, neither of whom would speak, the arms mage continued his efforts. Finally, he stopped and cleared his throat. He was getting hoarse from all the unaccustomed talking.
Cerryl studied the four bound traders, then the bravo, and finally the chandler, before his eyes went back to the bravo. “Hystryr, you are to be kept in chains until you can be sent back to Certis.”
The bravo flinched but remained stolid after the one reaction.
Cerryl fixed his eyes on the wounded chandler. “Tyldar, you are to receive ten golds in damages from each of the strongboxes of these four traders. You are to use half of those golds to buy goods for sale to others. Is that clear?”
Tyldar gulped. “Yes, ser.”
Cerryl paused, then continued almost conversationally. “As for you four, I’m tired of dealing with people who use golds to buy life and death, without even understanding what happens to the people. I’m tired of people who will destroy their entire land to keep a few extra golds in their coffers and then claim they do it for the land they’ve ruined. And I’m especially tired of people who lie to me and to themselves. You will die by chaos at sunset.”
He turned to Lyasa and murmured, “In the harbor square.”
She paled. “Someone will try to kill you.”
“It has to be public.”
Kestrisal lunged forward, only to be felled by the flat of one of the lancer’s blades across his temple.
Ignoring the fallen trader, Cerryl turned to Tyldar. “You may go. The golds will be sent to you.”
Tyldar raised his eyebrows.
“Did I lie to you before, chandler? Have I not done exactly what I said?”
Tyldar looked down.
“Go!”
After the lancers had dragged off the five captives, Cerryl rose from the chair and made his way out of the reception hall, blotting his sweating forehead in the main hallway outside.
Kalesin stepped forward. “What do you think you’re doing, dragging all these traders in here?”
Cerryl just looked at him.
Kalesin waited.
“I’m getting rid of all the ones who’ve plotted to thwart the Guild and to kill Eliasar and me. Do you have a problem with that?”
“How do you know they’re the ones?”
“I know, Kalesin.” Cerryl forced a smile, hard as it was because of the pounding headache that had come with the extensive effort to truth-read the factors and merchants. “Don’t ever question what I know.”
“I see, ser.” Kalesin inclined his head. “By your leave.”
“By my leave.”
“That one hates you,” Lyasa murmured, joining Cerryl. “This making a public execution in the harbor square could get you killed.”
“Not if we do it right now. Someone has to order it and pay someone. That takes time. These traders won’t do it themselves. Not any of the ones still here in Spidlaria.”
“I hope you’re right.”
So did Cerryl.
“It will take most of the lancers…” Lyasa pointed out.
“That’s fine. It should be worth it. I wish we’d been able to get that last one, but Sieral, was he the one who said that Byal had already fled?”
Lyasa nodded. “I’d better make ready for the spectacle. It’s well past late afternoon. We’ll need to hurry.”
“I’d better get a bit of rest so that it will be a spectacle.”
They exchanged nods, and Cerryl headed back to his study to rest his voice-and for something to eat and drink.
CLV
AS THE SUN touched the waters of the harbor, Cerryl looked from the makeshift platform to the four traders who stood bound in the center of the harbor square. The square and the adjoining streets were filled with every lancer Hiser and Lyasa had been able to muster. Lancers-and the few archers-watched every street and every building.
Cerryl cleared his throat and began to speak, trying to get his voice to carry. “All the people of Spidlar were warned about deceiving the Guild and refusing to pay tariffs. You deceived the Guild and refused to pay what you owed. Two of your cities were destroyed. Your armsmen have been killed or fled. Yet after that, your predecessors still refused to pay what was owed. They died, and yet you refused to learn. The Guild wants a better life for all people in Candar-not just for a handful of greedy and selfish traders in Spidlar. But you thought you knew better. You would destroy your own people for a few more golds. My words mean nothing to you. Perhaps others will learn from them.” Cerryl paused but for a moment, then focused raw chaos on the four.
WHHHHSTTT!!!
The pillar of flame lit the square, flaring nearly fifty cubits into the air.
Without even waiting for the flames to die, Cerryl hastened off the platform and through the flickering shadows cast by the fire that had succeeded the chaos. He mounted the chestnut awkwardly, but quickly, and Lyasa and Suzdyal’s guards escorted him back to his headquarters, through streets that seemed empty, save that he was all too aware of the eyes that had rested on him through shutters and darkened windows as he had passed.