Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

Von Metternin leaned forward, his hands resting atop a thick walking stick a Ranger had hacked into shape for him. “You may have the secret of it there, Highness. Baker is a wurmwright. Mugwump is a dragon. It could be that Msitazi does know more.”

“But how?”

“I think, my friend, if you are honest with yourself, the question you wish answered is not ‘how,’ but ‘why’ you have not been privy to this knowledge. You had signs of it. Msitazi knew when Mugwump would emerge from his molt. That he could show you how scales pointed him to that conclusion allowed you to avoid asking how he knew what the scales would indicate. It was a mystery forgotten when we saw the wings.” The seated man shrugged. “And now you feel betrayed, because of the dragon and because Msitazi revealed hidden things about magick.”

Vlad nodded. “It is true. I learn what I have learned and hid knowledge of it from the Church for fear of what they will do. And yet I fault the Shedashee for not revealing to us all they know about magick when their motivation clearly is the same as mine. I see the irony, but I feel that if I knew what they know, it would have been easier to prepare troops to face the Norghaest.”

“I will suggest two things.” The Kessian held up a finger. “It could well be that without the green powder training you’ve already offered, men would be unable to understand anything the Shedashee might be inclined to teach.”

“Good point. The second?”

Von Metternin looked out at the battlefield. “I do not think anything would have prepared men for this.”

“No.” Bodies were being dragged from the battlements and laid out up hill from the fort. The Shedashee had recovered their dead and moved them toward the west. By custom they would erect platforms and place the bodies on them, so carrion birds would devour them and carry them into the heavens. Later, relatives would collect and clean the bones, then carry them off to hidden caverns where they would be venerated. Plentiful’s leader, an older woman, had complained about allowing heathens to desecrate the valley, but Makepeace had cut her off and carried her away mid-rant.

Out on the battlefield nothing moved, save for ravens, crows, and other carrion birds. Vlad spotted a couple of eagles tugging some red fibers apart. The birds picked their way over muddy ground and seemed to have as much trouble finding edible bits as Vlad did recognizing the remains of men. Oddly enough, the birds avoided the troll carcasses, but at the ramparts, tore at the demon bodies with great delight.

Vlad leaned on the back of the Count’s chair. “On the parapet, before we saddled up, I had a vexing conversation with Msitazi. He said that I needed to learn, and that the Noragah did as well. When I asked for clarification, he said, ‘What you have yet to learn, they seek to remember.’ I can make little sense of that.”

Von Metternin pointed his stick toward the brown scar that marked the troll hole’s collapse. “When the trolls first came, they were packed together, much in the way that Lord Rivendell assaulted the fortress at Anvil Lake.”

“Yes, but the second time he spread them out.”

“Exactly. He learned from what he saw.” The Count’s brow furrowed. “What if that first assault was set up to show them how we fight, and that the first formation was in keeping with Rufus’ experience in mass battle-namely Anvil Lake. But the second time, when the trolls spread out, it was someone trying a more effective strategy against the weapons and tactics we used.”

“Do you think Rufus was that smart?”

“I only met the man on a couple of occasions, but his temperament seemed such that he would not have retreated that first time since his trolls could have carried the rampart. He would have wanted to show us all his superiority. Perhaps, and the annals of Church lore would support the idea, he is possessed by a demon which is acting through him. That Norghaest demon, then, is learning about us to know what sort of foe it faces.”

“So this was just a test?” Vlad shook his head. “All this to see how tough we are?”

“Yes, my friend, I fear it is so.” The Count sighed. “And what the Norghaest learned is that sweeping us from the land will be no trouble at all.”

Owen quickly got out of the way as Caleb stormed from the thaumagraph cabin. The young man, fury having reddened his face, didn’t acknowledge Owen. He figured Caleb likely didn’t even see him. Owen would have said something, but heard a sob from the cabin’s dimming interior.

He entered. Bethany sat at the thaumagraph table, elbows planted on it, hands covering her face.

“Is something wrong, Beth… Lieutenant Frost?”

She glanced at him, then hid her face again for a moment. She brushed away tears and turned toward him, her expression tense. “Don’t you start in on me, too, Captain Strake.”

“What?”

She stood and pointed a finger toward the door. “Caleb came in here to tell me how stupid I was to go out there. He said I could have been killed. And I know you said…” She leaned against the table. “You told me…”

Owen wanted nothing so badly as to gather her in his arms. He couldn’t, so he snarled and pounded a fist against the wall.

Bethany looked up, her eyes brimming. “Please don’t, Owen.”

“No, Bethany.” Owen held his hands up, forcing them open. He’d cleaned the blood off them, though his cuffs remained stained and his clothes still stank. “That wasn’t about you. I was, I will, go out there and give Caleb a piece of my mind.”

“No, let him go.” Her shoulders slumped. “He’d been proud of the idea of having me along until it dawned on him that I could end up as dead as anyone else. Now he wants me to go home. He says I can go with the wounded. I told him I wasn’t going. He got very angry.”

Owen lowered his hands. “That’s because he doesn’t want to lose you.”

“And now you’re here to tell me to go, too.”

“Huh?”

“Owen…” She took a step toward him, then stopped, her arms wrapping around her middle. “I can’t leave. I can’t abandon… everyone. But I would do it if you asked, so, please, don’t ask.”

Owen threw his head back and laughed.

Bethany glared at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He crossed the room to her. “Bethany, I don’t want you to go. I didn’t come here to ask you to leave.” He reached around to the small of his back and slid a knife in a beaded sheath from inside his belt. “I came to give you this. It’s a better knife for cutting. And Justice Bone, he found a couple pistols some people left behind. He figures you can have the lend of them until we get back to Temperance, then you can return them.”

She accepted the knife, holding it in her two hands, then looked up. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “You’re not angry with me?”

“I don’t really like you disobeying an order, or convincing Corporal Brown to disobey with you…”

“She didn’t. You ordered her to keep me safe, remember?”

“Right.” He smiled. “You saved my life. This is the second time, really, because I’d not have been here except for your nursing five years ago. I came to say thank you.”

Owen wanted to brush her tear away, and for half a heartbeat intended to, but he lost himself in watching tension drain from her face. Had she not looked down at the knife again, had she not smiled with childish delight, he would have drawn her to him and kissed her. But the knife’s distraction bought him enough time to recover himself,

He took a step back.

“You’re probably also going to want to get some leathers. They’ll be better for fighting than skirts. Corporal Brown can help you get outfitted.”