Her emotions were conflicted: exhilaration that her husband was safe and guilt at her contentment, when so many other Keelan families would soon hear the news she had avoided—of a loved one dead or seriously wounded.
She stood to go inside. She had things to do. Halfway to the manor front door, she caught movement from a corner of her eye, and she turned her head. A rider approached on the tree-lined drive leading a hundred yards to the manor. It was Esyl Havant, one of the workers at the Caernford semaphore station. Delivering messages from the station to Keelan Manor occurred so often, Culich had joked they should have built the station next the manor to save on horses and the station workers’ time. Havant frequently made several trips a day to the manor, so often that Maera once said they should count him as part of the manor’s staff. A friendly, though nondescript man, with thinning hair, he always had a good word for everyone.
Normally, Breda passed a few pleasant words with Esyl, but this seemed like the wrong time to receive new messages. She stopped, her hand touching her throat. What if the first message that morning was in error or something had changed? Her husband hadn’t come home yet—anything was possible.
Havant pulled up by the front steps and called out from his horse. “Sen Keelan! Wonderful news came in on the semaphore. The clans defeated the Narthani!”
He pulled out a sheet of paper from a saddlebag and waved it in the air. “This message is to all Caedelli on the island. The stationmaster is having copies made as fast as possible and distributing them. I’m delivering copies, and, of course, one is for you and your family.”
By now, Breda had descended the steps and rushed to the horse. Havant reached down and handed the sheet to her, and then he turned his horse and rode off.
She read the paper immediately.
From: Hetman Orosz
To: All clanspeople of Caedellium
On the fourthday, third sixday, month of Mefilton, year 414 of the settlement of Caedellium, on the plain west of Moreland City, the free clans of Caedellium met a Narthani army supported by Eywell and Selfcellese clans. After desperate fighting, the Eywell clan was crushed and the Narthani suffered severe losses and are withdrawing. Praise God.
She went inside and called her daughters to come read it. Then she had them gather all workers at the manor that day, so that they, too, could read a semaphore message that would live in Caedellium history.
Breda proposed a celebratory libation. They read the message aloud, over and over, and after the final reading, Breda went to Culich’s study, put the sheet on his desk, and smoothed out a few wrinkles created after numerous hand-to-hand passages. Her husband would want to keep this paper, perhaps even frame it.
Maera Kolsko-Keelan
Maera determined that today she would work on being nice to everyone she interacted with—in penitence for her behavior the last several days. The previous evening, she had cursed at Elian for dropping a dish, as the elderly woman cleaned up after evening meal. Elian’s intimidated look and glistening eyes jolted Maera.
“Oh, Elian, I’m sorry I said that to you. Please excuse me. There’s just so much going on.”
“That’s all right, Sen Maera. What with the baby coming and Ser Yozef away to Merciful God knows what, it’s no wonder you’re . . . you know . . . excitable.”
An apology given and accepted, Maera still noticed Elian keeping a cautious eye and excusing herself for the evening with more eagerness than usual.
Only when preparing for bed did Maera reflect on her behavior the last few days. It hadn’t been the first time she’d snapped at Elian and Brak; plus, she’d brusquely declined an invitation for a mid-day gathering in Abersford with several women she knew. She also recalled sniping at Sen Myrfild, Yozef’s partner in papermaking.
She even stewed over delays in developing the University of Abersford. Her husband, Yozef, had asked her to take on the responsibility of serving as chancellor of the university—a scholasticum, as Caedelli termed formal collections of scholastics—but with expanded numbers and a dedicated building complex. Inherently interested in the concept, she had eagerly taken on the task. She also recognized it as a venue to establish an identity based on her ability and not just on being someone’s daughter or wife.
Dealing with the myriad details of planning infrastructure and recruiting scholastics, her worry about Yozef and her father, and the need for naps and relieving her bladder all made for a cranky pregnant woman.
Thus, she decided—for the next day and for as long as she could—to remain civil, no matter what preoccupied her mind.
She apologized again to Elian the next morning and went to the barn to find Brak, who responded to her apology with a grunt and returned to cleaning stalls. Maera then walked in to Abersford, slowly, given her condition, and found Myrfild in the paper factory. She didn’t outright apologize, but she did her best to sound pleasant and tried to seem spontaneous when mentioning how much Yozef respected him. She then sat on a bench in the town square for an hour, practicing smiling at passersby and chitchatting with those she knew. She didn’t return home until near mid-day, to find a nervous Elian pacing on the porch.
“Sen Maera, where have you been!? A semaphore message came for you, and the Abersford station operator has looked for you the last several hours. He’s been by the house twice.”
Maera’s throat constricted, and her eyes widened. “A message? From who?”
“I don’t know,” said Elian, “but he left it the last time he came by. It’s on the dining room table.”
Maera rushed into the adjoining room. There, on the table, lay a single sheet of paper, folded, not sealed, and wrinkled as if it had been carried around for several hours—which it had been. She snatched it off the table, unfolded and read it, then sank onto a wooden chair by the table and wept.
Elian rushed to her, knelt, and put one hand on her knee and the other on a shoulder. “Sen Maera, I pray it isn’t bad news about Yozef.”
Maera choked back tears enough to say, “He’s safe. Father, too. That’s all it says. Yozef will be home in a few days.”
Maera wiped her face, as she hiccupped in her attempt to stifle sobs. “I’ll be all right. Thank you, Elian. Don’t be concerned.”
An hour later, Maera sat on the front veranda, looking out at the ocean. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried so hard, even though it had lasted only a minute. She ruminated on the cause, which led to a conclusion both surprising and soothing.
I knew the marriage to Yozef was a logical decision for both of us. We never expressed words of affection. I felt comfortable with him, as he did with me, and obviously, he found me attractive, or at least enough to enjoy sharing a bed. I told myself we had a good marriage, but it’s obviously more than just acceptable. When he left with Father to go to Moreland and face the Narthani, I hardly spoke to him. Then, the thought of him dead . . . I can’t bear even the thought. A life without him seems desolate. I’m overjoyed that Father is safe, but I don’t think I would have cried like that only for Father’s safety. It was Yozef. I love him the way I know Mother loves Father.
Even so, part of her shied away from saying the words. After all, he hadn’t said them either. But why should that hold her back, except for a fear he didn’t feel the same? She knew what the Word would say or her mother; her love of him shouldn’t be conditional on his love for her.
Serlip Dogen
Far from Moreland City, 7,258 miles, a Narthani woman washed the clothes of her husband, two daughters, and three of her five sons. Hands rough and red from decades of that task, she kneaded the clothes in a tub of water, brushed aside hair streaked with gray, and stretched joints stiffened from a lifetime of work. The Dogen family labored on farmland belonging to Nuthrat Metin, a colonel in the Narthani army. Her husband worked as the property’s blacksmith, with two sons apprenticed to their father and a third son who oversaw teams of slaves working the crop fields. The latter work made the Dogen family constantly aware that even with th
eir hard life, many others suffered in worse conditions. The Dogen family derived from a people conquered by the Narthani seventy years earlier, a people now recognized as Narthani, even if from among the lower levels of that society, whereas the Metin slaves had descended from peoples conquered within the last two generations.
Her grandparents were their family’s first generation released from slavery. Narthani custom required their release, because the family had served faithfully and without rebelling when in slave status. Serlip remembered stories told to her by grandmother, Sirona—the only knowledge passed on of the family’s origin.
Serlip comforted herself that three of her sons had solid positions in service on the Metin estate and that her daughters would likely marry men also in Metin service or men from neighboring estates. She would have those five children near her. Four years previously, the Narthani had ordered her eldest two sons, Ergin and Yazar, to report for induction. Serlip and her husband had known the call would inevitably come. Yet they felt consoled when the estate’s master, Metin, was pleased enough with the family’s service to promise to keep the two sons within the units he commanded. He assured the parents that no further call would come to claim their other three sons.
Serving under Metin also meant the sons could communicate with their family more often than most men in the Narthani army—where service might be thousands of miles and months of travel away. There had even been two visits home when the two sons accompanied Metin, who, while in distant posts most of the time, made rare inspection visits to the property. Once, the entire family reunited again for two months, when Metin brought his family to stay at the estate after his long tour at an Iraquinik front.
The precious reunion turned bitter when the two sons left again, this time for an extended duty serving under Metin in a distant land Serlip had never heard of. In the following four years, the family received three short letters, both written by Yazar, because Ergin had never taken to the limited schooling workers’ children could attend.
Metin granted troops originating from his estate the privilege of sending their letters with his in a mail packet. When a year passed since Serlip had received the last letter, she told herself it was due to the distance, the mail having to come by ship and then overland, and the burdens of her sons’ duties. Still, yesterday she felt disappointed yet again when a mail packet from Metin to the estate overseer arrived with no letters from her sons.
Two years passed before Serlip learned that Ergin had fallen in a battle on an island named Caedellium. The fate of Yazar remained forever unknown.
CHAPTER 2: TARGET, PARTHMAL
Moreland City
The hetmen meeting that followed the Battle of Moreland City ended with the sun just touching the western mountains. Welman Stent, the hetman of Clan Stent, stood outside the stone meeting building alongside Hetmen Adris and Hewell, while the Stent and Hewell clansmen prepared to ride hard for the Narthani supply base at Parthmal, just inside Eywell Province. They would attack the encampment only if they surprised the garrison before it received word of the battle. An hour of light remained, and they planned on covering as many miles as possible before darkness. Since the Stent clan contributed more men to the raid than Hewell did, by agreement, Hetman Stent would lead the raid.
Four other clans, Adris, Bultecki, Orosz, and Pewitt, would harass the withdrawing Narthani army, picking off individuals and patrols and setting traps and ambushes until the Narthani crossed into more secure Eywell territory. None of the six clans was to engage the Narthani in battle. Although the clansmen were mounted and thus more mobile than the Narthani, the clans would be no match for the formidable Narthani infantry and artillery in a direct confrontation.
“The three of us saw firsthand what the Narthani are capable of,” said Klyngo Adris, shaking his head. “It will take the Moreland Clan a generation or more to recover from the number of their men killed in only a few minutes.”
“Aye,” agreed Lordum Hewell, “which is why all of us need to be cautious and audacious at the same time. Especially you, Stent, as we ride for Parthmal. I’ve agreed to let you lead this raid, because someone has to and more of your clansmen will go than mine, but only as long as I don’t see Hewell men wasted to no purpose.”
Hewell’s statement didn’t offend Stent. He would have said the same in the Hewell hetman’s position. Coordination among clans was critical to resist the Narthani, but his own clanspeople came first.
“We’ll push to get ahead of the Narthani, while the other clans harass and slow them,” said Stent, “then look to take Parthmal only if we catch them unawares. If not, we’ll circle back and help snipe at the Narthani army. I might also send scouts on toward Hanslow, depending on what happens at Parthmal.”
Lowering his voice and stepping closer to the others, Stent switched to first names. “Lordum, Klyngo . . . what do you think of this Yozef Kolsko from Keelan? I’ve heard reports and know of some of the innovations he’s brought to Caedellium, but your two clans are joining the Tri-Clan Alliance. Do you know more about him?”
Lordum Hewell shook his head. “Probably most of what you’ve already heard, except that Culich Keelan thinks highly of him . . . enough so he’s let Kolsko marry his eldest daughter.”
“Maera,” said Stent. “I’ve only seen her a couple of times, but I hear the stories.”
“Whatever you heard is probably true,” said Adris, laughing. “She’d be a handful for any man. Smart as can be, with a tongue that can flay at a hundred feet. I know that suitors have come and gone for several years, either not wanting her for a wife, no matter the advantages of a marriage link to Keelan, or her running them off at the first meeting.”
“I think she’s pictured unfairly,” said Hewell. “I’ve met her a few more times than Klyngo and found her extremely honest, possibly to a fault. She’s certainly got a mind of her own, and I’ve heard that scholastics within Keelan think she could have been a scholastic of the highest order if she hadn’t been a Keelan hetman’s daughter.”
“So, I wonder even more about her marrying this Kolsko,” said Stent. “Culich Keelan is as canny as they come, so he must see a major advantage to the clan to approve the wedding.”
“Pardon,” said Cadoc Gwillamer, as he walked up to the threesome. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re wondering about Yozef Kolsko.”
“Yes, Cadoc,” said Hewell. “You’re part of the Tri-Clan Alliance. What do you know about Kolsko?”
“I’ve met him once, and I’ve talked with and exchanged letters with Culich. He’s mentioned Kolsko many times. At first, it was just casual comments, but then, during the last months, it’s been obvious Kolsko is important in Culich’s thinking and planning.”
“What of these rumors he washed up on Caedellium a few years ago?” asked Adris. “That’s what Culich told me, but I wasn’t sure what to believe.”
“That seems to be true,” said Gwillamer. “Culich told me the same story, plus, in Gwillamer we’ve heard the tale from other sources, including some who live in the Abersford area. They found Kolsko on a beach, naked and not speaking Caedelli. I’ve also heard some people believe he didn’t wash in from the sea, and that somehow he was ‘placed’ on the beach.”
“Placed?” queried Stent. “What does that mean?”
“My God . . . ,” mumbled Hewell, in a tone that got the other men looking at him. “That would go with another rumor I’ve heard, and one I’d discounted as fanciful.”
Hewell looked around as if to check whether anyone outside their foursome stood within hearing distance. “Septarsh,” he whispered.
“What!” exclaimed Stent, who also looked around and lowered his voice. “Are you serious? Some people consider this Kolsko to be a Septarsh, an agent of God?”
“I know,” said Gwillamer. “I’ve heard the same rumor, though I’m not subscribing to it myself, but you have to wonder. Kolsko arrived in Keelan only a few years ago and now has introduced new products that are making him exceed
ingly wealthy, has married the Keelan hetman’s oldest daughter, and is obviously important in our struggle against the Narthani.
“I don’t know if you’ve all heard the stories about the Buldorian raid on St. Sidryn’s Abbey on Keelan’s southern coast?”
Adris and Stent shook their heads, while Hewell nodded and spoke. “Culich told me a little of it one evening over ales, but no details.”
“I know more,” said Gwillamer. “St. Sidryn’s isn’t too far from my clan’s border with Keelan, and there’s regular travel and trade. Plus, Culich came to their western town of Dornfeld some months back. Dornfeld sits on the Gwillamer/Keelan border. The Narthani and the Eywellese seemed to threaten an attack on that part of Keelan province and might push on into Gwillamer. Culich came with advisors to Dornfeld, and I met them there. We discussed what response to make. The evening before all of us met, Culich and I talked, and he mentioned bringing Kolsko along to see if the man might have any useful suggestions. That’s when he told me details of the Buldorian attack on St. Sidryn’s Abbey. Evidently, the Keelanders saw no way to stop the Buldorians until Kolsko suggested a tactic, one that was successful in repelling the raiders with major losses, compared to relatively few casualties for the Keelanders.”
“And now this Kolsko was instrumental in our victory over the Narthani,” said Stent, running a hand over his shaven head. “I don’t think there’s any doubt things might have turned out much worse today if it wasn’t for Kolsko’s analysis of the situation and suggestions for attacking the Narthani flank.”
“And none of you have seen for yourselves up close the effect of artillery,” said Gwillamer. “I know you saw what happened to the Morelanders slaughtered by the Narthani muskets and cannon, but my clansmen and I were nearby when those odd artillery pieces of Kolsko’s first fired at the end block of Narthani infantry. When that block was destroyed, Keelan and Gwillamer horsemen overran the nearby Narthani cannon, and I saw Kolsko turning the Narthani’s own cannon on the next infantry blocks.
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 2
