Forged in Fire (Destiny's Crucible Book 4)

by Olan Thorensen

  The abbot smiled, the first genuine sign of cheer from him since he’d started to speak. “Ah, yes, Sen Kolsko-Moreland, now we get to the point, although I’m afraid I will have to digress briefly to explain the purpose of my visit.”

  “Well, then,” Anarynd said, “perhaps we should all sit instead of standing as if prepared to escape from the room.” With her smile and gesture, the visitors took seats at the table. Maera continued to stand, moving behind Ana’s chair, as if to remain in a position of support.

  The abbot said, “Let me tell you something of what has happened in Moreland the last year. You, of course, know about the Narthani and the terrible fighting. Large sections of Moreland have been devastated, either in Eywellese raids or during the Narthani invasion. I suspect that since your husband has played such a major role in contesting the Narthani, you know much of this—perhaps in some cases with more details than myself. However, less well recognized has been the effect on the general population throughout Moreland. The exact numbers are not widely known, but Moreland has over four thousand dead out of a population of about fifty-five thousand.”

  “Blessed God!” exclaimed Anarynd, raising her left hand to her cheek. “I knew there were many deaths. I hadn’t realized it was that bad.”

  Elsworth nodded sadly. “As you might expect, the worst was in the western districts bordering Eywell. Entire villages were wiped out—every man, woman, and child. In many cases, some of our people were taken into captivity, as you well know. While some have been recovered, I’m afraid we think many hundreds were shipped off to Narthon as slaves, either before or after the Narthani were driven out of Moreland. The fact is, we will probably never know the exact number or who they were.”

  Up until now, Maera had been silent, listening with a sharp ear and waiting for clues to what Elsworth and the Moreland Grand Council wanted with Ana. “Yes, this is terrible,” she said, “but you haven’t gotten to why you are here.”

  The abbot looked placidly at Maera. “No, I haven’t. There is one more piece of information. The Moreland dead are not evenly distributed among the population. The men of Moreland paid more than their share of the burden, because they were in the forefront protecting villages and families and during the Battle of Moreland City. Among those men, a disproportionate number were from the leading families. Hetman Moreland and both of his sons, both of his brothers, and all five of their sons.”

  “So that’s it!” Maera exclaimed angrily. “What nerve to come to her with this, after what happened.”

  “As I urged before, remember that not all the Moreland people were involved in that, and even if they were, we always have responsibilities beyond our immediate feelings.”

  Anarynd had been looking between the calm Elsworth and the fuming Maera, a puzzled expression on her face. What were they talking about?

  Maera calmed herself and turned to Anarynd. “They’re worried about a dynastic struggle within Moreland for whoever succeeds the current hetman.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” asked Anarynd, still confused.

  “Tell her the rest, Abbot,” Maera snapped, having divined the purpose of the visit.

  “Sen Kolsko-Keelan is correct. There is currently no obvious most direct candidate to eventually become the Moreland hetman. At least five families have claims and another four or five with only slightly inferior positions. Many of these have histories of conflict, both fighting and political maneuvering. There have already been scattered fights between individuals and small groups. The Grand Council is concerned that eventually the struggle could either turn far more violent or at least diminish the authority of, and loyalty to, the eventual hetman. This could be disastrous for the clan. It will be difficult enough and would probably take decades for the clan to recover, even under the best of circumstances. Making the situation worse are the Narthani. Too much of our clan’s attention is being wasted with these internal matters, instead of being focused on the Narthani.”

  Elsworth paused, reached into a pouch set on the floor next to him, and drew out a sealed parchment. Holding it in one hand, he addressed Anarynd again. “The current hetman is fifty years old and has no children—he had the throat-swelling disease as a young man. However, he is still young enough and in good enough health that he may lead the clan another twenty years or more. Even so, the succession needs to be settled as soon as possible to avoid intrigues and behind-the-scenes plotting.”

  He paused again and raised the folded, sealed parchment alongside his head. “Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland. Your family is one of those with a plausible claim to the hetman succession. Not the strongest or the weakest. A claim can be strengthened by other factors that can be considered as helping the clan. You are the wife of Yozef Kolsko. He is one of the wealthiest men on Caedellium. He is a member of the War Council that has been given responsibility to lead all the clans against the invader. Our representatives to the previous conclaves and War Council meetings report that while technically not a voting member of the council, for all intents and purposes he is its leader. Word has spread of his bravery. Then there are the rumors he is a Septarsh, which explains to many, including clan leaders and many theophists such as myself, how he has come to Caedellium and accomplished so much so soon.” Elsworth leaned forward, rose, and moved to Anarynd’s chair, holding out the parchment to her. The golden-tinged paper-like material was traditionally used by the Moreland Clan for important documents and announcements.

  “This is the formal invitation of the Moreland Grand Council, with the unanimous endorsement of the district boyermen, to ask your permission to declare the Moreland line of succession to pass to your sons.”

  Anarynd sat frozen, not sure she had heard right. When the silence dragged on for a minute, she began to understand he was serious. The future Moreland hetman to be a son of hers and his descendants? Her family was related to the current ruling family but distant enough that they were seldom involved in formal occasions and had no inklings of ever rising higher in the hierarchy. She slowly reached out her hand toward the parchment, then stopped just short of it and looked at Maera.

  “Maera. What should I do?”

  Maera looked at Elsworth. “I assume this is merely an invitation and that Anarynd has to consider the offer and give you her answer later?”

  “That is correct,” said Elsworth. “I am charged with remaining until I have an answer and to be available to answer any questions.”

  Anarynd took the parchment and held it to her belly, as if to show the paper to the unborn child.

  “This is all too sudden and confusing. I need time to think and to talk with my husband and Maera.”

  Maera decisively took control of the situation and addressed the abbot. “I suggest that we settle you in some quarters. We hope Glynas and Iwun will stay for some time to visit with Anarynd, and you will need to be available for any further discussions. You can refresh yourselves, and we will dine together this evening.”

  Maera rang a hand bell for the household majordomo they had hired for their stay in Orosz City. He was a life-long resident of the city, and with so many household members in and out of the house, they had hired him to ease the duties of running what had turned into a transplanted Keelan enclave. Braylon appeared if by magic and led the three visitors off to their quarters.

  When they were gone, Maera looked at Anarynd, then burst out laughing.

  “Maera! Why are you laughing?” asked Anarynd, startled.

  “Oh, Anarynd. This is just too strange to be true. What do you think Yozef’s reaction to this will be?”

  “You have gotta be shitting me.”

  Maera and Anarynd looked back at Yozef. Neither would have understood the meaning of the Caedelli translation and how defecation related to surprise. His occasional lapse into English had given Maera enough references to pick out a few words, and she’d heard “shitting” before.

  Once assured the women weren’t joking, he asked to see the parchment still clutched by Anar
ynd. He read it slowly, then reread the selected portions several times.

  “It’s not just the plain offer,” Yozef said. “It specifies conditions. The eldest son would become the heir only after approval of a council of all eight hetmen and four abbots, by a three-quarters vote. I know of St. Worlan’s, but I haven’t heard of the other abbeys.” He looked up questioningly.

  “They’re the most important abbeys in Moreland,” said Anarynd. “I’ve been in three of them—near home, in Moreland City, and when I visited Aunt Glynas.”

  Yozef continued reading and summarizing aloud. “If the firstborn is rejected, the next oldest son is considered, and on down the line.” He looked up at Anarynd. “Just how busy producing sons do they expect you to be, Anarynd?”

  Anarynd blushed, which, considering her complexion, meant she turned very red. She smiled. “I think it depends largely on how busy you will be, husband.”

  It was Yozef’s turn to blush.

  Maera laughed. “Oh, Ana, I think we can depend on Yozef doing his best for both of us.”

  Yozef hurried back to the parchment before the nonchalant Caedelli view of such matters got too technical.

  “We can talk to their abbot. I think we might negotiate details of the selection. It also specifies the heir should spend half the year in Moreland Province until he’s seven years old and then reside there permanently after that. Not going to happen. He would be our child and with his family full time until . . . what do you think, Maera—fifteen years?”

  “What do you think, Ana?” asked Maera.

  “Think? How do I know what to think? My mind’s buzzing in circles right now. The two of you are discussing something I still don’t understand. Why should I be the mother of the next Moreland hetman?”

  Yozef gestured to Maera to explain.

  “Anarynd, it’s a rational decision to a possibly intractable problem. While I don’t know all the details, from what the MIU is hearing, the different extended Moreland family factions in the clan are not going to compromise in agreeing on the hetman line of succession. Fortunately, the boyermen do not come from the Moreland family. By the boyermen agreeing on a son of Yozef Kolsko’s, the Moreland factions will know that your son would have the support of most of the hetmen, including those of Orosz, Keelan, Stent, and probably Hewell—the clans surrounding Moreland. None of the individual factions or combinations would dare oppose the Moreland Council’s decision.”

  “What should I do, Yozef?”

  “Anarynd, it’s mainly your decision. As much as I’m uneasy about putting this responsibility on a child who had no say in the matter, there is a logic to it. The Moreland Clan would settle down and concentrate on the Narthani and recover from what it’s suffered so far.

  “Since he would also be my son, I would insist on some changes to the conditions. He would be raised as we see fit, though we would have to give up a degree of control. How do you feel about all this?”

  She didn’t answer right away, looking around the room where they sat. Light came through two east windows. She could see a flowerpot on the balcony, the buildings across the street, and the mountains beyond. A blue and green murvor landed on the balcony railing. Four minutes passed. Yozef and Maera glanced at each other while they waited.

  “My first thought is not one I’m proud of,” said Anarynd. “The feeling is too much like revenge that my son would be Hetman Moreland, even though I was rejected by my family, as were some of the other women.”

  “There’s nothing strange about such feelings,” said Yozef, putting a hand on one of hers. “We all have thoughts and feelings we aren’t proud of, usually when we don’t really mean them or that we discard later. The important part is the ‘later.’ What we think isn’t as important as what we do.

  “One thing for certain is that a child of ours would be a better hetman than Gynfor Moreland or his eldest son, Owain, would be. From what you tell us about your father and how many in your family treated you, does it do any good for the Moreland people to continue the hetman line from that family?”

  “I’m from that family, Yozef.”

  “Yes, but you’re Ana,” said Maera, “a very different person. Neither Yozef nor I would have wanted you in our family if that wasn’t true.”

  “Yozef, if I agree, and you do too, would we be able to change some of the things about the Moreland Clan? Some of the ugliness in customs and beliefs? Since I came to Maera, for the first time I learned how other clans view Moreland and how it’s the target of so many nasty jokes. Could we change any of that?”

  “I don’t know Anarynd. Such things can be complicated, and people change slowly. However, we could try. Much would fall to you, though I would help where I could, and then so would a son of ours who eventually becomes hetman. Perhaps only in time could major changes happen within the Moreland Clan. Of course, we and our son could influence such chances.”

  “All right,” said Anarynd, “as long as the two of you support me and we change the conditions that satisfy all three of us, then I will agree.”

  Two days later, Abbot Elsworth left to return to Moreland City. He carried a revised proposal that had been agreed to and signed by Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland and her husband, Yozef Kolsko. The negotiations had been easy; Yozef explained how things would be, Elsworth protested the impossible, and Yozef waited until Elsworth gave in. Although Yozef hadn’t started off intending to be intransigent, he quickly perceived that Elsworth was desperate for them to accept the proposal.

  “Things inside Moreland must be worse than we’ve thought,” said Yozef after the first two-hour discussion with Elsworth. “I wonder now if I could have gotten them to agree to more?”

  “More!” exclaimed Anarynd. “I don’t know about all Moreland men, but my father would have choked to death before agreeing to some of what Elsworth did.”

  “Don’t congratulate yourself too much, Yozef,” said Maera. “I watched Elsworth the whole time, including when you looked elsewhere. A few times, I thought his protestations were for show and not his personal positions.”

  In the end, Abbot Elsworth said he would take the revised proposal back to Moreland City. He didn’t guarantee the council would agree to all the changes, though he promised to argue that they do so. In the assumption that the council agreed, a new copy was prepared after Yozef sent Gowlin Reese to search the city for the same type of parchment. They left the form of the proposal the same, except for the conditions and that Anarynd and Yozef would be co-signers. Maera suggested the change, thinking the Morelanders would be less likely to refuse the changes or attempt to reinterpret passages if Yozef Kolsko were formally part of the agreement.

  A son of Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland would be the future hetman of Clan Moreland, and the hetman line would pass through his descendants, unless there were no male children, in which case it would go to grandchildren or other male descendants of Anarynd’s son. Yozef wished he could have added female descendants, but the Caedelli weren’t ready for that far a leap.

  Should the current hetman die before the heir was twenty years old, a regent would be appointed by the council until the heir reached twenty. Neither Anarynd nor Yozef would serve as regent, nor would Yozef ever be hetman in Moreland.

  Instead of primogeniture, where the eldest son was heir, Moreland would follow the Keelan model, where the existing hetman would nominate the son or another male relative as most qualified to be hetman. The Moreland Council would need to approve the choice by a three-quarters margin, with rejections going back to the hetman for a new candidate.

  The exception would be in the first generation, where Anarynd’s first son would be the heir, because Abelard insisted the line of succession needed to be settled before civil war broke out among factions. Upon ascension to hetman, the son would have his last name changed to “Moreland.” Yozef envisioned Joey Kolsko changing to Joey Moreland, but he saw no alternative. Joey, or whatever his name turned out to be, would still be his son, and the Morelanders needed to see th
e hetman as one of their own, not a foreigner foisted on them.

  The child would spend one Anyar month—six sixdays, thirty-six days—a year in Moreland Province and be as visible as possible to the common people during that month. Anarynd would take the child until she and Yozef determined he was old enough to make the visit without her, and Yozef promised to accompany them for at least two sixdays each year until the child was ten. They would also be open to shorter visits should other travel plans allow that accommodation—with no details delineated.

  As soon as the child was old enough to begin schooling, a Moreland scholastic would come to wherever the child lived to give periodic lessons in Moreland history and customs. A theophist from St. Worlan’s would also come. Yozef had agreed, on the condition that the added lessons be informative and not proselytizing.

  A detailed account of the son’s education for the past and future years would be handed in to the Moreland Council each year and their feedback given serious consideration—with Yozef Kolsko deciding on future changes suggested by the council.

  Elsworth took the amended proposal back to Moreland City. If necessary, negotiations would continue via secure courier. By agreement, the proposal and negotiations were to remain confidential until concluded.

  The day after Elsworth left, Yozef was scheduled to observe a newly activated dragoon regiment undertake a snap exercise in going from sleep to moving out in order, riding five miles, then digging a defensive position. Balwis Preddi’s battalion made up part of the regiment. Yozef had slept alone the night before the exercise. By prearrangement, a guard knocked on Yozef’s door after hearing St. Worlan’s smaller bell ring 4th hour. Yozef dressed and went to the northern wing, with bedrooms of other household members, looking for Carnigan and Toowin Kales, his two bodyguards for the day.

  Toowin stood waiting at the top of the stairwell.

  “Is Carnigan already downstairs?” asked Yozef.

  “Haven’t seen him.”