The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition)

by Dusk Peterson

  "I had hoped she had forgotten me by now," said Carle, giving the dog a final rub behind the ears as he rose to his feet. "She belongs to you now."

  The young man shook his head. Like Carle, he had a touch of red to his hair, though his complexion was darker than Carle's snow-white face. "Forget the boy who raised her from a pup? That's not likely." He gave a shy grin and added, "Only you're not a boy now. I hear you've been fighting snow demons in the mountains."

  "They fled at the sight of my sword," said Carle with mock ferocity. "And you? How have you been, sir?"

  Something flickered in the young man's expression, and I thought for a moment he would voice his thought. Then he shrugged his hands and said, "Well enough. I'm to be married, you know."

  Carle's smile grew broad. "Felicitations! I had not heard; my sister never tells me the important news. Do I know the fortunate woman?"

  A blush touched the cheek of the young man. "It's Almida." Then, hastily: "It's all right; you may laugh. I know that I'll be the hen-pecked husband that bards sing about. I really don't mind. After everything I have to do in the village, it will be nice to come home and be ordered around."

  "I firmly agree with you, sir," said Carle, who showed no signs of laughing. "There is nothing I despise more than a woman who impotently allows herself to be bullied about by her husband. When I am married, it will be to a woman of character, like Almida."

  The young man's look of gratitude could have spread to the far borders of the empire. "I've missed you," he said frankly. "Are you planning to visit long? You could stay at the hall if you like. We were always able to find room for you in the old days."

  "Offer me no temptations." Carle shook his head. "I would like nothing better, but . . . Well, if nothing else, you would not have room for my partner here." Then, as the young man turned his shy gaze toward me, Carle added, "I apologize for the lack of an introduction. Sir, this is— No, wait, I see your father coming. I will make my introductions once he has arrived."

  I turned toward the pasture gate and saw a man striding across the fields, seemingly immune to the danger of being trampled by the prancing horses. Unlike the young man, he had tossed his cloak back, and I could see the silver glint of his tunic's border. He was smiling even before he reached us. Putting his arm around the young man's shoulders, he said, "Carle, this is a welcome sight. Your letters to Myles are hardly fair exchange for the pleasure of your presence. I suppose you have come because of your sister's betrothal?"

  Carle, who had been on the point of gesturing toward me, grew suddenly still. After a moment, he said in a voice as controlled as though he were on patrol, "No, sir. I had not heard."

  "Ah." The baron's arm slid from his son's shoulders, and his face grew serious. "Yes, your father has been searching for a suitable match since last winter, and he has finally made up his mind, I understand."

  "Do you know the man, sir?" Carle's voice continued to be steady, but I could see a bump in his cloak-cloth which suggested that, underneath his cloak, he was gripping his sword hilt.

  "I have met him on a few occasions. He is Vogler, baron of a prosperous village in the Central Provinces. Because his first wife died without issue, he has been looking for a young wife to bear him heirs. From the point of view of the bloodline, it is an excellent match."

  "And from the point of view of character?" Carle continued to stand as stiff as a sentry.

  "His character . . ." The baron hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, "He is a man much like your father."

  Myles's gaze passed from Carle to the baron and then back again; otherwise he remained silent. Only the dog seemed immune to the atmosphere and chose this moment to start bounding toward one of the horses. Myles quickly called her back; by the time she had returned, panting happily and nuzzling Carle's legs, the baron was saying, "But I see that you have brought a guest with you."

  "Yes, sir." Carle turned toward me with a gesture so easy as to suggest that he had discarded all other thoughts from his mind, though I knew him better than that. "Sir, may I present Adrian, Soldier of the Chara's Border Mountain Patrol? He has been my partner this autumn. Adrian, I present you to Gervais, Baron of Peaktop."

  "I am pleased to meet you, sir," I said, touching my hand to heart and forehead.

  Myles's smile dropped away, followed by an expression of uncertainty. He looked toward his father, who was so far from smiling that I expected him to call for soldiers at any moment. Beside me, Carle said hastily, "Sir, I ask that you forgive him. He has only recently emigrated, and he is still learning Emorian ways."

  The baron's gaze continued to pierce me like a spearhead. "I would have thought," he said slowly, "that showing respect for one's betters was the custom in all of the Three Lands." He glanced over at his son, who was looking mutely unhappy, and his gaze relaxed. "Carle, we must go; Myles and I have business this day to tend to. I hope that you will join us for supper before you leave." He gave me one final, dark look and added, "You are welcome also, Soldier Adrian. I suggest, though, that you become better acquainted with the customs of your new land."

  I mumbled something that I hoped sounded properly submissive as the baron and his son turned their backs. They had gone a spear's length forward when Carle's hand closed upon my arm with a grip like a jackal's jaw.

  He marched us grimly toward the north gate of the pasture. The dog tried to follow us for several paces, but Carle shooed her back, and we left her at the gate, wagging her tail as she watched us leave. I waited until we were well into the orchard before asking, "What did I do?"

  "What did you do?" Carle blasted me a look that matched the baron's. "Adrian, you gave him the free-man's greeting! Have you forgotten you're a lesser free-man?"

  Actually, I had, but this didn't seem the moment to mention that. "I know I'm only supposed to give the free-man's greeting to my equals," I said, "but surely your baron must have realized I was only trying to be friendly. In Koretia—"

  Carle sighed, tossed back his cloak, and drew his sword. "Do you see this?" he said.

  His sword looked all too sharp in the winter light that fell through the trees. I swallowed and nodded.

  "If we lived in Koretia, I would have had to fight a dozen duels on your behalf by now, just to keep you from being killed by all the men you've insulted since arriving in this land. Be grateful we live in Emor, where people show more patience." With a grin, Carle sheathed his sword, then turned to catch the bundle of brightness that had flung itself upon him.

  After a moment, I identified the scarlet-cloaked bundle as a girl. She had no sooner kissed Carle than she hit him on the side of his head with her fist. Then she stood back and contemplated him with furious eyes.

  Carle rubbed his ear. "I'm glad to see you also, Erlina."

  "You took your time getting here," she responded, glaring at him as she placed her fists against her slender hips.

  "I'd have arrived here sooner if you'd been less subtle in your letters," Carle rejoined, scooping snow off the ground to place against his ear.

  "I told you last winter that I'd come of age. You should have known what that meant. What else did you expect me to say, with him reading all my letters?"

  "I didn't foresee him moving so quickly—"

  "I'm of age," she said firmly. "I'm a woman, though unlike you I didn't run out the door the minute I reached adulthood, leaving everyone else in the household to deal with him. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

  "So you've told me many times," said Carle, giving her one of his spell-binding smiles.

  Erlina seemed unmoved by such charms. "And you don't write enough. You don't write enough even to Myles; he's told me how much he misses hearing from you. He says you're even calling him 'sir' now, which he thinks is so foolish, though of course he'll never tell you, because he thinks you're much too wise to be—"

  "Erlina." Carle took hold of the young woman's hands and held them lightly. He said quietly, "Have you signed the betrothal papers yet?"

>   Erlina continued to frown at him, but she bit her lip before saying, "I had to. He was blaming Mother for my stubbornness."

  Carle sighed and released her. "I'll talk to him."

  "It won't do any good."

  "I'll talk to Gervais also. Perhaps there's a law we can use to annul the betrothal."

  "If there was one, you'd have thought of it by now," she said directly. "You know far more law than Gervais does. You're too late, Carle. And you're rude, too; you haven't introduced me to your friend."

  Carle rolled his eyes toward the leaves above us. "This extremely difficult creature that you see before you is my sister, Adrian. I'd present her to you, but she'd probably claw your face to pieces."

  "Don't be silly." Erlina spread the skirt of her gown and gave me a low curtsey. "Is Carle this much trouble in the army? You have my permission to hit him if you want," she told me hopefully.

  Carle groaned. "One of these days, Erlina, I'll teach you the Law of Army Rank. Until then— Heart of Mercy, he's coming." His voice grew suddenly low. "You'd better go, Erlina. He'll want to be the first to greet us."

  She was gone then, as quickly as she'd come, like a bright-winged bird fled to her nest. For a moment, all that I could hear was silence. Then, with no warning of his approach by sound or sight, a man emerged from the trees.

  The first thought I had was how much he looked like Carle. Though his hair was beginning to silver over like frost, his short locks were the same shade of red as Carle's, and he even had Carle's crooked smile. The charm was there too; I felt it even before he turned to gaze at me. Then, evidently feeling that his son deserved the first welcome, Carle's father said, "I knew that you would come home in the end."

  His voice was warm. By contrast, Carle's was as chill as the ice on the bark as he said, "Yes, sir. I have brought a guest with me."

  "So I see." Carle's words caused his father's smile to deepen. The older man turned to me and touched his heart and forehead, saying, "Verne son of Carle. You are welcome, young man. You are one of my son's friends, I take it."

  My hand was halfway to my breast by the time he finished speaking – after all, there was no question here about rank – but something made me hesitate. Perhaps it was only the remembrance of Gervais's dark look. Quickly I turned the greeting into a bow. I was rewarded – I saw upon raising my head again – with an approving look from Verne.

  "Well," he said to Carle, "I see that the army is not short of courtesy. You'll have learned many useful skills in the patrol, I'm sure. I am eager to learn of them."

  Coming from a man who had opposed his son's entrance into the army, this could be nothing other than an apology, but to my surprise, Carle did not follow up on his father's words with his own apology for having departed the family home without leave. "Yes, sir," he said in a flat voice. "I am permitted to visit, then?"

  "Have I not made that manifest?" The smiling man embraced the orchard with his arms, as though he would offer all its bounty to Carle. "You are most welcome, Carle; I have been looking forward to seeing you and talking with you. Now, as to your guest . . . The guest chamber is taken at the moment, I'm afraid. Your friend will have to stay in your main bed-chamber. I'm sure you remember the way to your extra chamber."

  A hiss that might have been an indrawn breath or the whisper of a blade against its sheath came from the direction of Carle. "I do, sir," he said in a voice as taut as a rope around a bound breacher's wrist. "Shall I show him to the house now?"

  "Yes, that would be wise; our dinner will be ready in an hour. I'll just go now and tell the cook of your arrival. Your mother," he added as an afterthought as he turned to go, "will be glad to see you. She has much to say to you, as I'm sure you know." And he gave another of his deep smiles and walked away, as silently as he had come. It occurred to me, as he disappeared between the slender trunks, that Verne had not asked my name.

  It was a while before I could think of what to say. As we walked slowly through the orchard, ducking snow-laden branches, Carle had an expression on his face as unrevealing as at my trial. Finally I said, "He is very gracious to guests."

  "Yes, he usually is," replied Carle, his eye on the building that was beginning to loom above the tree-line. "I counted on that in bringing you here."

  I was tongue-tied for a moment more, then said, "Your house must be large if you have two chambers to yourself."

  The red in Carle's hair seemed to flow in that moment to his face; his ears grew scarlet. After a moment, my gaze followed his to the great house above us, perched atop a mound.

  I stopped dead, my gaze rising up the four floors and taking in the number of windows in the stone building. Some of them, I now saw, were covered with glass.

  I turned back to Carle, who was avoiding my eye so assiduously that I laughed. "No wonder you were comfortable at Neville's home. And this orchard . . . ?"

  "Is my father's." Carle was still struggling to control his blush. "It's quite embarrassing. We have more money than Gervais does, which isn't how it's supposed to be."

  "Oh, yes," I said. "I seem to recall you telling me how good you are at keeping to the proper order in rank—"

  He swiped at me with his hand then, and we fell to laughing. It seems a good omen that we were still laughing when we entered Carle's house.

  o—o—o

  The thirty-first day of December in the 940th year a.g.l.

  Carle's bed-chamber, where I am staying, has a beautiful view of the black border mountains. I imagine that, as a child, he must have spent many hours dreaming at this window about becoming a patrol guard. I can also see the Chara's palace from here. It glows white at night, lit by flames that have burned, Carle tells me, for near to a thousand years. Even during the terrible civil war of Emor's early history, the flames were never doused.

  The bed here looks as though it were made for the Chara. It's finely crafted Arpeshian work and is so wide that Carle and I could easily sleep together on it. I was therefore surprised when Carle told me that he would stay in his extra chamber. I was going to protest, then realized the likely reason he wished to room separately. I really must question the lieutenant about the mystery of Carle's dreams.

  But I have mysteries enough to occupy me here. One is where Carle is staying in this house. He has put off my questions in that regard, except to say that he is well used to his extra chamber. Apparently the room I'm staying in was often used as a second guest chamber when Carle was growing up. So enigmatic is Carle about this that I almost have visions of him hiding himself away in order to carry on a secret love affair with one of the slave-women.

  The slaves are a second mystery. I don't mean, of course, that I am mystified by such things as would astonish a Koretian who had just arrived in this land. I have grown used, through my visits to the city, to the sight of slaves walking about naked-faced, talking as boldly as any free-man. Yet Verne seems to treat his slaves with greater generosity than the average Emorian. His slaves don't wear special clothes that distinguish them from free-men, and Verne always addresses them in the same soft, gentle voice he uses toward the rest of us. I cannot reconcile what I see with Fenton feeling so ill-used that he fled from his master. But Fenton never told me the full story of what happened. Perhaps Verne was not at fault at all; perhaps Fenton was being bullied by some of the other slaves here. Certainly the slaves have a sullen look, not in keeping with the considerate treatment they are receiving.

  But the biggest mystery of all is this: Why is Verne hosting a barbarian prince?

  "Prince" is the title Verne has given him. Alaric tried good-naturedly to explain to me his status on the mainland, but all I could gather is that his father rules over a territory, and that he is his father's heir. He is a mainland noble, at any rate, though much younger than the noble that Erlina is to marry: he is not much older than I am.

  Even so, the prince already has a wife and two young daughters. He revealed this last night as we were sitting at the dining table, waited upon by an army of se
rvants.

  "I married very young," he said, smiling. "Too young, perhaps. You know, sir, how family duties can restrict the direction of one's life." He bowed toward Verne, as he is in the custom of doing every few minutes, confounding my preconceptions of barbarian manners.

  In appearance, though, he is every bit a barbarian. His face is painted – I suppose for battle purposes – and his hair is as long as a boy's and is tied in braids. It's hard for me to imagine how any mainland woman could stand to be courted by someone looking like that, but I suppose barbarian women have lower standards.

  "My wife has known how restless I am," he continued in good Emorian, "and so she finally tells me: 'Alaric, my cherished one, what you want is not to be found in our tribe. You must search further – search even the Great Peninsula, where I think you will find your heart's desire. And when you have found it, return here and be happy.' She is a very wise woman, my wife."