by Alma Boykin
A ruin awaited me. No bodies remained outside the walls of the city, but devastation still stretched as far as I could see. We, that is my escort, servants, and I, stopped at the crest of the last hill and stared at the torn land surrounding the battered gray walls of the city. Giant moles and ants could not have torn the ground up more than the Turkowi had with their trenches. Many of the hillsides sported only stumps where trees and vineyards had once stood. None of the market gardens and small houses that once spread out from the old walls remained. I made the sign of St. Sabrina and thought that surely things looked better inside the walls.
They did not. We rode in and found empty windows, torn-up streets, and evidence of death and privation. The Turkowi cannon did much hurt to the buildings near the walls, and some to other structures as well. Our house suffered minor damage to the outside, but many of the lesser furniture and all the stored bedding had been taken by the defenders to use for fuel or bandages. Quill’s looted carpets could not make up for the missing mattresses and sheets, I tell you truly. Now I understood why he’d asked me to bring linens and pillows with me. Some of our clothes had vanished as well, the sturdiest and plainest garments. I was ready to give Quill a piece of my mind and the back of my hand by the time I finally saw him.
I did no such thing. I couldn’t. His leg, broken when his horse stepped in a hole and fell downhill, still gave him pain. But his illness had been summer fever, not wound fever. Only three-quarters of my husband left the battlefield, for he’d lost strength and health that he never regained. But that was to come. As soon as I set eyes on him I knew that he remained ill and weak, and I took over management of the house. We did with the minimum number of staff, because people, food, and fuel remained scarce. But Quill and Matthew had survived, and with honor, and Matthew remained hale and healthy, kissing my cheek and assuring me that Ann had not been in Vindobona at the time of the siege, unlike her husband. Archduke Lewis also suffered from the summer fever, giving him and Quill yet another complaint in common.
Matt left almost as soon as I’d arrived, on the way south to relieve Elizabeth, Duke Kossuth, and Lazlo Destefani, now a colonel himself and Elizabeth’s husband. My relief at that little bit of news knew no bounds, may Godown be merciful. It surprised me as well, but then it made sense. Lazlo took after his brother following St. Jenna, and for him to “marry” Elizabeth provided both of them protection from unwanted attention. And it relieved Quill and me of having to explain yet again to Lazlo’s father that no, we could not order his son to marry one of the farm daughters from Starland. Godown give me patience, but that man never had enough grandchildren to satisfy him! So, Matt took over as governor at Esterburg, with the understanding that he would also take over Starland come spring. Because his majesty Emperor Rudolph had announced that Duke Aquila Starland would serve as the imperial representative and governor of Tivolia, now a protectorate of the empire.
Quill gave me the news along with a beautiful gift. “This is Ember,” he said as a groom led a lovely, red-bay mare out of the stable for me to inspect. “At least, that’s what we’ve been calling her. I have no idea what her former owner named her.”
Oh, she was a handsome mare. She acted nervous but calmed as I blew into her nostrils and stroked her neck. A quick look in her mouth gave her age, but she acted younger. Ember’s conformation reminded me of the illustrations of St. Michael’s heavenly horses in the paintings at the cathedral. I took her out that afternoon, trying her paces. She trotted well, and slid into a canter as perfectly as I could ask. Two people made offers for her as I rode back to Starland House, and I refused, as proud and pleased as I could be. I should have sold her to a glue works!
When Quill came home grumbling about Elizabeth’s reluctance to go out “because she had nothing to ride,” I took the opportunity with both hands. “Why not let her ride Ember? I’m attending a late breakfast with Lady Kossuth,” the duke’s mother and hostess, “and won’t need her.” In truth I wanted to show the foreigner just how good Ember was, and what a generous husband I had. Lazlo Destefani could never give Elizabeth what Quill had given me.
He nodded and began to smile. “That’s an excellent idea, my lady!” I supervised the grooms the next morning, making certain that the tack did not irritate Ember, then sent Quill off.
The first hint of the disaster that followed reached me as I returned from the breakfast. “There’s a commotion at Donatello House and the street’s blocked,” Mike, my carriage driver, explained. “We’ll take the back route unless you need something from that way, your grace.”
“No, that’s fine.” I hoped it wasn’t a fire. Fire terrifies anyone who lives in a city, and for good reason. No, it wasn’t flames.
It was Ember.
Quill came home, leading my now scuffed and limping mare, an hour later. His eyes seemed dead. “Quill, what happened?” I demanded.
“The mare spooked when some fool threw water out of a gate without looking. She panicked, almost crashed into a freight wagon, then fell backwards.”
I began stripping her tack myself. The saddle appeared unbroken, although the girth had a scratch and deep cut on the off side. Ember sidled and I guessed that she’d bruised herself. Quill watched me, a strange expression on his face. I stopped, straightening up from looking at her off-side hind leg. “What?”
“Elizabeth took the pommel in her belly and started bleeding. She was pregnant.”
I froze, then began shaking my head. “No.” I knew, somehow I knew. “Oh holy Godown have mercy, please, no.” Quill dismounted at least, limping over to take me in his arms. I began screaming and he pressed my head against his chest, muffling the sound until the men could get the beasts out of hearing.
He never said a word, never criticized me. I spent the next weeks torn between prayers and fury, especially when the first rumors began swirling. I didn’t want Elizabeth hurt, I never had. And then the Frankonian ambassador ordered his churigon to kill her, using the half-birth as an excuse to give her poison while pretending to be part of the imperial household. For two weeks and more she hovered between life and death, until her damned stubborn nature and the prayers of half of Vindobona brought her back. Even then she remained weak, as anyone would after that long without food and after such a terrible loss. She’d never bear another child. And I was partly to blame.
A week after she’d recovered enough to have visitors, I went to see her. I could feel her servants’ hatred even though they treated me with respect and proper manners. Her maid showed me into a large, glass-walled plant room much like that at Crownpoint on Peilovna, but I didn’t see it, not then. All I saw was Elizabeth, thinner and paler than I recalled seeing her, with a faint scar on her forehead and a wary expression on her homely face. She curtsied, saying, “Welcome, your grace.”
Before she could say anything more, I rushed forward and hugged her, then released her and burst into tears of relief. I began babbling, telling her, “Elizabeth, I am so, so, sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, I had no idea Ember would cause such horrible trouble. Please forgive me,” I begged. “I just wanted you to see what a wonderful mare Aquila gave me. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
She embraced me again, whispering, “I know, my lady. It was an accident and accidents happen. Master Moreland’s servant knew never to toss slops after the first bell, and he’s been disciplined. Ember fell, Marie, it was an accident.”
“But your child,” I sniffed. We now shared that sorrow, if we could share anything, and I mourned for her and her lost little one.
Swallowing hard, she fingered the prayer beads hanging from her belt. “Godown took him. And accidents happen.” She shook her head, sighing, “How many women have lost children from riding accidents, or carriage accidents?”
“Too many.” Her calmness and forgiveness calmed me, and she asked me to sit beside her work table, calling a servant to bring tea. She asked what I though about the solar, and glad of the new topic, I got up and looked at the glass.
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“You see those slots on the outside, my lady?” She pointed and I spotted them. “Wooden shutters fit in those, sliding down to keep out hail and the midsummer sun.”
“Hmm. An excellent idea.” And it was. I could well imagine how miserably hot it would get in the solar otherwise. We chatted about plants and the perils of summer.
I left after half an hour. We would never be friends, but it eased my heart and conscience to see her alive and healing. She seemed grateful that I’d come by. She also took great pains to deny any and all rumors that I’d deliberately loaned her a dangerous horse. “Accidents happen,” she repeated over and over. “Master Moreland’s servant and the damned Frankonians deserve the blame, not her grace Duchess Marie.” Even so it took most of my courage and pride to hold my head up when I crossed paths with those who blamed me. I offered to sell Ember and give the proceeds to Elizabeth or to the church, but she refused the offer. Still, I did not ride Ember out again until I left Vindobona with Quill.
We stopped at Starheart to confirm Matthew’s accession. Then young Rudolph, Quill, and I rode south, out of winter into spring and Tivolia. For all his frequent and loud denunciations of paperwork, officials, and governance, Quill throve as governor. The warmer weather and better food gave him at least five years he would not have had otherwise, I believe. And the rumors about Ember and Lady Elizabeth never reached us. I was her grace the lady governor, not evil Marie, sister of Jan. Quill took pains to introduce me as “my wife Marie, Emperor Rudolph’s cousin.” Which is true. While Quill did his best to set the duchy at rights, I rode out, meeting people and doing charitable work. Emperor Rudolph gave me a separate stipend, at Queen Margaretha’s suggestion, to use to help those in the greatest need.
After eight years, Quill went to Godown. The summer fever returned each year, worse and worse, taking more of his strength. During his final illness the pain left him panting, lips bloody from biting them to keep from crying out. Archduke Lewis suffered as well, or so I learned later. I nursed Quill as best I could. The churigon assured us that the fever would pass as it had before, but we both knew that Quill’s time had come.
He took my hand, his eyes tired yet fever bright. “My lady, forgive me for the hurts I did to you,” he asked.
I kissed his forehead. “My lord, I forgave you long ago. Forgive me for my anger and disappointment.”
He kissed my hand. “There is nothing to forgive. You’ve been better than I ever deserved.” Not long after he drifted into sleep and never awoke again.
What of the others? Kemal Destefani died of heart failure that winter and is buried at Quill’s right hand. Matthew married Sabrina Kornholt. I’d hoped for better, but it was a good match, and Starland prospers in peace. My daughter Ann became Countess Jones before cutting her hand while helping prepare meat. The wound rotted and she died, even though the churigon took her arm in an attempt to stop the rot from spreading. Elizabeth, now Duchess Sarmas and marshal, commands my husband’s armies. Matthew still takes the field when needed, but Elizabeth and Lazlo Destefani lead the imperial army. Miranda, mother of six lively Poloki lords and ladies, writes when she can. Rudolph serves in the army, an artillery apprentice and engineer with excellent prospects for a good marriage, or so Matthew and he assure me. And I live here in Tivolia, in a small widow’s house on the grounds of the Sisters of Service convent Quill and I endowed not long after he became governor. The days pass quietly, giving me time to reflect and remember.
Do I miss Quill? Yes, at times. Our partnership did well, and if we never loved as the ballads and those foolish romances describe, we cared for eachother greatly. He never called out his true love’s name when he was in my bed, for which I remain grateful. May Godown have mercy on us, we did our best. That is all a woman can do, after all.
Fire and Water, Stone and Dust
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped with awe as she studied the Lander ruins sprawling across the river valley. She moved the binoculars from wonder to wonder, amazed by the sheer variety of structures and what had to be ancient machines just standing, untouched, under the later afternoon sun. She wanted to kick Square II the mule into his running walk that very minute, ride down into the valley, and see what magnificent things awaited her.
“Your grace? The camp is this way. Col. Destefani found a bad spring so we had to relocate.”
With a loud sigh Imperial Battle Duchess Elizabeth von Sarmas-Destefani turned Square around and rode back down the ridge, away from the wonderful vision and into reality. They’d come south, almost to the mouth of the Donau Novi, on a combined military reconnaissance and diplomatic mission to the Magwi. The sun’s heat felt like liquid fire pouring over her, and sweat trickled down the back of her neck and into her collar, adding to the day’s irritations. The things I do to get time with my husband, she grumbled for the ten-thousandth time. Square plodded along, as tired as his rider.
Elizabeth rode through the tents, inspecting the camp and checking on her men. The wet heat took a toll on the infantry, and the cavalry weren’t exactly enjoying the day either. The horses drooped, tired both from the long day and from the constant assaults by flies. The men had set up smudges, burning green wood and damp manure around the remuda to try and keep the worst flies at bay. Everything seemed to be in order and she stopped at the edge of the remuda and dismounted. Square tossed his head and brayed.
“Glad to be shed of me? I could say the same for you,” she warned as a hostler stripped off the ten-year-old mule’s tack. Elizabeth gave him a once over from mealy nose to stringy tail, double-checking one shoe that had seemed loose. No, it looked and felt fine. “You just want to be petted.” He pawed the ground but didn’t say no. She gave him a firm scratch along his crest before leaving him with the other animals. He seemed to have made friends with some of the wagon mules and he strolled off to join them. Probably grumbling about how hard life is and how he never gets any rest and the food is lousy, Elizabeth thought. Why not? That’s what the rest of the army groused about, herself included.
Speaking of grousing …she heard Lazlo’s voice before she reached her tent. “No. Go back and do it right. Her grace does not care to wake up and find her tent ankle deep in water if it rains.”
And neither do you, she chuckled, silently. They shared a tent but not a bed, at least not most of the time. If it hadn’t been for the diplomatic aspect of the trip, Lazlo would have been well to the north with Duke Matthew Starland instead of giving orders to the men responsible for erecting Elizabeth’s sleeping shelter. “I understand you didn’t care for the view, Colonel?” She called.
He turned, shaking his head. He’d started going grey at the temples, but after fifteen years of yearly fighting, he’d earned the frost the hard way. “Not the view, my lady, the atmosphere. If I wanted to sleep surrounded by blood-biters and rotten eggs, I’d have become a city adjudicator.”
“Tisk, tisk, they serve a useful function.” She pitched her voice lower, for his ears only, “or so I’m told.” Her armor stand and a camp chair had already been put in place, so she stripped off her sword belt, triple-checked her pistols before sliding them into their spaces, and then removed her armor. She added her helmet to the top of the pile, then twisted back and forth as much as her stays allowed before plopping into the chair. Lazlo handed her a fan, then returned to his work.
She reached into the pocket on her split skirt and pulled out her latest find. A few of the men called her Duchess Sparky because of her tendency to find and horde small, shiny things, much like sparkseeker birds did. Over the past twenty years she’d amassed a fine collection of metal and plaztik, although the Lander timekeeper remained her prize possession. This time it was a red disk of something thin but strong. She couldn’t bend it. A few silver dots of metal clung to the back, forming a pattern of a square with more dots inside it. Elizabeth turned the thing between her fingers, then tucked it away again. She’d add it to her traveling collection case later. No point in tempting someone to stray through ignorance
or anger, she sighed.
“Your grace?” One of her orderlies had a pitcher and cups. “Freshly boiled and filtered, your grace.”
“Thank you. Put it,” she looked around. “There on that chest.” She needed to get her camp table and desk assembled. In fact, they should have already been prepared. Elizabeth frowned as she fanned. They’d be ready if Col. Destefani hadn’t moved camp, she recalled.
That night, after she’d dismissed the junior officers and he’d written up the next day’s orders, she leaned back in the chair, still fanning. “How bad was the water?”
“Hmm?” He blinked dark eyes, then caught on. “Very bad. Apparently it is wonderful to soak in if you have bad joints or skin problems, and to drink if you have kidney ailments, but the stench was eye-watering a kilometer away. And blood-flies boiled up out of the grass, my lady. It’s marshy under that lush cover.” He added as if an afterthought, “And the view might bother some of the men.”
“Good reasons to relocate.” She got up, pulled her treasure case out from under her cot, and added the red disk to her other finds. Elizabeth looked over to see Lazlo shaking his head and smiling a little. “Yes, I’m hopeless.”
He spread his hands in his “who, me?” gesture.
“On a more practical note, have the scouts reported any good locations for artillery along the ridge?” Just because the Turkowi had retreated to the other side of the Donau Novi didn’t mean they wouldn’t be back. Five years of being harried back from the edges of the Eastern Empire had not changed their theology, or so Elizabeth gathered.
Lazlo glanced around until he found a sketch map. “Yes, my lady, here along the ridge.” He passed her the drawing to study. The site, almost at the crest of the ridge, would cover part of the valley to the east, and possibly the slope to the west as well.
“I want to look it over tomorrow, while the men take a rest day.” And have a few minutes to myself without five junior officers and three couriers trailing after me like a flock of overly-helpful sheep. Lazlo must have heard her thoughts as she handed the page back, because he gave her a knowing grin.