Against a Rising Tide

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  “No my lady, not at all. Just thinking about the last time I visited this area. It was under less happy circumstances.”

  She tipped her head a little to the side, black eyebrows pulling down, forehead wrinkling. Then she realized what he meant.

  “Oh, you mean during the war.”

  “Yes. But that was then.”

  “Yes, it was. The war is over, and the damage is gone, and there won’t be another one.” She sounded absolutely certain, so much so that he half-expected her to stamp one well-shod foot. “We are here for my brother’s celebration and you are not going to be gloomy about it.”

  She sounded exceedingly determined, and István crossed the room to put his hands on her waist, smiling at her fierce expression.

  “Not even if Cousin Imre comes riding up waving a newspaper and declaiming about the rights of workers and universal brotherhood of all—”

  She put a finger on his lips. “No. And if he does, I will lock him and K.T. in the cellar together.”

  He kissed the finger. She put her hands on his and he pecked her cheek.

  “I do hope your brother had flame-proofing put on the cellar ceiling if that happens, my lady. Although the heated discussions should keep the entire palace warm well into February.”

  She giggled a little. He released her and made a mental note to keep his shields up full unless he needed to sense someone or something. The grim emptiness to the east would chew on him otherwise.

  That evening they attended the first of many suppers, teas, rides, and other events in honor of the prince’s natal celebration. Some families, like the Radzwills, brought history and funds, but were not Houses, while others, namely the Sobieskis of Jagiello, now preferred to be powers that waited in the background. As so often happened at society gatherings, the group sorted itself so that, by the second night, the Houses tended to cluster together when left to their own devices. István made an effort to mingle with everyone, when rank permitted. Prince Mikloz Astikis Radswill and his wife, Princess Krystina swept through the gathering with an air of superiority, speaking only to the Potokis and Sobieskis unless absolutely necessary. István wondered if Mikloz ever puffed up so much that his shirt buttons popped off, zooming away like little bullets. He literally walked around with his nose in the air, in part to keep his glasses perched on that most magnificent specimen of a nose.

  István should have been annoyed. Instead, he forced himself to remember that he was on a diplomatic mission of sorts and that he needed to keep Weronica happy. The reunion did seem to help her relax, and she slept well from the moment they arrived at Lancut. That alone improved István’s mood immensely. He also discovered that he remembered enough Bohemian to be able to speak with the servants, or at least make himself understood, and that made Weronica happy.

  For once, October brought fine weather, encouraging the nobles to make use of the extensive grounds around the palace. István walked and rode, admiring the rows of glass houses for growing fruit and vegetables out of season, as well as sheltering exotic plants. He made notes about the farm operation and hay meadows, and admired the prince’s horses. He and Wladislav found a common interest in the big Polish chargers even if István no longer dared ride the jumps. Duke Sobieski also proved to be congenial company, holding his liquor well and sympathizing about cross-border property headaches. Count Pawl Tarlo remained a bit of a cipher—a very tall, pale cipher, suggesting that a White Russian or one of Fredrick the Great’s bodyguards had strayed onto the family property at some point. Joachim Lubomirski made up for his father’s gout-inspired bad moods, reminding István of a tanned version of Felix Starhemberg, although he played cards far better than Felix ever had. Joachim would probably find himself invited not to play if he ever went to one of the great casinos, István decided.

  István managed to avoid Karol Tadeus Potoki. He had cut quite a swath through the ladies when he attended university in Warsaw—or so István had heard, and he believed the stories. K.T.’s dark hair, dark eyes, dark complexion, and flair for the dramatic reminded István of the English Lord Byron, or Pushkin. K.T. carried a dark fire within him, and his fervent belief in the superiority of Poles and of the mystical Polish soul rubbed his half-brother-in-law the wrong way. István found ways to duck out of the room, or change his plans, or change the topic when K.T. began expounding. Fortunately, K.T.’s son, Wladislav, did not share his father’s obsession.

  On the fifth day of the visit to Lancut, rain kept everyone indoors. Duke Sobieski used the storm as an excuse to call the House Heads and Guardians together. István followed Wladislav and Prince Potoki to a light, airy room, whose enormous windows looked out into a small secondary courtyard. Just over the wall, he could see the purple foliage of some of the ancient trees on the English park section of the grounds. Light teal silk covered the walls, while the white ceiling beams sported blue vines and flowers. Blue, white, and pale celadon furnishings, along with a few pieces of porcelain, gave the room a faintly Chinese or Dutch ambiance.

  “My lady’s sun room,” Prince Potoki explained.

  Soon Prince Alojyz, István, and Wladislav were joined by Count Andrej Zamoyski of House Lazinski, Duke Alexander Sobieski, Countess Jadwiga Tarlo, and Lords Stanislaw Radzwill and Joachim Lubomirski.

  “My lady sends her regrets,” Count Andrej said. “She is having one of those sick headaches where she sees colored lights, then becomes terribly ill.”

  Countess Jadwiga made a sympathetic noise.

  “Did they start in the fall of 1919, by any chance, my lord?” Joachim asked.

  “No. Blessed be the Lord, she missed the backlash from that,” he hesitated. “Incident? Count Eszterházy?”

  “Incident is an excellent word, yes.”

  Sobieski, leaning against the white plaster mantle place, nodded to István. “Eszterházy, what did happen? I understand you were in Vienna and saw the attack.”

  Which one? There were three. No, we’ll leave the political one out.

  “As best Josef Karl von Habsburg and Rudolph von Habsburg and I could tell, the attack by the Communists on the Imp—” Damn it! “On the royal cars only coincided with Ukrainia going insane and attacking Galicia. They were not directly related—again, as best their lordships and I can tell. The Matra is still wary and does not want to, ah, discuss the matter, my lords and lady.”

  Jadwiga played with one of her reddish-gold curls. Her thin face, bright green eyes, and red hair reminded István of a fox. Her fast wit complemented the image, and she wore a brown suit that only intensified the resemblance.

  “My lords, is there any way to know what it was that drove Ukrainia—as you say, Eszterházy—insane?”

  “You mean so we can try to prevent a repetition, or warn others to be ready to shield or run?” Sobieski grimaced. “I don’t know, but if I never feel that again I will die content.”

  “You and me both, Sobieski,” Alojyz grunted from his chair.

  Andre and Wladislav had both gone a little green, and Stanislaw Radzwill crossed himself.

  “You are aware that I became Guardian because of that episode. I want to know how to see it coming, if it should happen again.” Stanizlaw shook his head and smoothed the front of his jacket, then drummed his fingers on his leg. “Even I felt it and I was no more than a House member at the time.”

  Andrej folded his arms. “I had perhaps five minutes warning, when Bohemia flared and the Power near Wolnskie started throwing up a shield. My lady warned me, and she managed to help Wolnskie settle itself enough to set a firm shield before everything went mad. She said it was red, like blood and fire, and then a vile black-green, then darkness to the east and south.”

  The other Guardians, apart from Radzwill, all nodded or made confirming noises. “All I knew was Uncle Martin lay senseless on the floor and I thought I heard whimpering sounds. Then nothing.”

  István leaned forward. “What does the Power say now?”

  “Nothing. There is no Power on Radzwill lands any
more. I am Guardian but not the way you are, Count Eszterházy. I lead the defense of our House.”

  “So you are War Lord rather than a true Guardian,” Jadwiga said. “I’m not certain which is the more difficult task.”

  Alojyz rocked one hand back and forth. “I suspect they are tied together, at least for those of us on the borders. I cannot sense any Powers left in Russia that are not . . .” His voice trailed off. “Warped? Twisted? Not exactly that, but they have no patience for the Houses, and they hunt and live on their own. They’ve always been strange, but now they reject all contact with humans.”

  “That is very strange, Your Highness, since even Logres and Pannonia will—I won’t say cooperate with—will acknowledge the usefulness of a Guardian on occasion.”

  Young Joachim crossed himself as István said the name of the Power of Britain. “Stay away from Logres if you can, otherwise keep your shields up. It is wild, old, and to be honest it scared me spitless. I have no idea what it would have done if I’d tried to contact it.”

  “Archduke Rudolph said that Pannonia is wary of Logres.”

  Joachim went even paler and István nodded his agreement.

  “So what did happen to Galicia and to Ukrainia?” Sobieski prodded.

  István did not want to remember, but for the sake of the others he made himself look into the memories.

  “Your Highness, Your Grace, my lords, my lady, you remember how Galicia turned inward with the outbreak of the war and the Russian invasion.” He waited for the head nods and murmurs of agreement. “It remained like that, as if terrified, or as if it were shutting out the war and whatever came with the Russians. Toward the end of the war, as the Reds and Whites turned on each other, Ukrainia began acting oddly. It felt cold, killing cold, but,” he made a frustrated noise. “I do not have words for it. The Matra began shielding against Galicia, and I did not try to contact it, even when I was within its territory. I am told Bohemia also pulled back from Galicia.

  “Then came the attack. It felt . . . it felt as if Ukrainia stabbed Galicia, and Galicia lashed out, spraying poison and fire, lashing out at not just Ukrainia, but at everything around it. But something moved east of Ukrainia as well, I think. It seemed . . . argh. As if Ukrainia looked back over its shoulder, driven, or—” He shook his head. “I can’t explain what I saw and felt. The Matra threw up shields, trying to deflect the energy. Then Josef Karl called on Bohemia, Pannonia, and Austria, and blocked in Galicia. Pannonia took a little of the energy, but far less than I would have thought. And Bohemia blocked Kutna Hora, which apparently caused some problems. As if being shot at and having a grenade thrown toward his car was not enough trouble for Josef Karl.”

  Finished, István sat back, almost as drained as he’d felt that horrible morning in Vienna.

  Andrej raised a hand. “Wait. How did you know what Bohemia and Pannonia did if you where behind the Matra’s shields? My lady says she can’t feel anything once the Power locks down.”

  “Because Josef Karl almost burned out Rudolph trying to keep Pannonia, Austria, and Bohemia intact, and Rudolph linked to me to try to stabilize the energies enough to keep things from getting even worse. Then Rudolph collapsed and left me connected with Josef Karl. I suspect that if anything else had happened my children would be orphans now, because Pannonia would have killed me, and the Matra would have finished anything Pannonia left behind.”

  István started to chuckle, but the laughter died in his throat as he saw the looks of shock, awe, and, in one case, fear, he received from the other Heads and Guardians in the room.

  Sobieski finally spoke after the silence began had stretched to near the breaking point. “My lord Count Eszterházy, you are correct. You should be dead. I have never heard or read of any human or HalfDragon being able to step in as a channel and buffer under those conditions, especially not with four Powers working together.”

  “Perhaps the Lord was with me. Perhaps by then Josef Karl had shifted enough energy that the Powers were no longer doing more than observing through me. Your Grace, to be honest, I do not recall much besides pain in my back and leg and wondering who taught Archduke Rudolph to drive. Because he drives like I used to ride, that is to say, like a fool.”

  That eased a little of the fear and awe, but the others remained uneasy. At last Potoki, both Potokis, sighed.

  “So we have no way of knowing when a Power is going to go mad,” Alojyz said, rubbing his forehead.

  Wladislav shrugged.

  “Although, Your Highness, I suspect that if any of us feel anything even faintly like what Galicia threw off, we and our allies will have our defenses built faster than thunder follows lightning.”

  Joachim Lubomirski leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “My lords, this is only a guess and a hunch, but Ukrainia. Could the civil war have pushed Ukrainia much as the Russians atrocities affected Galicia? You all know that compared to other places, Poland’s Powers are weak and fragmented.” He straightened up. “My grandfather thought it was because we have been invaded and injured so many times that it weakened the Powers originally in the land. The only truly strong creatures are Pomerania, Brandenburg, and some in the mountains.”

  “My House Chronicles say that after the Mongols, the Matra acted odd for several decades, and that it shifted north when the Turks got as far as Eger and Esztergom.” István shrugged.

  Stanislaw looked from one Guardian and Head to another. “What are the Powers, my lords, my lady?”

  Duke Sobieski shrugged, spreading his hands before folding his arms.

  “No one knows. They are creatures, they feed on energy, apparently, and they have territories. I’d always thought they were immortal, but now we know otherwise. Some work with humans and others for the betterment of their territories, and others tolerate us, or ignore us. That is all that I, or anyone, knows.”

  István had a sudden thought, one that he almost blurted out, but caught and swallowed just in time. The only Houses allied with Powers were those with True-dragons or HalfDragons in them. He knew of no purely human House with a Guardian. That’s . . . there’s something there. And if the True-dragons continue to be persecuted, then what will happen? Without Guardians, what will Powers like the Matra or Drachenburg do? Was that what happened at Kutna Hora to make it odd? What would Logres and Pannonia be like without Guardians? I don’t even want to imagine that. He pushed the thought away.

  After a bit more discussion and speculation about Irene Rozemberk, House Rozemberk’s new Guardian, the group scattered out, returning to mingle with the other guests. The rain continued, and István decided that a nap would not be amiss. Apparently Weronica had felt the same way, because she lay in bed, whuffling softly in her sleep. He watched her for several minutes before lying down at her side, resting one hand on her belly so he could feel their son if he moved.

  The storms passed late that evening, although the world remained grey and damp at dawn. István rode out on a placid gelding with a smooth trot, enjoying the quiet and admiring the estate around Lancut. The chestnut gelding tossed his head at a raven that called overhead, then settled again. I can’t believe this was a battlefield just eight years ago. It looks too healthy. Well, the Russians had somehow missed this little pocket, and the Potokis had taken pains to rebuild everything that had been damaged elsewhere. A few peasants saluted or tugged their forelocks as he rode past, and he returned the courtesy. The Potokis were the good kind of Polish lords, taking care of their people and lands, improving and uplifting what they could. If more magnates had been like them, Poland would have been a happier place. And five hundred heads would not have been turned in to the Imperial troops by Galician peasants in 1846, but it would be impolite to mention that. He well remembered his encounter with the baron in Lemberg before the war.

  István returned from the ride refreshed and happy, but all that vanished as he walked Weronica through the breakfast room doors into the middle of a nasty fight. Karol Tadeus glowered at Alexander Sobieski, sn
arling his words.

  “How can you call yourself Polish with that name? No true Pole would stoop to bear the name of Alexander of Russia, the man who unleashed the secret police on innocent Poles.”

  Duke Sobieski glared right back.

  “Because it far predates any Russian. Alexander the Greek conquered half the world before the Russians even crawled out of the Pripet Marshes.”

  “But you still carry it, even after the Tsar tried to destroy the soul of Poland.”

  “I carry it as did many men in my family, which you would know if you bothered to learn the history of the land you claim to venerate.”

  Sobieski turned his back and walked over to where his wife sat. She glared at Karol Tadeus, challenging him to continue his rant. Instead he looked around and his eyes lit on István and Weronica. He waited until Weronica had been seated and approached István, who braced himself.

  “I saw you ride out, Count Eszterházy. Gloating over your master’s possessions?”

  What? Oh, he means this part of Galicia.

  “Admiring his Highness’s wise management and the care the Potoki family has for its people and land, if you must know.”

  “He should take care of it, since this is Polish land.”

  “And Moravian. And the Slovaks and Magyars have claimed it at times. As I recall the Paris treaties initially assigned it to Ukraine before reason returned.”

  Let it drop, K.T. I do not want my wife upset, and you are being unbearably rude.

  But K.T. didn’t back down.

  “It is Polish and should be so. It was Polish until Fredrick the Great and his toadies raped mother Poland and stole her children. Do not get comfortable Eszterházy.”

  “You are aware that I carry Russian shell fragments inside me because of trying to chase the Russians back out of your beloved countryside?”

  I must not lose my temper. And I wonder if he’s been drinking. He has that wild look about him.

  “And?” K.T.’s eyes had dilated and he clenched his fists at his sides. “It was Poles who drove the Russians out, no thanks to your damn Germans or the so-called Emperor. All he left was ashes and rubble for us to rebuild on.”