by M. C. Planck
“Yes, but you have a low opinion of his opinion, so I think it comes to the same in the end. Now I will send Karl to tuck you into bed, so the rest of us can stop worrying about your virtue and get on with our jobs.”
She went out and Karl came in. Christopher began to wonder if his boots would ever get the attention they required. They had a quick discussion about logistics, during which Karl gave him less argument than Lalania had.
When they were done, Christopher brought up the other issue weighing on his conscience, sparked by thoughts of forgiveness and redemption.
“Karl, that man I sent into the swamp. Is there anything we can do?” The rage had passed, burned out in weeks of violence.
“Not this again,” Karl said.
“I’m not sure I was right. It’s not like he violated an order. We never said, ‘don’t do that.’”
Karl shook his head. “You wear the White. That speaks louder than mere words could ever do. Nonetheless, I will put your mind at rest if you promise me to never broach this subject again.”
Christopher paused, but he knew Karl had already won.
“Okay,” he said.
“The fool was begging food from Fort Sump last week. He has thus returned to the borders of the Kingdom, alive, which is more than he deserves, but his fate is now out of your hands.”
“How did he survive so long?” Christopher asked.
“The chief dangers of the swamp were ulvenmen and dinosaurs,” Karl said. “Most of whom now reside in your pocket.”
Christopher thought of another danger born of their time in the swamp. “Karl . . . would you lie to me?”
Karl shrugged. “Only if I had to.” Then he left.
21
YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN
The ulvenmen learned with frightening speed. Kalani stood by Karl and translated his instructions, but it wasn’t really necessary. The ulvenmen mimicked his every move until even their clumsy, clawed hands could manipulate the paper cartridges, although often with the help of their amazingly long and deft tongues. The rest of the drill—aiming and shooting—they got on the very first try.
Watching them, Christopher felt a pang of indecision. Was it really wise to arm these warlike monsters? Right now it was only Rohkea’s posse, but eventually Kalani would have an army that snuck better and shot straighter than Christopher’s. And her soldiers couldn’t usually be killed with one shot. Worse, the greatest weakness of Christopher’s army was close combat, but the ulvenmen had not abandoned their great axes. Once the battle turned to melee they would become even deadlier. Christopher wasn’t entirely sure what the ulvenmen army’s weakness was.
Karl stood beside him and watched as Rohkea went through the training drill a second time on his own, barking orders at his squad.
“He is a hell of a leader,” Christopher said.
“The ulvenmen do learn fast,” Karl agreed. “To be fair they are somewhat more focused than our farm boys usually are.”
“Is this a good idea, Karl?” The ulvenman’s tongues shook with glee every time the guns went off. Raw power was intoxicating to them.
“As long as they come when you whistle,” Karl said.
They would have to. Their weakness, of course, was logistics. The thrill of explosives was one thing. The tedium of making paper and powder was something else. The ulvenmen could barely maintain a dry place to sleep, let alone the lack of contamination necessary to chemical manufacturing. The heat of a forge burned out impurities; they could make iron even in a swamp. But any technological advancement beyond that would require precisely the cultural revolution Kalani was trying to foster.
Kalani joined them to say good-bye. She would send regular couriers to Fort Sump, bearing reports and requesting supplies. The ulvenman capital had lain at the far end of their territory; in getting there Christopher’s threshing machine had swept across almost all of the land inhabited by the ulvenmen. He strongly suspected D’Kan was somehow responsible for this wide path, but had no proof. In any case Kalani did not seem upset at the knowledge that little remained of her new kingdom to be conquered.
She had modified Disa’s robes to acknowledge the fact of the omnipresent jungle heat, shortening the skirt, opening the cleavage, and dyeing it in camouflage stripes. She also wore a necklace of fangs and carried a spear with a stone head that nonetheless looked painfully sharp. Though she wore the accoutrements comfortably, to Christopher she looked like a New England college anthropology student playing at being native. Leaving her in a swamp full of monsters seemed wildly irresponsible.
“Feel free to visit whenever you like,” she said, unconcerned with his unease. “The ulvenmen will do well to learn to tolerate a human presence. But please do not summon me to your court unless the need is dire. My place is here, at least for several generations.”
Rohkea stood aside, watching. Christopher cast his spell and spoke to the creature.
“You must not do what the Lady Elf forbids. Otherwise I must destroy all the ulvenmen. And I do not wish to do that.”
“I do not understand,” the ulvenman chieftain answered. “I wish to kill all humans. I would glory in such a slaughter. But rather than death you give us weapons against our enemies. Very well. I shall become a great chieftain of all the clans. With your fire-sticks we will kill all who challenge us.”
“You will only kill those who the Lady Elf does not forbid you to kill,” Christopher said, alarmed.
“Yes, of course,” Rohkea agreed. “We will kill those who challenge you, too. You need but call out to the night sky, and your enemies will be our enemies.”
Karl’s comment made alarming sense now. For the price of a profitable trade agreement, Christopher had gained another army. Or so Karl seemed to think. Christopher was pretty sure using it in the Kingdom, even in the service of the White, would be too much for even the Saint to stomach.
“Do not forget,” Christopher said. “You must not forget.”
Rohkea gazed at him impassively, his comment either unheard or unnecessary.
He mounted his horse unhappily. It was time to leave, and there were still questions he wanted to ask Kalani. The elf had not been all that forthcoming on the topic of other worlds in their last conversation. He was unable to tell if she was hiding something or she just didn’t know that much. Reluctantly he realized Lalania could probably tell the difference. She might even already know the answers. It was probably time to let her in on the truth of his origin. Of all the people he knew who could keep a secret, she was the next in line after the powerful Saint and Cardinal.
Turning back the way they had come, he called out to Lalania.
“Lala, speak to me in a language no one else here knows.” As long as the translation spell was active, he might as well use it.
The minstrel concentrated for a moment and then laughed. She responded in the language the druids used.
“This will do,” she said. “D’Kan thinks it is a woman’s tongue, so he has never bothered to properly learn it, as demonstrated by his poor performance the other day.”
“I have a secret. I—”
She cut him off. “Do not tell me anything you do not want the King to know. I am not a peer; I may still be called to question.”
That settled that.
“I still have a problem, but one I cannot conceal from the King. Namely, tael.”
She looked at him curiously.
“I have a lot of it. A lot. I want to ask the others what to do with it, but I’m afraid they’ll tell me to promote myself again, to a Cardinal. Yes, there is enough for that.”
The minstrel whistled softly. “I knew the treasure was rich, but I dared not hope for so much. My answer is the same, Christopher. You must promote yourself, now more than ever. Cardinals of your Church can revive the dead. That is a power so necessary to the Kingdom that it will excuse almost any crime.”
“Cardinals of the Bright Lady can revive the dead,” Christopher corrected her. “I am a priest of Marcius.”
> She waved him off. “Don’t be concerned with details. Certainly no one else will be. In any case, at the rate you’re going you’ll be raising angels in another year or two. The fact remains that having another high-rank priest can only make the Kingdom stronger. Even the King will see that.”
“The Gold Apostle won’t.”
“The Gold Apostle will have plenty of explaining to do once these slaves start talking. You leave him to me. Your only concern is the King. And your only answer is one he can understand—rank for yourself and tax for him. The sheer success of your actions excuses them more than any logic you can muster. Or so we must hope; your cursed conscience has left us no other path.”
Christopher looked around for the faces of his council, but they were busy getting his army on its feet.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “You know they will agree with me. Do not save your fortune against future need when you could spend it insuring you’ll be around long enough to have a future.”
After consuming his promotion and setting aside his taxes he wouldn’t even have enough to make another priest. At the time his gift to Kalani had been a pebble from a quarry. Now it would represent almost all of his remaining wealth. He realized he had already taken Lalania’s advice. He had spent tael on Kalani because it was the right thing to do, without calculating how much he would have in the future.
“I still have to ask their advice,” he told Lalania. “But this time I won’t argue.”
“Promises, promises,” Lalania said.
The march home was unpleasant. It was hot during the day, wet in the evening, and cold at night. The bugs only stopped for the rain, and there were no sudden attacks or terrifying monsters to relieve the tedium. The freed slaves were like babes in the woods, hurting themselves every time you took your eyes off them. Eventually they were confined to the wagons while the soldiers carried the supplies, because it was just easier on everyone. Arriving at Fort Sump, the army disembarked like grumpy children after a long car ride.
“Tomorrow I will announce the leave roster,” Karl shouted, and the bad mood evaporated in steamy clumps. The men had not been to town in many weeks. They would have gold to spend and stories to tell.
Christopher appreciated a night in relative comfort, and the chance in the morning to fill his head with something other than spells designed to kill things. The first spell he wanted to try was the infamous sending, available to him since he had become a Bishop but unused as he had always had better uses for his magic in the middle of a war.
He thought about whom he wanted to reach out to and touch. It was a high-rank spell, so using it like a prank phone call would result in a lecture on the Value of Magic from the Cardinal. Which made the choice obvious.
He fixed the image of the Cardinal’s bushy bearded face in his mind and concentrated on releasing the spell. This one took minutes to take effect, like waiting for the other party to pick up the phone. He wondered if he could invent a spell that worked more like e-mail.
Then he could feel the Cardinal’s presence, as if the man were standing right in front of him. He spoke out loud.
“Defeated ulvenman nation. Took low casualties, freed more slaves, promoted myself to Cardinal. Met an elf and sold her rifles. How are things up there?”
The reply came a few seconds later.
“Your message is incomprehensible. If the ulvenmen are pacified, then report to the King at once. Do not wait for rumors to steal your thunder.”
He felt a lot better about leaving this time, because Gregor and Disa were staying behind. The army would have healing and rank. Only Lalania and Karl were coming with him to face the music. And Cannan and the inescapable cloud of cavalry, of course. Kalani might not need an escort in her own domain, but Christopher did. One would almost think the civilized lands were more dangerous than the Far Wild.
They went to Knockford first to make sure Jhom understood the urgency of supplying rifles. The looks on the faces of the gate guards surprised him; they seemed frightened at his approach. Too late he understood their fear was for him. A man squatting against the gate stood, corking his bottle of wine and wiping his mouth. The length of the sword at his hip identified him as a knight, though the swagger of broad shoulders would have been enough.
“Lord Vicar Christopher,” he said. “You are summoned before the King on a charge of high treason.”
“Begging your pardon, Colonel,” said one of Christopher’s cavalrymen. “Should we shoot him?”
“Sadly, no,” Christopher said. “But please, Ser, explain yourself.”
“I thought my speech clear enough,” the knight said. “The King whistles and you come running. Don’t darking matter why he whistles, does it?”
Christopher fumed silently for a moment. And then another one.
“No,” he finally said, “I suppose it doesn’t.”
Out of idle curiosity, which was a welcome distraction from the worry that harried him as he led his escort back up the road toward Kingsford, he asked the man how one lone knight expected to arrest a high-ranking priest surrounded by his own loyal army.
“Your Saint stands hostage for your honor,” the knight answered. “Although to be fair it is why I did not try you in the swamp. An ‘accident’ there might have been too tempting even for you lily-livered Whites. I believe the party that headed south was at least ten strong. Now, of course, they have sore arses for nothing, and I have the King’s favor.”
It was such an honest answer that Christopher paid for the man’s lodging at the inn in Fram.
The next day he and the horsemen toiled up the long road to the city—or, to be fair, the horses toiled while the men sat. The column moved in silence; Lalania had run out of words and plots. Cannan never said anything unnecessary.
Karl had only spoken once. When they mounted that morning, fresh from breakfast at the inn, he had asked Christopher a single question.
“Are you sure?”
Christopher thought about it, but there was really no option. His army could not hold out without supplies from Knockford, nor could it defend Knockford against any army the King could raise. He wasn’t entirely sure it could defend Knockford against the King. A man was a small target to hit with a five-inch cannon, and nothing less would be sufficient.
“Yes,” Christopher said, and Karl apparently put all thoughts of rebellion out of his mind. For now.
Now they approached the castle, and Christopher began to wonder if his choice was the right one. But there had been no other. There never had been, really.
The formalities were minimal. Karl and the cavalry could not accompany him, of course, but Cannan and Lalania’s right to be at his side was not questioned. They followed their captor over the drawbridge and into the great main hall.
Treywan was waiting for him, flanked again by purple, white, and yellow. The hall was full of armored men this time.
“My dear Vicar,” the King bellowed. “You won’t believe the most astonishing tales I have had of you. Most astonishing!”
Christopher dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Now he wished he had listened to Lalania so long ago and invested in fancy court clothes. Instead, he had worn his armor without thinking. In the swamp it aroused no comment; here, surrounded by men in plate and chain, his strange scales made him look . . . Wild. He could feel the unspoken question in the gaze of the crowd. It was time to remind them that he was one of them.
He raised his head and looked the King in the eye. “With all due respect, my lord, it is ‘Cardinal’ now.”
The King blinked. “Truth?”
Christopher extracted the silver vial that hung around his neck and poured out his taxes. The effort left the vial pathetically empty.
The King stalked forward and took the purple plum from Christopher’s open palm. He held it high and gazed into it like a crystal ball.
“Do not be diverted, my lord. He cannot bribe his way out from this.” The Gold Apostle put on a brave face, but it was pretty o
bvious he feared the King was indeed about to be bribed.
“And the ulvenmen?” the King asked. “Do they still threaten us? Although with a treasure like this, I do not see how any of them could still be alive.”
“Some still live, my lord, but they are not a threat. I left them under the rule of a Lady Elf, who guarantees their good behavior. Should she fail to keep them in line, I will return and exterminate the race.”
The King weighed the purple stone in his hand. “We can only hope. Still, tell us why you did not kill them all in the first place.”
“It did not seem to be your command,” Christopher said. He was trying not to sweat too visibly. “You ordered me to resolve the ulvenman threat once and for all. Rather than destroy them, and risk missing a few who would breed into a new threat in only a few years, I decided to make them our servants instead of our enemies. Now the southern border is protected not only by your armies, but by the ulvenmen themselves.”
“Those armies are there to protect the border from the ulvenmen, but no matter. Answer this far more serious charge: have you sold arms to these foul creatures? My lawyer assures me that we made that a capital offense many years ago.”
Christopher was losing his battle of perspiration. “My lord, I did not know that. But the answer is no. I sold some weapons to the Lady Elf, for her servants, but they are under her control.”
“A good answer, is it not?” the King asked. The room murmured its assent. “I knew you’d have good answers, priest. You’re full of the damn things. I bet you can even answer this: did you arm foreigners against the realm?”
It sounded like Christopher might actually be doing okay. “Not against the realm, my lord. The Lady Elf cannot be anything but an ally. In any case I only sold rifles, the same weapons my common militia wield. I did not sell swords or armor.”
“See? See?” the King said. There was a mild round of polite applause. Christopher started breathing normally again.
“Just one more question, priest. I know it’s hard coming up with these fantastic answers, but I have just one more question. Tell me: is this Lady Elf human?”
