Saga of Menyoral: Hard Luck

by Ray, M. A.

  “No.”

  “Are you—”

  “Not hungry. I could use some of that cider, though.”

  Dingus went around the table to the hearth. While Grandma and Grandpa said their hellos, he dipped out a mug of cider from the big pot hanging over the flames.

  “Come up for his birthday?” Vandis asked, trying a smile and coming up with something ghastly. Dingus set the mug in front of him—he didn’t touch it—and sat down again.

  “Yes,” Grandma said, nodding, trying a smile of her own. It wasn’t as bad as Vandis’s, but it wasn’t up to her usual standard, either, and Grandpa sitting next to Dingus with his face like thunder kind of spoiled the effect. “Yes, we did. As long as he’s here, we figured we could visit.”

  Vandis began, “I hope you’ll—”

  “I’m here to take my son home, Sir Vail.”

  “Ma!” Dingus said, at the same time Grandpa snapped, “Rhiada!”

  Vandis scowled, rubbing his forehead again. “Do you want to see your son walking down the road, or hanging from a tree?”

  “Dingus has a duty. It’s not fair to him or his family to keep him here when you’re not spending any time with him. We could use his hands, even if you can’t.”

  “Dingus has a duty here. To me,” Vandis said. “You agreed to this, and so did Dingus, when I entered his name in the rolls. Now you’re going to come in here and try to force your son to go back on his word? Fuck that.” Ma gasped, and he went on. “It’s not your choice. It’s not even Dingus’s choice—although his wishes are, of course, a consideration in my decision. The answer is no, absolutely not, never, and if you can’t accept it, get the hell out.”

  Ma rose with supreme dignity, and stalked to the double doors. “A fine son you are!” Tears wobbled in her eyes and voice. “Leaving me! Just like your father did!” She shoved both doors open.

  “You talk to my boy like that again, you’ll be sorry!” Vandis bit off, and then she was gone. The doors slammed behind her, and Vandis subsided into a cranky lump on the bench. Grandma sighed and looked at the rafters; Grandpa propped his elbows on the table, laced his fingers together, and gazed angrily at nothing.

  Dingus put his face in his hands. At least it was getting late, so the mess hall had mostly cleared out for the night. For a long time, everybody sat there quiet, nobody saying a word. Then Grandma sighed again and got up, passing Dingus on the way to the doors. She hugged him. “Don’t take it personally, ralimovaro. Things have been difficult for her. It’s a big adjustment without you around.”

  “She didn’t have to act like that though.”

  “I know. I’ll make her understand,” Grandma said, a little grimly, and went out.

  After another agonizing minute, Grandpa said, “You ought to have told me.”

  Dingus rubbed the back of his neck. He wished he’d never mentioned it. “It was kid stuff. Stupid.”

  “No,” said Grandpa and Vandis, at the same time, and Grandpa went on. “When did this happen?”

  “I was ten. I told you, it was—”

  “It was cruelty. If you’d told me, it would have ended, and you’d have been a Squire quite a bit sooner.”

  “Which one’s Rogen?” Vandis asked. “Was that the bailiff?”

  “Yeah,” Dingus said, and Grandpa snorted.

  “For the moment.”

  Vandis snorted, too. “Wish I’d stepped on his neck a little harder.”

  You stepped on his neck? Dingus’s eyes rounded. Boy, he would’ve loved to see that.

  “So do I,” Grandpa said. He swung his legs off the bench and stood. To Dingus he said, “You will write me once a month to tell me where you are and satisfy me that you are being treated well. Sir Vail, have a care that I see nothing amiss.” He smiled faintly, and his eyes sent a shiver up Dingus’s spine. He pressed Dingus’s shoulder. “Good night.”

  He left. Vandis shook his head. “Glad I’m not the bailiff.”

  “You think he’ll do something?”

  “I know he will.”

  Dingus had nothing for that. Vandis reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Dingus tried, as he tugged out the cork with a little pop. Whatever was in it smelled strong.

  “I’m sure.” Vandis took a long, deep drink from the flask.

  “I’m sorry about all that.”

  “Don’t apologize for her. It’s not worth the breath.” He hadn’t taken off his gloves, let alone his cloak, and he sat there, slumped on his elbows, steaming in the warmth from the fire. After another few heartbeats he had another long drink. “What a fucking waste of time,” he muttered, and he wasn’t talking about Ma.

  “What happened, Vandis?”

  “It’s not really a good subject for a birthday.”

  He shrugged. For whatever reason, he realized, Vandis actually wanted to tell him. “Wasn’t that great of a birthday anyhow.” As birthdays went, it was in fact better than usual, but now he’d worry half the night anyway, so it didn’t much matter.

  “I think your mother was lying in wait for me.”

  “Yeah, she does that. Tell me what happened.”

  Stubble rasped as Vandis rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “We shouldn’t be here,” he said finally. “By the time we got here it was already too late. They’re dead. They’re all dead and it’s only today I found out.”

  “You mean—” Dingus gulped. “—the Knights that got stuck in Muscoda?”

  “And Squires. Three hundred fourteen people got staked out to die, right after they closed the borders. We’re lucky it wasn’t three hundred seventeen.” Dingus couldn’t think of anything to say to that, not one word. His mouth kind of fell open again, but nothing came out. Vandis went on, “They didn’t have to do it that way. It was just an excuse to kill Knights.”

  “But why’d they do it at all?”

  “The Muscodite government and the Aurelian church don’t want their people thinking any way but their way. We tell them something different. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but governments in general really don’t care for us.”

  “Not so much,” Dingus said, “but I guess I can see why.” He thought about all those funny ideas Vandis was so passionate over. “If most of us thought like you.”

  “Not everybody’s such a flaming radical as I am,” Vandis said, laughing a little. “But close enough. Some of us, more so. I have to keep my more treasonous ideas tight to the chest. Politics.” He made a disgusted sound.

  “Is that what ‘seditious’ means? Treason?”

  “Pretty close. It means trying to cause unrest. A rebellion.”

  “Oh.” Dingus clenched his fists in his pockets so he wouldn’t bite his nails: his pocketknife in one hand, the tooth in the other. “Were we?” he asked quietly.

  “I can trust you, can’t I?”

  He waited.

  Vandis took in a deep, shuddery breath. “Yeah, we were. For a long time—on the sly. Something’s been going on there, but we don’t know exactly what. They’re taking kids.” He dropped his head into his hands again. “We haven’t been able to find out where they’re going. This is going to make it almost impossible to help. Plus, this land grab in the Little States…they’ve always had the legal authority, so why now? We might never get the answer.”

  “Tell me what I can do.”

  “About this? Directly? Jack shit. I’m sorry.”

  “I want to help the kids,” he said, and then, much more quietly, “I want to help you.”

  Vandis looked at him, right in the eye, measuring him. He wondered if Vandis could see this: there was nothing he might ask that Dingus wouldn’t do. At last Vandis said, “You mean that.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “Get your leaf.”

  “I meant, you know…sooner.” His first shot at that was two summers away.

  “That’s what I meant, too. I want you to stand the Trials this summer, and I want you to pass. You’ve already
been doing a lot of what a Junior does, but I need it official.”

  “You think I can?”

  “If it was only the woodcraft, you could do it tomorrow. You’re a hell of a hunter. We need to work a little harder on the man-tracking end of things. I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately.”

  “You’re the Head. You got important stuff going.”

  “Working with you is ‘important stuff,’ and I neglected that for what turned out to be, basically, nothing.”

  Dingus didn’t want to argue. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  “There’s going to be a lot of studying. A lot of things you would have learned on the road, you’ll need to learn from books instead. It’ll be hard work.”

  Dingus spread his arms. “Instead of telling me how hard it’s gonna be, how ’bout you tell me where to start?”

  Vandis looked at him and let out a quiet sigh. “Tolyaid. Read it. Try to take notes—do you know how to do that?”

  “You showed me last time we were here. Write down what I think is important. Stuff I need to remember.”

  His head moved in a slow nod. “That’s right. I wasn’t sure. I just—” He slumped. “Go, Dingus,” he said hoarsely. “Just—go to bed, or—something.”

  “Yes, Vandis,” Dingus said, but he didn’t go to bed. He went to the library, lit a lamp, and hunted up Tolyaid. It was all in poetry and he fell asleep in one of the armchairs, the heavy book in his lap, open to the fifth page. He woke at dawn with his legs all pins and needles and found Vandis in the mess hall, slumped half onto the table, sunk in sleep and reeking of alcohol.

  He woke Vandis and made sure he got to his bed. Then he went back to Tolyaid, taking a break to say good-bye to Grandma, Grandpa, and Ma. When three days later Vandis walked into the library, Dingus was still only fifty pages in, and Tolya hadn’t even picked up Her sword. Vandis leaned over his shoulder to look at his notes. He’d taken a couple of pages down, mostly phrasing he liked and could stick into a story somewhere down the line.

  “Nice job,” said Vandis. He went into the stacks, came back with two thick books, and thumped them onto the table Dingus was using. “Take notes. When you’re finished, we’ll use them to write a treatise. We’ll be doing a lot of that.” When Dingus gaped at him, he grinned. “Four days to read. You have fun now. Oh, and meet me at the back of the main building right after dinner. Make sure you’re dressed to run outside for a while.”

  “Yes, Vandis.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll be in the salle if you need me.”

  He left. Dingus put Tolyaid up, got a fresh stack of scrap parchment, and sat down at the table again, pulling the two books toward him. Four days—and not even whole days? He’d better get started.

  Bloody Mad

  Spring had come, spring enough to suit Vandis, anyhow. The nights were cold, but by the time they made it up to the Dragon’s Spine, the passes should be well open. Once they got north of the mountains, they shouldn’t have to press too hard to make it over west of Ennis in plenty of time for Vandis to prepare for the Longday Moot.

  They were two and a half weeks into the journey, finally out of Wealaia, and venturing deeply into Dixon Forest. The weather hadn’t been very pleasant, but when the day came that Vandis announced, “Time to go,” both his Squires were more than ready, and even under the seemingly constant, chilly drizzle, Dingus had brightened considerably when they got over the border. Come to that, Vandis had, too.

  Sometimes he wondered why he’d waited so long to take a Squire. He supposed he simply hadn’t realized how good it could be, and now that he had his two, he didn’t know how he’d ever gotten along without them, especially after the last part of this winter. It was always going to bother him, he knew that. It bothered his Lady, too, but at least things weren’t as black for Vandis as they might’ve been if he’d gone through it with nothing and nobody but a depressed, celestial voice in his head. He wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for a month if Kessa and Dingus hadn’t needed his time. He’d had almost none for Kessa until then, and with Dingus buried up to his ears every morning in books, maps, and travel journals, he’d been able to take her into the salle and really make good on his promise to teach her swordplay. She wanted to practice constantly. At first it was more enthusiasm than anything else, but she was a quick study. He still ran her around more often than not, but that soft look of hers was thoroughly deceptive. Under her pretty curves she had muscle to spare and energy to burn. He could wallop her ten times a day and she still got up and wanted to go again. She’d started to look like he’d tuned her up on purpose, but with her, and with Dingus’s hour a day, under his clothes Vandis had a permanent mottling of blue, purple, and green. The snow let him show Dingus more of the tricks to shake pursuit, too, and help him to practice following someone who used them. He’d spent afternoons on that, and on trying to teach Kessa the most rudimentary tracking skills. All in all, he hadn’t gotten so much exercise since he’d taken his own leaf.

  He’d be damned if it wasn’t all paying off, too. Vandis felt good, physically, in a way he hadn’t for years. Most of the old-man pains were gone, or at least less noticeable under the more obvious aches, and he had all the energy he used to. More importantly, it was paying off in spades for the Squires. Kessa was starting to read the simple sentences Vandis wrote out for her, and she could write “Kessa,” “Vandis,” “Dingus,” and the alphabet from memory. She didn’t track well; Vandis thought she didn’t have quite the personality for it, but she was trying her best, and he couldn’t ask for more.

  Damn, though! Dingus. By the time they’d left, Dingus had been producing a solid, workmanlike treatise three times a week. If he hadn’t so openly loathed writing them, Vandis could’ve made a scholar out of him, he was that quick. He was sharper by miles than he’d ever shown, and definitely sharper than he thought he was. When Vandis had declared an end to the formal study, he’d been far beyond the level of knowledge the Knights expected their Juniors to have attained. Vandis hadn’t mentioned it to Dingus. It wouldn’t have done any good; Dingus wouldn’t believe it until he’d stood the Questions Trial this summer, but Vandis was excited. He’d have the dark horse this year, no doubt about it.

  Vandis loved his life right now. To hell with bruises and knots and a brain that throbbed from drilling Dingus! Who cared? He was having an absolutely marvelous time. Days went by when he didn’t list over to himself the names of the people who had baked to death in the sun. Days went by when his chest felt nothing but light, and he guessed he was happy, happier than he’d ever been.

  “What’s the capital of Tarvylania?” he was asking now, thoroughly enjoying quizzing his older Squire as they walked down a rough track in the warm late afternoon, heading north, always north, under the shade of big old oaks.

  “Targon City,” Dingus said. “Come on, Vandis, give me a hard one.”

  “Name me the four largest religious orders in Rothganar, their bases of operations, and their gods.”

  “Biggest one is the Order of Aurelius, out of Muscoda,” Dingus said. He wouldn’t have known this two months ago, but now he answered with confidence. “They worship Naheel. Second biggest is us—Knights of the Air, in Dreamport, serving Akeere. Third is the Tappers, also Dreamport, serving Vard. Fourth is the Lovespeakers, Elemer and Cerama, Brightwater—but they’re a lot smaller than the other three.”

  “Who’s the King in Vick’s Hollow?”

  “You’re trying to trick me. Since Muscoda took over the Little States, it’s Kasimir, but by blood it’s Vick XXI.”

  “All right then, who’s the Minister of Public Works in Brightwater?”

  “Eduardo Cassini.”

  “Where’s the largest prison in Rothganar?”

  “Commoduce Island. Brightwater again. Come on, Vandis.”

  “Keep it up and I’ll make you write another treatise.”

  “No ink, no parchment, fuck you,” Dingus said, sounding delighted that no treati
se assignments would be forthcoming.

  “Use blood, use birch bark, fuck you,” Vandis returned. “Tell me about the duchies in Dreamport.”

  “There’s three. Marz under Clive Bonaventure, Valheim under Richard Bludgraven, Friedhelm under Marcus Xavier. Isn’t that messed up? A duke has the same surname as me.”

  “Wonder if you’re related,” Vandis said, trying the boy out with it, and Kessa and Dingus both laughed.

  “Now that’s a messed-up idea,” Dingus said.

  Vandis grinned. Not exactly the response he’d thought he would get, but pretty close. “Tell me the names of the last four hetmans in Oasis, starting currently.”

  “Ben Fennec, Hassan, Chillicothe—”

  When Dingus didn’t get the last name, Vandis turned and saw him standing in the trail, as still and taut as a deer about to bolt. “Well?”

  “I think I hear something,” Dingus said, but then he frowned. “Anyways, it’s Quanah, but he was—” He stopped again. “I think we should go a different way,” he said, very quietly, in a voice that made the hairs on the nape of Vandis’s neck prickle.

  “Animal?”

  Dingus shook his head, and Vandis gestured Kessa close to him. It was early in the season for traders’ caravans, and if it walked on two legs, it wasn’t anyone Vandis wanted to meet. Nobody wanted to claim Dixon Forest; it was full of ghosts, people said, the ghosts of magi and sorcerers who’d killed themselves, and because of that, only the desperate came here to stay. “I saw a fork a couple miles back,” he said when they drew close to Dingus again. “Will that do it?”

  “Maybe.”

  They started walking back toward the fork. “What did you hear?” Kessa asked.

  “Not now. I—” But Dingus stopped. A straggle-haired, thin man in a ragged cloak suddenly filled the narrow track twenty feet ahead. There was a rusty short sword in his hand and a pinched, hungry look about his face.

  “Back the other way,” Vandis said, as two of the thin man’s equally thin, equally desperate-looking friends came to join him.