by Alma Boykin
“You didn’t say that you had brought in a woman,” a shrill voice accused someone. “You idiot, you left her standing for an hour?” The voice’s owner curtsied to Elizabeth, and grumbled more quietly, “Men. They have no manners some times.”
“I’d like to see to my mount, if I may. He needs water and rest,” Elizabeth informed everyone in ear shot.
“My lady, I will see to it,” a leather-clad youth promised. “His Grace asks that you join him for the evening meal, if you feel so disposed.”
“I am at his Grace’s service,” she replied. She whispered to the mule, “Do not eat him, please. I’ll come check on you, promise.” Only after claiming her bags did she allow the youth to lead Snowy away. Then she followed the other woman into the building.
A quick wash with tepid water helped, but Elizabeth knew that she smelled as well as itched. At least she’d been able to avoid getting lice, St. Sylvia be thanked. Elizabeth followed the female servant into a long room with a very large fireplace. Her stomach growled again and she told it to hush. She left her bags but kept the portrait and the small book with her, along with the prioress’s letter for the duke.
“Your grace, this woman claims to be Elizabeth von Sarmas and claims shelter in the name of an ancestor,” the guardsman announced.
A scratchy, gravelly voice replied with a hint of laughter, “Does she? Bring her here.” As she walked towards the fireplace, a tall, stooping man stood up from his heavy wooden chair. Scars seamed his face, and his nose bent at the midpoint, as if he’d been in a tavern fight or barracks brawl (not that she knew of such things, of course). “So this is the woman with the vicious, man-eating mule.”
She curtsied as befit her station, and his. “Your grace,” she murmured.
“And you are?”
“I am Elizabeth von Sarmas, acknowledged daughter of Count Anthony and Lady Olympia von Sarmas, great-granddaughter of Edward Ironhand.” She took a deep breath and met the duke’s eyes. “I bear greetings from Her Reverence the Prioress of St. Brigit by Martinstaad and I seek sanctuary. I am hunted by King Laurence of Frankonia.”
“Prove it.”
She held out the portrait and the letter. A servant took them and handed them to the duke, who stepped closer to the fire so he could read the letter. Elizabeth shifted a little, trying to keep her balance. The heat made her light-headed. After he finished, he strode to where Elizabeth stood and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the fire and holding the portrait beside her face. “Damn, you are his daughter.” Duke Aquila released his grip and stepped back, shaking his head. “And you rode all this way alone?”
“Yes, your grace. I am not a spy.”
He sat down, shaking his head again. “No, you couldn’t be. A fool or a genius, perhaps, but not a spy. Even out here we’ve heard stories about Laurence and his father and their ‘minor disagreement’ with the Dukes of Sarmas. Since Laurence is not on the Emperor’s blessing list at the moment, you are welcome to stay, Lady Elizabeth.”
She started to curtsy and reply, but everything roared and went black. When she awoke, she saw a whitewashed ceiling that flickered in candlelight. She felt damp, and moved a hand to touch her hair.
“Ah, you are awake at last, Lady Sarmas. Please forgive my brother for not thinking that you might be at least slightly tired and hungry, as well as anxious,” a warm voice said, and a woman in a simple but rich headdress and gown waved to a servant. “We took the liberty of washing you. I’m afraid your clothes are fit for nothing but stable work or hunting.”
Elizabeth struggled to sit up. The scent of food teased her, pulling her out of the bed. “Oh heavens, put this on,” and the woman shoved a pile of cloth into her arms. Elizabeth pulled a heavy bed dress on over her head. “Eat.” She ate, forcing herself not to inhale the rich soup, the venison sausage, bread, and fresh berries in cream. “I’m Lady Ann, Aquila’s youngest sister and his chatelaine. Is short hair in fashion in Frankonia?”
“No, my lady, fancy wigs are. Or so I last heard.” She yawned. “I’m sorry, my lady,” she began.
“Back to bed with you, Lady Sarmas. We can sort everything out in the morning.”
Chapter 3: Defending Starland
The next few days passed quickly as Elizabeth and Snowy recovered from their exertions. Despite Lady Ann’s initial assessment, two petticoats, the heavy skirt, and one of Elizabeth’s blouses remained presentable so she wasn’t forced to stay abed. One of Aquila’s men showed Elizabeth how to repair Snowy’s girth and helped her patch the saddle pad, replacing some of the stuffing that had leaked out and shifting the other padding. The flatter pad fit the mule better, making him and Elizabeth both happier. When she was not sleeping, eating, or caring for her mount, Elizabeth met with Duke Aquila to discuss what she had seen en route and to plan for her future.
“I don’t suppose his Grace your cousin will help you in any way,” Aquila stated during their first long talk.
“No, your grace. When my father took service with the late king, his father and brother disinherited him in order to prevent Frankonia from having a claim on Sarmas. As I understand it, his grace and my father remained friends until father’s death.” She stared past the duke, trying to recall anything about her father. His laugh she could still hear, if she tried, and she remembered how his beard had tickled her when he picked her up and held her. But those were her only memories of him.
Aquila half-shrugged “Well, that matters little at the moment, since I currently have no eligible men for you to marry. Come here,” and he walked over to a heavy table with a large map spread out over the top. He rolled slightly as he walked, either from too many injuries or from spending so much time in the saddle. Starland was a sword noble, not a courtier, and his face and body told Elizabeth just how hard that life could be. “Show me your route.”
She tried to find Frankonia, failed, and then realized that the map was upside down to her. “If I might come around, your grace?” He nodded and she walked to his side and picked up a burnished metal rod. “I crossed the border here.” She pointed with the rod to Caapmartin, “Three? No, four nights after the feast of St. Gerald. From there I went to Martinstaad, then north,” and she traced out her route. Aquila listened in silence, occasionally rubbing his hand over his chin.
“After crossing the Triangle Range at Barnhard’s Pass, I skirted the Duchy of Tivolia up here, because of the raids.” She looked up from the map, adding, “I’d intended to cross through the lowlands and rest Snowy, but,” she swallowed hard. “I found the remains of a raid and decided to stay as close to the mountains as I could. From there I met a caravan and tried to get ahead of it. I did, and triggered an ambush, oh, probably here,” and she leaned forward, peering at the map.
Aquila pulled a different map from under the table and spread it out for her. “Thank you, your grace. The caravan was, here,” and she pointed to the small town of Engelplatz. “Snowy walks fast, so we’d gotten to, ah, here! Yes, I could see those peaks from the top of the hill and the ambush was on the curve on the upslope just past the pack-train ford.”
“How did you know it was an ambush?” His expression and tone revealed nothing.
She stuck her tongue out a little as she thought about it. “Well, your grace, they were hiding behind brush and some fallen trees and a rock outcrop. I know there were at least four, probably more men, three of whom attacked Snowy and me. I blooded one with my saddle knife and Snowy killed one, kicked his head in.” She smiled at the memory. “Then we ran as if Selkow herself were on our heels. I did not stop to look back and see if there were other ambush elements in the valley, or just at that one point. It was a good location for a trap because of the blind curve, the ford, and the need to escape uphill either direction,” she mused.
Aquila leaned back and folded his arms. “Did you read that somewhere?”
“If you mean am I making up the attack to gain sympathy, no, your grace, and you can look at Snowy’s near side hind hoof for proof.” Now it wa
s her turn to fold her arms and she looked the border lord straight in the eye. “I’ve read Kirkpatrick’s small-unit manual, and what I could find of the pre-Landing irregular warfare guides, although given how often ambushes, night attacks, and raids occur, I’m not sure why they called it irregular warfare,” she snapped, then added, “your grace.”
“Compared to armies in the field, it is irregular.”
She looked back at the map. “Not if you extrapolate from Clausewitz’ first dictum, your grace. But to finish, from the ambush I came this way,” and she used the pointer to trace her last few hours’ travel. Elizabeth looked back up and found Aquila staring at her, his eyes wide. “Your grace?”
“You’ve read Clausewitz?”
She nodded. “Yes, and I brought my notes, along with a gloss and a small condensed version. And a copy of Sun Tzu in translation.”
“You have read Clausewitz. No,” he corrected himself, “you have studied Clausewitz.”
“And others, yes, your grace. Arms—” she stopped, changing words mid-thought, “a friend and I used to discuss tactics and strategy. He gave me access to his library, including his collection of ancient military texts.” She smiled. “We made a mess of his desk and tables by playing map games and plotting attacks and defenses against his and other local properties.” She hoped Lord Armstrong and his people had not suffered for her escape. St. Gerald, be with them, Godown protect them.
Aquila gave her another hard look and rolled up the second, more detailed map. “Where was the raided village?”
It took her a moment to sort out the location. “It is, or rather, it was here, forty kilometers from the foot of the pass. I noticed the stench first, your grace. There was no smoke, but it had rained the night before,” and she shrugged. “Snowy did not want to approach the place. I insisted and your grace, he was right.” She felt her stomach turning again at the memory and she swallowed against rising bile. “I counted at least twelve bodies of adults out in the open, by the chapel. I did not go farther into the town. Some of the bodies had been burned, all had been mutilated.”
Her voice and composure both cracked. “I’ve never seen dead people like that, your grace.” Her eyes filled with tears and she sniffed hard. “Forgive me, your grace, but I wanted to kill whoever murdered those poor souls, may Godown’s peace and mercy be with them.”
He ignored her distress. “You say you could smell them? But not see any smoke? How warm was it?”
“Yes, I smelled them once I got within half a kilometer or so of the village edge, your grace. I saw no smoke, but I could see charred buildings. This was just before noon by sun, and it was not yet hot, but I’d taken off my coat and jacket, your grace.”
“Any sign of soldiers? Of Tivolian soldiers, I mean.”
“None, your grace. I encountered none until that evening, and then they were riding this way,” she pointed southeast.
“Damn. That was eight days ago. I just learned that on the same day, Karlovi-ban was attacked,” and he pointed to an area on the opposite side of the Donau Novi. “The Protector is moving again, blast it.”
“This is campaign season, your grace,” she ventured. “And the passes were well open when I came through. Not just Barnhard but Gilosh,” she pointed, “Marchand, and Three Peaks as well. At least four caravans have come through Gilosh, according to talk I overheard in Upper Tivo’s market.”
Aquila studied his guest closely, his eyes narrow. “You are very unusual for a gently-reared woman, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Your pardon your grace, but may I speak plainly?”
He tried to conceal a grin behind his hand. “Yes.”
She took a deep breath. “Your grace, I am, or was, too tall, too round, and too ill-favored to live as a proper gentle woman. My father’s passing, Godown be with him, and my mother’s behavior all but ensured that an honorable marriage remained outside my grasp. If I had not found something to study, I would have gone mad from the uncertainty while waiting for the king to decide my fate.”
Aquila gave up trying to hide his smile. “Lady Elizabeth, I am not a religious man, but I truly believe that Godown sent you here, at this time, for a reason. And I think I just discovered that reason. However, you need to learn to defend yourself, at least on horseback. And you need to learn to apply what you’ve read to the real world.”
“Your grace, you mean I can stay?” She sounded tremulous even to her own ears and tried to settle herself so that she sounded like a proper lady.
He laughed, throwing his head back and braying very much like Snowy. “Oh yes, Lady Elizabeth. I have no intention of letting the first good mind I’ve met in years escape. Hell, I’d keep you if you smelled like a mule and looked like a pseudo-boar! But you have a lot to learn, staring with riding astride and fighting from any saddle.”
Which meant getting clothes, proper clothes, because Elizabeth discovered that riding astride in her usual garments caused more problems than it cured. “What do you do?” she asked Lady Ann.
“Split skirt, or a riding apron over trousers,” came the instant reply. “I prefer the apron, because if someone grabs it, you can slash the laces and escape. It also makes a good blanket if you are caught out.”
Fighting also meant learning to ride a horse, because the noise of pistols anywhere near him sent Snowy into paroxysms of real or feigned terror, including bucking, rolling, and trying to flee. Crossbows he tolerated with ill grace, but he seemed to enjoy saber work. “That is the strangest mule I’ve ever seen,” George, Duke Aquila’s riding master, repeated at least once every other day. Elizabeth decided she preferred, in order, mules, geldings, stallions, and mares. After spending too many hours coping with a mare in heat, the woman almost swore off riding forever. “Blessed St. Brigit, no wonder no one rides these things,” she hissed as she finished grooming the utterly-incorrectly named “Sweet Stuff.”
“Her Grace the Lady Marie prefers mares for their gentleness and predictability, and better conformation,” George corrected her from the other stall.
“Her grace possesses much greater patience and empathy than I do.” Not that it stopped Elizabeth from learning how to cope with mare-ish mischief, however. She also came to appreciate Sweet Stuff’s enthusiasm when the time came to learn how to fight with the saber and knife. As hard as she tried, Elizabeth just could not coordinate her movements on the ground well enough to fight with any finesse. But put her on beast-back and…
“Your grace, are there any stories about Magvi clansmen straying as far north and west as Sarmas?” George inquired under his breath as the men watched Elizabeth killing a wooden dummy.
“Not that I’ve ever heard, but that doesn’t mean none did. She has their determination, doesn’t she?”
“With all respect, my lord, put her in a red skirt and vest and turn her loose on some Turkowi raiders and no one would know that she’d been born off the plains.”
Having reduced the soft wood of the practice dummy to kindling, Elizabeth turned her horse and rode to where the men watched. “Your grace,” she bowed from the saddle. “Master George.” After four months, she’d become comfortable around the Starlanders, even picking up their accent and some of their dialect.
“Are you ready for a change of scenery, Lady Elizabeth?” Aquila tipped his head to the north and east. “As much as I would like to stay for hunting season, this is no place to be in deep winter. Especially not when Emperor Rudolph has called for us.”
She felt her blood draining from her face. “He has, your grace?”
“Yes, to come to his late-year court. But first we must return to Starland proper. I will explain at supper.” He turned and walked away, his rolling gait more marked than usual. Elizabeth wondered if the cold weather made his injuries worse. The spear point still embedded in his hipbone could not help. She’d learned about that by overhearing two of the foresters joke about their lord’s fear of lightning storms. Elizabeth thought it had more to do with Starland’s having been caught on the
Poloki plains near a tornado once, many years before, but held her tongue.
That night they ate venison and boar. This was real venison, from the descendants of the deer the Landers had brought from the home world. As she thought about matters, Elizabeth realized that this might be her chance to learn as much as she wanted about the Landers and what came after. Vindobona held the largest collection of manuscripts, writings, and artifacts from and about the long-dead founders of the world. I wonder if they brought Selkow with them, as the priests claim, or if that developed from the Fires just as Godown’s Revelation did? Their books must say, she mused as she chewed, not listening to the light conversation around her. Oh, I hope I can read about them, see what their legends said. And see how much of their technology has been salvaged and what remains beyond our grasp.
“And so I think it would be best for you, Elizabeth, to go ahead with George and an advanced party,” Duke Aquila stated, interrupting the wool gathering. “I need someone to observe before I arrive. Ann will also travel with you, if only because any trouble makers will assume that she is with me.”
“Are you dividing us evenly, Quill?” Ann inquired from her place at the foot of the table.
“No. You, Elizabeth, George and five or six others will go ahead with the best horses and the light pack. The rest of us will follow a day behind with the heavy pack and the rest of the animals.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. The duke noticed the lack of comment. “Yes?”
“I trust your grace intends for us to run away from trouble if, Godown forbid, we run into it?”
“In the highly unlikely event that you meet anything worse than an angry boar, yes, I do.”
“Very good, your grace.” It made sense, she decided, since people who ran away could warn others, who could come back and kill the predators. People who tried to control a horse herd while fighting probably did not often live to explain just how they managed the trick. She made a mental note to see if she could find someone who had and to ask them.