by M. C. Planck
“Please enlighten me,” Kalani said. “I do not understand your private jest.”
Christopher tapped his fingers on the table for emphasis. “Lady Kalani, you may have noticed that my regiment of common men has had little trouble in destroying entire ulvenman armies.”
“I was aware, to some extent,” she agreed. “But I put the credit to your account. Although I do not know what the title ‘bishop’ signifies; I assume it is an advanced rank.”
“Not that advanced,” Christopher said. “Judging by the tael we took from the shaman, he outranked me.”
She looked at him with a more personal interest than she had so far shown. “And yet you defeated him?”
Christopher realized he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in exceeding the expectations of sophisticated and beautiful young women.
“You may ask how,” he began grandly.
“Thank you,” she said. “How?”
Apparently elves didn’t do rhetorical questions.
“Um. Guns. The answer is guns.”
She nodded in understanding. “Rohkea complained of the fire-sticks. I confess I did not fully believe his remarks. I assumed that he exaggerated the strength of your magic to excuse his failure. Although I am glad to see that it was nothing less than overwhelming power that made him flee.”
“He fought us?”
“Twice, actually. Once at a stone fort, though he was only a first-rank hunter then. A second time at a wooden fort, as a full chieftain. Despite his battle-lust, he retained the sense to retreat when defeat was obvious. You can see how rare a find he is; I would have been sorry to lose him.”
“You care for the beast?” D’Kan said, scandalized instead of shocked this time. Christopher wondered what precise temperature of porridge it would take to please the man.
“He is far-thinking, for his kind. In any case he is capable of morality, should he choose to apply himself, and should be treated as such.” She didn’t seem to grasp the essential jealousy of D’Kan’s complaint, or perhaps she chose to ignore it. “On his own terms he is worthy of respect.”
“On his own terms I am entitled to kill him,” Gregor said, perhaps making sure of where the land lay.
“Yes,” Kalani agreed. “Having lost, he does not expect any less. But you saw how he behaved, how he cared to stand taller than his fellows even when unarmed. I believe I have convinced him of the power of opinion. Such is the start of a code of honor.”
“You are going to school these creatures in honor?” Lalania said, either outraged or surprised. Christopher wasn’t sure there was a difference for the self-assured bard.
“Over time. There are many steps to the program: population control, restricted access to breeding females, a labor economy in which goods and favors are exchanged instead of taken. Eventually the ulvenmen will cooperate out of desire to gain. Then they may learn to desire the esteem of others, not just their fear.”
“They may learn to ask, not just to take,” Christopher said. “To expect more than merely noninterference from others.” The peculiarities of their language would appear to be more than arbitrary.
“Yes,” Kalani said. “As you know, it is possible for them. But few individuals of any race could obtain high affiliation in their current social conditions.”
Christopher looked at the elf. Her comments were of a kind he had stopped being used to. The moralities of her concerns he still recognized—Disa was as gentle, and Gregor as inured to necessary suffering—but the way she talked was unique for this world.
“You set yourself to an ambitious campaign,” Gregor told her, though with respect rather than disapproval.
“It will require that I gain a certain amount of rank of my own,” Kalani said apologetically.
“How much?” Torme asked.
“At least fifth. That is one good deed Keisari left me: the ulvenmen are intimidated by lightning bolts. I will need to take my promotion out of any taxes. But if your weapons are strong enough then I will not need to promote other hunters or chieftains.”
“What about healing?” Christopher asked. To his mind healing spells were a lot more effective for maintaining a society than lightning bolts. “And disease? Or can your shamans cure disease?”
“None of the other shamans were of any consequence. Keisari would not tolerate competition, only toadies,” she answered. “In any case, my first advice to Rohkea was to eliminate them. But yes, the ability to heal sickness will be a boon, although honestly ulvenmen rarely succumb to plague or infection. Also being able to change my shape will further intimidate the ulvenmen, and grant me some small chance of escaping should my plans fail.”
Christopher counted on his fingers. “Lightning, healing, shape-change . . . You can do all that at fifth rank?”
“Of course,” D’Kan said. “She is a druid.”
Once again Christopher wondered if he wouldn’t have been luckier to stumble into a chapel on the other side of the Kingdom.
“What does any of this matter?” Lalania asked. “You cannot arm these monsters. The King will view it as an act of treason, as will most. Even your own army.”
“Arming them is the best thing I can do,” Christopher said. “Think about it. With guns they won’t need to spend tael on ranks. Instead they’ll buy ammunition with their tael. If they try to attack us, we’ll just stop selling them powder, and they’ll be weaker than they are now because they won’t have any ranks. Giving them guns makes them dependent on us, while keeping them as a buffer against the Wild.”
His staff looked dubious, but Christopher knew it would work. It had worked on the Native Americans. Within a hundred years of the European’s arrival the tribes could no longer feed themselves without gunpowder.
Of course, in the end, it hadn’t worked out all that well for the natives.
“This is the only way we can avoid murdering them all,” he pointed out.
That argument convinced everyone but Lalania.
“For now, Christopher. But what happens when you die? What happens to the ulvenmen then?”
He shrugged. “Either Kalani has tamed them into true allies, or my successor will cut off their supplies of powder and then massacre them.”
Lalania shook her head in rebuttal. “Or they’ll attack while they still have ammunition and do untold damage.”
“Then maybe the King shouldn’t let me die.”
For a moment no one had anything else to say.
“Unbelievable,” Gregor said. “Had you told me a week ago that I would be selling rifles to ulvenmen I would not have believed you. But I am sick of killing women and children, no matter how fanged and furious they may be.”
“Technically we will be selling guns to an elf,” Torme suggested. “I find that view somewhat easier to swallow.”
Lalania threw up her hands. “I do not think the King will swallow any view. You cannot convince him with logic, Christopher.”
“I know how to buy the King’s acceptance,” Christopher said. “A fistful of tael, and the promise of more.” Christopher had garnered a staggering fortune over the last few weeks. He didn’t even know exactly how much. Shame had stopped him from counting it.
A soldier approached and saluted. “Colonel, some of the prisoners need healing.”
“I thought I asked for them unharmed,” Christopher said, frowning.
“They were, sir. But some of them ran themselves half to death on the way back.”
“I can help,” Kalani said, and she accompanied Christopher and the priestesses as they worked through the mass of refugees. Christopher watched her interactions with the victims closely, looking for a slip of the mask, but they responded to her as if she were one of them: a fellow slave, not a member of the oppressing government, or even a resented and pampered pet. The elf had shared their suffering, and yet she was prepared to risk her life to redeem their—and her—torturers. He did not fear the King’s wrath as much as he feared the shame she could put him too, if he did not
give her at least a chance.
At the end of the long day Christopher collapsed on his cot in his command tent, exhausted by the misery that had passed through his hands. Kalani, apparently unfazed, leaned against the center pole of the tent. She was wearing some clothes of Disa’s, soft white robes that amplified her innocence.
“How did you stand it?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I was somewhat lacking in choice,” she said. “Still, though I was prepared for the savagery of this world, I did not expect it to be so . . . senseless.”
He had the opposite problem. He could almost make sense of it; they were monsters, after all. It was the sheer brutality that disoriented him. He had no idea how anyone remained sane through it all.
“And yet you choose to stay?” He still marveled at it.
“In a different capacity. Although there will still be savagery, it will at least be directed to a purpose.”
“I will support you as long as I can,” Christopher said. He sat up and started unlacing his boots. The heat made his feet sweat, but he couldn’t wear sandals under the sabatons and greaves. “But I have to warn you, I don’t know how long that will be.”
“It is appreciated,” she said.
He stopped messing around with his boots. After opening the silver vial around his neck, he paused. “What rank are you now?”
“Third,” she answered, watching him.
He carved off a rock and put the rest away. “Here. If you fail, it won’t be because I failed to do everything in my power to help you.”
She came forward, softly. When she reached out to take the rock from him, their hands touched.
“You are most generous,” she said, staring down at him with wide eyes. “I am in your debt.”
The artlessness of her seduction was endearing but ineffective. Lalania had raised his expectations to a ridiculous level.
“You should probably get back to the camp, keep an eye on your beasts,” he said. Harmless as her flirtation was, he was too tired and depressed to deal with it.
“Do you not wish me to stay for the evening?”
“No. Not really.” He shrugged and went back to wrestling with his laces.
Now she was perplexed. “I was told high-status human males expressed their standing through sexual dominance.”
He stopped fighting with his boots. Any desire he might have felt was quelled by the distinct feeling that he was just another interesting creature for her to study.
“Told? By who?”
“My teachers. They are quite knowledgeable, I assure you. At this juncture we should mate, both to establish your leadership and to cement our alliance.”
After a moment he realized his mouth was hanging open.
“Lady . . . it doesn’t work that way.”
“Are you certain?”
“Let me rephrase. It doesn’t work that way with me. But if you’re really hard up, I’ll assign one of my men. Like D’Kan, for instance.” Assuming the boy could get past his goddess-worship to actually touch her.
“No,” she said, “I have no particular desire for such an act. Nor am I against it, if it would advance my cause.”
“Well, then, you’ve learned something.” He grinned. “Your teachers don’t know everything.”
She was unimpressed with his logic. “That seems highly unlikely.”
“I can think of one thing they didn’t know. Where you were. Otherwise they would have rescued you.”
“Your inference is unsound. My location is no secret to them, and I was not in need of rescue.”
He dropped the ends of his boot laces. This conversation apparently required all of his attention. “I thought you said you didn’t have a choice.”
“I was trapped, yes. But that does not mean I needed rescuing. However, I am grateful to you for furthering my program. Keisari was too corrupted by power for me to manage. Having captured me, he could not take any advice from me. I feared I would have to wait until he died of old age.”
“Why didn’t your teachers help, then?”
She gazed down at him, her pert eyebrows arched coolly. “I told you this was my program.”
Christopher looked at her white hair and violet eyes and pointed ears, and reminded himself, This creature is not human.
In fact, now that he thought about it, she had said “this world.” Implying she had once been on another world.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Álfheimr, of course. Where else would I be from?”
His magical grasp of the language provided a translation: elf-world. Well, duh.
Still, this was the first person he’d met who had traveled here from another world. Presumably she knew how to travel back to her world; possibly she might know how to travel to his.
There was a quick rap on the pole next to the tent door, and Lalania stepped inside. The bard had a knack for interrupting just when things were becoming interesting.
“It is getting dark,” she said. “Lady Kalani, our leader needs his rest. I have prepared a place for you in my tent, if you would care to sleep.”
“No thank you.” Kalani shook her head politely. “I shall return to the ulvenmen. They have short attention spans, so it is best I do not let them forget me for too long.”
“I don’t think I want to send a patrol out in the dark,” Christopher said. Rifles were a lot less effective when you couldn’t see your opponent until one was standing in front of you with a giant axe.
“I do not require an escort,” Kalani said. “This is my domain now.”
“You can at least take a gun,” Christopher offered. “In fact, take several. We’ll give you a hundred rifles to start.”
Lalania shook her head. “Gods, Christopher. You’ll disarm your army at that rate.”
He shrugged. “Not really. We’re going to give them the old-style rifles.” He figured the extra weight wouldn’t bother the ulvenmen, and the men would be pleased to be upgraded.
“I am thankful, but I confess myself surprised that you would sell such powerful magic at so low a price,” Kalani said carefully.
“They’re not magic,” Christopher objected. “Just machinery.”
“I confess that is an interesting distinction.”
“Something else your teachers don’t know,” Christopher said. “Maybe they should talk to me and find out what else I know that they don’t.”
Kalani pursed her lips. “If they want to talk to you, they will. You might not find the result entirely to your taste, however. They are quite set in their views.”
Christopher had found this interview with the young elf unnerving. Imagining a skald-aged version did not lead to an improvement of his mood.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Lalania said. “We apparently sold whole villages.”
“That was . . . unexpected,” Kalani admitted. “Keisari had uncovered a treasure hoard; the weapons and armor bought him the loyalty of the chieftains, while the tael bought him rank. The chests of gold just sat in his hut until he got tired of tripping over them. Then one day he bragged to me that he had made a deal with a devil even worse than he. He seemed to think that importing your peasants would make his slaves more productive. It failed, of course. The tribesmen found the new slaves disobedient and ate most of them.”
Her tone was entirely too casual for Christopher’s taste. “Those were people you are talking about.”
She looked back at him, unperturbed. “Forgive me. You discussed the thousands of ulvenmen you slew in the same terms. I thought it merely your way of speaking.”
She and the Saint had something in common. Namely, they made you wish you’d kept your mouth shut.
“As long as we’re speaking frankly,” Lalania said, “I have some questions. Such as, how did Keisari find such a treasure hoard? And whom, exactly, did he bargain with for the villagers?”
“Your questions are unprofitable,” the elf answered. She cast an eye outside the tent.
“The hour grows late; if you would excuse me?”
“Of course,” Christopher said, standing up. She slipped out before he could bow, or open the tent flap, or whatever act of politeness he thought he was supposed to do.
Lalania watched him with a hint of amusement. Chagrined, he waved a hand in the departed elf’s direction.
“Should I bring her back and demand answers?”
“I think you’ve suffered enough for one day,” Lalania said. “I already know the answers, anyway. I was just trying to get rid of her before dark. It is important that your soldiers see her leave your tent at a seemly hour.”
“You already know?”
“As much as needed. The Gold Apostle would not deal in person, nor would he leave tongues to wag; I would not wager a copper that the men who made the exchange are still alive. And the hoard, obviously, came from Kalani. At least we can assume she only helped him find one; if she had planted it, there wouldn’t have been any useless gold.”
He sat down again. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because it’s what I would do. Except if I bought a ruler a throne, he would stay bought. We’ll chalk it up to her inexperience. Presumably she has learned, and will do better with this one.”
“Wait a minute, you’re saying she’s responsible for—” He stopped talking because Lalania put a finger on his lips.
“I am not saying that. There is no value in saying such a thing, which is why she did not answer you in the first place. Nor is there value in thinking it. She did not intend that particular end. We all make mistakes, after all.”
The bard’s mistake had involved burning down an inn while he was still in it. Apparently there was a certain sympathy between schemers and plotters. No doubt that was the source of Lalania’s forgiveness; if he could not hold Kalani’s missteps against her, then surely he would have to hold Lalania blameless for hers.
Lalania, having made her point, moved on.
“Meanwhile, I concur with Lady Kalani: you don’t really want to meet any more elves. Even Varelous had a low opinion of their meddlings.”
Christopher tried to argue, perhaps out of habit. “D’Kan doesn’t.”
