Sinner. Sara Douglass

a massive loan with the Emperor, but Askam had needed the money badly, and the Emperor had been willing to lend.

      Now he wanted it back.

      And what if Askam could not pay (and Goldman knew Askam could not pay)? What then? What might the Emperor demand as recompense? Goldman shuddered to think. The Coroleans would not invade, never that, but they certainly might lay claim to some lands or, gods forbid, to Carlon itself.

      Would that make StarSon Caelum finally take a more personal hand in the West’s affairs? Caelum, although concerned about Askam’s increasing debt, had thus far preferred to see if Askam could not solve his problems himself, but Goldman knew that Caelum would never stand by and allow the Coroleans to assume control of even the most barren of fields in Tencendor.

      “Well, there’s nothing for it,” Askam said in a milder tone of voice, “but to pay the damned man.”

      Goldman raised his eyes in surprise, as did the other three advisers. Pay? How?

      Askam took a very deep breath and sat back in his chair, staring at the four men ranged before his desk. All the gods in the universe knew he hated to do this but … not only would it solve most of his financial problems, it would also stop the flow of his people north.

      And, perhaps, wipe the smirk off Zared’s face.

      “Gentlemen,” Askam said softly, “I have no option. From fifth-day next week the taxes on goods moving up and down the Nordra, as goods moving along all inland roads in the West, will be raised to a third of the total value of the goods so moved.”

      Goldman could not believe he’d heard right. A third? A third tax on all goods moved would cripple most merchants and traders, but it would destroy any peasant bringing a meagre bag of grain to the market. And what of the man who thought to take a basket of eggs to his widowed mother in the next village? Would that also be taxed a third?

      He opened his mouth to object, but Askam forestalled him.

      “Gentlemen, I know this is an onerous burden for all western Tencendorians to bear, but it should last only a year, perhaps two.”

      A year or two would be enough to drive most to starvation, Goldman thought, on top of the taxes they already had to pay.

      “And,” Askam continued, “think of the rewards we will reap from those …” he hesitated slightly, “… others who move their goods through our territory. For years they have taken advantage of our roads and riverboats to move their goods to market, whether here in Carlon or further south to Coroleas. It is high time they paid for the maintenance of the roads and boats they use.”

      And by “others” Goldman and his three companions knew precisely whom Askam meant. Zared. Zared, who moved the wealth of his grain and gems and furs along the Nordra down to the markets that made him – and his people – prosperous.

      “Sir Prince,” Goldman said, “this is indeed a weighty tax. If I might advise against it, I –”

      “I have made up my mind, Goldman,” Askam said. “I called you here, as the Chamberlain Roscic and Barons Jessup and Berin, not to ask you for advice, but to inform you of the measures that must be taken.”

      Roscic exchanged a glance with Goldman, then spoke very carefully. “Sir Prince, perhaps it might be best if you talked this over with StarSon Cae –”

      “I will inform Caelum of my decision, Roscic!”

      The Chamberlain subsided. He had already said too much, considering that his very position relied on Askam’s goodwill. Goldman, however, had no such qualms.

      “These taxes are so grievous, Sir Prince, that perhaps they should be discussed with –”

      “StarMan Axis SunSoar himself gave my father the right to tax the West as he willed, Master Goldman! I will inform StarSon Caelum, but I have every right to impose these taxes without his assent. Is that understood?”

      The four bowed their heads.

      Askam looked at them a moment, then resumed. “There is one other thing. Over the past eighteen months, if not more, over two thousand men have moved their families north of the Azle.”

      Askam shrugged a little. “If they want to subject their families to the northern winters, then so be it, but the fact remains that most of those two thousand have been men skilled in their crafts, professional businessmen, or successful farmers. They have left a considerable gap in the West’s resources – no wonder I have so much trouble trying to meet debt repayments.”

      No, no, Goldman pleaded silently, don’t do it! Don’t –”

      In order to stem the tide I have instructed the border guards at the Azle and Jervois Landing to exact the equivalent of ten thousand gold pieces from each family that intends to leave for the North.”

      But that is ten times my annual income, Goldman thought. How will an ordinary craftsman pay it?

      “That should go some way towards balancing the loss of their skills,” Askam said. “That is all, gentlemen, you have my permission to leave.”

      That evening Goldman called more than a score of men to his townhouse in upper Carlon, all of them leading citizens and tradesmen, and there he spoke volubly about the new taxes and their implications.

      “I will be ruined!” cried Netherem Pumster, Master Bell-Maker. “How else can I transport my bells if not by riverboat?”

      “And I!” said Karl Hurst, one of the leading wool traders in Tencendor. “As will most of the peasants in the West! All rely on transporting their wool bales across the roadways of the West to the Icarii markets in the Minaret Peaks!”

      His voice was joined by a dozen others, all increasingly angry and indignant as the implications of the tax sank in.

      “As will everyone eventually be ruined,” Goldman said quietly into the hubbub. He held up his hands. “Gentlemen, please …”

      Men slowly subsided into their seats, worry replacing anger.

      “I should have moved north last year, when my brother went,” Hurst said as he sat down. “The North may be further from the markets that I’d like, but at least Zared wouldn’t try to take my soul to put meat on his table.”

      “More like,” put in a stout silversmith, “he’d give his soul if he thought it might put meat on your table.”

      Goldman nodded to himself, pleased with the direction the conversation had taken, content now to sit back and let the treason take its course.

      Treason? he asked himself. Nay, natural justice, more like.

      “Things have never been the same since Priam died,” said a fine-metal worker.

      “Not the same since Axis SunSoar proclaimed Tencendor on the shores of our lake,” said another.

      “Now, now,” Goldman demurred. “The SunSoars have done us proud. Have you ever known life to be better? More peaceful? Who dislikes trading with the beauty-loving and generous-spirited Icarii? Or even the Avar?”

      There was a small silence, then Hurst spoke up again. “Our quarrel is not with Tencendor as such, nor with the Icarii or the Avar. I, for one, admire the SunSoars greatly for what they have done for our land.”

      “Oh, aye!” a dozen voices echoed fervently.

      “Aye,” Hurst repeated. “I voice no wish to resurrect the hatreds of the past.”

      “Nay!” came the resounding cry.

      “Nay,” Hurst echoed again, then looked about and licked his lips. “But these taxes … I cannot believe them! It never would have happened under King Priam, or even King Karel, from what I have heard of the man! Askam will destroy the West in his attempts to solve his debts!”

      No-one missed the emphasis.

      “Of