“Right. A good spy wouldn’t have even been suspected, but someone has to care about their work to do it well. So he found a place to stay drowsy, and keep his rank without the work.”
Isla’s eyes shone with her smile. “All that brilliance and a new foal, too. I’m so relieved that you’re in on it now. Now that you know the general direction and the pace of things, we can include you more when the times come. But first, we need to establish one particular Gate. Kordas plans to ask you to help do that.”
Being stunned by something her sister said was getting to be the norm today. It took her more than a moment or two to gather her thoughts. “But I’m not a mage!” she protested.
“But you have a powerful and precise Fetching Gift,” said Isla. “Jonaton intends to establish a small Portal. It may not be safe enough to reach through with tongs, even, so Kordas wants you to Fetch something small, like a stone or a bit of earth, to serve as the anchor on this side. Then he wants you to send something from here to there to establish the anchor on the other side. When that’s done, an actual Gate can be built. Just a tiny one. Small, shieldable.”
Delia knew for a fact that Kordas had been out all day, so the only way that Isla could know this was by Mindspeaking with him. I guess that’s actually the safest way for them to discuss this, she thought numbly. But—
“I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, licking her lips nervously. “I’ve never Fetched anything further away than a few leagues.”
“But you don’t know that you can’t,” her sister pointed out. “We are all going to have to do things we are not certain we can. You won’t be the only one. But there is one thing I do know for certain. If we don’t try, all that is going to happen is that we are going to sit here in this Duchy, doing needlework and raising farm stock, waiting for the Emperor, or someone, to move on us. I’ve lived like that all my life, and I can’t do that anymore. More to the point, I’m not going to have that for my boys.” She lifted her head, and her eyes flashed with determination. “I would rather they wore skins and ate half-raw meat around a fire than sit here tamely, like a lot of Squire Lesley’s pigs, waiting to be surprised by the butcher!”
Slowly, Delia nodded, setting her mind to accept her exciting new ‘need to know.’ “All right, then,” she said. “You can tell Kordas that I’m here to help.”
Isla just smiled, as if she could not have imagined Delia saying anything else. “Then let’s gather some herbs to make good on our deception, and get back. We’ll talk more about this tonight.”
6
Just in case Imperial magicians had been looking for unusual bursts of power in unexpected places within the Empire, Kordas instructed Jonaton to gather his strength and whatever resources he needed, and put off the next stage in the Gate-making magics for a few days. Jonaton protested, but admitted he did have fabrication to work on that wasn’t too physically demanding “for now.” For Jonaton, whose dedication to magic as both art and science could manically consume him, that was a very good compromise.
During those days, Kordas went on his usual rambles, maintaining the outward appearance of the doting Duke of a drowsy Duchy.
Fortunately I’m mind-shielded enough out here that my deeper thoughts can’t be read by friend or foe, Kordas mused as his horse clopped along in no particular hurry. I don’t come across as a second-generation insurrectionist espionage-embezzling thief at all.
Kordas had been through the “proper education” for a child of royalty, in the military compound—school, rather—that indoctrinated all noble children. Unlike most who entered there, and far fewer who left there, Kordas knew what he was made of. He didn’t embrace deceit nearly as much as he knew how to steer conversations so there was no definitive answer given. That skill came to him early at the school, where inevitably—possibly in preparation for their later intrigues as adults—bullies ganged up, split, or formed factions to overwhelm the lesser children. Kordas rode the edge between submission and distraction, honing the ways of deflection and adaptation by the moment. His cleverness did not really come into its own until strategy games entered the curriculum.
There were three, and only three, games taught at that school. All were board games, with no variant rules. One, Faire Trade, was an economic resource-management game with very strict rules about how goods were presented, tracked, bartered for, and taxes deducted. The second was simply called Imperial Power, and while its board was not a representation of the actual Empire, Kordas immediately noticed that the game’s terrain replicated key parts of the actual Empire’s geography, cleverly rearranged. Imperial Power was an outright war game, and its players were to swap resources, build supply lines, make assaults into weaker territory, or lure opponents into unwinnable overextension. The third game, Winding Web, was utterly abstract, using colored marbles and alteration cards to surround and flip the colors of other players’ marbles and pile them in the center of the spiral, until the winner’s tray was emptied. Its players were encouraged to be as hurtful, intimidating, and double-dealing as they could manage, swapping cards and sabotaging others’ plays, strictly by the rules.
Kordas realized that these were not solely the games they were presented as, as much as they were personality tests. Senior students, who had played the games for a considerable time, wound up divided into different educational tracks, and matched against tougher and tougher opponents. Kordas connected the types of bullying and maneuvering his early classmates engaged in as corresponding to the three games. He deduced that the three games trained specific rigors of thought; that meant that if Kordas knew what game the students were best at, he could predict their behavior as people.
He resolved to come across as good at none of the three games, and instead spend his time watching the players. He had embraced the Fourth Game, and nobody was the wiser.
If I appear weak enough, I can lead aggressors wherever I want them to be. If I am assertive but strange, others will have pause. If I seem stable but harmless, I am put in the “safe” category, and barely thought of again. If I seem motionless, I am only the background that action-seekers exert themselves in front of, and will be ignored. And, if I bore everyone, I become invisible.
The future Duke of Valdemar left the Imperial school with a deeper awareness of how Imperial Doctrine slithered and struck on the board of the Empire than many of the Empire’s senior nobles had after years in office.
Nobody in the high ranks sees anyone as a person—instead, as they have been taught, they are game pieces to be moved around, traded, and expended against each other. Martial, economic, and psychological domination are their only three games. I learned the three games as well as the school’s brightest—but I only ever played as below average for them.
The Fourth Game is the show.
His horse knew the way, so he simply closed his eyes for a while. He took in the scents—elderflower, purpleroot pine, the buttery undertone of sweet-hay, the sour-sweet tang of lemontail—as the wind picked up. He leaned back in his saddle, letting the reins rest upon the saddlehorn, and let his arms hang away from his torso until he felt the first light droplets of rain.
I will miss this place. I have so many big speeches planned about how we the people are Valdemar, but just the same—this place. These flavors, these scents, the sound of these birds, and the wind in these trees. I will miss this so very much.
Kordas let the light, warm rain wash his face, which was just as well. With those thoughts, the Duke of Valdemar’s face would have been wet anyway.
* * *
—
His ramblings “just happened” to coincide with visits to the people in his Duchy he trusted most. These were the Duchy’s eight Counts and their worthiest subordinates, people who had already been brought into confidence by his father, so the only actual secret they learned was that the Plan’s candles were lit, and it was a vital step closer to fruition. Each of them had ent
rusted children or other relatives, as well as trained experts, with their own specialized duties in the Plan’s execution. They would be sent across as soon as the Foothold Gate was built, to scout for dangers—and hopefully eliminate them—and prepare the settlement base for what was to come.
One of them, Count Endicrag of Endicrag Manor, had two things they were going to need desperately. One was a cousin, a Healer named Alberdina, who was willing to go in the first wave. The other was of even more immediate help. Lord Endicrag’s sixth out of ten sons was everything Kordas could have wanted for his explorer-through-the-Gate: tough, strong, smart, and with a seriously itchy foot, just a little older than Kordas, an able fighter, and a trained woodsman. He was actually back from a foray into the mysterious North. Not for anyone; he’d gone on his own, to see what was there. When Kordas explained the situation to him, the man immediately wanted to be the first person to go through the Foothold Gate, explore, and find a suitable place for a water-Gate.
“I’ve longed my entire life for a chance like this,” said Ivar Endicrag, actually rubbing his hands together with glee. “I’ve dreamed of it, actually. I’ve made lists of what to stock for each foray I make. I want one of your Chargers, a trained one that can handle rough terrain. A Charger is a force-multiplier, turning me into a squad of people without actually having to have a squad of people, and if my understanding is correct, they ‘stand watch’ at night?”
“More or less. A horse’s senses are keener than a human’s, and Chargers rarely sleep deeply,” Kordas replied slowly. “If I were you, I’d take—”
“A dog, too? I have one. Got him before that last trip. He’s a good boy.” Ivar chuckled. “When can I start training with the horse?”
“Now,” Kordas told him, hardly able to believe his luck; he didn’t expect Ivar to be so prepared. “In fact, pack your things, come back with me, and move into the manor. It’s not as if we don’t have room! And since you and your dog will be training with one of my Chargers, it won’t seem out of place.”
Ivar didn’t wait for a second invitation; he sprinted out of the room like it was on fire.
His father sighed. “Truth to tell, I’m glad you’re taking him off my hands,” the graying patriarch said. “He’s not very restful to have around. I’m not looking forward to packing up and haring off into the wilderness, Valdemar, but given some of the rumors I’m hearing out of the Capital, I’m not eager to stick around here, either.”
“Barges will make that journey less uncomfortable,” Kordas pointed out.
“And more practical,” his Lordship nodded.
Kordas made small talk about Endicrag’s family until Ivar appeared, carrying a huge rucksack and a second bag, loaded with weapons, and accompanied by an intelligent-looking mastiff. “I’ve ordered my riding horse prepared,” Ivar said, before Kordas could ask. “I’m ready. Whenever you and Father are done.”
Lord Endicrag shook his head. “And this is why you are the despair of your mother,” he said, sounding more amused than anything else. “You haven’t been back a fortnight!”
Ivar shrugged. “And look how useful I am now!” he countered. “I’m perfect for what’s ahead of us!”
“You can’t argue with that,” Kordas pointed out.
Endicrag sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I can’t. Off you go with the Duke, lad,” he added. “If you get eaten by something, at least make sure it’s memorable.” His Lordship had made a joke out of it, but Kordas could tell this was causing him anxiety. Ivar could tell, too.
“Father, I’m far from your only child. I can do this—you and I both know that to be true. Wherever I go, you, all my family, and all of Valdemar is carried with me. That’s what gives spring to my stride through the deepest snow or stinging gales. I can be my best because you raised me.”
Kordas waited by the exit while Endicrag and Ivar tearfully embraced and murmured to each other.
Not enough of us get to tell those who had a hand in building us just how we feel about our pasts, while they’re still alive. It wounds the heart, but makes us more whole whenever we can, though. This physical world isn’t all there is, but while we have it, this is the one that counts. The words should be spoken.
“I hate to worry him like this,” Ivar confessed, as he and Kordas headed to the stables. “But . . . this is who I am.”
Kordas waited to say anything until they got to the stables and he could watch Ivar with a critical eye. And he liked what he saw. Ivar’s black mastiff stayed right at his master’s heel, with his long tail waving gently from side to side and his head up, ears alert, attention fixed on his master. This was a well-trained dog, with love for his master. Ivar’s horse welcomed him with a whicker and a nuzzle, and Ivar checked bridle, saddle, and girth for his horse’s comfort before mounting.
As for Ivar himself, he looked to be in his element: brown-haired, brown-eyed, with brown skin that showed he spent every moment he could outdoors. He had the mix of environmental awareness, sureness, and calluses that proved he had gotten those muscles through actual work, and not “vanity exercise” like lesser nobles—idle dilettantes—pursued. Hacking at stuffed targets didn’t give Ivar his build—hacking through wilderness did.
I think Delia is going to get on with him, came the unexpected thought, not an unwelcome one. Kordas was very well aware, and had been for quite some time, that his young sister-in-law was infatuated with him, and that was absolutely not something he wanted to encourage. But perhaps her attention could be redirected to Ivar . . .
Not overtly, though. That’s the surest way to get her angry with me. But maybe Isla could do something in that direction.
“So, I’ve already figured out which Charger I’m going to put you with,” Kordas said aloud, as they headed back to the Valdemar manor. “She’s a four-year-old mare, she’s a bit smaller than the average, and she’s already got a bit of a reputation in the stable for being protective. That means you’re going to have to do a fair bit of work to get her to accept your dog.”
“What do you mean by ‘a reputation for being protective’?” Ivar asked.
“Some loose dogs got into the pasture. Apparently, she stomped them flat, I presume because they were trying to chase the other horses.” Kordas cast a glance at Ivar, but he seemed impressed, rather than alarmed. “I don’t know if they were feral. I just know they weren’t any of the manor dogs.”
“Has she ever gone after any of the manor dogs?” Ivar asked—a good question, in Kordas’s mind.
“No, but she knows them,” he pointed out. “And they don’t go into the pastures unless they’re with a handler.”
“Bay will be fine,” Ivar assured him. “He’s always on his best manners around horses. And I’ll make sure to introduce them properly. Oh, I have a question. Who is it safe to talk to, about you know what?”
“Assume no one, unless they bring it up with specifics and first let you know they’re warded,” Kordas cautioned. “Outside of the mages, most of my household doesn’t know.” He had a question of his own, though. “Why is it you’re so eager to take this on, anyway?”
“I don’t much care for Imperial civilization, or civilized places,” Ivar said frankly. “The last job I took put me up north, for the Empire. Luckily, there wasn’t anything up there the Emperor wanted—or at least, nothing he wants badly enough to open a second war front, while he’s still enmired up to his ass in the first one. The whole expedition was a slow push to find anyone and anything to exploit. Just—no sense of adventure from anyone but me, only a strict military operation with an eye for plunder. Timber and fish don’t interest him, thank the gods. I don’t want to do any more of those official forays; I’d rather rot of boredom. Your Plan? That suits me.”
They continued to talk all the way back to the manor, with Kordas becoming more and more comfortable with the younger man with every exchange. He watched how Ivar managed his hors
e: neck-rein and knee, mostly, which meant a skilled and considerate rider, and a confident and secure horse. The mastiff stayed about two lengths from the horse and even with the girth; the perfect distance to react to anything.
When they arrived at the manor, Kordas left Ivar, his dog, and his rucksack and bag with the chief steward, and took his horse and Ivar’s to the stable. As ever, Grim somehow materialized within moments of his crossing the threshold to the main stables.
“We have our scout, Grim,” he said. Grim nodded, since Kordas had kept him appraised of everything from the moment he had taken the reins of the Duchy. “Ivar Endicrag. This is his current horse, and I’m giving him Manta, so have her moved to a stall here tonight, please. He has a mastiff, so this is going to be interesting.”
Grim took the reins of Ivar’s horse, looked the beast over, checked the conformation and all four feet, and nodded approval. “Dog will not come amiss, if Manta will abide it.”
“If she won’t, Ivar’s not the man for this job, and I think he is,” Kordas replied, and left both horses in Grim’s care while he went back to the manor to wash up before dinner.
The chief steward met him at the door. “The young man is in your tower, ground floor guest room, m’lord.”
“Perfect, I can take him in to supper with me. Well done, Tomen.” He headed for the tower at a fast walk, and found Ivar already “settled,” insofar as such a footloose fellow could be, and once they were both respectable, led him to the Great Hall.
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