by Mike Truk
“Fate Maker Jaroc… is a worldly man,” said Branka, voice shaking. “Little Ivan discussed the matter openly with him the next time he visited.”
“And?” asked Morwyn, tone acidic.
“They reached an agreement. We all swore an oath to secrecy. Mirco, Little Ivan, Bozik the smith, and old Dusan. He would bless our new trade if we gave the church a twenty-five percent tithe of our earnings.”
Anastasia stood, chair legs scraping loudly across the floor. “You’re shitting me.”
Hugh couldn’t help but grin. “Ah, the fucking Fate Makers. Earning their coin wherever the fuck they can find it. And I’m sure he found a way to explain how this was in line with everyone’s burning path?”
“He did,” said Branka, gaze darting back and forth from Anastasia to Hugh. “He said…” Her voice gave out. She dry-swallowed, tried again. “He said the world had acted upon us, and we were guiltless in regards to Aleksandr’s appearance. But that we did have a choice in how we reacted, and the only way we could remain on the path was to share this new wealth with the church, and tithe to the Fate Maker so as to earn his blessing…”
Anastasia sat down slowly. “Right out from under our duke’s nose.”
Morwyn drew her dagger, began to clean under one nail with studied indifference. “It’s not like the Fate Makers swear loyalty to dukes. They only bow to their god and give lip service to the emperor.”
“But still.” Anastasia was aghast. “If we assume Jarmoc communicated this to the church, then word would have reached our duke’s court Fate Maker. Rastik must have known all about this, yet he never breathed a word.”
“He must have known we’d run afoul of this conspiracy,” said Hugh quietly. “Must even now be waiting for news to be sent to the capital.”
“How will they spin it?” asked Morwyn, looking to Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. “As best you can guess?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Anastasia, words slow with wonder. “Assuming Jarmoc acted with the church’s blessing, they’ll…”
“They’ll do what they always do,” said Hugh. “Stonewall, claim moral superiority, claim we mortals cannot divine the burning path of the church itself, and blame Annaro for not figuring this out sooner.” He gave them a mirthless grin. “Can’t you hear Rastik droning on now? You should be ashamed, my lord duke, for forcing the church to go to such ends to collect its dues. If you had been more diligent in your praxis, we would not have had to stoop so low.”
Despite herself Anastasia gave a snort of amusement. “That does indeed sound like him.”
Morwyn glanced between them both. “More importantly, what will the duke do?”
Hugh sighed and crossed his arms. “What can he do? Chastise the Fate Maker and his church? Cast them out? Powerful as my brother is, he’s but a duke. Any Fate Maker represents the entirety of the church, and that’s more powerful than the emperor himself. No. Annaro will have to grit his teeth and force a smile. Oh, he might show Rastik less favor, but nothing so overt as to invite censure.”
Morwyn gave a wondering shake of her head. “Amazing. A peasant steals a loaf and gets his hand chopped off. A Fate Maker steals – what – thousands upon thousands of gold crowns from the duke and he has to thank them.”
“Sounds about right,” said Branka, breaking in. “Justice is for the rich, after all.”
“You’re rich,” said Morwyn.
“Was,” said Branka with a tight smile. “My lord Hugh here’s going to take all that gold off my hands.”
“And give it to Duke Annaro,” said Anastasia.
“Let’s stay focused,” said Hugh. “We’re not done yet. Branka, you were talking about Aleksandr. You explained his logistics. But why did you call him brutal?”
Branka looked down at her hands. “He’s made several demonstrations in the past that he’ll brook no challenges to his authority. Those who have opposed or stolen from him have been captured and tortured to death. And when he set up his agreements with Little Ivan two years ago, he made it very clear as to what would happen if we betrayed him. He’d destroy Erro completely. Burn it to the ground, dam the Mandroga with the rubble of our buildings, and kill every single person that he could get his hands on. He’d then move his operations elsewhere, find another pass, and resume his business.”
Morwyn leaned forward. “And you believe him capable of such an act.”
“Yes,” said Branka simply.
Hugh finished his cup of wine. “Any idea where he’s located? Where he operates from?”
“Not really. He’s up in the pass, somewhere, but going beyond a certain point has been strictly forbidden to us.”
“What of the fae?” asked Elena, voice soft. “I was led to understand they’d also been driven high up into the mountains. They’re coexisting with this Aleksandr and his men?”
Branka shrugged, expression miserable. “I don’t know. I may be the Aelf Wife as you say, but I only ever see Medved, and he can’t tell me anything.”
“Something doesn’t add up,” said Hugh, reaching out for the bottle. “You say this Aleksandr is a brutal genius that tolerates no dissent. Yet his man, Istlav, breaks away and claims Erro for his own?”
“Istlav was a fool,” said Branka softly. “Little Ivan told him as much. Told him Aleksandr would destroy him for his betrayal. But Istlav didn’t care. Insisted that he was acting alone and seemed completely unconcerned for the consequences.”
“Interesting,” said Morwyn, voice low as she sat back, rubbing at her chin. “A lieutenant would know what he was dealing with. My guess? Aleksandr sent him here to test the waters, just like we thought Niestor had done. See what sort of response the occupation would provoke.”
“But why?” asked Hugh. “He has an exceptionally profitable smuggling operation. Publicly claiming a key village would only draw attention from the authorities, and that’s the last thing such an operation needs.”
Morwyn shrugged.
Anastasia began pacing, hands linked behind her back. “The scope and professionalism of his organization hints at great talent. A talent, perhaps, that would not be content with just making gold hand over fist. Perhaps he’s set his sights on more than just wealth.”
“War with Stasiek?” asked Morwyn. “Lord Annaro’s forces would crush any resistance he put in place.”
“Agreed,” said Anastasia. “But… an intelligent man would expect such a response. Meaning he’d want to provoke Lord Annaro to war.”
“But why?” asked Morwyn. “A death wish?”
“I don’t know,” said Anastasia unhappily. “But Lord Annaro would definitely respond. He couldn’t afford not to.”
“Yes,” said Hugh. “He would. He’d have advance scouts here within two weeks, and a small army swarming up the valley within the month. They’d punish Erro severely for its betrayal - though perhaps not as thoroughly as this Aleksandr has promised to do - and then drive up into the pass to root Aleksandr out.”
Nods from all round.
“We should write him immediately,” said Anastasia. “I can act as courier. Perhaps -”
“Let’s review the dangers at hand,” said Hugh. “First, the act of sending an army up into the pass could be used by Baron Niestor as reason to retaliate. Though we could perhaps prevent his using this as a pretext for aggression by communicating our intentions beforehand. Still, if he wanted provocation, this would suffice.”
“Registering our intent with the imperial courts would make it clear that we mean him no aggression,” said Anastasia. “It might delay our action until we received an official response from the capital, but -”
“Agreed,” said Hugh. “Though it would take a couple of months, it would be the wisest course of action. We could mass our army in the valley below, place a holding force in Erro, and await imperial permission. But that leads to the second danger: Aleksandr will no doubt have heard by now of Istlav’s death. And if he has an infrastructure in place for distributing salt, he’ll hear of A
nnaro’s approach before they reach the valley, and have time to destroy Erro as he promised.”
Anastasia pursed her lips.
“Third, we don’t know why Aleksandr is provoking my brother. Assuming he’s no fool, he must have a plan for how to deal with a small army. We have no idea what it could be, and that is our greatest danger.”
Morwyn draped an arm over her chair back and pushed onto the rear two legs. “No band of smugglers will stop Lord Annaro’s forces. Whatever his plan, we’ll cut through it like a knife.”
“We do know who else is up in the pass and amongst the mountain peaks,” said Elena, voice soft.
“The fae,” said Hugh. “You’re right. Fae who have not destroyed Aleksandr. Is it possible they’re allies?”
Elena shrugged. “Anything is possible. But marching an army of Stasiek soldiers up into that wilderness will make one thing certain: it will provoke the fae who have nowhere left to retreat.”
Excitement forced Hugh to rise and move to the front door, to gaze out over the Mandroga to the peaceful buildings of Erro. “That might be it, then. Aleksandr must have some treaty with the fae if he’s sending so many men through the pass each week. Mutual self-defense, or something. A human army would find itself in dire straits if attacked by fae deep in the alpine woods. Especially if they’re hunting down an elusive band of smugglers and not fighting a pitched battle on an open field. Morwyn, what sort of army would Annaro muster?”
“For a smuggler? Several hundred infantry. Perhaps fifty mounted outriders and scouts.”
“And if they were completely destroyed, how long would it take for him to raise a second army?”
“That would mean the destruction of his own personal guard and soldiers. He’d have to levy new troops from lesser lords. But the treasury is dangerously low. He might have to issue a new tax to raise the funds to pay for armor and weaponry. What do you think, Anastasia?”
“A new tax, for sure. The treasury has still not recovered from the Six Months War.”
“Most of whose soldiers never returned home,” said Morwyn, “and now infest the northern countryside like fleas on a dead dog. Meaning he’d have virtually no veterans to call on. So, if he lost his standing army? Four to six months to put together a larger force of new recruits. Longer, if there was resistance to his emergency tax. He’d muster perhaps a thousand, a thousand five hundred in infantry, and maybe a hundred mounted knights. Several hundred outriders.”
“Six months, I’d wager,” said Anastasia.
“Six months during which Aleksandr can enact whatever follow-up he’s planned for after his ambush.” Hugh took up the bottle of wine and opted to drink from the neck. “A plan which hinges on Annaro attacking immediately with a smaller force.”
Elena shifted uneasily. “Would he listen to reason? Delay his attack?”
Hugh looked sidelong at Anastasia. “What do you think?”
“He’s been increasingly frustrated with the low taxation yields. Many of the lesser lords have sensed his weakness and been pressing him in the lower courts, refusing to honor agreements and attempting to renegotiate rates. We’ve been unable to rebuild several key infrastructure priorities as a result of the diminished income, not to mention the ongoing problem with banditry in the north. He’s been borrowing heavily from the imperial bank and begun exploring the possibilities of borrowing funds from foreign merchants.” Anastasia tapped her lips. “We’re not facing a financial crisis yet, as there is always the option of collecting and devaluing our currency as a form of indirect taxation… but Annaro swore to the nobility of Stasiek that he’d not repeat the tactics of your father. So…”
Morwyn shifted uneasily. “He’d relish the chance of crushing a band of smugglers who’ve been stealing a hundred and twenty thousand gold crowns from his treasury each year.”
“I could reason with him,” said Anastasia. “Explain the nature of the trap. He’s no fool. He’d realize -”
“No,” said Hugh. “I know my brother perhaps better than any of you. He’s governed by principles of chivalry and honor. He is, in his way, more old-fashioned than he appears. He’d disdain any warnings that hinged on possible alliances with unknown foes. Especially without hard evidence. He’d insist on marching up here himself and investigating firsthand at the front of his personal army. We’d be lucky to get him to write for permission from the emperor before marching north, much less staying back altogether.”
Anastasia scowled. “What are you saying, my lord? Speak plainly, please.”
“It’s clear what he’s saying,” said Morwyn, flexing her foot so that her chair rocked back and forth on its rear legs. “He doesn’t want to tell Lord Annaro about what’s going on here.”
Anastasia raised an eyebrow. “Is that so, my lord? You wish to hide the truth of the situation from your brother?”
“What I want is to ensure Stasiek’s victory over Aleksandr. And sending my brother an incomplete report that might lure him into a trap is not how we execute our duty. We must send him facts. We’ve only just arrived. I want to learn the nature of Aleksandr’s supposed ambush, and only once we are armed with a clear understanding of our foe’s resources notify my brother so that he can act in a fully informed manner.”
Anastasia’s eyes glittered. “You tread awfully close to treason by withholding this information, my lord.”
“I am Annaro’s brother, sent here specifically to ensure the safety and loyalty of Erro, and was given full scope of authority to execute that duty as I saw fit. My actions are geared toward that end. Further, we all know that an incomplete report will most likely spur my brother to a course of action we’ll all regret. What I am saying, disciplus, is that I will send a full report when I have all the information on hand, and preferably when I have hard evidence to back my suspicions. Am I clear?”
Anastasia pushed her shoulders back. “We were sent here to clarify tax rolls and rebuild an old fort. Discovering a duchy-wide smuggling operation that is draining our treasury of tens of thousands of gold crowns when we need them most is far beyond the scope of our orders. We must write to your brother immediately and allow him, as the rightful ruler of these lands, to decide how best to act. To do otherwise is to usurp his authority.”
Hugh set his glass of wine down and moved slowly around the table to stand before Anastasia. She was nearly as tall as he was, and had but to look up a little to meet his gaze. Her poise was admirable, though the tension in the line of her jaw and the pallor in her cheeks betrayed her emotion.
“Disciplus Anastasia,” Hugh said, forcing his tone to remain soft. “I value your opinion. It is why I brought you with me on this expedition. But the role of a loyal vassal is to do whatever is best for one’s liege. Captain Morwyn agrees. Even you agree that Duke Annaro will march on Erro the moment he learns about our situation. If there is a chance that doing so would result in the ruin of our duchy, and if instead we delayed but a few days to learn more information to send a complete report, do you not think it becoming of us to do so?”
“A disciplus does not presume to know more about matters of statecraft than her liege,” said Anastasia, voice low and quivering with intensity. “Our duty is to report, advise, and allow our liege to decide what is best.”
Hugh studied her. There was more at stake here than simply a matter of reporting partial intelligence to Annaro. What else was at play? Last night’s revelations about Zarja? His own admittance to being the cause of the Lost Reavers destruction?
Elena moved up alongside him. Her expression was grave, her hands linked behind her back. A submissive posture, Hugh noted. “Anastasia, if I may? Imagine you were on the verge of developing a new theorem of magic. Having thought through the first steps and realized the potential scope of your discovery, what would your masters at the academy have desired? That you run to them with but the first hints of a theory, or that you take a little more time to explore your own thesis, test it, develop it, and bring them something that reflects to your
credit as a thorough and mature theoretician?”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. “A fine point, but we’re not testing theorems. We’re dealing with an active threat to the duchy.”
“Then let us do the following,” said Hugh. “Let us place a limit on how much time we have to uncover more information. Something we both find reasonable. Duke Annaro won’t fault us for doing a minimum of due diligence before reporting back. What say you?”
Anastasia glanced at Elena, took a step back, and crossed her arms over her form-fitting navy coat. “Three days.”
Hugh slashed at the air with his hand. “Insufficient. We can barely reach the pass and return in that frame of time. One week.”
“Three days. And I pen the report in advance, and send it down to the closest Fate Maker temple to be held in trust. If they don’t hear from us by the fourth day, they are to send it on immediately.”
Hugh rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, then looked sidelong at the others. “Clear the room. I wish to speak to the disciplus alone.”
Morwyn rose to her feet. “If you mean to threaten her -”
“I wouldn’t stoop so low. Besides, such threats would mean nothing to a disciplus of her caliber. Clear the room, Captain. Wait for us outside. I’ll call for you when you can return.”
Morwyn glowered at him, then bowed stiffly and walked out the front door. Elena squeezed his arm before turning, with Branka following behind, her face betraying sharp curiosity.
“There is nothing you can say to me in private that will sway my mind,” said Anastasia stiffly.
Hugh didn’t respond at once. Instead, he poured himself a new glass of wine and leaned back against the wall, giving Anastasia as much space as the dining room allowed. Ankles crossed, arms crossed, he gazed at her pensively until her face colored and she scowled at him.
“What is it, my lord? Don’t toy with me.”
“What are you afraid of, Anastasia? What’s going on here?”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she snapped.
“I’m sensing a lot of contradictions. You’re displaying blind loyalty to my brother, but were happy to leave his castle only a few weeks ago for a tour of the countryside.”
