After handshakes and pro forma greetings, they retired immediately to the hetman’s office a half-mile away.
“I’ve read your reports, Owill,” said Yozef. Neither he nor Owill Brell was inclined to exchange meaningless formalities, and they settled directly into business.
“I know you’re frustrated, but it will take time for those who still see themselves as Eywellese to make the adjustment. Well . . . I guess, to be honest, I should say for those who can adjust. The others you’ll have to live with. Your goal is to get the majority accepting the facts.”
Brell waved a hand. “Nothing I don’t already know. The situation isn’t too bad here in Hanslow. The Narthani may have brought coin to the city, but they made no real friends. Most Hanslowese were happy to see them leave. It also helped that Brandor Eywell was not one of the more respected hetmen by his clanspeople. I’m estimating about a third of the clan would have accepted anyone as long as he weren’t Brandor. His oldest son, Bilton, was even more despised. I didn’t know Bilton personally, but I knew Brandor, and I hear many people dreaded the day when Brandor would die and Bilton would become hetman.”
“Well, the Battle of Moreland City solved those problems,” said Yozef. “Too bad about Demian, the younger son. I hear he was different than the father and the brother.”
“Yes, but that would have complicated determining what to do with the clan after the war,” said Brell. “I doubt the other clans would have agreed to leave any of the hetman’s family in positions of power. Convenient also that the rest of the hetman’s family, including brothers, went with the Narthani. Same with five of the nine boyermen.
“Maybe a half of the population felt abandoned by the leadership, which, along with many Eywellese who never approved of the Narthani alliance, helped the new hetman and clan name become accepted. I’ll count it a success if three-quarters of the people accept the reality of Clan Brell by the time I pass the hetman duties to one of my sons.”
“And the nine current boyermen . . . how do you evaluate them?”
“Too soon to tell for all of them, but I’m optimistic. Besides the original five boyermen who fled, one of the others was killed in the war and another died from a knife. The killer has never been identified, but suspicion is one of his clanspeople opted for revenge during the turmoil of the Narthani defeat. That worked for me because I would have removed him after learning more about him. As for the other two, one of them went into hiding but then was identified by other clanspeople. All his property was seized, and he’s working as a laborer, helping rebuild Parthmal. Much of the town was destroyed in the war and the aftermath. He’s free as long as he stays within ten miles of the town.
“Kollar, the boyerman of the district that includes Hanslow, stayed and surrendered the city to avoid bloodshed. I read Welman Stent’s report on Kollar. He thought Kollar did the best he could under the circumstances. I don’t totally agree, but I hope I’m honest enough to understand I can’t be certain what I would have done in his place. I decided the man was competent and had broad support within Hanslow, so it was an obvious decision to keep him as the Hanslow boyerman.”
Brell grunted. “One of my better decisions. I don’t know his personal opinion about the clan change, but he’s been completely supportive, which puts Hanslow and the immediate surroundings in the best condition. Morthmin and Neath are also quiet, probably because they’re on the travel route between Orosz City and Preddi City, which means they interact often with people from other clans.”
Yozef grimaced. “I admit I was worried about that Klyston man, but you handled it well. It would have been bad all around if I’d had to send in dragoons.”
Brell slapped a hand on his thigh. “Damn idiots! Came down to only about a group of twenty who persuaded others they could rise up and overthrow the usurper hetman. Convinced themselves others would join in. Got to be enough of them I had to do something. That’s another place Kollar helped. He knew enough about where sympathies lay to recommend which of the new militia units to send in. The uprising vanished once most of the followers realized the expected support didn’t happen. We snuffed it out early enough that only two cases couldn’t be solved with fines and probation.”
“Sorry you had to handle it, Owill, but I’m glad it was an entirely internal Brell Clan trial. It would only have fanned resentment against both you and the union if the two executions had been seen as anything but an internal matter. I couldn’t avoid being involved in the Preddi case, and I hope that’s the last one.
“Speaking of Kollar, I’ve not met him, so I’ll want a meeting with him before I leave. And . . . speaking of leaving . . . I’ll stay here as long as necessary, but I’m anxious to get back to Orosz City. Any estimate of how much time we’ll need to go over whatever you think is important?”
“Shouldn’t take long. I’ve sent detailed reports every sixday, and you responded regularly. I think we can finish up this evening, and you can be on the way tomorrow morning.”
As predicted, Yozef left Hanslow the next morning.
Moreland City, Moreland Province
The stop in the Moreland Clan capital was not as short as in Brell and was far more formal. Abbot Abelard of St. Worlan’s Cathedral met Yozef at the train station, along with most of the Moreland Grand Council. When Gynfor Moreland, the deceased clan hetman, in an act of stupidity and self-aggrandizement, had ignored the clans’ agreed-upon battle plan during the Battle of Moreland City, the catastrophic consequence was the death of the hetman, his two sons, most of the clan’s political leadership, and over a thousand other Moreland men.
As a temporary measure, a Grand Council was convened to govern the province until a new hetman was selected. The political turmoil and maneuverings among factions to choose the new hetman threatened civil war, despite the continuing Narthani threat. No major faction was willing to cede to its opponents. In desperation, the Grand Council approached Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland, a wife of Yozef Kolsko, the man who by that time was leading the war against the Narthani. Anarynd was part of a minor distant branch of Gynfor Moreland’s extended family, a branch not aligned with the main Moreland family factions.
Abbot Abelard, of Moreland City’s St. Worlan’s Cathedral, led the delegation proposing that Anarynd’s first son be declared the future Moreland hetman. In the meantime, until Anarynd’s son reached majority, governance would be by a combination of a childless minor member of the Moreland family serving as interim hetman and a Grand Council.
The abbot admitted months later that a few of the factions believed they could still win the hetman position after years of maneuvering. Yozef’s ascension to Paramount Hetman ended such delusions.
To both Yozef and the Grand Council’s relief, most Moreland clanspeople were so happy to avoid an intraclan conflict and so positive about a future hetman related to Yozef Kolsko that the province was becoming one of the most enthusiastic supporters of the Paramount. This explained the crowds waiting at the train station and lining streets on the way to the new clan headquarters.
“Impressive progress on rebuilding, Abbot,” said Yozef as the carriage passed block after block of buildings, either obviously new or still under construction.
“Not that we had much choice when Gullar’s army passed and the Narthani burned most of the city to the ground. Of course, none of this would be possible without your support. I doubt all the other clans would have contributed coin, otherwise.”
“I’m sure many would have,” said Yozef, “but it’s important to drive home the lesson that Caedellium is a nation composed of provinces and not provinces pretending to be a nation.”
“It’s a fine distinction,” said Abelard, “and one I’m not sure many appreciate.”
Yozef considered and discarded trying to relate a similar example from the United States. It had taken the Civil War to change “United States” from two words, an adjective and a noun, to a singular noun composed of two words.
“It’s not really important for ev
eryone to understand, as long as they identify Caedellium as a single people. But back to the rebuilding. It’s not something I would express to many Morelanders, but the new Moreland City may well become the envy of a lot of the other clans.”
Abelard’s face fell, and a sheen of moisture formed over his eyes. “It may well happen, but at what price? I spent most of my life working in St. Worlan’s, first as a boy doing small tasks and going to school, then training to be a theophist and rising to become abbot. That St. Worlan’s is gone.”
Yozef frowned. “But I thought you had the original plans and drawings from the last century to reconstruct it.”
“The new St. Worlan’s will look very similar, but it will also look new. It won’t have the changes in stone and wood that come with age. Neither will it have chips, scratches, and wearing that tell the story of its history.”
Abelard perked up with a wry grin. “At least, the argument will be over about replacing the cathedral’s main steps. The Narthani burned most of Moreland City, but they used explosives on the cathedral, and the steps were shattered. The old steps had been worn from so many feet over so many years that most of the steps bowed in the middle. Arguments had gone on for decades about replacements.
“Ah . . . here we are,” said the abbot. “Prepare yourself for the rest of a day filled with speeches and meetings. I trust you’ll be patient. The people really do support the office of the Paramount and yourself.”
Abelard reached for the carriage door handle, then stopped and looked back at Yozef. “For some, it is a real belief, and for others it’s fear of the alternative they saw coming, but either way, it is support.”
Orosz City, Kolsko Manor
Two evenings later, Yozef and Carnigan returned to the manor grounds in the cleft above Orosz City. Carnigan gave the carriage to a stable boy and went searching for Gwyned, who the boy said was at the Puvey house. Yozef walked the remaining fifty yards to the main house and was greeted by a flurry of bodies, large and small, that poured from the main door.
Yozef managed only brief hugs with Maera and Anarynd before being entangled with young children for the next half-hour. He was tired from traveling, glad to be home, and hungry, but he found himself loath to draw an end to talking with those able to converse and carrying the others. After too many days of travel, meetings, the trial, and being Paramount most of the time, he felt the unfettered excitement and affection of the smallest members of the Kolsko and Puvey households to be a balm.
Maera and Anarynd watched, bemused, as the Paramount, leader of all the clans, played with the children. Then, involuntarily, the two women slowly moved closer to each other until, side by side, they touched, an arm around the other. They separated when Gwyned and Carnigan came to retrieve Morwena and Dwyna, the latter of whom would be sleeping with the Puveys this night.
It was another two hours before the children were put to bed or placed in the care of a woman staffer so Yozef could sit and eat with Maera and Anarynd. He didn’t comment on the balmoth roast. Maera whispered that Anarynd wanted the meal to be special and had dipped into their limited supply from an ice cave deep in the mountain behind the manor. The enormous animal resembled Paraceratheriums of Earth’s Miocene Epoch. A mature male reached eighteen feet at the shoulder and weighed up to thirty tons. Once widespread on Caedellium, the animal was now limited to small populations in the Vandinke and Hewell provinces. The mixed results of Yozef’s attempts to prevent the beast’s extinction had led him, reluctantly, to allude to whispers to protect the animal—the catchphrase referencing the rumor that God whispered into Yozef’s ear or mind.
The balmoth’s misfortune was that its meat tasted so good. Yozef had convinced the Vandinke and Hewell hetmen to declare moratoriums on balmoth hunting. The meat sequestered in the ice cave was the remainder of a present from Lordum Hewell before the moratorium went into effect. As much as Yozef favored the meat, the limited supply and his own sense of guilt at enjoying it had resulted in their not drawing on the supply for many months. Maera’s implied warning about Anarynd’s intent gave him the leeway to relax and enjoy the meal.
“Please, Yozef,” said Maera, smiling, “Anarynd is dying to know about the Amerikans. She talked of little else the last few days.”
Anarynd stuck her tongue out at Maera. “As if you aren’t as curious. You just hide it, instead of letting it out like I do.”
Yozef raised his hands, holding knife and fork. He was savoring the first bite of balmoth. After swallowing, he said, “We should have talked before eating. Let me just say it went well. As I wrote, Mark and Heather are definitely Amerikans and will be coming to Orosz City in about two sixdays. I’ll give you a complete report, but please let’s at least finish the balmoth portions while they’re hot and fresh.”
Twenty minutes later, Yozef had transferred the last piece of meat to his mouth.
“All right, so what happened?” asked Anarynd, giving up on being patient.
“Ummummmumm,” was his entire response until he finished chewing and swallowing.
He described the Kaldwel family and Heather, then moved on to the trial and meetings with the Landolin and Iraquinik representatives, ending with the stops in Hanslow and Moreland City.
“How did it feel to meet Amerikans after years of thinking it would never happen?” asked Maera.
He knew she was getting to the heart of what both she and Anarynd were most curious about. His recitation of facts had given him more time to consolidate what he would say . . . not that he hadn’t already spent time on the same task.
“It was odd. After years, I thought I had accepted never again having any form of contact with Amerika. As you know, I was excited by the message from Balwis, but it was tempered by suspecting it was a trick or a mistake. Maybe Balwis had misinterpreted what the newcomers told him. Maybe the Narthani were involved, trying to get close to me. And no, I didn’t really believe those possibilities. The words Mark had Balwis put in the semaphore message could only have come from Amerikans. But . . . you know . . . I guess I was afraid of hoping too much. That’s what surprised me. How much I hoped it was true.”
Twice in the past, Maera had apprised Yozef that Anarynd held a secret worry that he would return to Amerika if he ever had the chance. He knew that possibility did not exist, but the reason could not be explained. Not that he hadn’t wondered the same thing, but mainly during the first years. Now, the idle thought was easily dismissed, but he had two reassurances to give.
“It brought back a flood of memories of my old home and especially of my family, but no matter how much I miss them, this is now my home. With you, the children, our friends, and all of Caedellium. In a way, it was reaffirming. Even if I suddenly had a way to return to Amerika, I would never consider it.”
His smile was authentic. “Which is irrelevant because neither Mark nor Heather knows how to get from here to Amerika. So . . . the only thing that has changed by their arrival is that at times I’ll have two people to remember Amerika with, and there’s what Mark knows.”
“And what does he know?” Maera asked, both curious and inclined to distract Anarynd now that she had been reassured.
“Hah!” he exclaimed. “It may be better than I could have hoped. Mark claims to be an engineer.”
“Oh . . . someone who builds things,” said Maera. “What . . . like roads and bridges?”
“That’s one kind of engineer, and we could use such knowledge, but no, Mark is an engineer for making devices. Machinery. We call it being a mechanical engineer. You’ve heard me talk about steam engines. I think he’ll be able to solve the problems we’ve had, but the first thing will be the telegraph. He’s confident the relay problem can be solved quickly. He also didn’t say so explicitly, but the wire making he passed off as another easy problem.”
“But you just met him,” said Anarynd. “Can you be sure he is capable of doing these things?”
“No, of course not. I got the sense Mark knows what he’s talking about, but
we won’t be sure until he gets here and starts to work.”
“And he and his family really came all the way from Frangel?” asked Anarynd. “With a small child?”
“I didn’t get all the details,” Yozef said, “but I’m sure it’s a story worth hearing.”
CHAPTER 15
MEET THE AMERIKANS
It had been planned that the trip to Orosz City would be completed by the afternoon of the second day. It was still dark the next morning when the Kaldwels and Heather were packed and waiting for Ceinwyn to pick them up by carriage. Their moderate-size pieces of baggage contained entirely new clothing, except for what they wore, also new. Their only other possessions were Alys’s three stuffed animals, the few remaining Frangel and Sulakoan gold coins, and the one doomster rifle. Its sibling had been involuntarily given in exchange for horses when they crossed Rustal, guided by Gulgit, the Rustalian arms smuggler.
A broken cloud cover moved briskly east to west, and the sun was still half an hour below the horizon when Ceinwyn arrived, driving the carriage.
“Go ahead and put your bags in the back,” she said. “The train is waiting at the station. You’ll be the only passengers, but you’ll share the train with mail going to Hanslow, the Brell Province capital.” She kept talking while the three adults loaded baggage, Alys supervising. “I think someone described to you that the rail line to Orosz City isn’t quite complete. At the gap in the line, you’ll transfer to a carriage that will take you to another train for the rest of the way.
“I received a letter from Maera two days ago. She said that when you arrive in Orosz City, you will be taken directly to Kolsko Manor and will stay there until something more permanent is arranged. If the travel goes well, you’ll meet the Kolskos for a meal. Probably the Puvey family will be there, too. Carnigan and his wife, Gwyned, are close friends and live nearby.”
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