Impossible Odds

by Dave Duncan

  She heard the squelch of approaching boots and did not turn. Banneret Schwartz went tramping past her, all the way to the Abbot. In silence he relieved Minhea of his sword and carried it across to offer it to Lord Volpe. The revolution was over. Wild cheers erupted from Minhea’s men, and they rushed forward to mob their resurrected Provost.

  “This is starting to smell suspiciously like a happy ending,” Trudy said.

  “Not yet,” Ringwood retorted. “We’re still one man short.”

  “Two,” Johanna said.

  A chestnut-and-mud-colored stallion pushed through the throng and walked across to the forgotten Dowager Grand Duchess. The rider reined in, swung his leg over the saddle, and dropped to the turf at her feet. Dust and mud made his face unrecognizable until he unfastened his chin strap and threw away his helmet, uncovering a familiar tangle of wavy brown hair sorely in need of a barber. He took her hands in his.

  “Frederik is safe,” Bellman said, and the world vanished in tears.

  • 9 •

  Ringwood found the Brotherhood’s field healing station impressive, not least because Banneret Schwartz seemed to call on men at random, the closest seven, as if every knight-brother was an expert conjurer. In minutes they threw up a tent and laid out a small octogram with strips of canvas, and then the eight of them chanted the conjuration entirely from memory. The Vamky ritual must be designed for serious wounds, yet it banished scrapes and bruises at least as well as Ironhall’s did. The brethren also handed out anklet bandages conjured to postpone fatigue. These perked up the two women, but Ringwood’s gave him such violent cramps that he had to remove it and do without—apparently his binding disapproved of the enchantment, just as it disapproved of sleep and wine. No matter, he was cantering along nicely on sheer excitement.

  Fresh, dry clothes were another joy, and when the seneschal produced garments belonging to his eldest son and these proved to an almost perfect fit, even the accompanying jokes about beanpoles could be overlooked.

  None of those pleasures could hold a candle to eating, though, and when the women finally tired of primping and preening and paraded down to the dining room, they found that Max Priboi had laid on for them a feast as fine as the previous evening’s dinner with Count János, which seemed a long lifetime ago now. Ringwood consumed a dozen schnitzels and six spicy sausages before he even finished planning the rest of his meal.

  Provost Volpe had left word that they were to start without him, so only the Duchess and the three surviving Chivians assembled around the table. Johanna sent the servants away to have privacy. She offered a brief tribute to Ranter. True summarized the shadowmen adventure and the death of the Duke for Bellman, who then recounted his adventures rescuing Lord Volpe. He obviously left much unsaid, but he was coming down with a bad cold and reluctant to speak much.

  Ringwood was too busy to talk, and he was not just being greedy. Time to eat and attend to his toilet would be precious from now on, because a solitary Blade was on duty every minute of every day. Life would be much harder without Ranter to share the burden.

  No one was speculating on what was going to happen next, except that Bellman repeated Lord Volpe’s promise to see Johanna reunited with her son before nightfall. Only Volpe himself knew what else would happen. He was now sole ruler of the Vamky Brotherhood and also head of the ducal family until Frederik came of age. He held all the power in Krupina.

  The moment the Provost walked in he dominated the room, as he would dominate any room he ever inhabited. He was a big, powerful man with a very unsettling, wide-eyed stare. Ringwood was relieved to see that the former wicked uncle was on his best behavior, bowing to Johanna, asking her leave before he joined the company. He even attempted a battle-ax joke about prison diet, yet he ate frugally and watered his beer. He wanted more details about the shadowmen and the night’s deaths, so that story had to be told again. When it was done he tucked his knife back in his belt and pushed his stool away from the table.

  He offered Johanna a smile that made the back of Ringwood’s neck prickle, although apparently it was well intended. “Your Highness is prepared to travel to Krupa to swear allegiance to our new, small Grand Duke now?”

  “If I have to crawl!”

  “Not necessary. You can ride or go in the coach, as you please. Either should get you there before His Royal Highness can arrive from Bad Nargstein.” He gazed around the table as if he wanted to fight someone, before returning his attention to Johanna. “I am heading to Krupa now and my first duty will be to inform Lady Margarita that her wedding is canceled. I do not anticipate that she will die of grief.”

  “I never met the child,” Johanna said acidly, “but she was reported to be young and flighty, not insane.”

  The Provost glanced at Bellman, who said nothing.

  “After that,” Volpe continued, “Rubin’s death and Frederik’s accession must be publicly proclaimed. Both wedding and enthronement will be cancelled. I fully realize that you were never formally enthroned, Your Highness, and I accept the blame for that, but now that you are Dowager Duchess, an enthronement is out of the question.”

  Johanna said, “I understand. I will bear no grudges, my lord, as long as you continue to recognize and respect my son’s status as Grand Duke.”

  These negotiations were sounding very much like the making of a peace treaty, and Ringwood was able to relax a little. He took a second helping of pickled eels to celebrate.

  Volpe nodded. “I will swear fealty to your son in your presence. I have never broken an oath in my life.” The terrible gaze settled briefly on her Blade. “I am thankful that the spirits of chance saved me from having to take action against a nephew who was also my liege lord.”

  Thanks for the murder. Ringwood thought it safest just to nod. He had his mouth full anyway.

  “There will have to be an inquiry into his death, of course,” the Provost added.

  Ringwood choked.

  Bellman thumped him on the back. “Don’t worry, Brother Ringwood. He won’t want any public testimony about His Late Highness’s recent activities. Some fish are better left in the sea. Take a drink.”

  Volpe frowned. “The matter of most concern is who will rule Krupina until our new Grand Duke comes of age. I need to provide guardians and tutors for him until then. I must appoint either a regent or a council of regency—there are precedents for both.”

  Johanna’s eyes had grown almost as wide as Volpe’s. “I trust that I may act as mother to my son, my lord?”

  Volpe nodded. “Certainly.”

  “And you will have the courtesy to consult me on these other matters?”

  “I will consult you, certainly, and acknowledge you as Frederik’s mother, but frankly—pray excuse my bluntness when time presses—I cannot see Your Grace as regent.”

  That was a nice way of saying she was a commoner and a woman. It was also a load off Ringwood’s shoulders.

  Johanna seemed surprised and uneasy. “I assumed you would hold that office yourself, my lord?”

  Volpe sighed. “Government bores me. I will oversee from the wings, but I will find a deputy for the day-to-day trivia.”

  Grand Duke Rubin coughed. “May I volunteer?” he asked.

  True squeaked like a trampled cat. Ringwood bit his tongue. No one had noticed Bellman putting on the locket.

  “You dare?” Volpe roared. “You even dare suggest such a thing?” He leapt to his feet, sending his stool flying. “A lowborn foreigner masquerading as head of state, assuming royal honors?”

  Ringwood grasped his sword hilt.

  “Granted it is an unorthodox solution,” the imposter said mildly. He spread his hands—small, soft hands, not Bellman’s. “But is it not also the simplest? It would save a lot of awkward questions. The Margrave may be upset at seeing his daughter jilted. At least he will have to pretend so in public, but in private…?” He looked meaningfully at Volpe.

  “Insolence! What training or abilities do you have for running Krupina?”


  “Oh, none. But you said yourself, Nephew, that the less ruling a ruler does the better, or words to that effect. You obviously would prefer to remain at Vamky. What harm can I do? You can depose me at any time just by taking away the locket.”

  “It is unconscionable! Deceiving the child and the entire country?”

  “People believe what they want to believe, you told me.”

  Volpe shot a furious glance at Johanna, as if wondering whether she was party to this blasphemy. “You would expect to sleep in the Grand Duchess’s bed, no doubt?”

  “Tsk!” said her late husband. “Surely Her Grace should be allowed to decide her own sleeping arrangements? Of course His Royal Highness would have to be informed eventually. Or perhaps not? We can discuss that nearer the time. Did I not warn you, my lord, that I might call in a favor sometime?”

  Aha! If personal gratitude came into it, then Bellman held the high ground.

  Volpe leaned on the table to shout across at him. “This is madness! How could you possibly even get through this afternoon? You would have to return to Court and announce that your wedding is canceled. You would be apologizing to hundreds of guests, people you are expected to know.”

  Bellman’s answer was a severe attack of coughing. “My memory for names is notorious,” he croaked. “And I do believe that my laryngitis is getting worse.”

  Volpe’s rage vanished as suddenly as it had come. He righted his stool and sat down. “You are remarkably convincing,” he said calmly. “And you continue to impress. Very few men retain their composure when I yell at them.”

  “You hadn’t already thought of this yourself?” the imposter inquired hoarsely.

  “Certainly not!”

  True smirked from ear to ear. The others followed her example, one by one. Volpe frowned suspiciously at their unexplained amusement.

  “The laryngitis is fortuitous. What do you think of this insanity, Your Highness?”

  Johanna’s face was answer enough. “Oh, love!” she said. “Would you dare?”

  “For you I would dare anything,” Bellman said gallantly.

  Volpe snorted. “How sweet! I will require an oath of secrecy from each one of you. And an oath of loyalty from you, Herr Bellman, if I am to put my country in your hands.”

  “I will gladly swear to serve Grand Duke Frederik with all my heart and strength until my dying day.” The imposter smiled at Johanna. “And his lady mother also.”

  “Even sweeter, but let us be practical. You are overlooking a major problem. The enthronement could proceed, I suppose, with the former Duchess in place of the new, and the other planned festivities to follow, but not the wedding. You do not expect to marry Lady Margarita as well, I hope? Whatever she may think of the news, her father and all Trenko may well see this as a grievous insult. How are you going to explain your previous wife’s miraculous return from the dead?”

  Around the table the smiles faded. How indeed? Ringwood chewed thoughtfully. She fell out of the coach, landed in the river with the Marquis in her arms, and they were washed away downstream? It has taken her half a year to walk back. But why had she been in a coach with another man to start with? Grand Duke Rubin had slyly branded her an adulteress to win sympathy for his betrothal to the Margrave’s daughter. Even if she had survived, why would he take her back now? No, it was impossible.

  The dream popped like a bubble.

  The Duke coughed again, painfully. Unless Bellman was a much better actor than Ringwood had ever suspected, his voice was fading fast.

  “It is usually best just to tell people the truth,” he whispered. “Or almost the truth. Why don’t we all go for a ride in that great monster coach and make up our story on the way? Are we ready to leave?”

  “Tomorrow,” True said fondly, “when Sir Ringwood stops eating.”

  After that the day broke up into a few hard peaks of wonder towering above a rolling fog of fatigue. To relax in that terrible bouncing coach was impossible—it was hard enough not to be thrown right off the benches—but Ringwood wedged Trudy in a corner for safety and comfort and concentrated on enjoying her closeness and his own digestion. He drifted as close to sleep as a Blade ever did, ignored the others’ plotting, coming alert only when Trudy nudged him.

  He flicked back a few seconds…Trudy had said, “Happy to, my lord”…answering a question from the Provost, “You two will witness?”

  “Happy to, my lord,” he said. Witness what?

  Oaths: Volpe, Johanna, and Bellman swearing loyalty to the infant Grand Duke, who was to remain officially only the heir. And then, astonishingly, Bellman and Johanna were led through a brief exchange of marriage vows by the Provost.

  While bride and groom were sharing a kiss, Ringwood realized that he wasn’t quite a solitary Blade now. Bellman was not bound by conjuration, but love was a potent binding in itself.

  “Well, that takes care of the formalities,” Johanna said happily. “Except for one thing.” She frowned at Trudy. “Krupina is not Chivial. Nor is it the open road. Krupa is a stuffy, old-fashioned, straight-laced town, and only married couples share bedrooms. Sir Ringwood will be an important person at Court. You cannot continue sleeping with him unless you’re married.”

  Trudy glanced sideways at Ringwood, then turned a deceptively innocent gaze upon Johanna. “And the problem is…?”

  Ringwood shied like a shooed chicken. Married? Shadowmen were one thing—his binding gave him courage to face them—but marriage? At his age? For the rest of his life?

  “You haven’t told him your news?” the Duchess said.

  Trudy shrugged. “I thought he had enough worries.” She patted Ringwood’s knee. “No matter, hon. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. I must have misunderstood some of that love talk.”

  What news? Ringwood gave up wondering why they were all grinning at him and forced his mind to be practical. Even with Bellman helping on night shift, being a solitary Blade was going to leave him no time for romancing girls. He’d never find another like True anyway. The thought of her leaving and stranding him here in Krupina did not bear thinking about. No, if marriage was what it took…

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to!” he protested. “But you threw it at me too suddenly. Marriage? Sure. Well, that’s no problem. You want to tie the noose…I mean knot…that’ll be great. Er, do you have any particular date in mind, darling?”

  True sighed. “Yes, love. Once again, please, my lord. With feeling.”

  The Provost said, “Do you, Ringwood, take…”

  The ducal coach rolled into the palace yard soon after noon, causing a mad flurry of activity and no small relief, for the wedding guests would start arriving soon. Flunkies ran off in all directions to summon court officials. The yard was already crowded with delivery carts, and the Palace Guard’s efforts to line up were not assisted by the escort of Vamky knights, who innocently contrived to back their horses in the wrong direction as often as possible. Stable hands and the ducal band added to the confusion.

  Inside the coach, Lord Volpe said, “You are absolutely sure you want to go ahead with this?” Even he looked nervous.

  Bellman and Johanna smiled at each other and said, “Yes!” with one voice. Probably neither of them could believe that all this was really happening.

  A guardsman opened the door. The unknown swordsman who emerged first caused some surprise. Then came Lord Volpe, who had not been seen around the palace for weeks. He turned to offer a hand to His Royal Highness. The band director raised his baton…and then dropped it in his amazement. A universal cry of astonishment raised pigeons from the rooftops as the Grand Duke in turn handed down the late Grand Duchess. He looked around the yard uncertainly, then nodded to the band. Never had the Krupinese national anthem been worse played.

  The ducal party proceeded into the palace, smiling regally to the ashen-faced spectators bowing or kneeling.

  “Adulation at last!” Bellman whispered in Chivian. “This could become habit-forming.�
� Johanna did not answer. Was her hand trembling on his arm or was his arm trembling under her hand? Both, likely. Behind them walked Lord Volpe and Sir Ringwood—and Trudy, who would be hopelessly lost if she became separated from the ducal party. Behind them, in turn, a whirlwind of whispers. News of Johanna’s resurrection would be everywhere in minutes.

  Fortunately, the imposter had no need to ask the way or be prompted by Volpe, for every possible wrong turning was blocked by gaping onlookers, leaving only the path to the ducal quarters clear. Two guards on the door stared openmouthed as the couple approached.

  “I m-m-must go and get r-ready, my dear,” Johanna said. “You will break the news to What’s-her-name, won’t you?”

  “As gently as I can,” Bellman said, raising her hand to her lips.

  “Not too gently!” Her Highness replied icily.

  Surprisingly, the Grand Duchess’s quarters were not even locked—a breach of security that clanged gongs of alarm for Ringwood. He ordered his ward to stand in a corner while he searched for intruders, but she was far beyond listening to him now. She threw open drapes and drawers and closet doors with squeals of wonder.

  “Is this not a day of miracles!” she cried. “All my clothes! Still here! Trudy, dear, help me choose! What shall I wear to my enthronement? Pull that bell cord, Sir Ringwood, I need help.”

  Why get so excited over a mere fifty or so gowns? Ringwood rang the bell and prowled off to explore the rest of the suite.

  At a hastily called audience, Grand Duke Rubin and Provost Lord Volpe regretfully informed Margrave Ladislas that his daughter could not be married that evening after all. As Bellman later reported, the old man wept with joy, while his daughter screamed most indecorously and hurled herself into the arms of her dazzlingly handsome equerry, Prince Nickolaus of Microsia.

  The Grand Duchess’s sister and brother-in-law arrived an hour or two later, in attendance on an elderly dowager and a curly-haired toddler. Johanna went white as snow at the sight of him, so that Ringwood stood poised to catch her if she fainted. He should have known her better by this time.