“Substantial, but not near-ruinous. And all the Aenian House vessels are well armed.”
“So they could effectively blockade Swartheld? That does sound ruinous … for Aenian House, I mean.”
“Oh … that wouldn’t happen. Enough merchanters from other lands would occasionally vanish, without a trace, that there would be less trade. Duke Khesyn would look the other way if certain brigands used the river to prey only on Afritan traders.”
“All of this has been so delicately intimated?”
“Not even that. Merely understood.”
And merchanters from other lands would be reluctant to establish houses in Afrit against such odds. “You have not told me much about your brother’s consort.”
“Ah, yes. Haesychya. She is slender and fair. She is a most devoted mother, as well as a faithful and devoted consort. She does not speak Cyadoran, but then, neither does the duke, at least not well enough that he trusts himself to do so in any public place.”
Lerial nods, waiting, a habit he has found serves him well.
“She is fond of reading, particularly of history. She does not care for verse, although I did learn to like verse, at least in Cyadoran, when I was in Cigoerne. I may be the only one in the family who does, since it is regarded as an … effeminate pastime by many in Swartheld.”
“That is interesting, since some of the most powerful emperors of Cyador were fond of verse, and a few even wrote it.”
“Ah … but Cyador’s time has passed. At least, that is what many merchanters will say. Certainly, Duke Khesyn has also said that.”
“I don’t suppose that he has suggested that any form of alliance with Cigoerne would merely weaken a duchy in Hamor.”
“Not in so many words.”
“What about Natroyor? He’s only … is it three years younger than Kyedra?”
“That’s about right.”
“So he’s around eighteen?”
Rhamuel nods. “He looks a bit younger, although he is handsome enough.”
“Does he look like Kyedra at all?”
“They look like brother and sister. Kyedra is as tall as he is, and he’s not quite as tall as I am.”
“I’m guessing that their mother is tall, then.”
“She is. Kyedra takes after her in that.”
“Is Haesychya older or younger than her sister? The one consorted to Fhastal?”
“She’s younger. By several years.”
“How large a ministry does the duke have?”
“Ministry?” Rhamuel actually seems puzzled.
“Advisors? Counselors? Those who act as justicers?”
“Oh … matters are held more closely here. The duke only has three principal ministers, certainly not enough to comprise a ministry. Cyphret is minister for merchanting, Vaencyr for justice, and Dohaan for roads, harbors, and waterways. As senior minister, Cyphret keeps the master ledger of all the duke’s revenues and expenditures.”
“And you’re in command of the Afritan Guard.” Lerial wonders how many of the three ministers are related to the more powerful merchanters, but decides that question should wait, since asking it will reveal more than he wishes and gain him little.
“I did say that matters are held more closely.”
“I understand. Afrit is far older than Cigoerne.”
“And far different from Cyador.”
For now. Lerial cannot help but think of the words that the majer had left for him … and the magnitude of the task implied by those words.
“You look doubtful,” observes Rhamuel.
“Not doubtful at all. Thoughtful. I have much to learn and trust that I can come to understand what is necessary before making too many mistakes.”
“In Afrit, there isn’t much space for mistakes.”
“I’m getting that impression,” Lerial replies dryly. When Rhamuel does not immediately reply, Lerial adds, “Since we have a long ride yet, perhaps you could tell me more about Swartheld.”
“Where does one begin?” muses the arms-commander. “Well … the harbor dominates the city. That is why there is a city there. It’s one of the finest natural harbors in Hamor, perhaps in the world. The piers are all of stone, and the water is deep enough so that the largest of merchant vessels can tie up to any of the piers. There are seldom less than a score of vessels in port at any one time, and usually a ship from every continent in the world. There is black wool from Montgren, and the best salted herring from Spidlar…”
Lerial listens carefully as they ride along the dusty river road. Occasionally, he looks eastward, across the Swarth River, to Heldya, wondering just what Duke Khesyn has in mind in dealing with Afrit … and Cigoerne. And what, if anything, he can do about it.
XXIII