The Book of Earth

by Marjorie B. Kellogg

  “With all the respect possible, my knight, under the circumstances.”

  Something like pain shadowed Hal’s eyes momentarily. The two men stared at each other, then Köthen took a step forward and held out his hand. Hal moved at the same instant to meet him. They clasped hands eagerly, with visible affection. The lordling stood by, astonished.

  “You’re looking well, Dolph.”

  “And you, considering. What brings you to Erfurt?”

  Hal regarded the younger man steadily. “I came to visit a friend, but I gather he’s left town.”

  Köthen laughed softly. The smile turned his rugged face briefly boyish. He reached out to pinch the red leather of Hal’s jerkin between two fingers. “I hope you’ll tell me, my knight, that you wear this still because the impoverished circumstances of your life deny you the luxury of a new wardrobe.”

  Hal looked down, spreading his arms to survey himself better. “What? You don’t like the cut? Or perhaps it’s the color. Yes, the color, no doubt. But I rather think it flatters me. I always hoped you’d grow to favor it yourself.”

  “There are more fashionable colors now in Erfurt.”

  “Ah, yes.” Hal sucked his teeth noisily. “The blue and yellow, perhaps? But you know me better, Dolph. Never one to change my color at the whim of fashion.”

  When Köthen made as if to turn away, Hal grasped his wrist and pulled him nearer. Swords rattled all around the barn but Köthen held up a hand and waved them away. “Give us some privacy here, for Christ’s sake!”

  The soldiers backed out of the barn. The lordling remained in the doorway, feeling suddenly irrelevant.

  “So, Dolph. What is this you’re up to?” Hal demanded quietly. “Conniving with your fellow peers is one thing. It’s what a baron does. But to take up your sword against His Majesty? Didn’t I teach you better than treason?”

  Köthen’s head dipped. Erde saw his eyes squeeze shut briefly. He took a breath and when he spoke, she could barely hear him. “You taught me everything I know that’s worth anything, but your most vivid lesson was one you never intended, and that was about the futility of devoting your life and loyalty to a weakling monarch.” He looked up at Hal intently. “We live in woeful times, Heinrich, listen to me. I will be a better master to our people. I will keep them safe. I will hold the barons in control. I will make the kingdom prosper again.”

  “You could do all that, Dolph—and I don’t doubt you could—and still do it in the service of your king. Come wear the Red with me. Make it honorable again. Are you so hungry for a crown?”

  Köthen shook him off with a snort of anguish. “You’ll force me to make an enemy of you.”

  “Your deeds here have done that for you already. Though it doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

  Köthen’s laugh was harsh this time. “Well, I’d rather you hated me!”

  “If I were to hate you, I’d have to give up hope of changing your mind.”

  “Hate me, then. Show me some human foible, Heinrich! Cut yourself down to life size in my eyes, so I can bear the pain of disappointing you.”

  “Ah, Dolph, I’m a foolish old man still unfashionably loyal to his king. Is that not disappointing enough?”

  “You’re not that old, and you’re certainly not foolish.” Köthen stared at him resignedly. “Which means you’re still dangerous, and my unwilling guest no matter what.” He turned away to walk farther into the barn, stretching. The fine dark links of his mail jingled musically along his arms. “Well, I’ll try to keep you alive as long as I can, though with this mad priest, there’s no telling . . .” He searched about vaguely as if at a loss for further conversation, then rounded again on the lordling. “Here! A seat for Baron Weisstrasse! For me, too, if you can find more than one.” He noticed Erde finally and seized on her as possibly neutral subject matter. “So, is this your latest? Starting them awfully young now, Heinrich. Looks hardly old enough to lift a blade.”

  “As old as you were, when you came to me.”

  Köthen’s shoulders hunched, then he shook off the memory. “What’s your name, boy? Speak up! What household are you from?”

  “He can’t, Dolph, and he’s not from any household. What lord would give their sons to me to train nowadays? He’s a mute orphan lad I saved from starvation, and he serves me well enough.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s a worthy lad and I’ll try to keep him alive as well. Though you don’t make it easy for me, my knight.”

  Hal eyed him satirically. “If I gave up my principles at my age, what would I have left?”

  Köthen turned back to grip Hal with both hands and shake him gently. “A comfortable rest of your life in my service, as my most valued counselor. Heinrich, I beg you, listen to reason.”

  “What is comfort without honor?” returned Hal recklessly, but his eyes over his grin were serious.

  “What is honor without power?” Köthen replied.

  “Ha. I should know never to debate the fine points with you. My sword was superior, but you were always the better politician.”

  “As events have proven.”

  “Perhaps. Though we haven’t seen the end of this yet. What of the prince? Have you left him alive?”

  Köthen flushed. “Of course! Did you think . . . ?”

  “I think you won’t actually claim a throne while it has a living heir.”

  “Carl is safe!” Köthen returned hotly. “Fool that he is.”

  Hal looked glum. “I won’t disagree with you there.”

  “I’ll rule as regent.”

  “The king still reigns.”

  “Where? You tell me where!” Köthen jabbed a finger at Hal like an angry schoolmaster. “You find me one corner of this land still loyal to that weak old man and I’ll go there and clean it out with my own hands! My own bare hands, Heinrich. I swear! This kingdom is dying and it needs a leader, a real leader, to make it whole again!”

  Into the chill silence that fell between them then came new sounds, from out on the street. Men’s deep voices booming out a liturgical chant. Listening a moment longer, Erde knew her worst fears had been realized.

  “Damn!” Köthen muttered, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  “My lord baron,” began the lordling from the door. “It’s . . .”

  “I know who it is, idiot! Why now? Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe he’ll just pass by.”

  Fighting a panic so visceral that it nearly froze her to the spot, Erde glanced wildly around the barn for some sign of where the dragon was hiding himself. She found nothing, and began to doubt if he was there at all. She clutched at the dragon brooch inside her shirt for comfort. It provided her none. The smooth stone was icy to her touch, as frigid as the wind outside, as chilled as her doubting heart. What if Earth had gone off without them? What if the she-goat had provided just enough strength to take him to Deep Moor, and he’d gone back to feed? He’d have no way of knowing he’d be leaving her to the grotesque mercies of the white-robed priest. The chanting grew louder as it neared.

  “They’re singing an exorcism,” noted Hal. Erde watched suspicion bloom across his face.

  “Are they really,” Köthen replied without a shred of interest. “Only you would know such a thing.”

  The singers rounded the corner and passed under the arch into the brickyard. Erde pulled her hood up and her cap down, and edged backward toward the darkest recesses of the barn. She knew it was hopeless. If the priest came in, he would sniff her out somehow. He had that gift.

  Köthen sighed and started for the door. “If only he’d keep his mind on his own business!”

  Hastily, Hal put himself in the way. “Dolph, don’t let him in here. Keep him away from me.”

  “I’d as soon keep him away from all of us.”

  Hal lowered his voice. “No joke, Dolph. I mean it. You don’t know what you’re into here. Keep him out. You won’t like what will come of it, even you.”

  “Even me. Ha. Spare me your contempt
, Heinrich.”

  “Dolph, I’m warning you. He’ll have me on the stake.”

  Erde knew who the knight was really worried about, and she was grateful. But she doubted that his offering himself up as a distraction would fool the priest for very long.

  Köthen of course could not understand as she did. He laughed. “Is that old reputation still dogging you? Come now, my knight. What is this unmanly terror of a mere cleric?”

  “You already know better than that.”

  “Well, all right, yes, I do. It doesn’t take very long, it’s true. But relax, he only burns witches and warlocks.”

  Hal nodded. “Precisely.”

  Köthen paused, eyes narrowing. “Heinrich, no one who knows you takes any of that old sorcery stuff seriously. You may die on the block, like a man, but at the stake? Not while I’m in charge.”

  “If you let him in here, you may not have the choice.”

  “I see.” Köthen eased back onto his heels, studying him. “You tell me, then, my knight: just what am I into that I don’t know about?”

  As Hal quickly weighed how much was safe to tell him, too soon there was someone at the door. The lordling stood aside with a bow. Erde shrank further into the shadows, burrowing into the straw and screaming in her mind for the dragon to come and save her. But the man who entered was not Brother Guillemo. It was Josef von Alte. Köthen stiffened, then moved a long step away from Hal. Von Alte blinked, his eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the barn. His silver hair brought in an icy glint from outside. He saw Köthen, then Hal. He squinted, then frowned.

  “Weisstrasse? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Hal bowed deeply. “Your servant as always, my lord of Alte.”

  Köthen snickered. “Don’t pick on him, Heinrich. He’s had a hard day, too. No, come to think of it, pick on him all you like. Save me the trouble.”

  Erde wished that, like the dragon, she could become invisible. But for the moment, these three rival barons were too busy jockeying for position to notice a mere prentice boy. She watched her father covertly, breathless at being thrust into his presence like this, without warning. From the rooftop, he’d looked all right. She remembered how he used to fill doorways. She thought his slimmer shape suited him. But close up, his eyes were pouchy and his skin sallow. It wasn’t just age. Hal was probably twenty years older and looked far more fit. She saw her father was ill at ease. At Tor Alte, she’d thought him a model of the worldly, modern courtier, even when she didn’t agree with him. But here, shown up against the likes of Köthen and Hal Engle, he seemed provincial, a bit pretentious, and painfully aware of it. It wasn’t his clothing or his accent, but his lack of confidence, as if somewhere in the journey between Tor Alte and Erfurt, his will had been shattered. (How ironic, that during the very same journey, her own had been forged.) Only cunning and bravado kept Baron Josef from complete collapse. Erde blamed it on the priest and his promises of glory. If her father had stayed at home to mind his own lands, like his mother the baroness had insisted on doing, Erde thought he could have learned to rule properly. Now he was working very hard to be bully and likable, which was not really in his nature, especially when faced with Köthen’s unconcealed disdain. There was also the disadvantage of not understanding why these two men before him now, who ought to have been blood enemies, met him with an unidentifiable solidarity and identical expressions. A sharp rise in the volume of the chanting saved him from having to respond to Köthen’s gibe.

  “What is he doing out there?” Köthen was irritable, as if von Alte was responsible for the existence of the priest as an obstacle in his life. Which in a way, he was.

  Baron Josef looked faintly embarrassed. “Performing an exorcism.”

  “Told you,” murmured Hal.

  “But why is he here?”

  “My lord Köthen, he came on the word of your messenger.”

  “I sent him no messenger.”

  “Then one who claimed to be your messenger. An old man with a limp. Looked like he’d just been in a fight.”

  “Say again?” Hal came up beside him. “An old man? With a limp? Did he have a fresh gash on his cheek right here?”

  “You describe him exactly. Perhaps he was your messenger, Weisstrasse?”

  “Hardly.”

  “But you know the man? He didn’t mention you.”

  “Well, that’s something at least.”

  Von Alte frowned at him suspiciously.

  “I mean, I was mistaken. I only thought I knew him.” Hal turned away with a stunned and sickly look. “Alas for the world. Treason is everywhere.” He wandered over to the nail keg that the lordling had pulled up for him moments ago. He sat down on it heavily and buried his head in his hands. Erde understood his anguish. You save someone’s life, or teach them everything they know, and still they betray you.

  Köthen stared after Hal curiously, then returned his attention to von Alte. “What did this messenger say to bring Guillemo so quickly and so . . . noisily?”

  “The usual. I only heard part of it. Something about the witch-woman and a dragon.” Josef chose this first opportunity of being alone with Köthen to make a play for his sympathy. “He’s obsessed, you know. You saw his reaction to your men’s dragon scare. He sees them under every rock. But there’s never any truth to it. My whole time with him has been one long chase after specters and will-o-the-wisps.”

  “Then why do you stay with him if he’s such a burden?”

  “Why do you welcome him into your town? My lord Köthen, our reasons are the same.”

  “Why do either of you have anything to do with the man?” cried Hal from his nail keg. “He’s not just inconvenient, he’s unclean. Unclean! Filth spews from his mind and blasphemy from his mouth! He corrupts everything he touches!”

  “Of course, Heinrich,” soothed Köthen reasonably. “We all know he’s mad, but the people believe in him. The man who brought you the message, von Alte, was he in earnest?”

  “Oh, quite. The man was obviously terrified.”

  “You see, my knight? The people want to be saved—from hunger, from disorder, and especially from dragons. You don’t understand this because if you see a disorder, you try to fix it yourself, and if you ever met a dragon, you’d welcome it into your library for closer study. But not everyone is so equal to the world. They want to be taken care of.”

  Erde was sure Köthen was right. Though Old Ralf had been told that Earth had saved his life, he’d only pretended to accept the idea of him for as long as he considered himself at risk in the dragon’s presence. Once he was safely out of range, the old fear and superstition went back to work on him. Either that, or he’d been a spy for the king’s enemies all along, but she thought the fact that he’d reported the dragon and not the King’s Knight proved it was abiding terror that had driven him to it. Of course, the result was the same in the long run.

  Outside, the chanting ceased.

  Her moment of grace had ended, her brief idyll while time stopped for politics and manly posturing among three men whose decency had been sorely tried, but who still retained their basic humanity. Outside, the real evil lurked, and it was coming in to join them. With Hal no longer standing between her and her father, Erde’s last illusion of safety evaporated. She burrowed deeper into the hay, hoping to back imperceptibly behind the feed bin.

  When he appeared in the doorway, Erde recognized instantly that Brother Guillemo was no longer sane. Despite the biting cold, he wore his rough robe open to his waist, where the belt was cinched in so tightly that it left long red chafe marks on his belly. Snowflakes caught in the thick black hair matting his chest. His feet were also bare. The hard and blackened look of them suggested that he’d gone shoeless for quite a while. His hood was thrown back, revealing his bald head which, before, he had taken such trouble to conceal when not in one of his transports of prayer. But all this could have been detail for one more role, assumed like the others to fit his current purpose, except for
the terror deep within his eyes. He looked like a man standing naked in a gale.

  Erde wondered why it should be that she could read this man so truly, this one man whom she hated and feared above all others. She’d been able to from the moment she set eyes on him—even before, when in Tor Alte’s great-hall she’d seen through the lie of the white-robe claiming to be Guillemo Gotti. She felt connected to him in some awful, inexplicable way, and recalled Rose’s insistence with Hal about the priest’s real gift for prophecy. She wished she’d had more time to discuss it and its relationship to her own future, before she had to face him again.

  But here he was, waiting just within the door frame, rocking slightly, as if getting his bearings, the one thing she knew he would never quite have again. Köthen and von Alte moved instinctively to triangulate the priest, making Hal the third corner, unarmed though he was and with his head still buried in his hands. No one said a word. The lordling reached behind him for his horse’s reins and backed out of the barn, grateful to leave Guillemo to his superiors.

  In the silence, Guillemo’s wild expression calmed a bit and became crafty. He glanced from von Alte to Köthen and back again. “Where is it? Is it here? Is it gone? Did it leave any sign?”

  Köthen cleared his throat. “Do join us, Brother. What were you expecting to find?”

  Guillemo squinted at him. “Ah. Then it’s gone. Again, I’m too late.”

  “What is gone?”

  “The witch’s minion. The Devil-beast your messenger spoke of.”

  “Not my messenger, good Brother.”

  “Not?” Guillemo frowned and looked to Josef von Alte, who shrugged defensively. The priest’s hands clenched, then brushed the air as if shooing flies. “Ah, I see it now. Some demon mocks me. I am being tested . . . no!” His restless movements stilled. He sniffed carefully and peered around into the shadows. “No, the dark clouds roil and gather. He was here. He’s gone now, but he will return for her. No. He’s here. I feel him near.” He paced in a small circle, taking in all corners of the barn. “I feel him.”