The Merchant’s War

Markus, a strapping fellow with an implausibly bushy mustache, thrust his chest out, beaming with pride: "Absolutely, sire! I am dizzy with delight at the prospect!"

"Good. Kindly make yourself scarce for a few minutes. You too, Carlsen, I'll have words with you both shortly but first I must speak in confidence with his grace."

The orangery doors were open and the guards completed their study: Egon stepped over the threshold, and the small gaggle of courtiers followed him. Innsford studied Markus sidelong. Some backwoods peer's eldest son, beholden to Egon for his drinking space at a royal table, ancestral holdings down at heel over the past five decades: more interested in breaking heads and carousing than the boring business of politicking that his father before him was so bad at. And Egon had just casually offered him a post from which he could reap the drippings from the royal trencher? Innsford blinked slowly, watching the two young bloods bounce away into the glazed pavilion, marveling loudly and crudely about its trappings. "A beater for the hunt should hold the title of general?" he asked.

"When you're hunting for armies, why yes, I believe that is the custom." His majesty's lips quirked slightly, in what might have been intended to be a smile. "If I am in the field at the head of an army, I am clearly looking to the defense of my realm, am I not? Such a grand undertaking will have, I hope, a salutary effect on any secret ambitions the father of my betrothed might hold towards our lands. Leading an army against the tinkers will permit me to burnish my honor, strive for glory, and ensure that those who rally to my banner do so under my eyes so that their claims to the spoils of victory be adjudicated immediately." Oh, so you don't trust your vassals with sharp implements out of your sight? Innsford nodded gravely while Sir Markus beamed like an idiot. A useful idiot, come to think of it. "And the tinker assassins will have little success in striking from the shadows if they do not know, from one day to the next, where I make my bed."

The duke nodded thoughtfully. "I am pleased by your majesty's perspicacity and foresight," he said carefully, thinking: Sky Father! He's sharp. If Egon was going to go into the field at the head of an army, he was going to slay about six birds with one stone. Hunting down the tinker Clan's holdings in the wild would compel them to confront him on his own terms, while making it difficult for their assassins to stick a knife in his ribs. An army in being would prevent the neighbors from getting any ideas about picking off a province here or a holding there. Meanwhile, Egon had rung a bell to make his backwoods vassal dogs salivate at the thought of loot: now he would go into the field to gather the leashes of the men they had released for service. He could simultaneously claim the lion's share of the spoils he'd promised, while maintaining the appearance of generously disbursing loot to his followers. Handled carefully it would raise him to the stature of a true warrior king-somebody only fools or the truly desperate would scheme against-without the attendant risks of declaring war on one of the neighboring kingdoms. If it worked -"I see much in your plan to commend it." Innsford paused. Egon had come to a halt in front of a bench at the center of a circle of low, dark green trees. Small orange fruits glimmered among their shadowy branches. "But you did not summon me here to tell me this."

"Indeed not." Egon inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. Innsford sniffed, but his sinuses-chronically congested, the aftermath of a broken nose in his youth- stubbornly refused to disclose the cause of Egon's blissful expression. The king opened his eyes: "I have some-problems. I believe you might be able to assist me in their resolution."

Ah. Here it comes. Innsford had lived through the reign of two kings before this young upstart: nevertheless, his stomach tingled and he felt a shiver of fear, as if a black cat walked across his future grave. "I am at your command, your majesty."

"While I am on campaign, I must look to the good cultivation of my earthly held." Niejwein and territories, Innsford translated. "I must also look to the good administration of my army. Who am I to trust, in the halls of power while I am elsewhere?" For a moment the royal gaze fell on Innsford, unblinking and cold as any snake. "His grace of Niejwein is under threat from the tinker knives if he stays in the capital whose name he bears: perhaps he would be safer were he to undertake a pilgrimage to the southern estates? His eldest son will be all too pleased to look to the household's duties in his father's absence, while his grace could earn my gratitude by looking to the good management of those provinces."