by John Dalmas
Gaerimor chuckled. "First you must know people. And next you need to read auras, which Lady Cyncaidh tells me you do very well. Something my own observations tend to confirm."
Again he chuckled. "And next I needed broad information and understanding about the various governments and their commerce. Many years in government posts provided me with a good foundation.
"And Strongarm, who has long served as deputy to the King in Silver Mountain, has remarkable recall. Quite reliable, too. I learned that by asking him questions whose answers I knew, or at least knew somewhat about."
Macurdy nodded. Gaerimor had twice invited him and Varia to supper in his quarters, and questioned him about various Rude Lands matters. Macurdy had concluded that Gaerimor knew more about the Rude Lands kingdoms than he did, though perhaps he'd filled a few holes for the ylf.
"And Morguil," Gaerimor went on, "when he evacuated the government from Colroi, took literally wagon-loads of government records with him. Perhaps hoping against hope that someday the voitar would be driven out, and he'd have need of all those data. You'd be surprised how much of it there is. And when we had High Admiral Vellinghuus and General Horst brought here, I made sure they brought the armada's and army's records from Balralligh, to go with those from Deep River and Camp Merrawin. A treasure trove." He beamed at Macurdy.
Macurdy frowned. "And then what?"
"I read them, of course."
"Read them?"
"Not every word, obviously. Morguil's cache was categorized, of course. With most of it I did little more than look at major headings. If a heading looked hopeful, I explored the subheadings, and skimmed the contents of the more promising. Slowing here and there as appropriate. Fortunately his clerks were excellent penmen.
"The voitik records were much less complex but quite voluminous. I went through them with the help of aides provided by the admiral and general. It helps, of course, that their alphabet and numerals are recognizably like our own—a common origin, you know. And many of their words are similar, though the grammar is rather different. Most of the records are quantitative, and little grammar was involved."
His lordship had paused several times to sip his wine. It seemed to rejuvenate him. "That is one reason," he added, "that things went so much better after the first week. I'd developed a considerable sense of who had what, who might want what, and what was possible, you see."
Macurdy stared. "When did you have time to do all that?"
"Why at night, of course."
"Then—when did you sleep?"
"Every morning between four and six-thirty. Then I was pulled to my feet by my aide and orderly, stripped, helped or hustled outside, and rolled in the snow." He laughed aloud. "I believe they enjoyed treating an aristocrat and council member like that, once they got used to it." Pausing he added: "But tonight... Tonight, when you leave, I shall lie down and sleep till I waken. And woe to anyone who hastens the hour."
Macurdy considered a question, and decided to ask it. He didn't know much about ylvin sensitivities, but he couldn't imagine Gaerimor being offended by it. "Its amazing how you pulled it off," he said. "You didn't learn to operate like that overnight. How old are you?"
Gaerimor saw through Macurdy's verbal camouflage, and smiled amiably. "Eighty-seven years," he said, "most of them interesting, some of them challenging. I recommend old age highly. I should reach decline sometime over the next five years or so, and expect to enjoy that too. Not the decrease in capacity, or the eventual discomfort and pain. But the viewpoint... Ah, that will be interesting!"
He glanced at his clock. "And now, my honored guest, it is time for my overdue sleep."
* * *
Initially, in Duinarog, Macurdy had thought of Gaerimor as too weak to be War Minister, though Cyncaidh seemed to think highly of him. But here he'd quickly come to respect and admire the old ylf. And this night, when he left Gaerimor's quarters, it was with awe. He hoped he'd age half as well. A third.
* * *
Macurdy did some final things before leaving Colroi. He gave a copy of the Congress Agreement to Colonel Horgent, who was about to leave with his Tigers for the Cloister. Horgent would deliver it to Amnevi. Then, via the great raven network, Macurdy summarized it for her in advance. And informed her he was herewith resigning as dynast, naming her as his successor. She'd have it in writing when Horgent arrived at the Cloister.
And the next morning, when the Tiger cohorts mustered to leave Colroi, he announced to them what he'd told Amnevi the day before. He had no doubt they'd support her.
PART EIGHT
Closure
Among human beings, pure love, agapé, is rare and mostly fleeting. It is sometimes approached, however, in romantic love, love of an offspring, a parent, a friend...
Ah. I see the term is unfamiliar to you. Agapé is love that requires nothing of the loved one, expects no reward, and imposes no conditions at all. The soldier who throws himself on a grenade to save his comrades may well be experiencing a flash of agapé.
By human standards, Mary's love for you approached agapé, and was remarkably constant. As was Melody's, and Varia's on Farside. You have been thrice blessed, my friend.
Vulkan to Macurdy,
on the highway to Teklapori
in the spring of 1950
40 Homeward
Macurdy and Varia left Colroi on two excellent horses—officers' horses that had crossed the Ocean Sea from Hithmearc. Macurdy's was exceptionally large; he'd been given the pick of the herd. Tagging behind were two remounts and three packhorses. As usual, Macurdy did without an orderly. For companions, the couple had Vulkan and Blue Wing.
They rode briskly southwestward, headed for the Pomatik River. The countryside was farmland, fertile in season, but now a bitter snowscape. There'd been a new spate of snowy weather, and nothing resembling a thaw. When the wind blew, the snow blew. Thus there were drifts for their horses to wade through. In this they had Vulkan's help, for the boar led, his powerful bulk breaking trail.
The only forest was scattered woodlots, kept by farmers, villages and towns to provide fence rails, lumber, and especially fuelwood. Almost the only remaining buildings were of stone, and they had been burned out. The countryside seemed totally abandoned. It had been heavily picked over earlier by hithik foraging parties passing through. Whatever locals had survived the ravaging hithar had since died, or fled south out of the country.
Blue Wing helped them avoid military company. When he spotted any, he informed Macurdy and Vulkan, who made any necessary course adjustments. The Lion had been enough in the company of fighting men for a while, even those he knew and liked.
Ever curious, Blue Wing questioned Macurdy from time to time as they traveled. Mostly about Farside, and what he'd done there during his years away from Yuulith. Varia, of course, listened in. More than a little of it she hadn't heard before.
She rode beside Curtis and a step back, to watch him without distracting him. He sat relaxed but straight in the saddle, watchful, totally in charge, but with no sign of arrogance. How he'd changed since she'd seduced him that night in Indiana! He'd been a man—what a man!—yet in important respects still a boy. All his twenty-five years had been spent with his parents. Doing man's work almost since boyhood, but their youngest child, the one at home. A mostly happy, full-grown child.
And of course, she told herself, he's thinking how much I've changed. While in Colroi, he'd been heavily involved with the congress. Living together at Aaerodh would complete the healing, the growing together. He'd get to know the household staff, the farm workers, the tenants. Deal with everyday life. In winter she'd teach him to ski the forest trails, show him moose, caribou, and, with luck, jaguar, her favorites.
In summer he'd learn how to farm in the north, and she would teach him sailing. They'd explore the shoreline, visiting the occasional fishing hamlets, and their people. Take him to Cyncaidh Harbor, and the best inn in the empire. They had twenty-five years, more or less, before decline hit her.
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Meanwhile he began training her to draw on the Web of the World.
* * *
Like Varia, Macurdy had thought about the future, though not in such detail. This in connection with revisiting the past, remembering their brief married life on Farside. They could hardly go back. They'd changed too much, and this was where their children were. But this time they'd complete their lives together.
* * *
As they traveled, Vulkan spoke almost not at all. On their fourth night, as they lay in their tent, on and under ylvin furs, Varia commented on it in English. "His aura doesn't indicate unhappiness. It's as if he was meditating, with his body running on its own. Is he often like this?"
"Never for days on end before. When we first met, before I went back to Farside, he was almost talkative. He's told me since, he was excited to find me. He knew right away, he said, that I was his 'mission companion.' He's told me since that we were sent to Yuulith on the same mission." He paused, reflecting. "It seemed to me like a strange thing to say, seeing as how he came here a couple hundred years before I did. Besides, I knew why I'd come to Farside the first time: to get you, and take you home. Although when I was getting ready to leave, I did suppose I'd come back. I even wondered why."
Again he paused, this time longer. "And when I finally did, I knew he'd find me. At first he talked quite a lot again, telling me stuff he wanted me to know or think about. And asking questions, probably more for the things they brought to the surface than for my answers.
"He's never been big on idle conversation though. He's gone for hours sometimes without paying me any attention at all. I got the feeling he didn't want his thoughts interrupted."
She nodded. That was the feeling she'd gotten.
"And what you said about his body running on its own— He told me once that he can meditate while walking. He tells his body what he wants it to do, and then pretty much disconnects. Maybe goes off somewhere mentally, though I suppose he leaves some part of himself in touch. To pop him back if he's needed."
Again Macurdy reflected. "But this time... Might be he's getting ready to leave, now the war's over. Maybe I'll ask him tomorrow."
He didn't though. It seemed to him Vulkan would tell him when he was ready to.
* * *
Meanwhile the giant boar had hardly eaten since they'd left Colroi. He'd drawn energy from the Web of the World, and for other nutrients depended largely on reserves. Twice, when they came to an orchard, he'd paused to paw and root for frozen, windfallen apples, Macurdy and Varia helping, digging with mittened hands. That was all the food he'd had. He'd declined to share theirs, or the horses' corn, saying they didn't have any to spare. The supply situation at Colroi had not been good, and Macurdy had declined to take an inordinate share.
So when they reached the forested hills in the south, Blue Wing kept an eye out for game. The first day, he reported a small band of elk pawing for grass in a meadow. Macurdy stalked within bowshot of them, and hit a bull. The band fled into the forest, Vulkan following at a leisurely pace. The elk were in poor shape, and the one Macurdy had hit was now lung-shot. Not being pressed, it soon lay down to rest. When Vulkan arrived, it was barely able to get up. He knocked it back down and killed it with his tusks.
Macurdy skinned the bull, then sliced out some loin cuts for himself and Varia, while Varia made camp. They rested there throughout the day, while Vulkan, with the help of Blue Wing and assorted smaller birds, fed on the carcass.
After his initial feeding, Vulkan volunteered what he'd been doing these several preoccupied days: monitoring another great boar. Communication between them was not, he said, attenuated by distance. It didn't cross physical distance.
"Wait a minute," Macurdy said frowning. "Where is this other boar?"
«In Hithmearc.»
"Hithmearc?"
«Strictly speaking, it was initially well east of Hithmearc, but on the same continent. The region is savanna—in German you'd say Waldsteppe—grassland with scattered woods and groves, and woodlands along the rivers. The tribes there hunt, raise foodstuffs on small plots, and occasionally raid one another.
«They are animists, and regard my, um, kinsman as a deity. His experience and mode of life have been quite different than mine.» He paused. «While we were at Colroi, I asked him to find out if the voitar in Hithmearc had been affected by the event at Kurqôsz's headquarters.
«At the time, however, my kinsman was far away from the voitar, and the winter there has also been severe. Nonetheless, he agreed. So he's been traveling, and I with him, experiencing that part of the world.»
Again Vulkan paused, a pause which Macurdy realized was meaningful. «Today,» the boar finished, «we—he and I—finally encountered something pertaining to my question: report of a plague having swept the Voitusotar. And of hithik uprisings against the survivors. The "plague" must be severe, or the hithar would not have dared.»
* * *
The next morning, Macurdy cut off some of the remaining frozen meat and put it in an empty corn sack for Blue Wing. Then they headed south again. A day and a half later they left the Eastern Empire, crossing the Pomatik River on the ice. There was a road along the south shore, and it soon brought them to a small village. They didn't stop there, but rode on west. Shortly after dark they reached a town—Big Fork—where a major tributary entered the Pomatik from the south. Another road ran south along the tributary, and at the junction stood a large, prosperous-looking inn. With a sign reading BATHS.
The stableman accepted the horses, but wanted nothing to do with Vulkan. He realized who Macurdy must be, and who Vulkan was, but he was adamant. Macurdy offered to stable the boar himself, feed and curry him, but the man wouldn't budge. He would not have the giant boar in his stable.
So Macurdy went in and described the problem to the innkeeper, who went out and reminded the stableman in no uncertain terms that it wasn't his stable, but the innkeeper's. Still the man shook his head. He'd quit, he said, if the boar was stabled there. Which would require the innkeeper to find another stableman at once, at night.
Macurdy defused the situation. "Is there another stable in town?" he asked.
There was, at the west end. "Well then," he said, "I'll take him there." Macurdy and Varia rode there with Vulkan, who was accepted willingly if warily by the owner-operator. Before Macurdy left, he had the man's promise to groom the boar.
At the inn, Macurdy bought a string bag of chicken entrails and organs for Blue Wing, the great raven's special order. Spreading his big wings, the bird transferred the foodstuff to the roof, to eat them in the lee of a broad, warm brick chimney. It was, he told Macurdy, where he would spend the night.
While paying for a room, Macurdy asked about the baths. "My big bath's dry," the innkeeper said, "and not near enough hot water to fill it. If I'd known you were coming... There's folks would've come to join you in it, ask questions and hear about the war. But I've got three small baths, and enough hot water for one of them." He shrugged. "Not much good for sharing news or gossip—won't hold more than four people—but it's costly to keep water hot in winter. And this winter there's been little traffic, plus what there is don't have much money." He paused thoughtfully. "We heard, a few days back, that the war's over, and it was you that won it. So for you I'll fill one of them free."
"That's generous of you. We'd like that."
"We?"
"My wife and I."
"Together?" The man frowned. "Then I guess you won't want any company. Well..." He let it go at that.
After being shown the bath, Macurdy and Varia went into the taproom for supper. Word of them had spread, and the taproom was packed with folks who'd come in for a pint, to see the Lion for themselves, and ask questions. It took quite awhile to finish supper.
At length Macurdy excused himself, and he and Varia went to their room. There they dug out their cleanest clothes and went to the bath.
* * *
The townsfolk, walking home, tended to talk as much about t
he Lion's beautiful wife as about the Lion himself. A few had seen a Sister before, but this one, they agreed, had to be the loveliest of them all.
41 Hoofprints
The night after his father sent him away, Tsûlgâx had not camped. He'd kept riding, pressing hard. It was almost the only way he knew to travel when alone. Occasionally he ate saddle rations. He first realized something might be wrong when he came to a wagon train stopped in the road, its voitu commander dead. The mind of its senior hithik officer had been frozen with fear. Would he be blamed? He hadn't been able to decide whether to continue or turn back.
The corpse's grotesque features suggested it had died of something very extraordinary. Tsûlgâx ordered the wagon master to continue west. The hithu, of course, didn't argue. He gave orders to his trumpeter, the man blew the signal, and the wagons began to roll westward again.
The rakutu encountered another train about sunup. Its voitu had also died the night before. This wagon master had sent several of the escort back to Camp Merrawin with the body, and continued west.
