Unspoken was the clear and obvious fact that no one in his right mind, however bold and fanatic, would attack the Archduke and his retinue. Not with Tilden's reputation as a warrior.
"Tilden!" his wife laughed. "How can you say that about our worthy peers?"
"Our worthy peers are so preoccupied with sucking up to the King that he could set them on fire and they'd thank him for the honor," Tilden replied brutally. "And I'm glad to be among friends with whom I can speak my mind for a change, instead of mouthing polite idiocy and trying not to feel as if I ought to be scraping them off my boots." He turned to Tarma, and she shrugged.
"Don't look at me," she declared. "I'm just a barbarian nomad with no sense of rank or decorum, remember? You can keep your Courts; I don't want any part of them."
"You're well out of it, and I wish I'd had your sense and declined the damned title," Tilden grumbled, yet with a smile. "You have no idea what those of us who actually do some work have to put up with from the drones. Listen to this, will you—"
She sat back and enjoyed Tilden's witty, acerbic commentary on the current crop of Rethwellan nobility, as his wife added sweetly pointed asides and Jadrek commented on the lineage (or lack of it) where each was concerned. It was wonderful to have Tilden and his family here; she'd forgotten how much she enjoyed his sharp tongue and razor wit. And of course, Jadrie was thrilled, for she not only had her best friends here for the holiday, but she had a new friend in the shape of Tilden's eldest daughter Arboli. However scholarly Arboli might be, she was also the daughter of a bodyguard and a Horsemaster—she rode like a Shin'a'in and could hold her own in rough games and contests. She couldn't match even Kira in swordwork, but she was wickedly accurate with a snowball and was endlessly inventive in coming up with new amusements to act out.
As for Kethry's twins, they were overjoyed at having a whole new set of playmates, even if those playmates were girls. Even the two youngest played happily together—insofar as any two strange toddlers could play together. At least it was with a minimum of squabbles.
There was never any question of Kira and Meri going back to their father after their ordeal—they were still sick from the effects of cold, fear, and the seeds they'd eaten, and the new Healer in the village insisted they remain in bed at the school so that she could make certain there would be no lasting effects from their experience. They ate as if they were hollow, and slept when they weren't eating, for three days straight.
Meanwhile Kethry had gotten messages to their father telling him what had happened. While the twins were recovering, Tilden had made his excuses to the King, packed up the entire family, and headed at top speed for the school, with the baggage train following at an easier pace. And when he and his retinue appeared on the doorstep, Tarma wasn't at all surprised to see them. She'd expected him to do exactly that—and if he had been hesitant, his wife Diona would have overcome that hesitation.
The first day was spent with Tilden and Diona closeted with the twins, not even coming out for meals. The other children circled each other like wary dogs for half a day, then made up their minds to be friends and went out for snowfights. When Tilden and Diona emerged, they didn't say anything, but they spent part of the second day closeted with Kethry, then joined the rest of the company and acted as if they had come here only for the pure pleasure of the trip.
Today was Midwinter Day, and with it the start of three days of gift-giving and feasting, which thus far had managed to keep everyone off of serious subjects. The one surprise Tilden had managed to pull off was the magical production of the litter of kittens and puppies. Tarma still had no idea how he'd managed to keep their existence a secret.
Then again, in a baggage-train the size an Archduke has, I suppose you could probably keep just about anything secret for a few days.
Still, the one subject that had not been broached was the kidnapping, and Tarma was waiting. They were just about due for it now.
The same thing seemed to occur to everyone else in the room at about the same moment, for an awkward silence fell, and Tilden cleared his throat carefully.
"I want to thank you," he began, a bit stiffly, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. "Although thanks is inadequate—"
"Tilden—" Kethry began, but he hushed her rather fiercely.
"I made mistakes. I knew about the fanatics and I didn't take them seriously. I certainly never thought they would dare to strike inside the borders of Rethwellan! I sent green untrained men instead of experienced men, and I gave them the impression that this would be more of an excursion than a serious duty." He shook his head. "Those were all my mistakes, and if it hadn't been for your quick thinking and quick action—well, I don't know what would have happened, but I can't imagine anything good coming out of this disaster."
"The twins are as much responsible for their rescue as we are," Tarma pointed out. "They were the ones who thought of slowing down their kidnappers, and they were the ones who laid a clear trail for us to follow."
"Because they were well taught," Tilden insisted. "Because of that, they didn't panic, and they didn't assume they were helpless because they were children in the hands of adults. You taught them to think that way."
"You can't teach that," Kethry replied. "That's something a child learns from the way she is treated, and it begins in infancy. No, Tilden, be as grateful to your own sense in raising and teaching your girls as you are to us."
"Have you informed Sursha about this yet?" Jadrek asked shrewdly. "I know Kethry has sent off a report to the King, and I expect that you have as well."
"I was waiting to talk to the girls and get Kethry's description of the leader before I sent word to Sursha," Tilden replied grimly. "I think now that this should be delivered by someone I can trust completely, but I don't quite know who—"
"How about me?" Ikan offered. "I know my way around down there; I could go and be back again before spring thaw. Sooner, with a change of horses. Justin and Tarma can handle the boys without me for that long."
Tarma laughed. "I might accuse you of trying to get out of some hard work if I didn't already know how miserable winter is in Jkatha; you're going to be in for a cold, soppy ride. Of course we can spare you; this is too important to be left to an ordinary messenger."
Tilden sighed with relief. "Thank you, and now I'm further in your debt. I suppose I'll have to put up the money to build a dormitory for the school or something of the like."
"Actually—" Kethry got a thoughtful look on her face. "Why don't you hunt up some mage-gifted children from impoverished families and sponsor them here? There's a limit to the number of charity students a school can afford, even ours."
Diona's eyes brightened, and Tilden nodded decisively. "Good plan, I'll see to it." His face clouded a little. "I have a real concern though, about these fanatics. Are there more of them? Would they consider coming here, do you think?"
Tarma looked to Kethry, who shook her head. "Not as far as my sources have been able to discover," she told him. "And believe me, I have been very, very thorough. I intend to fortify the warning systems I've put in place as well; right now nothing larger than a sheep can get onto our property without my knowing it, and when I'm done, nothing larger than a rabbit will."
Tilden relaxed, and his wife parted his hand. "I told you," she said in a whisper that was audible to Tarma, at least. Tarma repressed a smile.
"I have to admit that I've learned a lesson or two from this myself," Tarma said slowly, and traded glances with Kethry and Jadrek. "And maybe not the ones you're thinking."
"Oh?" Diona said, her tone inviting further elaboration.
"It was a given that Keth and I would go after the kidnappers—there was never any question of that," Tarma told them. "But the only reason we brought Jadrie along was because she'd sworn a sisterhood-oath with your two—it's a Shin'a'in thing, a serious oath, and it meant that if she didn't help, she'd be forsworn. Keth and I were both fit to be tied."
"I can imagine," Diona said with sy
mpathy. "There was never any question of you forcing her to that, of course." She made it a statement, and Tarma felt her own bit of relief that the lady understood what was involved; she'd known Tilden would, but not necessarily his wife.
"Not a chance. Mind you, we were initially afraid that all she thought was that it would be a big adventure and hadn't any notion how serious a situation it was—and I think there was some of that there, at least until we got to the place where the ambush was sprung. But she didn't have to tell us about the oath; all she would have had to do was keep quiet about it and no one would have known. Certainly your girls had no idea how serious it was." Tarma paused, and rubbed her eyebrow with a knuckle. "But it's occurred to me that the first thing I've learned from her is that we're bringing the younglings up right. They take their responsibilities as seriously as we could want."
Kethry nodded emphatically. "I'll admit I was furious that she'd sworn that kind of an oath without asking permission—I thought that she had no right to do so without asking me first—and that if she'd asked, I would have told her she was too young to do so, too young to know what she was doing. And there might very well have been a grain of truth to that, but the point is that when she did know what she was in for, she didn't try to back out. And as for being too young—well, Tarma and I weren't that much older when we swore oaths that were just as serious, mine to White Winds as a novice, and hers to her Clan." She sighed. "I think I've just had a mother's hardest lesson brought home—no matter how young I think they are, they're older than I believe, and they aren't going to do anything except keep getting older. And sooner than I think they're ready, they're going to need to make their own lives."
Diona winced. "I learned that one when Meri announced that she was going to marry her Prince and that it was a lifebond and no one was going to stop her. Granted, that all might very well have been a children's fantasy—but it wasn't. There are times when they deserve to be taken seriously."
"When they themselves are serious, yes, they do," Tarma agreed. "And that's what we all have to watch for, and not just dismiss it out of hand because we don't think they're old enough to understand a serious situation."
"And when they make a serious decision and want to stand by it, it is our duty to them to help them do so," Jadrek added softly, a gentle smile on his lips. "I must tell you that I am very proud of my firstborn. I don't care if no one ever writes a song about her, or tells a tale about her—but I do care that she is already honorable and responsible, and I have no fear that she will ever be less so."
Tarma picked up her mug of mulled ale and raised it in a salute. "Here's to them and to us, then. And may we as parents remember this the next time somebody breaks a window and needs a tanning!"
"Here here!" Tilden seconded, as they all joined her in the toast and the laughter.
Alberich Series
--1 Exile's Honor (2002)--
version t2.0 checked against original, spell checked, formatted. completed October 19, 2003
Dedicated to the memory of NYFD crews lost 9/11/2001:
Squad One:
Brian Bilcher
Gary Box
Thomas Butler
Peter Carroll
Robert Cordice
David Fontana
Matthew Garvey
Stephen Siller
Edward Datri
Michael Esposito
Michael Fodor
James Amato
Squad 18:
Eric Allen
David Halderman
Timothy Haskell
Andrew Fredericks
Lawrence Virgilio
William McGinn
Squad 41:
Thomas Cullen III
Robert Hamilton
Michael Lyons
Gregory Sikorsky
Richard VanHine
Michael Healey
Squad 252:
Tarel Coleman
Thomas Kuveikis
Peter Langone
Patrick Lyons
Kevin Prior
Squad 288:
Ronnie Gies
Joseph Hunter
Jonathon Ielpi
Adam Rand
Ronald Kerwin
Safety Battalion 1:
Robert Crawford
Fire Marshal:
Ronald Bucca
Special Operations:
Timothy Higgins
Michael Russo
Patrick Waters
Raymond Downey
Citywide Tour Commander:
Gerard Barbara
Donald Burns
PROLOGUE
SILVER stamped restively as another horse on the picket line shifted and blundered into his hindquarters. Alberich clucked to quiet him and patted the stallion's neck; the beast swung his head about to blow softly into the young Captain's hair. Alberich smiled a little, thinking wistfully that the stallion was perhaps the only creature in the entire camp that felt anything like friendship for him.
And possibly the only creature that isn't waiting for me to fail, hoping that I will, and ready to pounce on me and cut me to pieces when I do. Life for an officer of Karsite troops was spent half in defeating the enemies of Karse and half in watching his own back.
Amazingly gentle, for a stallion, Silver had caused no problems either in combat or here, on the picket line. Which was just as well, for if he had, Alberich would have had him gelded or traded off for a more tractable mount, gift of the Voice of Vkandis Sunlord or no. Alberich had enough troubles without worrying about the behavior of his beast.
He wasn't sure where the handsome and muscular creature had come from; Shin'a'in-bred, they'd told him. The Voice had chosen the beast especially for him out of a string of animals "liberated from the enemy." Which meant war booty, of course, from one of the constant conflicts along the borders. Silver hadn't come from one of the bandit nests, that was sure. The only beasts the bandits owned were as disreputable as their owners. Horses "liberated" from the bandits usually weren't worth keeping, they were so run-down and ill-treated. Silver probably came from Menmellith via Rethwellan; the King was rumored to have some kind of connection with the horse-breeding, bloodthirsty Shin'a'in nomads.
Whatever; when Alberich lost his faithful old Smoke a few weeks ago he hadn't expected to get anything better than the obstinate, intractable gelding he'd taken from its bandit owner. But fate ruled otherwise; the Voice chose to "honor" him with a superior replacement along with his commission, the letter that accompanied the paper pointing out that Silver was the perfect mount for a Captain of light cavalry. It was also another evidence of favoritism from above, with the implication that he had earned that favoritism outside of performance in the field.
Talk about a double-edged blade.... Both the commission and the horse came with burdens of their own. Not a gift that was likely to increase his popularity with some of the men under his command, and a beast that was going to make him pretty damned conspicuous in any encounter with the enemy. A white horse? Might as well paint a target on his back and have done with it.
Plus that's an unlucky color. Those witchy-Heralds of Valdemar ride white horses, and the blue-eyed beasts may be demons or witches, too, for all I know. The priests say they are. The priests call their owners the "Demon-Riders."
The horse nuzzled him again, showing as sweet a temper as any lady's mare. He scratched its nose, and it sighed with content; he wished he could be as contented. Things had been bad enough before getting this commission. Now—
There was an uneasy, prickly sensation between his shoulder blades as he went back to brushing down his new mount. He glanced over his shoulder, to intercept the glare of Leftenant Herdahl; the man dropped his gaze and brushed his horse's flank vigorously, but not quickly enough to prevent Alberich from seeing the hate and anger in the hot blue eyes. No, indeed, the Voice had done Alberich no favors in rewarding him with the Captaincy and this prize mount, passing over Herdahl and Klaus, both his seniors in years of service, if not in
experience. Neither of them had expected that he would be promoted over their heads; during the week's wait for word to come from Headquarters, they had saved their rivalry for each other.
Too bad they didn't murder each other, he thought resentfully, then suppressed the rest of the thought. It was said that some of the priests of Vkandis could pluck the thoughts from a man's head. It could have been thoughts like that one that had led to Herdahl's being passed over for promotion. But it could also be that this was a test, a way of flinging the ambitious young Leftenant Alberich into deep water, to see if he would survive the experience. If he did, well and good; he was of suitable material to continue to advance, perhaps even to the rank of Commander. If he did not—well, that was too bad. If his ambition undid him, or if he wasn't clever enough to see and avoid the machinations of those below him, then he wasn't fit enough for the post.
That was the way of things, in the armies of Karse. You rose by watching your back, and (if the occasion arose) sticking careful knives into the backs of your less-cautious fellows, and ensuring other enemies took the punishment. All the while, the priests of the Sunlord, the ones who were truly in charge, watched and smiled and dispensed favors and punishments with the same dispassionate aloofness displayed by the One God. Karse was a hard land, and the Sunlord a hard God; the Sunpriests were as hard as both.
But Alberich had given a good account of himself along the border, at the corner where Karse met Menmellith and the witch-nation Valdemar, in the campaign against the bandits there. Frankly, Herdahl and Klaus put together hadn't been half as effective or as energetic as he'd been. He'd earned his rank, he told himself once again, as Silver stamped and shifted his weight beneath the strokes of Alberich's brush.
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