Wavering
964 Words
Wavering~
Nigel Willoughby
Jorendon
Ruadmoon, 4399
King Walter drummed his fingers while General Cleland reported on the Fort Alliance endeavor. The old bull was pleased with his pet project, and he had every right to be. After the auspicious introductions Nigel arranged, Adan Tavish deeded twenty acres of Aleron land for the fort.
“Fifty miles north of Lake Jura, near the Aleron and Iverach border,” said Cleland.
“Secured at no cost to the treasury? Well done, General,” Langdon applauded him.
Walter blinked impassively. “Construction costs?”
“There’s an old keep on the site. We can repair the fortifications instead of building anew. I only need to add a few timber buildings.”
“Timber isn’t cheap,” said Walter, insisting on finding fault with Cleland’s success.
Nigel scanned the room. Who seems pleased?
“The rhiem are more receptive to the idea of a Rhynn Watch than I’d hoped,” said Cleland. “I met Lord Holden at the wedding, and we corresponded. He says the Rhi’Iverach will allow us to cut timber from Iverach land.”
“We do not need their charity!” Walter pounded his fist on the throne.
Cleland stared blankly at his king. Langdon cast Nigel an uneasy glance, and the sheep fidgeted as if readying to flee. Deighton watched impassively, confirming he wasn’t behind Walter’s outburst. He couldn’t mask his smugness when he won even the smallest victory.
“Put the construction on hold,” said Walter. “Furlough the carpenters for a fortnight.”
“They left other jobs for this contract,” said Cleland. “They have families to feed. I can’t tell them to sit idle without pay for a fortnight.”
“I do not pay laborers to do nothing,” said Walter.
“We might consider offering severance,” said Langdon, “to maintain goodwill with the guilds.”
“Severance means they won’t be called back,” said Walter. “I simply want time to study an alternative. Time. The crown’s coin. No hurrying either.”
If not Deighton, then who? And why?
“An alternative?” said Nigel. “Are you considering another location?”
“What am I supposed to tell Tavish? The Iverachs?” said Cleland. “They’re expecting—”
“You seem to have the rhiem eating from your palm, General. Put them off.” Walter dismissed the subject. “The Fort Alliance project is on hold.”
Nigel had seen Walter waver before. After months of solid decisions, he’d succumb to self-doubt. Anyone cunning enough to stoke Walter’s insecurities could manipulate the man with ease.
Deighton cleared his throat. “In the interim, we can revisit the matter of recruiting. We have an opportunity to—Lord Nigel, must you groan when I begin to speak?”
“Not at all. It’s entirely voluntary.”
“You want me to tell the rhiem we can’t accept their men because their knees aren’t calloused enough from kneeling.” Cleland’s baritone rose with every clipped word.
“There’ll be no recruiting,” said Walter. “A delegation from the People’s House took the initiative of visiting my dear sister in Cadron. She offered to arrange a contract on my behalf. I can hire excess Cadron soldiers when needed rather than increase the size of my own army.”
“We discussed that option before you agreed to let me start up the watch.” Cleland didn’t bother hiding his exasperation.
“And I recall His Majesty saying a standing army is an invitation to rebellion,” said Deighton.
They debated on, but Nigel heard only warning bells in his head.
Walter and Anne were not close, being ten years apart in age and born of different mothers. When the decadent vices of Walter the First became too much for Anne’s pious mother to abide, she packed up their infant daughter and moved to Cadron.
Cadron had absorbed what remained of the old kingdom of Surdis. Cadron followed the Church of the Orthodoxy, the faith the Falkenders splintered away from long before Joren claimed Innis. But even after moving to Cadron, Anne’s mother remained a Church of Innis devotee and raised Anne in the faith of her homeland.
At Nigel’s nudging, Walter betrothed his sister to Prince Franz of Cadron. Anne threatened to become a matron of the Church rather than marry outside her faith. In the end, she went through with the marriage, but it left her bitter towards her brother.
“General Cleland, you are dismissed,” said Walter. “Leave now, or I will charge you with treason.”
Nigel snapped his attention back to the exchange. The muscles in Cleland’s neck bulged as he struggled to master his anger. But a lifetime of deference took hold, and the old bull took a knee before his king.
“Your Majesty, forgive my impertinence.”
“Go and reflect on your proper place in this council.” Walter stood, signaling an end to the session. “Beacon, stay. I will discuss your request.”
Nigel suppressed an urge to throttle the fool he’d made king. Peder warned him Deighton was trying to convince Walter to waive the ban on burnings, with the understanding the Beacon alone would order such a sentence.
Nigel left the session, rubbing at a headache. Why couldn’t pawns remain on their squares? He only partially invented the Brescan prisoner missive that prompted Walter to reaffirm the ban. The best lies have a foundation of truth.
In Larad, King Philip was letting Orthodoxy fanaticism run rampant. In Bresca, King Gerard officially held to the Orthodoxy but was lukewarm over matters of faith. The secular-minded Gerard was feeling pinched, caught between extremists in Amadeo’s Larad and Deighton’s Innis.
Nigel drew the curtains in his office and sank into the chair behind his desk.
Deighton has someone in the People’s House in his pocket. The weasel found a claw-hold there already. He must be behind the delegation to Anne. More importantly, he’d somehow kept the endeavor from Nigel’s notice.
Anne’s foray into politics makes no sense. Anne had personally written Deighton to congratulate him on his election. Her congratulations signaled an acumen Nigel may have underestimated.
And someone’s stockpiling gunpowder. He hadn’t heard from Blackheart in months.
“Brunet!”
His secretary appeared with customary quickness.
“Find out who’s been traveling between Jorendon and Cadron. Pull passenger lists. I want every name that appears more than once.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The Beacon has new friends in the House. I want to know who they are.”
“The Remerton delegates, my lord. And to some degree, those from Lewsland.”
Nigel stopped and stared at the unlikely source of precisely the information he sought.
“And our bishop—”
“—would merit a visit. He has information to share.”
Nigel drew a quartz coin from the cache beneath his desk drawer and tossed it to his unexpectedly competent secretary.
Chapter 30
- Writer
