Of Limited Loyalty cc-2

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “General, you know this isn’t true.”

  Rathfield smiled. “And yet, Highness, you know that no amount of sincerity on my part will convince my superiors at Horse Guards that what I’ve said is other than the truth. If they believe me, what will they do? Let a wurm go to molt and die? They would lay the blame for that death upon me. So then they decide that it only happens here because of food or the air? Can you tell me why Mugwump grew wings? Mugwump has been here for years, and the Crown will never move and station wurms here on the chance that after two or three decades they might grow wings that will never work.”

  Vlad nodded. “Just as the Crown refused to believe about the Norghaest threat in the west. What will you do with that in your report?”

  “I don’t know.” Rathfield shrugged. “I suppose it is good I have a long journey home to figure that out. Have you decided what you will tell people?”

  “Not really. The stories will get outlandish, but our having defeated the Norghaest will keep panic down. Alandalusian troops have reported civilizations in the jungles and deserts south and southwest. Perhaps I will let people believe that these were nomads that we sent home. The demons and trolls can be covered by Shedashee legends.” The Prince snorted. “As you’ve pointed out, it is all a matter of reporting what people are most likely to accept. Luckily I have some influence with the editorial staff at the Frost Weekly Gazette.”

  Both men laughed, then Rathfield advanced and extended his hand to the Prince. “If you will permit me this familiarity, sir, I wish to tell you I have enjoyed serving under you. I do not believe anyone at court understands what a capable leader you are.”

  Vlad shook the man’s hand. “I’m not a military commander, General.”

  “I didn’t say you were. You’re a leader. ” Rathfield nodded. “With men and women so capable and willing to fight, a leader is all they need. I want to thank you for all your kindness.”

  “It has been a pleasure.”

  As they broke their grip, Owen slipped into the wurmrest. He stopped quickly. “Forgive me, Highness, I thought you were alone.”

  Rathfield turned. “I was saying good-bye.”

  “Looks like the day for departures. Kamiskwa and Nathaniel are getting ready to leave.” Owen offered the General his hand. “Travel safely, sir. Please give my regards to my uncle.”

  “I shall. And thank you for saving my life.”

  Owen shook his head. “You’d have done the same for me.”

  “Pity I didn’t have the chance.”

  The two of them shook hands, then the Prince joined them outside to bid Nathaniel and Kamiskwa farewell. The surviving Shedashee waited across the valley, near the graveyard. As Vlad looked at them and at Nathaniel and Kamiskwa outfitted lightly for quick travel, he wished dearly to be going with them. It was not that he found his responsibilities crushing, but that being able to slip them every so often appealed.

  Rathfield shook each man’s hand. “Thank you both for seeing to my safety in the wilderness. I dare say my wolfskin pelisse will be the talk of Launston, and you shall be fully credited in my retelling of that adventure. Prince Kamiskwa, please know you have my sympathy at your father’s disappearance. I wish you safety in your quest to find him.”

  “Thank you, General.” Kamiskwa smiled. “Safe journey home.”

  Nathaniel threw the man a quick but casual salute. “Safe travel.”

  “And you as well.” Rathfield turned and marched off to where his surviving men were gathering their horses.

  Nathaniel looked over at the Prince. “Something need to be done about him?”

  The question’s bluntness did not surprise the Prince, but its insight did. Vlad reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a small handgun he’d been given by du Malphias at Anvil Lake. “I do not believe he will be a problem, and I had anticipated a solution were that not the case.”

  Kamiskwa raised his musket in one hand and pumped it three times in the air. The waiting Shedashee took off to the northeast, disappearing into the woods. They could have just as easily headed east and ambushed what was left of the Fifth Northland Cavalry.

  “Yet another reason why you have my gratitude, gentlemen.”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “He weren’t of the same cut as Johnny Rivendell, but that don’t mean I am inclined to trust him much outside of rifle shot.”

  “I don’t disagree, Nathaniel.” Vlad sighed. “You will keep me apprised of your travels, yes?”

  The Mystrian nodded. “Kamiskwa has convinced me that my boy William is old enough to go with us, least ways for the first part of things. He’s been learning his letters, so he’ll be keeping one of them journals that you and Owen set so much store by. We got us a thaumagraph, soes we will tell what we know.”

  “Very good. You’ll enjoy having your son with you.”

  “I reckon.” Nathaniel scratched at his throat. “Ain’t got no idea how long this will take. Nice that things appear to be warming up.”

  “Godspeed to you both. I will make certain, Nathaniel, that Mrs. Ward learns that you survived.”

  “Obliged, Highness.” Nathaniel shook the Prince’s hand, then turned to Owen. “You keep the Prince safe, hear?”

  “Always. And if you need help…”

  “First on the list.”

  Owen shook Nathaniel’s hand, then clasped his hands at the small of his back and bowed toward Kamiskwa. “Bountiful hunting.”

  “Thank you.” Kamiskwa returned the bow. “I look forward to our meeting again.”

  Kamiskwa and Nathaniel headed off down the hill, splashing through the ford and off up in the wake of the Shedashee. Vlad watched them go and the weight of the world pressed in on him. He could never have denied them permission to go after Msitazi, but their absence would make things far more difficult for him. Not that he wanted them to assassinate enemies-though their offer to kill Rathfield indicated just how dangerous they thought he could be. Their practical sense, as well as their knowledge of Mystria and its various peoples, made them invaluable resources.

  Plus, he enjoyed their company.

  He turned to Owen. “If you don’t mind, Captain Strake, I’d like to speak with you in private. Shall we visit Mugwump?”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  Vlad let Owen lead the way. The men entered the wurmrest and Mugwump lifted his muzzle. He sniffed once, then settled back down.

  “What is it, Highness?”

  “Miss Frost told me of the message which was sent concerning your wife. I believe her when she reports that you said you had not revealed the secret of the thaumagraph to Catherine. I am led to believe two things about the message. The first is that my wife relayed it compassionately, not realizing your wife had tricked her. The second, of course, is that your wife is not pregnant. This leads me to wonder why your wife would have lied to mine, and I must conclude that she was pressured into it.”

  Owen frowned, then nodded slowly. “I spend a lot of time wondering who would have pressured her, but shifted my thinking to who could pressure her. I can come up with only one candidate: Bishop Bumble. I fear he connected me with Fire’s escape, and threatened Catherine and my family if she did not cooperate. I have to assume that somehow Bumble guessed that we could communicate more quickly than by runner and used Catherine to confirm that guess.”

  “Your thinking parallels mine. I will not, of course, allow you to be blamed for any of this. You will, when questioned, claim ignorance. No, Owen, no protest, that is an order. If there are negative consequences out of all this, I need you in a position to protect my family and to protect Mystria. Do you understand?”

  Owen nodded. “You do me a great honor, Highness.”

  “No, I do you the lowest of disservices, Owen, because I am saddling you with my responsibilities.” Vlad looked at the ground for a moment. “A message came in early this morning. I transcribed it myself. Catherine reported to my wife that she miscarried.”

  Owen gasped, then hugged h
is arms around himself. “I… I should feel horrible, but I feel, I guess, relief? The child, Highness, if there was a child, was not mine. I didn’t want to think of Catherine as having broken our vows, but…”

  “But you allowed for the possibility.”

  Owen nodded. “You know as well as I that our relations have been strained, but I’d never let myself think of infidelity. Marriage vows are sacred…”

  Vlad grasped the man by both shoulders. “Owen, this is my fault.”

  “Highness…”

  “At least in part, a very large part, because I asked you to lie to your wife. I told you that I did not trust her, and that led you to question whether or not she was worthy of trust.” Vlad looked him in the eye. “And now you will have to keep more secrets from her, at least until we sort Bishop Bumble out. You can’t ask her who pressured her, but you must be alert for any sign.”

  “I understand.” Owen’s eyes narrowed. “If Catherine did have a lover, if she had taken one while I was gone, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  Vlad hesitated, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Not without good reason. I would not cause you pain, but neither would I allow you to be humiliated.”

  Owen took a half step back. “I guess, in your position, that is what you must do.”

  “If you ask me directly, I will not lie to you.”

  “Does she have a lover?”

  I hope to God I am not wrong. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That is not something for which you should be thanking me.” Vlad turned and patted Mugwump’s flank. “The second matter is of the identity of the person who gave the orders to deploy Count von Metternin and the people from Fort Plentiful. There are three possibilities. The Count said the message had come through in my hand, but I know I did not send it. However, I could not discount that by some trick of magick and location that the message might not have traveled to him before it was sent: a journey through time. So, last evening, I took his transcript and transmitted it, in case that was the solution.”

  Owen’s jaw dropped open. “I never would have imagined…”

  “I’m quite certain that is not the solution. Tharyngians have speculated about temporal translocation for a long time and have dismissed it. I hope they are right, or we should be fighting the same wars over and over again. Still, I had to be thorough.” The Prince opened his hands. “This leaves us, then, with two other possibilities: an unknown but friendly individual who is known to us but chooses to be hidden, or an unknown person who has access to great magicks and, for purposes unknown to us, chose to help us win the fight.”

  Owen arched an eyebrow. “Like the woman Kamiskwa saw? Someone who wanted Rufus to fail?”

  “Yes. When I spoke with Rufus, he referred to himself as Sun’s Whisper, and suggested unequivocally that he was controlling Rufus. I accept that there was someone else inside Rufus. We cannot discount the idea that this Sun’s Whisper has enemies among the Norghaest, and that his enemies might have access to messages moving between thaumagraphs.” Vlad canted his head slightly. “I do not think this is the solution, but I cannot discount it, nor can I discount the chance of the Norghaest learning of the thaumagraphs.”

  “Of course, Highness.” Owen ran a hand over his jaw. “Figuring out who it was on our side shouldn’t be hard. Needs to know magick, have some military training, have access to a thaumagraph, and training on how to use it. And has to know your hand well enough to mimic it. I would think this latter point would be the most difficult.”

  “Congratulations, you have defined the problem as I did.” Vlad shook his head. “Unfortunately, I can’t pinpoint anyone who fulfills those parameters.”

  A grin spread across Owen’s face. The Prince found it pleasing and a bit unsettling. “I think, Highness, that’s because you are too close to the solution.”

  “I must be, because I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.” Vlad smiled. “Who is it?”

  “The most dangerous military leader in Mystria, Highness. The individual with the longest history of service to the Crown. He uses magick, and likely knows you better than anyone else in the world.” Owen looked beyond the Prince. “There’s only one possibility. Mugwump himself gave the order to attack.”

  Chapter Sixty-three

  20 June 1768 Bounty Trail Temperance Bay, Mystria

  While Owen was anxious to get back to his family, he welcomed the leisurely pace of the return journey for a number of reasons. Each day the party shrank as family groups and squads split off for their homes. The leave-taking was bittersweet and different than it had been after Anvil Lake. These people had lost friends and gotten wounded fighting an enemy they’d never heard of before, and likely never would hear of again. Many of them still had no real idea who the Norghaest were, though the impression that they were from the far, southwest deserts had taken hold. While the people had won a great victory-and probably would never understand how great it truly was-there was no sense of history about it.

  They had just come out to defend their homes and support Prince Vlad as he defended Mystria. As causes went, it wasn’t a great one and yet, it was one for which people were more than willing to give their lives. That alone made it special, and the grim satisfaction on the faces of those who headed home suggested they understood that fact even if they still weren’t clear on all that had happened.

  Because the Fifth Northland had ridden ahead, and passed through to Temperance Bay more than a week before the force’s main body, local people came out to see the spectacle of returning troops. Because of the odd weather, and it being so early in the year, farmers didn’t have much to share with the troops, but they shared what they could. By agreement, the Prince accepted something, and then the children and wounded got offerings, while the rest just watched and cheered. Especially joyous were those times when soldiers found their families waiting for them. Owen secretly hoped Catherine, Miranda, and Becca might be waiting for him, and was certain the Prince’s family would greet him before Prince Haven.

  The prolonged journey allowed Owen time to wrestle with the problems he’d discussed with the Prince. He didn’t think too long on the question of Catherine’s infidelity simply because it had become moot. Bumble, or someone else, had pressured her into tricking Princess Gisella. Catherine had to know that Gisella had a secret. Owen had to be on guard not to reveal what he knew, and had to learn what she did know. Until that matter was settled, she had to be considered utterly untrustworthy. In that case, her fidelity and their marriage really did not matter.

  What he did realize was that he would never abandon her, nor would he humiliate her. He would endure whatever life threw at him simply because he had taken vows and, more importantly, had two daughters to raise. Mystria was a magickal land that had given him a future. He owed it to his new home to raise his girls to be daughters of Mystria. It didn’t matter that Becca was not his blood; she was his responsibility. Just as the Prince had asked him to look after his family, so Owen would look after his own.

  The journey gave him a great deal of time to think on the puzzle of Mugwump. Owen had been proud of his conclusion and the Prince’s surprised reaction had tickled him to death. Vlad had stammered and stared, then paced. They discussed the facts. Mugwump had been born into military service and had fought in wars for nearly seven centuries. He used magick to fly. If his use of magick for flight was a natural process, Owen guessed the dragon might well have been equipped to hear, for lack of a better term, the messages being sent. His residence at Prince Haven would have allowed him to experience all of the early messages and, since mimicry was not unknown among animals, it was not hard to postulate that he could have learned to send messages that appeared to have been sent by Prince Vlad.

  Supposing that Mugwump had the ability to hear and send messages also accounted for the ghost messages. It occurred to Owen that those might have been Mugwump’s first attempts at forming messages, but then an even more inter
esting and terrifying thought came to him. The Prince had reported that when they flew together, Mugwump would make vocalizations. What if the ghost messages were magickal vocalizations which were meant for other dragons? Messages that men could not understand because they were not meant to be understood by men. And if they were sent to dragons, did he ever get a reply?

  That question started Owen down into an abyss from which there seemed no recovery. He’d seen adult dragons attacking the Norghaest in his salksasi — induced vision. While he took solace in the old adage that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he couldn’t be certain dragons would see men as friends. Dragons had attacked the Norghaest, and left the Shedashee alone, but Mystrians lived a lifestyle far closer to that of the Norghaest than it was to that of the Shedashee. If the dragons come, who will they hunt?

  As they drew near to Prince Haven, Owen fell into step with Bethany Frost. Though storm clouds gathered in the east, he refused to think of it as an omen. “Will you stay at Prince Haven, or go straight into Temperance?”

  “Home, I think.” She smiled and looked back along the line of march where Caleb led the Northern Rangers. “My uncle said some very nice things about Caleb before he and his Southern Rangers left. While Caleb is very pleased and proud, I think he wants to get home again. He asked if I would mind staying one more night in a camp, before we marched in, but made it very clear he hoped I would say no. Given the storm coming in, I think I made the right choice.”

  “It would appear so.”

  She lowered her voice. “I’ve hated that we’ve not been able to talk much on the march. Your voice carries, though, and I smile when I hear it. I would spend the night out here in a gale, just knowing you were close, wanting you to be safe. It is quite unfair of me to say this, but I love you. I want you to know that, so you can remember me saying it in those quiet times when you need to hear it said.”

  Owen shook his head. “Thank you. For that. For saving my life at Fort Plentiful. You must promise that when you edit my new book, you will not take out the mentions of your heroism.”