Helm

by Steven Gould

  “Why did you turn it into a diplomatic mission?”

  “I didn’t know someone would try to seize power the minute he was gone. I realized he couldn’t do anything for us if the powers in control on the other side didn’t want him back.”

  Zanna shook her head. “What use is he to us now? He’ll be back in control and have the clans united under him. We could have kept him and attacked while they were still confused.”

  Leland shook his head. “Nothing ends internal squabbles faster than external threats. They would’ve forgotten their differences long enough to fight hard. Hundreds, maybe thousands, would have died.”

  Zanna sighed, suddenly tired. “This is war, Leland.”

  Leland looked at her. “Why?”

  She deliberately misunderstood him. “Why is it war? Because it’s an armed conflict between nations.”

  Leland refused to be distracted. “Why are you at war? Is it because you want access to the Sacred Plain, or because your father wishes to funnel the military aggression of Noram stewardships at an external rather than internal target?”

  Zanna narrowed her eyes. “The plain, of course.” But her brow furrowed as she thought of the implications of his statement.

  “So, if you can get access to the plain without bloodshed, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  She stared past him, considering. Finally she said, “What makes you think it’s possible?”

  “It only takes one to make war, but it takes two to make peace. Roland will try. We have an…understanding. It’s not a guarantee. He has to get something out of this negotiation that will satisfy his people, but he is not…inflexible.”

  Zanna tapped her chin meditatively. What sort of understanding? She waited for him to squirm, to show some sign of discomfort, but he sat there calmly, as if his shins rested on feathers instead of flagstones. She made up her mind.

  “I wanted to talk to you before I heliographed my father,” she said. “Marilyn’s been working on him about this very thing, perhaps starting some sort of dialogue during the prisoner exchanges that always follow the fighting. But that was going to be after the conflict.

  “If you really think there’s a chance that Roland will treat this seriously, I’ll recommend giving it a shot to Father. De Gant will also endorse it. He thought this morning’s session was very promising, mostly because Roland has a good reason to devote some attention inward rather than outward just now.”

  Leland licked his lips. “I think it’s a good risk—not a sure thing, but worth pursuing. If I may suggest, however, I wouldn’t mention my name in your report.”

  She’d already reached the same conclusion but said, teasing, “Afraid it’ll turn into a fiasco and you’ll get the blame?”

  Leland shook his head. “No. I’m afraid your father will react negatively if I’m associated with it. He doesn’t seem to like me. I’d hate to see this fail just because I’ve displeased him somehow.”

  Zanna sighed. “Yes. I know. I don’t know what sort of knot he’s got in his dick about you, but I agree. Let’s see if we can get him to do the right thing despite it.”

  Gahnfeld was talking to a woman in dusty riding clothes, a sword carried in a back sheath, as the Falcons did. Leland didn’t recognize her but something about her made him think of home.

  Gahnfeld turned to look at the door leading into Zanna’s quarters and saw Leland. His expression showed a quick flash of relief before going back to brow-twisting worry.

  “Something wrong, Myron?”

  Gahnfeld nodded, then gestured toward the woman. “This is Halvidar Miyamoto—she’s one of Captain Koss’s intelligence operatives.”

  Leland returned her salute. “Pleased to meet you, Halvidar. What are you doing here?”

  Gahnfeld interrupted before she spoke. “Excuse me, sir, but may I suggest we move someplace less public?”

  Zanna de Noram’s guards were standing three meters away from them and de Gant staffers walked past frequently. Leland nodded and led the way toward the stables, stopping by a corral full of horses but empty of humans.

  Gahnfeld said, “Tell him what you told me.”

  The woman glanced around, then said, “Captain Koss had us set up a direct heliograph line across Pree and Napa to link with your forces here. We’ve been in place about three weeks.”

  Leland blinked. “Why? What’s wrong with the main line through Noram City?”

  “Captain Koss did not say. However, two hours ago we received word, over the line, that Cotswold has invaded Laal in force. Preliminary estimates are crude but the numbers seem to indicate over nine thousand men are in the stewardship with a third of them concentrated at Fort Bayard.”

  “The passes,” Leland said flatly. “Nine thousand men? But that means he has only a thousand left in Cotswold. What about the Station? My father?”

  “We don’t know. Any traffic sent from Apsheron into Laal on the established stations is suspect. When using the emergency code, they get no response. Using the old code gets messages back but they’re flat-out wrong, saying everything is fine, what invasion? It seems as if they must have some of the Stations and they broke the regular code.”

  Leland turned to Gahnfeld, “You haven’t heard anything about this? There are no rumors flying around camp about trouble in Laal?”

  Gahnfeld shook his head.

  “Excuse us a minute, please.” Leland led Gahnfeld several meters to the side.

  “You’re sure of this woman?”

  “I worked with Miyamoto—very, uh, closely.” Gahnfeld blushed. “Koss trusted her with his most sensitive material.”

  “Shit. Take her back to the unit and wait for me.”

  Gahnfeld called after him, “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to see what I can find out from de Gant’s signal office.”

  Zanna sat in de Gant’s desk chair and watched Leland pace back and forth across the room. “We’ve sent queries. There’s no reported trouble in Laal,” she said. “Surely my father would’ve said something when he sent instructions to proceed with the negotiations.”

  “I’m sure Miyamoto is right. Cotswold broke the treaty and is occupying one of Noram’s stewardships.”

  Zanna frowned. “Surely this is questionable? How could he expect to get away with it? Even if he could hold the passes until the spring, we’d get in there eventually. He couldn’t hold it.”

  “No, but he could loot it and retreat back across the Black.”

  “We just don’t know,” said de Gant, standing to the side of Zanna. “Maybe there’s weather in the mountains. It is getting on to winter.”

  “Then Miyamoto’s signal line couldn’t reach Apsheron. I’ve got to get back to Laal,” Leland said.

  “Wait until you know for sure,” said Zanna. “Think about the talks. Roland listens to you for some reason.”

  “Roland will deal fairly whether I’m here or not.”

  De Gant shrugged. “Very well. Who will you leave in charge, Gahnfeld?”

  Leland looked at de Gant, eyes wide. “I won’t leave a single man behind. If Cotswold has invaded Laal, I’ll need every one of them there.”

  De Gant looked tired. “And I’d have to arrest you for desertion in the face of the enemy.”

  “What! Roland’s not the enemy. Siegfried is.”

  “We don’t know that. Wait until we know more,” the old soldier said. He turned to Zanna. “I don’t know why, but your father told me to strictly control the units here at the front. He specifically told me not to let any units leave the front without his permission.”

  Zanna stared at de Gant, eyes suddenly wide. Father? Did you know about this ahead of time? She licked her lips. “Send a message asking permission for Leland’s unit to return to Laal.”

  De Gant nodded. “Yes, Gentle Guide. And if he says no?”

  Zanna looked at Leland. “We’ll just have to see.”

  Leland was preternaturally still, staring past them. After a minute he sai
d almost absently, “Yes, we’ll just have to see.”

  Leland left one of his men at headquarters to bring the results of de Gant’s query when it arrived, then rode back to his unit. His face was still but his mind was flooded with images and thoughts.

  “Gahnfeld, get the unit ready to move. Come get me when we hear what Arthur has to say. I’ll be in my room, but I don’t want to be disturbed until then.”

  “Yes, Guide.”

  Leland chased his orderly away and took off his boots. Then he put a cushion on the floor and sat zazen, legs crossed, knees just touching the floor, his hands cupped together. He did timed breathing, exhaling to the count of ten, then inhaling at the same rate.

  LET GO OF THE WORRY, THE PANIC, THE FEAR FOR YOUR BROTHERS, YOUR SISTER, YOUR FRIENDS, AND, YES, EVEN YOUR FATHER.

  The thoughts were still there but he let them drift across his consciousness without following them, without attaching to them. He was surprised when the knock came at the door.

  “Enter.”

  It was Gahnfeld.

  “I thought I told you not to come until we’ve heard from Marshall de Gant?”

  “Yes, Guide. We have. Tobias just returned.”

  Leland blinked, then started to stand. His knees were very stiff. “How long have I been in here?”

  “Almost an hour.”

  “Oh. What’s the word?”

  Gahnfeld’s mouth twisted like he’d tasted something foul. “Permission denied. No forces to leave the front until a negotiated peace is ratified by Arthur personally or the winter snows end the fighting.”

  Leland nodded, not surprised at all.

  “Shall I have the men stop preparations to leave?”

  Leland shook his head. “No. Have them ready to leave by morning.”

  Gahnfeld blinked. “We won’t do Laal any good by fighting the forces of Noramland.”

  Leland shook his head again. “Don’t worry. We’ll save our swords for Cotswold.” He sat on the edge of his bunk and said, “I have to go speak to his nibs.”

  “Marshall de Gant?”

  “No. Roland.”

  It was dusk when Leland and Gahnfeld led the Third Hundred, on foot, to the cliff’s edge. Leland pointed to a thirty-five-meter tall fir tree three meters back from the edge. “That one.”

  Four soldiers with axes walked forward. Two of them began chopping into the tree on the side away from the cliff, alternating blows evenly. The other two chopped into the side facing the gorge lower than the first and the noise became a staccato beat. When the higher notch was about a third of the way through, those two soldiers turned to a younger tree, ten meters high, and felled and trimmed it.

  Twenty men took up the smaller tree and braced it against the first, pushing against the larger tree five meters above the cut, pressing toward the gorge. The four axmen continued cutting on the lower notch, stepping in and out as their turn came.

  Leland watched the far side of the gorge. As he’d suspected, it was better patrolled now. A few moments after the chopping began, he saw a head looking from behind a tree and, a few moments later, several men rode up on horseback. They had bows and Leland watched carefully, worried about an incident.

  He eyed the progress of the tree. The bottom notch was almost halfway through the tree and the pushing was having a noticeable effect, swaying the tree slightly.

  The men on the other side, also watching the tree, had moved to both sides, out of the way.

  The segment of trunk between the notches parted with a deep groan and all involved scrambled away from the tree as it fell over the gorge. It crashed down on both sides and, on Leland’s side, a meter-deep section of cliff top crumbled and dropped into the gorge. Its impact on the other side was softened by the breaking of branches, and it stopped, wedged on the far side between trees.

  The officer on the other side motioned, and all his men drew arrows and nocked them.

  Leland got out the flag of truce and waved it.

  He could see the officer frown, then say something to his men. They pointed their bows at the ground and waited.

  Leland handed the flag to Gahnfeld.

  Gahnfeld took it. “Are you sure it’s all right? That tree hit awful hard.”

  “Do you see any cracks in the trunk?” Leland asked.

  Gahnfeld shook his head.

  “Good. If they try to cross, burn it, right?” Leland hopped up on the trunk and walked out over the gorge. The first half was the hard part. Though the trunk was broader, the branches didn’t start until later and Leland had nothing to hold on to. He thought seriously about sitting down and scooting across, straddling it.

  IT’S WIDE AS ANY PATH. JUST WALK.

  He sighed and did that, putting his mind two inches below his navel. Still, when he reached the branches and had handholds, he felt much better.

  The Nullarbor officer waiting on the far side was suspicious and Leland didn’t blame him in the least. “Why didn’t you do this at one of the fords?”

  Leland shrugged. “I don’t control a ford. I need to talk to his Majesty, King Roland.”

  The officer shrugged. “Then come to the meeting tomorrow.”

  Leland sighed. “I have information for Roland that can’t wait and, if he has to wait until tomorrow, he will not be happy.”

  “And if this turns out to be some sort of trick, he’ll stake you to the plain and stretch your entrails ten meters.”

  Leland smiled. “Just be sure they’re not your entrails.”

  They brought him into camp on foot, hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck leading to the officer’s saddle.

  They made him wait while the officer went through his chain of command, ending up with a commander Leland recognized—McCain, the officer who’d met Roland at the ford.

  “So it is you,” McCain said. To his captor he said, “Bring him.”

  McCain didn’t say anything about untying Leland so Leland shuffled along trying to walk as if he were just clasping his hands behind his back. The rope around his neck spoiled the effect, though, especially when the man at the other end kept jerking him to a halt, then shoving him forward again.

  They entered the largest tent in the camp, a multi-poled affair over five meters high and fifteen meters across. Oil lamps hung on the poles and a few tripod-mounted braziers heated air already warm from the body heat of its occupants.

  Roland was sitting on a field chair at one end of the space. There were perhaps thirty men, commanders and clan chiefs, inside, standing around the sides of the tent listening to a large man in the open area.

  Leland focused on what he was saying.

  “—and why didn’t anybody know of this negotiation ahead of time? I say it’s because it’s not a negotiation—it’s treason. He’s selling us out to the technocrats—not negotiating, but betraying!”

  Leland blinked and turned to McCain. “Let me guess—Dobson?”

  “The Cricket,” McCain corrected.

  “He’s not Dobson?”

  “He is. But the clan chiefs are referred to by the clan name.”

  “Isn’t he in enough trouble without this rhetoric?”

  McCain exhaled sharply. “This is his only chance of not dying. If he convinces enough of the clan chiefs that his charges are true, they’ll depose Roland and his premature coup will become a reality.”

  “—is this the king you want? This old man who hasn’t the courage to fight for the plain?”

  Roland, watching Dobson with something akin to boredom, yawned pointedly.

  His eyes strayed and he saw Leland.

  Leland expected him to call them forward, but instead a speculative expression appeared on Roland’s face. After a moment he stood as Dobson finished another sentence.

  “Fitness, is it? I would challenge you for that, if I were allowed to, just as you would have long ago challenged me. However, I can think of a…fit…test. Let’s see how fit you are to rule.”

  Dobson spat on the grass between
them. There was a dark mutter from many of the men in the room, but Leland could see some of the others nodding in approval.

  “Name your test,” said Dobson.

  Roland gestured then at McCain. “Bring that prisoner here.” Leland blinked and swore to himself.

  I BET I KNOW WHAT, OR WHO, THE TEST IS.

  Oh, shut up.

  McCain, the guards, and Leland walked across the grass. Leland tried to look as unthreatening as possible.

  Roland pointed at the rope. “Cut him loose.”

  Leland felt a knife slide between his hands and the ropes fell away. He rubbed his wrists while the rope was removed from his neck.

  Roland gestured at Leland as he said to Dobson, “Think you can take him?”

  Dobson looked at Leland.

  Leland smiled weakly.

  Dobson snorted contemptuously. “What is this, one of your Noram masters? Are you led by children?”

  Roland said clearly, “I’m led by the interests of our people. And I say you can’t even defeat this child, much less lead our people against his.”

  Leland looked at Roland and said quietly, “Is now not a good time? I could come back later. No trouble, really.”

  Roland ignored him and said to Dobson, “Would you like a weapon? He looks pretty dangerous.”

  Dobson turned to the crowd and said loudly, “Does a warrior fight children?”

  Roland said, “Do you fight anybody? Or do you always wait until their backs are turned or they’re away?”

  This remark raised a reaction from the audience and Dobson shrugged. “Very well—I’ll spank this child for you.”

  Roland prodded Leland from behind.

  May as well get it over with quickly. He stumbled forward, as if Roland had shoved him.

  Dobson laughed and stepped forward, reaching out for Leland’s shirt front. Leland took the man’s wrist and elbow and pushed across slowly, as if doing ikkyo. Dobson sneered and pushed back, easily overcoming the motion, but that’s what Leland wanted. He stepped in under the arm and across Dobson’s front, turning and dropping to his knees while he extended his arms forward. Dobson’s forward push became a fall, totally unexpected, and, rather than roll, he tried to stop himself.