A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  Book 7 of Destiny’s Crucible

  A DUBIOUS PEACE

  BY

  OLAN THORENSEN

  Copywrite 2021

  All rights reserved

  This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people and places is conincidental.

  MAPS OF ANYAR are available for viewing and downloading at olanthorensen.com. The author can be reached at olanthorensen@gmail.com.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  MORE AMERIKANS?

  EARTHQUAKE

  FAMILIAR STRANGERS

  WHO’S HEATHER?

  HISTORIES

  WATCHFUL EYES

  MEETINGS AND SHOPPING

  MURDER MOST FOUL

  RHANJUR GAYA

  PRECEDENT

  AMBASSADORS

  SNARLING GRAEKO

  WHAT’S NEXT?

  RETURN TO OROSZ CITY

  MEET THE AMERIKANS

  SECRETS

  FIRST STEPS

  NEW LIVES

  WHAT’S FUOMON UP TO?

  SUCCESS AND DISCORD

  ODYSIUS VISITS MORELAND

  GOING TOO WELL

  NOW WHAT!

  MUSIC

  PROGRESS AND BETRAYAL

  AUGURIES OF INDUSTRIALIZATION

  MYSTERIES AND SECRETS

  SEABORN INVITATION

  PENMAWR

  SEABORN PROVINCE

  A PARAMOUNT/HETMAN DÉTENTE

  GAMES

  YASTERN VALLEY

  STILTERN FALL

  WHAT’S HAPPENING?!

  PURSUIT

  STAND

  NEARER MY GOD TO YOU

  STARING INTO THE ABYSS

  SHOCK AND ANGER

  MEA CULPA

  FUOMON ISSUES

  CHANGES

  PAX?

  PROLOGUE

  The artificial intelligence orbiting Anyar never slept, never grew bored evaluating the constant data streams from observing the planet, never questioned the creators’ interest in the planet and its biped inhabitants, never wondered about the focus on five locations where the creators had deposited individual bipeds. The AI routinely sent reports to the creators. Then, a planet’s year ago, the AI reported unexpected technologies appearing on an island where one of the bipeds had been deposited. The creators responded: Focus more attention on the island. The creators would return to observe the planet for themselves. The next AI report was scheduled to be sent in a twentieth of an orbit—a schedule about to be changed by three bipeds.

  CHAPTER 1

  MORE AMERIKANS?

  Preddi City, Caedellium Island, Planet Anyar

  Three men stood together in the Preddi City office of the clan hetman. Two of them were skeptical about what they had just heard.

  “Really?” said Hetman Balwis Preddi, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “We’re supposed to believe a man who claims to be a countryman of Yozef’s and who arrives on a Buldorian ship? Someone must think we’re idiots.”

  “There’s no way we’re letting that man near the Paramount,” said Wyfor Kales. “My balls started itching as soon as I saw him. They only do that around someone very dangerous. I’ve long ago learned to trust my balls.”

  The third man was not as dismissive. “I’m not so sure,” said Savronel Storlini. When the ex-Narthani threw in his lot with the Caedelli against the invaders, he had provided valuable insight. Even more important had been his service as adviser to the new Preddi Clan hetman after the Narthani left. The Preddi Clan had been all but decimated by the invaders. The clan’s reconstruction was a formidable task. Its members were Preddi Clan survivors from the province’s Narthani occupation, ex-slaves freed as a condition for allowing the remaining Narthani to leave Caedellium, and a few thousand Narthani who opted to remain in hopes of having a better life than in Narthon.

  Although Wyfor Kales’s role as the Preddi Clan’s chief magistrate was important in suppressing overt conflicts among factions of the clan, it was Storlini’s experience with the ex-slaves and the ex-Narthani, coupled with his insightful intellect, that had proved critical to progress in amalgamating diverse and often mutually hostile elements. Or, as Wyfor once put it, “The sneaky bastard has the personality of a rock, but I advise listening to him.”

  Balwis looked at Storlini with an expression bordering on a sneer, but Wyfor’s face was more thoughtful.

  “You think there’s a chance he’s telling the truth?” asked Wyfor.

  “A chance? Of course, there’s a chance,” said Storlini. “The question is, how good a chance? Even if it’s most likely he’s lying, and it’s possible this is some attempt to assassinate the Paramount, we can’t preemptively dismiss a small chance he’s telling the truth.”

  “I agree,” Wyfor said pensively, “now that I think about it. I watched how he interacted with the woman he says is his wife and their child. I got a sense their relationship is true. A man is usually careful about putting his family in danger.” He held up a hand to forestall Balwis’s counter. “And no, that doesn’t mean we’re not cautious with him. The obvious solution is to keep him confined while we contact Yozef. He’s the only one who can determine if this Kaldwel is from Amerika. Even then, we have to watch that the Paramount doesn’t trust him too much before we know more about him.”

  Balwis scowled. “All right. I’ll get a semaphore message off to Yozef. I don’t see any reason for a long semaphore or a follow-up letter. I expect one of two things to happen. Either Yozef sends back questions that only someone from Amerika would know the answers to, or he’ll come here as fast as he can.”

  “He may not receive the message today,” warned Storlini. “By the time you write it and get it to the semaphore station, there will only be a couple of hours of light left. In that case, it will be midday before we get an answer. I also suggest we ask Kaldwel if he wants to include something in the message to convince Yozef he’s from Amerika.”

  “You take care of that, Savronel. Write up the message. As you suggest, check with Kaldwel. The man speaks with a terrible accent, but see if he wants to add to the message to Yozef—something only the Paramount would know. Wyfor . . . you find somewhere for them to wait until we hear from Yozef. Keep the mother and two children claiming to be Caedelli separate from the others. For all of them, something reasonably comfortable but with enough obvious security so they won’t be tempted to try anything.”

  One hour later and a quarter-mile from the Preddi Clan headquarters, the Kaldwel family and Heather Chen were left alone in a small residence with an outhouse five yards from the backdoor. The Caedelli named Kales had told them this was where they would stay until the Paramount responded. Food and water would be provided, and he pointed to the small structure behind the house.

  “That’s the only place you can go outside of this building. There will be armed guards posted on all sides. Don’t try to go anywhere else. That would be taken as confirmation you’re not who you say you are. If you feel there’s something you absolutely need, open the front door and call for one of the guards, tell him what you want, and go back inside.”

  Worried looks from both Heather and Maghen prompted Mark to reassure them after Kales left.

  “It’s all good. They’re just taking reasonable precautions. Think about it. We arrive here on a ship they consider an enemy. I tell them I’m from the same nation as their leader, who evidently has led them to believe there are no others from Amerika. It’s not unreasonable they would be cautious until this Paramount of theirs shows up.”

  “How do you know he will?” asked Maghen.

  “Oh . . . I don’t think there is any doubt this Yozef Kolsko will come running if he really is from Amerika,” said Heather. “Not after what Mark added to the semaphore
message.”

  Maghen set Alys on the floor. “You told me what you had that man add to the message, Mark, but what do the words mean?”

  “They’re names of people and places only someone from Amerika would recognize.”

  “So . . . what was one of the words you pronounced for me? Is Shikago a person’s name?”

  “That one is the name of a city,” said Mark. “Santa Klaus is a man.”

  “Is he an important person? I assume so if you think this Kolsko man will recognize the name.”

  Heather giggled and answered before Mark could speak. “He’s a man known for giving gifts to children, always dressing in red, and having a long white beard. He is also known for a unique . . . uh . . . wagon he travels in.”

  “I guess it sounds like someone you would remember,” said Maghen, looking around. “Now where did Alys go to? Alys, baby . . . where are you?”

  “Hiding, Mama. Come find me,” answered a small voice from one of the two bedrooms.

  Maghen walked to the doorway, stopped, looked around, and said, “I see you under the bed. Come on out. It might be dirty under there.”

  Maghen turned back toward Mark and Heather in time to hear Heather say something to Mark in their English.

  “The little man missing an arm creeps me out. He’d be perfect casting for some kind of slasher movie. You two kept eyeing each other like two pit bulls, circling to see who makes the first move.”

  “Well . . . I don’t know his history, but I think he’s extremely dangerous, even missing an arm. I may be a lot bigger than him and undoubtedly a lot stronger, but that isn’t all there is to being a threat. I think he’s someone I’d like to keep on the good side of.”

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Maghen.

  “Sorry, Maghen,” said Heather, switching back to Caedelli. “I was just saying how dangerous the man missing an arm looks, and Mark agreed.”

  Eager to change topics, Mark said, “Let’s go ahead and settle ourselves here. There seems to be a question whether the message gets to Kolsko today or tomorrow. For now, we can make the best of where we are.”

  “Hot water,” said Heather. “They said food and water would be brought, but we could ask for anything we wanted. How about enough hot water to clean up? I suppose enough for baths is too much to hope for, but I’d settled for enough so that I could strip down and use a cloth.”

  “Great idea, Heather,” said Maghen. “I was thinking the same thing, and I knew it would never occur to Mark.”

  He let the snide comment pass and turned toward the main door. “I’ll go ask.”

  CHAPTER 2

  EARTHQUAKE

  Orosz City

  Not counting the vagaries of weather, the view from Yozef Kolsko’s office was the same as it was every day—overlooking the plain south of Orosz City, the land where the blood of tens of thousands had soaked the earth and decided the fate of the Caedelli people. He looked back at the paper pile on his desk. No matter how many hours he worked on it, he never reached the bottom. When he finished whatever he could for the day, he would go home to his family. These and other facets of his life had evolved into a routine whenever he was in Orosz City. Today was not routine.

  He stared again out the window, then down to a single piece of paper on his desk. His unsteady hand picked it up, and he read the last part again. He couldn’t have told anyone how many times he had read those thirteen words written in Caedelli script, which when pronounced sounded out thirteen words in English—a language of which up to now he’d believed himself to be the planet’s only speaker, a belief now refuted. There was no question the originator of those words was from Earth and almost certainly another survivor of United Flight 4382, San Francisco to Chicago.

  He noticed the paper shaking. He held up the opposite hand. It trembled. He heard a voice.

  “Paramount,” said Synton Ethlore. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

  Yozef turned his head to look at the man who had been lounging in a chair across the room but now stood a few feet away, his brow wrinkled in concern. Yozef laid the paper on his desk and forced his attention back to where he was and who he was.

  “I’m all right, Synton. It’s just the message was such a surprise.”

  “Well . . . don’t do that again. I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. At first, I thought it was one of those spells where you go off someplace that people wonder about. Maera told us it’s best not to worry or interrupt and that you would come back to the rest of us eventually. But I began to wonder if I should get a medicant or have someone find Maera.”

  “No, really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Well, then, was it the semaphore message? Something about those people that Balwis wrote about? You know . . . the man from the Buldorian ship?”

  “Yes, that’s part of it. It’s just so unexpected.”

  Synton shook his head. “Oh . . . I suppose any Buldorian ship coming to Caedellium is unexpected, but you reacted as if you got word the Narthani had invaded again.”

  Yozef waved a hand to dismiss the issue. “I need to send Balwis a semaphore message. Find a runner to get it to the station as soon as possible.”

  Synton hesitated. The Paramount’s voice was normal, his face less pale than it had been, and his hands no longer trembled.

  Yozef grabbed a blank sheet of paper from a shelf behind his chair and pulled ink and pen closer on the desktop. He dipped the pen into ink before noticing Synton had not moved.

  “Any time, Synton,” he said.

  “Okay,” Synton said with a sniff. “Now you sound like the Paramount. About time.” He didn’t bother closing the door when he left to find a runner.

  Yozef saw puzzled faces in the outer office: clerks responsible for various areas of responsibility, ready to help the Paramount with whatever he needed. Yozef forced a smile and waved.

  He leaned back in his chair and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. His momentary shock had given way to a combination of excitement and fear. On one hand, excitement that there was another person from Earth and in Preddi City, where they could meet in only a few days. On the other hand, who knows what the person might already have said and to whom? Yozef had never regretted hiding his origin from everyone, even Maera. The initial fear that he might have been thought insane or a local version of a demon no longer worried him. But who knew what the reaction would be if the true origin of Yozef Kolsko, Paramount Hetman of Caedellium, was revealed? The negative possibilities were too dreadful.

  He leaned over the sheet of paper. The message back to Balwis needed to ensure the man from Earth was well treated. It also needed to tell that man to keep his mouth shut until Yozef arrived. The problem was how to get that message past Balwis. Yozef chewed on the end of the feather pen for almost two minutes before he began to write.

  It took only a minute for him to write the message. He laid down the pen and read aloud what he’d written, the first part in Caedelli.

  TO: Hetman Balwis Preddi

  FROM: Paramount Yozef Kolsko

  Am excited to meet man from Buldorian ship.

  Will arrange travel to Preddi City soonest.

  Treat man with all courtesy.

  Give him the following message.

  Yozef stopped momentarily, then continued reading the Caedelli script that would be nonsensical to Balwis but understood by the new arrival.

  “Clam yap. Zip lip.”

  He frowned. Would the stranger get the message? Was Yozef being too cautious? After all, Balwis wouldn’t know English . . . or would he? Yozef hadn’t stopped occasionally talking to himself in English, even in the presence of others. He suspected Maera had picked up some of the language, although he’d been scrupulous around Eina Saisannin, the Fuomi ambassador and a prodigious language intellect. He worried on occasion about Maera and Eina working together to surreptitiously decipher his English murmurings.

  No, if he wrote abbreviated Engl
ish in Caedelli script, he could be confident it wouldn’t be useful for Maera, Eina, or someone else to learn English. He probably was paranoid about his locked-away, multi-volumed journal sets on science, history and facts about Earth, and his own history, all written in English.

  “Clam yap. Zip lip,” he read aloud again. This would have to do. The date on the message said it was sent yesterday. It must have been in the afternoon, and transmission stopped at dark. Today, there were intermittent showers most of the day, which must have further delayed transmission. Who knows what the man might have unwittingly said, not aware of the consequences to Yozef Kolsko if his true origin became known?

  He sighed. All he could do was hope nothing irreversible had yet happened and that the stranger would understand his short message at the end of the semaphore to Balwis.

  Yozef laid the sheet down just as footsteps sounded from the outer office. Synton strode through the door, followed by a brown-haired teenage girl. Yozef recognized her but couldn’t remember her name. She wore what appeared at first glance to be a gray dress in the common Caedelli style. However, the lower part was sewn into two loose legs and closing segments— similar to pantaloons. Sturdy, ankle-high shoes replaced the sandals or other footwear worn by most Caedelli women. Wherever plausible, Yozef had mandated that new positions be open to both males and females. The corps of teenage message carriers was one such example.

  “Here you go,” said Synton. “There were three runners waiting for something to do, but I remembered that Hilma is the fastest.”

  “Thanks,” said Yozef, without looking at Synton. He held the paper out to Hilma. “Get this to the semaphore station as fast as you can. Tell the manager this is the Paramount’s highest priority.”