by Ken Scholes
Jin Li Tam nodded. “With all plans and specifications subject to his Excellency’s approval? And generous terms through House Li Tam?”
He smiled. “Exactly.”
Her brows pulled together. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the library,” she said.
Rudolfo paused midstep, looking at her, then resumed walking. “Yes?”
“Why do you wish to do this? You intended to do this before the archbishop declared, even before I proposed you as a suitor to my father. You meant to do this and finance it yourself.”
He chuckled. “Sethbert would have paid for it. He still will if I have my way.”
“But why would you do this? You do not seem to be the sort who would keep what light remains to yourself. The strategy beneath it suggests that you mean to keep the library in a place where it can be protected.”
Like she protects Isaak, he thought. That was the quality of parenthood he heard in her voice.
He shrugged. “I am not a young man. I stand just past the middle of my road. I am only now taking a wife. If I cannot give my Ninefold Forest Houses an heir, then at least I can give them knowledge. Something to love and defend fiercely in this world.”
Her next words surprised him. “Doesn’t it also atone for the first Rudolfo’s betrayal?”
He laughed. “I suppose perhaps it does.”
“Regardless,” she said, “I think it is a wise and wonderful thing that you do.” They settled back into silence before she surprised him again. “Do you want an heir, Rudolfo?”
Now he stopped entirely, a smile widening on his mouth. “You mean now? Here?”
“You know what I mean.”
He shrugged. He’d been with many women. For a time, he’d used the powders to dull his soldiers’ swords. And he’d certainly taken them through enough gates. But when he had finally tried to make a child with a consort sent from the Queen of Pylos as a matter of kin-clave courtesy, he’d been unable. And they’d tried for nine pleasurable months. After that, fearing that he couldn’t sire, he left off with the potions and redoubled his efforts with the women on his rotation. No discreet notes arrived by bird from his stewards, no reports of a girl (or three) heavy with child and claiming his patrimony.
He’d heard that the Androfrancines also had magicks for this. But even if it were true, it felt contrary to him for no reason he could discern.
He looked at Jin. “I’ve certainly considered it at length,” he said. “Alas, I’m afraid my soldiers have no swords.”
When he said it, he was certain that she would look relieved. Though she was quite demonstrative and capable in the midst of their consummation, Rudolfo did not believe for a moment that this formidable woman had any interest in children.
She surprised him for a third time. Instead of relief washing her face, she took on a thoughtful aspect. And she didn’t speak.
As they continued walking slowly back to camp, they slipped into an agreeable silence and Jin Li Tam’s hand slipped into his.
Petronus
Petronus stood at the center of Windwir, in the square where he had once addressed his people from the high balcony of the Office of the Holy See. All that remained of that massive structure was a mound of stones. He turned slowly from that point, taking in the view around him. Here and there, he saw scattered patches of workers as they pushed their loads or shoveled their trenches. As the rains increased, his help decreased. A few more left each day, promising to return with the spring. Sometimes it was a wash as newcomers joined up, but at the end of any given week, there were still less than they had started with at the beginning.
He’d had Neb rework his numbers, and it looked as if they could be finished before spring if the winter followed the cycle of the last few years and stayed more mild than fierce. And if he didn’t go below thirty men. And if the war didn’t swallow them all. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to stop the operation. Those who could stay would stay. He would be one of them, and they would work at the pace they could. If there was still more to be done beyond spring, so be it.
Of course, there would always be more work. He’d seen to that with his proclamation.
You’re a fool, old man.
He just couldn’t leave well enough alone. He’d written the proclamation, forcing himself into the middle of something that every part of his soul screamed for him to flee. So many complained of not having the power to do right, making great boasts of what they would do if only they had this or that. He had that power, but it felt hollow from where he stood. Still, he’d put the light back onto Sethbert where it belonged. And by not acknowledging the Writ of Shunning, he’d made it nonexistent. Taking the time to reverse it meant acknowledging it in the first place and he could not afford to let the Named Lands see Oriv as any more than a subordinate archbishop doing the best he could in light of dark times.
He would wait now and see what Oriv did next. If Sethbert truly pulled the strings, he would bluster and cry foul and try to press on, even without the support of House Li Tam and without access to the Androfrancine fortunes they held in trust.
Vlad surprised him. He’d lost sleep wondering what that old crow played at. He’?d aidtd heard nothing further about the iron armada or the blockade against the delta cities, dispatched early on, then pulled back to patrol the waters and wait. Then, using his knowledge of Petronus as a reason to sever Oriv and Sethbert’s access to funding complicated matters further.
He’s forcing something and I am a part of it, he thought. It was a game of queen’s war they played, each moving based on the other’s previous movement. Petronus did not doubt at all that Vlad had hoped for a full declaration followed by a quick succession. He’d given him something less-a guarded proclamation issued under the Fourth Article of Preservation, citing the safety of King and Pope as critical for the well-being of the Order, and allowing for a measure of secrecy.
But what Pope had ever used that secrecy to hide himself entirely? To remain hidden from view? This game of queen’s war was not a game Petronus could win. He could only hope to move fast enough to stay ahead of his opponent-and the world that watched them play. And move well enough to stay in the game until the stone rolled down the hill so fast that he could slip out the back and find someplace to wait out the rest of the storm.
Unless.
Petronus looked around again. Overhead the sky was charcoal on steel, but it hadn’t rained all day. It was quiet. The occasional skirmishes between the Marshers and the other armies had toned down considerably after the first few days. So far they’d avoided any kind of pitched battle, and Petronus suspected that the generals were all trying to decide what to do about this new arrival. Uniting their forces against the Marsh King would certainly be sufficient to drive him back, but it would leave them weakened for the long march east.
Time that allowed the Wandering Army to strengthen its position, though how effective they’d be without their leader remained to be seen.
It was as if the Named Lands themselves were the board upon which they played.
Unless. The thought nibbled at him and his eyes widened at the strategy unfolding in his mind.
He wondered how much of this Vlad Li Tam had planned from the start, and he wondered how much Rudolfo knew of it.
Most of all, he wondered if Sethbert realized that he’d been used.
Sethbert
Sethbert’s hands shook with rage as he fought to suppress the violence inside of him that demanded release. He forced his eyes back to the report.
“This,” he said slowly, “is entirely unacceptable.” He looked up to lock eyes with Lysias. “How many?”
“Forty-seven, Sethbert.”
Sethbert noted that the general failed to use his title. “Forty-seven deserters in two weeks? We’re not even fully engaged.”
Sethbert watched a look of disgust march across the general’s face. “It has nothing to do with cowardice. It has everything to do with your indiscretions. Men will not willingly follow a m
onster.”
“Surely you can break their will?”
Lysias shook his head. “You don’t have enough loyal officers to do that. You will leak resources slowly. It is time to relieve these and bring forward fresh faces. You do not want to mix the bad in with the good. The spoiled pear always takes the barrel.”
“Fine,” Sethbert said. “Make it so.” He looked to his aide. “And you have a message for me?”
The young man stepped forward and passed the unrolled paper to Sethbert. “It isn’t good news, Lord.”
Of course it wasn’t. The day had brought no good news. There’d really been no good news since the day the Marsh King showed up across the valley, blasting his nonsensical ramblings across the night, every night, for how long now?
Shortly after that mud-bugger showed up, he’d received word from Oriv-Pope Resolute, he reminded himself-that their funds had been frozen by House Li Tam. He’d flown into a rage to hear it. He’d known it was a risk-that there might be someone higher placed than his cousin out there somewhere. And after the first week, because no one had come forward disputing Resolute’s succession, he’d assumed no one would.
Of course, there had also been mixed news. As angered as he was about Rudolfo’s escape, he was pleased to learn that they had resorted to violence. It meant they no longer needed to keep up the pretense of civility in their dealings with him.
“How did it arrive? And from whom?” he asked, squinting at the message.
“It came under Androfrancine thread from House Li Tam, Lord.”
He read the note, feeling his anger rebuilding. He saw everything right in front of him. House Li Tam again. His consort now Rudolfo’s betrothed-an alliance formed. Perhaps, he thought, Rudolfo was involved from the start. In bed with the Androfrancines along with Vlad Li Tam and, though he did not know how, the Marsh King as well.
What would they gain by the Desolation of the Named Lands at the hands of those?hanghtrobed tyrants? That question bothered him, but not overly so.
What bothered him more was that now they played a Pope of their own onto the board. Convenient that he was in hiding, invoking some obscure Androfrancine codex. And even Sethbert knew enough of their law to realize it was a stretch of that rule’s intent.
He read the proclamation, his lips moving as he followed the words. When he finished, he crumpled the note and cast it aside. While the aide scrambled for it, Sethbert kicked over a chair.
“There is another Pope,” the Overseer finally said.
“What does he say?” Lysias asked.
At Sethbert’s wave, the aide passed the note to Lysias. He scanned it quickly. “This changes the war,” Lysias finally said. “It is now a contest of words and swords. It will shift loyalties but it is impossible to say which. Or how we’ll stand in the end.”
“We need to fix the problem within our ranks. We will punish the men who fled.”
“We don’t have the resources to track them down,” Lysias said.
“I have a better idea,” Sethbert said. “I will address it personally.”
Lysias nodded. “And what about the gravediggers?”
Sethbert thought. “We’ll continue to subsidize their work in the name of the true Pope, Resolute the First.”
“Very good, Lord.”
He smiled at the respect he had purchased at some small price. Or at least the form of respect. He doubted Lysias had ever truly respected him. A man like that wouldn’t appreciate Sethbert’s strength of character.
After the general left, he turned to his aide. “Cross-reference the deserters with their homes of record. Send a bird to the Overseer’s Watchmen. I want a wife, a child, a mother, a sister. But don’t kill them. Blind them. Mute them. Tell them why.”
The aide paled. “Lord?”
Sethbert smiled, thinking about lunch and hoping it was pheasant or pork. “And when it’s done, have word leak to the men of it.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Now, fetch me a mechoservitor and tell the chef I’ll take my lunch outside today.”
The aide bowed and walked quickly away.
Alone, Sethbert righted the chair he had kicked over in his rage. Then he sat on it, and wondered what Rudolfo would do now that he was free. He’d been delighted to hear that the Gypsy King had delivered himself over to Resolute in the first place, and he’d known that he would not stay away from his Wandering Army and his Ninefold Forest for too long. His cousin was barely competent and no match for the wily fop.
But now, with Rudolfo’s alliance with House Li Tam through strategic marriage, his role in this deepened considerably more than just a Gypsy King enraged at the death of a city.
Sethbert took no pleasure in his lunch that day.
Neb
Neb read the proclamation again, his fingers moving over the ring buried in his pocket. He looked at the haphazard sketch of the Androfrancine Papal seal, a great finishing touch on the message, then returned to the beginning of the proclamation.
Oh My People it began, and it continued in perhaps one of the most moving documents he had ever read. It read with the resonance of ancient greatness, something that one could study but never emulate. Within it he felt the death of something beautiful, and the solemn, humble work of saving what could be saved knowing full well that nothing would ever be as good as it had been.
This truly was a man he could want to be like.
Of course, Neb saw Petronus’s mastery even in the way he led the gravediggers. At some point, Brother Hebda said he would proclaim him Pope. Maybe it was figurative, he thought. Maybe he was supposed to give him the ring.
He’d thought about it a dozen times since he’d found the damned thing. And each time, he pushed it back out of his mind for reasons he could not fully conceive.
He looked up again, and realized in his headlong walk out of camp he’d wandered pretty far into the ruins of the city. He looked around, trying to use the hills and the river to determine where he stood within the city. He was close to where the Garden had once been, or at least he thought he was. Not having walls and buildings to navigate by made it a difficult chore. But he picked his way north the equivalent of half a block, then west, then north again.
When he was reasonably sure he’d found it, he sat down in the ash and pulled his knees to himself. They’d already been through this part of the city, raking the ash for bones and artifacts.
Neb pulled the ring from his pocket and studied it for the hundredth time. It was simple and rare-the way that life should be. He’d cleaned it carefully by the light of a guttering candle when Petronus made his rounds around the camp at night. Now, it shone dully in his hand. He looked at it, turning it in the gray daylight of emerging winter.
“My king would speak with you,” a heavy, guttural voice whispered to his left.
Neb jumped, looking around but seeing nothing. Still, this darker light was perfect for scouts. “Who is your king?”
The voice moved now. “My king is the Reluctant Prophet of Xhum Y’Zir, the Unloved Son of P’Andro Whym, Most Beautiful of the Northern Marshes.”
Neb hesitated as the voice continued away. He looked back toward camp, so distant now that he could barely make out the figures that moved along its edges. He looked north, in the direction that the voice went, and saw the line of dark trees. Behind the trees, smoke drifted into the sky from the Marsh King’s camp fires.
The voice returned. “My king would speak with you,” it said again. “You will not be harmed. You will return bearing his grace to your people.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” Neb said. “I think perhaps he wants to parley with Petron-Petros, our leader.”
“No,” the scout said, moving away again. “No mistake. You are Nebios, son of Hebda, who watched the Great Extinguishment of Light, the Desolation of Windwir?”
Neb swallowed the sudden fear in this throat and nodded.
“My king would speak with you.” Now the voice grew more distant, and Neb looked back
to camp once again.
Then, turning north, he ran after the Marsh King’s ghostly messenger.
Chapter 19
Rudolfo
Rudolfo and his party made their last camp together twenty leagues northwest of Windwir. In the morning, they would split up. He would ride with his escort to meet Gregoric and his company of Gypsy Scouts well beyond sight of the armies encamped around Windwir. While he turned southeast, Jin Li Tam and Isaak would ride northeast with their escort and make for the Prairie Sea with all haste.
A cold rain fell as the sky shifted to twilight, and the sun slipped below.
They huddled beneath canvas tarps hung low, using the pine trees as natural cover as much as possible. Rudolfo looked at Isaak, the rain beading and rolling off his metal surface.
“You’ll not rust, will you?”
“The alloy composite of my chassis is resistant to rust and other forms of erosion, Lord Rudolfo,” the metal man said.
Rudolfo nodded. “Well enough.” He leaned against the tree. A few paces away, he watched Jin Li Tam lay out a tent and pull it together and up with the practiced skill of a soldier. He watched her as she worked, enjoying the places where the water clung to her clothing, accentuating her curves. “I want to speak with you about the work ahead,” he told Isaak, his voice dropping.
“Yes, Lord Rudolfo?”
“I’ve asked Lady Tam to assist you. She will speak to her father on behalf of the library and try to get sanction from this new Pope he spoke of.” Rudolfo turned from watching her and studied Isaak. “I will get you more help as soon as I possibly can. Meanwhile, start planning.”
The metal man’s head swiveled around to face him. “Have you given any thought to the location of the new library?”
Rudolfo thought about this. “There is a hill near the seventh forest manor-on the outskirts of town. I had intended it to be a Whymer Maze. Is it of sufficient size?”
