Of Limited Loyalty cc-2

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The difficulty there was simple: they had no monopoly on magick, only a monopoly in Auropa and the Near East. The Twilight People had their own magickal traditions. Vlad assumed the same was true of the Far East and of the Dark Continent. The Tharyngians, since their revolution, had created yet another magickal tradition, the destruction of which could explain why Norisle was willing to bankrupt itself waging wars it could never be truly expected to win.

  That thought brought him all the way back to Ezekiel Fire. Assuming the man knew at least as much as Vlad did, there seemed no question that Postsylvania could be home to its own, brand new, magickal tradition. Not only would it have the freedom of the Tharyngian system, but it would be paired with an absolute belief that God intended men to know this new way of magick. Power, when coupled with a vibrant theology, often wrought havoc.

  Vlad rose and left the laboratory, walking down toward the river. He looked west. “If you find a new magick out there, my friends, I don’t know whether I hope you bring it back, or destroy every trace of it. My fear is that if any of it is even rumored to exist, Norisle will feel forced to extinguish it, and I do not think the Crown will be particularly concerned with how many people die to make that happen.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  10 May 1767 Happy Valley Postsylvania, Mystria

  The Steward gestured gently toward the ceiling. The rifle’s muzzle rose accordingly, despite Nathaniel’s valiant effort to keep it centered on Branch’s chest. “You will find, gentlemen, that your guns will not fire within the precincts of Happy Valley.”

  Owen pointed his rifle at the floor and covered the firestone with his thumb. He invoked magick, but nothing happened. How is that possible? He let that question linger in his mind because du Malphias had moved Owen’s own musket aside the same way Ezekiel had raised Nathaniel’s. With contempt on his face, not the Steward’s kindness, but it was the same nonetheless.

  “I don’t need no rifle to kill you, Branch.”

  Ezekiel raised a hand. “Please, Brother Nathaniel…”

  “I ain’t no member of your flock.”

  “But the Good Lord commanded us to consider all men our brothers.” The Steward imposed himself between them and Rufus Branch. “Brother Rufus has been among us for over two years now. I have spent long hours with him, teaching him to read and write. He is a very peaceful man and has been of great help to me. He has borne witness to his sins, but they are in the past. They have been forgiven.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “I ain’t done no forgiving for his poisoning me, trying to murder me. Murder for hire, too. And I don’t suppose his wife done forgive him none for abandoning her and a half-dozen halfwit children in Temperance.”

  The older man smiled indulgently. “You should understand that Brother Rufus was most candid about his misdeeds. We did not accept him immediately. However, he worked with us and for us. He proved himself to us. Though we value children highly, because he has left a wife and children behind, we have not let him wed. Even so, he does his share of duty minding children. He also has not taken a drop of hard cider, ale, or whiskey since he has been with us.”

  Nathaniel let his rifle rest back on his shoulder. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “But you must believe it, or believe I am a liar.”

  “Begging your pardon, Steward, but I onliest got to believe you done been fooled.”

  Rathfield stepped up and laid a hand on Nathaniel’s left shoulder. “I think, Mr. Woods, we should take the Steward at his word.”

  “Colonel, this man tried to murder me.”

  “I appreciate that, but I would point out that Colonial authority ended somewhere back at the crest of the Westridge Mountains.” Rathfield addressed the Steward. “I would think, sir, that you would agree that Mr. Woods’ grievances do deserve to be aired.”

  Ezekiel Fire nodded solemnly. “Confession is the first step to redemption. Brother Rufus, you will attend a council meeting this evening. We shall discuss your situation.”

  “Yes, Steward.”

  The way that Rufus bowed his head, and the respect in his voice, surprised Owen. Rufus Branch had been a loud, lazy, corrupt braggart who drank and brawled and ran a gang of ne’er-do-wells in Temperance Bay. Though he joined the Mystrian Rangers and fought valiantly at Fort Cuivre, he fled the Crown Colonies when he failed to murder Nathaniel. Save for a musket ball fired by Makepeace’s little brother, Justice, he would have succeeded.

  But the man before them was a man transformed. He clearly wasn’t afraid of any of them, but neither was he defiant. He’d become passive and accepting. Owen had no idea what had happened to him, but the change was nothing he could have believed without seeing it with his own eyes.

  And I am still not sure I believe it.

  The older man smiled. “Until then, you will remain here and continue your translations. You’ll have no supper, of course.”

  “You are very kind, Steward. Thank you.”

  Ezekiel guided them back out of the large building and back to the workshop. “You will understand if I have you stay in the workshop loft, rather than split you up and install you in our homes. No matter what verdict is rendered this evening, some hard feelings will result. If you do choose to wander the village, I would ask that you leave your guns in the loft. I promise no mischief will be done. It is just that guns do excite the blood of the young, and we would seek to avoid that.”

  Owen lifted a hand. “This evening, when Rufus stands before you, what might his punishment be?”

  The older man clasped his hands behind his back. “He will atone for his sins, but please do not imagine that his punishment will be based on the need for anyone to be vengeful. I understand, Mr. Woods, that you are aggrieved, and rightly so. But I would ask you to understand that in committing the sins he did against you, that Brother Rufus removed himself from the state of God’s Grace. Our punishment will be intended to bring him closer to God.”

  “Give me ’bout three minutes with him, Steward, and I can guarantee you he’ll be as close to God as he’ll ever get.”

  Ezekiel Fire glanced at the ground for a moment, unable to hide the hint of a smile which greeted Nathaniel’s words. When he looked back up again, he’d composed his face in such a manner that it made Owen think of a kindly old man indulging an enthused child right before laying down the law. “God has clearly gifted you with a sharp mind, Mr. Woods, and a sense of responsibility. So, I ask you, would killing Rufus Branch undo any of the things he has done? Or, is it only by living a good and honest life that he will be able to make amends?”

  Nathaniel frowned. “I can see the trail you’re blazing here, but I gotta say, just because you ain’t seen a dog bite no one ain’t no reason to believe that dog’s cured of biting.”

  “Brother Rufus is not a dog.”

  Owen touched Nathaniel’s forearm. “You can understand, Steward, why Nathaniel is reluctant to accept what you’re saying about Brother Rufus.”

  “I can, very easily.” The old man smiled. “And this is why I believe, with my whole heart, that God brought you all here. He has great things in mind for you, and Brother Rufus’ change of heart is clearly part of his plan.”

  They followed the Steward in silence to the workshop, which had been completely vacated, and climbed into the loft. There they made themselves at home. Owen sat down and retrieved a journal to start making notes. Nathaniel pulled the bullet from his rifle, scraped the powder out of the chamber, and fitted a new firestone into the firing assembly.

  Makepeace leaned against the wall. “Seems to me, Nathaniel, you may owe Rufus an apology.”

  “How is that?”

  “If Rufus has truly accepted the Lord and is living a holy life, then his sins have been forgiven.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “And exactly how is we going to know he’s being truthful? He could just be out there spinning a web of lies gonna come back and catch us all up.”

  Rathfield, seated against the loft rai
ling, smiled indulgently. “You clearly don’t understand the power of a conversion experience, Woods.”

  “I ain’t saying it cain’t happen. Makepeace here tells a powerful story about him and the Good Lord. What I want to know is how we know it’s true what Rufus says.”

  Rathfield looked up. “It’s true because God put it in Brother Rufus’ heart to confess his sins and accept the Good Lord as his savior. And he could not say that he’s done so, if God had not inspired him to do so.”

  Nathaniel set his rifle down. “Now, if I is hearing you right, you’re telling me that you know he’s not lying because he tells you he’s not lying because God done spoke to him and told him not to lie?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But what if he was lying about God speaking to him?”

  “The Good Book says…”

  The guide raised a finger. “How do you know that what the Good Book says ain’t a lie neither?”

  Rathfield blinked. “We know the Good Book is true because it was inspired by God, and God cannot lie. It says so right in the Good Book.”

  Nathaniel looked over at Owen. “Kinda convenient, ain’t it, to have a book believed to be true simply because there’s a verse in there somewhere what tells you it’s true?”

  Rathfield shot to his feet. “I will not tolerate blasphemy, Woods.”

  Nathaniel stood, but slowly and languidly. “Well now, I don’t think I’s blaspheming. I’m just pointing out what is what. Now God, He done made every animal under the sun afore a single jot or tittle of that Good Book was writ down. Ain’t that so?”

  Makepeace nodded. “The Scribes did come considerable later than events in the Garden.”

  “And that means that when I see a bird pretending to have a broken wing to lead a predator away from a nest, that I’m watching a God-given talent for deception on display. Ain’t that so?”

  Owen nodded. “He does have a point.”

  “Animals do not have souls, Strake. Men are not animals.” Rathfield lifted his chin. “If God inspires a man to change his life, and that man shares the good news of his redemption, he is doing the work of God. When a man gives his testimony within a Fellowship, it is to confirm the faith of others and bring them closer to God. It is proof that God has touched them. Do you doubt Makepeace’s story, Woods?”

  “Never said I did, but that’s on account of I knowed him before and after.”

  Rathfield smiled. “And yet you won’t allow Brother Rufus to show you who he has become. I would have thought you were more fair-minded than that, Woods.”

  Kamiskwa made a comment in Altashee. Makepeace chuckled and the tips of Nathaniel’s ears flushed with hot color. “I ain’t saying he hasn’t changed. I am just saying I am powerful disinclined to believe it. And as my brother has taken it upon himself to remind me, I have done me a bit of changing down through the years. Ain’t never been because God paid me no never-mind, but I done changed.”

  Owen made a quick note in his journal. “Colonel Rathfield, might I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, Strake.” The man beamed. “How may I help you?”

  “I just wanted to record your reaction to the fact that the Steward was able to move Nathaniel’s rifle without touching it, and to prevent the rest of us from firing our own weapons.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Did you see what happened in there?”

  The blond man nodded solemnly. “The Steward gestured and Mr. Woods, being polite, followed the implied request.”

  “Ain’t exactly how I remember it.” Nathaniel sat back down again and began reloading his rifle.

  “Me, neither.” Owen looked up from the page. “Colonel, I was unable to fire my rifle.”

  Rathfield’s face darkened. “Do you mean to tell me you actually tried to fire your rifle?”

  “Yes.” Owen looked at Makepeace and Kamiskwa. “Did you two try?”

  Makepeace shook his head.

  Kamiskwa shrugged. “It was not necessary.”

  “Try now.”

  Rathfield raised both hands. “Absolutely not. I forbid it. You took what the Steward said to be a declaration of his ability to stop your rifle from working. It was clearly a request for gentlemanly behavior which, I am pleased to see, at least two of my companions agreed to.”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this sort of magick, Colonel. If you read the reports I sent to Horse Guards, you’d know that Guy du Malphias was able to do the same thing: to make magick work at range.”

  Rathfield exhaled slowly. “You’ll be pleased to note, I believe, that certain officials were able to put your dubious observation into perspective, Strake. Your attempt to call undue attention to yourself was apparent, and treated properly. You alone saw du Malphias wield this sort of magick. None of your companions did, did they?”

  Nathaniel laughed. “Someone has to have a fancy word for this. You is asking me to take the word of a drunken, murderous scoundrel that he ain’t no more any of them things on one hand. and then suggesting that a friend who ain’t never lied a day in his life is lying about something that important? That do beat all.”

  “The fact of the matter is, Woods, that we know, because of centuries of tradition, that magick only works through touch.” Rathfield’s eyes became angry slits. “You are asking me to accept Strake’s word for something that contradicts hundreds of years of teachings by Church authorities. That’s a rather tall order, don’t you think?”

  Nathaniel didn’t even look up from his rifle’s breech. “It might be, Colonel, but then, you might want to think on it this way. Just because a baby ain’t never taken a step on its own, don’t mean that someday it might not. Maybe all your tradition just speaks to times when men is crawling through magick, and Owen here, he done seen men beginning to stride proudly. Ain’t no fault of your own that what you think you know is wrong.”

  Rathfield hesitated, then glanced down. “Your commentary warrants some thinking, Woods.” His head came back up. “Regardless, I expect all of you to abide by the Steward’s wishes. We leave our guns here. We leave all of our weapons here. We shall get to know these people and their customs.”

  Owen forced himself to nod and put on an angry expression. He knew that’s what Rathfield expected. It gave him the opportunity to hide his true reaction, which was complete astonishment. Rathfield’s command was at complete odds with the nature of his mission as stated back in Temperance Bay. And as the discovery of the Antediluvian ruins had led them to the golden tablets, Rathfield should have been demanding that they be turned over to him. And then he should have ordered the people back over the mountains.

  I wonder if the petition was the only missive sent to the Queen. The Steward had welcomed Rathfield, which was an act that would seem to have been at odds with the nature of the petition. What had Rathfield expected to find in Postsylvania?

  Owen began to write out a list of questions for which he would try to get answers, but he didn’t get very far before a boy can running breathless into the workshop. “Please, come; the Steward wants you to come. Something’s happened.”

  Rathfield looked down. “What, boy?”

  The child shook his head. “I don’t know, but it has to be bad. He said you should bring your guns.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  10 May 1767 Prince Haven Temperance Bay, Mystria

  Prince Vlad’s wife found him on the dock down by the wurmrest. He smiled at the softness of her tread and turned slowly to watch her. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good evening, you mean.” She returned his smile, then caressed his arm. “You’ve been here for hours. I thought you were going to train Mugwump more but…”

  He glanced over at the wurmrest and noticed that the building’s shadow had almost reached him. Has it really been that long? “I was thinking.”

  “Apparently.”

  Vlad slipped an arm around her waist and pulled Gisella to him. “What we did this morning, an
d what I did after, it has me thinking so many things. I wanted to fly Mugwump, but then I got to thinking about a way I could direct his flight using what little I’ve learned. And that made me wonder so many other things.”

  She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Such as?”

  “You brought up the idea that we need to assess how fast magick can travel. If the speed is immediate, this has incredible implications for the future of the world. Imagine that I have a partner in Rivertown, down in Fairlee, and he tells me that the cotton harvest has been fantastic. The abundance means cotton is priced very low. With this knowledge I can solicit sales and contracts here in Temperance Bay, locking in what is, in Temperance Bay, a below-market price, but still considerably above the price in Fairlee. I tell my man in Rivertown how much to buy and to ship. Those waiting for the same information to come by land or ship, or those just waiting on the shipments themselves, will be at a severe disadvantage.”

  Gisella laughed. “You are far too kind in your example. Imagine a pirate learns what ship is sailing and what cargo it holds.”

  “Well, yes, that, too, would be an example. I got to thinking of how I could work with a series of disks to transmit numbers which would be keyed to coded phrases-much the kind of book cipher I use now-so transmission would be quick. So if magick travels faster than a man on foot, or a ship at sea-and if it is not subject to weather delays it would not have to be that much faster-it is incredibly useful. And this got me thinking about whether or not there are ways to speed it or disrupt it.”

  “Disrupt, how?”

  He pointed toward the river. “Few people see the river for what it really is: a lot of energy. Could it be that the river itself has a presence not only in the natural world, but that it casts a shadow into the supernatural world? Might a message designed to flow along with the river travel faster than one going against it?”

  Her brow wrinkled. “That is a good question.”

  “And there is another. In Norisle, and even here, there are places that people believe are sacred sites. Men who have studied them claim they are linked by straight lines that intersect at precise angles. Could it be that magick sent along those lines will travel faster? If so, it could be that a trading post built on one of those intersections could be more valuable than one built at the convergence of several rivers? Economic information that allows a downriver merchant to get a good price on furs would be more valuable than the furs themselves.”