Kieri gave the horse a last pat and turned away.
8
Back in the dining room, he found Sier Galvary and a younger man with stacks of records, scrolls, and books.
“You’ll want more than this, I’m sure, Sir King,” said Sier Galvary. “I brought the year-roll for last year, the final accounting to the Council upon the former king’s death, and a list of the lands held by human Siers—their extent and their principal products. Most of our trade is in craftwork of one kind or another, but we do export some raw materials.” He turned to the younger man with him. “And this is Egil, who despite his youth has earned his place as senior auditor of accounts.”
“Excellent,” Kieri said. “Let’s get to it, then.”
“The royal treasury is supported by taxes, like most,” Galvary said. “Our arrangement with the elves limits the lands humans can farm or clear; land rights do not come from the Crown, as they do in Tsaia, and elves must approve any transfer of land by purchase.”
“What about inheritance?”
“Firstborn, male or female, inherits the land—the elves have not interfered save when a firstborn was obviously incompetent, and then only to approve the transfer to someone else in the same family. Near as we can tell, them being so long-lived, if not immortal, they make alliances with families and not individuals.”
“And the other children? Or do most people have only one or two children?”
“Usually that, Sir King—well, not just one or two, but not many, because the land grants will not support a multitude and the elves demand that land be well managed. They removed one family for failure to do that … a long time back, that was.”
“So … does the Crown take taxes on the basis of landownership or production? Or do the elves?”
“Elves take no land-rent; their restrictions on land use, they say, are sufficient impediment to short-lived human ambition.”
Kieri glanced up; was Galvary being funny? Or was that serious dislike of elves? “And the Crown?”
“Landholders owe the Crown, in kind or in coin, a portion of their production. Crafters, as well. Our taxes are not high, compared to what I know of Tsaia’s system, but neither do we have the expense of a large standing army. The forest rangers watch the borders and observe the taig.” He opened the first of the rolls on the table. “Here—this is last year’s accounting.”
The script looked different from Tsaia’s, though Kieri could read it after a moment. Wheat, oats, barley, straw, hay, tree-fruit and bush-fruit, staves and timber, each specified by the kind of tree … “We get all this in kind?”
“The Crown does, yes. It does not all come here. The Crown maintains granges—not like Girdish granges of course—stores of food and supplies in each faran, each district or shire I suppose you’d call it, for emergencies. Rangers draw supplies there, but also if there’s a flood, fire, or other disaster, relief supplies are at hand. What comes here supplies the palace, of course, though the Crown also has a large orchard and fields nearby.”
“That makes sense,” Kieri said. “Could the palace needs be met from those resources?”
“Not entirely. There’s a large staff, and their families; as well, the palace share serves as the reserve for Chaya. Eight years ago, we had a very bad winter, much harsher than usual, and the palace stores meant no one in the city went hungry.”
“That’s good,” Kieri said. He stared at the figures, trying to absorb it all. Accounting for the Company, or his own land, he was used to; this must be somewhat the same, but he could not fit his mind around Lyonya yet. He had not seen a map of it since his days in Falk’s Hall, training with the Knights of Falk. “Do you have a map of the land here?”
“Yes, sire, of course.” Another roll opened.
Kieri stared at it. He had forgotten exactly where the border with Prealíth was … how far from Chaya to the mountains. Each human domain had been marked out carefully: Belvarin, Galvary, Hammarrin, Tolmaric, Carvarsin … Halveric. Aliam’s place … he put his finger on it. “This is Aliam Halveric’s?”
“It belongs to the Halveric family—the Sier prefers to live here, in Chaya, and has granted his brother leave to stay at Halveric Steading and manage it for him.”
Kieri felt his brows rise. He’d thought Aliam owned that land, that house, where he himself had found refuge and where he had grown from a terrified, starveling boy into a man. He could not imagine any lady there but Estil.
He traced the border with Tsaia with his finger, then the trade roads marked along the river, along the foot of the Dwarfmounts. He saw no markings that looked like fortified holds. Aliam had a wall, but Chaya itself did not. “How much trouble has there been along the Tsaian border?”
“Not a great deal, except where it borders Verrakai’s land,” Galvary said. “The Duke has not attempted invasion, but people come from there and poach in the forest or raid farms for food. Konhalt, too—”
“Konhalt’s under Verrakai control,” Kieri said. “Not fond of me, either of them, though I think Verrakai will be busy enough explaining to the Council in Vérella why he ordered his people to attack the Tsaian Royal Guard to keep him from causing trouble here.”
“We shall hope so,” Galvary said, in a tone that suggested disbelief. “In Tsaia all you dukes had your own armies, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly,” Kieri said. “We all owed troops to the Crown, in case of need; some maintained them at home, and some contributed money to maintain an equivalent number under Crown control.”
“But you had—”
“I had troops, yes. A condition of my grant of land: as a marcher lord, I had a duty to protect the northern and eastern borders from all enemies—mostly Pargun, but also any invasion of horse nomads from the north. They never bothered us; we had far more trouble with orcs under Achrya’s guidance …”
“And you brought troops with you …” Egil spoke for the first time, sounding nervous.
“Only as an escort,” Kieri said. “If I had not, I’d have died on the way.”
“Ah. Then … they will go back to Tsaia? Or … were you going to keep them here, as your personal troops?” Galvary asked.
“I had not considered that; they will go back, I assume, to join the others, though … it has all been so fast … I do not know what will happen to that land, or those people …”
“Surely Tsaia will let you keep it—”
“I doubt that. And even if they do, how could I govern both there and here? And yet—”
“They are your people,” Galvary said, nodding.
“Yes. As you are my people now, though I do not yet know you.” Kieri smiled at Galvary. “I must make you first in my heart, I know that. But it is—it will be—difficult for a while. For me as well as for them. Some of them I have known for thirty years.”
“Are you sorry?” said Egil.
“Sorry? To find out at last who I am, that I had a loving family, that I belong somewhere? Not at all. I pray that I become such a king as you will not be sorry to have.”
A moment’s silence; Kieri sensed that something had changed between them, but he was not sure what.
“I—I meant having to give up your friends, having to come to a strange place—and not having known all along.” Egil darted a glance at Galvary, who was glaring at him.
Kieri looked at Egil, thinking how young he seemed. “I regret my own mistakes, but to regret the things that made me what I am … that would be ungrateful to those who did so much for me—and to those powers that perhaps knew when it was best for me to come back. Would you quarrel with the gods’ will? I wouldn’t.” He turned back to the map. “Now—what are these lines here?”
“The approximate boundary of the Ladysforest in normal times,” Galvary said briskly. “As you may know, it expands and contracts at the will of the Lady, but this is the boundary fixed on our maps, beyond which humans must ask permission to enter. No human dwelling or clearing may extend past it, though strayed livestock are not harmed and in times of dearth, the elves have granted permission to gather firewood and hunt.”