This time, they'd drop in unannounced at Keranahan.
Probably best to pick up Kethol in New Pittsburgh. And, besides, maybe this Lady Leria was easy on the eyes.
But in a day or two, they could drop out of the bright blue Keranahan sky unannounced and unexpected, which should shock the locals, and it sounded like a little shock would be good for this Baroness Elanee. He could make a few vaguely threatening comments, suitable for an imperial proctor to get a Holtish baroness to remember her position - and with Ellegon flying overhead, the point would be made quite easily - then they could drop in and suggest to the governor that even simple soldiers on imperial duty were to receive help, not hindrance, and let Ellegon give a light show at night that would draw the attention of Pirojil and Durine.
And then home.
Neat, sweet, and complete.
After what I've been through lately, this kind of sounds like fun.
"You admit that I was right? That this was something you should have gone to look at in the first place?"
No. Not at all, he thought. "Absolutely, Beralyn," he said.
"Very well, then." She seemed satisfied, and the temperature in the room didn't seem quite so cold. "And you intend to have words with her?"
"Better than words," he said. "I think you need a noble attendant for your own companionship, Beralyn." A year or so visiting in the capital ought to give Beralyn somebody to watch, and with Beralyn watching Elanee, and Elanee looking for some advantage, both of them would be too busy to make trouble for anybody else.
This is going to be easy, he thought. For a change. So what am I missing?
*Oh, you humans. You have to make everything difficult for yourselves.*
Not me.
Walter Slovotsky smiled. I like it when it's easy.
Chapter 24
New Pittsburgh
Wait, the message had said. So Kethol waited where he had been told to. That was the way it was when you were a soldier. Durine and Pirojil were out there, in danger, ready to take on a barony all by themselves and get killed in the process, but...
Wait, the message had said. He had been told to wait, so he waited.
Despite her appearance, Leria's arrival had been greeted by the majordomo of Bren Adahan's New Pittsburgh home with ill-concealed, almost indecent glee. By local standards, it was a smallish house - there were many minor lords and even more high-ranking engineers with much larger homes - but it was nicely situated near the top of a hill to the west of the steel plants, and it was only rarely that the smoke blew up the hill.
"The truth is, Lady," old Narta said as she guided them up the narrow staircase to the second floor, "that the baron spends little enough time here, and it's hard to keep a house as a going concern when there's nobody to take care of, even with such a small staff."
Erenor gave Kethol a knowing glance, and Kethol just shook his head. He'd never get used to nobility. The house had a staff of at least twelve, and not one of them without gray hair. Adahan apparently used this as a place to pension off some of his old retainers, at least until they became too old and feeble to work, and who spent most of their time taking care of themselves.
But they never knew when the baron or one of his guesting nobles would be in residence, so the larder was presumably well stocked, and of a certainty the tantalizing smell of fresh-baked bread filled the air. The room Leria was shown to was bright and clean, the stone walls freshly whitewashed, with a maid's room off it. A maid who must have been even older than Narta was emerging from that maid's room, bearing pillows and sheets and blankets for the large bed near the far wall.
"A bath's being heated for the lady right now," Narta said, "and we've a dress or two in storage that I can fit to you, so you'll be presentable."
"Presentable?" Leria raised an eyebrow.
"Lord Davin and Lady Deneria have invited you to join them for dinner this evening." Narta's grin revealed several missing teeth, although the remaining teeth were less yellowed than Kethol expected. "It's not often there's nobility from Keranahan guesting here. I'm sure some of the young lordlings and ladies will be gathered to meet you and hear all about your ... adventures. Things have been quiet here of late, since those awful things stopping streaming out of Faerie."
Kethol opened the shutters of the nearest window and ran a quick eye and hand over the bars, which seemed secure enough.
Narta gave a derisive sniff. "Yes, there's crime enough in the city, but I think you'll find that even thieves know to give the baron's home a wide berth."
Kethol didn't say anything as he closed the shutters, although it wasn't thieves he was worried about. Erenor was sure that Miron was off somewhere, trying to herd them in another direction, but Erenor was always sure about everything. It was one of the wizard's annoying habits. Even though he was right, most often.
In any case, the room should be safe enough.
But this dinner...
Narta raised a hand to forestall his objection. "We've already had our orders. She'll be escorted to and from dinner by a company of the baron's troops, and they'll be taking up station outside the house." She sniffed again. Kethol was beginning to dislike that sniff. "Not that there'll be any trouble here."
Narta ushered Erenor and Kethol outside, and closed the door. "Now, if you'll leave the lady to her bath, I'll show you to your quarters." She grinned. "You'll find your beds comfortable, your food warm, and your beer cold. And," she added with a sniff, "you can use the bath in our quarters to wash yourselves, and I'll find something more ... something for you to wear, as well."
Kethol didn't argue. It would be good to be clean. And there was no reason to deny Leria the company of her kind this evening. If she wouldn't be safe while guarded by baronial troops, Kethol could hardly make a difference.
It was well after midnight when Kethol met the officer of the guard at the door. In the lantern light he looked too young to be a captain, but he not only wore officer's livery embroidered with the Adahan pattern, he also wore a sword rather than the pikes his men carried.
Pikes would become a thing of the past eventually. Right now, only some troops of the Home Guard carried rifles, but eventually that would change. A change for the better? Probably. You could teach a recruit how to use a crossbow faster than a longbow, and you could train him in the use of a rifle faster than a crossbow.
But Kethol could still put a score of arrows into a man while he was trying to reload a rifle. He would be a useless relic someday, if he survived, but he still had some value now. Yes, there was something to be said for pistols, but for close-up work, Kethol would have bet the young officer would still reach for the sword at his waist even if he'd had a brace of pistols there, as well.
"You're Captain Kethol?" the too-young officer said, coming to attention.
Kethol looked down at himself. Captain? Well, freshly washed, beard trimmed, wearing a fresh pair of black linen trousers and a blousy white shirt fastened at the neck with a silver clasp, he might have looked more like an officer than an ordinary soldier, at that.
He didn't correct the Holt. As far as Kethol was concerned, a regular soldier in the service of Barony Cullinane outranked any officer in Barony Adahan, despite what protocol said. "I'm Kethol."
"We'll be on station, sir," the officer said. "I don't think you'll have any trouble tonight."
"I wouldn't think so," Kethol said, nodding sagely, the way an officer was supposed to. "A fine-looking troop of men you have there," he added. That was an officer sort of thing to say.
It apparently was also the right thing to say; the officer snapped to, then turned about and gestured, and Leria was helped down out of the coach by a waiting soldier, and quickly ran up the path.
Her hair had been done up in some sort of complicated knot that left her neck bare, and the creamy linen dress Narta had found for her clung tightly, emphasizing the swell at hip and breast, as though it had been made for her.
Very different from the dirty-faced woman in Ketho
l's spare tunic who had ridden into New Pittsburgh this morning.
She waited for him at the top of the stairs. "Well, Kethol, don't you want to hear about it?"
He couldn't say no, although there was nothing he wanted to hear about. That was her world, not his, and she was going back to it.
Well, that was probably all for the best.
"Of course," he said.
Erenor had smiled knowingly and had taken a clay bottle of wine to bed with him earlier, but Kethol slept across her doorway, his head pillowed on a folded blanket. She was probably safe here now, and anybody stealthy enough to get past the guards outside would surely be able to murder him in his sleep.
But he slept across her doorway anyway.
It felt right.
She came to him in his dreams. The door opened inward slowly, silently, and she stood there, all naked and lovely under a filmy nightdress. He rose without a word, and she took his hand and led him inside, her nightdress falling away in the red light of the overhead lamp. He started to speak, but she put a finger to his lips and shook her head.
He woke in the early morning light, the door to her room still closed. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream, and it probably was, but -
And then Walter Slovotsky was knocking and bellowing at the door downstairs, and all dreams were driven away.
Chapter 25
Geraden
The dragon banked sharply, high above Dereneyl, flame gushing forth from its wide jaws like blood from an artery. It stank of sulfur, and it was all Kethol could do not to vomit.
Again.
Below, Kethol was sure, people were staring up at the skies, reminded once again of Ellegon's power.
*Hey, if you can scare them, you usually don't have to kill them.*
Erenor, on the other hand, was strapped in next to Walter Slovotsky at the foremost position, just behind where the dragon's long neck joined to its huge body. And he was having the time of his life, enjoying every minute of soaring above the common ruck, craning his neck to spot this village and that settlement, probably reflecting over having swindled a peasant here and defrauded a merchant there, or deceived a noble here and there and there.
Kethol didn't like it, but the altitude did have its advantages. Up here, the air was cleaner, and it didn't stink up here so badly. Normally. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. The wind rushing past his face drew tears from his eyes, pulled them into his ears.
It was almost over. The imperial proctor had ordered out a troop of Home Guards to escort Leria from New Pittsburgh to Biemestren; she would be safe in Baron Adahan's house until they arrived, and safe on the road to the capital.
And then? That was up to the dowager empress, most likely. Parliament was meeting soon, and there would be plenty of young lords and lordlings eager to make her acquaintance. If the dowager empress didn't marry her off to a scion of a neighboring noble family to consolidate her lands, perhaps she would find Leria a second son to marry, one to give her children and manage her lands.
Without any further problems from Elanee.
They would settle that here.
The dowager empress wanted her as an attendant and companion in Biemestren, and attend her she would. Let the two of them scheme against each other in the capital, under the imperial proctor's watchful eye. It was one thing to wish to increase the baronial lands by encouraging a marriage between Leria and Miron; it was another thing to try to force the girl into it, and yet another to interfere with soldiers on imperial business.
And all the trouble she had put Kethol and Durine and Pirojil and Erenor to? She had tried to get them killed, that was all.
Well, that didn't matter. Just some imperial politics that Walter Slovotsky could dismiss with a wave of his hand.
*And what would you have him do? Put the baroness to death for something he couldn't prove? You don't hold an empire together by wantonly slaughtering off nobility. Makes the other nobles nervous, in the wrong way.*
That was probably so, but the politics of it didn't matter to Kethol.
It was wrong for Elanee to have tried to force Leria into a marriage to Miron, and it was worse that she'd tried to have them all killed - while keeping her own hands clean - when they tried to take her to Biemestren.
*Yes, that's all true. She's a horrible person, not suitable to govern a barony, and she's raised her son the same way. Why do you think Keranahan is still under imperial control?*
So what would be her punishment? A year in Biemestren, waiting on Beralyn. Was that just?
*Well, now, that might turn out to be punishment enough. But if not, well, so be it. You don't think politically, that's the problem.*
It wasn't Kethol's job to think politically. It was Kethol's job to go where he was told and do what he was told, and that usually meant to fight somebody. He understood how to do that...
*And how to stash away every piece of gold you can for your old age. Which is fair enough.* The dragon's wings slowed, and it leaned forward into a long glide. What had taken days and days on foot and horseback was just a matter of moments of flight.
Ellegon came in fast into the clearing, braking to a bumpy landing with a frantic pinioning of huge, leathery wings.
Kethol clawed at the straps that held him in place on the dragon's back, but was the third down: Walter Slovotsky, through greater familiarity, and Erenor, through greater dexterity, had managed to get out of their harnesses, retrieve their gear, and slide down the dragon's side to the waist-high grass before Kethol was fully unhooked.
*A little faster, if you please.*
Kethol didn't blame the dragon for being nervous. Ever since strange things had started to flow out of Faerie, the cultivation of dragonbane had become more common in the Eren regions, and three pale spots on the dragon's scaly hide spoke of the damage that the extract of that leafy plant could do to magical creatures.
But in a matter of moments, Kethol was beside the other two, and the dragon leaped into the air, wings beating hard as it climbed in a tight circle into the blue sky.
Walter Slovotsky grinned as a long trail of flame flared, high above the trees. "Always good to remind people who's who and what's what, eh?" He shouldered his rucksack and led the way.
The guards were apparently keeping more of a watchful eye this time than the last time Kethol had been here; before they were more than a dozen steps over the crest of the hill, a mounted detachment of six spearmen were cantering their way from the barracks.
"Saddled and ready to ride at a moment's notice, eh?" Walter Slovotsky said. "Thoroughly endeavoring not to be surprised."
Erenor's brow furrowed. "Eh?"
Slovotsky waved it away. "Never mind." He glanced up pointedly. High above, Ellegon was circling.
Ellegon? Kethol thought. But there was no answer in his mind. He had never tried to mindspeak with the dragon from this far away, although he knew that some could. On the other hand, the dragon was there, and the lancers knew it was there, and what wasn't going to happen was that the three of them would be quietly murdered and buried in unmarked graves.
"You worry too much," Walter Slovotsky said as the leader of the lancers signaled for a halt a short bowshot away. "Greetings," he said, raising a palm. "My name is Walter Slovotsky; you may have heard it. I'm here as the imperial proctor, to see the Baroness Elanee."
The leader of the detachment was the same one who had greeted Kethol before; he was an ugly man with a weak chin and large ears. "My name is Thirien. I suppose you have a warrant from the emperor."
Kethol stifled a chuckle. This one couldn't read; what good would a warrant do him?
Slovotsky jerked a thumb skyward. "Yes, and I have a dragon flying overhead. Figure it out, clever one. I'm from Biemestren, with a soldier you've seen before, and I rode over on Ellegon. Do I get to see the baroness now?"
Thirien shook his head. "You can wait for her. She's out for her afternoon ride."
"You saw her leave?"
; "Yes, sir, I did," he said, as though daring to be called a liar.
"All by herself, eh?'
"No." The soldier shrugged. "She has a detachment of guards with her. As is appropriate, sir."
"Then they shouldn't be terribly hard to follow. We'll take all of your horses, except yours. You can guide us. Dismount. Now, please." Elanee had saddled and left for her ride quickly, but unhurriedly, when Ellegon's name flashed over Dereneyl, hoping that she would be followed but not relying on it. There were easier ways this could be done, but it was best to do it quickly, and have it over with. There would be time to sit down and write the emperor a long letter about the new arrangements there would have to be, and much better to gloat after it was all done.
It was just a matter of time, really. She would wait for them at the cave, and they would come after her. If Thirien had persuaded them to wait for her - not that she had much faith in Thirien's powers of persuasion - they would eventually tire of that and come looking.
And, if not, it would be over all the sooner.
She led the goat into the cave.
*Just a goat?*
Now, now, she thought, / know you're hungry. You're always hungry. But you don't want a full stomach now. The bad people are coming to hurt us. And you have to be ready.
*I'm ready, Elanee.* The mental voice was sure, the way a child's always was.
Well, Elanee wasn't a child, and she was ready.
At the last bend in the tunnel, the goat sniffed the air, and pulled back, hard, on the rope, but Elanee patted it on the head and smiled down at it, beaming a wave of love and reassurance, and it looked up at her with warm brown eyes and stopped pulling, trotting obediently around the bend, its hooves clickety-clickety-clicking on stone.
The chamber was as large as her own great hall, and that's probably what the dwarves had used it for, although it was hard to say; the Euar'den had driven them out ages ago, and even dwarven warrens required some maintenance. Over the centuries, the outer wall had cracked, and a narrow, ragged band of light leaked in from the outside.
Not Exactly The Three Musketeers Page 29