Once the four others have left and the door shuts, Lorn motions for the gray-bearded captain to sit, then takes the chair behind the desk. It creaks as he sits. He laughs, softly, then looks at Emsahl. “Do you have any questions you didn’t want to raise in front of the others?”
Emsahl looks stolidly at the front of the desk, his eyes not quite meeting Lorn’s. Lorn waits.
“Ser…what they call you…lancers don’t like to think they’re blade fodder.” The captain looks down.
“A few officers have called me ‘the Butcher of Nhais’ or some such. Is that the name you heard?”
Emsahl nods.
Lorn offers a wintry smile. “You can check anywhere, from Majer Brevyl on…I lose fewer lancers than any other officer for the number of kills and battles. I’ve lost a few more than some companies, but many other companies, facing the numbers my forces have, lost more-a great deal more. I slaughtered all eighteenscore barbarians. They’d already killed fivescore men, women, and children, and you know what they did to the girls and women in the hamlets they sacked before we got them. I had them all killed because I couldn’t keep my forces that far from Biehl and I wanted to make sure that it was awhile before they could send another raiding party.” Lorn pauses, sees the unspoken next question, and answers. “I fight. I don’t command from the rear. You’ll see.”
Emsahl nods slowly. “Hoped it was something like that. You’re not a lancer born, ser?”
“No, and my consort-I have one-is a merchanter.” Before Emsahl can pursue those lines, Lorn asks, “What do you think our biggest problem will be?”
“Not enough firelance charges…and too many raiders attacking each company.”
Lorn nods. “We may start using two companies on each patrol.”
“With you in charge?”
“Yes. If the barbarians are raiding in larger groups, then they can’t be in as many places, either.”
“You make that work, ser…lot of lancers be glad to see it.”
“We’ll make it work.” Lorn pauses. “Anything else?”
“No, ser.”
“If you have things you see…or suggestions, I listen. Remember that.” Lorn stands. “If you’d have Cheryk come in…”
Emsahl smiles briefly. “Yes, ser.”
Lorn goes through a similar process with each of the officers, and the comments of the others are little different from those of Emsahl. They have obviously been sharing concerns and worries while waiting for him. At the end of the afternoon, for the most part, his initial assessments of each have changed little. He hopes that is because of the accuracy of those assessments, but only time will verify or disprove his judgment.
XLVI
The Emperor sits on the less massive malachite and silver throne that graces the smaller audience chamber. Behind his right shoulder, in her chair, sits his consort. Before him stands Bluoyal’mer, the Emperor’s Merchanter Advisor. Save for the guards, and a senior Imperial Enumerator in blue and green, with the gold slashes on his sleeves, who stands by one of the guards by the door, no others grace the chamber.
“You summoned me, Your Mightiness?” The Merchanter Advisor’s voice is clear and firm, and a faint smile follows his words.
“I did.” The Emperor Toziel leans forward in the malachite-and-silver throne. “Did you not affirm that you would support the Emperor’s Code, Bluoyal’mer?”
“Yes, Your Mightiness.” Bluoyal’s eyes do not meet the Emperor’s.
“It has come to my attention…and to the attention of the Hand, as well…There is a relative of yours, some sort of cousin. I believe his name is Flutak…”
“I am not certain I could recall all those who claim me as cousin, Your Mightiness.”
“Perhaps not, but you should recall this cousin. The Emperor’s Enumerators visited your trading house this morning, at the request of the Hand.” Toziel nods, and the senior enumerator in official blue and green, steps forward and hands several sheets of paper to the Emperor. The Emperor takes them with a faint smile, then continues. “These sections of ledgers offer that your house has paid a number of golds to a representative in Biehl.” The Emperor nods, this time toward the guard by the rear door, who opens it.
The First Magus steps through the doors to the audience chamber and walks forward, to stand several paces to the left of the Merchanter Advisor.
A thin sheen of perspiration is beginning to form on Bluoyal’s forehead.
“I trust you will not mind the observation of the First Magus,” suggests Toziel mildly.
“No, sire.”
“According to your own enumerators, your house does not have a representative in Biehl. Yet the ledgers show a number of payments to such a representative. Do you deny such?”
Bluoyal’s eyes flicker from the Emperor to the First Magus before he speaks. “There may have been such payments, sire, if the ledgers show such.”
“Did you know about these payments?”
“Yes, sire.” The voice of the Merchanter Advisor is resigned, flat.
“Were those payments made to this cousin of yours, this Flutak?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Were they made for the purpose of obtaining lower tariffs on goods landed at Biehl?”
“They were made for his services, sire.”
Toziel frowns, pausing. “Precisely what services did you require of the senior Emperor’s Enumerator in Biehl?”
“His assistance in assuring that cargoes were handled quickly and well, sire.” Bluoyal’s voice remains calm.
“Are you suggesting that the tariffing is not handled quickly and well without such gratuities? Or that your cousin is corrupt enough that he must be paid by the Emperor’s Merchanter Advisor to do his duty most properly?”
“All is sometimes not as it should be, sire.”
“That is most certainly true. Especially in this case.” Toziel’s eyes, ringed with black, focus on the merchanter. “Do you deny that you bribed a senior enumerator, even while you serve as the Emperor’s Merchanter Advisor?”
“I did not ask for special treatment for the house, sire.” Sweat has begun to darken the armpits of Bluoyal’s tunic, and the shimmering haze on his forehead is more pronounced.
“Did you bribe him, yes or no?”
Bluoyal glances sideways at Chyenfel, who continues to watch the Merchanter Advisor. “Yes, sire…but without ill intention.”
“At times, Bluoyal,” Toziel says quietly, “intention does not matter. You are hereby dismissed as the Emperor’s Merchanter Advisor. Your dismissal will be conveyed to the Traders’ Council, and to all the clanless traders as well, along with the reasons for my action. I will request three candidates from the Council to consider for the next Emperor’s Merchanter Advisor.”
Bluoyal drops his head.
“You may go.” Toziel’s words are like ice.
Toziel waits until both Chyenfel and Bluoyal have left the chamber before rising. The Empress follows him back to her salon, where he sits, carefully and slowly, upon the white divan. For a time, he does not speak.
“You disliked replacing Bluoyal,” Ryenyel finally says.
“I would that I had not been required to do such,” he replies. “Not at this time.”
“All the merchanter houses have such arrangements somewhere, my dear,” offers Ryenyel.
“I know…. the larger ones, at least, and were I to act against all who do such, I would have no merchanters, or rebellion and chaos upon my hands.” Toziel shrugs tiredly. “Yet…when it is spread all over the Palace of Eternal Light…and across Cyad, that my own merchanter advisor has corrupted the senior enumerator of a port…?”
“You must act. And you did.” Ryenyel smiles sadly. “I liked Bluoyal, but unless he flees quickly, he will perish in the dark. He has made enemies, and he has no protection now.”
The Emperor lowers his head, and massages the tight muscles in his neck with his left hand. “Who will they send me as candidates?”
“Vyanat’mer, Veljan’mer, and either Tasjan’mer, or more probably, one of the lesser clan heads, perhaps Kernys’mer or another.”