Impossible Odds

by Dave Duncan

  His image shimmered and blurred, startling Bellman, who blinked until he decided his eyes were not at fault this time. The Grand Duke had gone and in his place sat a girl. She was slender and radiantly beautiful, despite her unflattering male garb, and the way her golden hair had been crudely coiled up and pinned on top of her head.

  Trudy let out a yelp. The others just stared. The Grand Duchess smiled as she surveyed their reaction, yet her pleasure failed to cover a deep sadness in her sapphire-pale eyes.

  “Sir Ringwood, Sir Ranter, now you see your ward. The conjuration is very effective, but it has its limits. It changes my face very well, my upper body fairly well, but it cannot make my feminine calves look as manly as my husband’s and I dared not trust it to deal with communal bathing. Did my modesty in the Forge start the juices of suspicion flowing, Sir Ringwood?”

  Ringwood was glowing with joy at the transformation. “Not at all, Your Highness.”

  “No regrets, I hope?”

  Ranter muttered a surly, “No.” A lifelong binding was less attractive when his ward was his own age, instead of thirty years older.

  Ringwood said, “Oh, no, Your Highness! I mean, I thought His Highness was…I am sure His Highness is a very fine Grand Duke, but you’re…” He blushed scarlet and his voice trailed away. Ringwood was smitten already.

  So was Bellman. Oh, spirits! She was gorgeous. Trudy disappeared in her presence. He felt like a boy compared to her. Now he understood the “Grand Duke’s” curiously gentle manners. She should learn to use more bad language.

  “I thank you both.” She sighed. “Master Bellman, your oath is revocable, as theirs is not. Do you wish to leave my service now?”

  “Never, Your Highness!” He was tempted to say that he would serve without pay forever if he could just have one of those smiles each day. The pain that lurked behind them tore at his heart. “I trusted you when I knew you were not what you seemed and I certainly trust you now.”

  But she could never trust him as she trusted her bound Blades. He could swear absolute loyalty and mean it, but without the conjuration it could never be the same. Human fidelity could fail.

  “Sister Trudy?”

  “Just what Bellman just said, Your Highness! This is wonderful!”

  “Is it? Is it truly? Nay, it is worse than before, for I am still an exile and now you see I am of common stock. I lack rank and breeding. My husband is dead or a prisoner, I know not which. My infant son is dispossessed and in mortal danger, for he will certainly be murdered if his uncle finds him. My efforts to enlist support from the rulers of Eurania have met with no support, at least until now, here in faraway Chivial, where your King and Queen have been wonderfully kind. But even they will be glad to see me go.”

  “Why?” Ranter snapped.

  “Because death follows me everywhere. Also—although less in their case than elsewhere—because I am not of noble birth. That was why your King refused to grant me the royal honors he would have shown the real Grand Duke. My father was a mere knight, Erich von Schale. He owed knight’s service to the lord of Fadrenschloss, Baron von Fader, as his forebears had for generations. He followed the Baron’s banner in his youth, but when I knew him his fighting days were long over; he was a farmer who shoed his own horses and helped bring in his own hay. I barely remember my mother, for she died trying to give me a brother. Sir Ringwood?”

  “Your Highness?”

  “I was much moved by your story. How old were you when your father brought you to Ironhall?”

  “Almost thirteen, Your Grace.”

  “I, too, lost my father when I was twelve. He cut his foot and the wound festered. Had he asked the Baron for help, the Baron would have sent him to Vamky with gold for a healing, but he was too proud to beg. When the Baron heard the news and rode to our cottage, my father was on his deathbed. Ernst swore he would take care of me. That was his duty as liege, but he meant it, which matters infinitely more. I moved into his house and he was wonderfully kind to me. Fadrenschloss was a rambling old place, part ancient castle and part modern timber house, comfortable but still defensible. He had no family left, so it would revert to the Grand Duke when he died. I lived there for two years. Of course I mourned my father, but they were two wonderful years.

  “But I must tell you also of the villain in the story, Lord Volpe. He is Rubin’s uncle, but only a year older. They grew up together in the palace in Krupa and I have heard hints that they disliked each other in those days. Volpe may have resented that he was not Grand Duke Hans’s heir although he was the elder. Rubin may have been frightened of Volpe, for he is prone to wild rages and Rubin is…peaceable. My husband would rather outfox a foe than fight him. I do know he would sometimes accuse his uncle of being illegitimate, for Volpe was born eight months after his father’s death and thirty years after his only brother. By the time I came on the scene, they had long been reconciled. Rubin obviously trusted his uncle, for he had appointed him Provost of Vamky, which made him the most powerful man in the realm, more dangerous than the Grand Duke himself.

  “You know that highborn families everywhere have trouble dealing with younger sons. Dividing an inheritance weakens it, so in most of Eurania the firstborn takes all. Rulers have this problem more than any, and none more than the Grand Dukes of Krupina, for their realm is too small to support numerous royal offspring. Letting them die nobly in battle is usually the preferred solution, but Krupina has historically avoided war as much as possible. Krupina’s solution is to enroll surplus sons in the Vamky Brotherhood and send them off as mercenaries to die in other people’s wars.

  “The brethren are sworn to poverty, celibacy, and complete obedience to their abbot. Their fortified monastery at Vamky controls the Pilgrim Pass, the northern gateway to the realm. Contingents of its knights are always in demand as warriors, usually supported by conjurers, for the brethren know more than anyone else about the use of elementals in warfare. All the money from these contracts flows into the coffers of the Brotherhood, so it is very rich. It has the only standing army in the realm, so obviously whoever controls the brethren can control Krupina, and the Abbot is a man of enormous power. Successive Grand Dukes have sought to control him by appointing a provost as a sort of co-ruler. In theory the Provost controls the military side and foreign contracts, while training and discipline are the domain of the Abbot. The division of power is complicated and does not always work, but by appointing his heir to be Provost, Rubin was only following tradition.”

  “Celibacy?” Ranter said. “That means they don’t do it with women?”

  “It means they are forbidden to marry. They are supposed to have no dealings at all with women, but of course no one is perfect. Their discipline is strict and the punishments dire.” His ward looked around the meeting with another of her wistful smiles. “It is almost morning. Do you want me to stop?”

  “Certainly not, Your Grace,” Ringwood said. “We must know these things if we are to help you.”

  “Very well, I will be as brief as I can. The Baron’s Fadrenschloss is close to Vamky, in the north of Krupina, where the land narrows between the ranges. You could see the monastery from the top of the tower. Most of the hills are wooded, home to deer and wild boar, even bears. Eagles ride the winds there and the mountains keep their winter plumage until high summer. One shining fall day when the hills were golden, Grand Duke Rubin rode through the area. He was hunting.

  “What he found was me.”

  II

  From a Find to a Check

  • 1 •

  Ah, what have we here? A forest primrose?”

  Johanna wheeled in surprise to locate the speaker. Having spent the day helping the hands with the harvest, she had come home to find the bailey full of horses and unfamiliar men, some of them liveried swordsmen, others in the green garb of foresters. The Baron’s grooms were rushing around, trying to cope with this sudden invasion of loud, impatient strangers. The Fadrenschloss hounds had scented the visiting pack, and both were
baying furiously.

  The man who had addressed her was portly, of middle years, and must be the noble whose train this was, for his riding garb of lovat leather outclassed anything else in the courtyard, from his spurs to the feather in his cap. He carried a falconer’s glove tucked in his belt and a silver hunting horn hung on a jeweled baldric. She ought to curtsy to a visiting lord, but something about the way he was looking at her froze her to the spot.

  The evening sun blazed in a sky as vast and blue as summer. She was weary and happily sweaty, for harvesting was joyful work involving every able-bodied soul living in or near Fadrenschloss, from toddlers to elders. The boys all worked bare-chested, leading to much chaffing and hinting, flirting and promises that might or might not be kept when the day was done. Girls no older than herself were being seriously courted.

  “Well?” asked the nobleman. “What is your name, little primrose?”

  Her green linen shift was a better-quality garment than the peasant girls wore, but very far from being ladies’ wear. Her hair, tied back with a ribbon, had been bleached by summer to flax, so the thought flashed through her mind that she was more fittingly a daisy than a primrose. She found her manners and bobbed a curtsy.

  “Johanna Schale, my lord.” At once she guessed that she had given him the wrong title.

  “A pretty name for a very pretty girl. Such lovely brown arms!” He must be joking, for only peasants were brown. Fashionable ladies had very pale skin, the paler the better. His finger snaked out to lift the edge of a shoulder strap and he added, “and pale shoulders.”

  “My lord!” She recoiled, knowing he was thinking of more than shoulders.

  He frowned reprovingly at her reaction. “Who is your father, Johanna?”

  “My father died two years ago. I am the Baron’s ward…my lord.” Horses and men were moving around, but none of them looked in her direction, as if she were invisible, or hidden in some dungeon far away, locked up with this man. They could not, would not, see her.

  “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen, my lord.”

  “You live here, in the castle?”

  She nodded, seriously frightened now.

  “Then we shall get to know each other during my stay.” His heavy lips shaped a smile. “You don’t know who I am, do you? Let me show you a picture. There! You know me now?”

  Finger and thumb, he held up a coin, a glittering golden kru. She had seen krus before, although even the Baron rarely had need to use them. This one looked fresh-minted, but bore an old image, a much younger Grand Duke.

  “I beg Your Highness’s pardon!” She attempted a ballroom curtsy in a peasant smock.

  He bent to raise her, soft hand closing about her upper arm. “You are forgiven already, Johanna. I do hope we can be friends while I am here, enjoying your guardian’s celebrated hospitality. Perhaps I will leave you that picture of me when I go, mm? As a memento of our happy hours together?” He did not release her, holding her close, smiling.

  What sort of happy hours had he in mind that he was offering her gold for them? Was she some gutter trollop to be so insulted?

  Before she could think of a suitable but polite response—and maybe there was none—the Baron himself came waddling at high speed across the bailey, obviously hastily garbed in his best, for the laces on his jerkin were undone and his hose wrinkled. “Your Royal Highness!” He doffed his cap to make a courtly bow and display scanty white hair all awry. “This indeed is an honor! Had Your Grace only warned us, Fadrenschloss would have prepared a fabled feast to celebrate—make yourself presentable, girl—such a historic occasion. But if Your Highness will doubly honor us by extending his visit for a few days…”

  Johanna jerked her arm free and fled.

  A ducal visit required only the best, but Johanna’s best was very ordinary. In two years, maybe three, she would be launched onto the social stage. The Baron had promised her that, and a rich dowry to win a fine husband, too. When the time came, she would have gowns and jewels and perfumes. But not yet. At the moment her best was a simple brown linen with puffed shoulders and hand-me-down lace over a square décolletage. Heidi, who was her lady’s maid when she wasn’t being chambermaid, plaited her hair in a tail for her. Johanna pinned a discreetly feathered toque on top of her head, and set off in search of her guardian. She needed guidance in how to handle a rutting ruler.

  The living quarters at Fadrenschloss were known as the New Wing, but were themselves ancient and much muddled by repeated attempts to improve them. The Baron would certainly have conducted his visitor to the guest suite so His Royal Highness could refresh himself after his journey. When Rubin had completed his toilet, he would likely monopolize the Baron for the rest of the day, and perhaps several days to come, so Johanna must consult him before he was caught up in the duties of being a host.

  She hurried first to the solar, up a narrow stair from the banqueting hall. Finding the door ajar, she peered in and saw it was empty, only a dusty bottle and two crystal goblets on a silver tray giving lonely warning that the visitor would be entertained here shortly.

  The only other door at the stair head led to the Baron’s own chamber, and that was closed. Since he had already changed, he was unlikely to be in there, but she knocked anyway. A voice already familiar bade her enter, just as she saw von Fader plodding up after her, filling the stairway from wall to wall. Oh, horrors! He had given up his own chamber to his royal guest and she was knocking on the Duke’s door.

  Again he called for her to enter, perhaps expecting his valet or baggage or shaving water or something. What a delightful surprise he would find if he came to investigate! The Baron made heavy work of stairs and had not noticed her. She plunged into the solar to hide. It was a small room, full of large, shabby chairs, one desk, and a couple of muniment chests. Those were kept locked, because this room also served the Baron as a countinghouse, so the only possible refuge was the fireplace, whose blackened stonework was concealed in summer by a tapestry screen. There was just room for Johanna to crouch in behind it, among the soot and cold ashes, well aware that she had already ruined her best dress.

  Voices outside the door…

  Then inside it. Oh, spirits! Could they hear the thunder of her heart?

  “…partridge galore up there,” the Baron said. “Early in the season for boar, but if Your Grace fancies that excitement—”

  The Duke laughed. “No! I leave such nonsense to the young and foolish. These roe deer you mentioned…” A chair creaked under someone’s weight.

  For a while the two men talked game. It sounded as if the Duke planned to use Fadrenschloss as his hunting lodge for several days. As the Baron’s liege, he could claim such privilege. Glasses clinked. Johanna was convinced that she was about to vomit from sheer terror. She should not be eavesdropping on the Grand Duke and her guardian! If they discovered her, the Baron would have no option but to order her whipped, or even just handed over to serve Rubin’s pleasure.

  “That girl I was talking with, Ernst? A pretty thing.”

  “When she grows up she will be a great beauty.”

  “She’s one already. Skin like porcelain! Lowborn, though?”

  “Her father was the best of my knights, a most fine man. I swore to him on his deathbed that I would see his daughter well and honorably married.” The Baron’s voice had taken on its stubbornest tone. “Of course she is too young to be thinking of marriage for years yet.”

  The Duke’s laugh was metallic, unpleasant. “I’d wager you would find girls her age suckling babes in your own kitchens, my lord baron.” Pause. “Of course I would make a generous donation toward her dowry. I know of several young men of promise in need of a wife.”

  “Your Grace is most generous, but shortage of suitors will not be a problem, and I have already made provision for Johanna’s dowry. I confess that I have grown attached to her over the last couple of years. She is a great comfort to me in my old age. There is no need for Your Highness to worry on her ac
count.”

  A longer pause, while Johanna frantically wondered what signals were being exchanged by eyes and eyebrows and silent lips.

  The Duke broke the silence. “She must be a remarkable comfort?”

  “Sire!” Von Fader’s roar might be audible down in the bailey. “That is an unworthy slight upon my honor.”

  “Oh, Ernst!” The Duke yawned. “We are both men of the world. You know what I want. If she is not yours, she can be mine to cuddle for a few days. A little experience will help prepare her for marriage and do her no harm. No one need know. Name a price.”

  “My life!”

  Pause again. Johanna heard a goblet being set down.

  “You are being foolishly dramatic. I claim your allegiance!”

  “I am Your Highness’s man in the ways of chivalry and always have been. I have risked my carcass many times for you and your father. I am loyal to you in all things, except this: I will not pimp my ward to any man’s lusts! An honorable liege would not ask this.”

  The chair creaked again. When the Duke spoke, his voice came from farther away.

  “Do not provoke me, von Fader! I have ways of getting what I want.”

  “I will go to the scaffold before I surrender.”

  A harsh laugh…the door closing…the Baron’s heavy tread across the floor…a bolt being shot…

  “You can come out now,” he said.

  He lifted the screen away, and Johanna crawled out in a shower of ash. Still on hands and knees, she peered warily up at him. From that angle he looked like a gigantic storm cloud, and his face was purple with fury.

  “Disgusting! I should have you sweep the chimney while you look like that. Stand up and don’t come near me!”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, rising. “I don’t want to cause you trouble.” She had never seen Ernst von Fader so enraged.