CHAPTER 33
The carriage rolled from the wealthy district where the tavern was to an even wealthier one. Lucan saw houses turning into manors, growing in size and opulence the further they went.
“We are nearly there,” Mistress Yanna said. “My apologies for the scant warning. My hand was forced yesterday. I had to call for an assembly if I didn’t wish for the matter to reach the wrong ears before I dictated it. I have told you all I could about what to expect from our opponents. I haven’t had much time to prepare, but their privilege on this front is even lesser than ours.”
Lucan gave her a solemn nod before looking outside again as the carriage slowed down. They approached a rather large building that he could only think was attempting to mimic a palace in stature, though it was smaller in size if not opulence.
White walls hedged with flowering trees hugged the guildhouse, sheltering ivory stone buildings with gold lines ingrained in their walls, often converging into the shape of a wagon wheel. Lucan couldn’t tell if it was real gold from here, though that would be too much even for a wealthy guild of the Union.
A gate was opened for their carriage, and they rolled inside onto a finer flagstone road that took them towards the largest of three buildings within the walls.
Mistress Yanna took a deep breath as the carriage came to a halt. After a moment, the coachman opened the door. Lucan let the ladies leave the carriage first, following them as they stepped onto the flagstones.
The doors waiting for them were akin to small castle gates that opened onto a hallway wider and higher than the ones in some of Barwalis’s keeps. A servant came out to meet them, bowing at the waist, then guiding them through the hallways. It seemed ceremonial more than anything, since Lucan assumed that Mistress Yanna had committed the paths to memory a thousand times over. Ironically, it turned out that there were no twists or turns as the hallway took them straight to the council hall.
Another pair of doors awaited them, smaller but more ostentatious with golden gilding in several shapes that Lucan ignored as he prepared himself for the encounter. A servant and a guard stood by the doors, pushing them open upon their arrival.
They stepped inside together, though Mistress Yanna had to separate from him and take her seat among her peers, whose seating was arranged rather peculiarly, as though they expected visitors often. A benchtable the shape of a wide horseshoe embraced the entrance of the council hall, allowing Lucan to step forward in the middle of the councilmen.
All were seated, and Lucan observed that there was only one woman besides Mistress Yanna on the council. Soon enough, the man in the middle stood up and gave him a simple nod. “Lord Zesh. Welcome to our council. I am Fendrel Mercer, The Golden Wheel’s guildmaster.”
Lucan had to admit that the man looked more than adequate for his title. Every part of him was immaculate. Thick salt-pepper hair turned back in a smooth wave. A tight black suit, embroidered with gold, covered him like armor, sharp and angular. His face was shaved with only the slight shadow of a beard kept to mark the maturity of its bearer. “Guildmaster,” Lucan acknowledged him after a brief look.
“We are honored to have you in this hall,” Fendrel said, sitting back down. “However, you will have to forgive us, for we have to ask you a few questions regarding the undertaking Mistress Yanna Rhoswen has proposed to this council.”
Lucan answered with a silent smile as he realized that no one was bringing him a seat. He was to answer their questions on his feet while they sat.
“Mayhaps you can tell us of the undertaking on your side, your lordship?” Fendrel said. “Have you by chance inspected this canal you claim you can clear?”
Lucan answered him with the same calm smile. He did not speak, nor did his countenance change.
Fendrel Mercer cocked his head, as though asking for the reason for his silence. After a moment, the guildmaster gestured with an open hand, reminding him that he may speak.
Still, Lucan remained quiet. Soon enough, the unease from the shrill silence began to show on the councilmen, some of them fidgeting, others leaning forward as though it would bring them closer to unspoken words. Yet Lucan’s lips did not move.
He saw the guildmaster’s face harden as he realized the measured intent behind his silence. The man breathed through his nose, choosing to stay silent as well, seemingly accepting his challenge.
Unconcerned, Lucan stood there with a rooted trust in his own patience.
It was Mistress Yanna who broke the silence at the most opportune time. “Have our manners diminished so much over the years that we neglect to provide our honored guest with a proper seat for his comfort?” Her eyes panned over her peers, and then they settled on Fendrel Mercer at last. “One might question our leadership and wisdom if this stands.”
Lucan's smile grew a bit wider in spite of him. The councilmen were perturbed enough by his silence now that her words had their unspoken support.
The guildmaster frowned for a moment, giving Yanna a sharp glance, then chuckling softly and saying, “Ah, of course, how could this have been forgotten? It must have passed one of the foolish attendants’ notice.” He turned towards a side door where a servant stood. “Servants! A most elegant seat for Lord Zesh!”
Soon enough, a plush seat was brought for Lucan, who took it without preamble, leaning back and breathing in. He smiled widely at Fendrel, and this time, he gestured towards the guildmaster with an open palm, letting him ask his questions.
Fendrel obliged. “Will your lordship tell this council then? Has the canal been inspected for you to be certain that this undertaking is a viable one?”
“It has been,” Lucan said.
“Would you happen to have the proper knowledge to decide whether this venture is a reasonable one then?” the guildmaster asked with a quirked smile.
“It was my engineer who inspected the canal,” Lucan answered him with the same smile. “I can assure the members of this council that he has the necessary knowledge and experience to judge this venture.”
Fendrel Mercer leaned forward and said, “And how experienced is this engineer, might I ask?” He released an affected sigh. “It’s a rather significant concern for us, you see? Such an undertaking is hitherto has not been seen before, at least not in this time and age.”
“A reasonable concern,” Lucan answered, meeting the eyes of the councilmen who appeared to bear said concern. “Fear not, however, for my engineer perhaps has some of the deepest wells of experience when it comes to such undertakings. He has, after all, built me a saltpan in a rather troublesome saltlake in Barwalis. Perhaps some of your travelling peers can tell you of the salt they buy in my lands. And should they do so, then they would also tell you of the waterworks he has overseen, which have brought plenty more of my lands under the plow. I also assume that word has already reached some here that a town named Silvergate has sprung up in southern Barwalis. That would be my town, the one this same engineer has built.”
He saw some councilmen nodding, others appearing assuaged, and a few still ambivalent, perhaps Fendrel’s allies affecting doubt. “Should some of my guests have ventured where they need not, they would also tell you of a dam built along the canal, once again, by the intellect of that very engineer. My man is capable. Of that, there is no uncertainty.” He stopped himself from challenging them to bring about someone who could match Sawyer, for if he gave the guildmaster an excuse, he would use it to push down Yanna’s proposal for lack of expertise.
Fendrel clapped his hands. “Fortuitous! Then I have no more concerns.” He gave Lucan a bright grin. “However, I must allow my fellow councilmen to ask their own questions.”
Lucan gave him a cold smile. “Of course.”
“If I may?” One of the councilmen leaned forward, and Fendrel gestured with an open palm for him to speak.
“Lord Zesh.” The councilman gave him a soft, nearly believable smile. “I must say that we are honored to have someone of your stature here.”
“My thanks.”
“If you will allow me,” the councilman continued. “I must ponder on your proposal with Mistress Yanna. She has spoken of an honored peer of yours who will also take part in this venture, yes?”
“Yes,” Lucan said. “Lord Ravencroft. A good friend of mine.”
“Yes, of course,” the councilman said, his smile narrowing. “I find myself trusting your words, my lord, that he is your friend. However, I must wonder, what certainty can we have of his accord? Friendship is a strong bond, there is no doubt, but it is not enough to ascertain a lord’s manner. The matter of shared interests remains.”
“I can assure you, Lord Ravencroft has already agreed to join this undertaking, and with not a little zeal, I may say. He stands to benefit as much as all of us.” Lucan began to wonder if he should have gotten a written letter from the man as proof of his agreement.
“Yes, yes.” The councilman’s smile took a derisive tint. “But how are we to be certain of the reliability of this whole agreement, and let us not pretend that war is not brewing in Barwalis. How may we be certain of the stability of this trade route? Can there even be assurance of how much trade can be wrought out of it once conflict erupts? I must share these concerns of mine with my peers here, you see?” He sighed, appearing spent by his speech.
Lucan went quiet once more, letting the silence forge a throne for his next words. “All these concerns can be put to rest, my good man.” He narrowed his eyes at the councilman. “You see, word might not have reached you yet, but my ally, Lord Arden, and I have ventured to build an alliance of all the southern lords, vowing to stay out of the war and protect each other’s borders and interests, and I am fortunate to say that we have accomplished our aim. The Gray Alliance is now as real as this very guild.” He rapped the arm of his thick chair. “Lord Ravencroft, along with all of my neighboring noblemen are now part of this alliance, and they would all welcome your trade. You only need to join us in this venture, and we all stand to make fortune even as the flames of war rage elsewhere.”
The councilman seemed stumped by his words, and Lucan realized that not only this man but the whole council appeared thunderstruck by his announcement. Lucan looked between them and then decided to use that edge. “If the good members of this council have any other doubts, I will be happy to answer them.” He smiled widely.
Only silence answered him.
After a few moments, the councilwoman next to Mistress Yanna leaned forward. “Lord Zesh, you mean to tell us there is a neutral alliance standing in southern Barwalis at this very moment?”
“I mean to tell you that the South of Barwalis is the alliance. This route will not only bring your trade to some outlying territories. It will bring your caravans all the way to Pontis. Should you choose to forsake my offer, I am certain that others will be eager to deal with The Gray Alliance.”
“And you speak for this alliance?” Another councilman asked, this one sounding sincere, not challenging as some of his peers had been.
“When it comes to trade,” Lucan said, “the alliance’s tenets are clear. None shall bar merchants from passing through their territories without just cause. Tolls shall not surpass what is agreed upon by all its members, a reasonable amount, I assure you.”
The councilman nodded slowly, the surprise still clear on his face.
Feeling the disarray that had struck his council, Fendrel Mercer cleared his throat. “Thank you, Lord Zesh, for bringing word to us of your alliance. If you are amenable, the council needs to confer in seclusion.”
“Of course,” Lucan said as a servant stepped in, guiding him out of the council hall and into a side chamber with plush seats for guests and a table laden with fruits, honeyed nuts, and glazed breads.
He sat down, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh.