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.”
Kieri estimated the extent as perhaps a third of the kingdom thatmight otherwise, as in Tsaia, have been populated, but also extending up the foothills of the Dwarfmounts.
After a break for lunch, they finally worked their way to the present financial status of Lyonya.
“I’m used to Tsaian crowns and Guild League nitis and natas,” Kieri said. “What does this—” He pointed to the sums at the bottoms of three columns. “—mean in those terms?”
“About twice as much in Tsaian gold crowns,” Egil said, a little smugly. “Our coins are marked with tree and leaf: those are trees.”
Kieri felt his brows rising. He had heard Lyonya spoken of as a backward, secretive land, poor because “elves won’t let humans get rich,” but he knew the Tsaian treasury had no more than this, and often less.
“We are not bankrupt, at least,” Galvary said. Again that hint of a smile.
“And has the balance changed much, year to year?”
“There has been a slow trend downward, over the past ten years,” Egil said. “Not large, but troubling. The late king’s illness made necessary some expenses here at the palace … unavoidable, of course. There have been crop failures, some difficulties with bands of robbers coming over the Tsaian border, requiring more patrols, more rangers. The Council has not been concerned.” He glanced at Sier Galvary, a look almost rebellious.
“Ten years …” Kieri said. “That’s a long time for a downward trend.”
“But we have quite enough for a coronation celebration,” Galvary said. “If it is not too extravagant.”
Kieri let that stand, ridiculous as it was when he had just seen the figures. Still, more than the total mattered. “Let’s look at the previous years,” Kieri said. “Has the income fallen, or the expense grown?”
“A little of both. Crop yields have dropped a little, and prices for our usual exports are down, too.”
“Hmm. You have a Merchants’ Guild?”
“In Chaya, yes.”
“And their representative to the Council would be—”
“Oh, they’re not on the Council.”
“Not at all?”
“Er … no. Did you … are they … in Tsaia?”
“The Merchants’ Guild has a representative, not much power, but someone there to know what’s going on. In Aarenis, the Merchants’ Guild runs the Guild League cities.”
“The elves don’t think much of merchants …”
Kieri wondered if that was true. He’d already encountered beliefs about elves that didn’t match his knowledge of them.
“Merchants bring change; they make people greedy,” Egil added. “Elves prefer stability.”
“Stagnation,” muttered Galvary.
“I thought people were greedy enough by themselves,” Kieri said. At Egil’s shocked expression, he went on. “Do not your people commonly want more than they have?”
“What could they want that they do not have?” Egil asked.
“You’ve already mentioned that our human subjects wanted more land, more access to forest
“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.”
Kieri estimated the extent as perhaps a third of the kingdom thatmight otherwise, as in Tsaia, have been populated, but also extending up the foothills of the Dwarfmounts.
After a break for lunch, they finally worked their way to the present financial status of Lyonya.
“I’m used to Tsaian crowns and Guild League nitis and natas,” Kieri said. “What does this—” He pointed to the sums at the bottoms of three columns. “—mean in those terms?”
“About twice as much in Tsaian gold crowns,” Egil said, a little smugly. “Our coins are marked with tree and leaf: those are trees.”
Kieri felt his brows rising. He had heard Lyonya spoken of as a backward, secretive land, poor because “elves won’t let humans get rich,” but he knew the Tsaian treasury had no more than this, and often less.
“We are not bankrupt, at least,” Galvary said. Again that hint of a smile.
“And has the balance changed much, year to year?”
“There has been a slow trend downward, over the past ten years,” Egil said. “Not large, but troubling. The late king’s illness made necessary some expenses here at the palace … unavoidable, of course. There have been crop failures, some difficulties with bands of robbers coming over the Tsaian border, requiring more patrols, more rangers. The Council has not been concerned.” He glanced at Sier Galvary, a look almost rebellious.
“Ten years …” Kieri said. “That’s a long time for a downward trend.”
“But we have quite enough for a coronation celebration,” Galvary said. “If it is not too extravagant.”
Kieri let that stand, ridiculous as it was when he had just seen the figures. Still, more than the total mattered. “Let’s look at the previous years,” Kieri said. “Has the income fallen, or the expense grown?”
“A little of both. Crop yields have dropped a little, and prices for our usual exports are down, too.”
“Hmm. You have a Merchants’ Guild?”
“In Chaya, yes.”
“And their representative to the Council would be—”
“Oh, they’re not on the Council.”
“Not at all?”
“Er … no. Did you … are they … in Tsaia?”
“The Merchants’ Guild has a representative, not much power, but someone there to know what’s going on. In Aarenis, the Merchants’ Guild runs the Guild League cities.”
“The elves don’t think much of merchants …”
Kieri wondered if that was true. He’d already encountered beliefs about elves that didn’t match his knowledge of them.
“Merchants bring change; they make people greedy,” Egil added. “Elves prefer stability.”
“Stagnation,” muttered Galvary.
“I thought people were greedy enough by themselves,” Kieri said. At Egil’s shocked expression, he went on. “Do not your people commonly want more than they have?”
“What could they want that they do not have?” Egil asked.
“You’ve already mentioned that our human subjects wanted more land, more access to forest
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