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Authors: Alan Burt Akers
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evocative.
The business with the schools happily concluded and an old friend, Anko the Chisel, proving only too happy to place the entire resources of what was left of his workshops at our disposal, the matter of the desks was attended to. With them, also, grave details of ink and pens, of paper and tablets, and the correct clothes the youngsters should wear had all to be attended to with the same strict punctilio I might give to the decisions over the number of shafts an archer should carry in his quiver when we marched out, and how many with the regimental wagons, or the best method of ensuring next season’s crop, or of how I might receive a deputation from a province seeking alliance. The work of empire is made up of details, great and small, and who is to mediate between them?
So, with the schools, and a faulty aqueduct to be seen to, and repairs to the walls where battering engines had breached them, and a swift and summary decision between a man and his brother over the rightful possession of a shop their father kept, he now being dead and nothing decided, I at last turned my zorca’s head in the direction of the palace and a meal and the inquisition into Renko the Murais.
Well, the meal was a splendid affair, and I shall not spend time on such gourmet delights. Enevon Ob-Eye, Nath, Barty, the responsible officials and whoever else thought they had a hand in the affair all assembled in a relatively undamaged chamber where once music had flowed to delight lazy afternoons. The charred triangles of harps still stood in the corners, and the twisted remnants of many of the exotic musical instruments of Kregen had been hastily swept away into an alcove under the windows. I sat at a long table, with the dignitaries flanking me, and the condemned men were led in under guard.
I knew Renko the Murais. It was the same Renko who had fought with us as a Freedom Fighter in Valka.
I treated him as I treated the other miserable wights, showing no special favor.
“Have the charges and the findings read out.”
This was done with due solemnity.
The contrast between the genuine solemnity of these proceedings, despite the deliberate air of informality I had introduced, and the fascial solemnity of the twin embassies from our foes, amused and depressed me. Nath had seen Strom Luthien off, treating him, as he reported hard-faced to me, with all due civility. The Racters, too, had been seen off with a zorca hoof up the rump.
The charges having been read out — a dismal catalogue of rapine and plunder and murder — the findings were studied. Here I welcomed the presence of Nath Nazabhan. His meticulous eye, his keen nose, his habitual and natural aptitude for turning over stones to discover the truth, were wonderfully displayed. The judges had judged fairly, we decided, in all but three cases of the thirteen. And all three had been dealt with in the court of Tyr Jando ti Faleravensmot.
I frowned.
“Is Tyr Jando here?” I spoke very mildly.
Enevon Ob-Eye shook his head. “He has been called away to his estates in Faleravensmot, majister. Some business of a cracked cistern and ruined flour.”
“Important enough to warrant his absence, then, in a time of shortage.” I pondered. Two of the wights standing in their gray breechclouts, chained, hang-dog before us, had been accused of raping two little Fristle fifis, and their story was that they had been over on the Walls of Opaz the Deliverer, hoisting stones, for they were powerful, hairy apims, with faces that would normally have been frank and open, and were now shattered and frightened and destroyed.
“Majister,” said one, Tom the Stones. “False witness was borne against us by Tabshur the Talens—”
Nath, Barty and I listened and weighed the stories. A matter of a debt to this Tabshur the Talens, an inheritance, a squabble between siblings, and a charge of rape to remove Tom the Stones. The inheritance would then by default fall to Tabshur through the sibling.
The business with the schools happily concluded and an old friend, Anko the Chisel, proving only too happy to place the entire resources of what was left of his workshops at our disposal, the matter of the desks was attended to. With them, also, grave details of ink and pens, of paper and tablets, and the correct clothes the youngsters should wear had all to be attended to with the same strict punctilio I might give to the decisions over the number of shafts an archer should carry in his quiver when we marched out, and how many with the regimental wagons, or the best method of ensuring next season’s crop, or of how I might receive a deputation from a province seeking alliance. The work of empire is made up of details, great and small, and who is to mediate between them?
So, with the schools, and a faulty aqueduct to be seen to, and repairs to the walls where battering engines had breached them, and a swift and summary decision between a man and his brother over the rightful possession of a shop their father kept, he now being dead and nothing decided, I at last turned my zorca’s head in the direction of the palace and a meal and the inquisition into Renko the Murais.
Well, the meal was a splendid affair, and I shall not spend time on such gourmet delights. Enevon Ob-Eye, Nath, Barty, the responsible officials and whoever else thought they had a hand in the affair all assembled in a relatively undamaged chamber where once music had flowed to delight lazy afternoons. The charred triangles of harps still stood in the corners, and the twisted remnants of many of the exotic musical instruments of Kregen had been hastily swept away into an alcove under the windows. I sat at a long table, with the dignitaries flanking me, and the condemned men were led in under guard.
I knew Renko the Murais. It was the same Renko who had fought with us as a Freedom Fighter in Valka.
I treated him as I treated the other miserable wights, showing no special favor.
“Have the charges and the findings read out.”
This was done with due solemnity.
The contrast between the genuine solemnity of these proceedings, despite the deliberate air of informality I had introduced, and the fascial solemnity of the twin embassies from our foes, amused and depressed me. Nath had seen Strom Luthien off, treating him, as he reported hard-faced to me, with all due civility. The Racters, too, had been seen off with a zorca hoof up the rump.
The charges having been read out — a dismal catalogue of rapine and plunder and murder — the findings were studied. Here I welcomed the presence of Nath Nazabhan. His meticulous eye, his keen nose, his habitual and natural aptitude for turning over stones to discover the truth, were wonderfully displayed. The judges had judged fairly, we decided, in all but three cases of the thirteen. And all three had been dealt with in the court of Tyr Jando ti Faleravensmot.
I frowned.
“Is Tyr Jando here?” I spoke very mildly.
Enevon Ob-Eye shook his head. “He has been called away to his estates in Faleravensmot, majister. Some business of a cracked cistern and ruined flour.”
“Important enough to warrant his absence, then, in a time of shortage.” I pondered. Two of the wights standing in their gray breechclouts, chained, hang-dog before us, had been accused of raping two little Fristle fifis, and their story was that they had been over on the Walls of Opaz the Deliverer, hoisting stones, for they were powerful, hairy apims, with faces that would normally have been frank and open, and were now shattered and frightened and destroyed.
“Majister,” said one, Tom the Stones. “False witness was borne against us by Tabshur the Talens—”
Nath, Barty and I listened and weighed the stories. A matter of a debt to this Tabshur the Talens, an inheritance, a squabble between siblings, and a charge of rape to remove Tom the Stones. The inheritance would then by default fall to Tabshur through the sibling.
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