W ith their desire to be home swiftly, the Mystrian troops set out from Hattersburg on the fourteenth and made very good time along the road they had previously hacked out of the wilderness. The wounded-including Caleb Frost and escorted by Princess Gisella-traveled ahead down the river on barges and then by ship to Temperance. The wounded reached Temperance before the bulk of the Norillian cavalry, though Rivendell and his staff joined them on board.
Owen remained in Prince Vlad's party, on orders from Rivendell. Rivendell even gave him Hodge Dunsby as his aide, as the bantam soldier had been by his side constantly. Rivendell clearly intended to write up reports casting Owen in an extremely negative light, but Owen had moved past caring.
He had come to Mystria in hopes of doing his duty and perhaps winning enough fame and glory that he and his wife could become free of his family. He had accomplished his goal and more, but not in the way he had hoped. He realized this as he walked with men-some of whom, though wounded, refused to admit they were hurt-and sail home. These men had taken up arms against an enemy even though fighting was neither their profession, nor had they trained at it. They responded to a call to handle a situation that threatened everyone. For them, it wasn't a quest for personal glory or treasure or fame. That wasn't to say that some hadn't also hoped to prove something to themselves or others, but those personal motives had been subordinated to the betterment of all.
What struck him most strongly was the affection he felt for these men. The Mystrians had accepted him and Dunsby not because of Owen's connection to the Prince, but because of what they had done in the fight. He and Dunsby had bearded the lion in his den. They had forced du Malphias to surrender. And Owen had done it dressed like one of them, not some arrogant, no-good Norillian officer!
My future, if it is anywhere, is here, in Mystria.
That realization filled him with dread. Catherine loved him, but he wasn't sure she could come to love Mystria. The land demanded more of its people than she could ever give. If he wanted to keep her, he would have to return to Norisle and a life he hated. It would tear his heart out. Here I am home.
The idea that he had to choose between his wife's happiness and his own filled Owen with melancholy. He feared she was slipping away-and the haunting vision he'd had of her while on the winding path seemed likely. While letters from their loved ones in Temperance had caught up with soldiers in Hattersburg, she had sent him nothing. Does she know what I am thinking?
Nathaniel caught up to him, still looking gaunt. "Bit of a long face you have there, Captain."
Owen forced a smile. "Never a good moment when a man's on the horns of a dilemma. No matter what choice I make, it will hurt."
"My pap said them choices is what puts hair on your chest."
"And white into your hair." The Norillian frowned. "My wife will never stay in Mystria. I don't want to leave. I see now what you see in this land, Nathaniel, thanks to you."
Nathaniel snorted. "You'da gone done and see it for yourself, Captain. You're a smart fellow."
"But not smart enough to make this choice." Owen sighed. "What would you do?"
"I wouldn't be so damned foolish as to ask romantical advice from me." The man's eyes tightened. "You love someone and you love this land. I love this land and another man's wife. Don't knows I could make a choice 'tween 'em. Tough choice."
"That isn't much help."
"Iffen you don't mind me asking, why is it you love your wife?"
That question gave Owen a start. "She's my wife."
"That's saying a fish likes water on account of he's wet."
"Why do I love her?" Owen smiled. "Her smile. The way she makes me feel wanted and included. She loves me, makes me smile when I think of her."
"All positive points, I reckon. And you think she won't take to Mystria?"
"She might eventually come to see its beauty." Owen shook his head. "But that would require her getting out into the country. That will never happen.
"Might not. But I reckon you need to ask yourself if she would ever want to see the beauty. Nothing against your wife, but iffen she can't see it, or won't see it, yours ain't a fight can be won. Most all us redemptioneers came here because we had nothing back there." Nathaniel shrugged. "Iffen her life is back there, ain't never she gonna be happy here."
Owen chuckled. "That's fairly insightful romantical advice."
"Just talking about human nature." Nathaniel pointed to the men marching in front of them. "They all went and fought Queen Margaret's war here. They figure they done earned some praise and a reward. Ain't gonna get it, on account of the Queen and men like Rivendell have their lives over there. What we see they cain't. They don't want to. You have seen, and you is going to have to decide where your life is."
The Norillian nodded. He wanted to stay, and divorce wasn't an option. At best he could send her back to Norisle and visit, but what kind of a life would that be for either of them? If he remained he would never take another wife. He would never dishonor Catherine that way.
Owen signed. "I made my commitment to Catherine before I ever came to Mystria. I shall hate leaving this beautiful country."
Nathaniel patted him on the shoulder. "Leastways your wife is nearly as pretty."
"Yes, she is." Owen sighed again. If his uncle had been telling the truth about the land grant and title, he'd opt for a place in Temperance Bay, as close to the Prince's estate as he could get. He'd keep it as a preserve and every three years or so would come for a season or two. Catherine would doubtlessly choose to remain in Norisle. But I can bring my children, and they can grow to love Mystria.
That thought brought a smile to his face. He had come to win glory, and yet in Mystria had found something else to love. The sheer physical beauty and fecundity of the land could not be matched anywhere in Norisle. The people's spirit had a positive nature. Half the troops were barefoot, wearing clothes that were worn through at knees and elbows despite multiple patchings. Their condition didn't bother these people at all. They honestly believed, one way or another, that better times and a brighter future were around the corner. They marched toward it with a child's wide-eyed curiosity and sense of wonder.
And even if he would have to absent himself from Mystria, the thought that his children, and his legacy, would be here, pleased him. The Old World, hidebound as it was, would smother him.
Owen took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, and fought to memorize every detail, so even in his dotage, he wouldn't forget the time he truly felt free.
On the sixteenth the troops returned to the camping ground they'd occupied on that first day out. They re-created their camps and spent one last night together. On the morrow they'd march into Temperance and would never again assemble as one unit, so they sang songs and spun stories and extracted promises of correspondence and visits.
Many men wished Owen well. They assumed that on his return to Norisle he'd run for Parliament. They said he'd be their representative "…being as how you know Mystria, Captain, sir." They offered him lodging were he ever to visit, and promised to find him if they ever traveled back to the mother country.
And they said it with sincerity and a bit of deviltry.
The Prince brought Mugwump back to his wurmrest and the beast seemed content to return. Vlad then spent the evening circulating among the troops, thanking them all for their service. On the trip home, Vlad had made a couple of side-trips searching for things on Owen's list. Many men picked up on that and promised him a fine hunting expedition whenever he chose to visit them.
The next morning they marched early for Temperance. Folks from farmsteads came out to greet them. Huge smiles blossomed all around. And then, when only a half-hour outside the city, the troops gathered themselves into the same column in which they'd marched onto the battlefield. Solemn and proud, with heads high and steps in unison, they gave their people a look at the warriors who had defeated the Tharyngians at Anvil Lake.
Everyone had come out to line the parade rout
e. The troops threaded between thick, cheering throngs. Someone had created a flag of green, with a black and red wurm claw at the heart of it. The talons pointed down, transforming it into an M for Mystria. Copies fluttered from hands and hung from windows. Owen's uncle would have seen it as a sign of incipient rebellion, and he vowed there would be no mention of it in his reports.
The column wended its way to the city green, where the troops assembled. The Lord Mayor took his place, welcoming the Prince. Doctor Frost and other local luminaries joined him on the stage. Frost wore a green armband, marking him as someone who had a relative who served on the expedition.
The Lord Mayor invited Prince Vlad to address the assembly, which he did with the customary reluctance that had marked the man since Owen first met him.
Vlad smiled. "Thank you, Lord Mayor, and the people of Temperance. You honor us today in ways we never would have imagined. It is so good to be home. I will not speak very long because I know all of us want the company of our families. So I only wish to say this: Know that your friends and kin are the bravest men on the continent. Know that even if they tell stories that seem outrageous, they could exaggerate them a hundred times and would not even come close to the truth of what they endured. And understand that as happy as we are to be home again and reunited with you, we mourn the passing of our brothers in arms, and honor their sacrifices, which made it possible for each of us to be here.
"I look out over this sea of faces and I see two thousand brothers I never knew I had, and two thousand brothers whom I shall never forget."
Cheers rose, hats flew, and many tears fell. The Prince dismissed the men with a salute and the orderly formations dissolved into chaos. Owen went toward the stage, having seen Doctor Frost head off to the left. And as he got close, the crowd opened and there stood Bethany with her family not twenty feet away.
His heart leaped.
Then Catherine spoke. "At least pretend, my husband, that you were looking for me."
Owen spun. "Catherine!" He smiled, his arms going wide. "I was looking for you. I assumed you would be with the Frosts."
Weariness flashed over her drawn and haggard face. Then her expression softened and she forced a brave smile. "I'm sorry, Owen. It has just been so trying a time without you." She opened her arms, spreading the cloak she wore, then let a hand stroke her swollen belly. "You see why I have missed you so?"
Owen's jaw dropped. "A baby? Our baby?"
"Ours, yes, of course. You are my husband."
"Catherine, I dreamed of this on the march." He clapped his hands and laughed. "This is perfect. We can make a new life here for our child."
"A new life here?" She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "Did I hear you correctly?"
Owen hesitated. "A slip of the tongue, darling. I mean… for us to return home, of course. It is just… with the land grant, we will have lands here, too."
She reached out and caressed his cheek. "Of course. The land here shall make our life in Norisle perfect."
Owen drew her to him, holding her tightly. "It will be perfect. I might, you know, wish to visit…"
She stiffened slightly within his embrace. "I understand, husband. I much prefer you coming here to visit than your going off to war." She pulled back and smiled. "I shall remain in our home, caring for our children, while you adventure and bring back more glory and wealth."
Owen kissed her forehead. "Nothing could induce you live here?"
"Remain here. Are you joking?" She looked up at him, her brown eyes intently studying him. "No power under Heaven could convince me to stay a moment longer than absolutely necessary."
"I hope, Mrs. Strake, this is not completely true." Prince Vlad, his complexion ashen, gave them a wan smile. "I would ask of your husband a personal service which would delay your departure."
Catherine, surprised, turned and curtsied. "Highness, please, I did not mean…"
Owen's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
The Prince sighed heavily, shrinking, shoulder sagging. "Baker sent word from my estate. It's Mugwump." The man looked up, stricken. "He's dying.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
September 17, 1764
Prince Haven, Temperance Bay, Mystria
"O wen, you can't abandon me."
He looked at his wife. "I'm not."
"You just returned from war." Catherine's eyes began to brim with tears. "I need you."
Prince Vlad held his hands up. "Forgive me making so unseemly a request."
Owen shook his head. "No, Highness, your request is anything but. I have my duty to you and my desire to help Mugwump." He turned to his wife. "And I am not abandoning you. With the Prince's permission, I will have Mr. Dunsby get a coach and convey you to the Prince's estate. There you can get some peace and we will have time together."
Vlad smiled. "Yes, of course. Mrs. Strake, I would have you renew your acquaintance with Princess Gisella, and I would love for you to be my guest. I would be honored."
Catherine sniffed. "Really?"
"Sincerely."
Owen kissed her. "I want you with me, Catherine. We have been too long apart and now that we are a family, I do not want you away from my side. Were this not an emergency…"
She wiped away tears. "Go. I am so silly. Do not think of me thus. I shall be with you as fast as possible, beloved husband."
Owen signaled Dunsby and explained what he needed. The Private accepted the orders with a smile and led Catherine off to gather her things. Owen then followed the Prince to the garrison stable where Nathaniel Woods had already gotten three horses saddled. The three of them mounted up and made haste for the estate.
The lack of conversation gave Owen time to think. On the road he had been ready to return to Norisle, but his blurted admission to Catherine had relieved pressure that had been building in his chest. He really didn't want to leave Mystria. He really had nothing back in Norisle, but here, in the land of his father, he had a future.
He recalled Mr. Wattling accusing him of being a Mystrian. At that time he'd taken it as a grand affront, but now, he would find it high praise. While no Mystrians would see him as one, they would come to accept him as one. The reverse, no matter how great the service one performed for the Crown, would never be true in Norisle.
The words I spoke to Catherine came from my heart. Owen smiled as they sped over the unspoiled landscape. Can a man live with his heart an ocean away?
Their horses lathered thickly and flagging, they rode straight through the yard to the wurmrest. Owen leaped from the saddle and glanced at Baker, who sat listlessly near the wurmrest's door. He looked up as Owen approached, his eyes red, dark circles beneath them and his complexion sallow.
Owen dropped to a knee. "What's happened, Mr. Baker?"
The wurmwright shrugged. "I don't really know. He was fine, just fine, last evening. He ate. He swam, he came back in. Nothing unusual and then…" Baker opened the wurmrest. "He's dying."
Owen preceded the Prince and his wurmwright into the stable. The stench staggered him. Not only did it wreak of wurm-a cloying, musky scent that lodged deep in the sinuses and started them weeping-but heat blasted him. The heat radiated from the wurm, rising so sharply that every step closer felt as if he were walking into an inferno.
The wurm, or what Owen had to presume was the wurm, lay nestled inside a fat, twenty-foot-long cocoon spun of black and red silk, with hints of gold, reflecting the colors of the creature beneath it. The silk alone would be worth a fortune, but it came with a high price. The cocoon would kill the wurm, though slight movement suggested Mugwump hadn't died yet. Owen took this as a good sign.
Owen leaned on the railing. "I've never seen a molt like this. The scales are outside, as if the cocoon grew beneath the wurm's flesh and exfoliated them."
The Prince nodded. "Normally a cocoon's fibers grow over the scales?"
"Yes. You cut the wurm out of the cocoon, then help him shed." Owen pointed at the far side of the wurmrest. "Baker, what's that?"
"His tail, sir. He chewed it off." As long as the cocoon itself, the tail had already begun to putrefy, contributing to the fierce odor. "I wanted to drag it out, but it's too hot for me to get it."
Vlad grabbed Owen's upper arm. "I have pruning hooks. We might be able to cut him free. Do you think we should do that? Can we save him?"
A lump rose in Owen's throat. He clasped the man by both shoulders and swallowed past it. "I don't know, Highness. I've never seen colored silk. I've never seen shed scales nor a chewed-off tail. I've never heard of a wurm having a fever. Fact is, he's breathing. If we interfere…"
Vlad glanced down at the wurm, then nodded. "Right, right, of course. Fever means metabolism. Same with breathing. Part of a natural process. It must be something natural. I need to make some notes."
"Good idea." Owen pointed to the tail. "I'll see if we can drag it out."
"Rope and tackle might help."
"I think I can find it, Highness."
Vlad gave him a wan smile. "I am sorry for intruding on your reunion with your wife, Captain. I'm very glad you're here."
"As am I."
"And congratulations on your child."
Owen beamed. "Thank you. Of recent times I've seen a lot of death. Having life brought into the world will be good. And since I want my child to be able to swim with a wurm, we'll make sure Mugwump lives, too."
The Prince's smile broadened. "Your children shall ride, Captain. This I promise you."
Between the three of them, Owen, Nathaniel, and Baker were able to get some rope around the severed tail and drag it out of the wurmrest. Owen's guess that it was the source of the stink had been right. Nathaniel wanted to burn it. Baker suggested burying it. The Prince insisted on dissecting it, which he did using the aforementioned pruning hook and a highway-man's mask heavily laden with oil of eucalyptus.
Though the dissection did not thrill Owen, it kept Vlad busy. He would cut open a portion of the tail, make sketches of what he saw, then weigh flesh and bone before separating them. He noted that fish did not take the wurmflesh for bait and that birds seem reluctant to pick at it. Based on tracks they found the next morning, neither wolverine nor bear had difficulty eating the meat, and by the second day a family of raccoons waited in the woods for that day's dissection to end.
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