From Across the Clouded Range

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  #

  “After all this time, I cannot express how strongly I anticipate seeing you and welcoming you officially as my daughter. All my love.” Ipid sat back in the leather bound chair and sighed long and deep. He brought his hands up and drove his palms to his eyes. “What am I doing, Paul? You have read her letters. Do you think she will hate me?”

  “I think they both will, sir, but what alternative does Tethina have? Maybe you should tell her why you are doing this.”

  “Tell her what, Paul, that her aunt, the woman who has raised her since she was six, is dying?” Ipid exclaimed. “I would love to tell her, but I can’t. It is not my news to deliver. And without that, I can’t very well tell her that when her aunt dies her custody will shift to her scheming uncle, that he will sell her like a cow to the highest bidder, that her new husband will really be buying the rights to half of what I have built, that he will have no interest in or need for her.” Ipid realized that he was yelling. He took a breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry, Paul. This is not your fault. I created this problem and have no right to vent my frustrations on you.”

  Ipid sat back and took another deep breath. “I never should have structured Ronigan & Galbridge as a partnership. But how was I to know? Out of nowhere, I get a windfall. Some counselor finds me and tells me that I have Imperial blood. That the Church has been holding funds left by my great-great-great-grandfather when he went into hiding in Randor’s Pass, of all places. It was too good to be true, but it was exactly what I had been searching for, the financing I needed.

  “It was enough to build the first three mills and secure the lumber contracts to supply them. And because he helped me design the blades we made and used, helped me develop the automated process, I made my best friend a full partner. As I was signing the contract to create that partnership, as you were writing the contract . . .,” Ipid paused for another breath. “Well, you know what was happening in Randor’s Pass. And when I returned and found out. I couldn’t very well remove Burke then, could I? And I wouldn’t have wanted to. He deserves half of everything, and I would give the whole thing to have him and Marin and especially Kira back. But no amount of money could do that, so I built this partnership, kept his name on it, as a memorial to what he had given me.

  “If only I could have brought Tethina with me, adopted her then as my own. But you know the law. I only kept Dasen because he had no living female relatives and even that took a fight. Tethina had to go to her aunt, and she wouldn’t leave Randor’s Pass if the Exiles came riding in. But I didn’t account for the fact that Milne was fifteen years older than Marin, that she might get sick, that she might die before Dasen and Tethina were ready to be joined.” Ipid sighed and sat forward with his elbows on the surface of the polished black-oak desk before him. He rubbed its cool surface and felt somehow reassured. “Thank you for listening to me, Paul. I know you’ve heard it all before, but sometimes, I just need to let it out.”

  “It is my job, sir.” Paul had been Ipid’s personal secretary since the beginning, had been with him in the aftermath of the most terrible possible loss, the creation of a mercantile empire, the rising political career. He knew Ipid better than any person in the world. He had seen the genius, the drive, the Order-divined luck that had made all this possible. He knew everyone of Ipid demons, knew what they had done to him and his son. Ipid could not tell him anything that he did not already know, but sometimes, he just had to talk to someone. Ever since the loss of his best friends, his wife, he had been so alone. He had business associates, partners, employees, but no friends, no one to confide in except the man he paid to write his letters and contracts.

  Ipid chortled, “I don’t think I pay you enough, Paul. But I’m afraid if I pay you more, you won’t need to work for me any longer. It is quite a dilemma. I should ask Dasen if his research into the order of labor has given him any insights into that.”

  Paul only smiled. He was likely the best paid secretary in the known world. Ipid knew that he had the resources to leave at any time, but, thankfully, he never did. “Do you want me to read the letter back to you, sir?”

  “No. I trust you got everything, and I don’t really want to hear how much you improved my muddled words. Bring it here, and I’ll sign it.”

  Paul rose from his small writing desk and carried the single page of stark white parchment to Ipid. The paper came from his newest mill and was made with a recently developed process. The quality was good, thinner and lighter than traditional paper but just as strong. The consistency of color was excellent, stark white with few imperfections. Best of all, it cost a fraction of a sheet made using traditional methods. The engineers who had developed the process were worth every penny. Once they perfected the technique at this mill, he would add paper production to every one of his sawmills. In a few years, he would revolutionize paper production and make another fortune in the process. How could Dasen not be excited about this?

  Ipid scanned down the paper. He grunted and nodded approvingly at the most obvious of Paul’s changes then signed his name in modest, efficient strokes.

  “Get that in the post today, please. It’s a long trip to Randor’s Pass, and I want it there well before we arrive. And be sure to include the one to the counselor with it.”

  “Should I hire a long-distance courier or use one of the services? Though expensive, the courier is much faster and more reliable. I don’t think you want . . . .”

  “Stop it, Paul. You don’t have to convince me. Find the best courier you can. Pay him as much as you need to. By the Order, copy the letter and hire ten of them. It’s not like I don’t have the money.”

  “Yes, sir.” Paul sanded and blotted the ink then folded the letter, placed it carefully in an envelope, and sealed it using the sigil on his desk.

  As he reached for the door, there was a knock. He opened it and exchanged a few words with the young man waiting in the alcove. “Sir, Di Valati Alsance has arrived. Shall I ask him to join you?”

  Ipid looked up from the stack of reports he was reading in momentary confusion. Paul drew the breath to repeat himself, but Ipid stopped him, “Yes, of course, do not leave him waiting. Is Dasen here yet? I expected him some time ago.”

  “No, sir. Elton sent a runner who said that Dasen was not in his room. He is looking for him.”

  Ipid’s brow furrowed. What is Dasen thinking? He’s not a defiant boy. Does he know what this was about? Surely he could speculate; he is by the Order smart. But he wouldn’t hide, would he? “That is disappointing. I hate to keep Di Valati Alsance waiting. Please have Kors step in and send up some tea, whatever the valati prefers.”

  “Of course, sir.” Paul stepped out of the room then returned to his desk and arranged his papers, ink, and pens.

  A few minutes later, a red haired boy of sixteen threw the door open and announced, “My lord, the Rector of Liandrin University, Di Valati Alsance, to see you.”

  “May you find peace in the Order,” the di valati offered as he brushed past the apprentice. He wore a simple brown woolen robe that revealed only his nearly bald head and sandaled feet. A fine chain of superior craftsmanship with delicate, seamless links held his robe. Hanging from the last of those links were intricately cast rising suns. A similar depiction of the rising sun done in carefully carved and polished wood hung from a leather cord around his neck to show that he was joined to the Order, had chosen Its mysteries as his mate. The rector’s face was every bit as plain as his dress. He was an old man but sturdy and well kept. The few hairs that remained on his head had been cut to white stubble. His face was clean shaven, making his long nose, large ears, and shaggy white brows even more prominent. But it was his piercing blue eyes that most people remembered about him. They seemed to look straight through a person, to see the Order’s exact plan for them.

  Ipid rose immediately from his desk and approached the di valati with hand outstretched.
“Thank you for coming, your Excellency. Dasen and I are in need of your renowned skill in interpreting the Order’s divine will.”

  “For my top student and one of the university’s great benefactors, I am always available,” the di valati replied with a genuine smile, “but you know better than to use titles against me. I, like you, am but a cog in the Order’s great machine. Such thinking may be old fashioned, but you, of all people, should know that no piece of a machine is more important than any other. And thus all deserve the same reverence. Please call me Petr.”

  “Of course,” Ipid said with a nod but bit his tongue to avoid the argument he craved. He had heard Petr Alsance’s philosophy many times but had never been in a position to challenge him. This was also his biggest concern with the direction of Dasen’s education, why he was desperate to get him away from this sheltered learning. He believed strongly in the basics of education, that it was important for people to be able to read, to understand mathematics, to be taught about the Order and how Its will was interpreted, but too much of what was taught at the university was based on overly rigid philosophies that had no application in the real world.

  Dasen was the perfect example of this. He developed theories on labor, trade, pricing from what he read in books rather than from spending years in the mills with the workers, from countless hours negotiating contracts, from bidding on resources at public auctions. This led him to see the world as the elegant clock the Church considered it to be – as long as all the gears are in their proper places, the world will run perfectly. But if Petr Alsance had spent any time in the real world, he would know that the machine was not nearly that simple. Not all the cogs were the same: some played a critical, irreplaceable role; some didn’t help the machine at all; others needed extra grease; still others might seem to be work counter to the machine but were, in fact, simply too complex to understand. By missing these differences, the Church lost sight of what made humans unique and valuable – why had the Twins touched humans with chaos, given them free wills if not to allow them self-determination? It was also Ipid’s experience that there was not just one way to put the clock together. In fact, his fortune had be made by developing new ways to bring people together and produce products more efficiently, by finding practical patterns within the Order that no book could explain.

  It was Petr Alsance oversimplified interpretation of the Order that had led the world to regress under the near thousand year rule of the Empire. During that time, the Church had controlled every aspect of every person’s life to align them with what they saw the Order to be. They had seen only one interpretation of the Order and only themselves as capable of finding each person’s “place” in that Order. Self-determination, innovation, anything counter to their strict interpretation was strictly forbidden. As a result, everyone’s place had remained low, except their own and those of their Imperial enforcers, of course.

  “Is it just us then?” the di valati began, pulling Ipid from his thoughts. “I was led to believe that Dasen would be joining us.”

  “It appears that he did not receive my summons,” Ipid conceded. “My manservant, Elton, has gone to find him. I am confident that they will arrive shortly. I know that you are very busy and hope that this does not disrupt your schedule. While we wait can I interest you in some tea?”

  “That would be most welcome, though if you have coffee, I would prefer it. It is one of the luxuries I allow myself. You might think of it as the grease that keeps this cog moving.” The di valati laughed. Ipid forced himself to join him, but mentally noted that there were very few “cogs” that could afford to brew the expensive beans from the island of Kiz.

  “Paul,” Ipid called to his scribe, “do we . . . .”

  “There is no need, sir,” Paul assured. “I had the kitchen prepare a pot when His Excellency arrived. It should be here . . . .” A light tap at the door interrupted Paul’s words. “That is likely it now,” he said as he strode to the door. On the other side were Kors Durbins and the young red-haired man. The later carried a silver tray with a number of porcelain cups and a silver pot.

  “Where would you like me to put the coffee, sir?” the young man asked as he entered.

  “Here on the table, Lyon,” Ipid said with a smile at Paul, “and please pour a cup for Di Valati Alsance and me. Would you like one as well, Mr. Durbins?” he asked his Order advisor as he entered.

  “No thank you, sir,” Kors declined with a small bow. “How may I be of assistance to you?”

  Rather than answer the question, Ipid turned to the di valati. “Your Excellency, may I introduce Kors Durbins. I have hired him to assist me in interpreting the Order as it is understood here in Liandria.”

  “Dear Kors,” the di valati said as the lawyer approached. He embraced Kors then held him away, examining him like a grandfather receiving a favorite grandchild. “It has been some time since I have seen you. I am glad that you have found a good position. In my opinion, you can scarce do better than working for Lord Ronigan. Though he is not yet fully established here in Liandria, he is a good and honorable man, who will surely carry his success from the Kingdoms with him.”

  “I have no doubt that is true, Your Excellency. I am sorry I have not been back to see you. Lord Ronigan keeps me quite busy, but it is no excuse.”

  Ipid, of course, knew that Kors had been a top student at Liandrin University and was not surprised by the greeting. He had counted on it, in fact. Petr Alsance could very well undo everything he had put into motion. The substantial contributions he had made to the university were part of that, but a persuasive and empathetic voice could often go every bit as far.

  “Speaking of busy,” Ipid spoke to his lawyer, “how are the contracts we discussed proceeding?”

  “They all seem to be in line with the Order’s divine will. I am confident that they will be accepted.”

  “That is fine. When this meeting is complete, I will expect a full accounting. I only plan to be in Liandrin for a short time, and we should make the most of it. Now, please be seated. We are waiting only for Elton to return with Dasen.”

  Ipid turned from Kors and motioned Petr to a heavily padded, embroidered chair near the room’s dead fireplace. A welcome morning breeze still swept through the open windows, but it was early summer and there was no need to heat a room that would be intolerably hot in a few hours.

  When he was seated, Ipid joined him in a matching seat on the opposite side. Kors sat in the configurations only other chair off to the side of Ipid’s. No seat had been set for Dasen. Though Dasen had now seen eighteen years, Ipid would not consider him an adult who could sit in the presence of his betters until he found and accepted his place in the Order. He hoped today would be the first step in that.

  The di valati sipped the dark, cream laden coffee and smiled. “Exactly how I like it,” he sighed and relished another sip.

  Pleased, Ipid took a drink of his own cup and nearly spit it out. It was so sweet he could barely taste the coffee. For the briefest moment, he thought to chastise Paul but then saw how the di valati was enjoying it. He smiled over the rim of his cup and forced down another swallow.

  “So, Ipid, what is it that brings us all here with such urgency?” Di Valati Alsance asked between sips. His tone was casual, but Ipid could tell from his eyes that even he was intrigued by the strange circumstances.

  Ipid took a deep breath, pushed back what remained of his thinning hair, and sat forward in his chair, a task made harder by his substantial belly and the tight cut of his suit – have I really added that much weight? “To put it simply, I have decided that it is time for Dasen to be joined.”

  Petr Alsance took a careful sip from his cup, but his eyes darted from Ipid to Kors and back again. “I see. And you haven’t discussed this with Dasen?”

  “No. I reached the conclusion only a few weeks ago and did not want to tell him such news in a letter.”

  “And
you have called on me because you think he will not take the news kindly?”

  “That is my fear. You know his passion for study, but it is not appropriate for a boy of his age, at least not one who will not seek his calling in interpreting the Order. He needs to get out from behind the university walls and learn about the real world.” Ipid remembered too late who he was speaking to. “Petr, you know that I value learning as much as any man. My contributions to building schools, to your own university show that, but formal learning can only take a man so far.”

  “I suppose it depends on the man. Perhaps, this is Dasen’s place in the Order.”

  Ipid’s blood ran cold. This line of reasoning was exactly what he feared. Has Dasen already talked with the di valati? Have they come to an agreement? He could not lose the boy to the Hall of Understanding. He could not. “Are you saying his place in the Order is with the Church?” he asked cautiously. He held his breath waiting for a response.

  “No, no,” Petr assured. “You misunderstand me. Though I think he certainly has the ability to become a great and honored interpreter of the Order, I do not think it is his place to do so within the confines of the Church. His intellect is so sharp, his ability to see the Order so profound that I fear the Church would actually constrain him. We need men who can see beyond what we know and find the Order in the unknown. If you promise not to repeat this, I will confide that to be the greatest weakness of our beloved Church. It is and always has been an excellent arbiter of what is known but is too rigid to see and understand new patterns, to delve deeper into the nature of the Order. That is why the world stagnated under the Church’s long reign and why we have seen such growth since it was returned to its rightful place. You, Ipid Ronigan, are possibly the best existing proof of that.”

  Ipid was suddenly confused. This seemed counter to everything he knew about Di Valati Alsance. “So what are you telling me, Petr? Dasen should spend his life studying but not become a counselor, not join the conclave in the Hall of Understanding? How would he support himself and his family?”

  The old di valati smiled at that. “I somehow doubt his family will starve,” he said. “But I . . . .” A heavy knock at the door cut off the thought. “That must be Dasen. Please let him in. I will tell you both my thoughts if the opening presents itself. I know your skepticism, Ipid, and in many cases I would agree. But you have to trust me that Dasen is a special case. You may not see the value of his study, but it is there. I believe it may be far more important than any contributions he could make to Ronigan & Galbridge.”