Of Limited Loyalty cc-2

by Michael A. Stackpole

  His troops did look wonderful. Their red jackets had black facings which featured two red stripes running from breastbone back and up toward their shoulders. They wore white knickers and tall boots, with silver spurs that shone brightly as they turned sharply back and forth. Their carbines were shorter than the standard issue musket, making them suitable for carrying on horseback. The first battalion had been issued muzzle-loading rifles which took longer to load, but were more accurate and could hit targets at a longer range. Bayonets had not been fixed for drill, but hung on white sashes and slapped against the men’s left hips.

  He only had three battalions to parade. The Fourth had headed south with the Prince’s Life Guards, hoping to round up horses. The Fifth had shipped back north. Squads would be dropped along the coast to likewise gather horses. He would have preferred that either their horses had been shipped, or that bullion had come to finance the purchases. As it was, his officers were authorized to provide scrip which could be redeemed at headquarters. This meant he’d get some horses, but not the best.

  It really didn’t matter. He could not help but smile as the men, stern-faced beneath their tall hats topped with red fringe, wove their battalions together in a dazzling display of precision drilling. Had all the clouds burned off, and had bayonets been mounted, sunlight would have reflected brilliantly from them as it did an ocean swell. As it was, no one could have looked upon the Fifth and not known fear.

  As the men returned to their starting places and stamped to a stop, Ian lowered his sword. His heart pounded against his rib cage. He could not suppress his smile, nor did he make an attempt to. Instead he looked all the men over, meeting their gazes, then raised his voice. “Regiment, dismissed!”

  The men broke apart by squads and filed in an orderly manner through the crowds and into the city via all four corners of Government Square. People cheered and a few hats flew-none of those worn by the Regiments, but those of civilians-and children ran and skipped in the soldiers’ wake. Each soldier was being temporarily billeted with local families, at least until the Life Guards’ old barracks could be refurbished. The citizens had taken to housing troops surprisingly well, despite having just learned of the Shipping and Commerce Act at services.

  Bishop Bumble stepped to Ian’s side and offered his hands. “I just wish to say, General, that I am very impressed. Not only at the drill, but in the Regiment’s choir. Their voices truly made heavenly music today.”

  “And that, Bishop, is with a number of the best singers gone hunting horses.” Ian shook his hand heartily. “I have found that by encouraging the men to attend services, and to join together in things like the choir, they become a tight-knit group.”

  “And it would keep them out of trouble in the field, I should imagine.”

  “Yes, sir, it does. One learns to avoid strong drink in the evening when one will be praising God the next morning.”

  “Splendid.” Bumble clapped his hands. “You know, of course, that Beecher and I stand ready to minister to any of the men and address their spiritual needs.”

  Ian forced himself to smile to cover his wariness. “This is appreciated. I do have Pastor Wrenfold with the Fifth as our chaplain. Until his return, your assistance would be most welcome.”

  “As you need it, General.” Bumble smiled broadly. “I so love hearing that new rank, sir. Most fitting, I assure you.”

  “You are too kind.” Ian greeted Livinia Bumble, their niece Lilith, and Beecher, then turned immediately to Prince Vlad. “I hope, Highness, you found this display pleasing.”

  “Indeed. Very impressive.” The Prince smiled, but it seemed forced. He looked haggard.

  Ian lowered his voice. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Highness, you look as if you have not slept. Is there something the matter?”

  “There is, in fact.” The Prince nodded toward Government House. “If it would be convenient for you to join me in my office in an hour, I would be appreciative.”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  “Thank you.” Vlad led his family away and Ian chatted with others who came to pay their respects. Most were the landed and successful. A few were men who appeared to be shaking his hand on a dare. He suspected most of them were veterans of the Anvil Lake expedition. It wasn’t in anything they said, but how they looked him up one side and down the other. They were measuring him against their memory of other Norillian leaders. If they made any judgments, they did not share them.

  Ian smiled. “Mrs. Strake, how good of you to stay for the parade.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” Catherine had mounted the Cathedral steps. Agnes waited at the base with Miranda and Becca, both of whom were smiling. Ian gave them a salute, which made them dissolve into giggles.

  “I noticed your husband was not with you at services this morning. I trust he is well?”

  “I trust he is, too.” Catherine allowed an apprehensive expression steal over her face. “The Prince sent a messenger in the early hours. Owen had to go west on some urgent business.”

  Ian managed to smother the smile that tried to burst forth. “You are fortunate the Prince trusts him so. Will he be gone long, do you know?”

  She shook her head. “I do not, but he said he would see us again at Strake House when he was able. How far to the west he’s going, I don’t know, but from the looks of it he will be heading into the teeth of a storm.”

  “Well, if it would not be inappropriate, I should call upon you.”

  “You are too busy a man, General.”

  “Never too busy for friends, Mrs. Strake. And while your husband is gone in the Prince’s service, please do not hesitate to ask for help as needed.” He smiled. “While my troopers are all gentlemen, some are given to being layabouts and some honest labor would not hurt them.”

  “Again, you are kind, but I should not take up your time.”

  “It would be no burden, I assure you.” He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “You would relieve me of the tedium of filling out reports, to which there is never an end. Such drudgery will be my nights for the foreseeable future.”

  Her brown eyes flicked up knowingly. “You poor man. I hope you will find a diversion.”

  “As do I. Good day, Mrs. Strake.”

  Catherine withdrew and with children and nanny in tow, headed off to their apartment. Others offered thanks and praise to Ian, which he accepted with a frozen smile and polite replies, though his mind was in no way engaged. He should have been concerned with Regimental affairs, or his meeting with the Prince, but all he could think of was Catherine, naked, her body slick with exertion, sliding over his. He longed to touch her again, to taste her, to feel her nails rake his skin as she bucked beneath him. To yet again see the fierce love burning in her eyes became his reason for living.

  Soon enough he extricated himself from the crowd and made his way to Government House, responding to an invitation from Prince Vlad which he’d received before the parade. Clouds began to roll in from the west. His winter in Mystria had taught him how ominous a portent this was. Warm breezes from the sea had melted much of the snow in Temperance, but within a day the city would again be quieted by a blanket of white.

  Chandler, the Prince’s man, conducted him to the Prince’s private office. Ian had not met with him there before. Usually they used the audience chamber, but it had been reconfigured for the Colonial Assembly. The Prince’s throne had been pulled out and desks had been arranged. Ian felt certain the Bishop’s announcement of the Shipping and Commerce Act would fill the Assembly with oaths and plotting, but he did not believe the potential for rebellion was the reason the Prince had summoned him.

  The Prince waited for the door to close before he spoke. “I should ask you for two things, General. The first is understanding, and the second is forgiveness. I realize that social niceties dictate that I spend longer earning each from you, but I fear we have not very much time with which to work. I’d like you to take a look at this.”

  Removing
his hat, Ian approached the Prince’s desk. The image of a strange creature almost twice as tall as a man, with claws and horns appeared sketched in a notebook next to the silhouette of a man. “Yes, Highness?”

  “I know you’ve not seen one of these before. This is an image Owen Strake drew. It is a creature he and the others saw in the ruins, in the Temple, on their return journey.”

  Ian lifted his chin. “Highness…”

  The Prince held up a hand. “I do not need you to tell me that this creature cannot exist. I have it on very reliable authority that one was slain last Thursday. It will be back here soon. It exists; it is not the last of its kind. It is the harbinger of a coming disaster which the Crown has already informed me it does not accept as real and will not provide funding to defend against.”

  The Prince then proceeded to explain to Ian all that Strake, Kamiskwa, and Woods had learned from the point when Rufus Branch grabbed Ian and Ian ceased to remember anything. Ian stood there, listening to point after point, cataloguing everything. Not only were things odder than he could have imagined, but he learned the Prince had withheld from him information that would have proved valuable in his report to the Crown.

  “Yes, I know, General, that I did not tell you everything. Consider my position, however. You were a witness to none of this. While you might have reported it, you could not confirm it, which would have made it even easier to dismiss. Not that the Crown needed your help in this regard.”

  “You could have told me once I’d sent my report in.” Ian fought to keep his face impassive. “I am a trained military man, Highness. You could have used my expertise to plan a defense. We’ve wasted the winter.”

  Vlad snorted. “Not to be insulting, sir, but if I had asked you to help me plan on how to defeat monsters from beyond the mountains based on hallucinations caused by a Shedashee ritual-which point to a previously unknown people using magicks which we know cannot exist-I suspect you would have been less than forthcoming with your best effort on my behalf.”

  “I must admit, Highness, that this all still sounds highly improbable.”

  The Prince nodded, then clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve calculated that Happy Valley was approximately two hundred miles, west-southwest from here.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “And you know the date you were felled, and the date you woke up at Prince Haven, yes?”

  Ian nodded.

  “Did it never occur to you to ask how you got back so quickly?”

  “Traveling two hundred miles in ten days is hardly unheard of, Highness.”

  “On the Continent, perhaps, where there are roads.” Vlad exhaled slowly. “To demonstrate the gravity of the situation we are facing, I am going to share with you a confidence which I shall consider you honor bound to keep.”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  “It did not take you ten days to return.” The Prince smiled slightly. “You made the journey in five hours.”

  Ian’s jaw dropped. “Five hours is impossible.”

  “Not if you are flying on a dragon.”

  Ian dropped his hat. “A dragon. Flying.”

  “I flew there myself and brought you back. You and the girl.”

  “Your wurm has wings? This is why you have never invited me to see him.”

  “In part, yes.” The Prince shrugged. “Since Happy Valley Mugwump has been a bit testy. He’s been growing, molting several times. I’d planned, in another month, to expand the wurmrest.”

  Ian shook his head. He’d seen many a wurm in the army, but none had wings or could fly. He wanted to think the Prince was having him on, but the gravity underscoring the man’s words did not allow for humor. If Horse Guards knew… Suddenly Ian’s promise to keep the Prince’s confidence choked him.

  The Prince nodded. “I know. My exacting a promise from you was not at all fair. If we are able to resolve the situation in the west, I shall release you from it. I make that offer freely, and do not hold it as a condition of your agreeing to help me.”

  Ian bent and retrieved his hat. “What would you have me do?”

  “Assuming the Shedashee tales are true, the Norghaest will attempt to establish a colony in the west. I am attempting to determine where. Our job will be to find it and destroy it. Because we only have one dragon, it will be up to us to prove as hazardous to the Norghaest as were dragons of old. If we cannot do that, and the Norghaest emerge from their subterranean nests, we’d best hope that they can neither swim nor sail. If they can do either, Norisle shall be their first victim in Auropa, and far from their last.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  1 April 1768 Bounty, Mystria

  Owen firmly clutched the knob on the side of the rectangular surveying box, leaving his thumb free to stroke the single string stretched across the hole in its top. He waited for Hodge Dunsby, who stood a hundred yards further to the west, to raise his left hand. Once Hodge gave the signal, Owen raised his own left hand and strummed the string, producing a mid-range tone. Hodge paced to the south, then back to the north, and on a five count, Owen strummed the string again.

  Hodge lowered his hand and took up a position about five feet to the south of where he’d started from. He brought both hands up, then returned them to the survey box hanging around his neck. Owen raised his hand, Hodge followed, and the mid-range tone sounded from Owen’s survey box. As Owen stepped south, the tone became higher, then returned to its original middle-C. He paced north and south again, narrowing the field down to the line on which the tone shifted. He stopped on it and the note remained consistently high.

  He raised both hands. Hodge aped him, then each man stuck a stick in the snow. Hodge came trotting back to Owen, as Owen shucked his survey box and plotted the points on his map. He looked toward the horizon in both directions and estimated the angle in regard to landmarks. He added notes in his notebook, then pulled mittens on.

  Hodge smiled proudly. “That’s a strong one.”

  “Yes it is.” Owen smiled. “The Prince, he’s a fairly smart fellow.”

  “I don’t like having much truck with Ryngian methods, but I do like being out here doing surveys.” Hodge nodded as he looked around. “Might learn to do surveying, I think.”

  “I don’t know if I can spare you, Hodge.”

  “Oh, I’ll always be there for you, sir.” Hodge looked away for a second. “It’s just, well, since being back, I’ve been seeing some of Felicity Burns there in town.”

  Owen dimly recalled a slender slip of a girl, sitting with her family in Church. “Her father is a bookseller, yes?”

  “Yes, sir; that’s where I bought the journals for this journey and last. Her brother Virtue courted Bethany Frost for a bit. I was thinking that if I had a career, then I might be able to ask her father for her hand, and he’d not think ill of me.”

  Owen closed his journal. “That’s wonderful news, Hodge. If I can help in any way…”

  “You have done, sir. Just the fact that you mentioned me so nicely in your book-she liked that.”

  “Good. We survive what comes, you’ll get an even greater mention.” Owen laughed. “And I am certain you’re right. This land will have need of many surveyors. It’s a wise choice.”

  “Thank you, sir. Shall we do more readings, or go back to camp?” Hodge studied the sky for a moment. “Going to be clear, which means it will be cold.”

  “I think we go back now, start a fire, stay warm.”

  “I’ll pack up then, sir.”

  Back in camp, which consisted of a small lean-to nestled against the southern side of a cliff near a stream, Owen set about transferring notes into his larger journal. Prince Vlad had noticed that messages shifted register up or down depending on certain phenomena. Having the check number incorporated helped guard against errors in transcription. The Prince had also dictated that the messages begin with the same phrase, so transcribers could check that known value against what they heard, indicating if they needed to adjust their note va
lues up or down. The Prince was even considering adding the means to quickly retune a thaumagraph so the correction could be done immediately.

  Owen’s survey, and he assumed that he was not the only one doing such work, had showed two things. When messages flowed across lines-and rivers were the easiest to plot-or upriver, the notes moved lower. The Benjamin, being a broad and deep river, tended to push them lower than a shallow stream, and the stream’s effect might not even be noticed depending on how strong the sender was and the distance the message traveled. Long messages tended to have the tones even out.

  If the message traveled with the river, the notes rose. A storm, depending on its ferocity, would make the notes rise, but also tended to mute the message, to the point where some notes might not get through at all. Some initial messaging trials with the thaumagraphs had produced evidence of the speeding and slowing effects of rivers, and they had detected something else which had been labeled ghost rivers.

  The Prince’s initial thought was that the disruptions on dry land might have been at the site of ancient riverbeds which had since gone dry and had become overgrown. The difficulty with that idea was that these ghost rivers didn’t show up where rivers might have run. Instead of just trailing through a valley, they would cut across it in a way that water would never run. Moreover, they ran in straight lines from point to point, then broke at angles. Some seemed to be very broad, but then became narrower as they split, just to broaden again at another point where others connected up. And, like wet rivers, the ghost rivers definitely had a speed to them, but appeared to flow both directions simultaneously.

  Hodge and Owen had been sent west into Bounty to map out rivers, streams, and ghost rivers to create an image of how messages would move over the land. A message that might take two days to go from Temperance to Plentiful, could travel significantly faster if the sending and receiving station were on the same ghost river line. While a message traveling from point to point along a ghost river might actually travel further than a direct-line message, the speed of transmission would still make it quicker, and tended to override interference from storms and streams.