Chartomancy

Chapter Seven

15th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Moriande, Nalenyr

Count Junel Aerynnor shifted stiffly on the daybed in his modest suite. He even forced a grimace for the benefit of his guest. While the knife wound he’d taken a week previous had not yet fully healed, it did not hurt him nearly as badly as he would have his guest believe. There was an advantage to appearing weak. He’d been trained in such deception as an agent of Deseirion, so Junel easily adapted his role to suit his mission.

Lord Xin Melcirvon had cast his sword onto the rumpled bed and pulled up a rough-hewn wooden chair. The chair did give him a slight height advantage, which he would have surrendered were they both standing. Junel wore his black hair shorter than his visitor, and his body was of longer, leaner proportions than that of the inland lord. They both had light eyes-blue for Junel and hazel for Melcirvon-but the visitor’s were set a bit too close to suggest intelligence or inspire confidence.

Melcirvon smiled almost sincerely. “I was dispatched here as soon as word reached us about your injury. I was told to assure you that any aid you require will be rendered. I will be making arrangements-discreetly of course.”

“This is most welcome news, my friend, but quite unnecessary.” Junel passed a hand over his face as if fatigued. “Prince Cyron has seen to it that I am being cared for. He was most solicitous and, had I desired it, I would now be ensconced in Wentokikun as the Prince’s guest.”

Melcirvon failed to hide his reaction. Blood drained from his face. “His outrages become more… outrageous!”

“What do you mean?”

The man from the western duchy of Gnourn waved a hand at Junel. “The instant we heard of what had happened to you, we suspected-we knew-the Prince had laid you low.”

Junel suppressed a laugh, but then decided to abandon pretense. “My lord, please do not lie to me. I doubt your mistress sent you here with that intent.”

“I never…”

Junel raised a hand. “Your mistress does not believe I am stupid. Please do not measure my intelligence by yours. The reason you were sent here was to determine if I have betrayed your mistress and her confederates to the Prince. She wants to know if, as I lay ill, I spoke of the things we discussed earlier this month, when I visited Gnourn. And were you apprehended by the Prince’s Shadows either upon your arrival in Moriande, or after you leave me today, she would know if I had. She would then be prepared to disavow any knowledge of you and your treason.”

Melcirvon blinked. “But if you had betrayed us to the Prince, he would have already sent troops out to destroy us.”

“Indeed, he would have. And he has not, so you are safe.”

“Then it was not the Prince who had you stabbed?”

“Not Cyron, to be sure. Prince Pyrust might well have done it. He has agents in Moriande and he slaughtered the rest of my family. It may have been my turn.”

The Gnournist nodded slowly. When he had visited Gnourn, Junel had represented himself as a conduit through which a number of disgruntled Desei nobles could liaise with the Naleni inland lords. Neither loved the regime in the capital and would have been happy to see it overthrown. The Desei would be willing to funnel money, weapons, and some troops into Nalenyr. When the time was right, the western portions of each province would revolt and close on the western half of Helosunde. It would be a bold stroke and both Princes Cyron and Pyrust would be powerless to stop it-because the first man to turn his military might to the war for the interior would leave himself open to invasion by the other.

The Naleni inland lords welcomed him because the wealth being made by the merchants and traders in the capital was not heading up the Gold River in any significant proportion. Cyron, citing the Desei threat, still taxed the inland provinces for defense, then spent the newfound wealth on provisions for exploration, the benefits of which the inland lords would never see. Once they declared their independence, they could sell their harvests to Nalenyr at greatly inflated prices, enriching themselves and addressing a host of grievances that ranged from petty to significant.

What the westron lords did not know, and would never know until far too late, was that Junel represented only one Desei noble: Prince Pyrust himself. His mission was to stir up rebellion among the inland lords, forcing Cyron either to divide his strength or lose half his nation. Either decision would cripple Nalenyr, and Prince Pyrust would be able to sweep in.

Melcirvon’s eyes narrowed. “Then Prince Pyrust had the Anturasi woman killed, too?”

“Of course-and he had another woman here slaughtered after she and I became betrothed.” Junel looked down, letting sadness veil his face, and his visitor accepted his grief in silence. It took all Junel could do to keep from curling his lip in a sneer, so he contented himself by imagining what it would be like to take Melcirvon to pieces as he had both of the women.

“No wonder, then, that your masters want to be independent of him.” The Gnournist shuddered. “As bad as Cyron is…”

Junel laughed. “A moment ago you felt certain Cyron had his agents stab me. Do you think he would pause for thought before he ordered someone slaughtered? His spies are everywhere-I was told this often in my visit.”

“Well, of course…”

“No, my friend, there is no ‘of course’ about it, and I’ll tell you why. As much as you hate Prince Cyron, you hate us Desei more. Not your fault, mind you, for the Komyr Dynasty has long used the threat of Desei invasion to keep everyone in line.”

“But Deseirion did invade Helosunde.”

“There is no disputing this, but you are a fool if you do not think things run deeper than that.” Junel smiled slowly. “Think back to what you thought I would be before you met me. You had decided I would be weedy and thin, an idiot at best, ignorant of history and custom. You viewed me as a stable hand with a title, and you thought I would be an easy dupe to further your aims. Admit it.”

Melcirvon sat back as his face reddened. “I may have had my misconceptions, my lord…”

“You didn’t have misconceptions, you had prejudices, and you allowed them to blind you. I will admit to having had similar prejudices, but I have overcome them in service to a cause greater than you or I. You must do the same, Xin, or your prejudices will destroy you.”

He lowered his voice and leaned forward, forcing the Gnournist to do the same. “In my youth, I believed all Naleni to be lazy, fat, indolent, and stupid. You live in a lush land. The green hills and valleys of Gnourn are unknown in my nation, where life is hard. I have learned, however, that you Naleni have an inner steel. You have wisdom and courage. You can determine right from wrong and are willing to fight injustice.”

Melcirvon’s expression went from confusion and anger to one of pleasure and pride. “Thank you, my lord.”

Junel nodded. You are stupid and lazy. Flattery is the first trap for a moron, and you’ve fallen full into it. A bit more spider silk spun, and you shall be mine.

“You know, Xin, I am pleased that your mistress sent you. It had to have pained her greatly to risk you, but she also knew you could be trusted. She is a very smart woman, and her trust in you is well placed. It promises great things for you, and I hope you will permit me to recommend you to my masters. In the unfortunate event that anything might happen to your mistress, we need a brave man who could step into the breach and accomplish our mutual goals. Would you allow me that honor?”

Again Melcirvon blinked, then nodded slyly. “You honor me, friend.”

“You are much too kind.” Junel again averted his eyes for a moment, then looked up. “How is it that I may be of service?”

That question baffled the visitor. “I was sent to see how you were and to see to your well-being.”

“And you brought funds with you to accomplish this end?”

“Yes. I was going to arrange a way to get money to you covertly, but if the Prince is paying…”

“He is, my friend-and we should make him pay double.”

“What do you mean?”

Junel slowly swung his legs over the edge of the daybed and sat up. He could feel the stitches tug in his back, but other than a mild desire to scratch at it, the wound was easy to ignore. “Your mistress gave you money, but I do not need it thanks to the Prince’s generosity. You might return that money to Gnourn, or you might do something more profitable with it. There are ventures in this city-commercial ventures-where such money could be doubled or tripled in a month. If you could do that, you would have more money to use against the Prince.”

Melcirvon nodded slowly. “I’m certain my mistress would approve such a plan.”

“She would, if you were able to inform her of it.”

“But…”

“Follow me, my friend, for this is your future.” Junel coughed lightly, then gestured to a pitcher and cup on a side table. “Water, please.”

The Gnournist quickly fetched him a cup and waited anxiously as Junel drank it. He refilled the cup, then sat again, clutching the pitcher in his lap. “Explain, please.”

“Your mistress already counts that money as gone, so she will not miss it. And it is not as if you are stealing it, since you will be using it in her cause. Most important, it will become a hidden asset. If the worst were to overtake this enterprise, you would have a ready sum of cash available for your escape, or for the continued financing of the rebellion. Taking this precaution speaks well of your foresight and initiative.”

“There is no denying what you say.” Melcirvon glanced down into the pitcher as if the water might offer some oracle to aid his decision. “This investment would be safe?”

“You would be using the people I use for my investments.”

Melcirvon looked up, a smile growing on his face. “If you trust them, then I shall as well.”

“Good. You’ll take the money to Bluefin Street, number twenty-seven.”

“A good omen, that.”

“I thought so. There you will ask for Tyan, a small man with a crescent scar on his chin. Use my name, and tell him to invest the money as he would with mine. He obtains excess cargo from ships and moves it into markets where those who truly appreciate its value pay well. You will agree with him on a code sign that will let you or your agent withdraw the money. Tell no one what that is, not even me.”

“A code sign, yes.”

Junel smiled and almost warned the man not to use his mother’s name, for that would surely be the case. “Once you’ve done that, you should go to ground, lose yourself in Moriande for a couple days. There are houses where your gold is more important than your name. Come see me in three or four days. I will have messages for you to take back to your mistress. While you are relaxing, you will keep your eyes and ears open, of course, and get a sense of the capital. I hope you will learn things that my present infirmity prevents me from discovering.”

“Yes, of course.” Melcirvon frowned. “How much longer do you expect to be stuck here?”

“A day or two. The Prince’s own physician is seeing to my care. I hope, within two days, I will be pronounced fit enough to pay my respects to the Anturasi family and meet with the Prince.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“The former, no, but the latter… Perhaps just a bit.” Again Junel shrugged. “If the Prince suspected me, he would not have his doctor here, nor would he want to speak with me. And having me close will mean I can learn much that will aid us. It’s a risk I must take.”

“Of course.” Melcirvon stood, found himself holding the pitcher, then set it down and bowed. “Our success will be assured.”

“It will indeed, thanks to your brave efforts.” Junel smiled as the man slipped his sword back into his robe’s sash. “I look forward to seeing you in several days.”

Junel sat again on the daybed and watched through the window as Melcirvon hurried off toward Bluefin Street. If the time were right, documents found at 27 Bluefin Street would show Tyan to be a Desei agent, or perhaps a Virine agent, and would link the westron lords with money spent to buy weapons and mercenaries. If the inland lords could not be convinced to stage a rebellion on their own, Junel would reveal their plot.

The difference was negligible. In either case Cyron would be distracted and forced to act. His nation would be torn apart and his dynasty would become weakened. It would collapse of its own accord, or Prince Pyrust would descend and crush it.

The seeds of Nalenyr’s destruction had been sown.