At the Queen's Command

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The Mystrian arched an eyebrow. “Are you really thinking that is the truth of it, Captain?”

  “I have my orders.”

  “You succeed, what happens then? Next year, the year after, war. Don’t matter who wins. The Crown prints up more deeds and charters. More people will come to profit. Speculators get richer. Those who value freedom will keep moving west until someone stops them. Like as not that’s another one of your Crown missions.”

  Woods spoke with passionate disgust, but Owen didn’t take it personally. His was an opinion born long before he’d ever met Owen. He’d likely trotted it in front of every man he met and judged them by their reaction to it.

  Owen lowered his voice. “Could be things will happen as you say, Mr. Woods. I don’t know. What I do know is that I am here to do what I can to stop the Ryngians from threatening the colonies. I’m hoping it prevents war. But I have to ask you, sir, that if you hate all men equally, why have you accepted the Prince’s commission to be my guide?”

  Nathaniel smiled. “The Prince, he makes a try at understanding this place. Some say his methods are a little Ryngian. Could be. I cotton to the glow in his eyes when he sees something new. Iffen I works for him, not many folks will be of a mind to be bothering me. Makes my life easier.”

  They arrived at the Prince’s estate a little before noon, making their approach along the river. They’d crossed the road Owen had ridden before in the heart of the woods. Looking back at the track, and quickly losing sight of it, reminded Owen of how very different combat would be in Mystria. Anyone who thinks it will not be will suffer.

  They found the Prince at the river, stripped to the waist, washing mud off his shirt. He wore homespun trousers and a floppy-brimmed felt hat, which had a dollop of wurm-mud where another might affix a ribbon. He shook hands with Woods, and returned Owen’s salute, then turned to greet Kamiskwa.

  Neither man exchanged a word. They clasped their hands behind their backs and bowed toward each other. They remained bowing for a handful of heartbeats, then straightened up and smiled. Their ritual puzzled Owen for a moment, then he realized that to the Twilight People, showing an empty hand was more of a deadly threat than clutching a knife. Hiding their hands was a pledge of good behavior and a sign of friendship.

  Owen shivered again. It quickly came to him how strange Norillians must have first seemed to the Twilight People. The first colonists wore odd clothes, they spoke a strange tongue. They had iron and steel and guns. They would smile as they offered you their hand. The first settlers must have seemed to be blood-mad butchers, smiling as they threatened.

  From the other side, the refusal to shake hands was a confirmation of hostility and duplicity. The Twilight People clearly could not be trusted—which is why it would be so easy for people to believe fanciful stories about raids and atrocities. And when it became known that the Twilight People could work magick, they became an even more potent threat.

  Owen smiled in spite of himself. These are insights I need to record.

  The Prince wrung his shirt out, then slung it over his shoulder. “I have instructed the staff to lay out dinner on the lawn. Such a lovely day. And I’ve done away with tables and chairs. You’ll be out there roughing it days on end. This is my only chance to share your adventure.”

  The four of them retired up the lawn to a level spot that provided a wonderful view of the river, the mountains beyond, and the wurmrest. Servants had laid out several blankets and centered baskets with bread, cheese, and braised chicken parts. Wooden plates had been stacked next to four pewter cups and a bottle of wine.

  The Prince unceremoniously plunked himself down. “Captain, I insist you remove your jacket and boots. Your waistcoat, too. I want you to feel comfortable as we eat.”

  “As you command, Highness.” Owen shrugged off his pack, then removed his coat and folded it. He set the waistcoat on top, then pulled his boots off. His stockings showed a spot of blood at the heels.

  The Prince shook his head. “Blisters, that won’t do. I will package some salve of bear grease and a couple herbs. It will ease the pain and toughen up your skin.”

  “You are most kind, Highness.” Owen sighed. “I lost the calluses on the crossing.”

  “Not the first.” The Prince doled out plates, then poured three cups of wine. Kamiskwa took the fourth cup and poured water from a canteen into it.

  “Are the Altashee not allowed to drink?”

  Kamiskwa smiled. “I simply choose not to.”

  Owen’s mouth hung open. “You speak our language?”

  The native nodded.

  “But you didn’t say anything…”

  “You two used up all the words.” Kamiskwa’s smile broadened.

  Kamiskwa and Woods burst into laughter.

  Owen’s face burned.

  The Prince patted his forearm. “At least with you it was only the morning. On my first journey with them, we were four days out before I knew Prince Kamiskwa could speak our tongue.”

  “Prince Kamiskwa?”

  “My, you have kept him in the dark, haven’t you?”

  Woods curbed his mirth and cleared his throat. “No harm done, Highness. We was taking his measure.”

  “Really, Nathaniel.” The Prince arched an eyebrow. “I should have thought you had that the night he flattened those Branches.”

  “Well, this is true, Highness.”

  “And the fact that Caleb Frost, despite his best intentions, can only criticize Captain Strake by saying he has a lot to learn about Mystria.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  The Prince held up a hand. “I am serious, Nathaniel. You have to understand that this man is unlike the others sent out here. He is a serious soldier. His reports will shape policy for dealing with the Tharyngians. Mystria’s future will depend upon his success or failure.”

  Woods’ expression sobered. “I understand, Highness. Captain, please accept my apologies for any behavior you found offensive.”

  “No need for apologies.” Owen looked at the Prince. “There is something else, isn’t there, Highness?”

  The Prince sighed. “There might be. A fast packet-boat came into Temperance the day after the incident with Colonel Langford. A messenger brought me some coded messages. Do you know the name Guy du Malphias?”

  Owen’s stomach knotted instantly. “Yes, Highness.”

  Nathaniel frowned. “Who would that be now?”

  “He led the Platine Guards at Artennes Forest.” Owen shook his head. “He’s the devil incarnate.”

  “He’s worse.” Prince Vlad’s eyes tightened. “Two months ago a small Ryngian flotilla slipped past the Channel fleet during a gale. They were bound for Mystria and had du Malphias aboard. He’s been in New Tharyngia for at least two weeks. Whatever you find out there, he’ll be up to his elbows in it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  May 2, 1763

  Prince Haven

  Temperance Bay, Mystria

  Owen’s appetite completely vanished. He’d seen du Malphias only once, and that through a telescope during a driving rain. The Tharyngian had been more of a silhouette, really, high on a ridgeline, astride a horse. In profile his aquiline nose stood out and his goatee added a sharp point to his chin. Then he turned to look toward Owen, and the Norillian had had the unmistakable feeling the man saw him and saw through him.

  It felt as if the light breeze now came out of the arctic, and even Nathaniel noticed the change. He set a half-gnawed chicken leg on his plate and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “The Devil is he?”

  Prince Vlad nodded. “A brilliant man, really. A polymath—he has many interests and excels in all of them. He was the youngest man ever made a Laureate. I’ve read a number of his papers. I have many of them in my library. He was a very hopeful young man, but with the war, that changed.”

  Owen swirled the wine in his cup, studying it. “We took a few towns that his Guards had abandoned. They’d thoroughly looted them, even down to the point
of breaking into mausoleums and digging up graves. In war you see bodies, but that was different. People just torn from their rest, parts hacked off. Lots of missing skulls.”

  Kamiskwa’s dour comment needed no translation.

  The Prince made a half-hearted attempt to muster a smile. “It is worse than that, I fear. His transportation here suggests a shift in Tharyngian political power. Du Malphias has been associated with the hardline lions. The sheep have lost their hold. Du Malphias will move to consolidate holdings before we can react.”

  “Did your dispatches say anything about the Queen’s response? Are troops on the way?”

  “No, Captain. I gather that prudence and intelligence held sway. The flotilla was not large, so it is believed there can be little military threat in this season. Horse Guards believes that du Malphias will be creating a series of fortifications from which attacks can be launched. He was the architect of the defenses at Villerupt, after all. They will not be easy nuts to crack. Next year, they believe, is when he would move to the offensive, but only if he is substantially reinforced. To prevent that, we will attack into Tharyngia again this year. We’ll either inflict the defeat that will make his efforts moot, or tax Ryngian resources such that he will never get the troops he needs to invade.”

  Nathaniel leaned back on his hands. “I’m thinking that’s a powerful lot of iffin’ and supposin’. Cold comfort.”

  “Agreed.” The Prince drank some wine. “This is why your mission is even more important than before. We have to know where du Malphias is, how much he has in the way of resources, and what his most likely route of attack will be. I will be frank, gentlemen. If he were to pull together all the regular troops and militia in New Tharyngia and couple them with warriors from the Seven Nations, he would have a large enough force to overwhelm any single colony’s defenses.”

  The Prince came up on his knees and shifted his blanket around. He tugged it up toward the center, then twisted the edges, very quickly constructing a crude topographical map of north Mystria. He broke bread into crumbs, which he placed in strategic points, then plucked blades of grass and laid them out to represent rivers.

  “The Ryngians claim everything west of the mountains, including the Four Brothers Lakes, the land of two rivers, and Misaawa River. Up here in the north, Black Lake feeds into the Argent River, so they claim Black Lake as part of the Argent River watershed. But to the south, Black Lake also feeds into the Cool River, which is ours. The river flows south to Hattersburg where it joins the Tillie River. To date neither nation has acknowledged the other’s claims. Further west, Lac Verleau has remained neutral, but the Governors of Queensland and Lindenvale have sold deeds to land on its south side. We have settlers moving into that area, creating tension with Ryngian trappers and settlers.”

  Owen nodded. “If du Malphias brought troops down the Cool River, he’d go to the heart of Lindenvale, capture Hattersburg, then move east along the Tillie River to threaten Margaret Town. That would cut off Queensland, Summerland, and Lindenvale.”

  Kamiskwa pointed at the crumb marking Hattersburg. “Many rivers meet to form the Tillie before it flows to the big water. He could come down from Anvil Lake in the west to loot and fight a retreat that would draw militia far from home. If he looses his Daskashii allies to raid…”

  Vlad pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “A sound point. Thank you, Prince Kamiskwa. You see, Captain, this is why your mission is so very important. We know these rivers exist, and we assume they will be the means du Malphias would use to transport troops, but we do not know how many of the rivers are navigable. A raiding party of two hundred men can move quickly, but an army of four thousand with cannon has an entirely different set of needs.”

  Owen scrubbed his hands over his face. “You realize this mission is impossible, yes? To survey all of the rivers is the work of years, maybe a decade. Which path to choose? Black Lake seems the easiest route, but the Green River out of Lac Verleau and into the Upper Tillie and tributaries also works. Where to begin?”

  Nathaniel pulled his knees up to his chest. “Begging your pardon, but ain’t the two of you looking at this ass-end around?”

  Owen frowned. “Meaning?”

  “You’re guessing and call it figuring. Shouldn’t look for where he’ll end. Look for where he’s starting.” Nathaniel pointed at the map. “He sailed up the Argent two weeks ago. He’ll be stopping in Kebeton to round up men and supplies iffen he’s going to be building his forts. Take least a week. The Ryngians, they’ll be a-wanting to hear him palaver about something. They’ll feast him a bunch. He’ll need scouts. He’ll hire trappers and traders. We find out who is missing from his normal haunts, we find du Malphias.”

  Owen smiled at the Prince. “I suddenly understand your liking this man.”

  “Yes, don’t let his rustic nature fool you, Captain. He’s smarter than he wants to let anyone know.”

  Nathaniel laughed, his long hair dangling as he threw his head back. “It ain’t no strategizing, it’s trapping. Find the beaver lodge, set the trap nearby.”

  “This beaver will have very sharp fangs.” Owen drank to wash the sour taste from his mouth. “This is important enough that you will want reports, yes, Highness?”

  “Yes. Encrypted, I should think.” The Prince’s brows furrowed. “You don’t have a crypto-lens, do you?”

  “No, Highness.”

  “Do you know how to work a book cipher, Captain?”

  “I fear not, Highness.”

  “It is fairly simple and unbreakable save the enemy is able to find the book that is the key.” Vlad pointed toward his house. “I will find a book, one for which I have the matching volume. To send a message, you write it out and then, leafing through the book, you find a page on which a particular word is printed. You substitute the page number, paragraph number, and word number for the word in your message. If the word ‘amber,’ for example, was found on page forty, third paragraph, fourth word, it would be written 40-3-4. Furthermore, you will date your notes, and subtract the date from thirty-six, adding the difference to every value. If you are writing on the 30th, the word would be represented as 46-9-10. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “Eliminate articles like ‘a’ and ‘the’—they just waste time—and underestimate any numbers by twenty percent. If someone does intercept a message and translates it, they will believe we are fooled. Send things to me by way of the Frosts, please.”

  “Yes, Highness.” Owen smiled and dug into his jacket pocket, producing the Haste book. “Doctor Frost gave me this to read. Could we use it?”

  The Prince laughed. “A delicious idea. No one would ever think a Norillian agent was using a seditious text for covert purposes. Splendid.”

  Nathaniel grinned. “And what would a Prince of the realm be doing with such a book?”

  “Memorizing it, actually, and with more haste now, no pun intended. The book is fascinating.” The Prince returned the smile. “You should learn to read. You would enjoy it.”

  “I read honest sign. Man-scratches ain’t never honest.”

  “But they can be illuminating. Perhaps Captain Strake will be good enough to read you selections on your journey.”

  Owen and Nathaniel exchanged glances. That isn’t going to happen.

  “Captain, I’ve prepared a short list of things I’d like you to keep your eye out for. Samples, if you can, a description if you cannot. I understand the focus of your mission, but if you would indulge me…”

  “As you wish, Highness.”

  “Thank you.” He stood. “How will you travel?”

  Nathaniel chewed a big bite of chicken breast and swallowed fast. “We’ll go due west up Old Ben as far as we can, then head north. The Altashee will be at Saint Luke, so we’ll see what they have heard, then to Hattersburg. From there we go north or west. Probably north. Two-three weeks out from there, weather holds.”

  “Very good.” The Prince opened his arms. “Please, my frie
nds, eat while I get that list. I wish you could stay but your mission, I fear, has an urgency none can deny.”

  Kamiskwa and Nathaniel fell to devouring the chicken and cheese. Owen forced himself to eat, knowing he’d need it. Both of his companions lived well off the bounty of the land, but either could have hidden behind a scarecrow without fear of detection. Hunting didn’t always mean killing, and fishing didn’t always mean catching, so they might be days between meals.

  He was glad for the relative silence with which they ate. He’d accepted his mission on the mistaken belief that it would be a simple surveying job. It wouldn’t be an easy one, but neither would it be terribly complex. He had expected to have the time to complete it and do it thoroughly so his work would not invite criticism.

  News of du Malphias changed all that. Though Nathaniel was right that they had to find du Malphias before they could concentrate on what routes he might use to attack the colonies, this perforce meant Owen could not accomplish his original mission. He’d been with the army long enough to know what that meant. Even if his work was critical in defeating du Malphias and driving the Ryngians from Mystria, the results of his mission would be compared against his orders. He would be judged a failure.

  That inevitability saddened Owen. The Crown had always rewarded bold explorers who returned with information that would increase the Crown’s holdings and wealth. Owen had believed, deep down, that he might discover a pass that could be named after him, or a bountiful lake or river which led even further into the continent’s interior. The Queen might see fit to grant him a peerage. If he was lucky, he could use his knowledge of Mystria to make money and gain status that would equal or surpass the Ventnor family. It would be his ultimate victory over his family.

  And Catherine would be even more proud of him.

  But now that avenue to glory had been walled off, and a malignant Tharyngian Laureate manned the barricade with his Platine Guards in tow. The only glory Owen was likely to win was posthumous, and he didn’t find that idea appealing in the least.