“Are there any other archers around here?” Lorn asks. “Besides the three of you?”
“None of which I know, ser,” answers the man.
“Or others paid to do so?”
“Again, none of which I know.” The archer shrugs.
Lorn nods. “How much were you paid to kill me?”
“Ten golds, ser.”
“And were you paid to kill anyone else?”
“The senior enumerator in Biehl-the new one.”
“How much?”
“Five golds.”
Lorn smiles ruefully. “I am most flattered to be considered worth ten golds.”
“He lies!” Baryat exclaims. “He lies to save his own soul.”
Lorn’s eyes are like ice as he regards the grower. “No. He tells the truth in hopes of saving his life.”
Lorn glances to the side as Tashqyt guides his mount toward Lorn, the third archer smiling sheepishly as he walks toward the overcaptain. His eyes return to Baryat. “Three archers?”
“You are no justicer. You kill in the dark.”
Lorn wonders how to respond, for, truly, Baryat is correct on one level. Lorn has killed in the dark. “Tell me, Baryat, how much Flutak reduced your tariffs for the use of your daughter. Two silvers a barrel?”
“Talk not to me of my daughter.” Baryat snorts.
“Why not? You loved her so much you sold her to an enumerator for lower tariffs. Did you not?” Scorn fills Lorn’s voice.
“I sold my daughter to no one,” snaps Baryat, after a long silence.
The sense of untruth is so great that Lorn can see even Tashqyt offer a minute headshake.
“And I suppose you didn’t accept lower tariffs, either?”
“If you had proof, you wouldn’t be asking.” Baryat offers a sneer.
“I’m not asking,” Lorn replies quietly. “I’m telling you.” The overcaptain looks from Baryat to the three younger men-the grower’s sons, if his visions in the screeing glass have been accurate. “You are his sons. You can understand that the Mirror Lancers have a problem. If I kill him, you will find every possible excuse to avoid tariffs, and to have me killed or removed. If I don’t, he will either kill me, or I’ll kill him later.”
“You…insufferable…little…” Baryat steps forward, his entire body trembling in anger, half-lifting the pruning knife.
Lorn’s blade flashes, and a slash appears on the back of Baryat’s knife hand. “That could have been your neck.” He sighs…loudly.
Baryat continues to shake, but lowers the knife.
Lorn looks past the grower, but still watches the man. “Which of you is the eldest?”
A sandy-haired man, square-bearded, steps forward. “I be such.”
“Listen most carefully. A man has cheated on his tariffs. He has used golds and his daughter to bribe a senior enumerator. The enumerator and the daughter have vanished. The man blames the Emperor’s officials for their disappearance and vows revenge, even though the enumerator is guilty of accepting bribes. This man hires a mercenary archer to kill two officers of the Emperor who are looking into the bribery. Then he lies about doing so. He has cheated the Emperor and tried to kill two men for doing their duty.” Lorn’s eyes fix the eldest son. “Under the laws of Cyador, I could turn all your lands over to the Emperor. Should I?”
The sandy-haired and bearded son looks down at the packed clay of the cart road.
“Do your worst, and the black angels take you!” snaps Baryat. Blood continues to ooze from the slash on his hand.
Lorn looks at the son, then motions for the three archers to step aside. “You, archers, will return to Biehl with us. You must leave Biehl-either for the Grass Hills or the lands north of the Accursed Forest.”
The tall archer bows his head. After a moment, so do the two others.
“And what of me, Overcaptain? Will you exile me?” Baryat’s voice rises, fills with anger. “Will you turn your trained dogs on me?”
Lorn smiles sadly, ignoring the grower, and looking at his eldest son. “Should I turn your lands over to the Emperor, or will you keep his laws from henceforth?”
“Sybyn! Don’t answer that. I’m the landholder,” rages Baryat. “The Emperor will hear of this.”
“Indeed he will,” Lorn agrees. “He will receive a report of your bribery, your efforts to have two officials murdered, and your failure to pay proper tariffs. You no longer hold these lands. The question is whether your son will.” Lorn looks at Sybyn. “You cannot lie to me. I will know, even as I know of your father’s evils. If I allow these lands to pass to you, will you honor the laws of Cyador, and pay your just tariffs, and seek no further revenge against me or against any Mirror Lancer or enumerator?”
“You can’t do this!” snaps Baryat. “Besides, you aren’t man enough to do anything except threaten.”
“I’d like your answer, Sybyn,” Lorn continues, his eyes on the grower, rather than the son. “Will you obey the laws of Cyador and seek no revenge? If not for your sake, for the sake of your brothers, their consorts, and your children?”
“I…must…” stammers the younger grower.
“Coward! I disown you!” Baryat’s eyes flash at Lorn. “You are a cowardly little man, also. You hide behind your bars and your uniform.”
“You have hidden behind your lands and your golds,” Lorn says quietly. “You bartered your daughter, and bribed enumerators. You have tried to buy my death, and you see nothing wrong with it.”
“And I would have sooner than I did, the moment you arrived, had I known what you would do.” Baryat glares at Lorn.
“All of you note his words,” Lorn says. “He admits all of his lawbreaking.”
Baryat’s mouth closes abruptly. The three sons exchange glances.
“Prove it!” snaps the grower.
Lorn laughs. “I have seen Flutak’s ledgers. They show more than-”
Abruptly, Baryat lunges forward with the glistening pruning knife slashing toward Lorn.
Lorn’s blade flashes, with the smallest bit of chaos adding to its sharpness.
The grower’s mouth is open, even as his head is separated from his neck.
“As justicer I have heard this man declare his guilt. Not only did he declare that guilt, but he attacked a Mirror Lancer officer. More than twoscore witnesses have also seen and heard this.” Lorn lowers the sabre, but does not sheathe it, as his eyes seek out Sybyn. “I do not hold you or your brothers guilty of your father’s misdeeds. Nor will aught in harm befall you or these lands-unless there are other misdeeds after this moment for which you are responsible. Do you hear and understand?”
“Yes…ser…” stumbles Sybyn, his face blank.
Lorn wipes the sabre clean with the square of cloth he takes from his belt, then sheathes the weapon. Then he mounts, and nods to Tashqyt.
For a time, the column rides silently, and they are nearing the harbor before Tashqyt, riding beside Lorn, clears his throat.
“Yes, Tashqyt?”
“You could have executed him even if he had not attacked you, could you not?” asks the squad leader.
“I could have,” Lorn admits. “But I wanted as many lancers as possible to hear what he said.”
“I thought as much, ser.”
Lorn only hopes that the word spreads that he is fair as well as harsh, but he prefers to anticipate troubles, rather than react to such. While he has never seen Flutak’s missing ledgers, and doubts anyone ever will, he has no doubts-not now-about Baryat’s guilt.
But he wonders how long he will dream about the daughter.
XXIV
At the thrap on the study door, Lorn glances up from the sheets that hold his calculations of the gear required for a lengthy ride by two full companies. While he would prefer to add another squad, he has no way at all to supply their gear, and many of the saddles his trainees use are barely serviceable. Two eightdays earlier, he had received a notice from the Majer-Commander, sealed by a Commander Inylt, that his provisions and equipment draw has been increased by five golds an eightday, and with that, he hopes, that he can upgrade the saddles and bridles, by summer’s end, and purchase some replacement saddles. “Yes?”