“So. Since I cannot grant what you asked, I cannot accept what you offer. Yet I wish the mill and forge to be built, and to that end I will loan half the cost from the Captain-General’s purse. You will repay the debt in iron, and the first fruits of the forge belong to the crown.”
“Generous, lord,” Fnor said. “You deserve your reputation. And we will send our sons to the Lord Mason in the morning. Thank you, Lord.”
* * *
Ganton sat cross-legged on the great bed, cradling a cup of wine in his lap and looking around the comfortable tapestry-hung room. It was, of course, Lord Ajacia’s bedchamber. Idly Ganton wondered where Ajacias was sleeping, and who he had displaced, and who that one had caused to move.
Morrone was hovering at the foot of the bed, casting an occasional glance at the door. “Oh, go to whatever girl you’ve asked,” Ganton said irritably. “I can undress myself.”
Morrone grinned. “Thank you, sire. But it would be best if I did my duty first.”
“Then do it. Lord Rick received a message tonight. They brought it during dinner, and he went out to read it. My guess is that it came from the lady Tylara, else why would they not wait until morning, or at least until dinner was finished?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If from Tylara, then it may have come from the University,” Ganton said. “I would know if it did.”
“Aha. Majesty, had there been letters for you, they would have been brought by now.”
“Perhaps.”
“Surely.”
“Then Octavia has chosen not to write to me.”
“You cannot be certain. Indeed, you do not know the message was from Lady Tylara, and certainly you do not know that it was sent from the University. Can you doubt that the Lady Octavia would take any opportunity to write to you? I cannot.”
“Ah. You believe then that she does not dislike me?”
Morrone shrugged. “What matter her likes and dislikes? I believe that she is intelligent. As to you—you brood too much. I am certain that my lady of the evening has a friend—”
“But are you certain your lady mother did not play the Eqeta false with a panderer from the stews of Rustengo?”
Morrone laughed again. As indeed, Ganton thought, he must, for if there were any hint that I was serious—I should watch my tongue, even alone with my only friend.
Then Morrone’s laugh died and his voice became very serious. “Are you certain that you are not getting yourself into more of a coil about the Lady Octavia than she deserves?”
“And why do you reckon her deserts?” There was a hint of danger in Ganton’s voice.
“Majesty, it is my duty to advise you.”
Yes. It is, Ganton thought. And indeed, you were one of the few who supported me when I thought to bring the Lady Octavia north on this tour. But I did not, through the advice of the Lord and Lady of Chelm, and Chancellor Yanulf, and Camithon—
“Advice! I hear nothing but advice, from my first visit to the jakes in the morning until you blow out the last candle at night! Only Yatar could listen to so much advice!”
“Yatar does not need advice,” Morrone reminded him. “You do. Or you have said you do. You are of age now, and the time has passed when I could speak to you as once I did, but I will, once more. Ganton, my friend, if ever you wish my silence, you have only to say so, and I will remain your friend yet.”
“Ach, not you also!” Ganton shouted. “They all say that! All, all, they threaten to withdraw their counsel, and though they do not always say so, it is in their minds, that my father lost his throne through failure to listen to his advisors. And yes, yes, that is true enough, but much of what I hear is senseless! Yet must I listen, and smile, lest someone with more power than wits be mortally offended! Surely there is more to being Wanax than this?”
Morrone made a wry face. “I offered one of the rewards of majesty, and you made free to insult my mother for reply.” He grinned to show he wasn’t offended. “And there is little chance that Lady Octavia would ever know, though why you remain so tender for the feelings of Lord Rick’s hostage to the Roman alliance I will never know.”
“Is she no more than that?”
“How can she be else?”
“If Lord Rick and Chancellor Yanulf think of nothing but hostages, why have they not gathered in the children of Publius’ dead sister?”
Morrone shrugged again. “The discussion grows serious. Will you have more wine?”
“Yes.”
Morrone poured and brought the goblets to the bed. “Caesar’s other grandchildren are not important because they cannot be offered in marriage. Not when the eldest is five. While the Lady Octavia is ripe enough. Majesty, think you that I oppose your suit?”
“Of course not.” Morrone had more than once been messenger when the University authorities tried to keep Ganton and Octavia apart.
“For indeed, were she queen, the way might lie open to more than ever we dream,” Morrone said. “Rome itself.” He stepped back and raised his hand in the Roman manner, and there was no mockery in his voice at all as he said, “Hail, Caesar.”
“Only if—only if Lord Rick permits it,” Ganton said.
Morrone nodded. “Aye, for the moment the starmen hold power over us. But they will not forever mock the anointed of Yatar!”
That phrase, and the way Morrone said it, reminded Ganton of something, someone else who’d said that in just that way, but the wine and the venison and the lateness of the hour overcame him before he could remember who it had been.
23
The morning ritual was the same here as at the palace. Rick dressed, put on armor, and with Mason beside him came out for his first appointments. His personal guards waited for him in the corridor. Today they were commanded by Padraic, the under-captain of the Mounted Archers. Four guardsmen walked ahead, then Rick and Mason, followed by Jamiy and Padraic.
Mason hadn’t much cared to have a new man armed and behind his captain, but he hadn’t any choice. Caradoc went with Tylara to the Garioch, and somebody had to be Mason’s second-in-command of the MPs. Padraic, son of a Drantos lord and a Tamaerthan mother, knew the customs of both lands, and had been loyal since the archers were formed. There wouldn’t be anyone better . . . which didn’t stop Art Mason from worrying.
Rick had no trouble reading his companion’s mind. Mason worried a lot about loyalties. At least, Rick thought, he understands why we’ve got to expand the leadership, bring in locals and govern by Tran customs and law, and not just be a flock of wolves here. Mason understands. And Gwen. I think Elliot and Warner. The rest—well, the rest of them saw what happened when Parsons tried taking over by force, but I’m not sure how well they learned the lesson. And how loyal are they? To me, to anyone?
They reached the chamber set aside for them by their host. Beazeley and four locals stood guard outside.
“All secure?” Mason asked.
Beazeley grinned. “Yes, sir, all secure now.”
“Eh?”
“Found two different listening places,” Beazeley said. “Alcove behind a tapestry, about like you’d expect. But something different.” He opened the door and led the way inside a stone chamber about twenty-five feet square. “Behind that tapestry, there, by the window. That was one. And see that picture there? Back of that’s a corridor. Real secret passage.”
“Who was in there?” Mason demanded.
“Unarmed clerk types,” Beazeley said. “Real anxious to prove they were unarmed, too.”
Rick nodded. “I expect they would be. Have you secured that corridor, then?”
“Yes, sir. I put two MPs at each end of it. Nobody to go in without your permission. Rest of the room’s clean, as far as I can tell.” Beazeley laughed. “I didn’t look too hard for electronics.”
“No. Thank you,” Rick said. “All right, we’ll deal with Lord Ajacias later. Meanwhile, Art, go escort the king, please. And I expect we’ll need wine, and a pot of that stuff that passes for tea. Morrone will
have to see to that.”
“Yes, sir,” Mason said. “Okay, Jack, let’s go.”
Rick paced around the room. It held a carved slab table, two side tables, three comfortable chairs, some benches, and a solid-looking cabinet that probably unfolded into a writing desk. On a whim Rick went to it and opened it. There were no dwarves inside, but it did have goose quills, parchment, and ink.
“Make way,” someone called outside. The door opened, and Mason stood aside to let Wanax Ganton enter. Lord Morrone followed him in.
“Welcome, Majesty,” Rick said.
“Thank you.”
Morrone gestured, and servants brought in wine and a silver service of the local equivalent of tea. It was bitter stuff, but it did have caffeine. If only the Shalnuksis would bring a few pounds of real coffee—
“Thank you,” Ganton told Morrone. His voice held dismissal, and Morrone left Rick and Ganton alone in the room.
“Your Companion was not overly pleased to leave us,” Rick said.
“Nor your soldiers.”
“Shall we sit?” Rick asked.
“Thank you.” Ganton took one of the chairs.
“Wine or tea?” Rick asked.
“Wine, but it is not right that you—”
“I have no fear for my dignity,” Rick said. He poured a goblet of wine and a large mug of tea and brought them to the table. The boy’s nervous, Rick thought.
“I think we have not been alone since I came of age,” Ganton said. He smiled thinly. “Nor do my advisors approve now.”
Why would they? The last thing any public official needs is to find out his sovereign is cutting deals the civil service doesn’t know about. “It is good to see you. You look well.”
“Thank you. As do you.” He looked nervously around.
“The room is safe, Majesty,” Rick said. “My soldiers personally removed the scribes Lord Ajacias had set to listen to us, and now they guard the passageway behind that picture.”
“I see. Is that not a treason?”
“Only if you wish to be.”
“But the law—”
Ganton seemed very serious, and Rick suppressed a chuckle. “Majesty, law and justice may be served when there has been a crime that harms someone. Here there has been no harm, and thus the matter of treason may be left to expediency and advantage.”
“Do you see advantage in accusing Ajacias?”
“Not at present,” Rick said. “He seems popular with his knights and villeins. Who would replace him?”
“My question exactly,” Ganton said. “Then that is settled.”
There was a long awkward silence.
“Lord Rick,” Ganton said. “The banquet last night was splendid. The guards, and the star warriors, all were magnificent—”
“But?” Rick prompted.
“But there were questions. Some asked—some asked if the starmen were truly loyal to me,” Ganton said with a rush. “And though I assure them they are, though I assure them you are loyal, though I believe this with all my heart, still will there be doubts.”
Rick frowned. Just what was eating the kid? “I will not remind you of the proofs we have already given,” Rick said. “You must know them all.”
“Aye,” Ganton said. “And yet still are there doubts! But—it came to me at the banquet. There is a way. If you could—if you could give me a star weapon. A small magic, not the large. The weapon the Lady Tylara used to kill Lord Parsons. And binoculars,” Ganton continued. “A different kind of magic. Together they would show—they would show that you do not fear to have your Wanax armed in your presence!”
“Um,” Rick said. Oh, boy! The trouble is, it’s not unreasonable. Not the way he looks at it, not the way his council will see it.
“I can pay,” Ganton said. “I would not expect you to take the personal equipment of one of your warriors, but perhaps one would sell for much gold?”
Hell’s bells, there’s half a dozen would sell every goddamn thing they’ve got if Mason and Elliot didn’t hold equipment checks every ten-day, Rick thought. And I’m not sure some of ’em haven’t sold gear already. We never did have a complete inventory of personal weapons and equipment.
“This is no small request,” Rick said.
“I know.”
“By God, I think you do know,” Rick said. “But let’s be certain. You ask that I place my life—that of any of my soldiers—in your hands. Not just in law, but in plain fact. Wait—I would not interrupt lightly. I know that I have already done this, and deliberately. I do not keep a large bodyguard, I travel with the court rather than stay in my stronghold of Dravan. But what I know may not be so plain to my soldiers. You ask that I show them that I trust you with their lives.”
“Aye. A great favor to ask, yet one I think necessary, if I am truly to be Wanax of Drantos.”
No question about that. Which means you’ve given me a decision to make. And you know that, too. Meanwhile, we’re making changes everywhere. Triphammers and water mills. Paper and ink. Deep plows. Fertilizer.
“It is not a decision lightly to be made,” Rick said. “I must take counsel.”
“But you will consider the matter?”
“I will—”
“Captain!” Mason’s voice came from beyond the door.
What the hell? “With your permission, Majesty?”
“I confess as much curiosity as you, my lord.”
“Come in, Mason.”
Art Mason came in quickly. Morrone followed before anyone could stop him. “Messengers, Cap’n,” Mason said in English. “From Murphy, up on the plateau. Peasant boys. They brought a parchment, but they’ve already told everybody in the castle. Horse archers from the high desert, Westmen. They attacked the wizard train. Killed Lafe Reznick and wounded Ski, chopped up a couple of villages, killed the local borderer baron. Everybody in the castle knows.”
* * *
Mason spoke too fast in the star language, and Ganton could catch only a few words. Outside he could hear people shouting in the courtyard, and someone ran through the corridors.
“Lord Rick—”
Lord Rick didn’t seem to hear. He took a parchment from Lord Mason and spread it out on the table. Ganton stood and moved closer to Rick. Neither Rick nor Mason objected, so he looked over Rick’s shoulder, and made a firm vow to spend more time at his English lessons when he went back to the University. If he went back, and that seemed more and more an impossible thought.
Westmen. The word was a literal translation of the Tran term, and it leaped at him from the page. The Westmen had come to the southwest high plains. They’d come in strength, and had slain a bheroman and his knights, and—
Lord Rick looked up to see Ganton trying to read. For a moment he hesitated, then handed the letter to Mason. “Read it to us,” he ordered. “Translate as you go.”
“Uh, Cap’n—”
“Please.”
“Yes, sir.” Mason cleared his throat and began to read.
The news was worse than Ganton had imagined. Hundreds of Westmen, mounted archers, every bit as skilled as the dreaded Tamaerthan archers. There—there was nothing on Tran to match them! Nothing but star weapons. How many did the Westmen number? In the Tales of The Time there were stories of fierce monsters from the west, tens of thousands of demons mounted on horses that ate human flesh. Could they be Westmen?
—I regret to report that Private Lafferty Reznick was killed in action. I would put him up for the Legion of Merit if I could. He saved my ass, and more important he saved Baldy, this Priest of Vothan who lived with the Westmen for ten years and more, so I got good intelligence on the Westmen. If I get a chance before I have to send this off I’ll put down some of what he told me, but the most important is, there’s drought up there in their desert. They’re all coming down. Not so many right now, not more than a few hundred, but they’ll all come down sooner or later. God knows how many that is, but it’s a lot.
Corporal Jerzy Walinski has been severely wound
ed, and is not yet returned to duty, but is expected to recover. Four knights, three esquires, and nine men-at-arms with full armor, plus twenty-five farm boys of the local militia, are all that have come back from Baron Harkon’s force. I keep hoping there’ll be more, but I don’t think there will be. There’s no sign of the baron.
A star lord dead, another wounded, and of a bheroman’s forces not one of ten alive!
Ski can’t travel, and I don’t have enough troops to fight my way back to Castle Dravan. So I holed up here, and we’re digging in. I hope to God this gets through, Captain, because if it don’t, we’ve had it and no mistake. I can hold on for a while. This is no strategic hamlet, but I know a few tricks, and the villagers are willing to fight if somebody shows them how. Which is me, I guess, because there’s nobody else to do it, and I just hope that ammo holds out.
So I hope you can send me some help before it’s too late. I know you got troubles of your own, but you got to get here pretty quick if you want to see us alive. If you don’t make it, I’ll try to wreck the H&Ks before they get me.
Yours very respectfully,
Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval,
Onetime Private, U.S.A.
Mason finished reading and handed the parchment to Rick.
“We must send aid,” Ganton said. “And quickly.”
Lord Mason and Lord Rick were looking at each other. They didn’t seem to hear.
Other parchments lay on the table. Maps, and a sketch of one of the Westmen. Ganton also noted the bow, longer and thicker than the horse bows of Drantos or the Five Kingdoms, or even of the Romans.
“Your Lord Murphy seems a wise captain,” Ganton said. “I would honor him. With your permission. And a grant to the wives—” he could make himself say it now, although the idea had grated on him while Reznick was alive. “—to the wives of the Lord Reznick. Only upon your advice, my lord.”
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