Scion of Cyador

C

His Mightiness Toziel’elth’alt’mer leans forward in the smaller malachite and silver throne of the Lesser Audience Hall. “We now have but four fireships capable of protecting our interests.” His eyes go to Rynst. “How goes the construction of the three sailing warships?”

“The first will be completed by late fall, the others thereafter.” Rynst nods slightly.

“And the cannon?”

“We have tested one. More work will be required.”

“And how many golds?” asks Vyanat’mer.

Toziel’s head turns slowly from Rynst to Vyanat. “You question the need for such weapons and vessels?”

“The need for such vessels? And more armament?” Vyanat’mer shakes his head. “The need, never. I question how we can afford such. Already the Empire of Eternal Light tariffs those of us who are merchanters at nearly ten golds on every hundred we take in.”

“The tariffs of Hamor are higher than that,” Chyenfel points out.

The gray-haired Rynst glances from Toziel to the First Magus, then to the blue-eyed Merchanter Advisor.

In her smaller seat behind Toziel’s shoulder, Ryenyel appears disinterested, her eyes absently ranging from one advisor to another.

The merchanter laughs ruefully. “The tariffs levied by the Hamorians are high on parchment, but their enumerators are not so well-trained, and can be bribed by those of Hamor. I would even guess that bribery is encouraged. Were I to attempt such, I would lose a ship or a hand or both. So we pay golds there, and those are golds they do not pay, while they but pay ours. That can mean that our traders often pay twice as much in tariffs as do the Hamorians.”

“Without fireships and a larger fleet…” Rynst says quietly.

“You wish that we should go to war against Hamor?” asks Toziel. “Or bar our ports to the Hamorians, so that they will bar theirs to us?”

“No, sire.” Rynst shakes his head. “No, sire, but the Hamorians know we cannot do such.”

“Why can we not require the Hamorians to pay greater tariffs than do our traders?” asks Chyenfel.

“Then they will do the same,” counters Vyanat, “and we will find ourselves in an even worse position.”

“How then, honored Merchanter Advisor, would you counsel me?”

“I would counsel you to reduce the tariffs on all goods.”

“And how are we to support the Mirror Lancers and keep the barbarians from pouring across the Grass Hills?” Toziel raises his eyebrows. “With fewer firelances and recharges available, we need more lancers, not fewer.”

“Lower their stipends,” Vyanat says genially. “By increasing tariffs, you have lowered what we make and can pay our seamen and workers.”

“They will be risking their lives more,” Rynst says, “and you suggest we pay them less?”

“You cannot pay what you do not have,” Vyanat counters. “If tariffs are raised, fewer goods will pass through Cyad. We already trade fewer goods than generations earlier. One has but to look at the empty warehouses and piers to see that. Fewer goods provide fewer golds in tariffs. That is true even with higher tariffs.”

Toziel frowns, then fingers his chin. “Let me say what you all have said: Because we have fewer warships, our traders pay higher tariffs elsewhere in the world. To build more warships will require golds. To get the golds one must raise tariffs on something. Raising tariffs will lower the golds we gather because fewer goods will come to Cyad and fewer will leave. Without more golds we cannot pay for more Mirror Lancers, but we will need more lancers because we have fewer firelances and firewagons.” The Emperor pauses. “If you are all correct, then Cyador is doomed. Yet we are prosperous. So there must be a fault in this reasoning.” He smiles. “I would that each of you reflect on this and bring me your thoughts the day after tomorrow.” He stands.

The three advisors bow as the Emperor of Cyador, Land of Eternal Light, turns and makes his way from the audience hall, followed by Ryenyel.