Free Darksong Rising by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

explained.
     
    The name was vaguely familiar, but probably only from the liedgeld lists. “We haven’t heard
    much from him.”
     
    “He is the Lord of the Western Marches,” Jecks explained. “He was supposed to defend the
    approach from Neserea.”
     
    “He didn’t do much to stop Behlem."
     
    Jecks nodded. “He sent a scroll claiming that he had lost tenscore men and would have lost all
    had he not surrendered. He relinquished the title and the one-third exemption from liedgeld.”
     
    “Whom did he send it to?” Anna asked. “Behlem didn’t march into Defalk until after Lord
    Barjim was killed at the Sand Pass.”
     
    “It was addressed to Barjim and was waiting at the liedburg for Lord Behlem. Menares found it
    and brought it to me sometime back.”
     
    “No wonder he paid his liedgeld on time,” Anna muttered. Barjim and his consort Alasia had
    risked everything and borrowed from the future to raise arms to fight off Ebra.
     
    “Jearle saw no point in dying when he could not stop the Prophet’s armsmen and lancers,” Jecks
    said dryly.
     
    “I don’t think we’ll restore his title or his duties, and especially not his exemption from paying
    the liedgeld." Anna said.
     
    “There has always been a Lord of the Western Marches." “There may be again,” Anna conceded.
    But not anyone that slippery. She looked meaningfully at the pile of scrolls. “We have a few
    other matters to discuss.”
     
    “I feared such.”
     
    Anna wanted to laugh at the rueful tone of his voice. Instead, she nodded. “So do I, but
    remember, you thought my being Regent was a good idea.”
     
    “My life was simpler before I thought so much…” Anna did laugh before she picked up the next
    scroll. She jotted down a quick note on the back of a used piece of parchment to talk to Menares
    about sending a scroll to Gatrune about the young chandler—and learning his name. At times,
    especially when she returned to Falcor from somewhere, she wondered if she would ever be able
    to juggle all the problems.
     
     
    9
    ESARIA, NESEREA
     
    The workroom is large, light, and airy. Dark woods ranging from flat planks to narrow timbers
    are stacked against one of the inner walls. A woodworker’s bench is set out from the other inner
    wall, and on a set of wooden shelves beside the bench are set planes, chisels, saws, clamps, wood
    knives, several jars with stoppers, clean rags, and other implements.
     
    Three dark circular frames fill much of the open floor space. Each is man-high, and a stocky but
    bent and gray-haired man carefully smooths a rib of the frame closest to the door. The door
    opens, revealing that the outside is guarded by two of the Prophet’s Guards. The craftsman steps
    back from the frame on which he was working and straightens, waiting.
     
    The Prophet Rabyn steps into the workroom, followed by an older Mansuuran officer who
    accompanies him. Rabyn pauses by the smooth and polished frame. His fingers caress the nearly
    black wood, before his eyes go to the gray-haired craftsman, who glances from the young
    Prophet to Nubara.
     
    “You know what I want?” demands the youth.
     
    “Yes, most honored Prophet I have studied the scrolls you gave me, and I will do as they show.”
    The crafter gestures to the three frames. “These are to the requirements of the scrolls.”
     
    “There must be no imperfections. Do you understand?”
     
    “There will be none, honored sire. None at all.” The woodworker lowers his head.
     
    “Good.” Rabyn studies the second frame and then the third. With an abrupt nod, he turns and
    departs.
     
    Nubara follows hurriedly. The door closes, and the two walk along the outer corridor back
    toward the columned audience chamber.
     
    The Mansuuran officer glances from Rabyn back toward the guarded door. “How do you know
    he will do as you say?"
     
    “He has a daughter, Nubara. Right now, she is in the south villa, with her mother.”
     
    “Her mother?”