Disciple, Part I: For Want of a Piglet

by L. Blankenship

  She went first to Leix and Lorcana, accepted their bows and kiss of fealty on her hand. The Elect wore her hair loose and it shone steel-grey in the sun, but her face was ageless like my master’s. She walked directly to the six of us next, not waiting for the margraves’ introductions, and looked up at Kiefan with narrowed green eyes. She didn’t say a word as she went to each of us.

  I meant to look her in the eye, when my turn came, but kir moved, plucked mine in my chest and it answered like a bell. My breath caught. It bloomed white in my mind’s eye, singing out a few clear, strong notes. The blossom subsided but the chord hung in the air. Elect Tannait could hear it, I didn’t doubt, but nobody else seemed to. A tiny nod was all she gave me, and moved on.

  I’d felt that once before. Elect Parselev had done it, bit his lower lip a moment, and said I would be his apprentice.

  Ilya, last to be inspected and the most nervous of us, was the one she said something to. Captain Mohra stepped up quickly and translated, “She asks why you came here.”

  That bewildered the poor man. “I came to serve m’lord. M’lady.”

  Another question, which Mohra translated as, “’Twas your free will?”

  “Of course, m’lady.”

  She asked the same of Ulf, who answered, “I was asked to lead m’lord through the mountains, and was honored to.”

  Boristan said, in turn, “The abbot told me Saint Qadeem wished me to keep a book of the mission, and I was honored to.”

  The Elect went to Anders next, and asked her question. “This sounded better than haying —”

  A slender vine of green kir shot from the Elect’s hand and cut him off with a firm grip on his jaw. Her eyes narrowed. I saw him swallow and look away from the elect’s eyes.

  “My saint ordered it.”

  She said, “You might have refused.”

  Anders stared into the distance and held his silence. She waited. Her grip on his jaw tightened. A wince twitched at the corner of his eye, but still he said nothing.

  Tannait coiled her kir away and moved on to Kiefan. “It was my duty,” he said.

  She measured him for an extra moment, but did not ask about free will. Then it was my turn. “My master sent me,” I answered, before she asked.

  Her kir-vine grabbed my jaw, strong as any man’s hand. I tensed — it was an honest answer, I knew. Tannait asked, in Arceal, “Why was it you?”

  The answer bubbled up, called by her tight grip. For a moment, I hesitated, but saw no reason not to answer. “Master said it must be me.”

  Tannait nodded. “’Tis an interesting bouquet your saints send.” She beckoned the margraves closer, to include them in what she said next. “’Tis the saints’ business that brings us here. They have their own concerns and have made their own arrangements. ’Tis for us to manage the remainder. Questions on both sides, no doubt, that it falls to us to ask and answer. The first of these: how many elect does Wodenberg bring?”

  Kiefan answered. “One.”

  That surprised her. “One? Not ten? How many Blessed?”

  “All of us.”

  Tannait nodded. “I see. ’Tis a wager of a different sort. You bear the most of these — Blessings — what are they?”

  “Anticipation, to know my enemy’s attack before he swings. Speed, to strike before he does. And strength.”

  Her head cocked. “How strong?”

  Kiefan took his practice sword in both hands — fine, strong oak, thick as my wrist — and snapped it like a twig. Then he took the two pieces in his hands and broke them together. They resisted only a heartbeat. The margraves’ eyes went wide for a moment, then recovered.

  Tannait only smiled. “Please, dear guests, continue your sparring for us. Leix, find us your best swords to join in. Do you have a Blessed in your guard? I trust these knights are too polite to embarrass them.”

  There were many questions over the next two days, as the Grain Moon waned. I was privy to some of the meetings, and some of them Kiefan told us about while we sat around the kitchen fire after dinner. The kitchen fell quiet after all was cleaned up, and the Gwatcyns withdrew with Elect Tannait to their private den and their own fireplace to share their own thoughts.

  Little had been said, at home, about the state of Wodenberg’s army after Ansehen. I knew we left a broad field covered in dead men, but it wasn’t for a physician’s apprentice to know what that meant. Killing Arcea’s elect had cost the kingdom thousands of lives, none of them easily replaced. Arcea, though, was a vast empire with lakes of kir and a host of elect to channel it through. Their elect’s last attack had destroyed much of the fortifications on Wodenberg’s southern border and our first line of defense was little more than an inconvenience now, as the raiders at Gabel had proven.

  We had a kingdom of Blessed, fearsome on the field, but only one elect — and him a healer.

  Caercoed had held off Arcea’s armies at the two southern mountain passes that bordered Suevia, and knew the empire’s power well. They had fought the same kir-forged monsters that Arcea’s saints produced. Caercoed understood, and they were even impressed that we had faced an even number of Arceal and won, however narrowly. Caercoed used its strategic advantage of the passes, its defensive engineers’ wits, and its strong elect to win against Arcea’s monsters.

  “Our Trinity has kept to themselves, Elect Tannait said,” Kiefan told us, swirling the brandy in his glass. “And being good neighbors, Caercoed’s saints did not press the matter as there was little contact across the Eispitzen. Arcea conquered Suevia fifty years ago and then had to see to its own southern border. Now they are turning their eyes north again and seeing the kir founts in Wodenberg. Wanting them.

  “Our weakness is how close the fount on Mount Woden is to our border. The battle at Ansehen weakened our southern army. Father sent orders to Duke Seagrace late in the Summer Moon: collect the northern reserves and come south. Progress reports have been good and they’ll march from Rukharbor in the spring, soon as they can, but armies are slow. Even cavalry. Arcea will swarm the fallen wall and arrow for Wodenberg. Any aid Caercoed can give to slow them, or hamper the siege they will lay on the city…”

  There were stories of Arcea’s sieges on cities in Suevia. Terrible stories. We sat in silence after that.

  Anders had gained a pair of demanding students of horsemanship, in the margraves’ daughters, and excused himself to bed each night after a quick drink. Kiefan would excuse himself soon after, and if a headache was twisting its way into his skull he took my hand and kissed it. I would put my palm on his cheek for a moment, enough time to pinch out the tangles of kir before they tightened into knots.

  Kiefan would smile, and that always made me smile. I went to bed warmed by a few sips of brandy and the feel of his lips on my hand.

  Chapter 9

  “Yes, needs must. ’Twill be a traditional Caer interrogation, as Dame Kate is a woman. No harm will come to her,” m’lady Leix told Kiefan. “Most likely, we’ll be home ere midnight. Needn’t wait up.”

  He shot a troubled glance at me, mittened and cloaked and waiting at the great hall’s door between Captain Mohra and Elect Tannait. “There’s little Kate could tell you that I cannot, m’lady. Whatever this interrogation is —”

  “—’tis not for boys,” she told him, with a pointed look. “If you worry on trust, consider that I trust you in easy reach of my husband and children.” Turning, she gestured me out the door.

  I looked back to Kiefan to be sure, and he nodded. Horses waited outside, held by Anders rather than one of the stable-girls. He gave me a boost up that I didn’t entirely need, and while pretending to check my stirrup he jammed a sheathed knife between my boot and calf. As if I could fend off all my escorts with it.

  Still, he was sincere when he whispered, “Be careful.”

  We rode out of the gate and down into the town of Faen, on the shores of the lake they called Ty. The last gloaming shone on clouds’ bellies and the first stars twinkled in the blackening blue
. Even in the gathering dark, the Mother Tree glowed red, rising over Faen with her arms thrown wide. The ladies led me under her broad canopy, and a red leaf fell near my hand. I caught it, tucked it away with a glance at the heavy branch above.

  The tavern’s sign was a maple leaf and a golden crown. A girl took our horses and I followed Leix and Lorcana into the main room. The voices within paused a moment when the door let in a gust of chilly air, but then they recognized the margraves and welcomed us with a cheer and raised steins. A waitress put down her tray of drinks to take our cloaks, smiling and bobbing a curtsy.

  Elect Tannait put her arm across my shoulders and announced something that got another cheer. Half a dozen guardswomen who’d been lounging with their boots on the largest table quickly cleared out. I looked to Captain Mohra for a translation as I was steered toward a chair.

  “She only told them ’tis to be an interrogation. Don’t get many, here. Don’t worry, Dame Kate.”

  I landed in a chair at the table. The tavern was warm, well lit and full of smiles; it smelled of mutton soup and autumn ale. The waitresses wore knee-length gowns, woolen hose, and kept their necklines sensibly high. Despite what m’lady Leix had said earlier, a man brought out a pair of small glasses and a large bottle of clear liquid. He put one glass before the margrave as she sat opposite, one before me, and the bottle in the center of the round table. He spared me a kind smile through a close-cropped brown beard. The tavern’s patrons settled down again, dragging tables and chairs to a polite distance to watch.

  I thought it was m’lady Leix opposite me, and glanced to her twin to check. But they were dressed identically, down to their hair tied back in buns, and I couldn’t be sure at first. Elect Tannait picked up the bottle from the center and pulled the stopper.

  Captain Mohra pulled up a chair beside me to translate. “These are the rules: both sides drink, the subject answers a question. If ’tis a worthy answer, the subject may ask a question.”

  The elect filled both glasses and stoppered the bottle. “What sort of questions?” I asked the captain.

  She nodded to my shot. “Drink and see.”

  It was cool in my hand and smelled like the triply-distilled spirits Master Parselev bought from a Russe merchantman and tucked away on a shelf in his office. The margrave — I matched the streak of grey by her ear to Leix’s face, thanks to my Blessing — drank hers in one swallow.

  Pressure touched my temples again and I glanced at the elect. She raised an eyebrow. Her kir-vine turned my head toward the glass. Our audience chanted one word, low and growing, that didn’t need translating. The shot bumped against my lips and I drank. The stuff seared my throat.

  M’lady Leix asked, in Arceal, “Surely you’re not the sole apprentice in Wodenberg. Or your master the sole physician. How ’tis that he sent you, rather than one of them?”

  One glass of the spirit felt like a whole stein of ale at once. It didn’t give me the answer, though. “He said only that it must be me, m’lady. Nothing else. Even my saint, when they saw us off, said nothing of why. Only that he believed I wouldn’t fail.” The memory of Saint Qadeem’s dark eyes was a sudden weight on my shoulders. He expected me to succeed. I hadn’t even known what to succeed at.

  “And you did not fail.”

  “I failed when the lamia ambushed us. I ran, and Bjorn died for defending me.”

  “Still, you’ve given a good answer. Ask your question,” Leix said.

  “About what?” I looked to Captain Mohra, who’d been handed a stein of ale by a waitress.

  “Anything,” she answered.

  I thought I’d hold them to that. “Why did you want to question me alone?”

  “Needs must have the truth of your menfolk’s ways,” m’lady Leix answered, as if it were a simple thing.

  Elect Tannait filled our glasses again. M’lady drank hers without hesitating. I looked at the glass, wondering what they’d ask next. The pressure returned to my temples, prodding me, and I drank.

  “If ’tis right, I ken you’re sixteen now, Dame Kate, and were fourteen when your father wished you wed. How ’tis your father didn’t wish you the honor of apprenticing to your kingdom’s only elect?”

  Father had told me why, at the top of his lungs, when the piglet died. “He wanted me safe.” It made my throat thicken, to remember that fight. He’d thought I’d murdered the piglet, at first. “He was right, I suppose. Nothing safe in crossing the Eispitzen.”

  That got a murmur of agreement from the audience when Captain Mohra translated. Leix said, “Ask your question.”

  A glow was creeping into my chest, and it wasn’t kir. “Would it be different, were I Caer?”

  “Most certainly. ’Twould be an honor for any daughter to be apprenticed of an elect. At any age. If Aed said aught ‘gainst it, I’d consider, but…” m’lady Leix shook her head.

  “A father’s will means nothing?”

  It was a second question, but she answered while the Elect poured. “Fathers are for kisses and sweets. The mother who bore you knows the truth of life.” Leix picked up her shot for a toast in Caer, then repeated it for me in Arceal. “To hearth and home and the boys who keep them warm.”

  That sounded nice enough, I had to admit, and toasted along with the guards.

  Her next question was, “This husband you’d have had — ’twould have allowed you to study?”

  I had seen it happen often enough with other apprentices to answer. “Perhaps. I might have gotten another year before falling pregnant.” My fluxes hadn’t come until I was nearly fifteen. “After that, what time is there? Half Mother’s luck, in being a midwife, was having an eldest daughter at home while she was seeing to deliveries.”

  M’lady beckoned for more. “I’m only a peasant girl. Gentle-born wives may study more, if there’s a wetnurse for their babies. Servants to cook dinner.” Thinking of the morning in the Chapel, I mused, “The king may have knighted me, but I’ve little to my name but my Blessing.”

  She was nodding now. “You play this game well, Kate. Ask your question.”

  “Husbands, in Caercoed,” I began, and had to think a moment. The question slipped away in the warm haze, then circled back. “Whose husband is m’lord Aed?”

  A grin. There was a bit of pink on m’lady’s cheeks, perhaps from the drink, perhaps not. “Why, ’tis our husband. We courted him, each in our way, we came to love him, we married him. ’Tisn’t always thus. Had we not agreed, one of us might’ve taken him as consort instead.”

  “Consort? Leaving one sister unwed? How…?”

  “Our brother Oisin is a consort. Crown Ceelin’s very fond of him, and he’s given her fine princesses. Crown Ciara’s kind, but isn’t so inclined. She has her own lovers.”

  Elect Tannait unstoppered the bottle for a fourth time, held it up and began to sing. The audience immediately joined in, leaping up from their chairs to dance in time with the rollicking tune. Captain Mohra swept me up by the elbow and I was spinning, tripping, trying to regain my feet. She didn’t let me fall. I went on a complete circuit of the table and I had almost caught up as the song drew to a finish. The last note was held a long time, with laughter, and then I had only a moment’s glimpsed warning before she leaned over and kissed me.

  Not a chaste kiss.

  And she deposited me in the chair again, my knees gone wobbly. The Caers all picked up their steins and cheered, then drank. My glass was full again and m’lady… I tipped my head, frowning. She was picking up her glass, raising it to me, and then drinking.

  Kir-vines nudged me, pulling my eyes to the Elect. Drink. The glowing green kir sprouting from her hand unsettled my stomach a moment but I was playing the game well, Leix said. I couldn’t be harming the mission. I emptied the glass.

  “You’re peasant-born, Dame Kate — we have none, in Caercoed, but ’tis common in Suevia. Arcea keeps slaves. What means it in Wodenberg?”

  “I must obey my lord,” I said. She beckoned for more. “Whatever my lord
commands, unless it goes against a greater lord, I must obey. My father obeyed Duke Seagrace and came to Wodenberg as part of his retinue. He helped build m’lord’s manor in the city, helped furnish it. Father was a master carpenter, and m’lord was pleased with his work.” That gave me some pride. Father had always been proud of it.

  Then I realized Captain Mohra was translating, as I’d lapsed into Alemannic. “Your pardon, m’lady,” I said, my face catching fire. “I forgot myself.”

  “’Tis no concern,” Leix said. “Should m’lord order you to his bed, must you obey?”

  That made me blink. I’d never so much as met Duke Seagrace. “M’lord?”

  “Your Prince Kiefan, say.”

  Though my face still burned, a shiver ran down my spine at the thought. The kiss Mohra had given me, from Kiefan…? My pulse rose.

  Beside me, she chuckled and leaned toward one of the guardswomen to whisper something. The other grinned, a wicked glint in her eye, and agreed.

  I found the answer, while part of my mind was still caught on kisses. “The Mother’s discipline binds us, m’lady. No lord should ask, and any maiden should refuse. But m’lord might bargain with her father. Contribute to her dowry, to maintain her marriage-worth after. Any good man would do so.”

  A hush had fallen on the room when I finished. “Would you be weddable?” Leix asked.

  “Most any girl is. It’s only a question of who. But Father is dead, and I’m a Physician now.” I sat straighter in my chair. “I have my virtue and I’m still weddable even without that damn piglet.”

  “You certainly are.”

  Elect Tannait poured me another drink as I leaned back in the chair. I watched the clear spirit splash out, thinking of the kir fount and its glow, how its sparkle cut the light into rainbows. Captain Mohra handed her empty stein to a waitress and declined a fresh one. My lips still felt that kiss, as did my tongue.

  “Why did you kiss me?” I asked.

  She smiled. “’Tis what you do at the end of the song. Want another?”