by Garon Whited
I felt like I was home.
Still, we don’t have any doors in the mountain. Archways, doorways, openings—sure. But a door is difficult for a mountain to grow. “Moving parts” generally means flowing water or an avalanche. We’re building some doors. In the meantime, privacy requires the use of the command wagon.
“I note that you mentioned not your journey to Carrillon, my lord,” Tamara said, snuggled up to my left side. Raeth and Bouger had joined us and we were all enjoying a little quiet time.
“I didn’t mention it because I won’t be leaving yet. I have a few days before the month I promised is up, and Bronze and I—well, we’ll get there in time.”
“Without a wagon train to slow you down,” Bouger remarked, “I would guess that you need but one night.”
“Less,” I said, smiling. “Bronze is some of the best work I’ve ever done.”
And I’m an accident? Firebrand demanded of me.
Yes. A very happy accident, I hasten to add. I’m glad you’re here, I thought back.
Firebrand accepted this and I could feel satisfaction radiating from the blade. Everyone likes to feel appreciated, and Firebrand could feel what I meant with that thought.
“I believe it,” Raeth answered. “It will also be good for you to remain for a time. The people need to see you.”
“Oh, they will,” I assured him. “I’ll be working day and night, right alongside them. There’s a lot more to a city than just a place to live. We have a forge to construct, hunting to arrange, farms to start—although Tamara can see to it we have bumper crops, I hope.” She nodded. “I also have to have a chat with the locals,” I finished.
“Yes, that,” Bouger said. “About these barbarians…”
“Yes?” I asked, a trace of frost in my tone. I don’t consider them barbarians and don’t appreciate it when someone else calls them such.
“Are you sure it is safe to trust them? In my father’s day, they swarmed thick as fleas on a cur in the pass to Eastgate—and attacked it. They do not like us.”
“They don’t like us,” I agreed. “They dislike being eaten even more. One tribe of them knows me for a nightlord. They were most reasonable and accommodating. I intend to let it be known among our people I’m going to intimidate the ‘barbarians’ into peace. I’ll let the ‘barbarians’ know I’m a nightlord. And I’ll expect both sides to be able to discuss and negotiate and deal fairly with each other.”
Raeth coughed lightly. “I take it we are not to press our advantage of your, ah, powers?”
“That’s right. I want them as allies, not vassals. If they decide they want to stop roaming the plains and settle down to farm—and want to do it close to us—then we might consider making a chief into a noble and marking off some land. I doubt it will happen, though. Their ways are not our ways—and their ways are a lot better suited to living in these plains than ours!
“Which brings me to another point. I want you to poll our citizens and see what they want as far as titles go. I’d feel silly claiming to be a baron out here in the middle of nowhere—or at least feel I looked silly for doing it. See what they think of me. Am I a baron? Am I an earl? What do they want to follow?”
Bouger shook his head. “That is not the way to go about it, my lord.”
“Are we in private?” I demanded.
He smiled. “It was a formal statement. But, since you insist… that is stupid, Halar. You do not ask for a title from the common man. You tell them what you are. If you insist, we can discover what they think—that much is wise, yes. But when you choose a title, you choose. From there, we may appoint other titles below you, an order of succession. But the decree must be yours.”
“Thank you. In that case, yes, find out what they think. Help me come up with an appropriate title while you’re at it. I’m stuck.”
“The answer is obvious, ” Raeth replied. “You must needs be a king.”
I shook my head. “I don’t see it. There aren’t enough people to make a kingdom.”
“It is not a matter of population,” he answered, reasonably. “If all save a hundred of the Rethven people were struck dead this instant, the king would still be the king.”
“But it would seem silly. Maybe a count?”
“To whom do you pledge your fealty, my lord?” Raeth asked.
“Uh? Well… nobody, I guess.”
“Yet you are a ruler.”
I didn’t like where this was going. “Yes…”
“Then you must needs be a king.”
I ran a hand over my face. I didn’t want to argue it right now. There were more important things to discuss than some silly title.
“If that’s the way you feel about it, fine. Let me know what everyone else thinks about it.”
“I shall.”
We went on to discuss the food situation and the lumber arrangements. We’ve been settled in for one day and I’m already dealing with the department of agriculture and the minister of the interior. Much to do, much to do…
TUESDAY, MARCH 14TH
I am very glad sleep is optional for a nightlord. There is still a lot to do, but we’ve accomplished a surprising amount. Doors, for one. It’s nice to be able to go into your room and shut the door! We also got Larel set up and his forge running.
I pretended to innovate at the forge. Actually, I remembered some things I saw in a historical program on television. Instead of the usual bellows, we built two of them, one on top of the other. When one was blowing air in, the same movement was refilling the other. They worked in sequence, blowing an almost constant stream of air into the fire. The idea is from China, slightly modified. Lots of good technologies got their start in China.
I also got one of our potters—we have three, strangely—to make some ceramic jars. I think it was England, Sheffield in particular, that came up with the thought of putting metal into ceramic jars to help focus the heat. Some steel alloys are a pain to melt, and the ceramics make it possible.
Larel was ecstatic. We now make a very fine grade of steel. Steel is the lever that pushes all our other progress. Axe-heads, pickaxes, plows, even hinges, horseshoes, and nails—all these are needed, and steel is the key.
We have the beginnings of a mining industry. I may not be an expert geologist, but I have people who know what they are doing. Besides, with the right spell I can watch the world in both radar and magnetism—the iron is there! With teamwork, we found good places to start digging.
Laying out farms has been another project. Bouger has exceeded all expectations in parceling out land—and about half of my people are farmers. They are absolutely giddy with the thought of having their own farm. Apparently, land is owned by the nobles and worked by the commoners, with a fraction of the produce being given to the guy actually working the land.
We’re a little behind schedule for planting, but Bronze doesn’t get tired and I’m usually awake at night. I plow—Larel built a four-bladed plow for Bronze to pull—and people come out to plant in the morning. Tamara then blesses the fresh-planted field.
It’ll still be a while before we get our first crop. Bouger is planning foraging and hunting parties to extend our stores. Raeth just agrees with him and lets him do as he pleases. I get the feeling that while Raeth is brilliant, Bouger has actual experience in managing a holding.
We also have a good amount of forestry to do. For that, I took a cue from Baron Xavier. I took a ride in the woods one afternoon. While riding, I had a variant on my curiosity-location radar spell going; this one was tuned for dryads. Found a few, too. We came to an arrangement. They wouldn’t charm any of my people. In return, we would let them pick the trees we cut down.
“Certes, thou’rt mad!” said one. “A dryad choose a tree to be felled?”
“If you don’t want to do that, I can guarantee that all of them will come down in five years.”
She was aghast. “All?”
“Every last one, from sapling to forest giant,” I assured her. “On the oth
er hand, if, say, one out of every hundred was felled every year—and those who cut them planted new ones—the forest would live quite comfortably, yes?”
“But what of the birds and beasts that lair in trees?” she asked, hugging herself and almost in tears. “What of them?”
“You can persuade them to move to another tree, can’t you? And persuade another tree to shape itself to accommodate, can you not?”
“Aye…”
“Good. You think about it. But people will take wood from the forest anyway. You can minimize the damage. That is, if you’ll bend like a reed, rather than breaking like a rotten branch.”
Three out of four took the deal. One refused to have anything to do with humans. I told Raeth and Bouger about it and they made sure everyone else knew to avoid that area. I’d deal with it later, if necessary.
Other days, I’ve been talking myself hoarse, trying to teach chemistry and physics and mathematics—and magic!—in a matter of days. I know only a fraction of what I’m trying to teach will stick, but the emphasis is on recording what I say, not understanding it. I talk faster than I write, which is why I have a trio of magical quills scribbling madly to catch up to what I’ve already said. Half a dozen students are also following me around, in shifts, trying to keep up with what I say. I don’t mind that. With luck, they’ll have some understanding to go with the notes. Failing that, I’m confident they’ll figure it out anyway.
I plan on asking them to open their minds before I go back to Rethven. If they agree, it should make all the note-taking worthwhile. If not… well, they’ll at least have a head start on Sir Isaac Newton. But it will help enormously if we can mind-meld and they can understand what I know, at least for a while. Having seen the cover of the jigsaw-puzzle box, the pieces become easier to assemble.
I don’t like the idea a lot—I don’t like people in my head, and I don’t like the idea of invading anyone else’s—but I can’t argue that it would be extremely helpful. I won’t be upset if I get no takers. I don’t know I’d go for it if positions were reversed. I’d rather slug it out with the notes and discover things for myself.
Almost every minute I’m inside the walls, Tort is tagging along. She listens to everything I say, but doesn’t ask any questions. I don’t think she understands a tenth of what the others do, but she listens anyway. She’s a strange little girl—all big solemn eyes and bouncing brown ponytail. But she’s cleaned up and gained some weight; she no longer looks like a refugee. She’s still thin, but not so bony.
I haven’t figured out a way to grow her a new foot, yet. At least, not one that will take less than a year or five. That gripes me. Her wooden foot sometimes bothers her stump, especially when I’m walking and talking at the same time. She tries like a trooper to keep up, but I have long legs. I’ve taken to picking her up and letting her ride my hip; she doesn’t weigh enough to slow me down and she seems to enjoy the ride.
I’m a sucker for happy children. I know it. I live with it.
Tort and Riddle are the only orphans in our troupe. Riddle, at least, has squiring to keep him busy; the other squires brought him up to speed in jig time. He’s a bright kid. I wish I had more time to make use of a squire, but Bouger seems to have Riddle well in hand on that score.
Tort, though…
I feel like I’m a daddy already. Not that I mind, exactly. I am responsible for her being here. I went and got her, after all.
I guess I’ll have to keep her.
I took a trip down into the plains to say hello the local tribe. It’s hard to navigate down there; once you get down out of the mountains, the trees thin out rapidly and turn to grassland. Tall grassland. Really tall and extremely unremarkable grassland. It’s like going for a walk in a shoulder-deep ocean, but less damp. I had to resort to a location spell to find the tribe.
They weren’t exactly where I’d last seen them, but not too far off from where I recalled—I think. I was a little turned around. Still, they remembered me. I could tell by the way people shrieked and pointed and ran screaming into the night.
I’m kidding.
Bronze and I came into their encampment at a walk. We were intercepted by a few warriors on the way in and they escorted us the rest of the way. The same older guy as before—I don’t think I ever did get his name—was waiting when we came to a halt. He looked at me keenly, then at Bronze, then prostrated himself on the ground. The people around us did the same. He said something to me I didn’t understand.
I came prepared with a translation spell. I set it off and linked up with him.
“Get up,” I told him. “I’m not here to be all hostile and unpleasant.”
He rose, but no one else did. They didn’t understand what I’d said.
“Be welcome, O master of shadows, and bless us with your mercy.”
“Naturally. Now talk to me about the ringing stone.”
He seemed surprised. “I do not understand, dark one.”
“There are people I have brought from beyond… ah… ‘the teeth of the world’s edge,’” I told him. “They will make the ringing stone. If you will give them kindness and food, they will give you kindness and tools of the ringing stone.”
He looked troubled. “They are lords of the shadows?” he asked.
“No. I am the only one.” His relief was obvious.
“They will bargain instead of kill?”
“They will.”
He nodded. “Then we will speak with them.”
“Ah. Yes.” I recalled I spoke with him through a spell. “They do not speak your tongue. A spell will be needed until they can learn it.”
“I will make it so.”
“Good. I will leave word with them to treat you with respect and with fairness. You will treat them with respect and with fairness. I will not have bloodshed between these two peoples.”
“Why would this be a problem?”
“I am suspicious of human nature,” I replied. “I know your ways are not their ways, nor are theirs yours. There will be misunderstandings and confusion. But there will be no fighting—and if there is, I will see to it those who do so will fight no more.” I smiled at him and let him see the fangs.
He lowered himself to the ground immediately. “I understand, O lord of shadows. There will be peace. I swear it.”
“I go to tell them what I have told you. When you wish to talk to them, they are upon a mountain, there,” I said, and pointed. “Look.” He looked up, followed the line of my arm, and lowered his head again.
“As you will, dark one.”
“Now stand up. Get everyone on their feet and have them return to their business. In the future, you will not kneel as you have done. It is my wish that you will bow and rise, not remain on the ground.”
He rose and spoke to the others; they got up and stood around, shifting uncomfortably.
“What is your name?” I asked him.
“I am Last-Pale-Light-At-Sunset,” he replied.
Wow. How hideously appropriate. I wonder if that was the time of day he’d been born.
“You may call me Halar.”
He looked at me intently for a long moment. “Halar,” he repeated.
“Well done. Thank you. When you go to my people, you will ask for the one called Sir Raeth. He will speak for them.”
“I will.”
“Very good. That is all I have to say. Do you have anything you wish of me?”
He thought about it for a minute. “Do you wish us to give them daughters?”
“Do I what?” The idea was something more than just handing over women. It held a significance I didn’t understand. It wasn’t slavery. It was more along the lines of a political marriage and an adoption.
“Do you wish us to give them daughters?” he repeated. “We will accept theirs, if it is your will.”
I abandoned plans to leave. Instead, we sat down and had a long talk while he explained.
The people of the plains have several tribal groups scattered all throug
h the plains—and they are big plains. Last-Pale-Light-At-Sunset (I’m going to call him “the shaman”) tells me there are more than ten hands of hands of tribes, each with as many people as his own. I think that works out to about two hundred and fifty roving camps.
According to their custom, they can’t marry anyone from their own group. Daughters are given back and forth among groups in a sort of trade. They live in the new group in place of the previous daughter—but the new girl is considered eligible for matrimony. If she doesn’t find anyone she wants—she can say “no” to every man in the group—she gets traded to another group to look around some more. In this way, they keep circulating new blood among their groups, prevent inbreeding, and keep cultural, linguistic, and social ties together. Very nice.
Of course, not all the tribes get along with each other, but often a third tribe can act as a middleman for relations or negotiations. It’s hard to declare war on your wife’s father and brothers.
“The ways of the new people are not your ways,” I explained. “They may not see the wisdom in your way, just as you may not see the wisdom in theirs. I will tell them of your way. It may be that, in learning of the way you live, some may desire to learn more. Perhaps not. But you may speak of it to Sir Raeth and he will listen.”
He clasped his hands together, then unclasped them and pressed his palms together. “When the fingers intertwine, the bond is strong. When there is but a touch, there is no strength.”
I nodded. “That may be so, but I will not send daughters to you who know nothing of your ways—” such a girl would be confused and unhappy very quickly!—“and who has no woman-skills that you recognize.” She’d be useless until they taught her, so they would also be unhappy. Not good.