Theodosius Valkorion's Arc

Chapter 18 of 22

The gate captain's confession was two days cold when the first rider came in from the executed lords' provinces. He carried a tax collector's satchel with the buckle cut. The collector was alive, but the peasants had walked him to the province line and told him to go back to the king who murdered their lord. Two more riders came before dusk. The story was the same in every village. No hands raised, no fires set. Just closed doors and empty granaries and men standing in the road. Theodosius laid the reports on the map table. Arcturus Zanator came in still in his light plate, the small blue star scratched at the shoulder. He had not slept since the pass. "How wide?" Theodosius asked. "Both provinces," Zanator said. "Nine villages by count. It will jump the border by week's end. The loyal lords are already writing to ask why they should collect what their neighbors refuse." Master Guardsman Longhall stood at the door in the white and blue of the Adamantine Guard, helmet under his arm. Blood still marked the joint of his gauntlet from the breach. "Send us," he said. "We burn one village. The rest pay." "Then the loyal provinces watch us burn peasants for coin," Theodosius said. "That is the story the factor in the capital will sell next." Longhall did not answer. He did not disagree either. Theodosius set the white book on the table between them. The blue star caught the lamp. "The code says the crown collects. It does not say who carries it in." He looked at Zanator. "Pull your peacekeepers off the road watch in both provinces. Send Peacekeeper Heron ahead with twenty men and a wagon of grain from the traitor lords' own stores. Ride in under the banner. No tax collectors. Not yet." "They took the collectors' satchels," Zanator said. "I know. Heron opens the granaries first. Every household signs the book for a measure. The signature is the tax. The grain is the receipt." Zanator thought for a breath. "They sign, they've sworn." "They sign, they've sworn." Longhall said, "And the ones who refuse?" "Heron marks the house. No grain. The Adamantine Guard rides in behind him in four days, in full colors, and stands in the square while the rest sign again." Longhall's jaw set. "A show." "A show they can join." Heron rode out at first light with the wagon and the book. Word came back on the sixth day. Seven of nine villages had signed. Two had held out until the Guard's white ranks filled the square, then signed under the banner without a blade drawn. The tax rolls closed at three-quarters of the promised sum. Theodosius stood at the map with the new count under his palm. The provinces were bound to the book now, not to the dead lords. But the factor in the capital had watched a king trade grain for names, and would already be writing that the crown paid its own peasants to obey.