by Steven Gould
Sylvan turned so his back was to the rising sun. “Well, you could at least have had this meeting inside!”
“Idiot I said and idiot I meant! How would you know there weren’t any ears behind the walls? Or worse? Who knows what devices these people have for remote listening? They teach their peasants to read and let them have full access to their libraries!”
“I know that! But what harm has it done? Laal is one of the richest stewardships in Noramland. Can you tell me what it’s done in harm?”
Siegfried’s amusement had changed quickly to anger. “You mean besides blocking Cotswold from further expansion? Do you mean besides luring all our best craftsmen away?”
Sylvan flinched.
Siegfried continued. “Tell me how far Laal’s borders have expanded in the last hundred years.”
Sylvan started to speak, but Siegfried said, “Oh, shut up! Laal’s borders are exactly the same. They’re not going anywhere. They’re a dead end. We control our people, not the other way around. They work for us! Dulan de Laal as much as told me that the guardianship exists to serve the people! He’s as much an idiot as you!”
Sylvan looked hurt. “Their borders haven’t shrunk, either,” he said under his breath.
Siegfried didn’t hear him. “Oh, never mind. What have you learned about this Warden of the Needle and the whereabouts of the device?”
“Damn little. Nobody will talk about him. Why do you want to know about him anyway? If I were you I’d be concentrating on Dillan, or Dexter. They’ve hurt us before in border actions. Leland’s a child.”
Siegfried took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “Then why did his father give him that wardenship? Didn’t you listen when I told you about the Glass Helm?”
“So he climbed the Needle and put on the Helm. I’m impressed. But I don’t see how that threatens us. Is he going to climb back up and drop rocks on us?”
Siegfried stared at his son. “If you weren’t my son, I’d stake you out on the Anvil and leave you.”
“What did I say?”
“The Glass Helm is the last of the imprinters left from the Founding. All the others were destroyed by Townsend’s cult—deliberately, because they conveyed too much power to their wearers.”
Siegfried walked casually past Sylvan, then turned suddenly. Sylvan took a sharp breath as his father’s dagger appeared suddenly at his throat.
“Careful,” Sylvan hissed.
“Quiet! And listen carefully for once—as if your life depended on it!” Siegfried twisted his free hand around the front of Sylvan’s shirt and moved the dagger closer.
Sylvan’s eyes went wide and he blinked several times.
“Knowledge. Is. Power.” He scraped the tip of the dagger over Sylvan’s Adam’s apple. “Can you say that?”
Sylvan tried to speak, but his voice cracked. He finally managed “Knowledge is power” in a croaking whisper.
“I knew you could,” said Siegfried. “Again.”
“Knowledge is power.”
Siegfried pulled the dagger away and released Sylvan’s shirt. “You don’t put knowledge in the hands of your enemies or potential enemies. Never forget it.”
Sylvan slid down the wall and sat staring at his father.
Siegfried looked over the wall and sighed. “Find out everything you can about Leland and the Helm. Put your servants on it. Servants gossip—they probably already know more than you could ever find out by asking the guardianship. I want a report tomorrow morning.”
Sylvan stood shakily.
Siegfried looked at him with dead eyes. “On your way out, tell Niels that I’m ready for my tea.”
Gahnfeld stuck his head into Leland’s room shortly after midmorning. He found a three-meter cube with the bed a built-in nook on one side. A shuttered meter-high window opened high above an inner courtyard. A table with two chairs sat below the window, and a dresser and three chests against the wall opposite the bed held his clothing and other belongings. An unlit cast-iron stove stood in a corner.
Leland was buried under covers, a pillow across his face.
Gahnfeld cleared his throat. Nothing happened. He cleared his throat a little louder. A hand appeared from under the covers and pulled the pillow closer.
Gahnfeld opened the door completely and motioned one of his men in with a covered tray. He wondered if he was doing the right thing, but considering the right thing had never stopped him in the past.
“Put it on the table,” he indicated. The soldier closed the door behind him as he left.
Gahnfeld opened the shutters and let light stream into the room. “Good morning, Guide.”
Leland sat up, shedding pillows and quilts. He stretched and yawned. “And I thought you were Bartholomew, come to get me for another day of labor in the fields. How old is the morning?”
Gahnfeld stopped holding his breath. “Several hours, Guide Leland. I’ve brought breakfast.”
Leland sniffed. “Hmmm. So, this is what it’s like to have a bodyguard, eh? You may not be such a nuisance after all.” He stood up in a nightshirt and kicked his feet into old leather slippers.
“You should get a rug for your floor. It would keep the cold away.”
“Yes, but then it would have to be cleaned. It’s hard to mop a rug.” Leland sat down and uncovered the tray. “I don’t know why I’m so hungry this morning.” He picked up a roll and began buttering it, then stopped with his hands in midair. “Oh, yeah. I guess I do remember. Well, just don’t stand there, Coronet. Sit.”
“Thank you.”
Leland noticed that there were two cups by the steaming teapot, so he said, “Pour us some tea, won’t you? Are you going to make a habit of this breakfast-in-bed thing?”
Gahnfeld smiled slightly. “It’s hardly breakfast in bed.”
“Yes, but then I’ve gotten used to scrounging breakfast in the corner of the kitchen or going down to a communal hall. Have a roll.”
“Thank you.”
“So, how much longer do I have a bodyguard, eh? Have you heard anything from Captain Koss or my father?”
“No, Warden. However, when Captain Koss put me on this assignment, he said I was to be extra vigilant when any of the Cotswold bunch were around. Maybe that means it will stop when they go back home.”
Leland tried the porridge and frowned.
“Is the porridge cold?”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. I just wonder why I rate a bodyguard while Dillan and Dexter don’t? They’re more in Father’s confidence than I am, and they both have command positions with our forces. And what’s to fear from Cotswold? They’ve been nasty in the past, but we’re at peace now.”
Gahnfeld frowned. “I’m just a simple soldier, Warden, but what the High Steward of Cotswold says and what he does have been known to differ in the past.”
Leland nodded.
Gahnfeld sipped his tea. “In any case, you might find out more tomorrow morning. Your father has called a staff meeting for ten o’clock. You’re on the list.”
Leland looked up from the porridge. “Really?”
“Yes, Warden.”
“Please stop calling me that.”
“Pardon?” Gahnfeld asked.
Leland waved his spoon in the air. “Warden. It bothers me. Might as well call me knight or bishop. That’s what it means—I’m a piece in some game my father is playing.” He pushed what was left of the porridge away, suddenly not hungry.
Gahnfeld grinned. “Aren’t we all? At least you’re a piece of some importance. Not like the rest of us pawns.” And don’t be surprised if you’re more like a rook, Warden. Strange things are happening.
“When you met me at the pass the other day, you looked more than passing familiar. You weren’t one of my tormentors from the summer, were you?”
“No, War—Guide Leland. I was on the border most of the summer.”
Leland pursued it, grateful of anything that took his mind off Marilyn. “I remember now. You were one of those decorated after
the border incident last summer. After the defense of Mangle Ford.”
Gahnfeld looked pleased. “You have a good memory, Warden.”
Leland frowned. “Not really. I remember you as a halvidar.”
Gahnfeld shrugged. A very good memory. “What are your plans for today, Warden?”
Leland smiled. “A bath, followed by some time in the library. Then a ride this afternoon, into town to see Charly—Guide Charlina.”
“Good. May I ask that you don’t tell anyone until right before you leave?”
“Afraid of ambushes, Coronet?”
Gahnfeld waved one hand airily above the table. “Why take chances? It can’t hurt to do it my way, can it?”
Leland thought about it. “I suppose not. I’m surprised you don’t have me go around claiming a different destination.”
Gahnfeld smiled. “A good idea. Perhaps some other day?”
Leland pretended surprise. “You’d have me lie?”
Gahnfeld shook his head. “Not at all. Just exaggerate.”
“Disinform.”
Gahnfeld thought about the strange word and all it implied. That seems to imply something deeper, more pervasive. He blinked. “I suppose so—to mislead, to mask, to disinform.”
Leland nodded. “To disinform.”
In the early afternoon Leland took down a book from the library shelf and experienced an acute attack of déjà vu. Footsteps sounded from around the corner, and he looked up as he automatically listened for the footsteps of one of his tormentors. Almost as soon as he realized that he didn’t have to fear attack, he recognized the footsteps. And he was afraid.
“Guide Marilyn,” he said as she rounded the corner. He bowed his head briefly. She stepped back as she saw who it was, her eyes going wide momentarily.
“Warden.” Her face was impassive. “I trust you are well?”
He nodded. Leland studied her features, the way her nose and close-set eyes seemed too small for her face, the thinness of her lips, any trace of roughness, desperately looking for defects. Oh, damn, she’s just as attractive as last time.
He finally found his voice. “Did you find any more medical books in Cotswold?”
She shook her head. “Cotswold has no libraries. Hardly any of the people there read.”
Leland blinked. “What about the rites? The reading?”
She shook her head. “They memorize a passage from the Code. Something their parents learned by rote. And washing is more a ritual dipping of the fingers than a true cleansing.”
Leland blinked. “It’s been so long since we’ve had open contact with Cotswold. I knew it was bad, but I’d no idea.”
“Hopefully this new alliance will change that. As soon as I get back to the capital, I’m sending a delegation of teachers to Cotswold.”
“Yes? I wish you luck.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. She moved over by the window and sat on the ledge.
“Back before our open conflicts with Cotswold, my father sent a caravan of teachers and books there. Their bones were found on the Anvil and there was no sign of the books. Siegfried said it was bandits, but traders brought word from bragging militia that it was done on his orders.”
Marilyn went pale. “I don’t believe it! Kill teachers? Why?”
Leland shrugged. “I don’t know, Guide. It happened before I was born.”
“I’m not sure it happened at all!”
Leland felt blood go to his face. He said, tight-lipped, “Perhaps you’re right, Guide. I’ve only my father’s word for it.”
Marilyn blinked. “I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your father’s word. I just find it hard to believe that anyone would steal a book or kill a teacher. Perhaps he was misinformed.”
Tonelessly Leland said, “I would be a fool to argue with you.”
She turned white. “What do you mean by that!”
He shoved the book he’d been holding back onto the shelf. “Whatever you like, Guide. The truth comes in many forms. Just be sure that you don’t choose one version just because you like its bearer more.”
She stood up quickly and walked to the end of the shelf. “And be sure your version of the truth isn’t chosen out of jealousy!”
With great effort, he grinned at her. “Or wishful thinking.”
She left, shutting the door behind her with a bang that made Leland’s ears ring.
He walked around the bookshelf and looked at it.
The door, a massive, iron-bound, wooden affair that had hung in the library doorway since Laal Station had been built one hundred and thirty-five years before, was cracked down the middle.
WELL, THAT WENT WELL.
Oh, shut up.
Leland crouched down on the floor to examine the break. The two Falcons who were his bodyguard exchanged grins over his head. Leland whistled softly, wondering what Martin would say. Then he heard footsteps from up the hall and looked up to see the High Steward of Cotswold walking with his manservant a few paces behind.
Leland stood and bowed, the two Falcons echoing his salute.
Siegfried smiled. “I heard the most horrendous noise, Warden. It almost made me think somebody had been using explosives.”
“No, High Steward,” said Leland. “It was just a door shutting a little too hard. Nobody here would break the Code.”
“I would hope not! Who wants to go down that path? Our ancestors were wise to ban their use, eh?” Siegfried toed the door with his boot.
Leland nodded. “Yes, High Steward.”
“Wait here, Niels. So, this is your library, eh?” The high steward walked past Leland and into the room.
Leland saw the guards exchange glances. “Yes, High Steward.” He followed Siegfried into the room.
“I love to read,” the high steward told him, picking out a book at random. “I wish we had as many fine books in Cotswold.” He looked up at Leland, as if waiting for him to say something, but Leland refused to take the bait. Siegfried continued. “Have you ever read the works of Machiavelli? Or Sun Tzu?”
Leland nodded. “Certainly, High Steward.”
“Masterful minds, those. The principle of economy of force seems so simple after one has read it. Your father is a master of it.”
“Is he?” Leland asked. “I’ve heard it said he knows his way around a council meeting.” And a battlefield.
Siegfried nodded. “Yes. What are your plans, Leland? What are you going to do with your life?”
Leland shrugged.
“Perhaps another soldier? Or are you going to be a builder?”
Leland looked out the window. What does he want? What do I want? “I suppose I’ll do whatever my father requires.”
Siegfried nodded. “Admirable. A father needs loyal sons, no matter how he treats them.” He watched Leland closely as he said that.
Leland just raised his eyebrows. “My father commands loyalty.”
“I’m sure he does, Warden. I’m sure he does.” Siegfried put the book back on the shelf and chose another. “If you ever find yourself wanting to do important work, I could use a man with your education. You are rare even in this enlightened land. Perhaps I’ll see if your father would post you with me for a while. An administrative position would give you experience with the real world—let you see how the world of ideas relates to the world of rocks and tears.”
Leland half smiled. “Perhaps. If my father felt that was a good idea.”
Siegfried nodded. “I’ll ask him.”
Leland half bowed as he watched the high steward move back to the doorway. “I’ll talk with you again,” Siegfried said, and left.
Leland waited until Siegfried’s receding footsteps could no longer be heard before he went to the window and looked out at the rising hills of Laal.
Suddenly, he thought, the world seems less safe.
Why are you so nervous, Arthur?
The view from Guide Dulan’s study looked toward the west, where the Cloud Scrapers broke the setting sun into ruddy fingers
reaching to the sky. The High Steward of Noramland had commented on it. “Do I see some white on Mount Bauer? Your harvest is two weeks off. I hope you get it in before the first freeze.”
Dulan poured tea for them both. Arthur’s hand shook slightly as he accepted the cup. “With luck and hard work we’ll get it in, Guide.” He walked around the conference table to his chair and waited for Arthur to sit.
Arthur paced instead. “I need to talk to you about the troops, Dulan. Now that snow has started falling in the mountains, the Black will soon drop.”
Dulan nodded.
On the east side of Noramland, the Black and Ganges rivers came out of the Herrin Mountains and merged to form Noramland’s border with Nullarbor. The Plain of the Founders, a rich section of land in the delta of their junction, was the original landing site of the colonists. It had been a source of contention between the two countries for the last hundred fifty years. However, because the Black flowed fast and deep for most of the year, the warfare was confined to autumn, before the winter storms, but after the water had dropped enough to ford.
“So, Dulan, my spies tell me that Roland is putting five thousand men in the field. I’ll need at least five hundred provisioned men from you by the end of the month.” He stared challengingly at Dulan.
Dulan walked to the window and mentally cursed this uncivilized brat who didn’t have the manners to sit down so his subject could take a seat. His right leg, broken thirty years before in a climbing accident, was aching badly. He looked down at the green, verdant fields of Laal, the trees, the foothills, and finally the mountains, and sighed quietly.
Arthur, for once, kept his mouth shut. He toyed with his tea and waited.
Dulan turned around. “Certainly, sire. I’ll send eight hundred, and they’ll leave with you at the end of the week.”
“You will?” Arthur looked surprised. “I mean, that’s excellent. Truly excellent.”
He looked around as if confused.
“May I have your leave to sit, sire?” Dulan asked gently.
“What? Oh, certainly. Good idea.” He took his chair. “So, you can send eight hundred, eh?”
