Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  “Not yet,” Nels said. The Acrasians had taken Mehrinna but had gained very little for their trouble. Nels was happy for that at least. Please let the snows come early this year. “I expect the party should begin any day.”

  She nodded and turned her attention back to the arrow slit. The others made room for him at the fire.

  “Got any tea?” Nels asked.

  Lassila nodded and fetched a tin cup, cleaned the inside with the tail of his shirt, and then poured. Light from the meager fire cast his darker skin in warm colors.

  Nels warmed his gloved palms on hot tin. The tea inside the cup looked to be more water than tea. It tasted worse. How many times have they reused those leaves? he thought, and made a note to himself to bring some fresh tea during his next rounds. He had enough. Mrs. Nimonen saw to that through his father, and he supposed his father could spare the extra.

  The siege hadn’t actually started and there had already been problems with looting and hoarding. He expected it to only get worse. Some items were already in shorter supply—beef, cow’s milk, coffee, tea, sugar, Islander wine, silk, cotton—mainly things imported from other countries. At least traditional foods derived from reindeer and goats or fish were plentiful.

  For now, the hot water was enough. His first cup had been more than an hour before, and he was chilled to the core of his being. It wasn’t even dawn yet. His old boots were soaked through already—they needed new soles. Autumn. Gods, I hate autumn. He hated spring, too. They both brought weeks of rain. The only advantage spring had was that summer was on the way. Autumn only meant winter was around the corner. He didn’t think he’d ever be warm and dry again. He hated being confined indoors.

  Maybe the weather is slowing the Acrasians? He’d expected them to arrive more than a week before.

  At least he’d gotten to spend some time with Ilta. She had been working at the charity hospital from early in the morning to late into the evenings. Both exhausted, they hadn’t been able to talk much, but sleeping entwined in her arms made up for a great deal—even if they hadn’t quite worked up to the actual act of sex. Yet. She was afraid of what might happen. In truth, so was he.

  An alarm bell rang, the one at the front gate, by the sound. Everyone rushed to the arrow slits. Peering downward into the soggy darkness, Nels couldn’t make out a thing. Are those horses’ hooves I hear? Could mean anything. Someone somewhere called out at the top of their voice. Another series of shouts followed.

  “What is it?” Kurri asked in his throaty voice. His family line had originated in the far north, as was evidenced by the bright red hair he pushed out of his eyes. He wore a purple band around his left arm—most did these days. Everyone had lost someone.

  Lassila elbowed his friend. “If you’d move, perhaps I could tell you.”

  “Riders, I think,” Overlieutenant Larsson said. “A messenger, maybe? Too many for that. More stragglers from Mehrinna or Herraskariano?”

  “We sure could use the help. We’re going to be massacred.”

  “Shut up, Lassila,” Overlieutenant Larsson said.

  Nels buttoned his coat. “I’ll go see.”

  “I hope it’s the Acrasians,” Kurri said. “I’m sick to death of all this waiting.”

  Lassila said, “Speak for yourself. I’ll be happy if they never come. They’re like locusts.”

  Careful of the slick stone under his feet, Nels ran down the steps to the main gates. Guttering torches lit the way. He reached his destination just as a messenger was being dispatched. A group of five riders sat atop steaming horses. All five were dressed in Acrasian gray. One carried a horse spear with a strip of soggy white cloth tied to it.

  Nels’s blood chilled the instant he recognized the markings on their uniform coats. Well. It seems Kurri got his wish.

  “Colonel Hännenen, sir,” Sergeant Gusstafson said. “The message is addressed to you personally. It appears to be from a General Lucrosia Marcellus.”

  How does he know I’m in charge? An uneasy feeling crawled up Nels’s spine. He hasn’t stopped studying us, it seems. Nels put a hand out for the message.

  “Do not attempt your foul magic, demons,” one of the Acrasians said, pointing to the white scrap of cloth. “We ride under flag of truce.”

  “Don’t bother, Private,” one of the other Acrasians said. “They don’t understand Acrasian. You know why we were picked for this duty. So, shut up. We live through this, maybe you’ll think twice before you talk back to—”

  “You won’t be harmed.” Nels answered in Acrasian without thinking. “We know what a white flag means.” Unlike you, he thought.

  “You speak Acrasian?” the Acrasian officer asked.

  “I do,” Nels said.

  “Then you must be Colonel Hännenen. We were informed you would probably be the only one to understand our message,” the Acrasian officer said. “They said you’d have a North End accent. Damned if they weren’t right.”

  Nels paused. He tried not to jump to any conclusions regarding Corporal Petron. “And if I am Colonel Hännenen?”

  “Then that,” the Acrasian officer said with a nod toward the paper, “contains the terms of your surrender. We are to wait for a reply.”

  Nels cracked the wax seal and read. The message began politely enough. However, it pointed out his utter lack of experience as a military leader and noted the numbers of troops he had at hand as well as the weakness along the west wall. In short, it displayed an alarming amount of knowledge of his situation. It also hinted at what might be done to take advantage of those weaknesses. I almost wish you were on our side, Marcellus. In the end, the note demanded an unconditional surrender. The ground under Nels’s feet seemed to shift.

  He decided to stall. “Your general doesn’t mention what is on offer in exchange.”

  “He said you would inquire about that,” the Acrasian officer said. “I was instructed to inform you that your troops, your king, and yourself will be permitted a clean death. And that your sister, Princess Suvi, and the remaining civilian population—strictly those untainted by evil—will be permitted to live.”

  They know a great deal. Someone is giving them information. Who? He knew at that moment that Corporal Petron couldn’t possibly be the source. For a moment, Nels wasn’t sure what he’d say. The warmth from the weak tea he’d gulped down minutes before was gone. “What do you mean, ‘those not tainted with evil’?”

  “Magic.” The Acrasian spat the word.

  “Ah, I see.” Then, that isn’t much of an offer, Nels thought.

  “Your answer?”

  This is hopeless. We’ll be— Suddenly, Nels remembered a passage from Marcellus’s book. If one can turn one’s enemy against themselves through deceit, do so. For an army that believes itself defeated will be defeated. He almost laughed. Ah, Marcellus. It all comes down to pretense, does it? Well, I may not have a lot of experience leading an army, but I do have a great deal of practice at fakery. Nels put on his biggest, brightest smile for the Acrasian officer.

  “Your answer?” the Acrasian asked.

  Nels tore the message in half and then in quarters. Then he said in perfect Acrasian, “Piss off.”

  The Acrasian officer blinked. A few of Nels’s troops standing nearby let out nervous chuckles. None of them spoke Acrasian, but he supposed it was easy enough to interpret the exchange.

  “You heard me. I said piss off,” he said. He handed back the pieces. “I don’t frighten that easily, Lieutenant. None of us do.”

  The Acrasian officer’s face went red.

  Nels turned to the others and spoke in Eledorean. “Raise the portcullis. Let them go back home to their general.”

  “What was that note, sir?” Sergeant Gusstafson asked.

  “General Kauranen would call it a bit of enthusiastic saber-­rattling,” Nels said. “Everyone, resume your duties. The show is over.” He turned his back on the Acrasians and walked away. He decided to pay a visit to Master Sergeant Jarvi. It wasn’t likely that Marcellu
s would use the flaw in the west wall after that note, but it wouldn’t do any harm to be prepared.

  He gazed up into the graying dawn. The clouds were bunched into angry knots. Curse the weather. He needed snow. Now. Then he remembered that Suvi had mentioned they had Waterborne visitors. Aren’t they known for weather magic?

  It’s time to see a man about a storm, Nels thought.

  FIVE

  With a tense jaw, Nels waited for his proposal to be declared pathetic and then rejected. Firelight cast mottled patterns across his sister’s careful expression. He thought she looked older now, more self-assured. Responsibility was changing her, but he supposed she’d say the same of him. He looked to his father. He appeared to be recovering. There was new color in the king’s face, his eyes were alert, and his clothes no longer hung on him like oversized rags. He seemed stronger, too. It was as if a new person had emerged from the ashes of the old one. Nels was happy of it. Then it abruptly occurred to him that the three of them were actually working together for the good of the kingdom.

  If only Mother had lived to see this.

  Suvi had taken over their uncle’s apartments when their father had named her acting chancellor. Although she hadn’t done much to alter its appearance, the study was less foreboding. The hearth fire consumed its logs with merry pops and crackles, joining the ticking of the mantel clock in filling the long silence. Tired, Nels fought an urge to collapse into one of the overstuffed chairs and prop his boots up. Resting an elbow on the mantel instead, he stared into the fire in order to seem less concerned with the outcome. He felt bad for approaching his father and sister first. There wasn’t time for lengthy debates, but the rapid change in weather would have a heavy effect on the people of Jalokivi and thus the kingdom. In addition, asking anyone to expend the amount of energy required for an out-of-season storm was an imposition. The Waterborne were Suvi’s friends, not underlings to be ordered. They were foreign nationals with interests of their own. And while Waterborne were known for weather magic, that didn’t necessarily mean Suvi’s friends had such power, no more than Eledoreans being known for domination magic meant that Nels himself possessed it. It would be rude to make assumptions, and he couldn’t afford rudeness any more than he could afford wasted time.

  “You’re in luck,” Suvi said. “Dylan is a talented weathermaster.”

  Nels felt his shoulders drop. “Good.”

  “But he works with water. All Waterborne do.”

  “We’ve certainly had enough rain,” Nels said.

  “And I’ve never seen Waterborne work magic this far inland,” Suvi said. “Still, it might be possible. I have seen Dylan command a storm on land once. But it was on a small island surrounded by the sea.”

  “We’re surrounded by water on three sides. King Einar’s Lake to the north and the Greater Sininen river to the south and southwest,” Nels said. “Perfect.”

  “Technically, that’s two and a half. Also, river or lake water isn’t the same as seawater,” Suvi said.

  “I wasn’t implying that it was,” Nels said. “Only that—”

  “This is a great deal to ask,” their father said. “The treaty hasn’t been finalized. I’m uncomfortable relying on allies without a formal agreement in place. What if they make impossible demands later? What if this Dylan harms himself? He’s the son of a sea lord. Will Kask blame us and retaliate? Will he abandon us? Or will we then have to fight two wars—”

  “Sea Lord Kask isn’t like that, Father,” Suvi said. “I wouldn’t be here if he was.”

  “We have to think beyond this battle.” Their father turned to Suvi. “Can’t we last until winter arrives of its own accord? It’s only a few weeks. Didn’t Nels say that we were in a strong position? There is no siege yet. We should wait.”

  “Let’s not make a decision until we have all the facts, Papa. We should present the idea to Dylan and Darius when they get here,” Suvi said.

  “I’ve a very bad feeling,” Nels said, his cheeks burning. It was the first time he’d spoken of his hunches in front of anyone other than Viktor. Nels wasn’t sure how his father would react. One didn’t acquire new talents after puberty any more than one grew a second head.

  “You’ve had a premonition?” his father asked. His eyes became intense, and his brows pressed together. “You?”

  “Really?” Suvi scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned forward. “What have you been hiding from us all this time?”

  Nels looked away. He hadn’t expected that either of them would show this much interest in something so dubious. “It isn’t a premonition, exactly.”

  “Then, what is it?” Suvi asked.

  Turning his back on them, Nels wasn’t sure he could talk about it. “I don’t know. It isn’t powerful. It isn’t like I had a vision or a dream. Intuition?” Afraid of disappointment and skepticism, he didn’t dare look at his sister or his father.

  “I don’t think that matters,” Suvi said.

  I knew it, Nels thought. I shouldn’t have said anything.

  “I mean, I don’t care what you want to call it. You’re the only one who thinks that you don’t have power,” Suvi said. “Trust yourself. I trust you.”

  “All right,” Nels said, still not turning to face them. “Marcellus knows too much.”

  “What do you mean?” his father asked.

  “The surrender demand,” Nels said. “The messenger knew I’d speak Acrasian. With a North End accent, no less. Their infor­mation is too specific.”

  “You believe we’ve a traitor.” Suvi’s voice was flat, serious.

  Nels nodded. “I do.”

  “Who?” Suvi asked.

  “I’m not sure. Someone who knows us well, certainly,” Nels said.

  “Uncle Sakari?” Suvi asked.

  “No!” Their father got up from his chair and paced the study. “He would never do such a thing. He knows what it would mean. He would never— He’s my brother! He has every bit as much to lose as we do if Eledore falls into the hands of the Acrasians!”

  Holding his breath, Nels again waited to be dismissed.

  “Father,” Suvi said. “Don’t upset yourself. Please. Sit. We’re only discussing possibilities. No one has accused anyone of anything.”

  Their father returned to his chair. “I won’t stand for more talk like that. I know what everyone says about Kar. But he led the kingdom when I couldn’t. And he asked for very little in return.”

  Why ask when you can take whatever you want? Nels thought.

  “If he wanted to steal the kingdom from me, he’d have done it long ago.”

  He didn’t? Nels kept his focus on the carpet.

  “I know. I know. Let Nels speak,” Suvi said. “Stay calm. We’re only gathering information. Nothing more. Think. No judgments need to be made right now.”

  Their father sighed.

  Suvi said, “Nels, go on.”

  “I should consult Ilta before I say anything,” Nels said.

  “Why isn’t she here now?” Suvi asked.

  “She’s at the Commons Hospital,” Nels said. “I think she’s still uncomfortable about participating in these councils.”

  “Hrmph,” their father said with a frown. “Saara Korpela made a huge mistake in naming that girl her successor.”

  Nels said, “No matter what she did—if she actually is to blame, and none of us knows for certain—”

  “Nels,” Suvi said. “I was there.”

  “Ilta wouldn’t have exposed Father on purpose. She wouldn’t. Such a thing would break her Healer’s Oath. It was an accident,” Nels said. “I should’ve sent her from Merta sooner. I should’ve gotten her from Angel’s Thumb before Virens. I thought—”

  “Stop it. You’ve nothing to blame yourself for,” Suvi said. “The quarantine was necessary. If you’d gone to Angel’s Thumb before it was safe, the people of Gardemeister would’ve caught the new strain of variola. The army units stationed there would’ve caught it and spread it. We wouldn’t have th
e army. We might not even have you.”

  “Army? We’ve hardly enough to man the city walls,” Nels said. “The Acrasians have—”

  At that moment, there was a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” Suvi said.

  Valterri announced that Suvi’s friends were waiting. Everyone remained silent until the butler returned and the Waterborne were shown in.

  “Dylan Kask, weathermaster, son of Sea Lord Aodhan Kask of clan Kask, and Darius Teak, messenger, of clan Kask, formerly the first mate of the Laughing Sea Horse,” Suvi said, “this is my father, His Majesty King Henrik Ilmari, and my brother, Colonel Nels Hännenen.”

  Dylan bowed to their father and then offered a hand to Nels. There was something about Dylan that made Nels like him at once. Perhaps it’s the way that he seems so comfortable around Father?

  “Suvi told me a great deal about you,” Dylan said.

  “She did, did she?” Nels asked.

  Dylan said, “Every word was nice.”

  “Really?” Nels asked. “Then she must have been lying.”

  “That isn’t true,” Suvi said.

  “Now that all the embarrassing family secrets are out, have a seat,” Nels said.

  Dylan and Darius settled onto the small sofa next to the hearth.

  “Suvi mentioned that you had a proposition for clan Kask?” Dylan asked.

  Nels looked to Suvi. “Ah. Not exactly. Not for your clan. For you. I need to ask for your help.”

  Darius turned to Dylan.

  Dylan paused. “All right. What kind of favor do you need this time?”

  “Suvi says you’re a weathermaster,” Nels said.

  “I am,” Dylan said. “I served on HKEL Northern Star for six years. Then I temporarily transferred to HKEL Sea Otter. However, I officially resigned from the Eledorean Navy last summer.”

  “Oh,” Nels said. I hope the navy treats their sailors better than the army treats their soldiers.

  “Eledore granted me asylum when I had nowhere else to go,” Dylan said. “So, I’m willing to listen to your request.”