While they didn't have Anhuset with them to draw a crowd's attention, Serovek himself garnered more notice than he anticipated. Even garbed in the hard-worn travel clothing in need of laundering and days of road and river dirt on him, people had guessed a nobleman of importance was visiting. Vendors fawned over him in the hopes he'd be generous with his purchases. Some of the village elders invited him and Erostis to supper at their homes, and a yeoman's beautiful wife made it clear she'd be happy to introduce him to the village's other hospitalities.
Another woman tucked a bundle of dried herbs bound in ribbon into one of the satchels he carried along with the packages of dried fruit he'd purchased from her. “For your lady-love,” she told him with a smile and a wink. “And if you don't have one of those, you can always make yourself a nice cup of tea with it.”
They returned with bulging saddlebags. “We bought potatoes,” Serovek announced, grinning when Anhuset winced. “There isn't much available in the way of fresh stuff with everything just coming out of winter, and Erostis has assured me he knows how to cook these 'maggots' in such a way that you'll come to love them.”
She gave Erostis an arch look. “Don't go to extra trouble on my account. I'm not convinced those things are meant to be eaten as food in the first place.”
They loaded and secured the cumbersome packs into the wagon. Serovek took the brief time to scan his map and the route they'd take to the bridge. Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced up to spot Anhuset pausing before bending down to stare at something on the ground. Whatever she dropped, she scooped up and with a quick sleight of hand, tucked it away in her tunic.
He would have thought nothing of it except for the arrested, almost guilty expression on her face when she did it. When they were once more on the road, he considered asking her but thought better of it. It was one thing to inquire out of concern, another to pry.
For this leg of the journey, Erostis rode in the front next to Klanek where the two swapped stories of various escapades when they were children that made Serovek pity their parents. He rode behind the wagon next to Anhuset, content enjoy the quiet.
She surprised him when she broke the companionable silence with a question. “Why is the Lobak valley so desired by this Chamtivos?”
“Because owning land is possessing power. Owning a great deal of land is having a great deal of power, but you must fight hard to keep it. Chamtivos was the youngest son of a minor Beladine nobleman. To keep the holding intact, the lord bequeathed all of it to the eldest son, to be inherited upon his death.”
She gave a soft whistle. “I'm guessing whatever brotherly affection existed until then vanished.”
“That's putting it mildly,” he replied. “What Chamtivos lacked in status, he made up for in ambition and ruthlessness. He killed his father, his brothers, and their progeny so there'd be no claim but his to the holding. According to him, the hard hand of fate had dealt harshly with his family. A drowning, hunting accidents, an unfortunate fall from a cliff, a difficult childbirth. He then traveled to the capital and petitioned the king not only for recognition of his right to the fiefdom but to the lands bordering the Jeden monastery and beyond.”
“A man so driven makes a dangerous vassal. One who'll murder his own family to rise in status will think nothing of murdering anyone else, including sovereigns. Nor will they remain content with ruling a castle and farmland, no matter how rich.” Her features hardened. “Even the Khaskem, as even-tempered as he is, would have Chamtivos either imprisoned or put to death.”
On a slope overlooking the plain surrounding Saggara, with an army of the dead behind him, Serovek had watched as Brishen's eidolon embraced his mother's twisted spirit and obliterated it. He'd done it without hesitation or regret, much like Chamtivos, but for entirely different reasons. He had no doubt Brishen would do exactly as Anhuset claimed.
“As he should. As King Rodan should have done. It would have saved countless lives and himself a lot of grief had he done the same.” He shrugged. “Instead, he strung Chamtivos along with bait and false promises for who knows what reason, then gifted the entire valley, including those holdings, to the Jeden Order, believing the monks would be defenders of the territory for the crown instead of contenders for it as Chamtivos would.”
“But are they not considered heretics?”
Some of the more zealous Beladine, strict in their orthodoxy, often called upon the king to outlaw the Nazim monks and proclaim all their orders as heretical, including the Jeden Order. Such cries fell on deaf ears, especially when the warrior monks proved themselves so useful in furthering the king's interests.
The wagon had rolled farther ahead of them while he and Anhuset chatted, their horses content to amble along while their riders were distracted. Serovek tapped Magas's sides with his heels to close the gap between him and the transport. He replied to her question once they caught up to the other two who were now close enough to hear their conversation.
“To the devout among us, they are heretics, but the king isn't a religious man. His philosophy has always been pay the crown tax, tithe your soldiers and vassals to his army in times of conflict, and remember your place. You're free to worship as you please as long as it doesn't threaten his rule.”
Her expression turned inscrutable, her mouth becoming pinched. “It's well known among some that the king of Belawat will do what he believes is necessary to hold the throne.”
Had Serovek not been directly involved in Brishen's rescue from Beladine raiders who'd tortured the Kai prince and would have killed him, he might not have caught the oblique accusation in Anhuset's comment. She and others, himself included, suspected King Rodan had a hand in the two attempts on Brishen's life and that of his Gauri bride. He glanced at Erostis and Klanek, looking for any indication that one of them had heard what she implied. Both only looked mildly bored.
Unlike them, Anhuset didn't look bored at all. Tall in the saddle, she sat tense, waiting for his reply. He could almost feel the heat of her rising anger at the memory of what the raiders had done to her cousin. While there was no solid proof of his involvement, she obviously laid the blame for Brishen's torture and disfigurement at King Rodan's feet.
“He's always been a wily sovereign,” Serovek said, careful with his choice of words and eager to turn the focus back to the warlord. “Letting Chamtivos live was one of his few mistakes, and one I doubt he'll ever make again. Were it not for the monks' fighting ability and help from Ilinfan swordmasters, he'd still control the Lobak valley. They wrested most of it from him, and he's gone into hiding, though he remains a boil on Rodan's arse.”
His mention of the Ilinfan swordmasters acted like an incantation, instantly diverting her attention away from Rodan's ruthless machinations to something she embraced with fervor: sword fighting.
“We in Bast-Haradis know of your fabled swordsmen,” she said, a touch of admiration in her voice. “I've always wanted to spar with an Ilinfan swordmaster.”
“The monks are indebted to them,” he said. “They're the pride of the Beladine kingdom, though the king barely tolerates them.” Rodan tread a thin line with the various factions in his kingdom from religious orders with impressive martial skills to renowned swordsmen whose true loyalty most believed lay with their brotherhood and their leader they called the Ghan.