Necias and the rest of the Elva thought, no doubt, that Tegestu would dispose of the political machinery Tastis had set in place in his cities, and rule as dictator. Instead Tegestu proposed to use the machinery rather than abolish it.
The Denorru-Censtassin, for example, the Council of the Populace. It embraced a far wider spectrum of the population than the Denorrin-Deissin of the other Elva states, and was more suitable for conveying their needs and desires to the aldran, and in return for conveying the aldran’s wishes to the population. The League of Journeymen within the guild structure was likewise useful, and would remain, though its power would be curtailed. The masters’ wills would remain balanced against the journeymen; with the Brodaini aldran always standing between, holding the balance of power.
With the journeymen granted a share of power, Tegestu thought, the masters would be forced to treat them fairly, and pay them a fair wage guaranteed by the aldran. That, Tegestu thought, would attract journeymen from all over the Elva: Calacas could take its pick, choosing only the most skilled and talented. That would, in the end, raise the quality of Calacas goods.
The Brodaini, with their expertise in crafting arms and armor, were far advanced over the Elva in the arts of metallurgy. With their advantage in the working of metals combined with their attracting the finest in craftsmen, Tegestu expected Calacas would prosper under Brodaini guidance. The other Elva states, who expected Calacas to be dependent on them for decades to come, might well be surprised at how soon Calacas recovered, and established itself as a successful rival.
“I believe that my successors will choose welldrani wisely, and represent all kamlissi in the new state,” he said, reading from his scroll. “I hope they will choose, as their new drandor, some one of them familiar with this new land, and familiar with the new ways necessary to live here in harmony. I recommend to you my son Acamantu, who is a proven commander, and wise in the ways of the people who live in Calacas and in this land.”
He saw Acamantu straighten at the mention of his name. Tegestu had drafted most of his testament with his son’s consultation, as well as that of Cascan and other representatives of his coalition, but this had been a clause kept secret till now.
Acamantu would, he knew, be the new drandor, despite his youth. The aldran would never go against his wishes in a matter of this sort.
And that, truly, was why Tegestu would drink his cup. The new Brodaini state would require new leadership, not an old man who looked always to the past, to the land he could never regain and would never see again. It would need someone raised among local conditions, who was familiar with them and who, in fact, knew nothing else. Survival, Tegestu thought, survival with demmin. That is all-important.
He would retire honorably, of his own free will, and in triumph.
“I recommend also to the aldran my servant Thesau,” he read on. “Ilean Thesau has shown himself to be outstanding among those of his rank, with a full understanding of the arts of war and of demmin. My shade would be pleased were it to hear that ilean Thesau, his wife, and all his descendants be granted the rank of Brodaini, and be honored as such for their lifetimes and the lifetimes of their descendants’ descendants.”
He heard a gasp from Thesau and smiled to himself; Thesau would protest he was not worthy, that it was too late to begin life anew as a Brodainu. That, he thought fondly, might be true: but I do this for your children, and to honor your memory, old friend.
His final wishes referred to his household pets. He hoped the cats would find good homes, and wished that his old hound Yellowtooth would have his final days eased by the loving attention of a new master appointed by the aldran. It was, perhaps, a little unusual to include dogs and cats among a warrior’s final wishes; but Tegestu had cherished his animals and cared for them, and the thought of his pets dispersed at random among uncaring households was more than he could bear.
“Keep always the name of Brodaini, and honor the memory of our ancestors,” Tegestu said, a standard admonishment but no less heartfelt for that. “Honor the gods, and seek to understand vail and demmin. Understand this land and its people, that our kind will survive. Witness this, cousins, under my hand and seal.”
He signed the document with his pen, sealed it, and handed it to one of the autraldi, who received it reverently for placement in the demmis-dru. There, he suspected, it would become a holy artifact, to be brought before the aldran at moments of great decision. My words, he thought, will guide them. Gods grant my words wisdom.
“A petition, bro-demmin.” This was Acamantu, coming forward to kneel with head bowed.
“Aye, ban-demmin, speak,” Tegestu said. This had not been planned; he wondered what could be so important as to interrupt his ceremonious death.
“We — the aldran — “ Acamantu started, then licked his lips and continued. “We beg you will accept an honorific, bro-demmin. We hope to gain your permission to call you Tegestu the Treacherous, in honor of your brilliant triumph.”
Caught by surprise, Tegestu grinned. “I accept the appellation,” he said, “though it give me too much demmin.”
Acamantu bowed again and returned to the ranks. Tegestu rose to his feet, the armor weighing him down, Thesau’s arm under his.
The autraldi began a hymn again, a paean to the blessed gods, and Tegestu walked down the steps of the platform to the bed where Grendis lay. He turned and held out his hand; and Thesau, his eyes brimming with tears, brought forward the silver cup. Tegestu took it and held it reverently up for the autraldi to bless; they did so, and Tegestu brought the cup to his lips.
Well, Death, he thought with a private grin. You must be pleased to see me at last, I who have eluded you for so long.
He took a breath, then drained the cup, feeling the narcotic numbness touching his throat with chill fingers. He gave the cup to the autraldu, who would put it in a family shrine for others of Pranoth to use at need, and then lay down on the bed next to Grendis.
He reached out for her armored hand, and took it. The poison was painless, he knew, and would take perhaps half an hour.
The hymns filled the domed chamber.
Grendis, he thought, soon I will hold you in my arms!
Patiently, as he had always waited patiently, he waited for his death.
CHAPTER 34
“Here,” Campas said. “I’d like you to read it.”
He held out a thick sheaf of papers, wrapped in a thick file-holder and tied carefully with white tape. Fiona took the bundle, then raised her gaze from the papers to her lover. He must have seen the question on her face, for he nodded.
“Yes.” He said. “I’m done.” His word, his new poetry, written on the long months of campaign.
“It went quickly at the end,” he said. “Once I’d found my way.”
“Thank you.” She looked down at the manuscript, touching the surface of its protective cover. He cleared his throat, uneasy.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”
She looked after him. “Thank you,” she said again; he gave an awkward wave and was gone.
Outside, through the window of the apartment she had rented in Neda, she heard the sound of marching feet as mercenary pikemen, dismissed from Necias’ service, took their leave of the city, heading for the southern baronies and, they hoped, employment there. The soldiers were leaving, some on foot, others by barge; only Necias and a few thousand of the Arrandal militia remained, to keep order in Neda until its government was capable of doing the job itself.
Wind whined through her shutters, burying briefly the sound of the marching pikemen. The winds were shifting to the north; within days the autumn storms would have arrived. She was glad she was returning to Arrandal the leisurely way, by the canals, and not by ocean-going ship.