Skirmish: A House War Novel Read online

  “I have told you why I will not throw support behind any of the Council members who desire the seat, but I will repeat myself now. I am old enough to have no desire to take the helm, and I am trusted—inasmuch as any member of the Council can be trusted by any other member of the Council. I served Amarais Handernesse ATerafin. When she declared herself as a contender upon the death of the previous Terafin, I declared myself as her supporter.” This was not what Gabriel had said in the Council Hall.

  “She is dead. And I? I am tired, Teller. If I had one hope, one wish, even a week ago, it was that I not outlive her. Thus, the hopes of men who have power.

  “I want the House to continue. There is no other man or woman who could have been acclaimed regent in my stead, or I would have declined. Alliances, such as they are, are forming even as we speak. They are also breaking in the same fashion. The merchants are now jockeying for position; I believe some handful have hopes of replacing Jarven; he is older than I.”

  “He’s not notably more weary,” Teller told Gabriel quietly.

  “No. I do not discount either Jarven or the influence of his support. As regent, I do not have a right-kin, but the duties I previously performed cannot be neglected. All of the time I have is now devoted to both of the roles I have undertaken. Were I to support any one of the contenders, what do you think would happen?”

  Teller said nothing.

  Gabriel was not content with silence. “Teller?”

  “You wouldn’t survive.”

  Gabriel nodded. “If I die, what do you think will happen?”

  He hadn’t thought about Gabriel’s death at all. He didn’t want to start now, but he saw clearly that silence was not an option. He compromised. “Your regency buys us time.”

  “An interesting way to word it. Yes. It buys time. If I am very lucky, I will survive to pass the House to the man—or woman—who emerges as The Terafin. How do you think that will happen?”

  Teller looked down at his own hands. When he looked up, he met Gabriel’s steady gaze. “I think at least two of the current obvious contenders will be dead first, and their supporters will be forced to choose among the survivors.”

  “And?”

  Teller looked away. Then he rose and began to pace, a habit that would have deepened every unhappy line in Barston’s face. “If one of the surviving contenders has an obvious advantage, the House will fall in behind them. The other survivors will remain on the House Council, possibly enriched in one way or the other simply because they’ve survived.” He hesitated, and then said, “If everyone is reasonable.”

  Gabriel nodded, watching him. “Do you think that everyone will be?”

  “…no.”

  “How so?”

  He hesitated again, and this time, he wasn’t certain he could speak. Gabriel waited. Teller had never been so aware of the passage of time. “Gabriel—”

  “I ask for a truthful opinion, Teller. No more. But certainly no less. What you say will not leave this office.”

  Teller closed his eyes, drew breath. “Marrick has made a lot of connections outside of the House. He’s…friendly. He seems harmless. He listens well. He has a sense of humor. The merchants—at least the seafaring ones—like him; he can drink most of them under the table.”

  “Not exactly a quality one would laud in a ruler.”

  “No. But he can do more than that. He owns lands within the hundred holdings, and he owns one ship, that I know of, which flies under its own flag, not Terafin’s. He can speak both fluent Torra and some Rendish. But he’s canny. I don’t think he’ll flinch from violence; he’s not afraid. But he knows when to cut his losses. If he stands at the end of all this, and he hasn’t accumulated enough support, he’ll fold more or less gracefully.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “If Elonne is alive, so will she. She also owns properties across the holdings; I’m not as certain how many. She owns the lease for at least two of the actual stores in the Common. She doesn’t own a ship, and she doesn’t have Marrick’s connection with the Port Authority because of that; she does own some land outside of the city, and I think she owns one mine. She isn’t Marrick, but neither was The Terafin; she’s more severe and less approachable.

  “She also numbers the Queen Marieyan among her personal friends, and through the Queen, she maintains some access to the ears of the Kings.”

  Gabriel raised a brow.

  “Of the four, she also has the closest personal ties to the priests of Cormaris and the Mother. Some significant part of her personal wealth is donated to both churches every year. She is very like The Terafin in outward appearance.”

  “Do you think she is very like the former Terafin in other ways?”

  “I don’t know. She has the grace and the elegance.”

  “The ruthlessness?”

  “She’ll do what she has to do, but if she feels she doesn’t have the resources necessary to take the House without destroying large parts of it in the process, I believe she’ll concede victory to those who do.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  Teller continued, ill at ease. If he’d had any idea that this conversation would happen, he’d’ve talked to Jay before he left the wing. “Haerrad has the closest ties with both the Kings’ armies and the House Guard. He’s almost the opposite of Marrick in every social respect; he’s neither friendly nor comfortable. He served in the armies in his youth, and everything about his bearing is military. If he were to take the seat, he would almost certainly have the support of The Berrilya.”

  “Which would guarantee he’d have no support at all from The Kalakar.”

  Teller nodded.

  “Haerrad’s power within the House, because of his connections with the House Guard in general, is probably the most dangerous for any of the contenders. He’s not well-loved by the merchants, but he is respected. In the previous two trade wars, he was the first to condone use of lethal force in defense of the caravans on the trade routes, and he made certain that any of the caravans on any routes he was responsible for were heavily guarded.”

  “This did not endear him to the Kings.”

  “No. It didn’t. But Haerrad is aware that he gains nothing from their approval. The House knows that he will pause one half step short of open defiance of the Kings in defense of House Law or territory. Like Elonne and Marrick, he has a number of properties within the holdings; like Elonne, it’s not clear what those properties are.” Jay had some suspicions, and those suspicions enraged her; Teller thought it good that their ability to investigate hadn’t revealed anything solid. “But Haerrad would have to be dead—and probably in pieces—before he’d concede anything. I don’t think he’d care if he destroys large parts of the House in the process; those parts would not be loyal to him, and they therefore wouldn’t be of value. I’m pretty sure he’d feel confident that he could rebuild anything he destroyed—and he’d be happier because he could rebuild it in a way that suited him.

  “If he’s one of the members left standing, he’ll be The Terafin.”

  “And you think the chances are good?”

  “Someone tried to kill him the same day The Terafin died.”

  Gabriel nodded. “He’s accused no one.”

  “Publicly, no.”

  The new regent raised a brow in genuine surprise. “What have you heard?”

  “Rumors, no more. We believe they originated with Haerrad.”

  “The rumors?”

  “That Duvari—present at the time—ordered the assassination attempt.”

  “It would not be entirely beyond credibility,” Gabriel replied after a long pause. “Haerrad would not be a Lord to Duvari’s liking.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t lend credence to the rumor.”

  “I’m undecided,” Teller replied. It was safest. “The rumors won’t harm Haerrad. Any laws he’s broken in the past have always been internal affairs. The House believes—especially at this time—that someone who can stand against the Kings’
demands is necessary.”

  “You’ve heard, then.”

  Teller met Gabriel’s gaze and held it. The room was dense with uncomfortable silence; it was Teller who chose to break it first. “Yes. But some Royal Intervention was expected, surely? The Terafin didn’t die by normal means. Even if the House wished to claim her death a simple assassination, it’s impossible. The Kings themselves were present. They arrived too late—but they saw the demon that killed her. Sigurne Mellifas came, and she declared it no simple act of magery, no illusion. We will be under the eyes of the Kings—and the Order of Knowledge—for some little while yet.

  “This buys the regent time.”

  “And if the regent doesn’t desire that time?”

  “He’ll serve it, anyway.”

  “You speak with such confidence, Teller.”

  “Barston would kill me if I dissembled.”

  Gabriel laughed. He had barely smiled at all in the past few weeks; Teller heard the warmth and affection in the older man’s voice and was surprised at how deeply it pained him.

  “Barston would, indeed. If the gaining of stature within the House has not yet changed you, it is because Barston has not yet had enough time. He has always taken these things quite seriously. But where Barston would not allow you to dissemble, Teller, I can do no less. You’ve spoken of three contenders. Tell me, now, of the fourth.”

  The desire to point out the passing of time came and went as Teller met the eyes of the man who had been, in all ways, his benefactor for over fifteen years. There were very few men—or women—that Teller held in such high esteem, and he knew that laughter would not be the result of anything he chose to say about Rymark ATerafin. Rymark was Gabriel’s blood son.

  Teller inhaled. How much did he trust Gabriel? With his life? With Jay’s? Gabriel had steadfastly refused to support any contender; he held himself above suspicion. But Rymark was his son.

  “Teller.”

  “I can’t tell you anything that you don’t already know,” Teller replied.

  “Tell me what I know, then. Let me take your measure.”

  “Why?”

  Gabriel offered no answer but silence. His silences were always textured; they were like the emotions that lay beneath words, unspoken, unvented. This one was no different.

  The quietest and most scholarly of Jay’s den now chose to speak two words, watching Gabriel’s expression with a care that would have delighted Haval. “Rymark lied.”

  The silence deepened, and it chilled. Teller waited for questions or denials, but Gabriel offered neither. Teller had chosen risk; he had chosen honesty. He hadn’t dressed it in formal words or speech; he hadn’t veiled it. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps, in the future of this office, he would come to regret it.

  He drew breath and began again. “Rymark ATerafin is one of the senior members of the House Council. He is less economically independent than the other three; he owns no lands directly, although he does control some of the lesser leaseholds in the hundred. He has some merchant interests, but again, they’re minor, and much of his efforts have gone into the import and export of exotica. He has some contacts within the Merchant Authority, and a very strong base of support within the Order of Knowledge; that support does not fully extend to the Council of the Magi. He is a Second Circle mage, and the only mage-born man to sit upon the House Council.

  “He has, however, cultivated many of the merchant houses, and he has connections—strong political connections—among them which he has already begun to bring to bear. None of the other contenders have his breadth of knowledge. There isn’t a language with which he’s not familiar; nor are there many laws, in any country. He has support among the House Guard; it doesn’t rival Haerrad’s, but no one else does, either. He has friends in Avantari, and more than a passing acquaintance with the Princes. If his personal finances are the weakest of the four, he nonetheless has access to funding that can put him on level ground.” Teller stopped. He had faint hope that that would be enough; Gabriel dashed it quickly. In truth, they had little time.

  “And in the event that one of the other four seemed most likely to take the seat?”

  Teller exhaled. “I’m sorry, Gabriel,” he said, lowering his head a moment. “If Rymark is standing, he will never acknowledge superior force. Like Haerrad, he will fight until there are no others.” He looked up. Gabriel’s dark eyes, unblinking, caught his gaze and held it.

  He rose. “Thank you, ATerafin.”

  Teller caught his arm. “I’ve answered your questions, Gabriel. Can you answer at least one of mine?”

  “I can try. Let us hope for both our sakes it is a brief question and a brief answer; Barston is soon to be fending off requests on our behalf, and they are likely to be increasingly uncivil requests.”

  “You won’t break your word. You won’t support any of the four. You don’t think that all four will be left standing. What do you think will happen, now?”

  “In truth? I do not know. The presence of the Kings’ agents will cripple the early fighting; it will make the struggle more subtle. This may save lives; it may not. If I were one of the four, I would consider Elonne and Marrick to be the lesser threats. Even were I Elonne or Marrick, I would be maneuvering around the other two, in the hope that they both perish. A long succession struggle will harm the House; there is no question. Perhaps the Kings are aware of it, and they seek to hamper Terafin, long the first among equals.” He inclined his head. “We have work to do.”

  He made it to the door, touched the handle, and stopped, his back toward his younger colleague. “Yes,” he said, voice soft enough it wouldn’t have carried over any other sound. “He lied. And there is only one way you could say that with certainty.”

  “Haerrad accused him of lying.”

  “Haerrad would accuse The Terafin herself of lying, had she appointed an heir before her death,” was the grim reply. “Elonne and Marrick have been more circumspect in their response.”

  “They weren’t bleeding.”

  “As you say.” He still didn’t turn from the door. “You are not Haerrad, Teller. You will never be Haerrad. Or Elonne, or Marrick, for that matter. When you speak of Rymark ATerafin’s lie with such conviction, the source of that conviction is not ambition. You have spoken briefly—but well—about the situation that I, as regent, now face. But you have failed, perhaps, to mention the possibility of a fifth contender.”

  Teller froze.

  Gabriel didn’t see it. He didn’t wait for a response; instead, he opened the door and left Teller alone in his small office. Teller made his way to the chair he normally occupied, and he sat, elbows against the desk’s surface, hands against his face. What he hadn’t said—what he hadn’t the courage to say—was what he himself had seen when the demon had appeared in its deadly, terrifying glory: Rymark’s expression. Rymark, of the four, had shown no surprise and no horror.

  He wondered if Gabriel had seen his son’s expression. Wondered, but was afraid to ask. He had no desire to hurt Gabriel. But the question needed to be asked. The person who posed the question needed to be able to survive asking it. Because if Rymark’s expression meant exactly what it appeared to mean, this wasn’t just another succession war. It was larger, darker; its outcome threatened to shadow an Empire, not just its most powerful House.

  1st of Henden, 427 A.A.

  Merchant Authority, Averalaan

  Finch had discovered, with the passage of time, that death didn’t stop the wheels of commerce. It might stop some of the cogs in those wheels, but that was a matter of misfortune for the cogs.

  “That is not entirely true,” Jarven told her, sitting back in his chair and surveying the steam of his most excellent tea as it swirled in the air above the cup. “If the Kings die, commerce stops almost entirely. It is one of the reasons The Ten—and the Merchants’ Guild—pray for Royal Safety.”

  “I’m seldom privy to the prayers of the powerful,” was Finch’s pert reply.

  Jarven raised a b
row. He almost raised two.

  “I’m sorry. It’s—it’s been a long week, and it’s not going to get any easier for a while.”

  “Ah. No, Finch, it is not.” He lifted the cup. His hands in this light looked delicate and aged. “How are the new additions to the office coming along?”

  “I think you should ask Lucille.”

  “Lucille is quite busy, Finch.”