Helm

by Steven Gould

  The coronet in charge protested. “Sir! Are you sure this is wise?”

  Leland considered throwing him out the window but said instead, “It’s my call, isn’t it? Please see that we aren’t disturbed.” The coronet started to open his mouth again, but something about Leland’s steady gaze deterred him.

  When the door had shut, Leland returned to the table, drew out a chair, and held it. “Your majesty?”

  Roland, Master of Nullarbor, King of the Rootless, head of the Mantis Clan as well as all the confederated clans, glared at him, then stood slowly, one hand feeling the back of his head, and shuffled a few cautious steps across the floor.

  WATCH IT!

  Leland was already moving when the warning came, feinting at Roland’s face as the man suddenly lunged for him, arms extended, then Leland dropped to his knees and pivoted into Roland’s legs. The man flew forward completely off the ground. He didn’t know the ukemi and slammed down onto the floor, breaking his fall with his arms, but still hitting the side of his face and shoulder on the floor before collapsing in a heap.

  The door opened and a guard looked in, a worried look on his face. His eyes went from Leland, standing, to Roland, on the floor.

  Leland frowned. “I do not want to be disturbed.” The door shut, quickly.

  Leland bent over Roland, worried. Not the head!

  Roland’s foot shot out, aimed at Leland’s good leg. Leland shifted and the kick grazed his boot. He slid back, out of range, then picked up the chair, which had fallen over. He held it again.

  “Please, your Majesty. You should rest. The last thing you need is another injury.”

  Roland stood and stalked Leland, walking carefully, catlike, across the room. Leland sighed and pushed the chair back under the table, then slid forward, his head slightly forward. Roland took the bait, lunging forward to punch at Leland’s face. Leland slid off the line and forward, then swept his arm over the extended punch as it just missed his chin, took the wrist in his other hand, and twisted and dropped, letting his weight come down on Roland’s upper arm, locking the elbow and driving him to the floor again.

  This time the fall was gentler, but Roland’s arm was locked, the elbow at the limit of his extension. He tried to straighten the arm by brute force, and Leland expanded his chest. Roland grunted in pain as his elbow hyperextended and stopped resisting. Leland backed off, then released the arm suddenly and whipped his elbow over into Roland’s exposed back, striking him over the kidney.

  NOT TOO HARD.

  No. Leland moved quickly away as the man spasmed, then stood again. He watched Roland get up, more slowly this time, a hand on his lower back. “Really, your Majesty. There are twenty guards around this house and around them are seven hundred and eighty more. What good will it do you to attack me?”

  “I had over a thousand. It didn’t stop you. Besides, I’ll have a hostage.” He was moving forward again.

  Leland eyed the breakfast longingly, then moved well away from the table, to protect it. “It’s not the same,” he said weakly. “They didn’t know I was coming.”

  Roland shifted closer, flexing his big hands. Leland extended his arm and Roland grabbed it with both hands. Half a second later Roland was facedown on the floor, his arm pinned to the floor at the elbow and wrist by all of Leland’s weight.

  YOU ACTUALLY DID THAT RIGHT. The inner voice sounded surprised. Leland, irritated, said, “I would like your parole, sir. I’m hungry and I don’t have time to play these games. If I don’t get your parole, then I’m afraid I’ll have to have you tied to a chair. Where’s the courtesy in that?”

  Roland tried one more time, pushing up against Leland’s weight. Leland rolled the elbow forward slightly and Roland grunted. “Enough. Parole.”

  Leland didn’t move. “On your clan name.”

  Roland gritted his teeth. “I, the Mantis, Roland Otis Felts, do give my parole. I swear by clan, family, and self.”

  Leland released him immediately and backed away. When Roland stood, this time rubbing his elbow and shoulder, Leland remained kneeling. “Would it please his Majesty to take tea?”

  Roland frowned, then sat in the waiting chair. “It would.” Leland poured. “May I join you, your Majesty?”

  “Why so polite?”

  Leland frowned. “I sincerely apologize for any breach of courtesy you may have experienced.”

  “Oh, sit down. Who the hell are you?”

  Leland sat opposite Roland. “Thank you. My name is Leland de Laal.”

  Roland groaned. “De Laal. Your father is Dulan?”

  Leland nodded. “His fourth son.”

  “You don’t look much like him.”

  “They say I take after my mother.”

  Roland drained the teacup and held it out for more. “Well, you are a lot of trouble, Leland de Laal. And in this, you definitely take after your father.”

  It was raining lightly when it was time to go to the meeting. They wore ponchos, even Roland, the green-and-brown oilcloth covering his finely embroidered leathers. Leland took Gahnfeld and an escort of four men. Kuart had returned to his unit before dawn but swore he wouldn’t miss the staff meeting for any amount of love or money.

  Marshall de Gant’s headquarters was in the middle of a granary, most of the storage bins temporarily converted to housing of one kind or another. The headquarters was swarming with activity, couriers leaving and arriving, unit commanders and their aides arriving for the staff meeting, and soldiers filling sandbags and stacking them against walls.

  Kuart and one of his halvidars rode up while Leland was arguing with Marshall de Gant’s chief of staff.

  “I’m sorry, Warden, but de Gant is meeting with his intelligence staff and told me he’d have my head if I disturbed him for anything short of the arrival of Roland and all his forces.”

  Roland began to laugh, earning a glare from Leland. Kuart, in hearing, also started laughing. “But, Captain Pearson, you don’t realize—”

  Captain Pearson interrupted. “What I realize is that I’ve got too many things to take care of in the next five minutes to listen to jokes. You can talk to the marshall during the staff meeting.” He turned abruptly and left, leaving Leland with his big news unsaid.

  Roland said, “Close your mouth, boy. Something will nest in it. It’s probably not too late to take me back to the river and let me go.”

  Leland shook his head. “Too late for that, I fear. Ever been to a Noramlander staff meeting?”

  Roland grinned. “No.”

  “Well, then, it should be educational.”

  Gahnfeld closed his eyes. “For everyone.”

  Inside, Leland checked in with the halvidar at the door to the large conference room. “De Laal, Gahnfeld, and, uh”—he grinned suddenly—“Otis from the Eight Hundred.”

  Roland, beside him, laughed again.

  They took seats near the front and Leland sent Gahnfeld over to the buffet for food. Roland’s appetite had improved from the morning, and Leland surmised his head must be doing better.

  Roland swallowed the last of a hard-boiled egg and washed it down with cider. “You did this on your own, eh, boy?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Leland agreed morosely.

  “Why?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, we were just trolling for intelligence. If you hadn’t ended up at the latrine when you did, it would’ve been somebody else.”

  Roland got a bleak look on his face. “And here I was wondering how the hell you targeted me. Well, you’re scary, child, but not quite as scary as I thought.”

  Leland shrugged. “An opportunist.”

  “What do you expect to get out of this?”

  “It would be nice if we could stop the fighting.”

  “Easily. Just vacate the Plain of the Founders,” Roland said.

  Leland started to say something when the staff halvidar at the door cleared his voice and said, “Gentleman and ladies, the Gentle Guide Zanna de Noram.”

  Everyone
shot to their feet—though, Leland noted, Roland rose slowly. Zanna came through the door with Marshall de Gant. She looked preoccupied but smiled briefly and raised her hand.

  “At ease, please. I’m just a midge on the wall.” She took a seat off to one side. De Gant continued to the front and stood. “This was supposed to be a simple staff conference, a preliminary event before the real thing began, but we don’t have that luxury anymore.”

  Leland stood.

  De Gant glared at him. “Sit down, de Laal. Captain Pearson’s told me you wish to speak to me. It’ll have to wait.”

  Leland opened his mouth, then closed it. Sitting, he said, “As you wish, sir.” Beside him, Roland said quietly, “That’s telling him.”

  De Gant went on. “As those of you who aren’t blind know, the Rootless have been stirred like a swarm of bees. Sometime early this morning, they mobilized and began patrolling their side of the river vigorously. Our agents in their forces now inform us that King Roland has disappeared from his encampment, apparently without anybody knowing how or why.”

  Roland raised his eyebrows and looked at Leland. “Agents? How interesting.” Leland thought about the proprieties of an enemy commander listening in on a classified staff conference and closed his eyes.

  De Gant was still talking. “—the disappearance has resulted in a schism in their forces. The Cricket Clan is claiming the succession and the Mantis Clan, accusing the Cricket of assassinating Roland, has stepped forward with their claim.”

  Leland looked at Roland.

  First smiling, Roland was now pale and his mouth a grim line. He muttered, “I’m going to kill that bastard Dobson.”

  “So,” de Gant continued, “we have before us a golden opportunity. Do we strike now, while their command structure is in chaos, or do we wait and see if they’ll come to open combat and do our work for us?”

  “This has gone far enough!” Roland said loudly.

  De Gant narrowed his eyes and looked from Roland’s poncho to Leland’s. “Is this man with you, de Laal? If you can’t control him, I’ll eject him from these proceedings.”

  Leland stood. “That, sir, would be a grave mistake.” Aside to Roland he said, “Take off your poncho.”

  Roland pulled the poncho off and let it drop to the floor. At first, de Gant only saw the embroidered leathers and the sash of a Nullarbor commander, then his eyes moved to the face.

  “Roland! By the Founders. What are you doing—”

  There was an outburst from the assembled officers and the rest of de Gant’s question was drowned out. Only Leland heard Roland mutter, “Slumming,” in reply.

  De Gant held up his hand for silence. “Quiet! That’s better. What are you doing here, your Majesty?”

  Roland shook his head and gestured to Leland. “I’m this child’s pri—”

  “Guest,” interrupted Leland. “His Majesty is here secretly in hopes of initiating certain negotiations with Noramland. He crossed the Ganges this morning”—very early this morning—“and requested safe passage.”

  Under his breath, Roland said, “What are you pulling, child?”

  De Gant asked, “What sort of negotiations?”

  Leland gestured to the room at large. “With no disrespect to my fellow officers, this large an audience does not lend itself to secret.”

  De Gant frowned. “Perhaps you’re right. Gentlemen, please return to your units. I want everybody on full alert status. Even with his Majesty talking to us, I don’t want to risk an accidental invasion by one of those out-of-control clans.” He turned back to Roland and Leland. “His Majesty, de Laal, myself, and the Gentle Guide de Noram.”

  Leland looked around at Kuart, two rows back. The engineer was glaring at him.

  Trust me, he mouthed.

  Kuart rolled his eyes up and sighed heavily, then nodded.

  De Gant tilted his head toward the door, almost bemused. “This way, please.”

  Roland stood but let the others precede them before he said to Leland alone, “What are you doing, child?”

  “Would you rather be here as an envoy or as a prisoner of a…child?”

  “Not a great choice. Either way, I look the fool what with my clan chiefs squabbling among themselves.”

  “Yes, but a prisoner doesn’t have the ability to return quickly and settle that. An envoy does.”

  Roland stared at Leland, his brows furrowed. “What do you get out of this?”

  “As I said, an end to the fighting.”

  Roland shook his head. “If I were to lead our forces away without a fight while Noram still held the Sacred Plain, I wouldn’t last a week. They’d depose me, pick that bastard Dobson, and attack in force, wastefully, killing thousands on both sides. Do you want that?”

  Leland shook his head. “Of course not. But who said you had to walk away with nothing?”

  Three hours later Leland and his men escorted Roland to the Ganges, a ford in Captain Kuart’s area that was close to Roland’s camp and, most important, patrolled by members of Roland’s clan, the Mantis. Leland rode down into the river, alone, a flag of truce resting in his stirrup and streaming sideways in the wind. If they can’t see that, they’re blind.

  OR THEY CHOOSE NOT TO.

  The Rootless on the other side rearranged themselves, and after a moment a commander rode slowly down and out into the shallow water. “We have nothing to say to you,” he said harshly. “And you have nothing to say that can interest us.”

  Then why are you here? “I understand. However, one awaits above whose words will interest you.” He waved the flag from side to side without taking his eyes from the Nullarbor officer. The man’s eyes narrowed as he watched something over Leland’s shoulder, then widened and his mouth dropped open.

  Roland rode into the water and stopped his mount beside Leland's.

  The Nullarbor officer swung down off his horse into the knee-deep water and dropped to one knee. Leland winced. This water was snowmelt two days old, but if it bothered the officer he didn’t show it.

  “Get up, McCain,” said Roland.

  “Are you all right, sire?” McCain asked as he swung back into the saddle.

  “Well enough. I need an escort back to headquarters and a cloak, to cover my head. I have a surprise for Dobson that he’ll remember for the rest of his brief life.”

  McCain grinned savagely. “Yes, sir!”

  “Right, then. Go along and get things organized. I’ll be right up.” McCain frowned and looked from Leland to Roland.

  Roland sighed. “I’ve been safe in his company for the last twelve hours. Another minute won’t hurt.”

  “Sir!” McCain splashed his horse through the water and galloped up the hill.

  “Well, boy, it’s started. Tomorrow we’ll continue the negotiations on my side of the river—a good touch, that.” He looked down at the water. “You might not get what you want out of this.”

  Leland nodded. “But you’ll try?”

  Roland sighed. “Yes. I wouldn’t mind a winter without mourning.”

  Leland bowed his head. “That’s all I can ask. I release you from your parole.”

  Roland laughed. “Oh, don’t tempt me. Perhaps you’d like to be my prisoner for awhile, child.”

  “I’m sure it would be interesting, your Majesty.”

  Roland got a sour look on his face. “I don’t think I have enough guards. I’ll pass. Tomorrow, boy.”

  Leland watched him ride all the way up the bank and into the waiting group of horseman before he turned his horse and rode back up the hill.

  That was either the wisest or stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

  “Confess.”

  “Excuse me, Gentle Guide?”

  They were alone in Zanna’s quarters. She’d ordered Leland brought to her after he’d escorted Roland back to the river. She was sitting on a zafu, cross-legged, her knees touching a thick carpet. Rich cloth hangings, the product of Charly’s looms, covered the walls, turning the utilitarian room into
something familiar and warm. Zanna kept her back straight and cupped her hands in her lap, thumbs touching in a posture she’d copied from Charly.

  “Come on, Leland. I was watching Roland’s face. These negotiations were as big a surprise to him as they were to us. What was he really doing over here?”

  Leland, seated seiza on the hard stone floor at the edge of the carpet, licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Um. I was surprised to see you, Gentle Guide. I thought you weren’t coming up here until next week.”

  That does it! See if I offer you a cushion. “I changed my mind, just like you just changed the subject.” She leaned forward slightly and narrowed her eyes.

  “Well, I was out walking last night with Captain Kuart of the Pottsdam Pikes and a few of my men when we ran across his Majesty. We offered to escort him here.” Leland face was still—almost frozen—but there was a slight tic in his right cheek.

  Zanna crossed her arms and said, “Uh-huh. And where was Roland when this chance meeting occurred?”

  “We ran into him in a latrine.”

  “Oh, so you guys were just standing around your unit latrine comparing dicks and his Majesty walks in?”

  Leland cleared his throat again. “Well, it wasn’t our latrine, actually.”

  Now we’re getting to it. “Whose was it then?”

  “Uh, Roland’s. I mean, it was his camp latrine, not the chamber pot he keeps in his tent.” The tips of Leland’s ears were turning red.

  Zanna blinked, surprised despite herself. “Roland’s—on the other side of the river? In enemy territory?”

  Leland shrugged. “Well, I admit we might have been a little lost, but we managed to find our way back without losing anyone.”

  “You kidnapped him!”

  “A prisoner of war,” Leland amended. As she continued to stare at him he said, “Well, yes. We kidnapped him.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? That’s what Roland was going to say, wasn’t it, when you interrupted him?”

  Leland spread his hands apart in a vague gesture, then let them drop back into his lap. “I believe so.”