by Ru Emerson
“I have,” Jers began defiantly. He faltered to a halt as Ylia cast him a scorching look and the elder on the bench waved an impatient hand at him.
“And the creatures—these Mathkkra? I saw the bodies. I heard from one of the parentless children about them. They are magic. Will you cleanse them also?” Silence. Jers dropped his gaze but his eyes were still furious. “Or the things that fly? I think we should be grateful for all such protections as we have against evil beings such as those. I oppose the Heirocracy's Order. This is not the time or the place to hold to strict Osneran policy.”
“I agree.” Grewl, his face full of misgivings, got to his feet. “We have tasks here, We have those among the Nedaoans who came to us freely and who share our beliefs. If we attempt to take the line Osnera dictates, we will find ourselves all boarding ships for home, for even if this Lady remains kind to us, her council will throw us out. We have only one real choice: to remain on good terms with these folk, and to set aside the Heirocracy's order—or to leave. It is not for us to dictate Nedaoan policy, or to dictate to Nedao's Queen. That is what that Order intends.” Silence. “Though I warn you. If we attempt what is asked of us, we leave Nedao. If we do as I have said, as Hadriad here urges, as many have agreed with us that we must, then we must eventually face charge of schism from Osnera.”
“If we're driven from Nedao,” one of the younger women spoke up, they won't treat us much better than if we had created schism. Would they?”
“Well,” Grewl-smiled faintly. “To imprison us for spreading false doctrine, they would have to have us in hand first, wouldn't they?”
“This is all wrong!” Jers shouted over a worried murmur of conversation. “What you do here, Grewl “he rounded on Ylia so suddenly she recoiled from him. “She is the cause of this, she has cast spells upon you, and turned your thought!”
“That's not true or right.” Sata—one of the Chosen women Ylia and her companions had rescued along with Grewl, deep in the Foessa—pushed forward, confronted the young Chosen. “If that was so, I'd say what Grewl does! Well, I don't feel as he does at all, I'm not best pleased about this AEldra magic and that's honest truth! Never was! But I agree with him that whatever we believe, we're here, and the people support her. For us to try and subvert children, to undermine her popularity—we haven't the right, and we wouldn't be here long if we tried it!”
“Osneran line was never that hard against magic until lately, anyway,” someone else deep in the crowd said. “In my grandsire's time, it was accepted and the Heirocrat himself had dreams and truth-knowledge.”
“But—!”
“Silence, Jers. I put it to vote!” Sata shouted. There was a shifting of bodies; Jers was pulled back by four of his own and this time he went away quietly enough and stayed with them. “Those who support Jers and would see him Father, would accept the Order!” A few muttered responses to that, but the spirit had gone rut of Jers’ supporters. Sata looked around at Grewl, who stared at his hands in resignation. She smiled tightly. “Those who would see Grewl Father, and follow the path of common sense!”
'There's no sense to schism,” someone muttered, but he was shouted down by an overwhelming “Aye!” Sata touched Grewl's shoulder lightly, and nodded as he looked up.
He sighed, stood. “Either way, we might well lose. This way at least we've gained time. Brother Jers—”
“You dare not call me brother, old fool,” Jers hissed.
“I would call you even a full brother, if I chose. Brother Jers, you have a 5-day for your decision. I hope your brothers who care for you will help you make it. I know the One will; if you ask His aid. But there will be no further schism in this house, if I am to serve as its Father. Either you accept my policy in this time and place—and bide your own, if you will, but in seeming and proper behavior. Or you may leave to join your friends in Osnera.”
“There is no Choice,” Jers said flatly. “I will not remain in a land where sorcery is condoned as it is here! There is a Narran boat down at the River, I will be on it when it sails.” And give a full report on you, in person, as soon as I can, his look added. He turned on his heel; two of his supporters went with him. The others looked at each other, at the stiff, retreating back, shook their heads and vanished into the crowd.
Grewl dropped back to his seat; a few of the Chosen came forward to speak with him briefly, but Sata and several of the other women got the room cleared. Ylia started to stand; Grewl touched her arm, and shook his head. “We weren't done speaking, if I recall correctly.”
“I—” She laughed shakily. “I don't remember. I'm sorry.”
“Ah. Your own story. I fear I'll be busy a 5-day or so, unfortunately, but thereafter I should be able to begin work on that. I hope you're not worried by all of this,” he added.
She shook her head. “Not by you, by those here, no. Vess, though—I should have known he'd be up to such a thing!”
“Well, it won't do him much good. He and Tevvro both have much to learn if they intend to use the Heirocracy as a stepboard to control of Nedao. The Heirocrat hasn't half the power he thinks or wishes he had, outside the Order. It was different, two hundred years ago, but even then only west of the sea. Then many lands rose or fell by the Order's decisions. So they still make their secret deals and policies, and believe that such things matter.”
“But, if they declare schism—”
Grewl sighed. “Well, yes. That might be serious. But mainly if any of us ever wished to return home.” He stirred, finished his tea. “We've bought time, a year or two of it. I greatly doubt your cousin will stir from Osnera between now and then, particularly if he truly thinks they can aid him He set the empty cup aside. “I'm again reminded, speaking of tales, I had never heard that sweet story of your Nisana's before. Does she know any others?”
“Dozens; she used to tell them to me long after bedhour, when Malaeth thought me alseep.”
“I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd get me another.”
Ylia laughed. “I'll try, but she's not always nearby these days! Mice!” She made a face. “You'd think intelligence like hers would keep her from eating mice, but it doesn't.
“If she runs short where you are,” Grewl replied gravely, as she made ready to leave, “ask her if she'd come here. We've no cat or dog of our own and we've mice rampant in the feed.”
The Nedaoan Mothers bless me for lack of wit: I understand that humans have tempers. All beings of a certain level of intelligence have them. Even I have the reputation for one, though I hold that I am more even of disposition than most folk; certainly more so than most of my own kind. But why is it human temper invariably shows itself in raised voices? Which are I must add, less than pleasant to more sensitive ears.
27
Marckl had been as good as his word; he and his armsmen combed the ridges for a full 5-day after Fest end. They found potential summer pastures, a number of shallow (empty) caves, several hides-worth of open meadow thick with mushrooms, breathtaking panoramas, slides and sheer drop-offs, and four hot pools that could be used as cures. Plus numerous additional valleys that—like the high pasturage—would, in better times, be excellent lands for Erken, Marckl, Ifney and the other nobles when they took lands of their own once more.
They found no trace, footprint, or scent of Mathkkra.
Ylia and Nisana made their own searches and found much the same—nothing. It didn't help either, that that was all they found. “They're out there, cat. You know it and I know it. They're waiting for us to relax guard again, that's all.”
'No argument on that from me, girl. I'm not your brainless Duke!’ The cat paced the length of the council table, then back again. Ylia slumped in her high-backed, cushioned chair, exhausted from the hot council meeting that had just ended, and the search she and the cat had just concluded. The lamp before her guttered, went out, Nisana paced halfway back down the table then sat. Her tail twitched. ‘There must be a way to find them. We've had fools’ luck that they've not attacked since, a
nd against those more vulnerable even than the herds and herders.’
“I know it. But if there's a way I can't figure it. Erken's men, Marckl's and Ifney's, Bnorn's—mine,, both of them—they're all ready to follow the creatures next time there's attack:” She sighed heavily. “Why am I telling you this? You were here tonight, you know how much squabbling that took!”
'Spare me a reiteration,’ the cat snapped. ‘My ears still hurt. Why must men shout so? But you and I know how fast Mathkkra run, and how well they move through close trees and brush, when horsemen must either slow pace or be knocked from the saddle!’
She nodded, and closed her eyes, rubbing at them absently. “It was easier to go along with them than to argue with Erken and Galdan both. Have you tried that lately?”
'Why should I? It's more amusing to watch you at it, and to watch you and Galdan so carefully avoiding each other's eyes.’
“Nisana, that's not funny.” She sighed heavily and the cat snorted a laugh. “I don't even think he likes me much.”
'Oh, no. He just came back to Nedao because he enjoys squabbling with his father, and ogling the peasant girls,’ the cat retorted. ‘But never mind, you'll argue with me next, and I'm bored with arguing.’
The guard on the herds was redoubled, but they were kept out at pasture—there'd been too much damage to crops, driving the beasts back and forth every day, and with so many to feed it was becoming impractical, particularly now with all the lambs, calves and kids. And there wasn't enough feed to keep them penned constantly near the bridge. The council took most of the children off guard. Only Danila refused to be counted among those, and even Levren could not dissuade her. He compromised by making certain Nold was on watch with her.
Three 5-days after Midsummer Fest, the hiatus was broken: on a black night when thick cloud covered the moon, the Citadel was attacked, two Chosen badly injured, one of their sheep killed and two lambs taken. The border guard had come upon the uneven fight almost immediately and driven the creatures back into the woods. The Chosen were given warning horns in case of another such raid, the border guard given an extra two turns per night past their low buildings. The Mathkkra were tracked at first light; but the trail vanished almost immediately on rock.
And now it seemed the creatures chose to make up lost time, and while there was only one death over the next two 5-days, there were raids and ambushes every night, sometimes as many as four at a time. The sword-sworn of the minor lords, the Northern Baron, and Erken and Corlin rode in long shifts, out of saddle only to sleep and eat. Ylia overrode her council, then, and sent some of her young women out on border guard, the rest to inner guard, hoping they could be of use there.
They were. Folk who had complained loudly over the clash of femininity and weaponry were effectively silenced when they found themselves defended by their daughters on their own doorsteps. Many young women who had held back at Aresada came forward eagerly for training.
But still the creatures’ retreat remained hidden. Though two hundred had fallen to Nedaoan bow and sword, the numbers that came against them never lessened.
“To me, that still indicates a single stronghold,” Marckl insisted at a particularly tense meeting.
“It doesn't matter!” Ylia shouted down the uproar that followed this remark. She jumped to her feet, pounded on the table and finally got silence. “We know they're out there, they've proven that to us! We know there's enough of them, and so long as we finally find and destroy them, I cannot see what it possibly matters if they all occupy one burrow, or if they have twenty!”
“Exactly so,” Galdan spoke up before any of his fellows could voice a harsher remark. “And we could use the time here in a better manner than to simply argue this thing over. After all, we've decided we must find them and destroy them. We're all agreed on that still?” Marckl rolled his eyes and mumbled something to Ifney. “So why don't we go on to something a little more pleasant, like the wine the Narrans plan on sending us? Is still a problem with barrels for the ale? Because if so, I'll pick men and go for the wood myself.”
“My son—” Erken began, quietly for him. Galdan clapped him on the shoulder.
“A jest, Father. It's been so long since you've heard one at this table, you forget how they sound.” It was Erken's turn to roll his eyes. Galdan clapped his shoulder again. “Seriously, if there's a problem—”
“No problem,” Marckl mumbled. “There's still a lot of downed wood beside the road—”
“Not pine, you know—”
“—of course I know,” the older man snapped. “Most of Teshmor's ale came from my estates, you know! Wasn't aware there was a problem. We can drag what's needed out as far as the cooper needs it. All the way in to the City, if he likes.”
“Fine, Marckl, you deal with that,” Ylia put in hastily. “And my thanks. There's a shipment of wine due in a day or so, Ber'Sordes ordered it and Tr'Harsen's bringing it. They said it's on account. Corlin knows all about that, if any of you needs detail, why not ask him later. Because frankly, I'm tired, and you all look as tired as I feel.”
“If there's anything else, we can chew on it tomorrow night,” Bnorn said as he rose to his feet. “I'm tired, too, and my head aches. I think we'll have rain tonight or tomorrow, by the feel of the air.”
“Wonderful,” Ifney said as he pushed his chair back. “The grain won't like that.”
“It won't hurt, if there's no more to follow for a few days,” Marckl reminded him.
“True.” Ifney smothered a yawn. “Bnorn's right, the air's oppressive and I'm tired and I ache. It's been years since I've spent so much time horsed.”
“Huh, how d'ye think I feel?” the Swordmaster demanded from the doorway.
They straggled out of the council room, still grumbling and complaining, but there was an undercurrent of relief in even Marhan's peevish last remark.
“Lady? Are you all right?” She opened her eyes—odd, she hadn't remembered shutting them. Galdan hovered uncertainly over her. She smiled tiredly. “Shall I send for your women?”
“No.” She held out a hand. “Just help me up. I'm too tired to move.” Warm fingers caught at hers, pulled her upright.
“Pushing yourself, aren't you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Some. Not as much as others I could name who've hunted mountain sheep, Mathkkra and still found time to fight four duels in the barracks.”
“Now, how you heard about that,” he exclaimed in exasperation. “Father's been talking again, old gabbier!”
She laughed. “You wrong him. Golsat and Brel and I are good friends. And arms-mates, remember? But I could have heard about that last fight from anyone housed down there!”
“Not my fault,” he began, all injured virtue. “They forget I was barracked in Teshmor when some of them were still growing second teeth, and they insist on setting upon me in—”
“—in time-honored tradition,” she finished for him. She was still laughing. “Forgetting, of course, that you three have sworn brothering and anyone who fights one of you comes against all three.”
“They haven't forgotten that,” he reminded her. “The last two brought comrades. If you heard anything you must have heard it all.”
“I had. You haven't helped them, poor babies, by your sudden change from those old hides, you know.” She cast him a meaningful look as they emerged into the hall. He moved a correct—she couldn't possibly call it mockery, for all the exquisite care he put into it—pace away from her. “It simply begs trouble.”
“What, this?” All innocent surprise now, he indicated with a sweep of his hand the short, dark blue half-circular cape lined in paler blue, the dark blue tunic with his token of service stitched to the shoulder, the full sleeved bleached shirt with its blue cuffs and the plain black hose. Like many others, like his father, he'd been first amused and then taken by the new Narran fashion, but even Erken had not been able to obtain the garb as quickly as Galdan and Brelian had: they'd bargained it away from the traders. Golsat
, always plain-clad, looked plain indeed between the two of them. “I merely thought to save you the trouble and expense of dressing me.”
“I—see.” She personally was torn: It was odd, and a little uncomfortable, seeing so much of a man's legs. Perhaps not that different from her own breeches, or so Lisabetha had told her: at first one didn't know where to look.
But since these two and now Erken had adopted the style, there'd be more to follow, and likely there'd come a day when baggy breeches laced from knee to ankle and a loose jerkin over would be worn by the few and would then be the thing that looked odd.
“If you'd rather,” Galdan said, breaking in to her thoughts embarrassingly near the mark, “I can always change back.”
“Whatever for?” she demanded sweetly. “I rather enjoy looking at your legs.” And as he turned red, she laughed, but she was as crimson as he was.
As suddenly as they'd begun, the raids ceased. In one night, two separate clutches of Mathkkra were completely wiped out, and they were the last. Council meetings became even hotter as those, at the long table argued the same point back and forth that the commons argued: The creatures had finally given up. No, they had done no such thing, they waited to make certain the foolish humans thought it, and would then come against them to find them unprepared and easy pickings. Ifney and Erken nearly came to blows over it. Ylia finally set the meetings to every fourth night since they were becoming nothing but a battleground. Trade was progressing well on its own. The grain harvest was doing well. And she was heartily tired of argument every night.
She'd offered Grewl temporary quarters in the City, where the Chosen could be guaranteed protection. He'd thanked her but said they needed time to finish their halls, before winter. Marckl, though one of the most outspoken of the council against the outland religion, sent several of his men to help the commune with its stone outer walls.
