(Luis)
I reached Kato Town in mid-morning. Sota's second city, it covered about as much acreage as Hasty, though Hasty, crowded inside the town walls, had many more people. The cathedral tower rose near Kato's center, but the bishop's manse and offices were at the edge of town, on the bishop's farm. I tied my horses in front of the manse and knocked on the door.
Half a minute later it was opened by a man about my age, his face and aura wary. My Higuchian uniform? After introducing myself, I showed him the letter of introduction from Pastor Linkon. He examined it, then seated me on an upholstered settee in the vestibule, and left.
He was back in a minute. "His reverence will see you," he told me, and led me down a hall to the bishop's office. The bishop got up and shook hands warmly. "Sit down! Sit down!" he said. "I'm glad to see a Higuchian presence in our kingdom! How is Pastor Linkon?"
Happy, hearty, and busy, I told him. Then we talked about the new brother house. He said he might have some prospects as novices; he'd speak with them. I didn't bring up the archbishop or king. His aura, and his pleasure at "a Higuchian presence" told me enough.
"Was that your steward who let me in?" I asked.
He laughed. "He's a new usher, who takes his duties too seriously. We're working on him. Edgar's letter says you're a missioner. How may I help you?"
I told him that to start with, I'd like to lodge at the manse while I was in Kato, and put up my two horses in his stable. And that I was there to meet the duke, to question him about the state of the kingdom and its defense. That's as explicit as I got. He would, he said, have a room arranged for me; and stalls, feed, and grooming for my animals. "Mrs. MacNeff serves supper at six o'clock, but if need be you will find bread, cheese, and beer in the kitchen, and buttermilk in the ice house.
"As for meeting with Edward, the man to see is Captain Keith Frazier, commander of the duke's force at arms. Since Edward's accident, Keith acts as his deputy. A good Christian, highly ethical, and capable in every respect. I suspect he can answer any questions with full authority."
Taking out a sheet of paper, he dipped his pen, wrote a brief letter of introduction to the captain, blotted, folded and sealed it, then marked it with his signet and handed it to me. He wasn't smiling now. "I wish you success in your mission, Master Luis. As for King Eldred Youngblood—in most respects I have found him a decent ruler . . . though more brutal toward his enemies than God would wish. Between you and me, I lack confidence in his treaty with Chief Mazeppa."
"Thank you for confiding in me," I told him. "I'll respect that confidence." I held up his letter. "And thank you for this. I'm sure Captain Frazier will speak more freely to me with an introduction from his confessor."
The ducal palace was a large, handsome, two-story structure,built of massive timbers—logs slabbed off into snuggly fitting, twelve-inch cants, planed smooth, carefully fitted, and painted sky blue. I'd never before seen a timber building so large, and it was no doubt less cold in winter than the king's stone palace.
A guard stood at the main entrance. After glancing at the bishop's sealed letter, he rang for a page, who led me to the "guardhouse," a one-story wing appended to a rear corner of the palace. Captain Frazier had a cozy office where the guardhouse joined the palace proper, with a door into the adjacent room where he lived. Between the two rooms, the lower two feet or so of wall was brick—eight courses of them—no doubt forming flues from the brick stove in mid-wall, warming both rooms in winter. Brother houses use similar arrangements.
The captain recognized the Higuchian uniform, and rose to greet me. He was middle aged, of medium height and weight, but gave a larger impression. And still strong—dangerous in a fight. I handed him Bishop Joseph's letter, which he opened and read. "Master Luis," he said. "I'm familiar with Higuchian brothers, but not with masters. What is the distinction?"
"Most masters," I told him, "operate the brother schools, and supervise the brothers' work. Others, like myself, carry out missions for the Sacred Congregation for the Defense of the Church. Candidate masters are selected from the corps of brothers, and spend more than five years preparing."
"Five years! What did you learn to master in those five years?"
I'd never heard that question before. "More than anything else," I said, "each of us learns to master himself. And his talents."
Frazier nodded, gesturing me to a chair, then seated himself, crossing his arms. "So, Master Luis, why have you sought me out?"
"I've heard the duke is in seriously poor health. It is my hope, and Norlins', that you will tell me more about that. Afterward I'd like to meet him."
His eyes appraised me. "Surely there's more beneath your question than that."
"Excuse me. There is indeed. I'm afraid I take it for granted. The Sacred Congregation, and of course the Order, are concerned for the safety of Sota, and do not trust the Dkota to abide by the treaty, though we hope we are wrong about that. Nor do we trust Sota's ability to defend herself against them, should they attack."
"What is it you want to know from me?"
"First, just how serious is your duke's injury? My information is that until his accident, he was the man most able to influence and perhaps lead the other dukes—should the king need to be replaced."
Frazier's gaze sharpened. "You speak frankly, Master Luis, and dangerously, should it come to some ears. But you're right about what our duke might have done, had he not been injured. He was injured though, most grievously. A man of lesser will would have died. During the first days, he coughed blood a good deal, sometimes strangling on it, and suffered greatly. Even now he breathes only shallowly, exhales and speaks weakly, and sleeps with the aid of whiskey. Also he eats little. It is my belief that when his horse fell on him, it crushed his ribcage, and damaged inner organs. I dread what might happen if he is afflicted with a lung infection.
"Prior to his accident, he was vigorous and strong. He drilled and contested with sword, spear and bow, ate with gusto, hunted a great deal, and seldom drank anything stronger than beer. Even beer he took mainly with meals."
"Does he still function as duke?"
The captain answered glumly. "He functions largely through me, I'm afraid. Each morning we breakfast together and talk. I tell him my plans for the day: what orders I intend to give staff; what baron, or merchants, or other petitioners I expect to see, and about what, and the advice or orders I expect to give them. Edward comments, advises, and as need be gives orders. But he tires quickly. And if something comes up that cannot wait, I deal with it out of hand.
"At first we assumed he'd recover, bit by bit, to something like he'd been before, but his condition has not improved for months."
"Is he married?"
"He was, and therein lies his first wound: his wife died of a tumor, of the lungs, ten years past. A terrible affliction for her, and for him a grim time. He has not remarried, and now is unlikely to."
"I've heard he has a son. What manner of man is he?"
Frazier gazed thoughtfully at me. "His name is Donald. I take it you've heard something of him."
"Only that he's not the man his father was."
For a long moment Frazier sat silent, then began slowly. "He is a fine young man, but has . . . limitations. Your interest, I suppose, is in the sort of duke he might be, when Edward steps down. Or dies. I believe he will rule adequately, but he will not replace his father as a leader of Sota's dukes. I doubt he'd accept the role, nor would they invite him."
His eyes met mine. "I suggest you ask his father about him. If you then have further questions for me, I will answer them as best I can.
"Now, is there another subject you would question me on?"
"I'm sure there will be," I told him, and got to my feet. "But later."
"Ah," he said, and stood. "Then I have something to ask of you. I know the Higuchians as a martial order, and in the Anti-Pope's War, in Shy Free-Town, I've seen them fight. Rarely have I seen such skill with sword or spear, or such fearlessness. But you have been named a Master, and I would like to see you fight. Edward will ask how good you are; he's a born warrior." He leaned forward. "I have an armsman who's a superb swordsman. As good, I believe, as the Higuchians I observed during the War. At the moment he's on duty, just down the hall; he's sergeant of the guard today."
"Let's go see him," I said.
The young armsman's name was Hamus, and we contested outside with ash practice swords. Several guardsman watched. I started out holding back. It's policy to let people know we are very very good—it's essential to our reputation—but not how good. We call the difference our safety margin. Besides, humiliating people creates grudges, even enemies. Young Hamus, though, didn't allow me to take it easy. I had to take the fight to him. When after several minutes Frazier cried "Hold!", the corporal and I both stood slick with sweat, breathing hard and grinning at each other.
Hamus looked at his captain. "Sir," he said, "I have never seen such swordplay before. I will remember this each time I oil my bruises."
"Hamus," I told him, "I enjoyed the match. But with real swords, I'd much rather fight beside you than against you. Captain Frazier tried to tell me how good you are, but I had to see to believe."
The two of us sluiced off at the horse trough, then donned our tunics again. Hamus returned to duty, and Frazier and I entered the palace by a rear door.
"Master Luis," he said quietly, "I've been a soldier for twenty-six years, and I've never seen anyone who could match you with the sword." He looked at me shrewdly. "And without, I believe, extending yourself."
"From you," I answered, "that is high praise. But the credit belongs to the Order. Beginning with the brother schools, which train us skillfully and hard. Thus the Academy has an excellent pool of candidates, it is extremely selective, and its system . . . is unique."
Inside the palace proper, the corridors were bare of rugs but floored with red oak; quite handsome. The duke's bedroom was on the second floor. Frazier rapped quietly. After a moment the door was opened by a woman of perhaps thirty years, the duke's nurse. She smiled at Frazier, who greeted her as Sara. "I knew your knock, captain," she said. "His lordship's on the balcony, perhaps dozing, but feel free to wake him. He'll want to see you."
He was awake, lying on a couch beneath an awning. He turned his face to us as we stepped out. It jarred me. If the rest of him was as badly wasted, he might not scale a hundred pounds.
"Milord," said Frazier, "I have a visitor I believe you'll want to talk with. He has questions."
Despite how wasted he appeared, Edward Maltby's gaze was firm and evaluative. His spirit aura was that of a man born to action, to dominate—and who'd come to terms with what had happened to him. His shrunken body aura, on the other hand, was predominately a dark murky violet, with a black irregular hole over his chest. For some seconds he did not speak. When he did, it was to Frazier, his voice breathy, weak but firm. "Introduce us, Keith, and we'll see."
Frazier's introduction was thorough, and included my trial at arms with Hamus.
"Thank you," the duke answered, this time without a lag. "Stay with us. You'll have, more to say, than I do." His breathing was so shallow, the words came a few at a time between breaths.
Frazier and I both were on the duke's right. Now I saw the utility of that: his lordship changed focus from one to the other of us simply by moving his eyes, his head still. "So, Master Luis, I am ready, for your questions."
I told him what I was there for, giving him more detail than I'd given Frazier. Ending with "tell me, your lordship: do you walk?"
"Daily. Today I walked, from my bed, to this balcony. But, at a cost. I spent, the next, twenty minutes, recovering, my breath, and the hour, after that, exhausted. I do it, that I may not lose, what little strength, remains to me."
He paused then, eyes closed, as if having spoken those short sentences required a rest.
"Master Luis," Frazier put in, "it would be well to preface questions with the reasoning behind them. His lordship will be saved the drain of providing more answer than you need, or of mistaking your need and answering the wrong question."
Some of the questions I'd intended to ask, I decided to postpone. I'd wait till I heard more from Lemmi, and perhaps till I'd spoken with other dukes. Clearly leadership couldn't be expected from Edward Maltby. Knowledge yes, perhaps direction, even wisdom, but not visible leadership.
Meanwhile I gave the duke and his deputy the situation as the Order saw it, as a matter of policy not mentioning the Helverti. And so far, at any rate, we saw the Helverti not as an active force, but as instigators and advisors. Troublemakers.
It was Frazier who responded, with a question. "In some respects you know more about the Dkota than we do. How did you learn it?"
"There are traders," I told him, "who travel among the tribes selling pots, knives, glass beads. . . . Some report to us."
"Ah." Frazier gnawed a lip in thought. "You voiced concern that if the Dkota attack, Sota will not be able to defend itself. But they have never attempted a sustained attack—a campaign of conquest. They've scourged the marches from Zandria to Oak Groves, burned ranches, hamlets, even stockades. They've even raided into the western reaches of our duchy here, though they've never reached Kato Town. They do it more for adventure and brags than for loot.
"We've recovered strongly each time, though scarred a bit, and some argue another raid might be worth the cost." He paused for emphasis, then spoke crisply. "Because if they raid again, it will break the treaty, an act we believe even Eldred can't ignore. Then surely the kingdom will arm, mobilize, and punish. For when Eldred feels betrayed, he does respond, brutally."
Ah brutality, I thought. It tends to be habit forming; begets further brutalities. "Meanwhile," I said, "his treaty has given you a period without raids."
"There have always been periods without raids," Frazier replied. "All of them longer than this one. And Eldred's reductions have hurt our ability to defend ourselves, and rally."
"Reductions?"
"In the ducal and baronial forces at arms."
He elaborated. Previously each duke kept forty-six armsmen, well-trained, well-armed, and always at hand. Now they were allowed only thirty-five. Each baron had kept eighteen; now the number was fourteen. Cumulatively the reduction was serious.
"And the king's force?"
"We have heard, and believe, that the king's force at arms has not been reduced. But it's quartered at Hasty, and of no use in defending against raiders. Unless the raiders reach the Royal Domain at least."
"I suppose you have militia."
"We used to. Eldred disbanded them after the uprisings at Nona and Austin. They dare not drill even in secret, for he has informants everywhere. When the dukes complained, the royal answer was that militias aren't needed: that the treaty with Mazeppa has erased the threat."
"Are the ex-militiamen still armed?"
"Their weapons are their own. Together the militias might have been potent, but they've never combined, even within a duchy. They'll retain some potential for a few years, though dwindling, because the king is not so rapt in his molli doctrine that he'd try to confiscate their arms. For many years, all men between ages fourteen and forty were required to drill weekly through their eighteenth summer, biweekly through their twenty-second, and monthly after that. They had to own a fighting spear, sword, or battle ax; a longbow and at least thirty arrows; and a bullhide hauberk and steel cap. And to pass an annual archery test for range, accuracy, and rate of fire.
"But they had their shortcomings against raiders. For one thing, they were infantry. Most were farmers, of course, with a horse or horses. But except in the marches, few farmers are truly skilled horsemen, and their horses, most of them, are better suited to the plow than the saddle. And the law and the Church forbade training militia as cavalry; mounted militia could too easily dabble in brigandage.
"While for the most part, the raiders ride like the wind, arriving without warning, before the militia can gather. Thus the militia fight in small groups, perhaps after sending boys galloping eastward, hopefully to spread the alarm. And when at length the raiders find villages defended by platoons and companies, they flow back to buffalo country, with loot, captive girls, and stories to tell around winter fires.
"So the first line of defense is the baronial stockades, defended by armsmen and any militia at hand. There, as many people as possible take shelter. Any who can't get to a stockade, which is commonly most of them, flee to the woods and hide, or get out of the raiders' path, or die, or get carried away. Mostly the raiders don't take the trouble to search them out. They simply grab what catches their eye, then race on till they meet an effective defense."
As he'd spoken, Frazier's aura had darkened. He paused now, lips thin, eyes . . . thoughtful.
"The crown has never provided protection," he continued. "As far as that's concerned, most of the kingdom has never seen a raider. We haven't here at Kato Town; they've never gotten this far. Until some hundred years ago, raids were unknown, and only in the past twenty years have there been raids by forces larger than twenty or thirty. Except the first one of all, some hundred years ago, said to have been by a hundred or more. But the last two raids were the largest, with two, possibly three hundred."
"What if they arrive a thousand strong?"
"It's hard to imagine them sending that many. In summer the Dkota live as scattered bands. And raids are by volunteers: youths looking for excitement and reputation, older men looking for status. I doubt Mazeppa could marshal half a thousand, let alone direct or control them."
I nodded, examining my palms as if looking for answers there. Actually I was thinking that someone had done well, evaluating and pulling together what was known and supposed. And wondering whether that someone was Frazier. Meanwhile the silence set up both captain and duke for what I had next to say, based partly on Lemmi's reports.
"It would seem like it," I answered. "But . . . have you heard of the fighting between the Dkota and the Ulster?"
"We know they raid each other. Small raids, fed mainly by youthful energy."
"About two years ago they fought a battle with hundreds on each side; a battle deliberately planned and led by Mazeppa Tall Man. The Dkota won, and when it was over, Mazeppa lavished praise on the Ulster chiefs and warriors, for their bravery and skill. Then, after they'd smoked the peace pipe together, many prominent men or their sons married a daughter or grand-daughter or sister of some prominent man of the other tribe. And swore that the enemy of one would be the enemy of the other.
"It may be that the treaty with Eldred was simply a screen, and that when Mazeppa is ready, he'll strike with far more warriors than before." I shrugged. "Or not. Who knows?"
Frazier and I talked about that for a few minutes, with Edward adding occasionally. I'd worried them, though not as much as I'd expected. They didn't know about the Helverti, and I couldn't tell them. But I'd planted the seed.
Meanwhile Edward was used up. "Milord," Frazier said, "I think it's best we leave you to your rest."
"Yes, your lordship," I put in. "And before I leave, I'd like to ease your discomfort."
His eyes questioned.
"Masters are also trained as healers," I told him, "and while my skill is less than some, I believe you will find it worthwhile."
I didn't wait for his reply, simply began running my open hands over his aura, feeling the major energy loci, and the flows. The aural hole over the chest felt hot, and the flows around it tangled. Gently I stroked what I'd been taught to call his "energy field," emphasizing the upper torso, but including long strokes reaching to the crown locus, the feet, and the hands, letting my own energy interact with his. After a few minutes I straightened. By that time the aural tear showed softened margins and a tinge of color, and felt different. It wouldn't hold like that, but bit by bit . . .
"That's enough for now," I said. "If you'd like, I'll come this evening and do it again."
Edward opened his eyes. "You will be, more than welcome," he murmured. "I've never before, credited claims, of healing hands, but I may, have to change, my mind."
I returned with Frazier to his office, where his orderly brewed sassafras tea for us. Frazier had his with honey, the most popular way, but I sipped mine straight. It was mild, pleasant, and hot.
"What can you tell me about the king's force at arms?" I asked.
"Hmm." Frazier took another sip. "To begin with, his is stronger than those of all the dukes combined, if combining was even possible. The last I heard, there were five companies trained both as cavalry and mounted infantry, one of them especially for defense of the palace and town. Companies of one hundred men each, plus officers and senior sergeants, each man with a longbow, saber, and fighting spear, all well-drilled and confident. And two companies of musketeers, with rifled muskets, deadly at ranges much greater than smooth-bores. They number the same as other companies, and are trained mainly for defense of the palace. But all are able horsemen, well drilled with the saber, and with the long dagger they attach to their rifles in lieu of spears."
Frazier's recital had turned his face grim. He took a long breath, then continued.
"In addition there are cannon, forbidden to the nobles. Four of them firing six-pound projectiles, and eight or a dozen firing three-pound projectiles. Clusters like steel grapes, actually, that separate when fired. Horrible weapons.
"The kingsmen would make a strong shock force against the Dkota, while the militia, if they could be gathered under a single command . . . but that would truly be a challenge."
"What kind of commander does Eldred's army have?"
"His name is Jaako Jarvi, one of the late queen's many cousins. In our soldier-of-fortune days, Jaako and I served together against the forces of the Anti-Pope. Jaako is well-known as a fighting man, and an excellent trainer and disciplinarian, well-liked by his troops for his fairness. But as a commander unimaginative, at least when we served together. Unfortunately, like the Lahti Clan in general, he is entirely loyal to the House of Youngblood."
"A bit ago, it sounded as if you know a lot about the Dkota," I said. "How did you learn it?"
"Ah! That I owe largely to Gavan Feeny, a peasant lad from Killibegs, in the west of the duchy. As a child, Gavan was captured by Dkota raiders, and so far as I know, he is one of only two captive boys ever to come back." Frazier's face soured. "It seems they come to prefer a life of hunting to one of farm work. When stolen, he was not yet twelve. His mother was killed defending him, and he in turn defended her. His bravery could have cost him his life, but instead it brought him admiration, and he was adopted by the chief of the party that captured him.
"He soon came to like being a boy among the Dkota. And not only was his mother dead; his birth father had died the year before, of lung fever. What brought him back to us was his twin sister. When Dkota raiders were reported, everyone who could, in the barony, flocked to the Flussdorf stockade. But the weather had been very dry, and the Dkota pushed a loaded haycart against the palisade and set it afire. Then shot arrows at anyone who tried to put it out.
"Meanwhile, inside the stockade, Gavan had lowered his sister into a well used to water livestock. During the drought, it had gone nearly dry. He'd always wondered if she'd survived, so when he was seventeen, he came back to find out. And she had. She'd married and was with child, so he stayed. Meanwhile I learned about him and went to question him; it seemed a good opportunity. I stayed a week. Then his sister died delivering a girlchild, and Gavan disappeared, no doubt returning to the Dkota. He'd told his Dkota foster father where he was going, and why, and the man gave his blessing. Something I found . . . encouraging, I suppose."
Frazier shook his head. "Gavan explained much to me, but he did not, could not explain how such a good man as his foster father could lead a raiding party against people who'd done him no wrong.
"We'd thought that raid was bad. The next one was worse: the raiders were more numerous and more destructive. They took time to hunt people down and murder them, so of course word spread ahead of them. Despite greater numbers, they didn't penetrate as far before the militias blunted them and sent them home.
"Then, two years ago last fall, Mazeppa led an embassy to Oak Groves, asking to speak with the king. In November! A good month for the early blizzard, a strange season to ride so far. He said Christ had come to him in a dream, telling him he must become a man of peace, must have a treaty by Christmas. It was just what Eldred wanted to hear—Eldred, the archbishop, and the rest of the mollies—so he and Clonarty came to meet him.
"There were more than just Carlians who believed the chief, but there were more still who distrusted Mazeppa. The Dkota had sent raiders twice in four years! Still, Mazeppa asked nothing of us except a peace treaty, and the right to hunt buffalo in the marches, so there was little more than grumbling against it.
"And men do change, so I'm hopeful it will hold, and that Mazeppa intends us no harm. Hopeful but not expectant. To me, the man felt deceitful. Meanwhile our greatest complaint—and it's serious—is Eldred's abolition of the militias. That wasn't part of the treaty. If it had been, there'd have been a strong public outcry against it. But Eldred's proclaiming it independently, a year after the treaty, didn't or shouldn't have surprised anyone. It goes with the Carlian philosophy."
"And none of the dukes resisted?"
"Two. Takeza of Nona, and Jozef of Austin, whose duchies border each other. They sent a joint message to the other dukes, urging them to rise against Eldred and his treaty, and suggesting Edward as their leader. It was the wrong time. Two days after sending off their couriers, they got word of Edward's accident. Probably the other dukes had the message of the accident before they had the one from Austin. At any rate, away from the Marches, public misgivings about the treaty had eased; they'd never been very hot. And with the reduction of the ducal and baronial forces at arms, Eldred had ordered a proportionate reduction of local taxes, so a lot of people consider the treaty a blessing.
"Meanwhile Jozef's steward was a spy. He sent a message of his own to Eldred, with a copy of Jozef and Takeza's call for rebellion. So Eldred sent a strong military force to Nona, under Jarvi's command. When it finished there, it went on to Austin. Stories of the bloodbath at Nona had preceded them, so at Austin there was no resistance.
"With Jarvi, Eldred had sent two reliable supporters as the new dukes, along with hand-picked aides for them. Jarvi installed them. Takeza's drawn and spread-eagled body decorated the main gate of his fortress for weeks. The last I heard, his head still looked down from a spear in front of the palace." Frazier shook the image off, and exhaled through pursed lips. "I guess you could say Jozef was the lucky one, though I doubt he thinks so. He got away barely in time, and fled south to Iwa, leaving his family behind. I'm sure he never imagined what would happen to them."
"Which was?"
"They were executed; publicly beheaded. All of them, including his cousins; even a foster cousin."
I stared. "Do you know that as a fact?"
"The word is 'publicly.' Publicly executed. Many believe the new dukes ordered the butchery, and I could believe that of François. As a baron he'd been known as a brutal man. But Alfred? I don't believe it. He might have voiced the order, but it came from the king."
That was essentially the end of our conversation that day. I'd sleep on what I'd heard, and ask further questions later.
I rode around Kato Town till supper, which I ate at the River Inn, listening to other people's conversations but speaking only with the tap man, who was also the owner. He asked about my uniform, and I explained I belonged to a religious order—my collar had told him that much—without naming which one. I was from Norlins, I said, which formally was true: my assignment to this mission had been confirmed by the Holy See.
After supper I returned to the palace, where I gave Edward another healing session, longer than the first. When I finished, he told me he felt better than at any time since his accident.
Back at Bishop Joseph's manse, the bishop and I talked for a bit over wine. I didn't tell him what I'd learned, only that I'd had an audience with Frazier and one with the duke. Then I retired to my room and meditated till my com chirped. It was Lemmi reporting to Tahmm, Carlos and myself. The next morning he'd begin his trip to the Black Mountains, as Mazeppa's emissary to the Swift Current Dinneh—or Swift Current Ulster, take your choice.
Appropriate. Who else was suited to the job?
When he'd finished, I told them what I'd learned. Major food for thought.