The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [186]
“Not for at least another eight-day. There’s no guarantee of what Freigr will be able to bring back.”
“You two. You cannot worry over what you can do nothing about. You, your grace”—Aldonya gestures at Creslin—“you need to wash up. We have a good fish stew for dinner, and even some of the white seaweed.”
“It’s better than the brown.”
Megaera raises her eyebrows.
“Would you prefer a desert of quilla roots?” he asks her.
“You . . .” She shakes her head. “I am dressing for dinner, and I expect you to be equally presentable, best-beloved.”
After Megaera sweeps from the kitchen, Creslin, grinning, heads for the washhouse. He will worry about tomorrow when it arrives.
CXXX
“WE HAVE THEM now. Those few coins left from Westwind won’t save them from slow starvation.” A wide grin passes over the heavy wizard’s face.
“You have them . . . now,” agrees Gyretis.
“You think they can wiggle out of this one? How? They don’t have that much coin. We’re letting anyone go there who wants to, so they’re getting more and more mouths to feed.” Hartor licks his fleshy lips. “But he doesn’t have enough gold for food, and we’ve bought up the prices. With the drought and the trade edict, they’ll starve.”
“What if they go east?”
“He has one ship that can cross the Eastern Ocean, and the emperor just might want to take it back if Creslin sends it there.” Hartor fingers the amulet.
Gyretis stares at the mirror and its white mist, which clears and reveals a town built on a hillside. His eyes widen. “Look at this, Hartor.”
“What about it?”
“It’s a town. With new buildings, and a keep easily three times the size of the old Duke’s keep. That all happened in less than a year.”
“It will be deserted in less than another year.”
The thin wizard releases his breath, and the vision in the mirror is replaced with swirling white. “I don’t know. What if Ryessa decides to cause trouble?”
“What can she do?”
“Send them food and coins, for one thing.”
“After what Creslin did to the weather, she can’t send enough to make a difference.”
“What if he builds more ships?”
“He can’t build them in time.”
“You seem to have an answer for everything. Just like Jenred,” Gyretis says in a low voice.
“You’re rather presumptuous today. In fact, you’ve become rather annoying recently. It’s as if you were on Creslin’s side.”
Gyretis shrugs, trying to ignore the challenge in the heavy wizard’s tone. “I was just offering some possibilities about what might happen.”
“Bah. The coming small harvests, the economics, and the whole world are against Creslin. What can he do?”
Hartor pauses. “Now . . . what I should do with you is another question.” He looks at the mirror.
The thin wizard lowers his head and makes no reply.
CXXXI
CRESLIN ALIGNS THE last stone, straightens, and steps back. The new and half-cubit-high wall encloses a square of three cubits on a side, the nearest edge perhaps a distance of five cubits from the southern terrace wall.
“Ought to leave enough room for growth,” he mutters to himself.
He takes the spade and again mixes the dirt and other ingredients prescribed by Lydya. Once they are mixed to his satisfaction, he gently shovels the damp pile into the stone box. Then he plants the oak seedling in the center, carefully patting the soil in place.
Water from the bucket comes next, with more careful tamping of the soil. Finally he reaches out, and as Klerris has taught him, strengthens the internal order of the seedling.
“Not that I’ll ever see you full grown,” he thinks. “We plant trees for those who follow.” Besides, he is merely making a personal gesture with the seedling. What counts more are the three small forests they have already planted in the lower hills to the south.
Creslin takes several trips to replace the tools and shovel in the third guest house, which still serves as storeroom and sometime-workroom. On the last trip, he returns with a broom and sweeps away the loose dirt from the stones. He carries the broom back to the storeroom.
“Your grace . . . I was wondering whether one of you had spirited this