by Colin McComb
“But what does this have to do with the girl?”
“The trap was to have been sprung on the equinox. We had slowly gathered allies across the reaches of government, telling them the king would be put to exile. Instead, the traitors would assassinate the king and his family, and the conspirators would take their place. I was to have been one of these assassins.”
“But?” I asked.
“But I arrived early to a meeting, and I heard the man who claimed to be my friend tell his companion what was to become of the assassins. ‘Broken toys,’ he said, ‘tools now useless. Once they have betrayed one oath, the rest of the betrayals will come more quickly. We will arrange for them to be seen, if possible captured and executed, and thus expose the rest of the knighthood as corrupt. If they cannot be captured, why, that will be proof that the knighthood is not willing to provide justice to its own.’ I left silently and returned at the appointed time. They acted as ever and gave me no clue that they were planning to betray not only me, but the knighthood as well.”
“What did you do?”
“On the night that we were to spring the trap, I traveled to the nursery and…” He swallowed here, remembering. “I went to the nursery where the king's daughters slept, and took what child I could. I could save only one before the reinforcements came. I took my courser and sped west. This is Caitrona, the only surviving member of that family. I take her to safety and will act as her guardian until such time as she is ready to assume the throne.”
“Are you saying that the king is dead?”
“He must be. Those who slew him are already taking power. I could not warn the other members of my order; I had already betrayed them in my heart and in deed, in carrying details of the Council of Knights to Athedon. Forsworn as I was, my words would have been seen as more treachery. Instead of acting, I tried to think my way through the plot, and instead of telling my brothers, I chose to wait and see how things would unfold. At the end, when it was far too late, I raised my voice to my captain, and when he commanded me slain, I discovered that he too had been forsworn. As for the rest of my order, I can only hope that they escape before the conspirators’ trap closes on them.”
“What if the princess doesn’t want to rule? What if the new king proves to be a better ruler than the last one?” I could barely think of the questions—too much was coming at me, too fast.
“She will be taught of duty, honor, and necessity. As for the new ruler … I cannot say. The Birdsnest Wars brought us King Fannon, and this coup seemed likely to be less bloody in the short term, and that was my focus when I joined them.” He struck himself in the leg, reprovingly. “Fool that I was! Yet I think it unlikely that Athedon’s policies will benefit the Empire greatly. Looking back now, I think he sought power for power, not for duty. His hunger for power will weigh too greatly on the wheel of the state, and he will veer too far to protect himself. His policy of distrust has already caused one defection, at least—who knows how many more will flee once he has entrenched himself?
“Regardless,” he continued, “their strength has grown too great for me to fight alone. Better to retreat now and return when the time is right, when they have driven the populace into terror. I believe the old way to have been strict but just, and—”
I scoffed. “Just? You think the Empire is just? Friend, you’ve got a lot to learn. Now that you’re out of Terona, maybe you’ll see how just the Empire is on your own.”
“I do not believe I will have that opportunity. I intend to disappear entirely.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips as answer.
“I’d bet I’m one of the few alive who knows even this much. If my life weren’t forfeit before … I don’t dare set foot in the Empire under my own name again, do I? You’ve taken all that away.” A sadness began to well up in me, but I’d be damned if I’d let him see my tears. Besides, it was mixed with more than a share of a rage that would do me no good to show. “My shift is starting, Sir Knight, and I’d suggest you get below-decks as well. There’s a storm coming from the west.” I turned and left the rail. And then I stopped and turned, and spat, “I want to wish you the best of luck, but I want you to remember that you have destroyed all our lives. We’re not just pieces in a game. Believe it or not, the subjects of the Empire have dreams, too. It's not all bowing to our betters and looking for ways to make their lives easier. Damn you, we just want to be left alone! Why in Hell would you do this to us?”
He had the grace to look abashed, and he said, “You have my apologies, sailor. I have been unfair. I only wanted my tale to be told. I wanted the truth spread before my reputation in history is slandered. I wanted… I wanted someone to absolve me.”
“Then look to an ecclesiast,” I said. “What I am is a sailor.”
“But have I done the right thing?” he asked, almost plaintive, and I saw then the youth in his face, and I knew that he'd been pushed for too long, without a chance to be himself, and I was momentarily ashamed. But that vanished like a spray of mist against a sail: like it or not, we had taken a side.
“I don't know, Pelagir,” I said. “What I know is that you've done it. Now you've got to see it through. It's you against the Empire now. You and the princess. Make sure you've got the right allies on your side.” On impulse, I bowed to the girl. “And you, your Majesty, when you take your throne, let it be said that Camila Voris was the first to bow to you.” I glanced at Pelagir, and said, “Remember that your subjects have lives of their own and minds of their own. May fair winds bless you all your life.”
He frowned, his brows knitting in thought. “You have my thanks, and her thanks as well. Be well, Camila Voris, and hold your freedom dear.”
I nodded curtly, descended to the tiller, and didn’t see them again.
About two hours later, we took the ship hard to port and set the engines to idle for a time. Long enough for a skiff to set to shore and get back to the ship. That’s the story and the truth. They told me he was heading inland, baby on his shoulder, his sword on his back.
But now I hear that the captain is going to tell us what’s to become of us. I don’t know what it is, but in my deepest heart, I hope that he won’t tell us to abandon the Ocarina. I’ll fight against the Navy if I have to, and I’ll die if I must. This is the life I’ve chosen, and it’s the life I mean to live.
The Shepherd’s Tale
Winter, CY 585
The old man came out of the east as winter tightened its grip on the land. He crossed into my home pasture from the thin trees on the hill line on the heels of the dawn, and my two dogs, Inger and Crosh, started to barking soon as they saw him. There I was with my hand on the door to the pen and the sheep ready to move to the day’s pasturage, and now comes a stranger to contend with. Well, I figured, the day’s work can’t be kept because of something different, unless it’s a surprise that keeps the work from being done. I didn’t see any wolves or fire, nor any poachers chasing the man, so I whistled up the dogs and opened the gate, and the boys got the sheep moving off into the western pasture I leased from the mayor of Dunlop, and I followed along slow so as to cross the old man’s path. While I walked, I watched him and I kept a firm hand on my staff. I kept some surprises there.
Old he looked, my age. I’d’ve pegged him at sixty-five, seventy years. Shortish hair, looked like he’d cut it himself with a knife by a stream for the past few months. He’d let his beard grow out, which was a good thing, considering the cold the winter’d brought this year. Wasn’t tall, neither, but he had that air of command you find in a few town councilmen or maybe old soldiers that made him seem taller. He was tired, too, like he’d been walking all night, and he looked like he’d walk another night if he needed to, but he didn’t lean on his walking stick. When our paths grew near to crossing, I called to him.
“Morning, stranger.”
“And to you, shepherd. My name is Toren. May I walk with you?”
“Can’t stop you, I figure. Name’s Ysabel.”
“It's either a girl's name or you're from Amchester,” he said.
“Right you are,” I replied. “I left there shortly after the Siullan Uprising. Seemed like a better idea than being drafted.”
“I fought in that war. Those were some hard times.” He fell into step beside me. “How fare the sheep this winter?”
“Good. Had a few lost to wolves, a few fell sick, but mostly they thrive.”
“Do you have need for another hand to help with the flock?”
I stopped to think about it, and he said quickly, “You need not worry about housing or feeding me. I can build my own shelter and hunt for or purchase my own food. I know how to live off the land, and I have money to pay for what I cannot forage.”
“Then why ask to help at all?”
“Because I want to be useful to someone. I’ve spent my life being useful and active, and now that I’m done with my old life, I want to start a new one.”
“A new life? Only people I knew who needed new lives were…” I looked at him keen and said, “Is the law after you? I won’t hide a criminal.”
“I am no criminal, friend. I’m just an old soldier looking for a new life.”
He wasn’t lying about that, but it wasn’t the whole truth, as I found out later. He brought trouble to Dunlop, and a whole lot more, and quicker than we’d sought it.
He was as good as his word, at least as far as the work went. He caught on to the life of a shepherd quickly, and he kept to himself, mostly. I watched him for a time to be sure he wasn’t going to steal away with my flock, but he showed no signs of it, and so I let my guard down.
Shepherding’s solitary work, you know. After I’d taught him the commands for the dogs, shown him where the sheep ate best and where Lord Farthington's property line began to the east and the north, and the mayor’s line to the west and south, it was about all he needed to know. I passed on more of the details to him on the nights we drank before the fire in my hut. I told him of the land, weather patterns, wolf signs and other dangers, the mating of the sheep, and the tasks we’d need to get done the next day—all the knowledge I’d picked up over the years since I’d come here, using the mind that I’d trained so early. Sometimes we talked about the wars he’d been in and the battles he’d fought, but he didn’t seem to like talking about that much. He said that if I hadn’t been in one, I wouldn’t understand. Fair enough, I said, and poured more wine, and I held my tongue about my own past. Just as well, I suppose—no one likes to hear about failure.
After only a week, we fell into a routine. We’d meet in the morning to take the sheep out to pasture in the rocky hills, up where I’d leased some winter storage sheds for the sheep’s forage. I’d have gotten the sheds closer, but one of them was conveniently near a hidden cave, and I'd set up some apparatus there, and having the sheep nearby gave me a good excuse to check in on it. I didn’t want it too closely tied to me: the lawmen might consider it magic, and the Council of Magi might have some stern questions about it. I had enough of my tinkering lying around in my cupboards that I was already uncomfortable with having in the house, and I made an effort to get the worst of it away from prying eyes.
Besides, the land near my cottage was tied up in boundary disputes between Lord Farthington and the mayor of Dunlop—the usual tumult between two men of power who didn’t care about the people who had to live with the consequences of their petty disagreements. I had no choice but to walk the flock or sell all the sheep. My situation wasn’t rare in these parts, but we all got used to going out of our way. Can’t say as we liked it, though. In fact, there were some of us who disliked it enough that… no, I’ll save that for later.
We’d part at the fork that split the path around the central hill. From there, I took my herd to the eastern hill, and he took his to the slopes of Eagle Rock, the first mountain to the west, the flagship on the range that rode to the north and south ten miles off, the land between dominated by hills that broke more harshly as they neared the mountains. Our vale was the last usable land before the mountains, and though it was green enough, it was far too rough for cultivation. My sheep were of the Merck line, practically half goat anyway, so they could handle the uneven ground better than most of their kind. I got to practice my skills in my hidden cave, building more surprises like those of my shepherd's crook. Had any wolves or poachers—or lone lawmen—come across me there, they would scarcely have known how they died.
To the east, an offshoot of the Imperial coach road connected Dunlop—the largest town in the area, three miles to the south—to the rest of the world. Toren withdrew from sight when he spied travelers on the road. He watched the carriages thunder past on the main road to town and asked me about them when we met in the evening on the way back to the night pasture. A rare day it was that any of them had news, and when the news came, it came fast and dangerous as wolves in the mist.
Once a week, I headed into the village to help teach the children to read and write. It wasn’t much, but they were eager for whatever scraps of knowledge came their way. There were a few others in town who were educated, and one or two who deigned to share that learning. The few books in town were worth more than gold to these children and their parents, and they guarded them against fires and brigands and grasping mayors alike.
But the cold winter had its own special dangers.
In the heart of winter, a bitter storm blew down from the north, strong enough that it seemed it had brewed up to cool the heels of the devilish hordes themselves. We had precious little warning that the season had this storm in store for us—the endless gray skies of winter gave no clue until the clouds lowered themselves down Eagle Rock. I drove my flock home as quick as I could, praying that Toren had read the signs aright, and cursing with what was left of my breath when I saw he hadn’t. Fifteen shivering minutes it took me to lock the sheep in the winter barn, and the snow was falling heavy by the time I was done. It took another fifteen to hobble my way to the fork. By the time I reached it, the snow was coming down thick and white as ewe’s wool, there was a good inch of fresh snow on the ground, and the wind was starting to howl. It was the worst storm I’d seen in years.
I met Toren at the fork, and he looked half wild.
“I’ve lost two!” he shouted at me over the wind, his teeth chattering his words short.
“Forget them!” I shouted back. “We’ll never find them in this weather!”
We drove the rest of the flock back to the barn, no conversation coming between us, snatched away by the wind. When we reached the barn, Toren said, “You can’t afford to lose those sheep, can you?” He knew the answer—I was barely scraping by. He said, “I’m going back after them.”
“You idiot, those sheep are good as dead. You’ll be dead, too, if you go after them.”
“They’re my responsibility. I lost them, and I will bring them back.” He whistled up Inger and was gone, out the door into the howling storm. I cursed him as he left, but I had to let him go. I had to pen the sheep, and that took me a good five minutes. I followed him off as quick as I could, but he had more than enough of a head start.
I snatched my lantern and my crook and shivered my way into the storm after him, slogging through the bluster and the ice that drove into face and beard. The storm was thick enough that I nearly lost my bearings a couple of times—me, who’d spent the last twenty years on this land and knew every hillside like a brother—and had I the breath, I'd have heaved a sigh of relief when I reached the boulder that marked the fork in the road. Snow was covering Toren’s footsteps even then, but I followed them into the dark and into the west.
All the landmarks were strange to me then, with the scrawny trees hanging their boughs under ice and a heavy load of snow. My only guides were the filling footsteps and, I hoped, the knowledge of the land I’d lived on for two decades. Up I struggled, my breath coming hard in my lungs and Crosh breasting the drifts by my side. The tracks I followed
got shallower and shallower… I was falling behind and couldn’t move any faster, and worse, if I recognized the trail here aright, Toren and the sheep were heading toward the rocky ravines on Eagle Rock. They’d be lucky to escape death this night. Hells, I’d be lucky to make it home to my bed, and I wondered why I kept on. Wasn’t because he was the best friend I’d ever had, and he hadn’t been around long enough for me to know what sort of man he was, if he was the sort of man worth sacrificing yourself for.
But I guess he was, because there I was doing it without thinking about it, and I supposed that meant that he had some effect on me. Not friendship, but… respect? But I couldn’t spend my energy thinking. I had to fight the cold, watch the landmarks, listen for Toren and Inger and the sheep, keep moving, keep moving. The snow was deeper now, my breath coming hot and hard even as my toes numbed and my fingers hardened into claws. I was a fool for coming this far. I was a fool for coming out at all. I should have let him die in this frigid blast, I was only coming out because he’d taken my best dog with him, and I was going to turn around right… wait… was that… it was!
At the dead tree that marked the beginning of the truly treacherous ground, near the steep ravine, Crosh bounded forward barking at some dim shape in the snow. It was Toren, and he was holding Inger’s hind legs over the mouth of the abyss, keeping the dog from plunging to his death, and his own feet were slipping toward that fall. I rushed for them as well as I could, kicking through the snow, and stepped sideways on a loose rock. It shot out from under my foot, and I slipped sideways and my foot landed in a small gulley. I heard my ankle snap, and I had a brief moment of dreadful clarity before agony took my sight. I fell forward on my face, and I flung my staff out to Toren, holding an end so that he could grab the other. He chanced a grab at it with his right hand, and at that moment his left hand slipped, and Inger slipped into the darkness, yelping like the puppy he had been years ago.
