The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [166]
“Why don’t you just sit down?” Megaera prods.
Creslin does, grateful for once for the warmth around him.
CXIV
THE MARSHALL READS the scroll upon the desk, then glances at the window, not even frosted over though it is early fall; in most years, the glass frosts well before the gathering in of the sheep and the reckonings of the winter stocks. She looks from the clear blue morning outside back to the scroll bearing the royal Suthyan seal over the signature of Weindre, Governess of Suthya. She picks up the document again. Finally she stands and walks to the door of her study.
“Get me the Marshalle and Aemris.”
One of the guards departs.
The Marshall re-reads the scroll, frowns, and waits. Her eyes drift to the unseasonable warmth outside the gray granite walls. In time, she looks up to see Llyse and Aemris in the doorway.
She thrusts the scroll at Llyse. “Read this and tell me what you think.”
They wait while Llyse reads the ornate lettering.
“It’s a proposal to negotiate a permanent agreement for the use of the guards. Seems about standard. That business about the weather, though, is strange.”
“Why? The weather is changing, at least for now.”
“Do you really believe that rumor?”
The Marshall snorts. “Do you believe that Creslin destroyed a bandit troop single-handedly? Or that he sank an entire Hamorian fleet?”
“The bandit troop? He could have,” offers Aemris.
“The ships? Yes.” Both Llyse and Aemris speak simultaneously, then look at each other.
The Marshall takes back the scroll. “This is almost a veiled ultimatum. They’re saying that Creslin—’your consort’—has created the disruptions that require greater protection of harvests and storehouses in the border regions between Sarronnyn and Analeria and Southwind, and they want us as the buffer. They’ll pay us, of course.”
“But not handsomely,” comments Llyse.
“Well enough for us to go there and talk about it.”
A moment of silence falls on the stone-walled room.
“I don’t like it, but this summer’s been as lean as any we’ve seen, and the winter doesn’t look to be much better. And Weindre had something to do with the losses we took at Southwind.”
“Why are you leaving the detachment there, then?”
“Do we have any better source of funds . . . now?”
Llyse shakes her head. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I. That’s another reason to go to Suthya, with Heldra—”
“Heldra?”
The Marshall looks at Aemris. “Because, if anything happens to me—the Legend forbid—Llyse and Westwind will need you.”
Llyse swallows. “Couldn’t someone else go?”
“Weindre wouldn’t talk to anyone else.” Dylyss lifts the scroll. “That’s clear enough.”
CXV
“I TRIED TO be careful, and Megaera helped, but there’s still too much rain headed this way.”
“It’s like . . . like cabinetry. You need a delicate but firm touch, and a lot of practice.” Klerris looks out at the drizzle and draws his cloak closer.
“Fine, but we have more rain than we need, and half of Candar is ready to blow away. And the fishermen are complaining that there isn’t enough sunlight to dry their catch. Not to mention the time we’ve spent repairing walls and keeping fields from being washed away. We’ve already lost a lot of the maize . . . just washed out.” Creslin shakes his head in exasperation. “But I don’t want to go back to where we started, or worse.”
“Then it’s going to take time.”
“We don’t have time. Rather, I’m not sure that Candar has time. According to Freigr, a lot of the meadows in Montgren have actually caught fire.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Peasants don’t set their fields ablaze, and there haven’t been any thunderstorms since you—Oh . . .”
“I’m sure they’re blaming us. Me, actually. Or me and some renegade Blacks like you and Lydya.”
“Patience would have helped, you know.”
“I’m tired of hearing about patience, or time. I’ve never been allowed the luxury of either. Heaven knows I tried. We diverted water, and the streams dried up. I went out and found water—three springs in the hills beyond the fields. Fine. Two of them dried up within an eight-day.