Clan and Crown j-2

by Jerry Pournelle

  "Poison?" she asked. "And the point has been made small enough to enter ringmail."

  Bartolf nodded. "That was Monira's idea. The rest was all his." He reached down to tousle the boy's hair.

  The boy carefully sidestepped out of reach.

  "That was a very good idea, Bennok," said Tylara. "Are there others who keep watch?"

  "Oh yes, lady. With the poison on the quarrel, any of us can do the work. So we all take turns."

  "Very good." She reached into her purse and pulled out a silver piece. "This is for your good work."

  Bennok didn't reach for the silver. "Will there be one for all the others, lady? I can't take it unless there is."

  Tylara tried not to sound as confused as she felt. "I think there will be silver for all of you."

  "Oh thank you, lady. Now maybe we can buy those longbows ourselves if Bartolf goes on saying he won't give them to us." He darted back under the tapestry and vanished.

  Bartolf was red-faced again. "I'm sorry, Lady Tylara. I should have told you. They've all eleven of them sworn an oath to be as brothers and sisters and have all their wealth in common. The only things they'll call their own are weapons and clothing."

  "And Monira was the leader in this, I'll wager?" said Tylara, smiling to show that she wasn't offended.

  Bartolf returned her smile uncertainly. "She spoke for them all when they told us. I don't know if that was her idea, though."

  "And you don't think you ever will?"

  "No. They are good at keeping even the secrets we don't want them to keep."

  Someday that might make trouble. Now it proved to Tylara that her idea was succeeding beyond anything she'd expected.

  Thoughts sometimes took on a life of their own. This one was born in bitter sleeplessness during the early days of pregnancy. She lay awake, unable to sleep, unable to stop torturing herself with restless thoughts. She was certain that Rick had not fathered Gwen's child, but her mind would not let go of the matter. Let her think of stars and star weapons, and it would end with that question. That night it began simply enough, when Rick musingly told her that the star-folk would come and it might be useful to capture one of their ships.

  Tylara could scarcely conceive of a starship. She never expected to see one. Yet certainly something had brought Rick and the others to Tran. All the priesthoods agreed that mankind had not been created here. If humanity came from another world, then there must be ships to travel between the worlds.

  And Rick wanted one. He wanted one badly.

  If he had a ship, would he leave her?

  Or would he first teach everyone on Tran the secrets of star weapons and starships, as he said he would do? It scarcely mattered. There was no way to capture a starship. Rick had laughed at his own idea. His star weapons would be useless.

  And Tylara lay pondering stars and starships and weapons and children-There were no dangerous weapons. Only dangerous men-and women, and children. If the starmen were all like Rick, reluctant to kill, sentimental, fastidious to the point of squeamishness…

  How would you take a ship of the sky-folk? You would certainly need to surprise them, so they would not be able to use their fire weapons.

  But suppose, suppose half a dozen children could get aboard such a ship. Not ordinary children. Children well trained, dedicated, fanatic followers devoted to service… Then at a signal they pulled out knives and fell on the crew. That would be surprise indeed. No one thinks that an eight-year-old girl can be dangerous, unless she is a trained warrior, and maybe not even then. The Shalnuksis, according to both Rick and Gwen, would not be sending trained warriors. They would send merchants, easily surprised and once surprised easily killed.

  But you would need to have the children trained and ready long before the sky-folk came. And they would have to be kept a secret from everyone until then. There were those on Tran who might warn the sky-folk if they could. Lady Gwen could be one of those. And Rick surely would not approve of this. Why should he know?

  So began the Houses of the Children of Vothan, for boys and girls up to the age of ten who'd been orphaned in the wars. There were plenty of those, enough to fill many more than the seven Houses everyone knew about.

  In those seven Houses orphans were fed, clothed, sheltered, and taught trades. Some learned to be midwives, seamstresses, carpenters, shepherds, smiths. Some learned new skills, such as wire-making or distilling. In one house the boys were destined to become acolytes of Yatar, the girls to serve the hearth goddess Hestia. There was a house near Rick's precious University.

  And there was an eighth House. Six boys and five girls, from six to nine, picked for quick wits, strong muscles, and keen eyes and ears, brought here to learn one thing and one thing only-how to kill. Some of them had good reasons to learn, others just had talent. All had been doing well at their lessons, the last time she visited them, six ten-days before her confinement.

  Bartolf led her through the door from the antechamber into the main room of the house. As she stepped into the room she heard a thump, a squeal like a piglet's, and the rasp of a knife blade.

  "Aiiii, lass!" shouted a wheezing male voice. "Have ye learned nothing about holding a knife? That one-it'ud stick between his ribs, even the rope round his neck canna save ye then! Fast in, faster out, that's the way it must be."

  Tylara stepped out into the room. In one corner a man-sized dummy lay on the floor. One boy lay under its head and upper body, gripping a rope drawn tightly around its neck. On top of it lay the girl Monira, her knife thrust up to the hilt in its chest. As Tylara approached, Monira sprang up, bowed quickly, then helped her companion crawl out from under the dummy.

  "Are you hurt, Haddo?"

  "No, Monira. Only my breath knocked out." He also bowed to Tylara, then walked off with Monira as if both Tylara and their teachers had become invisible.

  "My regrets, lady," said the teacher with a shrug. "Sometimes she gets taken so that she forgets everything. Mostly, though, she's a joy to watch. Ah, if I'd had a girl like her when I-" He broke off abruptly as he remembered to whom he was talking.

  The teacher's name was Chai, and he had reason to be cautious in talking about his past. He was a former thief who'd taken advantage of the wars to practice his skills, and in due time came before the Eqetassa's justice. Unlike most common thieves, he had real skills. He could even read and write. And he'd once been a priest of Yatar. A spoiled priest, but admitted to the mysteries…

  That was the morning that Tylara decided to establish the Houses; and Chai, his name and appearance changed, became one of the Masters…

  Tylara watched Monira and Haddo sit down cross-legged in a corner and wipe each other's faces with damp clothes. Monira was beginning to have a woman's body, but she would never be beautiful even with her thick fair hair. A troop of Sarakos's cavalry had taken care of that. At least nothing showed when she was dressed, except her broken nose and the scars on her chin and one ear.

  Tylara had been through a similar ordeal, at Sarakos's own hands, and she also would bear scars both inside and out for the rest of her life. Compared with what Monira had survived, though, Tylara knew her own experience was a child's game. No great wonder that Monira sometimes saw one of those men instead of the training dummy.

  In another corner of the room stood the third teacher, Rathiemay, wearing a knight's armor. He was showing three of the Children how to attack an armored man.

  "— get him to bow his head, if he's wearing a helmet like this. That will leave a patch exposed at the back of the neck. Yes, that's it," he added, as one of the Children prodded it with a blunted dagger. "A good hard thrust right there. If he's not dead at once he's easy to finish off." He saw Tylara and straightened up. "Good day, my lady."

  "Good day, Lord Rathiemay. How are they doing?"

  "No one could wish for better pupils, my lady. They seem to have been born with steel in their hands." His face was bright with his smile, reminding Tylara oddly of her husband's expression when he spoke of
the University or some other great scheme for bringing hope and life to Tran. She remembered how he'd looked the first time she came, sour and grumbling over being a knight sent to teach commoner children how to strike down his brothers in arms. To be sure, he was grateful that the Eqetassa had given him this chance to restore his fortunes, but still… Now he looked almost like a father teaching the children of his own body the family trade.

  "Where are the other Children?"

  "Out in the woods, learning tree-climbing," said Chai.

  "Without a teacher?"

  "Na, na, lady. They're learning from Alanis. His father was a woodsman, there's no sort of tree he can't climb. It's a mizzling gray sort of day, so no one's likely to be seeing them."

  Tylara pulled eleven silver coins out of her purse and handed them to Bartolf. "For the Children. I hear they want some new bows."

  "Aye, but they've also spoken about some sand-fish buskins for the tree-climbing. We'll have to let them decide."

  "You let them choose what they'll buy?"

  "Oh, not everything, lady. Only the things likely to be life or death for them. Why not? Does a carpenter let a butcher choose his mallets for him?"

  Tylara thanked the man, drew the hood of her cloak over her head, and was outside in the rain without remembering quite how she got there. What had she done? The Children of Vothan were no weapon to lie quietly in a scabbard until she choose to draw it. They were a sword with a life and a will of its own, which might choose its own moment to be drawn and drink blood.

  Whose?

  A dangerous experiment. Was it best ended now, while she had control? Or Or might there be uses for this weapon? Used well, used now, before the sky-folk came.

  Tylara grew more hopeful as she walked back to her horse. By the time she was in the saddle and returning to where she'd left her escort, she knew the Children of Vothan would not be a weapon only for a single battle. The sky-folk were not the only enemies to her and her house.

  PART TWO

  If this be Treason…

  6

  Corgarff knew that he was out of favor with Dughuilas when his clan chief did not invite him to sit or offer him a drink. He stood in front of the table facing Dughuilas and another man he didn't know, until he felt like a small boy waiting to be whipped by his father. The only light in the cellar came from two candles on the table, throwing strange twisted shadows on the cobweb-shrouded brick of the walls.

  "That was not well done, what you said at the Grand Council," said Dughuilas.

  "I thought it the best thing to say at the time. And indeed, is it not possible that the Lord of Chelm thinks too much of his countrymen still?"

  "Whether he does or not is no concern of yours," said Dughuilas. "You thought poorly, and spoke worse. If you wish to sit longer on the Council with me, you will need to think better or speak less."

  "I will do neither unless I know why you are so tender toward the Lord Rick so suddenly," said Corgarff. "Was it not he who spoke harshly to you and did all but smite you with the open hand the day we fought the Romans? Was it not he who made fighting men out of plowboys and swineherds? Is it not he-?"

  "He has done all this and more," said the second man. He wore a hooded cloak, and kept the hood drawn over his head so that his face stayed shadowed.

  But his accent was not that of the Tamaerthan upper classes. Nor yet that of the Drantos nobility. Who, then? Corgarff thought it would be dangerous to ask-and probably death to know.

  "And speak more softly," the man continued. "We cannot trust the tavern keeper if he thinks he has anything worth selling." Dughuilas put a hand on his dagger but the other shook his head. "In time, perhaps, but not now on the mere chance that he might have heard something useful. If we kill too many rats, the wolves will escape."

  "If the Lord Rick is a wolf, what harm to oppose him in Council?" Corgarff demanded. "And he will send our sons to die in Roman wars for Roman causes. Rome, whose slavemasters have tormented us these centuries-"

  Dughuilas held up his hands to gesture for silence. "Spare me. I can make the speech better than you.,'

  "The Lord Rick will be strong as long as he and the Lady Tylara keep their wits," said the second man. "We can do nothing to change this. Indeed, we should not. Your friend who thinks so well of the Lady Tylara would not have any injury done to her or her blood. Without your friend, much we hope can not be done."

  "You should not have said that," said Dughuilas sourly. "You have given this rattle-jaw knowledge I had not intended he should have."

  "If you have plans for Corgarff which you are not telling me, expect little from me," said the second man. His voice was so even it was impossible to tell if he was angry or not. "I think you need my friendship as much as we both need-our friend's."

  Who could he be, that he could speak to the chieftain in that manner? But if he was not angry, Corgarff was. He almost forgot to lower his voice. "Lord Dughuilas. I have perhaps spoken unwisely. Yet you speak as though I were a traitor. Were you not my sworn chief, I would have your blood for this."

  "I did not wish to call you traitor, for indeed you are no such," said Dughuilas smoothly. "Forgive me those words, and I will forgive you for yours."

  Corgarff took his hand from the knife hilt.

  "Sit. Sit and join us." Dughuilas poured wine and lifted his own glass in salute. "Drink, clansman."

  "Aye. Thank you, my chieftain." Two mysteries here. This man, this conspirator; and beyond him a mysterious ally. Hah! thought Corgarff. That one I can guess. Probably the Lady Tylara's brother, Balquhain. A hothead, the darling of old Drumold's age, bound to become Mac Clallan Muir in time… Certainly no other noble of Tamaerthon was as likely to wish to uphold the old rights of the warriors without injuring the Lady Tylara.

  "The Lord Rick has brought victories," Dughuilas's companion said. "Victory over Rome-"

  "A mockery," Dughuilas said. "What matters victory at the price of all we hold dear? Lord Rick makes knights of crofters and peasants. They obey their chiefs not at all."

  "It will become worse," the second man said. "It is this 'University' that spawns your troubles. It is from there that these dangerous ideas come. This place is important to Lord Rick. Harm that, and he will know of the anger of the knights."

  "If we wish to injure the University, I can give some aid," said Corgarff. "A smith's boy from my land works there. I have heard that his father has not long to live, and he fears his mother and sister will want. Only a little gold could buy him, I think."

  "Is he fit for any work we might give him?"

  "As fit as anyone of such blood can be."

  "The Lord Rick would not have said that," said the second man.

  "Hang the Lord Rick!" snarled Dughuilas.

  "As Yatar wills," said the second man quietly. "But I think he is more likely to hang us, if we cannot use whatever tools come our way."

  Dughuilas nodded sourly. "Och, aye. But a man of the old blood must keep watch on this peasant lad. You, Corgarff."

  "Aye, Chieftain." He paused a moment. "Perhaps there is a way. One hears that the University prepares a new machine. They say it will fly through the air! That men may fly as gulls!"

  "Och!" Dughuilas stared in wonder. "Can this be true? Then woe to our enemies, when warriors can fly-"

  "And when they do, your order is finished. What need of knights then?" Dughuilas's companion asked.

  "Och. Aye, it is so," Dughuilas said. "The Lord Rick will raise up peasants, while the men of blood fall. This must not be."

  Corgarff nodded grimly. "I had not thought-but it is true enough. Already the University is guarded by the sons of crofters. Even freedmen. Freedmen with arms! But hear. In the past, when a new machine is prepared, the University is open to all who wish to come and watch. The Lord Rick does not seem to care who learns his secrets."

  "He is a fool," said Dughuilas.

  "One wonders," said the second man. "Perhaps he plays a game too deep for our understanding. Surely w
e would be fools if we did not reckon on that."

  "Fools we are not," Dughuilas said. "And our cause is just. Lord Rick would destroy all we ever lived for. It is our right to oppose him. Let us destroy this University, and all its arts, forever and aye. Swear it!"

  The three stood. "We swear," they said in unison. Then they raised their glasses, drained them, and dashed them to the floor.

  The University was located in a town at the northwestern border of Tamaerthon. The place had been noted for its medicinal springs, and had long boasted a small temple of Yatar where acolytes came for training; a natural place for a center of learning, but open and vulnerable.

  Rick had the town's defenses repaired, and now a proper city wall was under construction. There were also a mortar and a light machine gun. It wasn't likely that the University would fall to an enemy.

  Larry Warner locked the armory door and returned the salutes of the archers who stood outside it. He was going to his quarters when he heard a call for the proctor on duty. Warner immediately changed his plans and headed for the gate area. He arrived to see a small caravan ride up.

  "Who comes?" a local guardsman called.

  "Sergeant Major Elliot."

  Holy shit, that's who it was all right. With a pretty big crew, too. Damn, Warner thought. With Gwen Tremaine gone off on embassy duty, Warner had been senior man present. He rather liked being in charge. Now here was Elliot. Crap.

  "Let Sergeant Major in," Warner commanded. Maybe I ought to keep him out-that's too silly to think about. What do I do, set up as some kind of king here? Stupid. "And ask him to join me in my quarters after he has been shown to the Visiting Officers' Quarters."

  "Ho, Sarge, what brings you here?"

  "Cap'n sent me down south," Elliot said. "Buyin' some of that garta cloth you like. Brought you a whole mess of it."

  "Hey. That's all right." Rick Galloway had been pleased with the balloon idea when Warner described it back at Castle Edron. The problem had been the cloth, which could only come from the south, and Warner had been afraid he would be sent there to buy some. Instead, Rick sent Warner and the two new troopers back to the University, where for two ten-days Warner had enjoyed being in charge. "Have to get to work on the balloon, then."