The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series)

by Trish Mercer

  Perrin shook his head as he slumped into a chair. “It was very bold. Right outside the village border. I never remember them attacking in such a manner.”

  “It’s a very tempting load,” Snyd pointed out. “We have no idea how severely they’ve been affected.”

  “But that’s not what bothers me,” Perrin said, eyeing the man he knew hoped to be the next High General. Seven years ago when he trained Snyd in new protocols, he’d regarded Perrin as little more than the general’s nuisance son. Last night at The Dinner he’d been predictably cordial, but Perrin felt Snyd sizing him up.

  Tonight, the evaluating contest continued, but it took on a different tenor. Now both men were to posture as to who knew more and had better hunches as to what was really happening. That’s the way it went with brassies, Perrin knew. Enlisted men decided things with their fists, but senior officers established their hierarchy with deliberately dropping nuggets of information. It wasn’t a matter of who was stronger or a better fighter; it was about who possessed the more valuable nuggets.

  “Nor I,” Snyd said. “It’s how they knew so quickly. We barely got the message over an hour ago about the caravan, yet they had dozens of men, according to my scouts, just as quickly? Shin, someone was talking.”

  That was obvious, Perrin thought. He didn’t feel like playing any games tonight, and he wasn’t interested in establishing himself in the colonel pecking order, so he simply asked, “Who? The only one who knew soon enough would’ve been Riplak. The other messenger the High General sent went straight to the reserves. I saw him there.”

  “How long has Riplak served your father?” Snyd asked, his eyes narrowing with the implication that he’d worked out the solution long before Perrin arrived.

  But Perrin had no patience for that. “My father’s known him for years. Riplak even worked in his stables when he was a teenager, and my father helped him get into Command School. He’s been his assistant for over a year now. He’s trustworthy.”

  Snyd shrugged at that, suggesting he’d visit that evaluation again later. “Maybe it was just a stroke of good luck on the Guarders’ part. Maybe they were on their way somewhere else and happened upon your caravan. But what if they weren’t?”

  Snyd watched him for a response, but Perrin just sighed wearily. He never was one for my-brass-is-shinier-than-your-brass. He just wanted drivers and a fresh horse.

  Snyd gave up and slapped his desk almost cheerfully. If the other man wasn’t even going to play who’s-got-the-bigger-brass, it was as good as a win. “Well, I’m on it, Colonel Shin. We’re rounding up whoever we can right now, and I’ve ordered the men to keep the Guarders separate so they can’t kill each other. We’ll also replace the soldiers you lost. I have my captain taking a count right now as they change the horses to see how many more you need to get to Edge.”

  Perrin smiled genuinely. “Excellent. That’s exactly what I need. Thank you.”

  “I have to admit,” Snyd said, sitting back in his chair and settling in for another round, “I’m surprised at the Administrators. This show of generosity is quite unexpected.” He raised an eyebrow.

  Perrin gave him a deliberate look. “Yes, yes it is, Colonel.”

  Snyd broke into a sly smile, realizing that a candidate for High General had just kicked himself out of the race. “Understood. I also understand the need to get you on your way as quickly as possible. I won’t detain you any longer, except,” he said in the generous manner of one who knew he would someday become the other’s superior officer, “to order you to clean yourself up. Your wife and daughter have seen enough of our work tonight.”

  Colonel Shin glanced down at his hands turning brown with drying blood. “Yes, of course.” He had to concede it was a good idea. “Peto, come with me.”

  He left the office and headed to the soldiers’ washroom, his son following close behind.

  Perrin was acutely aware of his son watching him as he rubbed his face and hands with the cold water, using the bar of lavender soap for extra measure. His coat and the new uniform underneath, also showing dark splashes, would have to wait. Maybe that’s why the blue was a deeper shade now, he considered—to hide the stains better.

  As he took a cloth and dried himself, he asked, “How much did you see, son?”

  “A lot, Father,” Peto looked down at his shuffling feet. “Probably more than I should’ve. That’s how the crate fell.”

  “What do you mean?” Perrin put down the cloth and inspected himself in the mirror looking for anything else that would make his wife cringe or his daughter whimper.

  “I was kneeling on it, up against the window and hanging out to watch you. One of those last bumps knocked the crate over and broke it open. Knocked me down, too.”

  Perrin groaned softly to himself. Worse than the talk of explaining “How Peto Came to Be” was the discussion of “How to Make Sense of Bloody Violence.” He should’ve had this talk when Peto was eight as well.

  Perrin turned around and leaned against the water pump table. “And what did you think about what you saw?”

  Peto shook his head. “I never knew you could do all that. I mean, I’ve seen Uncle Shem and the others practicing, and figured you must know some of it, but you’re always on the horse giving the commands. I never saw you . . . you know, doing it. Slashing someone. I must admit,” he looked down at his feet again, “I was kind of proud of you.”

  “Kind of proud,” Perrin repeated quietly. “I kind of appreciate that. But what did you think about what you saw happen to those men?”

  Peto inspected his boots for another moment before lifting his head, his pale eyes clouded. “It was awful, Father. Some of them died, didn’t they?”

  Perrin wasn’t about to say, At least thirteen; the others will die from their injuries by morning. Instead he said, “I’ve always been far too effective, I’m afraid.”

  Horrified, Peto whispered, “How do you do it?”

  Perrin sighed inwardly with relief. It was the boys who were enthralled by the blood that worried him. “I do it for you, for your mother, for your sister. I don’t enjoy it, Peto, but it’s satisfying to know you’re safe because I know how to use steel. I don’t want you to have to see that again. I’m just glad it was dark. I don’t like seeing what happens, either. And I never want to get to the point where I do.”

  Peto nodded at him and bit his lower lip. “Father,” he whispered, “I really don’t want to be a soldier.”

  “You don’t have to be, Peto. It’s probably not your calling.”

  Peto furrowed his brows. “My calling?”

  “What you feel driven to be. What the Creator wants you to be. Many men ignore it or try to fight it. Sometimes I find myself fighting it, too,” Perrin confessed. “But I know that being in the army is my calling. In time, you’ll know yours too.”

  Peto was thoughtful for a moment before he eyed his father. “Are you sure it was sixteen?”

  “Positive. While some soldiers keep track for bragging purposes, I always keep count to make sure I didn’t miss anyone who may come back later to surprise me. Learned that in the forest before you were born. And sixteen’s pretty good for an old guy like me.”

  Peto shook his head. “You’re not really old, Father.”

  “I guess you’re right,” he sighed. “I could be doing this for another twenty-seven years until I retire.”

  They left the washroom and found Jaytsy and Mahrree waiting for them by the coach. Mahrree’s face was brighter now that Perrin’s was.

  “Sure you don’t want to ride with us in the coach?” she asked.

  “I wished I could,” Perrin said, “but I understand a crate of dresses has taken my favorite seat. I think I’m best put to use where I was.”

  Jaytsy hugged him. “That was so scary!” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re my father.”

  “Ah, Jaytsy, enough of that mushy stuff,” Peto said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the coach. “He doesn’t need to hear t
hat. Toughen up, girl. Some dim-witted soldier somewhere wants to marry you, remember?”

  Jaytsy smacked his arm and sent a grateful look to her father before she loaded into the coach after her brother.

  “Ready for the next leg, Colonel Shin?” Mahrree asked him.

  “Only if you are, Mrs. Shin. I should give you a field promotion for driving.”

  “For holding the reins,” she corrected.

  “And for marshalling all this food and clothing.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Hmm—marshalling, field promotion . . . how about the title of Field Marshal?”

  She pulled a face. “How about we just pray for a quiet night?”

  “Already have been.”

  ---

  “What did he do?” Chairman Mal shouted as Brisack jogged up the stairs to the mansion for the second time that night. It was late and cold, but Mal was practically on fire with fury.

  “I don’t know,” Brisack panted as he reached the top. He bent over to catch his breath, gulping in freezing air that seized his lungs. “But they all went,” he gasped. “None have come back. No notes. No explanations. I don’t know—”

  “And Gadiman?” Mal exploded.

  “I can’t find him anywhere,” Brisack said as he struggled to stand back up. “But when I do—”

  “You’ll bring him to ME!”

  Chapter 20 ~ “I realize it’s not exactly a mansion in Idumea--”

  Mahrree, Jaytsy, and Peto couldn’t sleep. The night was extremely cold, probably enough to destroy much of the fruit blossoms and early crops that were just coming up. They used some of Joriana’s dresses as blankets to keep them warm, and kept their eyes focused outside, watching for another attack.

  They’d lost seven soldiers—their conditions and locations still unknown when they left Pools—and Poe Hili had a few gashes that the surgeon hastily bandaged. His arm would be stitched later in Edge, and Shem would likely need a new jacket.

  At the next messenger station, not all of the teams of horses were assembled yet, but a nervous supervisor assured Perrin they were on the way. The supervisor also stared at Hili, as if he suspected the young man was somehow related to the station losing a horse the night before. On her way back from the washing room, Mahrree noticed that the private purposely avoided the station supervisor’s inquiring gaze.

  Perrin made the decision to divide the caravan. The ten wagons already with horses would go on ahead. The possibility that they’d be attacked again was unlikely, but if they were only half of the food would be lost. It was another hour before the coach and the last ten wagons continued on their way. Sometime in the night they reached Midplain, and the fort was waiting for them with fresh horses.

  Mahrree and the children somehow managed to fall asleep along the road to Rivers, and well after sunrise their half of the caravan was passing the point where the two rivers converged and then split to become three. Mahrree woke with a surprise to see them changing horses again. She saw her husband talking to a soldier and he nodded at something he said.

  Perrin came over to the coach and smiled wearily. “No sign of danger anywhere. I think we’re going to be fine the rest of the way home.”

  “Good,” Mahrree said. “Then come sit with us. Perrin, you look terrible. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen you so tired.”

  “Don’t tempt me, woman!” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I have other plans. I expect to sleep soundly in my bed this evening. I don’t want any little coach naps to interfere with that. Just a little further to Mountseen and then home.”

  Peto and Jaytsy were fully awake by now.

  “Home before dinner?” Peto asked.

  “I expect so.”

  Jaytsy shook her head. “Seems so strange to be back already. Feels like we’ve been gone a lifetime.”

  Mahrree agreed it felt strange. She also still felt guilty for eating so well while her mother and their friends had been suffering. She hoped they wouldn’t resent the amount of food she pulled out of the coach, and she worried how she would divide it appropriately.

  From outside of Mountseen, they saw distinctly the mountains that bordered their home. The distant bluish-gray bumps occasionally distinguishable in between the trees in Idumea were now tall, rock-covered barriers dominating the landscape over the orchards and pines of Mountseen. Ever since her children were young Mahrree had been looking at the mysterious landscape in a different way. They were her home.

  “I never noticed that the mountains are pretty,” Jaytsy said as she craned her head out the window to see them fully. “I don’t know that I’ve ever really looked at them before.”

  “No one really does, I think,” Mahrree said. “I’ve never heard anyone call them pretty, but I’m glad you think they are, Jaytsy. For as long as I can remember people in Edge always looked toward Idumea. Even houses that face south cost a little more than houses facing the mountains.”

  “I guess I can see the appeal of Idumea, but I also rather like the mountains,” Peto mused. “Kind of feel protective, in a way. In Idumea the land is so flat and it just goes on forever.”

  Mahrree smiled that her second child also appreciated the terrain. “I don’t care for the flat land, either,” she said. “I must admit, I found it disturbing that in some places you didn’t know where one village started and another ended. I like the borders of the mountains,” she decided, looking out the window. “We’ve feared the mountains for so long we’ve failed to appreciate their power. I kind of wished our house faced the mountains, now that I think about it.”

  “We can just get Father to turn it around for your anniversary next season, Mother,” Peto said confidently. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  At the last changing station just beyond Mountseen, Perrin came up to them again. “Just got word that the first wagons have already reached Edge. They’ve set up in the village center. Karna has a doling system established. I have a feeling I’m about to lose him,” he said dismally. “He’ll make a great commander at another fort. So, are we ready to go home?”

  “Yes!” his family chorused at him.

  When they finally pulled into Edge that afternoon it seemed every citizen was packed into the village greens around the amphitheater and arena, but they eagerly made way for the last ten long wagons and the coach.

  Mahrree squirmed, worried how their friends would react. She couldn’t help but notice the state of the villagers’ clothes: filthy, torn, and in some cases still only bedclothes. That was all they had left. With many houses still inaccessible and so many shops gone, the beautiful gowns in the crate across from her would be the only clothing some women would have, as inappropriately frilly and ridiculously silky as they were.

  She felt ashamed of the new pale blue linen dress she wore under her cloak. How utterly inadequate for doing any useful work! At least her dress and cloak were sufficiently rumpled and a bit blood splattered.

  To Mahrree’s surprise, the coach received a heroes’ welcome, as did each wagon. By the time the coach rambled in, to great amounts of cheering, it had to circle the other wagons to find a place to stop, which only prolonged the welcome.

  “We can’t leave the coach,” Mahrree murmured to her children as they heard the shouts of welcome and calls of gratitude. “This is so embarrassing.”

  Jaytsy nodded and covered her cheeks with her hands.

  “Don’t worry, Mother,” Peto grinned. “They’re all trying to get to Father.”

  His family watched from the coach windows as Perrin dismounted from his foamy horse and attempted to make his way to the doling tables, only to be detained by hundreds of Edgers trying to shake his hand or slap him on the back. He smiled—almost sheepishly, Mahrree thought—at the attention.

  Maybe his response was because Edgers regarded him with something akin to adulation, and Mahrree couldn’t decide who wanted him more: Idumea or Edge. She never before appreciated just how in demand her husband really was. Nor had she realized how wholly inade
quate she was for him, in the city and their village.

  Gamely he made his way through the throng, nodding here, shaking a hand there. His dark eyes were baggy and red, his riding jacket stained with dried blood, his cap askew, and his gait stumbling with fatigue; clear demonstration of what he’d gone through that night for his village.

  But when Mahrree saw a young father unabashedly embrace Perrin, she knew she had her answer. While Idumea admired him, Edge loved him.

  The coach door yanked open and there stood Shem, grinning. “Ever coming out or are you on your way back to the mansions of Idumea?”

  “Uncle Shem!” Jaytsy squealed. “I missed you,” and she leaped into his arms.

  “Wow, this is quite a ‘Good to see you.’” He laughed as he set her down on the snowy ground. “Better make sure no other soldiers notice and think they can get in line to be next, Jayts.”

  He turned only to find Peto holding out pretend skirts like his sister. “Uncle Shem!” he did his best to imitate his sister’s squeal and flopped into Shem’s arms.

  Shem chuckled and dropped him unceremoniously on the snow. Jaytsy reached over her prone brother to take the basket of apples from her mother and held it up for Shem.

  He waved away the offer. “Take it right over to the doling tables, Jaytsy. I’m fine.”

  Peto got up, brushing the wet and heavy snow off of his jacket. “It’s deep here, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Mahrree sighed, looking out the door at the nearby tree branches weighed down by snow. “Are the blossoms dead?” she asked Shem in a low voice.

  Shem nodded somberly. “I’d guess at least two-thirds are gone. We’ll know more by tomorrow when the snow’s melted a bit. There was a hard freeze last night, too, so the early crops . . .” He shrugged instead of finishing his sentence.

  Mahrree nodded that she understood his unspoken worries. Cheers rose up again from the crowd. Apparently Perrin was saying something, but Mahrree couldn’t make it out. She chuckled and Shem grinned at the crowd.