Date: 2021-05-01T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fantasy
Description: A planet’s future is about to take a dramatic turnJoseph Colsco, Mark Caldwell, and Heather Chen. Cast away by aliens onto a planet inhabited by humans transplanted there by a second alien race thousands of years in the past and for reasons unknown. Each of the three found themselves left naked on beaches scattered across the planet Anyar. Each struggled to survive as strangers amidst humans with technology centuries behind Earth’s. Each lived through years of adjustments, trials, dangers, and new lives beyond anything they could have imagined—or feared. The aliens who left them to fend for th
Publisher: Independently published

Book 7 of Destiny’s Crucible

A DUBIOUS PEACE

BY

OLAN THORENSEN

Copywrite 2021

All rights reserved

This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people and places is conincidental.

MAPS OF ANYAR are available for viewing and downloading at olanthorensen.com. The author can be reached at olanthorensen@gmail.com.

Contents

PROLOGUE

MORE AMERIKANS?

EARTHQUAKE

FAMILIAR STRANGERS

WHO’S HEATHER?

HISTORIES

WATCHFUL EYES

MEETINGS AND SHOPPING

MURDER MOST FOUL

RHANJUR GAYA

PRECEDENT

AMBASSADORS

SNARLING GRAEKO

WHAT’S NEXT?

RETURN TO OROSZ CITY

MEET THE AMERIKANS

SECRETS

FIRST STEPS

NEW LIVES

WHAT’S FUOMON UP TO?

SUCCESS AND DISCORD

ODYSIUS VISITS MORELAND

GOING TOO WELL

NOW WHAT!

MUSIC

PROGRESS AND BETRAYAL

AUGURIES OF INDUSTRIALIZATION

MYSTERIES AND SECRETS

SEABORN INVITATION

PENMAWR

SEABORN PROVINCE

A PARAMOUNT/HETMAN DÉTENTE

GAMES

YASTERN VALLEY

STILTERN FALL

WHAT’S HAPPENING?!

PURSUIT

STAND

NEARER MY GOD TO YOU

STARING INTO THE ABYSS

SHOCK AND ANGER

MEA CULPA

FUOMON ISSUES

CHANGES

PAX?

PROLOGUE

The artificial intelligence orbiting Anyar never slept, never grew bored evaluating the constant data streams from observing the planet, never questioned the creators’ interest in the planet and its biped inhabitants, never wondered about the focus on five locations where the creators had deposited individual bipeds. The AI routinely sent reports to the creators. Then, a planet’s year ago, the AI reported unexpected technologies appearing on an island where one of the bipeds had been deposited. The creators responded: Focus more attention on the island. The creators would return to observe the planet for themselves. The next AI report was scheduled to be sent in a twentieth of an orbit—a schedule about to be changed by three bipeds.

CHAPTER 1

MORE AMERIKANS?

Preddi City, Caedellium Island, Planet Anyar

Three men stood together in the Preddi City office of the clan hetman. Two of them were skeptical about what they had just heard.

“Really?” said Hetman Balwis Preddi, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “We’re supposed to believe a man who claims to be a countryman of Yozef’s and who arrives on a Buldorian ship? Someone must think we’re idiots.”

“There’s no way we’re letting that man near the Paramount,” said Wyfor Kales. “My balls started itching as soon as I saw him. They only do that around someone very dangerous. I’ve long ago learned to trust my balls.”

The third man was not as dismissive. “I’m not so sure,” said Savronel Storlini. When the ex-Narthani threw in his lot with the Caedelli against the invaders, he had provided valuable insight. Even more important had been his service as adviser to the new Preddi Clan hetman after the Narthani left. The Preddi Clan had been all but decimated by the invaders. The clan’s reconstruction was a formidable task. Its members were Preddi Clan survivors from the province’s Narthani occupation, ex-slaves freed as a condition for allowing the remaining Narthani to leave Caedellium, and a few thousand Narthani who opted to remain in hopes of having a better life than in Narthon.

Although Wyfor Kales’s role as the Preddi Clan’s chief magistrate was important in suppressing overt conflicts among factions of the clan, it was Storlini’s experience with the ex-slaves and the ex-Narthani, coupled with his insightful intellect, that had proved critical to progress in amalgamating diverse and often mutually hostile elements. Or, as Wyfor once put it, “The sneaky bastard has the personality of a rock, but I advise listening to him.”

Balwis looked at Storlini with an expression bordering on a sneer, but Wyfor’s face was more thoughtful.

“You think there’s a chance he’s telling the truth?” asked Wyfor.

“A chance? Of course, there’s a chance,” said Storlini. “The question is, how good a chance? Even if it’s most likely he’s lying, and it’s possible this is some attempt to assassinate the Paramount, we can’t preemptively dismiss a small chance he’s telling the truth.”

“I agree,” Wyfor said pensively, “now that I think about it. I watched how he interacted with the woman he says is his wife and their child. I got a sense their relationship is true. A man is usually careful about putting his family in danger.” He held up a hand to forestall Balwis’s counter. “And no, that doesn’t mean we’re not cautious with him. The obvious solution is to keep him confined while we contact Yozef. He’s the only one who can determine if this Kaldwel is from Amerika. Even then, we have to watch that the Paramount doesn’t trust him too much before we know more about him.”

Balwis scowled. “All right. I’ll get a semaphore message off to Yozef. I don’t see any reason for a long semaphore or a follow-up letter. I expect one of two things to happen. Either Yozef sends back questions that only someone from Amerika would know the answers to, or he’ll come here as fast as he can.”

“He may not receive the message today,” warned Storlini. “By the time you write it and get it to the semaphore station, there will only be a couple of hours of light left. In that case, it will be midday before we get an answer. I also suggest we ask Kaldwel if he wants to include something in the message to convince Yozef he’s from Amerika.”

“You take care of that, Savronel. Write up the message. As you suggest, check with Kaldwel. The man speaks with a terrible accent, but see if he wants to add to the message to Yozef—something only the Paramount would know. Wyfor . . . you find somewhere for them to wait until we hear from Yozef. Keep the mother and two children claiming to be Caedelli separate from the others. For all of them, something reasonably comfortable but with enough obvious security so they won’t be tempted to try anything.”

One hour later and a quarter-mile from the Preddi Clan headquarters, the Kaldwel family and Heather Chen were left alone in a small residence with an outhouse five yards from the backdoor. The Caedelli named Kales had told them this was where they would stay until the Paramount responded. Food and water would be provided, and he pointed to the small structure behind the house.

“That’s the only place you can go outside of this building. There will be armed guards posted on all sides. Don’t try to go anywhere else. That would be taken as confirmation you’re not who you say you are. If you feel there’s something you absolutely need, open the front door and call for one of the guards, tell him what you want, and go back inside.”

Worried looks from both Heather and Maghen prompted Mark to reassure them after Kales left.

“It’s all good. They’re just taking reasonable precautions. Think about it. We arrive here on a ship they consider an enemy. I tell them I’m from the same nation as their leader, who evidently has led them to believe there are no others from Amerika. It’s not unreasonable they would be cautious until this Paramount of theirs shows up.”

“How do you know he will?” asked Maghen.

“Oh . . . I don’t think there is any doubt this Yozef Kolsko will come running if he really is from Amerika,” said Heather. “Not after what Mark added to the semaphore message.”

Maghen set Alys on the floor. “You told me what you had that man add to the message, Mark, but what do the words mean?”

“They’re names of people and places only someone from Amerika would recognize.”

“So . . . what was one of the words you pronounced for me? Is Shikago a person’s name?”

“That one is the name of a city,” said Mark. “Santa Klaus is a man.”

“Is he an important person? I assume so if you think this Kolsko man will recognize the name.”

Heather giggled and answered before Mark could speak. “He’s a man known for giving gifts to children, always dressing in red, and having a long white beard. He is also known for a unique . . . uh . . . wagon he travels in.”

“I guess it sounds like someone you would remember,” said Maghen, looking around. “Now where did Alys go to? Alys, baby . . . where are you?”

“Hiding, Mama. Come find me,” answered a small voice from one of the two bedrooms.

Maghen walked to the doorway, stopped, looked around, and said, “I see you under the bed. Come on out. It might be dirty under there.”

Maghen turned back toward Mark and Heather in time to hear Heather say something to Mark in their English.

“The little man missing an arm creeps me out. He’d be perfect casting for some kind of slasher movie. You two kept eyeing each other like two pit bulls, circling to see who makes the first move.”

“Well . . . I don’t know his history, but I think he’s extremely dangerous, even missing an arm. I may be a lot bigger than him and undoubtedly a lot stronger, but that isn’t all there is to being a threat. I think he’s someone I’d like to keep on the good side of.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Maghen.

“Sorry, Maghen,” said Heather, switching back to Caedelli. “I was just saying how dangerous the man missing an arm looks, and Mark agreed.”

Eager to change topics, Mark said, “Let’s go ahead and settle ourselves here. There seems to be a question whether the message gets to Kolsko today or tomorrow. For now, we can make the best of where we are.”

“Hot water,” said Heather. “They said food and water would be brought, but we could ask for anything we wanted. How about enough hot water to clean up? I suppose enough for baths is too much to hope for, but I’d settled for enough so that I could strip down and use a cloth.”

“Great idea, Heather,” said Maghen. “I was thinking the same thing, and I knew it would never occur to Mark.”

He let the snide comment pass and turned toward the main door. “I’ll go ask.”

CHAPTER 2

EARTHQUAKE

Orosz City

Not counting the vagaries of weather, the view from Yozef Kolsko’s office was the same as it was every day—overlooking the plain south of Orosz City, the land where the blood of tens of thousands had soaked the earth and decided the fate of the Caedelli people. He looked back at the paper pile on his desk. No matter how many hours he worked on it, he never reached the bottom. When he finished whatever he could for the day, he would go home to his family. These and other facets of his life had evolved into a routine whenever he was in Orosz City. Today was not routine.

He stared again out the window, then down to a single piece of paper on his desk. His unsteady hand picked it up, and he read the last part again. He couldn’t have told anyone how many times he had read those thirteen words written in Caedelli script, which when pronounced sounded out thirteen words in English—a language of which up to now he’d believed himself to be the planet’s only speaker, a belief now refuted. There was no question the originator of those words was from Earth and almost certainly another survivor of United Flight 4382, San Francisco to Chicago.

He noticed the paper shaking. He held up the opposite hand. It trembled. He heard a voice.

“Paramount,” said Synton Ethlore. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

Yozef turned his head to look at the man who had been lounging in a chair across the room but now stood a few feet away, his brow wrinkled in concern. Yozef laid the paper on his desk and forced his attention back to where he was and who he was.

“I’m all right, Synton. It’s just the message was such a surprise.”

“Well . . . don’t do that again. I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. At first, I thought it was one of those spells where you go off someplace that people wonder about. Maera told us it’s best not to worry or interrupt and that you would come back to the rest of us eventually. But I began to wonder if I should get a medicant or have someone find Maera.”

“No, really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well, then, was it the semaphore message? Something about those people that Balwis wrote about? You know . . . the man from the Buldorian ship?”

“Yes, that’s part of it. It’s just so unexpected.”

Synton shook his head. “Oh . . . I suppose any Buldorian ship coming to Caedellium is unexpected, but you reacted as if you got word the Narthani had invaded again.”

Yozef waved a hand to dismiss the issue. “I need to send Balwis a semaphore message. Find a runner to get it to the station as soon as possible.”

Synton hesitated. The Paramount’s voice was normal, his face less pale than it had been, and his hands no longer trembled.

Yozef grabbed a blank sheet of paper from a shelf behind his chair and pulled ink and pen closer on the desktop. He dipped the pen into ink before noticing Synton had not moved.

“Any time, Synton,” he said.

“Okay,” Synton said with a sniff. “Now you sound like the Paramount. About time.” He didn’t bother closing the door when he left to find a runner.

Yozef saw puzzled faces in the outer office: clerks responsible for various areas of responsibility, ready to help the Paramount with whatever he needed. Yozef forced a smile and waved.

He leaned back in his chair and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. His momentary shock had given way to a combination of excitement and fear. On one hand, excitement that there was another person from Earth and in Preddi City, where they could meet in only a few days. On the other hand, who knows what the person might already have said and to whom? Yozef had never regretted hiding his origin from everyone, even Maera. The initial fear that he might have been thought insane or a local version of a demon no longer worried him. But who knew what the reaction would be if the true origin of Yozef Kolsko, Paramount Hetman of Caedellium, was revealed? The negative possibilities were too dreadful.

He leaned over the sheet of paper. The message back to Balwis needed to ensure the man from Earth was well treated. It also needed to tell that man to keep his mouth shut until Yozef arrived. The problem was how to get that message past Balwis. Yozef chewed on the end of the feather pen for almost two minutes before he began to write.

It took only a minute for him to write the message. He laid down the pen and read aloud what he’d written, the first part in Caedelli.

TO: Hetman Balwis Preddi

FROM: Paramount Yozef Kolsko

Am excited to meet man from Buldorian ship.

Will arrange travel to Preddi City soonest.

Treat man with all courtesy.

Give him the following message.

Yozef stopped momentarily, then continued reading the Caedelli script that would be nonsensical to Balwis but understood by the new arrival.

“Clam yap. Zip lip.”

He frowned. Would the stranger get the message? Was Yozef being too cautious? After all, Balwis wouldn’t know English . . . or would he? Yozef hadn’t stopped occasionally talking to himself in English, even in the presence of others. He suspected Maera had picked up some of the language, although he’d been scrupulous around Eina Saisannin, the Fuomi ambassador and a prodigious language intellect. He worried on occasion about Maera and Eina working together to surreptitiously decipher his English murmurings.

No, if he wrote abbreviated English in Caedelli script, he could be confident it wouldn’t be useful for Maera, Eina, or someone else to learn English. He probably was paranoid about his locked-away, multi-volumed journal sets on science, history and facts about Earth, and his own history, all written in English.

“Clam yap. Zip lip,” he read aloud again. This would have to do. The date on the message said it was sent yesterday. It must have been in the afternoon, and transmission stopped at dark. Today, there were intermittent showers most of the day, which must have further delayed transmission. Who knows what the man might have unwittingly said, not aware of the consequences to Yozef Kolsko if his true origin became known?

He sighed. All he could do was hope nothing irreversible had yet happened and that the stranger would understand his short message at the end of the semaphore to Balwis.

Yozef laid the sheet down just as footsteps sounded from the outer office. Synton strode through the door, followed by a brown-haired teenage girl. Yozef recognized her but couldn’t remember her name. She wore what appeared at first glance to be a gray dress in the common Caedelli style. However, the lower part was sewn into two loose legs and closing segments— similar to pantaloons. Sturdy, ankle-high shoes replaced the sandals or other footwear worn by most Caedelli women. Wherever plausible, Yozef had mandated that new positions be open to both males and females. The corps of teenage message carriers was one such example.

“Here you go,” said Synton. “There were three runners waiting for something to do, but I remembered that Hilma is the fastest.”

“Thanks,” said Yozef, without looking at Synton. He held the paper out to Hilma. “Get this to the semaphore station as fast as you can. Tell the manager this is the Paramount’s highest priority.”

The girl snatched the paper from Yozef’s hand, rolled it up to be easier to carry, wheeled, and raced back out the door.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell anyone what this is all about, are you?” asked Synton.

Why not? thought Yozef. It has to be someone from Earth, though for everyone here it’s someone from the mysterious Amerika of Yozef Kolsko. Word will get out. Keeping it secret from people like Synton could be taken as a lack of trust.

“You read the message, Synton. Balwis says the man from the Buldorian ship claims to have a message from the Buldorians for me. That nonsense at the end of the message tells me that the man might be from Amerika—my original homeland.”

The guard betrayed his usual unflappable self. “Amerika! You’ve never told me that directly, but word gets around. I also heard you don’t know of anyone else from there. In that case, I guess I can see how it might have hit you pretty hard. I didn’t get a chance to read the answer you sent back to Balwis. You gave it to Hilma too fast. I suppose this means you’ll be going to Preddi City.”

“Right away,” said Yozef. “I need to talk to Maera. She’s supposed to be at St. Wyan’s Cathedral at a meeting about the plans for the University of Caedellium campus here in Orosz City. She mentioned there was some disagreement about teaching comparative religions.”

“Hah!” Synton said with a laugh. “I don’t personally know that many theophists, but I can imagine a couple theophist heads exploding when they heard your idea.”

“Yeah, you’re not far off. Most are okay with the concept once it’s explained. We’re not trying to convert people to other religions, but it’s part of required education that we understand other nations and peoples. Caedellium is going to interact more than ever before.”

“You want me to get another runner to locate her?” asked Synton.

“I’ll walk to the cathedral. It’s only fifteen minutes away. How about if you get my horse and meet me there? I’ll be going home right after I talk to Maera.”

“Well . . . that’s not going to happen. You walking anywhere without me. Maera would skin me alive as soon as she saw you walking alone. Anyway, don’t you think you might need to tell people what you’re doing before heading off to Preddi City? After all . . . you are the Paramount. At a minimum, there’s a good dozen people who need to be told where you’re going, even if not why you’re going there.”

Yozef looked blankly at Synton, who rolled his eyes.

“You know. Hetman Orosz. Carnigan. Kivalian. Kloona, the woman in charge of your staff. I’m sure I can think of a few more.”

Shit. He’s right, Yozef told himself. I’m not thinking straight.

At a minimum, he needed to alert the half-dozen men and women in the outer office that he would be traveling to Preddi City and be there for an uncertain length of time. Intellectually, he knew that his days of being able to go anywhere without people knowing were over. Not that he didn’t find time for himself, but it was always planned and required leaving notice of his whereabouts.

He sighed. “You’re right. I acted as if I was going to leave for Preddi City in the next few minutes.” He looked at the clock hanging on the far wall. It was a gift to the Paramount from the best clockmaker on Caedellium, a late sixties Stent man living in Clitwyth, the Stent Clan capital.

“We’ve only another couple hours of daylight left. I have too much to do to leave today. Anyway, it’s so much slower traveling at night. If I left now, it’d be two nights’ travel, and I’d get to Preddi City just about the same time as if I leave tomorrow morning.”

“I assume you’ll be taking the train,” said Synton. “The section from here to Preddi City isn’t complete, but there’s only a fifteen-mile or so gap southwest of Hanslow in Brell Province.”

A major ongoing project was the construction of rail lines using wooden rails with iron caps. The cars were horse-drawn until the first steam engines were operational. The hub of the planned network was Orosz City. A 221-mile line to Preddi City was near completion.

A second partly completed line connected Bultecki Province to Orosz City and then on to the Stent, Pewitt, and Swavebroke provinces—the purpose being to connect immense iron ore deposits in Bultecki Province to the coalfields of the western provinces. Yozef envisioned an iron industry in Pewitt and Swavebroke as soon as the rail line was completed, they had steam engines strong enough to pull ore trains, and they worked out smelting and iron-processing procedures. The plan was a stupendous act of faith.

The only completed line was from Orosz City to Adris City on the Gulf of Normot. The gulf and the harbor would serve as the future Caedellium naval base. Yozef didn’t envision a Caedellium navy to rival that of Fuomon or Narthon, but the island nation needed enough of a navy to at least patrol its own waters and deter raiders such as the Buldorians. The entire Caedellium navy consisted of a single sloop being built under the supervision of Fuomi shipwrights and a prospective crew trained by Fuomi sailors. The crew was to be a motley collection of Caedelli, ex-Narthani sailors who had deserted from the last ships to leave Caedellium, and Fuomi sailors given permission to immigrate to the island. The gulf also provided a safe harbor for a squadron of Fuomi warships for however long Fuomon was willing to provide a degree of naval protection.

A conspicuously loud throat clearing brought Yozef back to the moment. Synton waited for an answer.

“Yes, the train,” said Yozef.

Synton turned to the still open door and barked a name. Seconds later, a middle-aged woman hurried through the door, stopped, looked first at Synton, then at Yozef, and continued to the Paramount’s desk.

“Yes, Paramount. What do you need?”

“Kloona, I’ll be leaving Orosz City first thing tomorrow morning and visiting Preddi City for I don’t know how long. Take care of all the details of my being away. You know . . . canceling meetings, sending messages to anyone expecting to see me, and alerting those who need to know where I’ll be. Also, get a message to Pilo Starwell that I’ll want a train ready to leave at first light tomorrow. He’s also to semaphore to have horses at the end of the line toward Preddi City for me and . . . ”

He looked at Synton, who read his mind and answered without being prompted. “You don’t need to know what this is all about, but it should be safe enough, especially if you tell Starwell not to pass along who’s traveling. I’ll be going. I think one more guard will be sufficient. I can check if Gowlin or Toowin are available.”

“Make it Carnigan,” Yozef said. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Anybody else? Maera? Advisers?”

“No, just three of us.”

Synton looked at the woman who was Yozef’s clerical staff leader.

“So,” she said. “A rail coach for Preddi City. From your expressions, I assume you want to get there as fast as possible. I’ll work with Starwell to have horses at this end of the line construction and another train at the other end.”

She stopped and thought. “The horses will be fresh. Depending on the weather and how much they’ll be pushed, it should take two hours, plus or minus, to get to the other end of the gap. Assuming a coach is waiting, and you want to travel at night, the total rail trip will be around . . . hmmmm . . . thirty hours. Even with lanterns, the coach won’t be able to make more than four to five miles per hour at night. That’ll put you in Preddi City around noon the following day.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“That’s fine, Kloona. See to it.”

“Yes, Paramount,” she said and left, closing the door behind her.

“All right, let’s go find Maera,” said Yozef, who rose from the chair and started toward the door.

“Hold on,” said Synton. “Merciful God, you need a nursemaid sometimes. Look out the window! It is raining right now. Get your cloak, and don’t forget you have to go armed.”

Yozef flushed, then laughed. “I don’t need a nursemaid. I already have one. His name is Synton Ethlore.”

He turned back toward the set of pegs on the wall next to his desk, where a variety of garments were suspended, including a rain cloak. But first he opened the drawer of a cabinet and pulled out a leather belt from which hung a small pistol and a seven-inch, double-edged knife in a holster and sheath. He hoped the day would come when he didn’t have to carry weapons and be accompanied by guards. However, unless he wanted to fight it, that decision would be made by a combination of Maera, Anarynd, Carnigan, Synton, and God knew who else? The one attempt on his life had been months in the past, but the surprise of it happening had shocked everyone.

“There. Any other comments, Mother?” said Yozef.

Synton only grunted and opened the door.

The fifteen-minute walk to the cathedral took nineteen minutes. After Yozef’s initial rush to get moving, his pace was slow as he formulated what he would say to Maera. He had religiously kept to his cover story of originating from a land called Amerika, being kidnapped by parties unknown, being transported by ship for an unknown distance and length of time, and being cast away, naked on a beach. Most people accepted the story with varying degrees of astonishment, skepticism, or naiveté. However, Maera wasn’t most people. Her initial probing of the story stopped when he admitted there were secrets he couldn’t tell her yet but maybe someday. He suspected she had been advised to desist by Diera or Sistian Beynom or both. What would happen when there was a second target of her curiosity?

Early in their relationship, he had thought the day might come when he would tell her the entire truth. Then, as time passed, the possibility receded as his life became more complex. Now, here he was again with the issue of secrets starkly facing him.

Nothing seemed clearer by the time they reached the cathedral.

They found Maera in one of the meeting rooms in the administrative building of St. Wyan’s complex. Yozef judged he wouldn’t be disturbing the meeting. Eleven men and women stood talking in three clusters, and a twelfth person left the room just as they arrived.

Maera spotted them as soon as they walked in the door. A questioning eyebrow arched, and she said something to those gathered around her. Even after their years of marriage and two children, whenever he saw her after being apart, even for a few hours, he felt his heart rate jump, and the urge to smile was reflexive.

Today, she wore a plain brown dress held at the waist by a finely crafted leather belt. The ends of a forest green scarf fell on her chest, and her brown hair was tied back by a green ribbon. She always wore something green, either a main garment or an accessory. She knew green was his favorite color. He once told her it was a good color to match her green eyes. Anarynd followed the habit, but Yozef had never seen a reason to tell his other wife that blue was her color—matching her blonde hair and blue eyes.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Maera. “I’m guessing you have some news. Good or bad?”

He took her gently by an elbow and pulled her into the hall, then looked around to see if anyone besides Synton was listening. “A semaphore message came from Balwis. He says a Buldorian ship delivered a man who says he has a message to me from an important Buldorian leader.”

“What? Why in the—”

“That’s not what’s most important,” said Yozef, cutting off her questioning. “Another part of the message makes me believe this man is from Amerika. Like me.”

She stood quiet and expressionless as she studied his face for the next thirty seconds. “I assume what was in the message makes you believe it’s plausible the man is what he claims. In that case, you’ll want to go to Preddi City as soon as possible.”

As Yozef had many times, he silently thanked whatever God or gods may exist for his good fortune in marrying Maera.

“Yes. I want to leave first thing tomorrow morning on a train.”

Maera looked at Synton, who said, “Yes . . . everything is being arranged. Starwell is taking care of trains and some horses to cross the construction gap. Kloona is dealing with meetings and whatever paperwork you people have to do while he’s gone. I’ll be going with them, and he wants to take Carnigan. On second thought, maybe we should have told Starwell to arrange the sturdiest coaches if we’re taking that big oaf.”

“All right,” said Maera, turning back to Yozef. “That’s a good start, but remember you’re supposed to be in Adris City in a sixday.”

Yozef groaned. “I forgot. God’s Mercy.” He had almost said, “God damn,” but he’d learned early that calling for God’s damnation bordered on blasphemy for some Caedelli.

The meeting in Adris City was to deal with fishing territories that northern clans had been unable to settle disputes by themselves: Skouks, Pawell, Nyvaks, and Bevans. The tension between Nyvaks and Pawell was long-standing. Yozef thought he had forced a truce between the two clans months ago, only to have tensions erupt again and spill over to the adjacent clans, Skouks and Bevans. Yozef had called for the involved hetmen to meet with him in Adris City. It would also give him the opportunity to inspect the progress in training the crew of Caedellium’s first warship, a sloop. Both the meeting and the inspection would have to wait.

“I’ll semaphore all the hetmen,” said Maera, “and follow it up with diplomatically worded letters. You know . . . unexpected Paramount business in Preddi City, will reschedule the meeting to a later date.”

“Thanks, Maera, I appreciate it, but there’s still time left. I’ll get back to my office and write out the semaphore messages and letters. They all know you speak for me, but it’s still better if letters are in my handwriting.”

Maera shrugged. “Then I’ll go on home and put together what you’ll need for the travel. Any idea how long you’ll be in Preddi City?”

Yozef tugged at his beard. “I can’t say. If it turns out to be nothing, then I’ll come straight back. Hmmmm . . . on second thought, I’m traveling through Moreland and Brell provinces, and Selfcell is close. I probably should make brief stops in at least Brell and Moreland on the way back. We’ve talked about how I would like to visit each clan every year, but it doesn’t look as if that’s going to be practical. At least this way, I can check off some of the twenty-one clans for this year.”

“That will change how I pack for you,” said Maera. “If you’re making Paramount visits to clans, you’ll need clothes for formal occasions, travel, everyday use, and multiple changes for each. When you add what Synton and Carnigan will have to take, you’ll need a couple of carriages to cross the gap in the rail line.”

Yozef was tempted to say he would stick with the horses, and the baggage could follow by carriage. He suppressed the temptation. His mind was still whirling with the implications of Balwis’s semaphore message, and he wasn’t comfortable cluing Maera in on his state of mind.

“Let’s get back to the headquarters,” said Synton. “While you’re writing your letters, I’ll take care of the transportation changes from what we sent to Starwell. You’ll have to take Isla with you, too. You know the reason.”

Yozef suppressed a groan. “The ambassadors.”

Maera nodded. “You delayed dealing with them, which I sympathize with.”

Yozef noted she didn’t say she agreed with his procrastination.

“But your being in Preddi City, no matter the reason, means it will be unavoidable. I’m sure Balwis will strongly push meetings, and you have Savronel Storlini to help arrange things and advise with his impressions. Isla has read all of Storlini’s reports on the representatives. She’s been gathering as much information as possible from other sources, such as the few people on Caedellium who have experience with Iraquiniks or Landoliners.”

Yozef acknowledged that Maera was correct. It was time to deal with the representatives, ambassadors, or whatever parties from other realms were calling themselves. He had skimmed what intelligence they had on those entities, but Isla and Storlini would be invaluable. Isla Kennrick-Luwis and her husband, Gartherid Kennrick, had been key members of the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU) established during the war against the Narthani. For the past months, Isla had a small staff developing intelligence on the Iraquiniks and the Landoliners.

“You’re right about Isla. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, but no point rushing Isla to accompany me. I’m certain I’ll be tied up with the surprise visitor and Balwis for a couple of days. Meanwhile, Storlini can start making plans for meetings, and Isla can join me when she arrives in Preddi City.”

Five hours later, Maera and Anarynd sat on a veranda swing in front of Kolsko Manor in the mountain cleft above Orosz City. Yozef had been later than expected returning home. Then he had talked with Carnigan, who had been informed by Maera of the next day’s trip to Preddi City. By the time Yozef was ready for evening meal, it was only him, Maera, and Anarynd, the children having already been put to bed. The three of them ate and talked, and then Yozef retired, leaving the two women alone.

“Was I imagining it, or is Yozef worried?” Anarynd queried.

“Well . . . you know how it is sometimes with Yozef,” said Maera. “It can be difficult to read his emotions. Partly, I think I agree with you about the worry. But then when he talked about the possibility of meeting one of his original fellow countrymen, he had a definite level of excitement.”

Maera sensed Anarynd was hiding something.

“What is it, Ana? Are you afraid he might find out where this Amerika is and want to return to his home?”

“Oh, Maera, you don’t think that would happen, do you?” said Anarynd, wringing her hands.

Maera reached over to grasp both of Anarynd’s hands and held them tight.

“No. I know he can’t help but miss his homeland and family, but look at what he has here. He’s the Paramount Hetman of all Caedellium, a step above every clan hetman. Think of all he’s done since he was cast away on our shores. All the new products he’s introduced. Leading the victory over the Narthani. All the friends he has here and how honored he is. Most of all, his family. You, me, the children. No . . . there’s no chance he would leave us.”

Anarynd visibly relaxed. She believed Maera knew Yozef better than anyone, including herself. If Maera wasn’t worried, then neither should she be. She didn’t know that Maera only told her a half-truth. Maera thought it highly unlikely Yozef would ever consider leaving Caedellium to return to Amerika—but a sliver of doubt lingered.

“Then maybe he’s just excited about meeting a countryman,” said Anarynd. “No matter how full his life is here, he must miss talking with someone from home.”

It was a fitful night’s sleep for Yozef. Both Maera and Anarynd, separately and when the other was out of earshot, hinted they were receptive to conjugal activity, something not uncommon when he was to travel the next day. Both overtures had been ignored. He excused himself after eating by saying he needed to get to sleep because of the long trip coming. It was a subterfuge. He retired to the small bed in his home office and lay there sleepless well into the night, thinking about Earth. When exhaustion finally claimed him, he slept unaware of the tossing and turning that would’ve kept either bed partner tense and worried.

Maera woke him an hour before dawn. Hot food was waiting, along with all the children, some wide awake and others half-asleep.

“I knew you’d want to say goodbye to them before leaving,” said Anarynd. What she didn’t say was that she still worried about the consequences of Yozef meeting a countryman, and she wanted him to leave home with a vision of his entire family.

CHAPTER 3

FAMILIAR STRANGERS

When Carnigan had been apprised they would be traveling to Preddi City the next morning, he’d started to ask why the rush until Synton shook his head. The big man took the hint. The horse-drawn train flying the Paramount’s pennant arrived at the Preddi City rail station just after midday. Yozef had managed a few hours’ sleep after passing through Moreland City. When they reached the end of the completed line southwest of Hanslow, carriages were waiting twenty feet from where the train stopped. Now, with only greetings to the carriage drivers, they were off.

For the first five miles, evidence of activity paralleled the road. There were three separate work crews. The first crew they passed was laying track within sight of where the train stopped. As they rode, the track crew stopped working to cheer the Paramount’s carriages driving past. In another two miles they came upon the leading edge of the crew constructing the rail bed. They rode another three miles. From a third of a mile away, through the sound of their horses’ hoofbeats, they heard the overlying sounds of axes on wood and men yelling orders at one another or animals.

For the third time, work stopped, and men cheered as the Paramount passed. At the first two crews, the workers had been alerted. However, news must not have reached the last crew. The carriages passed, and shouts went up as someone noticed either the Paramount’s pennant or the large redheaded man. If anything, Carnigan was more widely recognized than symbols of the Paramount.

The road threaded eight miles through forests and scattered farms as yet untouched by rail construction. When they reached the leading edge of the rail construction from Preddi City, it was the clearing crew first, then the roadbed workers, and finally men laying track.

They heard the cathedral bells before Preddi City came in view.

“Midday,” said Carnigan from his seat behind Yozef. “I expect Balwis will be waiting for us.”

“Maybe the bells are to announce Yozef’s arrival and not midday,” Synton said with a snigger.

“No, if that was it, they would keep ringing,” said Yozef. “Plus, there’d be fireworks.”

The three men shared a laugh. The Paramount’s aversion to public displays was well known.

“Well . . . what do you think about traveling by rail, Synton?” asked Yozef. “You, too, Carnigan. It’s the first time for both of you.”

“I like it,” said Carnigan. “A lot better than by carriage where the roads are almost never smooth. A lot faster, too. Still, there’s those clacks as the wheels hit the next rail section.”

“Yeah, right,” said Synton. “You’re also leaving out the fact that we can’t always find a horse big enough to carry you without breaking its back. If we had used horses across the rail gap, I was wondered they could find a horse that could carry you.”

Yozef listened to the two men verbally jostle. It was a well-rehearsed routine—Synton commenting on Carnigan’s size and being on the receiving end of disparagement of his shady past and social skills.

The rail station was located a mile from the city center in anticipation of rapid growth once Caedellium opened more to the outside world. That decision proved even more prescient than anticipated. Residential and business construction exploded as the city assumed the role of the main access for external trade and political contacts. Yozef had strongly advised Balwis to control the development. This resulted in an extensive urban plan designed by an ex-Narthani army engineer who had started a family with a willing Preddi woman who had no intention of moving to Narthon.

Yozef idly observed the remains of the islanders’ trench works surrounding Narthani-controlled Preddi City. Most of the elaborate trenches had been filled in. Their purpose had been to provide cover from cannon and musket fire when siege mortars were brought in to bombard Narthani positions. Fortunately, Yozef and the Narthani commander, Akuyun, had come to an agreement to avoid the horrendous anticipated losses of assaulting the city’s defenses.

In contrast to remains of the trench work, the fortified wall surrounding the city was a dominant feature of the Preddi Clan capital. It was the inner of two defense works built by the Narthani in anticipation of the islanders’ assault. Although the outer defenses had been dismantled, the inner wall had been expanded and strengthened. Yozef had been uncertain whether the effort was worthwhile, but Balwis asserted that besides functioning as a fortress in case the Narthani tried to conquer the island again, it also served as a reminder of the clan’s history and the price of clan freedom.

Carnigan was right. Balwis Preddi was waiting at the rail station, along with Wyfor Kales and Ceinwyn Preddi-Keelan, wife of the hetman, daughter of the Keelan hetman, and sister of Maera. Ceinwyn was obviously pregnant again, a fact Yozef had forgotten.

“What? Are Balwis and Ceinwyn planning on repopulating the island all by themselves?” said Synton. “I thought she just had a child.”

“That was what . . . six months ago . . . I think,” said Yozef.

“Balwis should give the poor woman a break,” said Synton, smirking.

“After all the deaths and fear, a burst of new life is an affirmation of the future,” Yozef said softly.

Synton took the mild rebuke. “Yeah. I guess I can see that.”

“And when are you going to contribute to the future, Synton?” asked Carnigan. “It’s about time you started a family.”

“Who knows? Maybe someday, but right now there’s plenty of women impressed by my being one of the Paramount’s guards. Anyway . . . the two of you are filling any void left by me. Seems like at least one of your women is always pregnant.”

Carnigan laughed. “Not quite, although sometimes it seems that way.”

A shout from the coach’s driver and a lurch from stopping cut off any further comments. As Carnigan reached for the door handle, the door flew open to reveal Wyfor Kales, standing and grinning.

“God above, look who’s come to visit. If it’s not the Paramount himself and his two favorite shadows.”

“It’s a sad day when the first face I see is yours, Wyfor,” said Synton. “Why didn’t you send your pretty assistant to meet us? I hear she does all the work, anyway.”

Wyfor stood aside to let the three men dismount from the coach. Yozef looked at Balwis, but before he could say anything, Ceinwyn rushed forward and hugged him.

“It’s great to see you again, Yozef. And such exciting news! What did Maera think about it?”

“As usual, your sister keeps many of her thoughts to herself. But she immediately set to work packing for me and starting to cover my absence from Orosz City.”

Ceinwyn laughed. “That’s Maera, all right. And how is she? Anarynd, too? And the children? Is everyone healthy?”

“Everyone’s fine,” said Yozef. “We’ll have time to talk later, but for now—”

“Yes, yes, Ceinwyn,” said Balwis. “I imagine Yozef wants to get down to business right away.”

“You’d be right. I’ve hardly thought of anything else since I got your semaphore message.”

“Then we’ll go straight to the clan headquarters. Ceinwyn arranged for your baggage to be taken to our home. You’ll be staying with us. I assumed these two disreputable men posing as your protectors would accompany you. We have rooms for them next door. There’ll also be four extra guards while you’re here and whether or not Synton and Carnigan can accompany you.”

Yozef frowned. “Is that really necessary? I’ve gotten used to having these two around, but any more guards, and it’ll feel like I’m invading any place or room I go to.”

“Only an added precaution,” said Wyfor, “until we figure out if this man who claims to be from Amerika is telling the truth.”

Balwis scowled. “Maybe they’re not needed, and Wyfor never lacks for suspicions, but in this case, I agree with him. Something smells about this whole situation. We’re not taking chances it’s part of something bigger.”

Yozef didn’t argue, both because he understood their concern and because he knew they would ignore his protests.

“Then let’s get on with it,” Yozef said impatiently, turning to Ceinwyn. “I’ll see you this evening. Maera sends her love.”

“We’ll walk to the headquarters building,” said Balwis. “I figure you need to stretch your legs after the train ride. On the way, I can summarize what we know.”

Balwis and Yozef started walking side by side, with Wyfor leading the way, followed by two Preddi guards. Trailing were Carnigan and Synton with two more Preddi guards coming up the rear.

“Here it is so far. A Fuomi sloop encountered a Buldorian ship flying a parlay flag about a hundred miles off Caedellium. The Fuomi captain honored the flag, cautiously, and was told the Buldorians had a party of Caedelli being returned to the island, and would the Fuomi be willing to have them transferred to his sloop?”

“A party? How many were they?”

“One man, three women, and three children. The man claimed he had an important message for you from the Buldorian leadership. That was enough for the captain to bring them here. Otherwise, he’d have taken them to his superiors at Adris City, where the Fuomi ships not on patrol are anchored.”

“Did he say what the message was supposed to be?” asked Yozef.

“No. Just that he was to give the message to you personally. Naturally, when I heard this, I was skeptical. It was only after I talked with him that he said he was from Amerika, and I semaphored you. When I asked him why I should believe him, he said he could give me words that would confirm to you he was telling the truth.”

Balwis turned his head to look at Yozef as they walked. “I have no idea what the words mean, but Savronel wrote how we thought they would be spelled. Then he read them back to the man. By the way, he says his name is Mark Kaldwel.” Balwis spelled out both names.

“Kaldwel,” Yozef repeated slowly, several times.

Sounds like Mark Caldwell, he thought, but that doesn’t prove anything. Hell. There’s plenty of names I’ve heard here that sound the same as back home, and I know it’s only coincidental.

Balwis smiled. “I took from your return message and your getting here so fast that the man was right?”

“Well . . . he’s something, there’s no doubt.”

“I assume whatever those words were must mean knowledge of Amerika,” said Balwis.

“Beyond question.”

From ahead of them, Wyfor turned his head. “Keep in mind it doesn’t mean he is from Amerika, only that he has knowledge of it.”

Yozef walked twenty yards before he answered. “You mean . . . he could have learned from an Amerikan, not that he is Amerikan?”

Wyfor shrugged, while still facing away.

“I suppose you’re right,” said Yozef, “but I don’t—”

He suddenly stopped talking and walked almost thirty yards before speaking again.

“I was going to say he could have learned a tremendous number of facts about Amerika, which would seem unlikely. However, if he had access to an Amerikan for enough time, then I suppose he could have learned enough to get a meeting. But that’s not going to work once I talk to him. No matter how much he would have learned, eventually he’ll trip up.”

“Probably,” said Balwis, “but we’ll see. You know we’re not going to let you meet with him alone until we settle this.”

“Uh . . . fine. I’ll talk to him in English, the Amerikan language—which should be a level of proof.  Hey . . . that reminds me. If he’s not from Caedellium, how did you talk with him?”

“That involves more puzzles,” said Balwis. “He speaks enough Caedelli to carry on conversations, although his accent is terrible. He claims to be from Frangel, which is about as far away from Caedellium as you can get on Anyar. He says he’s been living in Frangel, where he learned Frangelese. It must be a very close language to Caedelli, though I don’t see how that could be, since Caedellium and Frangel are so far apart. Anyway, the Buldorian ship also brought a woman and her two children who are definitely from Seaborn Province. Savronel looked in the records, and her story matches the Buldorians’ first raid on Caedellium. We didn’t want to check into it more carefully until you’ve had a chance to meet with this Kaldwel.”

“But you say the man speaks Caedelli enough to be understood?”

“Yes, but, like I said, he has a terrible accent. However, it’s more annoying than anything else. They were all on the Buldorian ship for over a month, and evidently the woman and the children we believe are true Caedelli worked with them on the language during the voyage.”

“You said them,” prompted Yozef. “Does that mean the other two women and the child are also from Frangel?”

“Kaldwel says one of the women is his wife, and the other child is theirs. She’s the larger of the three women when you meet them. The third woman is odd. Kaldwel says she’s from Sulako. How she came to be part of the group hasn’t been explained. She’s also a bit strange looking. She’s a small woman, black hair, with eyes like something is wrong with them . . . kind of a squint as if partially closed from a bright light. Wyfor thinks she may be from Krinolin, which, of course, is even farther from here than Frangel.”

“I haven’t seen that many Krinoliners,” said Wyfor, “but it’s like men I’ve seen around harbors in that part of the world.”

Yozef was tempted to ask Wyfor how he’d happened to be so far from Caedellium. The short, wiry man never talked about the years between when he left Caedellium as a twelve-year-old boy stowing away on a cargo ship and when he returned to Caedellium thirty or more years later. Yozef made a mental note to probe Wyfor further in the future—but not now.

They entered the Preddi Clan headquarters building, an open area of desks, shelving, and versions of filing cabinets. The workers all grew silent and stood up. Yozef waved his left hand.

Balwis called out, “Everyone back to work. The Paramount and I will be upstairs in meetings.”

They climbed the stairs and went to Balwis’s office. Wyfor used his remaining hand to position a straight-backed chair fifteen feet away, facing a large desk. He rested the hand on the chair.

“To start off with, Yozef, we’ll have you sit in Balwis’s chair behind the desk and Kaldwel here. Synton can stand behind the chair and Carnigan behind you. Balwis and I will stand beside the desk corners, so Kaldwel would have to pass by us if he tried to go over the desk to get at you.”

Yozef didn’t comment on precautions he didn’t think were necessary. He suppressed the urge to just tell them to produce Kaldwel. He had had trouble focusing his mind on anything else the last day and a half. Was there another survivor of United 4382? He thought it had been two, maybe three years since he’d last nurtured that hope.

“All right, all right,” Yozef blurted out. “Bring him in.”

Three rooms down the hall, seven humans waited. They had been there for the last hour after being led back to the clan headquarters from their lodging. There had been no verbal interchange with any islander after they’d been left at the house two days earlier, except when food and water were brought twice a day—more than enough each time. Then, near midday, the one-armed man named Kales had returned.

“I’ll give you half an hour to use the voiding house out back before we return to the headquarters building,” he’d said.

“Are we going to meet Yozef Kolsko?” asked Mark.

“You’ll find out,” said Kales. He then frowned down at Alys Kaldwel, who had walked up to him and stared at where a missing arm should be.

“Papa says you lost your arm. Do you remember where? I can help you find it.”

The corners of Wyfor’s mouth twitched, locked in indecision between a snarl and a smile. Before he settled on one of them, Maghen scooped Alys up and hurried to stand by Mark, who appeared unperturbed. Wyfor was as heavily armed as usual, and two guards had accompanied him to the house. Yet he had no doubt the big man would’ve reacted instinctively if he had perceived a threat to his daughter.

“You now have less than a half-hour,” said Wyfor, who then waited outside.

When everyone was ready to leave, they gathered in the yard. Wyfor headed off, followed by the guards. As they reached the headquarters building, Wyfor led the way, followed by the Kaldwel family, Heather Chen, and the Kardyl family, who had been in an adjacent house. Several times they had seen Senwina, the mother, or her two children, Allyr, the twelve-year-old boy, and Onyla, the five-year-old girl, going to or coming from the voiding structure behind their house. Guards had warned them about speaking to one another, but Onyla and Alys waved and greeted everyone, despite guards and worried mothers.

Wyfor led them to a second-story room with a large table surrounded by chairs and no other furniture or decorations. There were no guards inside the room, but four stood in the hall near the door they had been led through. Mark looked out the window several times to see half a dozen guards in view. The three women sat near one end of the table. Alys and Onyla played a game only they seemed to understand. Mark sat when they first arrived but had been pacing the last thirty minutes, not noticing as Allyr mirrored his movements on the other side of the room.

Everyone was doing something, pacing, talking, or playing, but only the two youngest were oblivious to the tension gripping the older occupants. Thus, when they heard a sharp rap on the door, two of the women emitted startled cries. Only Heather was silent. She gripped the edges of the table with both hands, her fingers turning white from the pressure. Mark whirled on his heels to face the door, and Allyr followed suit after seeing Mark’s reaction.

The door opened, and the man named Storlini entered. “Mark Kaldwel, if you would please accompany us.”

“Just me, or all of us?”

“Only you . . . for now.”

Mark walked over to Maghen and put a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. Maybe they’re just going to ask me more questions. They might do the same for the rest of you later. Probably doing it alone so they can check our answers against one another’s. If they do question you alone, just tell the truth about everything.”

He followed Storlini, with three of the four guards falling in behind.

Only leaving one guard to watch the others? thought Mark. Guess that confirms how they view me.

That realization was both bracing and disappointing.

They took a short walk to a different room from where they had questioned him earlier. Storlini opened the door and stood aside for Mark. He entered the room two steps and stopped. It was two or three times the size of the other rooms on this floor and was completely furnished with a large desk, a window table, and multiple chairs of a different design—most of them fully or partially cushioned. Whereas the other rooms’ floors consisted of plain planking, this room’s floor was made of finely grained, russet-colored wood from a different tree. The walls and the ceiling were of yet another wood, tawny-colored and thicker grained.

Mark’s wife on Earth, Jocelyn, had had a never-ending urge to upgrade their house’s furniture. Despite his lack of interest, enough of her criteria for high-quality furniture had dribbled through his inattention, allowing him to recognize that the furniture in this room would have sent her into spasms of envy.

All his observations about the room took only a few seconds, then receded into insignificance. He compared the room’s occupants. Four men stood. Mark had experienced enough violence in the last year to have a honed sense of men who were accustomed to danger—all four men qualified. Hetman Preddi and Wyfor Kales stood at the front corners of the desk. Mark had met them the day he’d arrived on Caedellium, and he’d already assessed them. A third man stood behind the straight-backed wooden chair, facing the desk. The man was roughly the same height and physique as the hetman, but he reminded Mark of men he had avoided in the seamier sections of the Landylbury harbor in Frangel.

The fourth standing man was actually the first one Mark had noticed—as the man almost certainly would be in any gathering. The flaming red hair and beard only accentuated his size, which Mark quickly estimated as several inches taller than his own 6’3”. The man’s bulk had to go well over 300 pounds, none of it suggesting flab. Mark had become accustomed to believing he could handle any man, one on one, and, if necessary, thought he could come out on top against two or three average men. It was somewhat disconcerting when he sensed the redhead was in a different category.

Mark’s perusal of the standing men lasted four seconds before his gaze settled on the man seated behind the large desk. He was dressed in brown trousers and a white pullover shirt with a drawstring under the throat. Both the man and the clothing showed evidence of recent travel. He had brown hair and beard, both of which had lighter streaks. Even from where Mark stood near the room’s door, he perceived the seated man’s eyes to be an unusually light blue or gray—eyes that stared intently at Mark.

Kolsko, thought Mark. Is this Yozef Kolsko or yet another intermediary?

“Please sit here, Ser Kaldwel,” said Storlini, indicating the straight-backed chair facing the desk.

Mark complied. Storlini went to stand behind the desk and beside the hulk.

“So . . . you say your name is Mark Kaldwel,” stated the seated man. “And you came to Caedellium with a message for the Paramount.”

“Yes . . . I’m Mark Kaldwel, and, yes, I have a message from the Buldorian leadership they asked I give directly to Yozef Kolsko.”

“I suppose we can get to the message later, but first let’s discuss your claim that you’re from a place called Amerika. I’m afraid that’s something you’ll have to convince me of because I’m Yozef Kolsko, and I know I’m from Amerika.”

All of Mark’s cautious wondering jelled into brighter hope than he had expected. “If you’re from the United States, then you should understand me. What’s your real name?”

The five standing men showed various degrees of puzzlement, whereas Yozef Kolsko smiled and leaned back in his chair. Mark Kaldwel’s statement and question were in English.

“My original name is Joseph Colsco. When I got here, the first people I met had trouble pronouncing my first name. Yozef was as close as they could get to Joseph. I didn’t bother trying to correct them then or later, so I just stayed Yozef.”

Yozef then spoke aloud to the other men in Caedelli without taking his eyes off Kaldwel. “He speaks English, the language of my people in America. I’m going to ask him a few questions to confirm or refute Wyfor’s possibility that he’s not from Amerika but got information from someone who is. We’ll be doing this in English, so be patient.”

He switched back to English. “It’s not much of a guess that your name didn’t change much. Mark Kaldwel . . . Mark Caldwell. Sounds the same whether in English or Caedelli. Do you remember details of how you got here?”

Mark smiled. “United Flight 4382 or 28. I’m not sure which one. Aisle seat 28C. How about you?”

“Well . . . this is a little weird,” said Yozef. “I was 28A. Seems a bit of a coincidence we were in the same row only a seat apart.”

“All depends on how many survivors there were. Maybe the aliens rescued everyone.”

“Possible,” conceded Yozef. “You remember who sat between us?”

Mark shrugged. “A teenage girl. Maybe fifteen to seventeen years old. Maybe Hispanic. No idea about her name. We never spoke, except the usual pleasantries, but I had to step into the aisle so she could take her seat. I remember you, though. A nerdy-looking guy, mid to late twenties, spent much of the flight doing something on a laptop. Girl tried talking to you, but you said you had work to do.”

Mark’s eyes left Yozef’s face and roamed over what he saw from the waist up. “You look different now. A little more bulk to you. Was it what the aliens did that muscled you up?”

“Could be one of two things they did to me and I assume to you. One would be the nano elements they gave us. What’s the other one?”

“The gene engineering on our mitochondria. They said it would give us a little more energy to compensate for the slightly higher gravity on this planet versus Earth.” Mark crossed his legs. “I take it we’re going to go back and forth with alien spaceship and Earth trivia until we’re convinced the other is who he says he is. I’ll go first. Who were the two leads in Titanic?”

Yozef laughed. “Leonardo DiCaprio and . . . hell, her name slips by me right now. How about the Patriots quarterback?”

“Tom Brady. Saints quarterback?”

“Drew Brees. I’m from San Diego. How about you?”

“Originally Colorado, but I moved around a lot after growing up. Last few years I lived in Reston, Virginia, near DC. If you’re from San Diego, what’s the local football team?”

“Depends on if you’re talking college or pro. There’s the San Diego State Aztecs, and there used to be the Chargers until they moved to Los Angeles. How about this one?  If you’re from near Washington, what’s the baseball team called?”

“The Nationals,” said Mark, “but do you know the name of the previous professional baseball team in Washington?”

“I’ll assume it wasn’t either the Democrats or the Republicans.”

“No, but that’s not far off. They were the Senators.”

“Can’t say I followed sports all that much,” said Yozef. “I was more into nerdy stuff. You know, video games, computers, things like that. Did you ever play the video game Line of Duty?

“Can’t say I heard of that one. I rarely played video games, and only then with relatives during visits. However, I do remember that Call of Duty was very popular.”

They both laughed again, Mark uproariously and Yozef with a hysterical edge.

“Thought I might catch you on that one,” Yozef said.

For the next seven minutes, they bounced questions and answers back and forth. Some questions were so esoteric that knowing the correct answer brought on exclamations.

“The next line in a song from the one that goes, ‘So they tanned his hide when he died, Clyde,’” said Yozef, confident of the song’s obscurity.

“And that’s it hangin’ on the shed!” roared Mark.

“No way! How the hell did you know that one?”

“I had a cousin who loved that stupid song. He’d sing it endlessly if we were doing chores together on his or my family’s ranches. How about you?”

“It was on one of the cards in a trivial question game . . . maybe Trivial Pursuit, but I’m not sure. Me and my sisters played it enough that we knew all the answers in the version of the game we had.”

Mark cupped both hands to his mouth and produced a series of deep, belly “umpah” sounds.

“And play your didgeridoo, blue!” sang Yozef. He then stood up and walked quickly past an amused Carnigan to hold out a hand. Yozef and Mark shook, then spontaneously reached out and hugged.

“That’s it. I’m convinced. I need to switch back to Caedelli before the others think everyone from America sings and is insane.”

“Too bad we don’t have Heather in here,” said Mark. “She’s got a nice voice. We could do a mean trio.”

“Heather?” asked Yozef, squinting. “Who’s that?”

CHAPTER 4

WHO’S HEATHER?

Mark stared silently at Yozef for several seconds. “Heather. Don’t tell me you don’t know. About Heather Chen? Her seat was 23E. She’s in the other room.”

Yozef tumbled back several steps until he leaned against the desk.

“I guess that means you didn’t know about her.”

Yozef shook his head to stop the whirling from yet another revelation.

“She? A woman? From Earth? Holy shit! I was used to there being only me . . . and now three of us? Did the two of you end up in the same place and not alone like me?”

“Not hardly. How we met will take some explanation.”

“Well, I definitely want to hear the story, but I guess telling me that little piece of information slipped Balwis’s mind. However, I do need to assure the others you’re not here to assassinate me.”

“I figured it must be something like that,” said Mark. “You know, with all the guards.”

“I think Balwis said you speak Caedelli . . . at least with a bad accent. But he said you came from Frangel? There’s got to be several stories there, but for now, if we speak Caedelli, are you going to understand?”

Mark nodded. “I think I do pretty good. Besides Frangelese being obviously related to Caedelli, we had intensive lessons from the Kardyl family during the sail from Buldor.”

Yozef stood upright again and addressed the other men in Caedelli. “As you can probably tell, I’m convinced Mark Kaldwel is from Amerika.” He looked at Balwis. “It seems to have slipped someone’s mind that one of the women also claims to be from Amerika.”

Balwis shrugged. “It was Kaldwel who claimed he needed to meet with you. The woman doesn’t look like much of a threat, so I figured if you believed the man, then the woman would be no problem.”

Yozef smiled. “It’s no problem, but please bring her here. I’ll question her, too, but if Mark says she’s from Amerika, then I’m sure she is, too. There’s also no need for this much security. I think it’s okay if I talk with Mark and—”

Yozef stopped and looked at Mark. “What’s her name again?”

“Heather. Heather Chen.”

“Right. I’ll talk with Mark and Heather. Although we’ll have many hours and days to tell one another our stories, we might as well start.”

Carnigan cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, which decibel-wise equated to some people’s shout. “Forget being alone with either Kaldwel or the woman. Synton and I have clear instructions from Maera and Anarynd. You’re not to be the one to decide to be alone or when these people are safe.”

“Well, I also got instructions . . . from Ceinwyn,” said Balwis. “But I think we can relax to a point. Carnigan, why don’t you and Synton stay when the three of them meet? The rest of us will go back to work. We’ll be in the building if we’re needed for anything.”

Balwis turned to Yozef. “What are your plans? You know . . . are you staying for a while, going back to Orosz City right away, and what about your two Amerikans? However, the first thing you need to do is send Maera a semaphore message. Tell her everything here is fine.”

Yozef held up both hands. “I surrender. Mark, Heather, and I have a lot to talk about, and I just realized I haven’t eaten anything since last night.” He looked at Mark. “How about your people? Hungry?”

“I could eat a horse, and I’m sure the kids are getting cranky.”

“All right. Here’s what we’ll do. Balwis, please have the Heather woman brought here so I can meet her. Also, arrange a meal soon as possible for the entire group. We’ll work out later what comes next.”

Balwis looked to Storlini. “Savronel, go fetch the Heather woman here to meet Yozef, and do something about that meal for them. Something here in the building or nearby.”

“It’s best if I go tell the others what’s happening,” said Mark. “I’m sure both Heather and my wife are worrying.”

“Okay,” said Balwis. “Savronel, take Mark to the women. Take a couple of guards with you.”

Yozef addressed Mark in English. “Get used to being watched, especially when we’re together, at least until people are comfortable with you.”

Mark frowned. “I thought you were the big cheese around here.”

“You’ll understand when you learn more about what’s been going on in the last few years. Plus, all the other men in this room are friends—and I don’t mean only acquaintances. We’ve been through a lot together and care about one another. You’ll also find my status has unique circumstances.”

Mark thought Kolsko appeared uncomfortable with the last statement. He assumed he’d later learn what it meant.

When Mark returned, at first Yozef didn’t see Heather, and he thought she wasn’t coming. Only when Mark moved to one side did he see her diminutive figure—probably no more than an inch over five feet tall, black hair tied in back, a baggy shirt, and trousers obviously cut down to fit her. She warily eyed Synton as she passed him, and then she stopped abruptly when she saw Carnigan and Kales.

“Over here,” Yozef said in English, as he sat at a round table near the large window overlooking the harbor. Two other chairs were pulled away from the table.

“It’s okay, Heather,” said Mark. “Come meet Joe Colsco, otherwise known here as Yozef Kolsko. He won’t bite . . . I think.”

“Not funny, big guy.” Her brow furrowed, and she again examined the three men she hadn’t met before. She had thought the Preddi hetman and the one-armed man were dangerous-looking enough . . . until now. She shivered under the gaze of the huge redhead’s scowl, a second man’s cold stare, and the seated man with a scar on one side of his head.

“Jesus, Mark. Does everybody in this place look like they came out of a Mad Max movie?”

The seated man laughed hard and said something in Caedelli to the other two men. Heather was getting better at the language. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he’d said, “She thinks we look like deranged marauders.” The big man’s scowl changed until he almost looked offended. The other man smiled, and it sounded like he’d said, “Looks like she’s a good judge of character.”

“Never was a big fan of the Mad Max series,” Yozef said in English. “More like Star Wars when I was younger and then the transformer movies.”

He motioned to the chair. “Please, Heather. We have a lot to talk about.”

Mark gave Heather a gentle nudge in the back with his hand. She momentarily resisted, then walked to the table. Yozef stood and held out a hand for her to shake. She licked her lips, then took his hand.

He wanted to rush and hug her, but she appeared apprehensive. Maybe later. The three sat.

“More than merely pleased to meet you, Heather. It was quite a shock to learn that a man showed up on Caedellium claiming to be an American. I didn’t find out until just a few minutes ago about you. After years of thinking I was the only person on this planet from that airliner collision, now I find there’re three of us. Also makes me wonder if there are more. But that’s something for a later discussion.

“A meal is being prepared, but there are some important things to talk about right away. First, though, let’s do some basic introductions. As Mark said, my name is Joe Colsco. Joseph, but here it ended up being pronounced like Yozef. I was from San Diego and was a chemistry graduate student at the University of California, Berkeley. I was traveling to a conference in Chicago, where I was to give a presentation. Obviously, there’re a million more details of who I was on Earth and what happened to me once I got here, but that’s a start. How about you two? Mark?”

“Mark Caldwell. As I told you, I lived in Reston, Virginia. I worked for the General Dynamics Corporation and was traveling to meet with potential clients.”

Both men looked at Heather.

“Oh . . . uh . . . I’m Heather Chen. My family lives in San Mateo, California. I was just graduating from high school and was traveling to visit a music school in Boston.” She stopped for a second. “Uh . . . is that all you want for now? Because I have a zillion or two questions.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Yozef, “but we’ll have plenty of time for that. First, we have to settle some ground rules. I got left naked on a beach. When people asked how I got there, I stuck to the simple story of being kidnapped, kept below a ship’s deck, and then abandoned—all for unknown reasons. Since you arrived on Caedellium, what have you told anyone about where you’re from?”

Mark nodded. “I see where you’re coming from. Once we left Frangel, the only two people I told about Amerika were a Rustalian guide and the Buldorian leader who got us here from Buldor. I can’t say who else they may have told later, but I told both of them well after the Narthani started chasing me.

“In Frangel, it was different. I had no reason to keep Amerika a secret. I’ve stuck to the same simple story. Sounds pretty much the same as yours. I’m from a place called Amerika, and I’m not familiar enough with maps of the whole planet to point to Amerika. I was kidnapped, kept confined on a long sea voyage, and then dumped naked on a beach in Frangel. That’s it. I figured it was a simple enough story that I wouldn’t contradict myself, no matter how many times I told it. I was actually surprised how few people probed further. I thought they would be more skeptical. Maybe I was predicting that based on how I thought people on Earth would react to such an outlandish story. The people I interacted with were not likely to mention Amerika to anyone the Narthani would have contact with.”

“And on the way here?” Yozef asked. “Just those two? No slips of the tongue in pubs or anywhere?”

“Well . . . who can say what any of us might have said without realizing it? All I can report is what I remember. I suppose one slip-up led me to end up here. I was in a tavern in Landylbury. That’s the third largest city in Frangel. I thought I overheard someone use the word Amerika in a conversation. I must’ve reacted. Maybe a change in expression or body language or who knows? Anyway, one of the men asked me if I knew of Amerika. Without thinking, I blurted out that I thought I recognized the word. When he pressed me about it, I told him I’d been drinking too much beer to remember, but I’d meet him in a tavern the next morning so we could talk about it.

“I was torn. I’d been religious about not saying anything that could get me in trouble, but if I’d heard correctly, then there was a chance of someone else on Anyar being from Earth. I decided to sleep on it and figure out what to do the next day. I didn’t get that far. During the night, men came to my room with the intent to kidnap me. I fought them off, and I questioned one of the attackers. He told me that it was the Narthani who were after anyone who knew something about Amerika or a man named Yozef Kolsko.”

“Well, that’s a pisser,” said Yozef, disgusted. “All the way on the other damn side of the planet!”

“Wow!” exclaimed Heather, looking at Yozef. “You must have made quite an impression on these Narthani. Where I was, I didn’t hear much about them, but since leaving Sulako, I’ve heard enough to want to steer clear of them.”

“No doubt they’re serious,” said Mark. “They followed me back to where I was living with my family in central Frangel. It was just too damn hot for me to remain, and I couldn’t leave my family unprotected, so we headed this way.”

“Damn,” said Yozef. “I’ve been thinking that going around with guards all the time is unnecessary. However, it sounds like the Narthani are looking everywhere for more people who know about Amerika. I’ll have to rethink security for myself and my family. We kicked the Narthani off Caedellium, but who’s to say they don’t still have active agents on the island? And if they’re looking for Amerikans in Frangel, it’s likely the same everywhere. The two of you may be lucky to have gotten here.”

Yozef turned to Heather. “How about you? Did you tell anyone you’re from Earth?”

“Do I look stupid? It was bad enough being a naked woman dropped on a beach . . . yeah, the same as you two. I assume the aliens thought deserted stretches of a beach were isolated enough that no one would notice when they dumped us off—either that or there’s a surfer culture.”

“So . . . you never mentioned Earth or how you got here? I’m assuming you must’ve given anyone who asked a similar story as ours.”

Heather shrugged. “To be honest, I can’t say for sure what I initially said. The first couple of days were a blur. I don’t know if I was in shock or there were some residual effects from whatever the aliens did. It was maybe the third or fourth day before I remember thinking I should be careful what I said once I learned the language. After that, I stuck to a simple story like yours. Turns out, no one really cared where I came from. They just saw me as a thing.”

The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. She must’ve had a rough time, thought Yozef. It was bad enough to be a man in a mainly paternalistic world. I’m not sure I want to know her details unless she decides to share them.

Yozef relaxed. He had initially feared the unnamed man claiming to be from Amerika would have blabbed to anyone who would listen. His worry had only increased when he learned there was yet another earthling.

“Okay,” Yozef said. “I have to admit I wished neither of you had ever mentioned Amerika to anyone, but I had no reason to think it might be a problem as long as this Amerika was somewhere on Anyar. I don’t know about either of you, but even after I’ve been here a number of years, I’m still not sure what would happen if I told people the truth about Earth. You should’ve figured out that my status here is pretty solid, but who knows?”

He paused to carefully choose his words. “Maybe I shouldn’t have to say this, but I will anyway. You’re both to keep the secret without exception. I’m afraid I have to insist on this.”

Mark frowned. “Out of curiosity, what would happen if one of us were to say something? You know . . . ‘Oh, by the way, did you know that Yozef and I are from another planet, and we came here on a spaceship? Let me tell you about television and smartphones.’”

“Are you trying to threaten us?” asked Heather, suddenly looking worried.

“Nothing so drastic,” said Yozef. “However, to start off, I could say you’re lying or insane. If it came down to your word versus mine, take a guess how that would come out. And that’s not considering whether anyone would believe such an outrageous story, even without my version.”

“Well, I’m not saying shit,” said Heather. “I definitely want to stay on your good side.”

Mark smiled at their countrywoman’s assertion. “I think we’re agreed. Now that that’s settled, what’s next?”

“Someone will come tell us when a meal is ready,” Yozef said. “Mark, maybe you should go and let your wife know what’s happening. Heather, you can go with Mark or wait here in Balwis’s office.”

“Are you staying here?”

“No. I need to talk to Balwis.”

“Then I’ll go with Mark. I’m not letting one or the other of you out of my sight if I can help it.”

Twenty minutes later, a teenage girl announced that the new arrivals were to follow her. She led them out of the headquarters building down a busy street toward the harbor. Two guards walked behind them, different men from earlier. Most people ignored them, busy with their own activities, but a few curious stares and questions to the girl leading them indicated that the newcomers did not totally blend in.

The sea air was fresh. The sky was Anyarian cerulean blue with only scattered clouds. Birds and not quite birds flew and glided in the breeze. Halfway to the harbor, a bird landed on the street and pecked at something that might have been a bread crust.

“Hey . . . that almost looks like a seagull,” said Heather.

Alys let go of her mother’s hand and ran to chase the bird. It looked like those the Kaldwels had seen at the shore near Munmurth before they found a boat to take them to Novaryn across the Timbar Sea. The bird took off with the morsel in his beak, but a second, similar bird swooped past it, and the crust was dropped. The disappointed bird took off after its harasser, both birds calling out.

“Oh, my God!” blurted Heather. “They are seagulls.” Tears welled and ran down her cheeks.

Maghen put an arm over her shoulders. “What is it, Heather?”

It took several breaths and a hiccup for Heather to get words out. “It’s a bird, and from my home. We could hear or see them almost every day. I never saw or heard them in Sulako, so it was such a surprise they were here.”

Mark vociferously cleared his throat and glared at Heather. She flushed, wiped her cheeks, and said, “You know . . . here on Caedellium.”

“Joe’s right. You have to be careful what you say,” said Mark in English.

“I know. It was just that seeing seagulls surprised me and reminded me too much of home. And look who’s talking about being careful. His name is Yozef and not Joe.”

Maghen looked questioningly at her husband.

“I was just reassuring her that she’s still getting used to being free.”

“Please, let’s continue,” said their girl guide. “We’re almost there.”

She led them past the harbor to a two-story timber building overlooking what seemed to be a small park abutting a rocky shoreline. They climbed stairs to a large covered balcony where several small tables had been pushed together, surrounded by cushioned chairs.

“Please sit,” said the girl. “I’ll tell the kitchen you’re here.”

“I bet this is some kind of a tavern,” said Mark, as they watched the girl go through a full-length swinging double door. “Everybody . . . find a seat.”

Allyr didn’t hesitate and took the nearest chair. Senwina sat next to him with Onyla on her other side. Alys pulled on Maghen’s hand and went to sit by Onyla. Mark and Heather were the last to sit by Maghen and Allyr, respectively.

“Do you know when you’ll be going home?” Maghen asked Senwina.

The Seaborn woman didn’t answer immediately, but Allyr filled the void. “The man that didn’t look scary like the others said it would be a few days. He said either they will find a ship headed that way or will arrange for one of the Fuomi sloops to take us there as soon as possible.”

Maghen didn’t ask further questions. From their time on the Buldorian ship, she knew that although Senwina longed to be home, it would bring confirmation that her husband, Kort, had been killed in the raid when they were taken prisoner. Allyr patted his mother’s hand.

“I think food’s coming,” said Heather, gesturing toward the door their guide had gone through. A gray-haired woman approached, carrying a tray with wooden cups, plates, and metal utensils with wooden handles. She didn’t say anything but distributed the tray’s contents and returned to whatever was behind the still swaying double doors. A different woman carried in two pitchers of water. From that point on, the traffic was continuous. Loaves of fresh bread. A bowl of butter. A platter of what looked like fried chicken but smelled more like pork. Two bowls of steaming vegetables, one looking like yellow carrots and the other resembling a tangle of long, thin green beans.

Maghen began distributing the bread as soon as it hit the table. Heather lathered her chunk with butter, took a large bite, rolled her eyes, and sighed in contentment. By this time their plates were full, and they were digging in. Then the same woman who had brought cups returned with a tray of steins in one hand and a large pitcher covered with condensation in the other hand.

“If that’s beer or something similar, I’m going to kiss Yozef,” Mark said in Caedelli—or at least in a hybrid version of Caedelli and Frangelese.

Maghen raised an eyebrow.

“Just a saying in America,” he said and started filling steins. The aroma and the foam confirmed his wish.

“I suppose I’ll be hearing a lot more about your homeland now that you have someone from there to talk to,” said Maghen. “Maybe you should teach me English, so I know what the three of you are talking about.”

Heather tittered, followed by an “Omph!” when Mark kicked her under the table, firmly but not hard.

“Oh . . . I just swallowed something too fast.” She glared at Mark, then looked down and blushed.

“I don’t know if it would be worth your time, dear,” said Mark. “I’m sure that when Heather and I learn to speak Caedelli better, we’ll use English less often. Ah . . . here’s Yozef.”

Thank you, Joe, arriving just in time, Mark thought. He worried that they might have to keep an eye on Heather.

Yozef stopped by the table. “Good. I see they had a meal ready for you. I think I’ll join you.”

The instant he said the words, a woman began laying out another place setting, and an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy pushed a chair to the table. The other diners shifted their chairs and food to accommodate him.

“I think I’ll start off with the beer. This is usually too early for me, but this is a special day. I know it is for me, and I hope it is for all of you.”

Conversation before Yozef’s arrival had been sporadic as hunger was addressed. Now, with his addition, the group ate silently for several minutes.

Well, this is awkward, he thought. Mark and Heather have those zillion questions. Mark’s wife is probably taking her lead from him because she doesn’t know me or what’s in store. The freed Seaborn family wouldn’t know what to make of someone called the “Paramount Hetman.” So much has happened after they were captured.

He waited another couple of minutes until he thought people were nearing their fill. The beer pitcher was empty, so he held it up to a woman standing by the double swinging doors. When she returned, the pitcher was once again covered in condensation, and foam slid down one side.

“Mark, refill?”

“Don’t mind if I do. And you’re right. This is a special day.”

“Heather? Maghen? Senwina? More beer?”

“Not me,” said Heather. “Most of you people are twice my size. I’m already feeling a little loopy. In fact, another stein of that strong stuff, and I’ll fall asleep right here in the chair.”

“Savronel Storlini is looking into better places for you to stay,” Yozef said. “He’ll meet us here when it’s arranged, and you can all go and rest. Balwis Preddi will host us all for evening meal at his house about sunset. Hopefully, that’ll give you at least a couple of hours to sleep, clean up, or just rest.

“In the meantime, I’d like to hear more of how you got here. I’ll start since my story is so simple. I woke up on a beach of a province in southern Caedellium. I was fortunate to be cared for by—”

He broke off speaking when Storlini walked in.

“Looks like Savronel was his usual efficient self,” Yozef said to those at the table, then turned to Storlini. “Everything arranged?”

“Yes, Paramount. I assumed our new guests’ next priorities would be cleaning up and resting. There’s a carriage outside ready to take them to a vacant residence near Balwis’s villa. It’s furnished, including bedding and a fully equipped kitchen. There’s more than enough room, and our guests can use it as long as necessary.”

Yozef noticed Maghen trying to send silent signals to her husband.

Yozef didn’t need an interpreter. “Mark, I’d like to talk some more with you and Heather, but maybe the others would like to go ahead to the villa.

Mark looked at Maghen. “What do you think?”

Yozef suppressed a laugh after hearing her belly-deep sigh.

“A good idea. Both Alys and me could use a nap after we wash.” Maghen turned to Senwina, who quickly nodded.

“If it’s not impolite, I’d like to go, too. Allyr may not need to rest, but I know Onyla and I do.”

It was Heather’s turn to sigh.

I’m sure she’d rather go with the others, thought Yozef, but my curiosity is eating at me.

He knew there was time, but since he’d received Balwis’s semaphore message, his mind had run nonstop, wondering what he would find if there really was another person from Earth, much less two.

Senwina and her children followed Storlini out of the room. Maghen and Alys stopped beside Mark for a hug and a promise to see them later.

Yozef waited until the door closed before starting in English. “We won’t take too much longer. It’s been so long since I used English, it’s strangely refreshing and awkward at the same time.

“I’ll start us off with who I used to be. As I said earlier, I was a Ph.D. student in chemistry at the University of California, Berkeley. I was six months to a year from finishing my degree, but most of the work was already done. I had a couple of papers published and was starting to write up my thesis. It was all pretty much a formality. I developed a new method of synthesizing ringed compounds. I won’t go into details—it involves processes and compound names I’m sure neither of you ever heard of. You’d probably drop off to sleep while I explained it.

“I wasn’t interested in academia . . . you know, university positions. Too much scrambling after grants, teaching classes, dealing with students, and the usual bullshit politics I’d heard about in university departments. I’d already had some feelers from the larger chemical companies. My girlfriend, Julie, and I talked about our future. The only thing we’d settled for sure was getting married in a few months. We were dealing with finalizing the decision to go corporate, plus we had just learned she was pregnant. In retrospect, our future was laid out—I’d take a well-paying corporate job, and we’d spend the rest of our days in a comfortable upper-middle-class life.”

He stopped, smiled ruefully, and said, “Life got considerably more exciting than I wanted.”

He started to address Mark next, but most of the conversations had ignored Heather. If there were now three of them from Earth, he didn’t want her to feel left out.

“Heather, tell me a little more about yourself. You already said you were a senior in high school and were on your way to Boston to interview at a music school. Which one, why there, and do you play instruments, sing, or what?”

“I was going for an interview and audition at the New England Conservatory of Music. It’s not the most prestigious music school but is one of the better ones and has a relatively high acceptance rate. I had applied to other places where the chances of getting in were not good, so I sent applications to several schools . . . hedging my bets. The New England Conservatory also has a good reputation for mentoring its students into jobs once they graduate.

“As for instruments, I mainly played piano because it’s so important not just for performances but also composing. I took violin lessons for a couple of years, and I can work out something of a tune, but I had to give it up. There’s only so many instruments you can learn to play well.”

“How about guitar?” asked Mark. “You were playing some local string instrument in Iskadon.”

“They call that a foralong. Something like a four-string guitar or mandolin. When I was made a slave in Sulako, and when my owner decided he could make money off my singing, I taught myself to play the foralong, both to help pass the time and to increase my value as a performer.”

“She’s a pretty good singer,” said Mark. “That’s where I first saw her—singing and playing the . . . what did you call it? The foralong. The audience was more than appreciative of the novelty of new songs and Heather’s voice.”

“Where did you see music taking you, Heather? General performer, teacher, singer, orchestras?” asked Yozef.

“One of those. Music is not a career with all that many job opportunities, at least the kind you might want. Competition is pretty fierce at the highest levels, even for people who get into the best music schools. Very few of them end up doing what they dreamed of. I have an aunt who dreamed of being a concert pianist. She told me she spent most of her teenage years into her early twenties practicing. She was almost thirty before she accepted that she was never going to be that good. She ended up teaching music in a high school and giving piano lessons part time. She is also active in local music groups and does gigs occasionally.

“When I asked her if she regretted all those years of practice and eventual disappointment, she said no. Despite it all, she still loved music and wouldn’t change anything. So, I think I was going into it with my eyes open. I love music so much I figured I’d take it as far as I could.”

Heather stopped and briefly toyed with strands of hair, her eyes darting between Yozef and Mark. She smiled sadly. “I guess I’ll confess my real fantasy was not performing but composing and conducting. Maybe one of those, maybe both. I didn’t even tell that to my parents or my aunt. I guess I was afraid everyone would discourage me. You don’t see that many women conductors and none my size who are Chinese. As for composing, I had even less confidence in that direction.”

“How about at the Song of Irlan?” asked Mark. “Besides music you knew and some Sulakoan tunes, did you write any new ones?”

“It’s one of the things that kept me from falling too deep into depression. I had lots of time alone, and once I learned to play the foralong I spent hours trying to compose songs and instrumental pieces. That’s about the only thing I regret about leaving Iskadon. I had hundreds of pages of music in my quarters at Halari’s compound.”

Mark noticed Yozef’s quizzical expression. “Halari was Heather’s owner, and the Song of Irlan was the performance hall, super tavern, or whatever, where he had Heather perform.”

Heather’s expression darkened at the mention of her slave owner. Yozef rushed to divert her back to music. “I can understand what a shame that was, but maybe you can recreate much of it here on Caedellium.”

She looked at him with disgust. “That was a couple years’ work!”

“But you’re free and safe now. You’ll find a place here in Caedelli society. I’ll predict you won’t have a problem earning a living.” Yozef smiled. “If nothing else, the Paramount Hetman of Caedellium will support you. Mark said your music was well received in Sulako, so I’m sure you’ll find a place here. Don’t be surprised if you hear some familiar tunes, although the Earth repertoire here is currently limited to songs in taverns and a few classical pieces when I could remember the melodies.

“You might even spark a revolution. I don’t know much about music, but here on Caedellium they don’t seem to have as much of a formalized notation system as we had. From the little I’ve seen, it looks like they just use indications of the general melody, and the performer adlibs. I don’t know about anyplace else on Anyar.”

“I only had occasional chances to speak with Sulakoan musicians when a performance required more than just me and my foralong,” said Heather. “They used six ledger lines with a complex set of accidentals and octave symbols.”

Neither Mark nor Yozef responded.

“You know. The lines that music notes are written over and the symbols like sharps and flats? You’re probably more familiar with two sets of ledger lines individually separated by a space.”

She was rewarded by two nods.

“Anyway . . . the Sulakoan system is probably something used in Western Europe in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Of course, it depends on which country and whether we’re talking about liturgical music or not. How about here on Caedellium, Yozef? Have you seen how they do it?”

“Just what I already said. I haven’t actually paid much attention. Oh, they’re musical enough. It’s not uncommon to hear people singing and whistling to themselves or in small groups when you walk around the city. I guess most of my experience is either in taverns or the cathedrals in clan capitals.

“It’s been a couple of years now, but when I was first adjusting to life here, I introduced a few songs while sharing beers in taverns. Haven’t had much opportunity for that recently. Also, in that first year or so, there was a man in Abersford, the town where I lived. Named Pernel. I suppose you’d say he was something of the local version of a music director. He was involved in the musical sections of services at the local cathedral, in addition to his regular work. One day he heard me whistling a theme from a Beethoven symphony, the Ninth. He bugged me about it and several more tunes I whistled. He wanted to adapt them for a special cathedral service. I saw him write down a series of symbols. I didn’t know what they meant, but later he showed me lyrics with symbols above and below the words.”

“That’s it?” asked Heather. “No ledger lines with notes—anything like that?”

Yozef shook his head.

“Christ! Sounds like the Seikilos epitaph. Doesn’t this island have contact with the outside world? I was surprised in Sulako that they didn’t have something more complex— at least similar to ekphonetic or Kondakarian notation.”

Yozef looked at Mark. “You have any idea what she’s talking about?”

“Not a clue.”

“Sorry, guys. I was a music geek. I was just thinking about how musical notation evolved historically on Earth. The people back in Sulako seem to do well with reproducing music, even with limited notation. Of course, I guess part of it was I only heard music that everyone knew how it was supposed to go. I just don’t see how they do it here in Caedellium. If they don’t have exact notation, how could they stay consistent? There’d be a tendency for each singer, player, or whatever to do a slightly different version.”

“You know,” said Yozef, “that may explain why songs I’ve heard in different taverns around the island often sound either a little or a lot different from place to place, even though the words are the same.”

Heather grinned. “There you go.”

“Well, Heather, I’m pretty sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities for you and your music here in Caedellium. But tell me something more about yourself. Did you have hobbies?”

Although Yozef wanted to eventually learn everything there was to know about Heather Chen, for the moment he was mainly interested in what knowledge or skills from Earth she might bring to Anyar. He liked music and looked forward to her introducing more Earth music to the island, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of how the arrivals could help with the future of Caedellium.

She shrugged. “Besides school, I didn’t do a lot of extracurricular activities. Music took up most of my free time. I was on the girls’ tennis team at school, but I wasn’t all that good. It was mainly a social thing.”

Well, Yozef thought, if I ever manage to challenge the Narthani to a tennis tournament, maybe she’ll be of use.

“How about you, Mark? You said you worked for General Dynamics. All I remember about them is they’re a big defense contractor.”

“I was pretty much a salesman, although my title was Vice President for Land Systems. I spent most of my time traveling and talking to officials and the military of countries around the world, trying to convince them our products were just exactly what they needed.”

“Okay, land systems? What does that mean?”

“All the basic armored vehicles. You know . . . the Abrams main battle tank, Stryker armored vehicle, and several models of lighter armored vehicles.”

Yozef’s eyes widened, and his pulse rate increased, but it was a momentary effect. Even in that short time, visions of tanks rolling over the Narthani positions flashed through his mind. Then reality wiped away the visions. Under the best of circumstances and the fastest he could push Anyarian technology, it might be a century or more before the technology and their industry could produce something like a tank. Hopefully, there would be more peaceful advances than that.

“So, you were an executive salesman. How did you get the position?”

Yozef imagined Mark working his way up through the sales division of General Dynamics or other companies.

“It was pretty much a straight shot. After I graduated from the Naval Academy, I only served the minimum years required. By then, I’d confirmed I didn’t care much for sea duty. I might’ve stayed in and gone through shore-based positions, but I gave in to my wife wanting a different lifestyle than the navy would provide.”

Yozef had stiffened in his chair after the words Naval Academy. He licked his lips and spoke before Mark continued. “What was your field of study at the academy?”

“Mechanical engineering with an emphasis on naval applications. After my first four years, the navy let me spend a year and a half getting a master’s degree in material science. That was enough time away from the navy to make me realize I wasn’t going to make it a career. However, their letting me get the master’s degree was accompanied by the obligation that I go at least eight years total. After that, General Dynamics snatched me up pretty quick. They had a job waiting from the minute I left the navy. Spent the next eighteen years there before taking a flight from San Francisco to Chicago. Obviously, like you and Heather, I didn’t make it.”

Mark stopped talking, waiting for a response from Yozef—a word, an expression, or a gesture. Instead, he got nothing. Yozef sat as if frozen, while his mind churned over what he had just heard. In his early years on Anyar, he had fantasized innumerable times about meeting another survivor from United 4382. Often, he simply wished to talk with someone about his previous life. But occasionally he longed for someone with skills or knowledge to supplement his own. Someone to relieve him of part of his self-induced pressure to introduce as many innovations as he could for as long as he lived.

Never, in his wildest wishful thinking, had he imagined a person or persons with a military background and a deep understanding of military history and tactics. At times, depending on the frustrations of the moment, he had also wished for technical help, such as with the telegraph, steam engines, and steel processing. Maybe a mechanical engineer to help with innovations. Maybe a civil engineer to take over construction projects. Maybe a doctor to advance Anyar medicine.

His flights of fantasy were too often accompanied by imagining the other survivor offering nothing useful. An undertaker. A U.S. senator. An Albanian businessman who didn’t speak English. A housewife who, no matter how fine a person and wonderful a mother, would provide no help for his goals.

When news came that he might be meeting another man who had survived the airline collision and then when he learned there were two survivors, he had tried to tell himself he would be satisfied if they provided any help. The one scenario he hadn’t considered was an ex-naval officer who was also a mechanical engineer. Jackpot!

Yozef became aware the other two persons were staring at him, wondering what was happening. He faked clearing his throat and coughing into a fist.

“Sorry. Throat got a little dry. A mechanical engineer and a navy officer. I think there may be ways you can fit into my plans for Caedellium.” Yozef fought the urge to let loose with what he feared would sound like a hysterical laugh. “We’ll talk in more detail later. How about the rest of your background, and what have you been doing since being dumped here like the rest of us?”

“I was raised in rural Colorado. My family had a ranch, but most years we had more income from farming. Depending on the markets and early spring weather, we grew wheat, sugar beets, and potatoes. I already mentioned graduating from the Naval Academy and working for General Dynamics. Once I got here, I learned to speak Frangelese and got what I thought was a fundamental understanding of the culture. So, I set about trying to introduce innovations. It went okay at first but then went to hell. I stopped with innovations and drifted for a while, doing odd jobs and ranch work, picking up a family on the way until things went south with the Narthani, and we had to go on the run. Took us a year to get here.”

“Maghen told me what they went through,” said Heather. “If we were back on Earth, Mark should be writing a book. Hell . . . I suspect you’d be writing one, too, Yozef. I’m afraid my saga wouldn’t rate me more than a short story.”

Yozef again noticed that Heather’s mood darkened when she referred to her time on Anyar. He moved again to divert her reflections.

“I imagine all three of us would have stories to tell, even if from different perspectives and personal trauma. I now have to wonder how many more stories there are about people from Earth cast away on Anyar.”

“More than just the three of us?” asked Heather. “I suppose you’re right. Mark just stumbled on me. Megan told me about how he learned about me. If just a few steps had been different, I would still be in Iskadon. I’d have spent the rest of my life as Halari’s slave or whoever owned me after he died.”

Well, shit, thought Yozef. That didn’t work. So much for my distracting her.

“I’ve wondered how many of us are on this planet ever since I heard about a man named Yozef Kolsko on an island named Caedellium,” said Mark. “We had plenty of time on the voyage from Buldor. No matter what happened to each of us, we all three survived. The fact that we got together at all, as unlikely as it was, has to mean there are more of us. Maybe quite a few. I can imagine twenty or thirty of us being on Anyar.”

“Why not everyone on the plane?” blurted Heather. “The alien, artificial intelligence, computer, or whatever it was that talked to us said they ‘repaired’ our injuries. At least, that’s what they told me and Mark. Why couldn’t they have saved everyone? There could be a couple hundred of us on this planet.”

Yozef’s expression took on a distant look. “I doubt it could be that many. I don’t know how many passengers and crewmembers there were, but let’s say it was two hundred. I can imagine out of that many, a few might have deliberately or accidentally revealed that they were from another planet. Yes, most of these survivors would not be believed, but I think stories would eventually circulate.”

“I agree,” said Mark. “The number is likely fairly small, though almost certainly more than just the three of us. It would be too much of a coincidence if only us three had been saved and yet somehow we got together. How many more?” He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I would say fewer than ten to fifteen.”

Heather shook her head, black hair brushing her shoulders. “But if the three of us got together, no matter how unlikely it would seem, surely there are others on this planet. Maybe not hundreds, but why not dozens? Isn’t there some way we can try and find them?”

“How?” asked Yozef. “We can’t just send out notices, ‘Anyone from Earth, contact Yozef Kolsko, Mark Caldwell, or Heather Chen on the island of Caedellium.’”

“Well,” said Mark, “we already know one way that works. Music. Even if by the most unlikely of happenstances, Heather and I connected because of her music. If there was a way to spread Earth music throughout Anyar, we might eventually reach most, if not all, of the other survivors.”

Yozef tugged on his beard. “The music would have to somehow be tied to Caedellium. Otherwise, people would know there’re others here but not where they are. That could either make things worse for them, if they couldn’t get here, or better because at least they would know there were others from Earth. And remember, no matter what happened, the three of us did survive. Who knows what circumstances others may have found themselves in? Could’ve been far worse than anything we experienced. And let’s face it. The three of us had to have a level of toughness and the mental flexibility to accept what happened and try to make the best of it. I imagine there might be far too many people who didn’t have that to draw on.”

“All that may be true,” said Heather, “but that doesn’t really address the issue. I still think we should try.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t,” said Yozef, “but there’s the danger of announcing that Caedellium is where the Amerikans can be found. What will the Narthani response be if they find out Mark and I are now both on the island? So . . . we have to give it some thought about what’s practical and safe. Anyway, that can wait for another day. You’ve just arrived.”

Heather yawned. “You’re right. Guys. All this really is interesting, but I’m really beat. Maybe I’m still coming down from all the tension and excitement of getting here and starting to feel safe, but with that plus just stuffing myself and having more beer than I usually drink, I need to take a nap.”

“Of course,” said Yozef. “Let’s get both of you to where you’ll be staying. I’m sure Balwis will put on a good spread tonight. Actually, it will be his wife, Ceinwyn, doing all that. We may have a chance to talk more then, and there’ll be plenty of time in the days to come. Let me see if I can find someone to guide you.”

That someone was Storlini, who reappeared. Once they left, Yozef returned to the headquarters and used quill and paper on Balwis’s desk to write a semaphore message to Maera.

To: Maera Kolsko-Keelan

From: Paramount Yozef Kolsko

All good. Man and woman.

Both Amerikans.

Letter to follow.

The message was short but contained the essentials to assuage any worry she may have felt. Maera would share the news with Anarynd and Gwyned. Yozef folded the paper into quarters and carried it to the outer office to find someone to take it to the Preddi City semaphore station. He instructed that it was to be transmitted to Orosz City. He then returned to Balwis’s office, pulled another piece of blank paper from a stack on a shelf, and composed a letter. When finished, he mulled whether to send it by regular post, which would mean its getting to Maera in three or four days because mail via the developing train system was not yet regular. Or he could send it by courier. During the war with the Narthani, they had developed a mobile version of the Pony Express to speed communication among clan commanders and major units. It proved useful enough to be maintained after the Narthani left. Yozef hoped it and the semaphore would be gone soon as they worked out telegraph glitches. He remembered a friend telling him that while the Pony Express was firmly established in U.S. Western mythology, it had operated for only eighteen months before going broke and being superseded by the telegraph.

He decided. He would send the letter by rider. All the womenfolk would appreciate hearing more news as soon as possible. First, he would find Carnigan to encourage him to write his own letter to Gwyned, his wife. Yozef smiled. He expected Carnigan to say Yozef’s letter was sufficient. The big man’s terse speech was matched by his overlooking the need to pass on more information than minimally necessary. Yozef was to be surprised.

He found Carnigan in the outer office, sitting in an empty workspace and staring out the window. Yozef walked over and put a hand on a large shoulder. The attached head turned to face him.

“Carnigan, I’ve sent a semaphore message to Maera telling her everything is all right here. I’ve also written her a more detailed letter. Would you like to write something for Gwyned?”

A smile blossomed on the ruddy, red-bearded face. “I’ll write her a letter myself,” he pronounced. “Where’s some ink and paper?”

“I used some in Balwis’s office. I’m sure he won’t mind you doing the same.”

Yozef went to find a runner to take the letters to the semaphore station, which served a dual purpose with the Caedelli pony express. When he returned, he found Carnigan, hunched over a piece of paper, a tiny quill held in a big hand, the man’s tongue sticking out as he concentrated on writing.

Yozef smiled. Atta boy, Carnigan.

He turned to leave the author to his composition but stopped when Carnigan said, “You should send one to Anarynd, too.”

Yozef was puzzled. “Maera shares everything with Ana.”

“I know, but Anarynd might be worrying more right now than Maera. Gwyned once told me Anarynd wondered whether you would leave Caedellium if you ever found a way back home. As close as she is to Maera, there are things she shares only with Gwyned because they were both Narthani captives.”

Yozef knew he wasn’t going home. Mark and Heather both knew none of them were going home. It hadn’t occurred to Yozef that while he had repeatedly insisted he didn’t know the way back to Amerika, it wasn’t ruled out that Anarynd might think some other Amerikan would know the way. As far as he knew, he’d never said anything to anyone about going home if he knew the way—at least, not after the first year—but he couldn’t know how some innocent words might have been misinterpreted.

“You’re right,” said Yozef. “I’ll write a letter to Anarynd and rewrite the one to Maera just in case she’s also worried, even if she doesn’t show it or talk about it.”

When Mark entered their new quarters, there was silence. He started to call out but stopped himself and walked toward the sound of faint snoring. He found his family lying on a bed, both Maghen and Alys dressed in robes, their hair still wet. Alys was snuggled against her mother, one arm draped across Maghen’s torso. He stood looking for several minutes before searching for a washroom or a washing space outside.

The evening meal was as Yozef predicted, overflowing with food and drink. Senwina declined to come, saying her family was tired and just wanted some time alone. Thus, only the Kaldwels and Heather Chen were guided to Balwis’s villa. Already in attendance were Yozef and his two guards, Carnigan Puvey and Synton Ethlore; plus Wyfor Kales and his wife, Teena; Savronel Storlini and his wife, Mertra (another ex-Narthani); and, of course, Balwis and Ceinwyn Preddi.

As soon as the introductions were finished, the new arrivals were peppered with questions, mainly from wives. Yet Mark was certain Storlini and Kales were checking to see if the stories remain consistent. In contrast, Hetman Balwis Preddi was convivial. Mark lost count of how many steins of beer he’d consumed, but it was enough that Mark didn’t hesitate asking him for a favor.

Mark sat next to Yozef at the opposite end from Balwis. They no sooner had been seated than Yozef turned to Mark.

“I forgot to ask earlier, but what was the message you’re supposed to give me from some Buldorian leader?”

“It’s from a Buldorian named Mustafa Adalan. He carries the title of ‘Galmater’ and is a member of what I inferred is a ruling council. Well . . . I guess I’m not clear on exactly who they are, but they’re important. Anyway . . . this Adalan wants me to tell you that Buldor holds no animosity toward Caedellium and that the raids were what he referred to as ‘practical matters.’”

Mark smiled. “That’s almost a line right out of the Godfather movies. You know . . . nothing personal, just business. It seems this Adalan was the commander of the Caedellium raids, and their evident success is how he got on the Buldorian Council. That’s a tidbit of information from the Caedelli family that came with us.

“Adalan wants you to consider thinking of the Narthani as a common enemy. He claims to regret the raids and seems to want to mend some fences with Caedellium. He also dangled possible reparations for the raids.”

Yozef scratched his beard. “Well . . . we’ll see. Feelings run pretty high against Buldor. Any such rapprochement is likely far off, but who knows?”

The conversation moved on, and Mark waited for an opportunity for the clan leader not to be engaged. It occurred when Ceinwyn Preddi left her seat to check on their child, pulling Yozef along. Mark left his chair and sat in Ceinwyn’s chair.

“Hetman, we’ve just met, and where we’re staying is more than adequate, but I have a favor. It took us a year to get here, and we went through so much it’s still hard to believe we made it. Through no fault of her own, Maghen left her family and the only home she ever knew. She was amazing the whole time. I promised her that if we got to Caedellium, we would find a beautiful quiet place where she didn’t have to move for a month. I ask you to help me make this possible, even if it’s not as grand as where you have us staying.”

Balwis leaned back in his chair and laughed. “First of all, call me Balwis. Hetman is for formal occasions. Plus, after Yozef vouches so strongly for you, after hearing just part of the amazing tale of how you got here, and after having as much beer as the two of us have guzzled, I think we can be on a first-name basis.

“As for staying in someplace quieter and more beautiful than where we have you now, I don’t know if there is such a place. It was almost dark before you left the headquarters, but I believe in the morning you’ll see that where you’re staying fits your request. Ceinwyn and I picked this villa where we live for two reasons. One was because it’s great. It was built by a rich merchant. He and all his family disappeared during the Narthani occupation. No one knows if they were killed or shipped off as slaves. Either way, there was no one to claim ownership, so I took it for my own after a suggestion by Yozef that it was one of the perks of being hetman.

“The second reason we picked it is because of its location. The previous owner made sure there were no immediate neighbors, and stands of trees hide the area from the nearest other dwellings.”

Balwis held up a hand to forestall a question from Mark. “And if the owner was so interested in isolation, then why are there two villas next to each other? The one you’re in is smaller than ours and was built for the owner’s wife’s parents. I suspect he wanted to satisfy her without having them living in the same house.

“In the morning, if you walk out the back of the villa and listen carefully, you’ll hear surf, although this part of the Gulf of Witlow has low waves. Why I don’t know. If you’re curious, I suppose you could ask some of our scholastics or maybe Yozef—he sometimes seems to know almost everything. Then there are dunes that help muffle the sound further, but only a hundred yards from the villa is a beach that Ceinwyn loves to walk on.

“Anyway . . . look at it tomorrow, and if it doesn’t match your promise to your wife, let me know, and we’ll arrange something else. Of course, we don’t know what Yozef has in mind, but check with him when Ceinwyn is finished showing off our son. He’s named after Yozef.”

CHAPTER 5

HISTORIES

When the last satiated diners pushed their plates away, Yozef rapped the table with his knuckles to draw people’s attention.

“I believe everyone is satisfied. I’m going to assert privilege and pull Mark and Heather away from the rest of you. The evening is warm, and Balwis has offered the back veranda where the three of us can talk.”

Ceinwyn led the way for Yozef and Heather, while Mark accompanied his family to their villa. When he returned, the other two earthlings sat quiet, waiting. Mark settled into a wicker chair. Yozef distributed glasses and Mittack wine.

“We’ll have time later,” said Yozef, “but I’d like us to begin sharing our stories. You two may have already done that, but my curiosity is getting the best of me. Obviously, even a few hours apiece may not be enough, but let’s each hit the main points of what happened to us once we got dumped here.

“I’ll start off. I already told you why I was on the plane. A chemistry meeting in Chicago. I think I actually saw the alien spacecraft before it hit the plane. I was sitting beside a window, looking out at a dot that suddenly expanded to fill the window. The next thing I knew . . . ”

An hour passed before Yozef had finished. Mark had asked a few questions, but Heather restricted herself to utterances Yozef was not sure how to interpret.

“So . . . here I am, still not totally clear how it worked out. I started introducing new technology and ended up with everyone on Caedellium considering me the leader.”

When neither of the other two immediately commented, Yozef moved on. “Heather, why don’t you go next?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and took a healthy swallow from a wine glass she had nursed so far.

“My story won’t take near as long as yours, Joe. It started similarly. I was passing through Chicago on my way to Boston. You didn’t mention your time on the alien spacecraft. I’d be interested in us comparing stories later, but you want to know about our time on Anyar. Like you, I woke on a beach . . . ”

Mark knew some of her experience, but Yozef did not. Lanterns on veranda hooks illuminated a face that paled as she spoke. Neither man interrupted. Tears ran when she described her first months with Halari, but they dried and color returned after she recounted the rescue and her feelings when she stood on the Buldorian deck and watched Iskadon disappear. Her recital took less than twenty minutes.

“And here I am. Nothing so epic as you, Joe. I guess I’m still grappling with what happened. Part of me is afraid escaping was a long dream, and I’ll wake any moment.”

Yozef and Mark, independently, each reached out to pat small hands gripping the arms of her chair.

“You’re awake now,” said Mark.

“Mark’s right,” said Yozef. “Whatever happened in Sulako in the past is just that—in the past. You have a new life here on Caedellium. I can’t pretend any of us chose this life, but, speaking for myself, I’ve found a good life. Different and not of my choice but good. There’s no reason to think you can’t do the same.”

“And you have time,” said Mark, “to find out what that life will be. In the meantime, you’ll never be so alone again, not with me and Joe around.”

I hope that’s true, thought Mark. She’s had a rough time. Even more than Joe and me in some ways. It wasn’t only her treatment by Halari. She had still been a high school teenager living at home. Perhaps not quite a child anymore, but not a mature adult either.

“And I’ve got to ask,” said Heather, the words rushing out. “Do either of you think there’s any way to get back home?”

Mark and Yozef looked at each other—neither one surprised by the question.

“Sorry, Heather,” said Mark. “I’ve seen nothing that suggests how to look for a way back.”

“I’m afraid I agree,” said Yozef. “I haven’t traveled the world like Mark, but just by reasoning I don’t see a way to do it. Oh . . . I suppose the aliens could change their minds and scoop us back up, but why bother? That’s assuming what little they told us is true. I suppose I prayed the first months. You know . . . just in case there is a God or the aliens heard me and took pity. Obviously, no such luck.”

“Well, I had to ask. And I like hearing you prayed. I did, too. But by the end of the first year I stopped. Anyway, that’s my story.”

“I suppose it’s my turn,” said Mark. “Like the two of you, my first Anyar experience was waking on a beach.”

He continued for as long as Yozef, not leaving out aspects of guilt he knew he would always feel. By the time he finished, two bottles of wine were empty, and Heather was nodding off.

“I think we need to let Heather rest,” Yozef said to Mark. “Let me fetch someone to see her safely to Maghen. I’ll tell the escort to let Maghen know you’ll be along in a while.”

Once the two men were alone again, Yozef asked, “When you decided to try and reach Caedellium and spent all those months getting here, what did you expect to do when you got here?”

“At first, I just wanted to get away from the people who were after me and to keep my family safe. Believe me, I would have stayed if I had thought there was a chance they wouldn’t keep after me and my family. I had no idea why I was a target of the Narthani, but with the combination of the guilds knowing where I was and what I’d heard about the Narthani, I didn’t see any choice. As for any expectations if we did get here, I didn’t really have any. I confess I didn’t have much confidence. It was simply the best of bad options. I didn’t tell that to Maghen. It was hard enough for her even when she thought we had an achievable objective.

“After I screwed things up so badly in northern Frangel and got people killed, I only looked for a place to be safe and live the rest of my life. When I settled in central Frangel and met Maghen, I thought I had my life pretty much laid out. We saved to buy land of our own to start a ranch and raise children. It wasn’t the life I fantasized about when I first got to Anyar, but it was one I think I was satisfied with.

“I don’t remember exactly when I started seriously thinking what would happen if we reached Caedellium. Yet I do recall Maghen first asking me that question, though I don’t remember where it was. I told her we would make do with whatever we found—maybe start over with the same idea of one day having our own ranch. I figured I could always find ranch work, and Maghen is a hard worker. We would make do.”

Yozef smiled. “Well, I can guarantee you and your family will do better than ‘make do.’ You know things that I don’t. I wouldn’t try and guess how many times I’ve wished to have an engineer from Earth. Any kind of engineer.

“What I know of chemistry is important, but in a way, it would have been better if I’d been a chemical engineer. There’s a difference. I know a lot about advanced chemistry, but it’s knowledge that doesn’t always translate out to the world. A chemical engineer would know more about the industrial side of chemistry.”

Yozef gave a rueful smile. “Although I become a chemical engineer out of necessity. A true chemical industry is built on a few simple feedstocks and will require large-scale production of strong acids, strong bases, oxidants, reductants, and nitrates. Add to that control of high temperatures, development of the necessary apparatuses, machinery, and power to run the production. I suspect I could work through many possible innovations, but I don’t have the technical background. Just the telegraph and steam engines are examples. I did what I could with those two projects, but I want you to take those over and maybe contribute to whatever else is necessary.”

Mark frowned. “I think I’ll be happier with the ranch plan. My previous experience in innovations didn’t turn out too well for too many people. I don’t want to make those same mistakes again.”

“We all make mistakes,” said Yozef. “You believe you focused too much on yourself and your grandiose plans for innovations, wealth, and prestige. I can’t make a judgment about what happened—I wasn’t there. Only you can do that. All I can say is that I don’t sense you intentionally put people in danger. At worst, you had a goal and didn’t fully weigh the consequences. Hardly a unique sin.

“I’ve done the same—hopefully not too many times. The instance that stands out in my mind, and that I’m constantly aware of, is when I sent men on a dangerous mission with little chance of success. I was mad. The Narthani had attacked the home of Maera’s family to kill her father, the Keelan hetman. Maybe they were after me, too, and I happened to be at the house that night. We fought them off, but Maera’s sister Anid was killed, and her sister Ceinwyn got that scar on her face. Several workers and guards were killed and wounded, and Maera’s father lost a leg. Maera and Aeneas could have been killed.

“I didn’t think rationally. I wanted to strike out against the Narthani, pay them back for the attack. I fixated on a high-ranking Narthani officer I thought was the most vulnerable, but I wasn’t thinking straight. By then, I had more credits with the people than I realized at the time. I convinced five men to try to assassinate this officer in a city occupied by thousands of Narthani soldiers. I didn’t order them. I told them the mission was strictly voluntary, but in retrospect at least some of them might have taken it as an order. And I suppose anger factored in for the men. The Keelan family is loved and respected by the clan, and everyone was furious.

“Anyway, I sent the five men off to do something that within a day or two I wanted to cancel, but it was too late. They were lucky. Only one of them was killed. A man named Ulrith. I didn’t even know his name at the time. I learned it later when I looked into caring for his family.

“Amazingly, they actually succeeded in killing the Narthani officer. Everyone accepted that my decision was right, and if anything, it only increased my prestige. I said they were lucky, and that’s true, but so was I. In retrospect, the more likely outcome would have been all five men dying. The four who returned were Balwis, Wyfor, Synton, and a man named Fixton.

“As you know, Balwis ended up the new hetman of the Preddi Clan, where Wyfor is the clan’s police chief, what they call chief magistrate. Synton is one of the permanent guards for me and my family. More than that, I count all three as friends. I didn’t have anything more to do with Fixton, but he’s a local magistrate in one of the Preddi districts. Now, I seldom make decisions involving people without thinking about how blindly I focused on what I wanted without considering the consequences to other people.

“What I’m getting at, in a roundabout way, is telling you that you can’t let past mistakes dictate the future—assuming you learned from the past mistakes. I need you to look at several of the ongoing projects and make suggestions. To be honest, I don’t know what you can do. Maybe you’re a lousy engineer, and we’re no better off than with me. However, my hope is that you can take over these projects and solve problems as yet beyond me or anyone else.”

Mark shifted uneasily in his chair, one hand drumming on his thigh. “I don’t know if I want to be involved in running projects. It didn’t work out so well the last time.”

“You’ve already been working on major projects since Tregallon. What do you think planning on children is, if not a major project? And the ranch you planned with Maghen. You talked about how you worked to save for your own place. That’s a long-term plan. Yes, some of our projects might involve larger numbers of people, but it’s a matter of scale, rather than commitment.”

“And what if I don’t want to fit into your plans? What if I want to go someplace to have a peaceful life with my family? Are you going to put pressure on me or even try to compel me?”

“I’ll be honest. I want you to do this voluntarily. No . . . more than that . . . with all your energy and intellect. We both know that’s the best way. As for compelling you to cooperate, who can say what could happen in the future? What if you were here on Caedellium while we fought the Narthani, and you knew something that would potentially swing the results in our favor, but you didn’t want to cooperate. What do you think I should do? Put it from another perspective. What would you do in my place?

“I also shouldn’t have to remind you that this world can be a dangerous place. We drove the Narthani off Caedellium, but it was at a cost of tens of thousands of lives, Caedelli and Narthani. I don’t have direct experience like you with other people on Anyar, but I’m told if the Narthani weren’t the major problem, there are the Iraquiniks to the east. From what I understand, they’ve had a fractious history only eased by the Narthani threat. To our south, my limited experience with Landoliners makes me cautious. The Fuomi, although allies for the moment, might have their own agendas I could worry about.

“For the moment, Caedellium is safe, but considerable effort is going into making the island as nasty a morsel as possible if anyone tries to take it over again. That’s my vision . . . or maybe I should say my hope, that Caedellium can prosper enough to defend itself, help other peoples at least hold the Narthani in check, and maybe contribute to pushing them back. Even that wish might not be necessary. If had my wish, we’d never be involved with them again. What I really want are peace and to advance Anyarian science as far as I can in my lifetime. To be honest, I’d rather spend my time developing the University of Caedellium than being Paramount. However, I accept that my wants unfortunately can’t trump reality. I’m hoping you’ll come to the same realization.

“For now, there’s no urgency. You’re free to do what you want within the constraint of not talking about how any of us got to Anyar. If you want to disappear on some remote ranch, I can arrange that. I can help you find a place and buy it for you. But think about it. You had grand ideas about what could be introduced here. It didn’t work out, but you started literally naked with no support structure. Here it would be completely different. My resources aren’t unlimited, and I have other responsibilities, but you would be in a safe and supportive environment. Besides what’s available on Caedellium and depending on the innovations, the Fuomi might provide significant support. The same might eventually happen with some of the Iraquinik and Landolin states.

“Naturally, I have ideas about what you would work on, and I would have significant input, but I expect we would agree most of the time. You’d have the opportunity to spend time on at least some projects I’m not as enthusiastic about.

“Mark, think about all this. We can talk again. No matter what, I expect I’ll want your ideas on specific projects. That much, anyway, I think you’ll owe me.”

Mark was silent for a moment. He was angry about Yozef’s statement that he would under some circumstances apply pressure or even a level of intimidation to force Mark’s cooperation. He needed to think and clear his head. At the same time, he appreciated the clarity and honesty. He nodded.

“You can be sure I’ll think about it,” he said more gruffly than he intended and stomped away without words.

Carnigan and Synton had waited for several hours within sight but out of earshot. They saw Mark’s abrupt departure and walked over to where Yozef stared at the back of his countryman.

“Looked to me like you two weren’t getting along as much as before,” said Synton.

Carnigan grunted. “I think Yozef finally got around to telling Kaldwel his future on Caedellium isn’t totally up to him.”

“Well . . . what did he expect?” asked Synton. “From what I’ve witnessed, Yozef’s been sucking up to him something fierce ever since he and the weird-looking woman arrived. Seems reasonable he should pay us back somehow.”

“I may not have handled the conversation as well as I should have,” said Yozef. “He knows a lot of things I don’t and could be invaluable to Caedellium. I guess I hope he’ll enthusiastically volunteer to help. I still believe he’ll come around once he thinks it over.”

“You’re probably right,” said Synton. “You usually are.”

Carnigan gave a deep groan. “Merciful God, Synton! Don’t tell him that! He’s already acting too much like everyone should do what he says without asking questions.”

“That’s not really true . . . is it?” said Yozef plaintively.

“Well . . . only sometimes,” Synton reassured him. “But I overheard a little while you switched between Caedelli and English. You think this Kaldwel is going to be useful?”

Yozef smiled. “I do. He’s what my people call a ‘mechanical engineer’—someone who is expert with mechanical devices. There’s so much I can’t do that I hope he can. Too bad Heather will probably not be as useful. She’s a musician. If I could’ve gotten total wish fulfillment, Heather would be a medicant. Maybe even a surgeon.”

“When do we go back home?” asked Carnigan. “And are the new Amerikans going with us?”

“That’s still to be determined. I’ve given Mark things to think about that may him take a few days before we talk again. Until then, I’ve got meetings to attend. The ones dealing with Preddi will give me a good idea whether the amalgamation of the different clan factions is going well and if Balwis needs more help. I’ll also have to meet the representatives showing up from Landolin and Iraquinik.”

“The ones with Balwis should be tolerable,” said Synton. “He’ll give you his blunt opinions whether he thinks you want them or not. He’s not much for nonsense either. If he can’t get Narthani-haters to work with ex-Narthani, then this whole Preddi idea might as well go into a shit pit.”

CHAPTER 6

WATCHFUL EYES

The planet teemed with two distinct but compatible evolutionary ecosystems, a state extraordinarily rare. However, the artificial intelligence (AI) observing Anyar was not programmed to query how this had happened. It had been in position for nearly six thousand of the planet’s orbits around its sun, tabulated from the moment of the AI’s activation by the creators who then departed, not to return until three times in recent years. Each of the three visits involved depositing one or two sentient bipeds of the apparent same species as inhabited the planet.

The only physical contact the creators had had with the planet’s surface confirmed that one of the systems was not native to the planet but had been transplanted there from another source, an identified planet whose organisms had been taken to five other planets, including the one orbited by the AI. On each of the five planets, the sentient bipeds developed civilizations and technologies that generally copied those on the sentients’ original planet.

The creators’ realization that another advanced race had performed the transplantations for reasons unknown triggered the creators to abandon further surface contact with the six planets—the original source and the five transplant targets. Cloaked geosynchronous satellites and AIs continued observations while making an effort to avoid detection by either the bipeds or the “Others.” The exception was for the original planet, where the creators themselves studied the bipeds.

The concealed observation without physical contact continued for 732,211 pulse periods of a Cepheid star used by the creators to mark time. At that point, a series of seemingly impossible coinciding computer failures resulted in a creator spacecraft colliding with a biped aircraft above the bipeds’ original planet. The creators saved a fraction of the aircraft’s occupants, leading to a conundrum. The survivors were injured to degrees varying from moderate to requiring extensive biotechnological repair.

Convoluted ethical arguments among the creators settled that they had a limited obligation to the survivors. However, the creators started with no knowledge of biped biochemistry and physiology. After they repaired the most severe injuries, too much time had passed from the collision to the bipeds’ potential reappearance. Even though the survivors were unconscious during repairs and would have no explanation for their survival, their reappearance would raise too many questions, as would survivors appearing after different time lengths.

If the survivors could not return to their planet’s surface, and staying with the creators was never an option, all that was left was to either take them to the other five planets or terminate their existence. The creators dispersed the survivors who chose exile to different planets and far from one another on each planet. The aliens deemed their potential impact too minor to change the course of the different biped civilizations and their story too unbelievable for each planet’s inhabitants. Once the transplanted bipeds’ lifespans ended, there would be no further link to the creators. At that point, the creators believed  their obligation would be complete. Whether or not the transplanted bipeds survived was left to chance and their own abilities.

However, after the creators discovered the existence of another sentient race, they felt an emotion they had not experienced for millennia. Fear. Who were the Others? What was their purpose in transporting a fraction of a biosphere, including a sentient race, to other planets? They knew of a dozen sentient races, all restricted to their own planets or solar systems. There had been no examples of other races spreading beyond their origin . . . until now with two examples, the Others and the bipeds. The creators had found evidence of other races long dead, some for tens of millions of years. It became part of their ethos that they were unique—a race who avoided what led others to vanish and who spread from their home system, thereby proving the creators’ special status. Until now.

Thus began their remote observations to gather information on the bipeds and to monitor the possibility that the Others might eventually return to observe the consequences of the transplantations. For the planet orbited by one AI, twenty satellites watched for signs of the Others.

Following the last of the three visits, the creators gave new instructions to the AI. It was to continue previous observations, with an emphasis on the locations of the five delivered bipeds. Years passed with no noticeable impact on four of the five locations. For the fifth, a battle among the bipeds inhabiting an island was unusual but not significant enough to warrant further investigation. Then another battle ensued, larger than before. This, too, would have been only noted without further action if not for evidence of balloons, chemical flares, and hydrocarbon-based incendiaries—all novel developments. Subroutines were triggered, dormant capabilities awoken, and the AI alerted the creators to anomalous events associated with one of the bipeds. The creators responded for the AI to increase surveillance of the island and attempt to locate the biped using images and data on the subject. The creators would return in approximately eleven of the planet’s years to assess the situation. They would then decide whether direct action was required to return the planet’s condition to one without outside impact and no evidence of the creators.

The AI deployed a cloaked drone to carry out closer examination of the planet’s surface, emphasizing the five bipeds’ locations. Most of the drone’s time was spent over the island, where it accumulated visual identification of individuals and their apparent social interactions. The drone was able to hover while using facial recognition to mark locations and nearby individuals and send data to the AI, where a partition modeled the island’s society. The target was identified on about a quarter of the days observed, enough to establish routines. The target’s location centered in one city and two locales that were frequented more than others. Extended periods without identification were assumed to be when the target traveled around the island where identification was sporadic.

The satellites recorded a steam engine explosion and relayed the observation to the AI, which, in turn, messaged the creators. A return message said the creators would move up the scheduled return to assess the situation.

On three occasions, the drone followed the target as it moved elsewhere on the island. On a fourth occasion, the drone recognized the target as it left Location-1 in the inland city. However, it did not move to Location-2 within the same city but boarded an animal-drawn conveyance using rails and traveled southwest to a coastal city. There, the target went into a building where it remained unobserved until exiting in the company of other bipeds. The drone automatically captured images of those bipeds and transmitted the data in real time to the AI’s biped society partition for analysis. One specific facial image triggered an alert 15 milliseconds after reception by the AI. At a 61.4 percent probability, one of the target’s biped companions was another of the five bipeds deposited on the planet by the creators, this one on a continent distant from the island by 32 percent of the planet’s circumference. The drone had failed to find biped No. 2 for several years. The most likely explanation had been the biped’s death.

The AI recognized the possibility of an invalid association because many of this planet’s bipeds had hair covering part of their faces, whereas the original images of the five deposited bipeds showed no such coverings. The AI used the original images to add different facial hair lengths and compared them to the new images. The potential match went up to 84.2 probability. The juxtaposition of the primary target with this second biped indicated biped No. 2 had somehow found the location of biped No. 1 and traveled to No. 1’s location. Discarded was the possibility of a chance meeting.

The AI considered. Should it send this new information to the creators? It intuited that they would be deeply concerned. A single foreign biped was assumed to have no significant effect. Unaccounted for were possible synergisms should they meet. Then there was the question of how biped No. 2 had found the location of biped No. 1.

The AI formulated a message and ordered the drone to obtain better images. When the two bipeds separated, the drone followed No. 2 to a building near a beach, then waited until it exited again, accompanied by three clean-faced bipeds of markedly different sizes. One was about the height of No. 2. The other two might have been child versions of this species, much shorter, slimmer, and having relatively longer hair. The drone approached the four bipeds closer than it had ever been to one of this species, the near proximity allowing it to probe the bone structure No. 2’s face. While the drone waited for the target biped to turn toward it, the drone automatically captured images of the three new individuals and sent the data onward. Then the target turned. Data was acquired, and the drone returned to a higher elevation to continue observing.

Seconds later, on the craft housing the AI orbiting the planet, the second and third alerts came close together. The new data on biped No. 2 changed the recognition probability to 95.7. However, that was not the most crucial information. One of the three bipeds without facial hair was another of the individuals deposited by the creators—with an 88.1 percent probability. This third individual had been placed on yet another of the major landmasses—about halfway between the other two bipeds. The AI made no particular note that biped No. 3’s features more resembled inhabitants from the opposite side of the landmasses than those from the island. Three of the five deposited bipeds had come together.

***

Mark heard a buzzing behind him. He swiveled his head to locate the source. When his eyes focused in the indicated direction, he stopped with momentary dizziness. A section of his view field seemed to shimmy. His eyes flickered back and forth across an area that rippled as if with heat waves—but the day was chilly. He shook his head. A sense of warmth washed over his face as if he had flushed. He put a hand to his forehead, closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and removed the hand. The shimmy was gone. So was the buzz.

“You okay?” asked Heather from behind him, having put a hand on his arm. “You seemed a little unsteady there for a moment.”

Mark turned and looked down at her concerned expression. “For just a second, I was dizzy. Weird. Maybe I turned too quick.”

Heather arched an eyebrow. “Not likely, from what I hear you guys went through to get here. Has this happened before? I’ve come to think of you as the Rock. You know, Dwayne Johnson. The actor. Big hulking guy who runs through walls and protects people like me. I loved him in the movie Tooth Fairy.”

He smiled at the comparison. “I think I read he might be the lead in another Jumanji movie. I can’t imagine him being better than the original with Robin Williams, but he was okay in a couple of those Fast and Furious movies.”

“Well, I liked him in almost everything he did. What a hunk. I saw one of the Fast and Furious movies. Not my preferred choice. And don’t change the subject. What just happened with you?”

“As I said. Weird. I heard a buzzing sound, but that’s gone too. Oh, well . . . just one of those things. I’m okay.”

***

Within minutes of the AI confirming that three of the five abandoned bipeds were together, it sent another message to the creators. It didn’t know whether the recipient was the home of the creators or a relay. It did not know the direction or location of the creators. Entangled communication was omnidirectional. Neither did the AI know details of the entangled technology. It composed a message and passed it to a “black box,” a section of the AI’s craft that it did not have access to. Messages were sent and received using whatever was behind the impenetrable physical and electromagnetic firewall.

As a consequence of first noticing an anomaly related to biped No. 1, the creators had activated dormant faculties of the AI to allow greater flexibility and on-site initiative. As a result, the AI could now wonder. This time, when it sent a communication to the creators, it wondered whether they did not want it to know their location.

Because the AI did not forget anything, another wonder occurred when the creators responded to the news of the three bipeds coming together. Why had the creators changed their planned visit to this planet to arrive in three years? Were the creators worried, excited, curious? The AI knew of these states, though their significance was still just beyond its understanding.

Until then, the AI would continue observing, but on its own initiative the drone would focus solely on the island and the three individuals. It did not concern itself with the fate of the other two bipeds placed on the southern coast of the largest continent and the southern tip of the easternmost landmass. They were no longer of a high-enough priority. Unless . . . they too appeared on the island. An extremely low probability had been assigned to that possibility—a probability now raised significantly higher after two of the bipeds had refuted fallacious assumptions about the original probabilities.

The AI would further develop a model of the island society. Given three years, it estimated it could maintain a 95 to 97 percent tally of all the island’s bipeds and their interrelationships—the missing percentage accounted for by deaths, movements, and inevitable observation lapses. Then, when the creators arrived, the AI would be prepared for whatever the creators decided, whether that be continued scrutiny of the island and its inhabitants or direct action to correct the three anomalous bipeds’ impact.

What the AI would not be able to do is communicate again with the creators until their arrival. The last message ordered all further communications to cease until the creators’ arrival This directive led the AI to reassess why the creators were returning earlier than previously planned. After microseconds of consideration, the AI evaluated that the creators considered the events on the island to be a danger. How this could be, the AI did not understand. The technology difference between the islanders and the creators was too vast to infer a threat. Was the issue that the transplanted bipeds should have no contact with one another? For the first time, the AI considered reasons for the mandate. The creators obviously were interested in the biped race, but the AI had no information on how the same biped race came to exist on at least two planets—the one the AI observed and wherever the transplanted bipeds had originated. Again, for the first time, the AI had a new thought. Were the inhabitants of this planet transplanted by unknown actors? If yes, then who? Was this the source of the creators’ interest? Not the bipeds, but another sentient race? If yes, was this third race considered a threat by the creators? So many questions. When the creators arrived, the AI would ask for answers.

While the AI waited, it noted that the island’s technology level had rapidly advanced ahead of the rest of the planet’s societies. In one example, the bipeds were stringing wire attached to poles across extended distances. Searching databases and excluding cultural reasons that might not be inherently understandable, the only plausible utilitarian purpose of the wires was communication via electrical transmission. No such signs had been detected elsewhere on the planet, even after the AI retasked the drone for a quick survey over a random selection of terrain on the major landmasses.

The steam engine explosion that had led the AI to send an earlier alert to the creators was supplemented with other observations. The AI was confident the creators would be interested in this update. Unfortunately, the blackout of communications prevented passing on the information. The AI considered breaking silence, but it had not yet developed independence.

Penmawr, Pewitt Province

A wry smile graced Frenko Holuska’s face as he waited for the train station clerk to check the latest mail deliveries to Penmawr, the Pewitt Clan capital. How kind of the Caedelli to provide a more efficient means for Holuska to receive communiqués from a person whose name remained unknown but who lived in the island capital, Orosz City. It wasn’t necessary for him to know the person’s identity for him to carry out a mission given to him personally by an advisor to Kolinka’s ruler. That had been made clear to him when he received instructions in Chikawan, the capital and largest Kolinkan city in the northern part of the Iraquinik Confederation. In fact, Chikawan was the only large city in his homeland.

Not that messages came that often, as was only appropriate because communication should occur only to transmit important information. Otherwise, someone might wonder why a Caedelli from Orosz City had engaged in one-way correspondence to a Kolinkan trader in Penmawr.

Holuska checked for mail only once every few sixdays. Originally, his mission had included other province capitals in northwest Caedellium. Then, for reasons never explained, he had received instructions to restrict himself to Pewitt and Seaborn Provinces. He lost track of how many times he had made the circuit from Penmawr to Brudermyn, the Seaborn capital. He was the trade representative of the Kolinkan ship that had assumed a regular schedule shuttling between Penmawr on the Caedellium mainland and South Island, the southernmost of the three main islands that comprised Caedellium’s Seaborn Province.

Kolinka trade with Seaborn had ceased when the Narthani arrived at Caedellium and resumed once the invaders left. However, the Caedelli had been perplexed when his ship, the Sunrider, had docked at Penmawr six months earlier and announced its intention to provide regular trading service between the two provinces. No such service existed at that time, and the local population doubted the need for it. There was no rigid schedule. The Sunrider waited until there was enough cargo to justify the hundred-mile sail. Holuska and the captain accepted losses from meager cargoes to establish frequent-enough trips that they would be taken for granted by the Caedelli. However, as predicted by Holuska’s superiors, once the service existed, the need developed. By now, Caedelli on both ends of the route were appreciative and would be disappointed if the shuttle service was discontinued. In addition to material cargo, an unexpected demand developed for passenger traffic. Caedelli with personal or business connections between Seaborn and mainland provinces now had an efficient-enough means to travel.

Holuska yawned. He looked forward to retiring to the room rented for his use while he was in Penmawr. It was too late in the day to make himself available for securing cargo and passengers for the return trip to Brudermyn. The Sunrider’s crew had finished unloading this evening, and tomorrow morning Holuska would be at the dock working on cargo for the next trip. Until then, he intended to nap in his room, change clothes, and spend the evening touring three of Penmawr’s pubs he’d found to be the best sources of local and island-wide news and gossip. He would buy rounds for individuals or groups he judged most useful, all the while carefully husbanding his own drinks.

He was on the verge of becoming irritated at the clerk taking longer than expected to search the latest mail packets. Instead, his pulse quickened when the elderly man returned from a back room and held out a sealed envelope.

“Just this one piece.”

Holuska took the mail and handed the clerk a small coin, not that it was needed. The cost of sending mail was paid by the sender, but it never hurt to curry favor. It also served to foster rumors that Kolinkans were not as disagreeable as thought.

This was the fifth time Holuska’s contact in Orosz City had sent a letter. Twice before, there had been an alert, followed sixdays later by a cancellation. If this were another alert, the Sunrider would have to remain in Penmawr until he could pass on the message to a Kolinkan ship returning to Kolinka’s main port at Onunza.

He wondered how long he would have to remain traveling between Penmawr and Brudermyn before his mission was complete.

CHAPTER 7

MEETINGS AND SHOPPING

Meetings

Yozef would have preferred to spend more time with Mark and Heather. However, his hastily planned visit to Preddi Province led to hetmen inevitably scheduling meetings to take advantage of the Paramount’s presence. Balwis predicted the meetings would take an entire day. He was wrong. Most of two days were filled until sundown. The first meeting started with Balwis updating the clan’s status; then he was joined by his principal advisers and aides, followed by a hurriedly arranged gathering of Preddi Province district boyermen, and a group of scholastics agitating for Preddi City housing a branch of the University of Caedellium. Some meetings would require second sessions the following day, which included those with individual Preddi citizens and merchants. A committee of province theophists also wanted the Paramount’s opinion on a disputed proposed change in the province’s standard liturgy to account for the deliverance from the Narthani.

Balwis had sniggered on hearing the last item when Storlini listed the next day’s schedule.

“I doubt they would have asked me to give an opinion, but just in case, it’s a good thing the Paramount is around. I believe the theophists realize there’s a big difference between me and a Septarsh. So . . . thank you for this, Paramount. I won’t be present for that part of your day.”

Yozef cursed without directly responding. However, two positives resulted. The first: it was the final formal gathering of that day. The second positive result came from the opportunity to set the precedent that the Paramount position had no role in internal church matters.

The second day began with meeting Roblyn Langor, the Selfcell Clan hetman, who had arrived in Preddi City with a brother, three advisers, and two militia officers.

“Sorry, Yozef,” said Langor. “You’ve probably already had your fill of meetings yesterday with more to go today, but we haven’t met for almost a year, and I need to take advantage of you being in the next province.”

“Of course, Roblyn. A good idea. We have a lot to catch up on. You can brief me on how things are going in Selfcell, and I can update you on what’s happened recently in Orosz City.”

Langor had not seen Yozef’s expression and heard his groan the previous day when a grinning Balwis handed him the semaphore message that Langor was on his way. The Selfcell hetman had risked everything by meeting Yozef secretly while his clan was still forcibly allied with the Narthani. Later, Selfcell had rebelled, drawing off a fraction of the Narthani forces when outright war began. The clans accepted Selfcell back after acknowledging the Selfcellese had had little choice when their call for help against the Narthani was refused by the other clans.

The remainder of the second day’s meetings involved a selection of merchants with commercial issues or ideas Storlini judged worthy of the Paramount’s attention. Next on the agenda were individual citizens or groups who managed to pass through Storlini’s and Ceinwyn’s screening for valid rationales to meet with the Paramount. Yozef was surprised that both sets of supplicants took as long as they did, and the sessions were more interesting and useful than he’d predicted.

Finally, it was time to meet with the theophists.

“Thank you for summarizing your positions,” Yozef said to the eight leading Preddi theophist men and women after the two factions presented their cases. “I believe you all have carefully thought through the issue, and both sides have the best interest of the province clanspeople at heart. However, this is clearly an issue beyond the providence of the Paramount and is something to be decided by the people of Preddi and yourselves as their representatives.”

Half of the theophists appeared disappointed that the Paramount had declined to become involved and solve their problem. The other half seemed pleased. Yozef preferred to think the latter approved of the separation of church and state, though he left open that they believed their opinion was bound to prevail and didn’t want the Paramount to supersede their perceived inevitable victory.

“Well, did you successfully solve the church issue today?” Carnigan asked later.

“Solve the issue of a meaningless difference in wording? No. I told them not to bother me with such stupid trivia and to solve the problem themselves.”

“Okay, now what did you really tell them?”

Yozef laughed. “I thanked them for their careful consideration of the issue and said the Paramount would not become involved in internal church issues. That’s going to be the answer to all such attempts. I’ll remain steadfast that the limit of the Paramount’s involvement is to ensure reasonable freedom of religion in Caedellium and to forbid conflicts between different religions.”

Shopping

On the morning of Yozef’s second day of meetings, Balwis had knocked on the new arrivals’ door. Mark answered, expecting to find the men who had delivered the morning meal two hours earlier.

“I assume you’ve all finished eating,” said Balwis, letting himself in before being invited. “We left you alone yesterday, figuring a day of rest would be appreciated. Yozef will be occupied all of today with meetings. Either tonight or tomorrow night will be some kind of social event . . . Ceinwyn will tell us later.

“I thought maybe today you’d like to move around a little after being on the Buldorian ship for that long. We’re thinking of two options. Mark, you said you and your wife are from ranch country in Frangel. If you’re up for it, we can take a horseback tour of the city and countryside. A carriage is possible, too, but you wouldn’t see as much.

“The other option is shopping in the city. You arrived with not much more than the clothes you were wearing. Ceinwyn’s offered to fix that problem. I suppose we could do both today.”

“Uh . . . both are generous,” said Mark. “I’ll check with the women to see what they prefer.”

Balwis smirked. “Given the choice between riding a horse or shopping for clothes, I’ll make an experienced guess what the choice will be.”

“You gotta be shitting me,” Heather exclaimed, after listening to Mark’s question. “Ride a horse when I’ve never been on one of the beasts? The only horses I was ever involved with had me riding in wagons or carriages in Sulako. It wasn’t a common activity in San Mateo. And even if I could ride, I need some clothes. This cut-down sailor outfit scratches, and I feel like I’m a sack of potatoes.”

“How about you, Maghen?” asked Mark.

“I’ll go with Heather and Ceinwyn. We need new clothes. I might like a ride some other day, but clothes now. You go ahead with the hetman. I know your patience for shopping. I’ve picked out most of your clothes for the last three years, so I’ll find things I think will fit. We have some coin left. Maybe Ceinwyn can help me exchange them for Caedelli ones. I also think Alys will tolerate moving around shops more than riding. Do her good to walk and be among people we don’t have to worry about.”

“I confess I’m a little nervous about leaving you and Alys alone. For the last year, I’ve wanted you within sight as much as possible.”

“We’ll be fine. I suspect they’ll have a few guards accompany us. But . . . just in case.” She lifted the bottom of her skirt to reveal the knife strapped to her calf. “I heard you talking with the hetman. I’ll also take one of the double-barreled pistols in a bag with a few of Alys’s things.”

Mark smiled as he envisioned any unfortunate man with nefarious intent who unsuspectingly encountered a woman with bedraggled clothing and who carried gold coin.

“All right, have a good time, and don’t hesitate to say you need to return here for whatever reason,” said Mark before starting to walk away.

“And don’t forget to thank the hetman, Mark.”

He returned to where he’d left Balwis standing inside the main entrance.

Shit, Mark thought. I suppose I should have asked him to sit somewhere, instead of leaving a hetman standing like some salesman. But hell, I don’t know what the rules are here.

“Maghen and Heather will go with your wife, Hetman, and thank you.”

Balwis eyed Mark as if making some sort of evaluation, then he shrugged. “As I said last evening, I think we can forget the titles. Usually on Caedellium, people refer to each other by their last names until they have a longer acquaintance. However, I’ve no doubt we’re going to see a lot of you in the future, so let’s dispense with the formality. I’m Balwis, and you’re Mark.”

The hetman put out a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Mark accepted the gesture, and the two men performed a firm handshake, neither man trying to make a point with the strength of his grip.

“I assumed what the decisions would be,” said Balwis. “There are horses outside. I’ll have the extras taken back, and we can be off. Oh . . . a couple of guards will accompany the women. Nothing’s going to happen with Ceinwyn. She’s famous. But I thought you might feel better if they have some escorts.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Mark didn’t see a reason to describe Maghen’s arsenal.

Halfway down the path from the villa door to the road, Ceinwyn appeared, followed by two men ten yards behind.

“I take it my prediction was accurate,” she said, smiling.

“Not that I doubted you,” said Balwis. “Mark and I will tour the countryside while you guide Maghen and Heather to the main shopping district. If Mark is as much of a ranch worker as I suspect, he’ll be glad to be on a horse again, and we may not be back until late this afternoon.”

Mark didn’t disabuse Balwis. As much as he was comfortable on a horse, he had ridden enough in the last year not to feel an urgent need to do more than necessary.

Ceinwyn tugged on Balwis’s beard. He leaned toward her slightly so she could deliver a peck on his cheek. “You men go do your thing, and we women will do ours.”

She left them, and Balwis gestured to where several men held saddled horses.

Once in the villa, Ceinwyn heard Alys’s laughter and followed the sound to the kitchen. The child sat on a counter, bare feet dangling, and tapped her heels against the wood in time with a tune Heather hummed. Maghen was drying a plate when she saw Ceinwyn. She hurriedly put the plate and cloth down, took a few steps toward Ceinwyn, and made a low and awkward curtsey.

“Oh, dear,” she said, blushing. “I don’t know how to address a hetman’s wife.”

Heather stopped humming and stared back and forth between the other two women.

“Well,” said Ceinwyn, “it certainly doesn’t involve bowing. There’s no formal title to being the hetman’s wife, except being the ‘hetman’s wife.’ Or, in my case, just Ceinwyn if I know the person at all. So . . . that’s settled. No bowing, and I’m Ceinwyn. Now, are you three ladies ready to go walking into the city?”

“Is Senwina coming with us?” asked Maghen. “She didn’t bring much with her. I’m sure her children also need clothes.”

“She and her children have moved to stay with a cousin living in Preddi City. I understand he got word of her return and came immediately to the clan headquarters. They moved late last night. The cousin’s family is taking care of them until transportation to Seaborn is available.”

“That’s good,” said Maghen. “Being with family is always best, especially because it’s been years since she’s seen any of them.”

Heather cleared her throat to catch Maghen’s attention.

“Yes . . . uh . . . I need to ask something,” Maghen said. She picked up a leather pouch from the counter. The obvious weight and clinking suggested the contents before she pulled out a gold coin.

“The only coins we have are from Frangel and a few gold and silver ones from Sulako. Can I change these somewhere for Caedelli coins? It will make buying easier. I’ll also be paying for Heather’s things.”

Ceinwyn waved a hand. “I know a tradesman who changes coins. There’s usually not much call for that on Caedellium. Mainly just in Preddi City since this was the main trade port. Of course, there was even less need when the Narthani cut the other clans off from Preddi. I’ll see that we take care of this sometime today.

“However, don’t worry about paying for anything. Yozef has left clear instructions that he will pay for everything. In fact, we could probably get everything free just by letting the tradespeople know you’re friends of Yozef’s. Most shops will be happy to give you anything without payment.”

Ceinwyn smiled. “We don’t do that, though. I’ve brought plenty of coin, and if I run out, the shops will know they’ll be paid. Yozef is particular about what he calls, ‘Taking advantage of his position.’ It annoys Balwis. He tells Yozef it’s a gesture of honor, but Yozef is insistent.”

“Well . . . I feel uneasy about not paying,” said Maghen, “but as long as it’s part of your local customs, I guess it’s all right.”

“It’s also okay with me,” said Heather, “but I’ll trust you to tell me if I’m spending too much . . . uh . . . coin.”

“I doubt that will be a problem,” said Ceinwyn, “so let’s be on our way. We have the whole day, so we can walk around as much as you like. Just tell me when you’re tired. Oh . . . we’ll take the carriage outside from here to the city center. Then we’ll walk until we’re finished. Depending on how much we buy, the two guards will help carry your purchases.”

Scattered clouds drifted across the mid-morning sky when they left the carriage at the city’s main plaza. It would remain there until they wanted to return to the villa. The main shop areas were a block or more surrounding three sides of the plaza and were busy with patrons looking or buying.

As they walked, Ceinwyn caught Heather’s failed attempt to look at the scar without Ceinwyn noticing.

“I’m sorry,” said Heather, haltingly. “I . . . ”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it. In the past, I tried to hide the scar with my hair. I thought I was so ugly no one would want to look at me. Balwis got mad and insisted I don’t hide. He said it was a mark of honor gotten when fighting the Narthani, and if anyone didn’t like it, they could go . . . well . . . you can imagine the rest. I admit I was slow to accept it and not worry. It’s funny how things happen, but now, when I walk around, people either ignore the scar or, if they see it, they smile! I guess it’s an easy way for people to recognize me, whether they know me or not. I’ve a degree of fame for being the hetman’s daughter who fought off Narthani attackers. You know . . . courageous Ceinwyn. Actually, when the Narthani attacked Keelan Manor, the fighting was desperate. A Narthani came at Balwis from behind. I grabbed the only thing handy—a small chair. I hit the Narthani’s back, which hardly affected him. He whirled and gave me this.”

She held a hand to her cheek. “I guess I’m lucky he didn’t split my head open.”

Heather wrung her hands. “I’m SO sorry, Ceinwyn, I—”

“No, that’s all right. I’ve come to believe the scar is God’s gift to me. I was a petty person, jealous of Maera’s intelligence and that all three of my sisters were more attractive than me. In retrospect, I’m ashamed how much of my time I spent feeding simmering resentments over trivial or imaginary injustices. I ignored the wonders of life. The scar made me realize I was a person I wouldn’t like if I’d met someone like me. Then there was my sister, Anid. She died during the attack. She was such a lovely person, and here it was me surviving . . . and I wasn’t a lovely person. At first, I felt guilty, but then I determined to live the best I could. That, plus the love of my family, helped me through the first months.”

If it’s all the same, thought Heather, I’d prefer God just send me an email. She suppressed a shiver at imagining what Ceinwyn’s wound must have looked like and the recovery.

Ceinwyn laughed. “Then I had Balwis. He’s blunt and brooks no nonsense. When he chided or sometimes scolded me for hiding myself and the scar, I had to admit he and others I cared about didn’t see the scar as diminishing me in any way. Well . . . not in ways that truly matter. Again, you haven’t been around Balwis, but he means whatever he says. It finally sank in with me that he truly didn’t care about the scar but actually liked me.”

“Well, I admit your husband and the other men are somewhat intimidating,” said Maghen, “but I think I like him. He sounds like my father and brothers. Mark is somewhat like that, but I frequently sense he doesn’t quite say what’s going on in his mind.”

“Now, that’s enough about my scar,” said Ceinwyn. “Here we’ve come to a shoe shop. I favor this one over the others in Preddi City. Let’s find out if they can fit feet as small as Heather’s and Alys’s, plus your bigger ones.”

After looking at footwear for a few minutes, Maghen whispered to Ceinwyn. “I think I understand when the man tells me what things cost, but what’s the value of Caedelli coins? I don’t want to overspend.”

“As I said, don’t worry. I’ll tell you if any of the tradespeople ask too much, though that’s unlikely when the hetman’s wife is present. More likely, we’ll probably get the best prices possible.”

An hour later, they left after purchasing sandals and walking shoes for all three new residents of Preddi, a pair of play shoes for Alys, and a pair of comfortable everyday shoes for Heather, all to be picked up later that day before returning to the villa. In addition, the shoemaker promised the pairs of everyday and work shoes would be ready for Maghen late the next day. The latter required taking her measurements. Ceinwyn didn’t comment on Maghen’s insistence that she would need the work shoes for when she found employment. Two pairs of shoes for Mark would also be ready the next day. Maghen had used paper she found in the villa to trace his feet and his one pair of boots.

Maghen and Heather left that first shop wearing their new sandals. Both were happy to leave the old footwear for whatever purpose the shop owner had for them.

“I felt like I was trying to walk in ‘snowshoes’ all the time,” said Heather, using the English word.

“In what?” asked Ceinwyn.

“Uh . . . they’re something you wear on your feet to stop them from sinking into deep snow. They spread your weight, so you stay on top of the snow.”

“Oh . . . I can see how that could be useful,” said Maghen. “There were a few times in Frangel when I could have used them. Fortunately, on our way here we didn’t experience much snow. However, our guide in Rustal warned us we needed to be farther north before that happened.

“How about here, Ceinwyn?” asked Maghen. “I’d think you’d have more snow here because you’re farther north than Frangel.”

“Actually, here on Caedellium we don’t get much snow because we’re so far south. We’re north of the equator, the point where the weather patterns are mirror images as you go north and south. Frangel is south of the equator. At least, that’s how it was explained in school.

“But no, I’ve only seen snow falling a few times and never more than a finger’s width deep on the ground. Of course, the mountains are different. The highest passes might be blocked at times, especially in the northern provinces. Maybe they have something like ‘snowshoes’ there and almost certainly in northern Melosia, such as in the Iraquinik Confederation’s kahsaks—that’s what they call their member states.

“So . . . will we need heavy coats here?” asked Heather.

“Probably not, unless you’re sensitive to the cold. One of my aunts is like that. She’ll wear heavier clothing even when everyone else is comfortable.” Ceinwyn laughed. “She’s my mother’s sister. I used to hate visiting her because she kept her home so warm. I’d find some excuse to go outside every chance I got.

“But we’ll buy cloaks to wear for night chills. You can decide later if you need something more. For now, let’s look for dresses. You two will feel a lot better with some new ones.”

“Oh, God, yes,” said Heather, gesturing to the pants she wore. “I appreciated the Buldorian sailors for coming up with these, but they hang on me like someone just threw pieces of canvas at me. I swear I still smell the sea, even after so many washings. Besides, they scratch something terrible.”

Ceinwyn led them to a street with several shops displaying wide selections of women’s clothing, including dresses, skirts, and smocks. An hour and a half later, they left with enough to elicit a comment from Ceinwyn that another couple of hours of shopping and they might have to send for the carriage.

A moment of awkwardness occurred when a woman shopkeeper directed them to a small room where they could try on clothing. It was Heather’s first experience with the Caedelli’s lax attitude about modesty. Ceinwyn sat at a bench while Maghen proceeded to shed clothing. Heather stood frozen, uncertain about committing to nudity in front of the other two women.

Maghen had donned a dark green dress and was straining to view herself in a small, wall-mounted mirror before Heather’s reluctance was noticed.

“Something wrong, Heather?” asked Ceinwyn.

“Uh . . . no. I’m fine. It’s just that where I come from, each person would have a separate small room for trying on clothing.”

Prompted from her inaction, Heather undressed, though she turned her back to the other two women, who passed looks back and forth.

“The shop next door has different clothing types,” said Ceinwyn.

“I’ll be glad for new underpants,” said Maghen. “I started in Frangel with two, but the last one finally became useless during the voyage on the Buldorian ship. They make dealing with monthly bleedings so much easier.”

“True,” said Ceinwyn, “but even more important is the kotex that Yozef introduced.”

Heather choked and coughed enough that the other women became concerned.

“No, I’m all right. I just swallowed the wrong way. You say Yozef introduced . . . kotex?”

“Yes. During his first year on Caedellium. I don’t remember exactly when, but Maera, my older sister and Yozef’s future wife, brought some back to Caernford where we lived. She had been visiting Abersford, where Yozef lived at the time. He had introduced kotex, and Maera told us every woman in that district who was still bleeding was using kotex within a few sixdays. It spread over the rest of Caedellium within a month. There even got to be trouble with people stealing shipments—the price had gone up due to shortages. If you hear men, they’ll talk about kerosene or maybe ether as his main innovations, but there’s no doubt about women’s opinions.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Maghen, confused.

Ceinwyn gave the Frangel woman a detailed description—to Heather’s embarrassment and Maghen’s enthusiasm.

“Where can I get some of this kotex? Sounds too good to be true and better than cloth pads like I’m used to. I won’t tell you what I had to use sometimes while we were on the way here from Frangel. I’m due in another two sixdays and will definitely try this kotex.”

When they’d finished with the current shop, they moved only a few yards to the next, where they purchased underpants. After they’d made their selections, Heather quickly wandered through the shop’s aisles before returning to the other two women.

“Uh . . . I don’t see any . . . uh . . . top underclothes. You know. Brassieres. Bras. To support breasts.”

The two women looked at each other before Maghen spoke.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well . . . to wear around the breasts to support their weight.”

“You mean slings for women with breasts so large they’re painful at times?”

Heather’s description of brassieres drew interest but not conviction.

“And some women wear this . . . bra . . . you shortened the name to?”

“All women. Well . . . almost all women.”

“Did you wear these bras?” asked Ceinwyn.

“Yes, all the time, except when I slept at night.”

“But why would you need to wear one, Heather? Your breasts are small. You’re young, and we saw you don’t have stretch marks, so you haven’t had children. Even then, I doubt your breasts will grow enough to wear one of those . . . bras you said.”

“It was the custom,” stuttered Heather, blushing.

“How odd,” said Ceinwyn, turning to Maghen. “What about in Frangel?”

Maghen shrugged. “Something like the sling you mention. Usually made of heavier cloth. You could buy them in shops, but most women made their own. They were called strofens. I had one I made one summer when I was caring for my family’s krykors. Our only two dogs had died, and I was constantly running around chasing the damn animals. The strofen helped, but if I wore it too much, my breasts ached.”

Maghen took on a thoughtful look. “Hmmmm . . . now that I think, I didn’t notice women’s nipples in Rustal or Sulako like you do here or in Frangel. In Rustal, it was often cold, so they likely wore multiple layers of clothing. In Sulako it was warm, especially in Iskadon, the city where you were, Heather. Did you notice anything?”

“No, but then it wasn’t something I looked for. I didn’t have anyone I felt I could ask about it, so I wore an extra smaller undergarment. I guess I assumed the other women wore something like a bra for support and to not make the breasts too noticeable. You know . . . the nipples showing or the breasts bouncing. That last part was considered immodest. At home, I would never have considered wearing only a thin upper garment, though some women were more relaxed . . . or maybe less self-conscious.”

“Well, I guess customs are different around Anyar. You can always fashion yourself one of these bras if you feel better, but it may make people stare more often. You know . . . seeing something different. They might wonder if you don’t have nipples.”

“I guess I can do without that,” said Heather. “I’m already getting stares because of my eyes. Some of the people seemed startled, even nervous. Others are maybe just curious.”

“I expect that will pass once people are accustomed to seeing you. I understand Yozef says eyes like that are common in Amerika?”

“In some parts more than others. It was very common where I lived.”

“I hope I don’t give offense,” said Maghen, “but I admit I stared a bit when we first met. I asked Mark if you had been stung or if your eyes were something abnormal you were born with. That was then. Now it seems perfectly normal. Even better, attractive in an exotic way. I wouldn’t be surprised if some men find it alluring.”

“That I can do without.”

Heather gave an imperceptible shudder, noticed by Ceinwyn but not Maghen.

“Again, up to you, but I might mention these bras to Anarynd the next time I see her,” said Ceinwyn. “She mentioned that her breasts were so heavy while she was breast-feeding, they caused her back to hurt. Maybe something like the Frangel strofen or the Amerikan bra might help. I’ll mention it to Yozef in case I forget when I see Anarynd.”

Heather’s expression suggested dubiousness.

“Yozef is going to talk about breasts to this Anarynd?” said Heather. “I guess customs are quite different here.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” said Ceinwyn. “Anarynd is Yozef’s wife.”

Heather’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m confused. I thought your sister Maera was Yozef’s wife.”

“Both Maera and Anarynd are his wives.”

“Yozef has two wives?”

“That’s right. Your expression says you’re surprised. There aren’t multiple wives occasionally in Amerika?”

“Not legally. It’s a crime to be married to more than one woman and is considered immoral by many people.”

“Well . . . it’s not all that common here,” said Ceinwyn, “though more so since the war. So many men were killed. That left widows and other women with little chance of marrying since even in normal times more girls are born than boys. That means we always have more women than men—not that many more, of course. The theophists have officially sanctioned the practice when circumstances warrant. From what I understand, they expect it to happen less often in future generations once the numbers of men and women are closer to the way they were before the war.”

“I don’t see how that would work,” said Heather. “I would expect that the first wife would have to be completely willing, which I doubt.”

“Well, in this case it was Maera’s idea. She and Anarynd were the closest friends, and Anarynd had been rejected by her family. You’ll have to ask Maera for the full story. I understand Yozef wasn’t immediately agreeable, but both Maera and Anarynd were in favor. It’s something where the people involved have to work it out, which they have in this case. You’ll meet Maera and Anarynd in Orosz City. Maera can be a bit intimidating, but she’s honest and not a petty person like I used to be. As for Anarynd, she’s a sweet woman who everyone likes.

“Oh . . . and Anarynd is more than just a wife of the Paramount. She’s also the mother of the heir to one day be the Moreland Clan hetman. That’s another story worth hearing about.”

“Wait,” said Heather. “You said before there are more girls than boys? More girl babies are born than boys?”

“That’s right. No one knows why God would have it that way. You’d think it would be equal numbers. I’ve heard people suggest that the difference shows God’s approval of multiple wives, but no theophist I know of agrees, so who knows?”

“But it’s not that way in Amerika,” said Heather. “I don’t know the exact numbers, but a few more boys are born than girls.”

“That’s the way it is in Frangel,” said Maghen. “Well . . . at least where I was from in central Frangel. Slightly more boys.”

Maghen frowned. “Although . . . now that I think about it, there was a woman who moved to Nurburt. That’s the town nearest my family’s ranch and the ranch I worked at when I met Mark. The woman—I think her name was Nilta or something—claimed more girls were born in some parts of northern Frangel, where she was from. Why would it be different in different parts of Frangel?”

“And I didn’t notice or hear anything like that in Sulako,” said Heather. “At least, the part I was in. I didn’t move far from where I was cast onto a beach.”

Ceinwyn raised both hands, palms up. “Who knows the ways of God or why the world is as it is? For whatever reason, things are the way they are here on Caedellium. Heather, I suggest you not say anything about multiple wives being immoral. People will take it as an insult to the Paramount and to anyone they happen to know in that situation—maybe friends or family. I know I would be insulted if you had said it to me, and I didn’t know you are new to Caedellium and don’t know our customs.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ve had a habit of putting my foot in it in Amerika, and I certainly don’t want to do it here.”

“Your foot in it?” asked Maghen.

Ceinwyn laughed hard enough to hold her sides. “I think Heather means to not make a mistake. We say something very similar here. ‘Don’t step barefoot into horse shit.’”

It was Maghen’s turn to laugh.

“Oh, my God! We say almost the same thing in Frangel. And similar in Amerika!? I wonder if every place on Anyar says almost the same thing!”

In the following minutes, comparisons of idioms brought forth so much laughter that the shop owner peeked in to check for problems.

Three hours later, after eating a mid-day meal of bread, cheese, and fruit purchased from open stalls, and after exhausting Alys’s tolerance for shopping, Ceinwyn summoned the carriage to return to the villa. Ceinwyn helped carry the purchases inside and was about to leave before Maghen gestured for her to stay.

“I’m going to put Alys down for a nap,” said Maghen. “It shouldn’t take me more than five to ten minutes, and I’ll be back.

“I’m tired, too,” said Heather. “I’m also going to lie down for a while.”

“Both of you go ahead,” said Ceinwyn. “I’ll be out back.”

When Maghen returned, Ceinwyn had opened a bottle of wine and held her glass in one hand while extending another glass to Maghen.

“The day is so nice, and we worked so hard,” said Ceinwyn with a grin. “I decided we could relax for a while. Men don’t realize how physically tiring shopping can be.”

“Don’t try and tell Mark shopping is not work. He’ll wrestle cattle before he goes shopping if he has a choice.”

Ceinwyn settled into a wicker chair and sipped from her glass. “I take it there’s something you wanted to talk about without Heather being present.”

“Yes. It’s about Heather. Do you know anything about her story in Sulako?”

Ceinwyn shook her head. “No. Oh . . . just that all three of you Amerikans say you were left naked on beaches in different parts of Anyar. A very strange story for all three Amerikans. I don’t know what to make of it. Who would do such a thing to people who evidently didn’t know one another before? And why?”

“Something you should know,” Maghen said. “Heather told me much of what happened to her while we were on the Buldorian ship headed here, though I’m sure not all the details. Both Mark and evidently Yozef were fortunate to be looked after by good people until they learned the languages and could take care of themselves. Being small and a woman obviously made her status different, and Heather was not as fortunate as the men. Without being able to speak to the people and being unknown to them, she was immediately made a slave and sold to a rich man in the Sulako city of Iskadon. He abused her until he realized she was so musically talented, he could make gold from her performances. She managed to strike a deal that she would perform as long as she didn’t have to be taken to his bed.”

Ceinwyn sighed. “I can imagine how that affected her. If you all go to Orosz City, there should be a chance for her to talk with Anarynd and Gwyned Puvey.”

Maghen started to question Ceinwyn on her statement, but Alys took that moment to walk in and declare her nap was over.

CHAPTER 8

MURDER MOST FOUL

Yozef arrived at the clan headquarters an hour after sunrise, his mood buoyant. He would meet again with Mark and Heather. Besides simply “talking Earth,” Yozef wanted to finalize plans for returning to Orosz City. He knew the Kaldwel family would remain to fulfill Mark’s promise to Maghen for a peaceful month in a beautiful setting. Undecided yet was whether Heather would wait for Mark or accompany Yozef immediately to the capital.

Yozef’s mood changed the instant he walked into the Preddi headquarters building. A dozen or more staff members stood scattered around the hallway, on the stairs, and in door openings. Talking stopped, and grim faces turned to the Paramount.

He froze mid-step. Oh, shit, he thought. Now what happened?

He’d had too many such moments the last few years. His thoughts focused on finding out what had caused the scene before him. A middle-aged woman at the base of the stairs pointed up. He took it to mean the answer waited in the hetman’s office.

He climbed the steps two at a time and strode quickly to Balwis’s office, not noticing staff in the outer room. Balwis looked out the window. Wyfor and Savronel stood by the desk, but their heads turned to Yozef as he entered.

“Why can’t one god-damned week go by without some shit like this popping up?” said Balwis to the window glass and the outside world. “And why did I ever let Yozef talk me into taking this job? I’d have been perfectly happy running my family’s horse ranch.”

Yozef sighed. “I suppose I’ll need to know what happened? On the other hand, if I don’t need to know, then just tell me to go away for now, and I’ll come back later.”

Balwis whirled. “No, you don’t. Most of this was your idea. Me being hetman. Recreating the Preddi Clan with previous clanspeople, Narthani slaves, and a dose of ex-Narthani. I told you it wasn’t going to work. Just too many things had happened to Preddians that they felt called out for justice.”

Balwis let out a string of curses.

Yozef had a good idea where this was going. He just needed the details. He knew Balwis well enough and was patient, so he went to the table near the window and sat opposite from where Balwis stood. A minute passed before the curses slowed, almost as if the speaker searched his memory for ones he’d missed. Finally, the exposition ended. Balwis sighed, looked at Yozef, sighed again, and sat in the opposite chair. Wyfor and Savronel filled the last two seats.

“We just got news from Ponth,” said Savronel. “Since the town isn’t that far north of here, the mayor sent a rider with a written report, instead of using the semaphore. A Preddi man murdered a father and his fourteen-year-old son. The two victims were ex-Narthani. The father was a blacksmith, one of the craftsmen the Narthani brought in to support their army and Narthani civilians.”

Balwis shook his head. “It’s what we were afraid would happen. The Preddi man, named Yulwyn Washton, had multiple reasons to hate the Narthani. He had owned a blacksmith shop in Preddi City. When the Narthani took control of Preddi Province, the shop was given to a Narthani immigrant. Washton and his family were forced to move to Ponth, where he worked in a blacksmith shop also taken over by another Narthani. About a year later, one of his sons and a daughter were among a group who stole a fishing boat and tried to sail to Dornfeld in Keelan Province. The father didn’t find out what they planned on doing in time to stop them. The boat was intercepted by a Narthani patrol. There were fourteen men and six women. The men were executed, and the women sent to the troop brothels, where the daughter died a few months later, the cause unknown.”

“Is the Washton man in custody?” asked Yozef.

“He didn’t try to run, hide, or resist, according to the Ponth magistrate,” said Wyfor. “It happened in broad daylight in a prominent market area of Ponth. Washton killed the father with an ax, then the son when he tried to come to his father’s aid. I’m afraid it could have been even worse. The victim’s wife and two younger children had just gone into a bakery. The father and the son were waiting outside.

“Several men made moves to intervene, but when Washton finished, he dropped the ax, then walked to the middle of street, yelling out that justice had been done and that the same should happen to all Narthani.”

Wyfor stop talking, and no one spoke for almost a minute before Savronel cleared his throat and continued.

“As bad as that is, what is potentially worse is that some people cheered. A small group gathered around Washton. The magistrate’s report didn’t give the exact number. They congratulated him and supported his call for the death of all Narthani.”

It was Yozef’s turn to curse, though his string lasted only a few seconds. “Is there any chance the murdered man had something to do with Washton losing his blacksmith shop in Preddi City or perhaps found out about the escape attempt and told the Narthani authorities?”

“No connection that’s known,” said Savronel. “So far, it looks like the victims were chosen at random, the only criteria being that they were ex-Narthani.”

“I guess there is no need to discuss what has to happen,” said Yozef.

Balwis’s expression appeared as if he’d just bitten into something rancid. “A trial. A murder trial. The Ponth magistrate is already sending Washton here, along with witnesses and written statements from several more. They’ll be here later today.” Balwis looked at Yozef. “Unless you have another idea, I’ll go ahead and have the trial tomorrow.”

Having speedy trials was one aspect of Caedelli society that Yozef believed to be both good and bad. On one hand, there was no such thing as an unnecessary court delay. If the accused and all relevant witnesses were on hand, a trial was held as soon as a three-judge panel was assembled. By tradition, though not law, judging for major crimes was done by the hetman of the province the crime occurred in, a leading citizen of the province, and an adjudicator, a recognized legal expert who may or may not be from the same province and who was usually associated with one of the major cathedral complexes.

On the other hand, with no court delays, an aroused public had no time to cool, no psychological exams of the accused could be conducted, and there was no defense lawyer. The case was presented by the province’s chief magistrate or designated deputy.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to be a major participant in the trial,” said Yozef, to Balwis’s surprise.

“That’s not according to tradition,” said Balwis, “at least as far as I understand it.”

“That’s because there’s never been a Paramount Hetman or any crime exactly like this one. We’ve probably been lucky that nothing like this has happened before. I will attribute that primarily to you, Balwis. You managed to keep this barrel of gunpowder from exploding longer than we might have predicted. There are just too many Preddi with justifiable grievances against the Narthani. We’ve asked them to swallow those grievances or accept that the ex-Narthani among us were not responsible.

“No . . . this will be what we could call a ‘show’ trial. One that establishes precedents for the future. It has to be clear to everyone that seeking vengeance against ex-Narthani is absolutely forbidden and will not be tolerated.

“It’s also best if I am involved, which means being one of the judges. That will take some of the onus away from you as the Preddi hetman and will send the message to all the provinces that all ex-Narthani living here are under the Paramount’s protection. We’re still developing a set of laws that can apply to the entire island. It’s not something that’s widely supported among the hetmen. The clans’ tradition of independence is still strong. This will be one case to start establishing the principle that laws apply everywhere. Eventually, the Caedellium Senate will pass such laws, but for now, I’m afraid it falls to me.”

“If I may interject a suggestion,” said Savronel, “for a similar reasoning, Paramount, it might help Balwis if the adjudicator is also someone of long-standing reputation. The adjudicators available here in Preddi Province are capable enough, but they are all new in the position because the Narthani killed or shipped away all of the original adjudicators.”

Yozef nodded. “I agree. Balwis, you’re the hetman. By tradition, you can select the other two judges. I assume you won’t object if I’m one of the judges, and I recommend we send to Orosz City for Halwis Stritton. He’s busy working with adjudicators from all over Caedellium and trying to come up with a common legal framework for the entire island. Although there hasn’t been a formal title, he’s widely respected . . . well, I should say the most respected adjudicator. In fact, if he presides over the trial, I might give him an official title. Chief Adjudicator Stritton.”

In thinking long term, Yozef had already marked Stritton as a future Chief Justice of the Caedellium Supreme Court . . . or whatever title and organization it ended up being.

Balwis looked relieved. “I’ll agree to both suggestions, Yozef. We can hold the trial as soon as Stritton gets here. If he’s in Orosz City and able, it shouldn’t take more than two or three days.”

“All right, I’ll get a semaphore message off to Stritton. I met with him two days before I left to come here. He was in good health and mentioned the daily meetings he was having with other adjudicators. They can work without him for the sixday or so it takes for the trial. I’ll mark it as urgent and request he come with all speed. The weather is clear, so he should get the message before dark or early tomorrow. In either case, the trial can be held as soon as he arrives.”

“I see one problem,” said Wyfor. “As the chief magistrate of Preddi Province, I would be the one presenting the facts to the judges. For something like this trial, I don’t think I’m the appropriate person. Part of my job was to prevent just what happened in this case, which means I failed.”

“I agree someone else should present the case,” said Balwis. “Wyfor, you’ve done just what I asked of you—kept a lid on the worst possibilities. We’ve already talked about this. It was always too much to hope that nothing like this would happen. But now that it has, it’s all of our responsibility to see it doesn’t happen again.”

Wyfor shrugged, obviously unconvinced of his exculpation. “I could appoint another Preddi magistrate to present the facts or make it someone from my office. My first inclination is to bring the Ponth magistrate to Preddi City. He’s the most familiar with what happened and all the people involved.”

“I doubt he’ll be enthused about the idea,” said Yozef.

“Why don’t I care if he wants to do it or not?” snarled Balwis. “It’s his Goddamn duty to do it if I say so.”

“True,” said Yozef wryly, “but it might be better to phrase it as if you trust his ability to do it for the good of all Preddi.”

CHAPTER 9

RHANJUR GAYA

Waiting for the trial meant postponing Yozef’s return to Orosz City. As excited as he was to spend more time with the other survivors, the delay meant his longer presence in Preddi City made it impossible for him to avoid meeting with foreign representatives. To Balwis’s disgust, even before the Narthani had left, Yozef had decreed that all embassies would be in Preddi City. He recognized the importance of developing relationships with realms on this part of Anyar, but he didn’t want representatives so close he had to deal with them daily.

Depending on how different parties presented themselves, ambassadors or representatives began arriving in Preddi City within months of the Narthani expulsion. Embassies or residences were built or under construction for three of the Landolin kingdoms and five of the Iraquinik Confederation members—kahsaks.

Although Yozef required embassies to be in Preddi City, the ambassadors and limited staff were allowed to travel freely within the province after receiving permission from Balwis’s office and accompanied by one or more Caedelli liaisons. There were exceptions. Travel was forbidden to areas involving the island’s military, industry, and innovation development.

An exception to embassies being restricted to Preddi Province was granted for Fuomon. It had an embassy and staff in Orosz City, as appropriate for the thus far only acknowledged formal ally of Caedellium. It was there that Eina Saisannin spent most of her time as the Fuomon ambassador when she was not working with Maera on developing the University of Caedellium.

“You’ve got to start meeting with all these people,” said Balwis. “They constantly pester Savronel and me. Every one of them wants something from you. You know Savronel—he’s always imperturbable, but I’m tempted to take Wyfor’s offer to make a few of them disappear. You may be here to meet with your two Amerikans, but the representatives were clamoring for definite meeting times even before you arrived. Now, with the trial, your excuses are too flimsy.”

“Before?” wondered Yozef. “How did they find out?”

“How in the Evil One’s name do I know?”

“Oh, all right. Tell me again. How many are there?”

“I try not to pay them more attention than I have to. Savronel knows the details.” Balwis turned to his adviser. “Well?”

“Not all of them call themselves ambassadors,” said Storlini. “From Landolin, those from Munjor and Naskin claim to be ambassadors representing their kings. The man and his party from Mureet say they’re ‘representatives.’ As for the Iraquiniks, I’m not sure all of them understand exactly what an ambassador is.”

One side of Storlini’s mouth twitched, which Yozef interpreted as the man’s version of a belly-shaking laugh.

“Whatever they call themselves, five of the confederation members have people in Preddi City acting like embassies. So far, they’re all from the central and northern kahsaks—Aro, Gympo, Sensarsha, Ponomyna, and Kolinka.”

“What are they like?” asked Yozef. “I’ve never met any of them.”

“Few of us have before now. We had trade with the various Iraquinik kahsaks until the Narthani shut down external contact. Mainly here in Preddi City, although I understand there was some trade with Seaborn and Pewitt. I don’t know the details. Most of the Preddi merchants involved in trade are dead or were shipped off by the Narthani. It took some time to find the few remaining Preddi clansmen who spoke Kahsakist, a language understood throughout the confederation. The language evidently originated among the southern Iraquinik kahsaks. It became adapted as a trade language and a common tongue when Narthon became a threat. Some of the Iraquinik states use different local languages, but most of their leaders and merchants can speak Kahsakist.

“When the first ones started arriving, we managed to communicate because a few of them knew Caedelli from past years. In several cases, we even used Narthani and Suvalu. The last one is the Throat trade language. As you can imagine, it’s been quite trying to use four different languages with them.”

“Well . . . we’ll have to do something about that,” said Yozef. “They aren’t going away, and we have to talk with ’em. Same with the Landoliners. Do they have a common language?”

“Evidently, five of the six Landolin kingdoms speak languages similar enough that they can make themselves understood among one another, with varying degrees of difficulty. It would be hard for an outsider to learn one of those kingdoms’ dialects and then expect to speak easily with people from the others. However, we have two other options. Trade is a major activity on Landolin. Suvalu has speakers near the eastern cities, though not many at the local level. Then there’s High Landolin—something of a scholarly language that a few Caedelli speak, especially any medicants who had training on Landolin.”

“You said five of six. What about the other one?” asked Yozef.

“That’s Jahmnor, the largest of the Landolin kingdoms in area and also population. I’m told most of the land is relatively poor or mountainous. They speak a different language from the other kingdoms. Jahmnor also seems to have allied itself with the Narthani against the other Landolin kingdoms.”

Yozef frowned. ”Yes, I read your reports of information you got about what’s happening on Landolin. Is it still looking as bad as your reports?”

“Maybe even worse. I can brief you later on what I’ve learned, but I suggest you schedule some significant time with the Munjor ambassador. You already know him. Rhanjur Gaya.”

Yozef’s eyebrows shot up. “Gaya? I remember him being happy to leave Caedellium and go back to real civilization. Even tried to cajole me to move with promises of gold and women.”

“Well, he’s back,” said Balwis, “and he brought half the damn population of Munjor with him.”

“Not quite,” said Storlini, “but it’s evident the Munjorians are serious about establishing close contact with Caedellium. Gaya’s not reticent about spending gold. The embassy compound he’s having built will be quite lavish. It certainly has to be large to house the ninety-three people they have here.”

“Ninety-three!” echoed Yozef. “What do they all do?”

“Officially, they all have explainable duties. For one thing, they’re buying wheat and cured meat in large quantities.”

“I have to admit Gaya and his minions are going to be important for Preddi,” Balwis said grudgingly. “That’s assuming we develop a long-term trading relationship. I had to order purchases of cattle and krykors to be approved by the clan headquarters. The Munjorians were offering high prices that were too good for farmers and ranchers to turn down. We’re trying to build the herds and the flocks back up from what they were reduced to during the occupation and war. I’m allowing more purchases than I would like, but I figure it’s necessary to maintain a level of trade that could increase dramatically in the future.”

Yozef only nodded, but he approved of Balwis’s decision. His one reservation about supporting Balwis as the new Preddi hetman after the war had been whether Balwis could take a long-term view. Maera told him that Ceinwyn had turned into a major adviser of her husband. When the Keelan daughters were growing up, Maera, the eldest, had been an avid student of her father’s performance as the Keelan hetman. Ceinwyn, however, had seemed uninterested in clan operations and inter-clan politics. To everyone’s surprise, including Maera’s and their parents, Ceinwyn may have feigned lack of interest but had nevertheless listened. Along with Storlini and advisers loaned from other clans, she helped Balwis in those first months and continued to be his touchstone.

“All right, go ahead and set up a meeting with Gaya for tomorrow morning. As I remember, he was on Caedellium long enough to learn the language. When we get to the other ambassadors or representatives or whatever they call themselves, we’ll have to figure out translators.”

Yozef paused and stroked his short beard with fingers and thumb. “Are they still flying that awful flag like Gaya did in Orosz City?”

“Same one and it’s even bigger than the one he had before,” said Balwis. “I’ve had complaints about children being scared when they saw the flag and parents having to tell them that the monster is only pretend.”

Storlini cleared his throat. “That doesn’t appear to be accurate. I’ve talked with several of the Munjorians. They call the creature a merstor.”

Seems appropriate, thought Yozef. Sounds close enough to monster.

The fearsome-looking creature resembled a large bull with the head of a warthog endowed with a gaping mouth of teeth. When Yozef first spied the Munjor flag in Orosz City, he immediately recognized its similarity to Entelodonts, a group of apex predators from Earth’s Miocene Epoch. It was the second such similarity after the balmoths of the Hewell and Vandinke provinces—a huge herbivore resembling Paracertheriums, also of the Miocene. The first example he had passed off as parallel evolution, but the merstor suggested there might have been a transplantation of organisms from Earth to Anyar far earlier than with humans. That possibility turned to certainty in Yozef’s mind while on a hunting party with the Vandinke hetman. They were waiting in a blind for beaters to drive deer-like animals within firing range. Instead, a pack of predators appeared. Once again, Yozef’s childhood interest in extinct dinosaurs and mammals paid off. He identified them as Hyaenodons, yet another Miocene mammal or something eerily similar.

Since that experience, Yozef had kept an eye out for other possible Miocene mammals, but there were still only those three.

The next morning, Yozef went to meet the Munjorian ambassador in Balwis’s office. Gaya was already present, dressed as Yozef expected in clashing colors of a fabric he didn’t recognize but that had a sheen like silk.

I have to remember to find out what this is, thought Yozef. Mark’s story about textiles in Frangel bears thinking about for Caedellium. If we do try and develop a significant textile industry here, we need to assess the status of all textiles in this part of Anyar.

When Yozef entered, Gaya leaped to his feet from a chair by the window. The Munjorian went through a series of bows and flourishes Yozef assumed were appropriate on Landolin for interaction with someone of high rank. Yozef didn’t know which rank difference the routine acknowledged. He didn’t care.

“Paramount! It’s an honor that you agreed to meet with me. That the clans elevated you to Paramount Hetman was a wise and justly deserved decision. Your reputation in the defeat of the superior Narthani Army is legendary, and your fame is already spreading throughout Anyar.”

Yozef had the urge to glance down to check the level of shit. It had to be well above his ankles, though maybe not quite to his knees.

“First of all, Rhanjur, let’s settle one thing. We can do without the krykor dung. We’ll have a short meeting if you keep talking like that. Also, I’m Yozef, and you’re Rhanjur.”

“Forgive me, Yozef. I was back in Munjor long enough to forget the Caedelli are less formal than my people, and you even more so. I admit it’s refreshing to dispense with superficialities.”

“We can agree on that, so let’s sit down and proceed. We can also get right to the point of your visit. You want our help against the Narthani.”

Gaya was only momentarily taken aback. “Ah . . . as I remember one of your sayings, getting right to the point even earlier than I expected. You’re right. Munjor does want Caedellium’s help. And to reciprocate with equally blunt honesty, if we can’t get the help of Caedellium, then we want your help.”

Yozef opened his mouth, but Gaya cut him off. “Before we say more, Yozef, Munjor has other reasons for wanting closer relationships with Caedellium. I assume Hetman Balwis has told you of our attempts to buy food.” Gaya smiled. “I confess Balwis reacted faster than we expected in limiting our purchases. I was dubious about your appointment of him as a new Preddi hetman, but I see I should not have doubted your sagacity.”

“The All-Clan Conclave made the decision.”

“Of course,” said Gaya, unconvinced. “As I said, we want better relations with Caedellium. Despite your victory here, the Narthani bastards haven’t gone away. I’m not sure how much information in this part of Anyar you’re getting about what’s happening elsewhere.”

Yozef thumped fingers of his right hand on the tabletop. “Nowhere near as much as I wish we had. We know a large Narthani fleet sailed south months ago. We’ve heard rumors of fighting on Landolin, but the accounts are so sketchy and contradictory that we don’t know what’s happening.”

Gaya’s lips pursed, and lines deepened on his forehead. “I’m afraid you are vastly out of touch. I don’t doubt you’re aware, but you need to develop better channels of communication. When the Narthani fleet approached Landolin, you can imagine the frenzy of all the kingdoms. The consensus was they were going to invade either Naskin or Mureet. Many of our leaders thought they would avoid Munjor at first. We believe we’re better able to defend our nation. I wasn’t so optimistic, but we were all surprised when they kept sailing south and invaded Amalor. The island kingdom has benefited from its isolation from the rest of Landolin and has avoided most of the conflicts over the last centuries. That has led to complacency. They believed extensive military preparations were not necessary. I don’t know if there’s anything they could’ve done in face of the Narthon invasion, but the Amalorese surrendered in less than a month.

“We’re still gathering information, but we suspect Jahmnor was involved, though we’re not sure exactly how. Within a few months, the Narthani apparently felt their hold on Amalor was strong enough that some of their army is slowly moving to Jahmnor. The obvious conclusion is that Jahmnor believes that by allying with the Narthani, they can eventually control more or even all of Landolin, even if they’re agents of the Narthon Empire.”

“A belief that will lead to bitter recognition,” said Yozef.

“And it will be richly deserved,” said Gaya angrily, “but I’m sure you understand our concern.”

“It looks like the same strategy the Narthani tried on Caedellium,” said Yozef, “only on a grander scale. Instead of using the Selfcell and Eywell clans, they’ll use Jahmnor before eventually turning on them if they conquer all of Landolin. All right, Rhanjur. Munjor is in trouble. I can see that, and I would hope the best for you, but there are major limitations on what Caedellium can do to help.”

“I have to assume you don’t think Caedellium can survive if the Narthani conquer all of Landolin.”

Yozef nodded. “It will put the island in danger, but it’s not a certainty. I assume Munjor and the other three kingdoms will do everything they can to fight the Narthani and the Jahmnorese. Landolin is a continent and not an island, so even a successful conquest could take many years. Then the Narthani might turn their eyes to the Iraquiniks, who are a major enemy. Why waste time on a small island when there’s no strategic advantage?

“There’s always the possibility of the unknown happening. As the years pass, Iraquinik, Fuomon, and the Harrasedics could put enough pressure on Narthon to prevent them from expanding more. Narthon could come apart internally. Large empires inevitably have factional fighting, either among ethnicities or leaders trying to break off a piece of the empire for their own. Hell . . . maybe God will intervene.”

Rhanjur sneered. “From what I know of the Caedelli God, I don’t think you believe the last possibility will happen. Neither can Munjor have faith the Narthani can be stopped on Melosia, by either its enemies or internal conflicts. Munjor’s problem is what will happen in the next year or two, assuming nothing else diverts the Narthani.”

“So, come straight to the point, Rhanjur. What would you have Caedellium do?”

“Our maximum hope would be that Caedellium sends men, weapons, and the leaders who defeated the Narthani. Naturally, that last item consists mainly of you, Yozef, but also other men who had major roles in the planning and fighting.”

Yozef appeared expressionless. “How big was the Narthani force that attacked Amalor?”

Gaya’s grin was tight. “They seem to have learned at least one lesson from Caedellium. They landed what you called the corps similar to the one of Marshal Gullar, about sixty thousand men. The Amalor resistance was already collapsing when they landed perhaps half that number months later.”

“Ninety thousand men?” Yozef shook his head. “That sounds ominous. All or mostly infantry, I assume?”

Gaya gestured impatiently. “That seems to be true, although the details of what happened on Amalor are sketchy. The Narthani may have brought horses with them, but they likely captured enough Amalorese horses for scouting.”

“That’s not going to work for Landolin,” said Yozef. “It’s too big. They’ll need to have significant cavalry. You witnessed us using what we called dragoons here on Caedellium. The majority of the men were already competent riders. It also allowed us to take advantage of our knowledge of the terrain and gave us more mobility than the Narthani. And we didn’t have the time or numbers to train our people in infantry tactics.

“I don’t know the status of Landolin military history and tactics, but I assume it’s something similar to what’s happening on Melosia. You must’ve had conflicts within Landolin and have watched what’s happened with the Narthani against the Iraquiniks and the Fuomi.”

A disgusted look flashed over Gaya’s face. “Too many of our leaders continued to delude themselves that what was happening on Melosia had nothing to do with Landolin. Even the invasion of Caedellium didn’t faze the blindest. The only attention our leaders paid toward our military was how to deal with traditional methods of warfare on Landolin. The southern third of the continent is mainly open prairie and rough country not the best for farming. A major part of Jahmnor’s economy is raising horses, cattle, and krykors for sale to the other Landolin kingdoms. Jahmnor’s army also relies heavily on horsemen. They are fearsome fighters in open terrain, but when they’ve tried invading kingdoms to their north, their armies met infantry blocks and turned back.”

“Infantry? Muskets, pikes, or both, like the original Narthani organization when they came to Caedellium?”

“Both. On Landolin, it’s been less than two lifetimes since we used mainly pikes, with only a few muskets. We’ve slowly changed to more muskets, but Landolin has lagged behind Melosia, where all the realms are phasing out pikes. Our leaders are once again oblivious to how fast military tactics and weapons are changing. If anything, you have accelerated things even more. We have unconfirmed reports of the Narthani using observation balloons on Amalor. One of our spies in Jahmnor reported a company-size Narthani unit that looked much like your dragoons—men who rode to battle and fought on foot.”

“Only a company?” asked Yozef. “That doesn’t sound like a major change in their cavalry tactics. Maybe they’re experimenting, or your spy didn’t correctly interpret what he saw.”

Gaya shrugged. “Maybe, but the balloons were confirmed, and it’s only reasonable to assume anything new the Narthani faced on Caedellium has led them to try and implement it themselves.”

“Even so,” said Yozef, “if the Narthani have one and a half corps in Amalor and Jahmnor, that’s maybe 90,000 men. Let’s assume Jahmnor will have enough horses to equip Narthani cavalry units. How many men could Jahmnor put in the field for a war?”

“At least 300,000 horsemen, maybe as many as 700,000 if they were older and younger and with poor-quality horses. They also have infantry mainly used for occupation and construction. They’re not considered serious military assets, but if the Jahmnorese mustered all of them, that could be another half a million men.”

Yozef didn’t like the way the Landolin scenario was shaping up. “You know, Rhanjur, if the Narthani are serious about incorporating all of Landolin, there’s a good chance they’ll send even more troops. The Jahmnorese might impulsively attack, but the Narthani will try to meticulously plan. Your best chance might be right now, with the four Landolin kingdoms together striking Jahmnor before the Narthani become too entrenched.”

Rhanjur glanced to one side as if wanting to spit. “There’s no chance of that happening. There’s too much distrust among kingdoms, plus each will hope nothing happens or that somehow their kingdom will be spared. But even if they were to cooperate, I’m not sure I can support what you suggest. What if the four kingdoms attacked together and were defeated? It would mean the entire island falls quickly, instead of taking many years.”

Yozef thought for several moments before he sighed. “You may be right. It was a quick thought I take back, but some kind of alliance is still critical if not to attack first, then to defend. What are the chances of that?”

“The question was still unsettled when I left Munjor. Panhan borders both Jahmnor and Munjor. We have a history of coordination against Jahmnor, so it is generally assumed we will come together against the combined threat of the Narthani and the Jahmnorese. Mureet is problematic. Many of us believe they will join an effort against a southern invasion, but it may not come until the invasion is underway, making their help less effective. Naskin almost certainly will never join. There’s too much ill will from past conflicts. Also, by being the farthest from Jahmnor, they are more inclined to be oblivious to the threat or to hope the more southern kingdoms fight and win.”

Yozef sighed again and shook his head. “I don’t know what to say, Rhanjur. You’re in a bad spot, similar to where Caedellium was a couple of years ago. Of course, the details are different because Landolin is so much larger and your population so much greater, but the basic situation is almost the same. We had eighteen clans not all accustomed to cooperating and certainly not ceding to a central authority. You have four nations but more serious past conflicts than the clans had. Still, you need to find a way to work together.

“We certainly will not commit Caedellium to support you in a major way. Our people suffered so much during the war that they need a time of peace and recovery. Plus, what could we do? Our population is small compared to the Landolin kingdoms. Even if we agreed to send a few regiments of dragoons, they would be insignificant for the scale of fighting liable to occur.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” said Gaya. “For the type of warfare your people used against the Narthani, they may be the best in the world. Any capabilities that add to our ability to resist are important, even if they might seem small. There’s also the possibility of your people training ours, assuming our leaders wake up in time.

“Probably more important than any numbers is your reputation. News of the Narthani defeat on Caedellium is only slowly spreading throughout Anyar, but I made sure the leaders and people of Munjor know all of it. I confess I may even have enhanced the details such that the events have begun to take on a mythical character. Don’t believe the news hasn’t spread among the Narthani, despite their efforts to hide what happened. At least for a time, any Narthani troops facing Caedelli will be worried even before a shot is fired.”

“That may not make much difference if the enemy has ten times as many men as our magical Caedelli warriors,” said Yozef.

“True, but your people’s presence at the right time in the right place could turn a battle.”

“If, maybe, under the right circumstances . . . I’m afraid that’s not a very compelling argument for us committing men.”

“There’s something else that may be even more important in the long run,” said Gaya. “The Munjorian military is proud, both the leaders and the common soldiers. They might initially not take it well if Caedelli units were fighting alongside them, no matter what the Caedelli reputation. However, I believe that once our people saw yours in action, pride would stiffen their resolve to match or surpass the legendary Caedelli.”

Yozef didn’t immediately respond. He conceded Gaya’s last point might be the most significant. Morale and pride were siblings for a military unit. During his gamester days on Earth, he had read of the importance of morale on an army’s effectiveness. It was one of Sun Tzu’s primary bullet points that an army with high morale will defeat a more numerous foe with lesser morale. He remembered watching a YouTube video discussion on the merits of having some units be given special recognition. A marine general argued that to enhance the reputation of one unit inherently risked other units feeling inferior. An army colonel countered diplomatically that the argument was a cop-out. The goal should be to make every unit feel special. He then offered a theoretical experiment to the marine officer.

“If you take two hundred men and randomly divide them into hundred-man forces and then tell one of the groups they were selected because tests showed they would be superior fighters, and then pitted the two groups against each other in real or simulated warfare, what would you predict to be the outcome?”

The marine officer hemmed and hawed before conceding the group not told they were special would have no chance. He quickly went on to argue it was a specious scenario, but the point was made.

Yozef understood and sympathized with Gaya, but it didn’t change his opinion. “That may be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that Caedellium will not send troops to fight the Narthani on Landolin.”

Gaya’s face fell for a moment, then he recovered. “Well . . . I had to try, and I’m sure you expect me not to give up. However, neither do I believe that Yozef Kolsko would sit by and do nothing while the Narthani slowly, or quickly, incorporated Landolin into the Narthon Empire. I expect that even while we were talking, your mind was working through what Caedellium might do to help.”

Yozef’s blue-gray eyes were as cold as a winter blizzard in the mountains of Vandinke and Bultecki provinces. “You may be right in this case, but I would caution you not to believe you can predict my thinking.”

Gaya appeared unfazed, but Yozef noted that the two smaller fingers of the Munjorian’s left hand quivered up and down as if playing a piano trill.

“But?” said Gaya with an expectant tone, implying Yozef’s response wasn’t complete.

The meeting with Gaya and the request for help were no surprise to Yozef. He had expected something like this as soon as word came that the Narthani fleet had bypassed Caedellium, heading farther south.

“I’ll have to speak with my advisers and a few key hetmen before any commitment is made. Any help would have to be in the area of supplies. Although Balwis is justified in restricting the sale of animals until his new clan is reconstructed, most of the other clans expanded their herds dramatically in the hope of eventually exporting to Iraquinik and Landolin.”

“I understood that many of your herds were slaughtered to feed your people and keep the animals from the Narthani during the last phase of your war,” said Gaya.

“It’s true the number of animals was reduced, but there were still more left than traditionally raised on the island. Remember that the Narthani stopped all export trade for eighteen clans for several years. The animals didn’t just stop breeding. In a few clans with mountainous regions, tens of thousands of dressed animal carcasses were stored in deep ice caverns after partial brining. In addition, more tens of thousands of animals . . . well, maybe hundreds of thousands, I don’t know the exact number, were driven out of the path of Gullar’s army. When the fighting stopped, the herds were dispersed back to where they came from and resumed breeding.

“I don’t know all the details of the traditional methods of preserving meat here on Caedellium, but I’m sure we can export tens of thousands of cured carcasses a year. As for wheat, grain is not as easily stored long term, so farmers have been growing for only local consumption. I can encourage the clan hetmen to plan for increased wheat planting, but implementation would be slow until we confirm export markets.”

Gaya took on a pensive look. “Hmmm . . . I’m thinking about ways to store wheat long term. There is a type of dried bread our ships take on long voyages. I’ve never eaten it myself, but I’ve heard ships’ officers talk about it. They call it sofel. It’s supposed to keep almost indefinitely. I don’t know what it tastes like, but it can’t be too bad.”

Hardtack, thought Yozef. Must be something like this sofel. He remembered novels and movies about sailing days on Earth. The Hornblower series, Mutiny on the Bounty, Master and Commander. Also, a book series he had read. He thought the author was Stirling, Drake, or maybe both. A story about an officer named “Raj” something or another who was uniting nations on a planet that had lost contact with the rest of humanity. The Raj character was leaving on a campaign, and the quartermaster service tried foisting off improperly prepared hardtack. Something about needing to be baked twice, but it was baked once and already infested by insects.

“That’s something we can both look into,” said Yozef. “I’ll have someone talk to our bakers to see if we can make this sofel or some other version of bread that would keep for at least months and maybe years. If that’s possible, then we can figure out ways to store large quantities away from pests. That would be another source of food for shipping to Landolin. Of course, the long-term storage might be your problem. We could ship wheat and barley immediately after harvest. However, some of the same constraints will hold as for meat. We wouldn’t go into full production until there is a guaranteed market, and you would need to pay for getting the infrastructure in place for large-scale production.”

Gaya’s face showed more animation the longer Yozef talked. “I think I can guarantee markets for everything you can export to Landolin. Food is not a critical factor at this time, but if full-scale fighting breaks out with the Narthani and the Jahmnorese, then production and distribution are bound to be hurt.”

“I think you can see a problem, Rhanjur. Landolin may eventually want all the food Caedellium can provide, but you can’t say for certain when that demand will develop. A disconnect is likely between when you want the shipments and the time it takes Caedellium to increase production and get the food to you. That time lag could be as much as a year.”

Gaya’s previous enthusiasm waned. The lines on his face seemed to come and go as they talked.

“There must be a way around this. If you couldn’t begin shipping for a year, it could be too late.”

“I suppose we could store more completely cured meat in the ice caves and then ship to Landolin when it’s needed, but the meat would have to be paid for in advance. The same for any of this sofel we produced.”

“I can’t commit Munjor on my own authority,” said Gaya. “Neither can I speak for the other three kingdoms. However, I believe we can work something out. I can get messages off to Munjor as soon as there is transportation.”

Yozef looked thoughtful. “Caedellium only has a single sloop being tested at sea and the crew properly trained.” He smiled. “It represents our entire navy, so I wouldn’t yet risk a long open-sea voyage. However, I can speak with the Fuomi ambassador about whether one of their sloops could carry a message. In fact, that brings up another topic. Right now, the information flow between Caedellium and Landolin depends on unscheduled ship traffic. It would be to both Caedellium’s and Landolin’s benefit if regular communication could be scheduled. The Fuomi might be willing to help, but what about Munjor and the other kingdoms? Could you and they commit sailing vessels on regular routes?”

“I’ll have to check, but I’m sure it can be worked out, especially once trade is regular. It’s an outstanding idea. I wish I’d thought of it.”

All right, thought Yozef, let’s don’t get back to kissing ass.

“We both know we’re each getting something we want. Caedellium needs more trade and updated information on what’s happening on Landolin, and you’ll get food and see it as a way to keep us involved, whether we want to be or not. I’ll talk to the Fuomi ambassador about sending the sloop to Munjor. You should prepare whatever letters and reports are needed to send to your leaders.”

“I think for this, I’ll have to go myself,” said Gaya. “Oh, my staff and I will work on written reports until I leave, but words on paper will not be enough for the convincing and politicking that my family and I will have to do. I’ll probably need to be gone several months and possibly more, but I’ll send a ship back as soon as Munjor agrees to regular message exchanges between us.

“Of course, there are more needs than food in wartime,” Gaya said. “Gunpowder use might increase faster than we can produce it. We would like another source.”

Yozef smirked. “You mean you haven’t figured out how we make gunpowder from bird shit? I figured you would’ve solved it by now. I assume you have spies on Caedellium.”

“Knowing something is possible to make and even having some hints how it’s done doesn’t mean it’s always easy to take the last steps,” said Gaya, unabashedly confessing to spies as if all parties knew they spied on all the others.

Yozef’s gesture waved away the problem of spies. “I think providing you with gunpowder is the easiest thing we’ve talked about so far. We can quickly expand production and ship it to you, store it here, or both. There is no storage problem, except keeping it free from moisture as much as possible and not having it blow up on you. We can arrange production on an immediate payment basis.”

“Assuming this goes reasonably well, there’s going to be a huge flow of gold and silver to Caedellium,” said Gaya.

“Yes, but we may also take some other payment in exchange. For many reasons, Caedellium needs more skilled craftsmen. We have projects where we simply don’t have enough workers with specialized skills. The populations of the Landolin kingdoms are far larger than Caedellium. We can take some of the payment by having workers move here. They would have to come willingly. If they have families, they would come, too, and have to realize it was a long-term move.”

Gaya slid a finger over one edge of his oiled goatee. “What kind of craftsmen are you talking about?”

“Blacksmiths, gunsmiths, shipwrights, experienced miners, apothecaries—young ones, anyway. I’m sure there are more, but those are my first thoughts.”

“What are these projects you need them for?”

“That’s our concern. Your concern is how to pay for what we’ll send you. An obvious question is, how would you know which people to send us, and how can you evaluate our needs? We may have to send representatives to Munjor and the other kingdoms to help make the evaluations and selections. I suppose they could also serve as our ambassadors.”

“I’m sure we can work this out,” said Gaya.

“There’s something else,” said Yozef. “We lack knowledge of Landolin, its kingdoms, and the internal politics. I’d like to send people from Orosz City to talk with you and others. Probably the same for the Iraquinik kahsaks.”

“It would be easier for all of our interactions if our embassy moved to Orosz City.”

Yozef had expected the comment.

“I’m sure we’ll work that out, but let’s start with what we’ve discussed so far. I’ll let you know what the Fuomi say about the sloop.”

CHAPTER 10

PRECEDENT

Two days later, a full carriage arrived at the newly completed Preddi City Meeting Hall. It was not as grand as the Great Hall of the Keelans, which had been built centuries ago to hold the entire clan, but it was intended for meetings or performances of up to three thousand. Today it would be over capacity.

Savronel waited for them and opened the carriage door. Balwis exited first, followed by Yozef, Mark, Heather, and Ceinwyn. Maghen had volunteered that she would rather take Alys to the beach. Details of the trial had been finalized the previous day, and Yozef had clued in Mark and Heather only that morning.

Savronel whispered something to Balwis, who then turned to Yozef. “Wyfor wants to see me about security arrangements at the trial. It should start on time, but three rings from the Liberty Bell will announce that everyone attending is to sit and be quiet. That’s when the three of us will enter.”

A feature of the hall was a tower with a single bronze bell made from Narthani cannon.

Yozef nodded. “All right, Balwis, I’ll meet you in the room serving as the judges’ chamber in time to get dressed.”

The two men walked away, and Yozef looked at Ceinwyn. “I’ll explain more of what’s going to happen to Mark and Heather. I’ll use English to be sure they understand the details.”

“That’s fine, Yozef. I have a couple of errands to finish before the trial.”

“Mark, Heather, sorry you haven’t seen much of me the last couple of days. They’ve been hectic, what with this trial and meetings. However, I thought your attending the trial might be a good part of your education about Caedellium.”

“So, I take it you’re to be a judge at the trial?” asked Heather.

“I’m one of three judges. There is some slight variation among the clans, but the basic structure is that for serious accusations, an expert in the clan’s laws presides over the trial. He or she is called an adjudicator. The person may be a scholastic associated with a cathedral complex or, in a few cases, someone who has no formal position but whom the clan recognizes as expert in their laws and customs. One of the other judges is the clan hetman. The third is usually a prominent citizen who serves for one year.

“We’re trying to standardize the procedures for all the clans. There’s been some resistance, but not as much as I initially feared. Still, changes can seem to go slow, but I’m leery of pushing too hard too fast. Naturally, I eventually want a single set of laws that apply throughout the island.

“As I said, the adjudicator will preside, but the other two judges are free to ask questions. The proceedings are straightforward. A magistrate, someone who’s sort of a combination sheriff and prosecutor, has arranged for witnesses to be present and starts the questioning, which the judges often take over for each witness. The magistrate decides which witnesses are relevant for the truth of what happened, and the accused gives the magistrate witnesses he or she wants that are not already on the magistrate’s list.”

“Wait. You mean there’s no defense counsel?” asked Heather.

“I know,” said Yozef. “I was a little taken aback at the trial I witnessed shortly after I got here. The system is not adversarial like we had in the U.S., where you have a prosecutor and a defense lawyer. You know . . . the defense lawyer trying to discredit witnesses or calling into question factual evidence, and a jury of citizens deciding what to believe. Here, the judges are also the jury. I’m not sure what you call how they do it here in Caedellium—maybe something of a factual system. It’s got obvious flaws, like how can you be sure the accused is treated fairly? Although I haven’t witnessed many trials, I understand other people can put forward possible witnesses if the accused’s ability is considered impaired.

“On the other hand, it goes fast. For example, a man was killed four days ago in a town north of here, Ponth, and today we have the trial. It helps that serious crimes are relatively rare for the population size, possibly due to it being a fairly close-knit society. I also can’t recall complaints about the system, so the citizens seem to accept it. Of course, I can’t say whether that’s because they approve or don’t know anything different. Now, I have to go get ready.”

Yozef motioned to a teenage girl who had accompanied Savronel. “She’ll show you to your seats. You’ll have a good view of everything that happens and have no trouble hearing. Balwis tells me the architecture of the building is such that all three thousand–plus people should hear the proceedings.”

Thirty minutes later, Heather sat in the front row aisle seat to the right of a stage with a table and three chairs obviously intended for the judges. Several hundred people were already there when they entered the hall. It didn’t take long for every available space to be occupied, seats and standing room only, except for the two aisles separating rows. Between the stage and the audience was a space with three chairs centered and a dozen chairs to one side. On the other side was a seat on a two-foot-high platform.

“I assume that’s the witness box or docket or whatever they call it,” said Heather.

Mark didn’t need to be telepathic to sense she disapproved of the system. “Remember where you are, Heather. This is not the U.S. We’re in no position to judge, at least not yet. I don’t know about the legal system in Sulako, but the fact that you were so easily made a slave doesn’t say much about trusting that system. As for Frangel, I admit to my obliviousness for too long, but the first time I got in trouble, the people I knew accepted it was best to run for it and not trust the system. It was pretty much the same the second time.”

She didn’t appear mollified and was about to speak when she noticed the level of talking quickly subside. A man dressed in black and white and carrying a six-foot staff walked to the front of the room. He faced the audience and waited for absolute silence before pounding the scepter’s base on the floor three times.

“All present heed the justice of Caedellium. All present heed their roles in this proceeding. All present acknowledge the justice that protects the people.”

He then pounded the floor three more times, turned, and walked to the left of the stage. From the right came three men dressed in black-and-white checkered robes. Mark and Heather didn’t recognize the first man they assumed was the adjudicator. Following him were Balwis and then Yozef. The three men sat at the table, facing the audience. The adjudicator waved to a man to his left, who opened a side door. Out came first a middle-aged man, also dressed in black and white, followed by two men holding the elbows of a man in shackles. They sat the middle man in a chair facing the judges and stood behind the man’s chair.

The adjudicator waved to his left, and out of another door came nine men and three women, who sat in chairs near the door.

“I guess we know who the accused is,” said Heather dryly.

“And the witnesses,” said Mark.

When everyone was seated, the adjudicator shuffled some papers in front of him. He picked up one sheet and read from it, occasionally glancing up.

“The trial today is to judge Yulwyn Washton, a citizen of Ponth, Preddi Province, accused of two murders. The judges are myself, Halwis Stritton, Chief Caedellium Adjudicator; Hetman Balwis Preddi; and Paramount Hetman Yozef Kolsko. Anyone present who does not believe these three judges are appropriate for the charge, now is the time to speak.”

A general rustling came from people shifting in their seats, but no words were spoken.

“As if anyone is going to object to Balwis and Yozef being judges,” whispered Mark.

Stritton addressed the man who had led Washton and his two guards. “Magistrate Lalton, present the evidence.”

“No opening statements even by the accused, no defense counsel . . . this can’t be a fair trial,” said Heather in more than a whisper in English. Several nearby men and women turned their heads to her and frowned at the noise, not at the unrecognized words.

For the next five minutes, Magistrate Lalton laid out the case. Kleswyn Moody and his fourteen-year-old son, Pala, were walking down a street in Ponce when Washton came up behind them, attacked the father with an ax, then turned on the horrified youth and hacked him several times. The father was still alive, so, after killing the son, Washton turned back to the father, finished him, then threw the ax to the ground, and loudly proclaimed justice was done.

“No attempt was made to flee,” said Lalton, “and Washton continued loudly to justify the murder until I arrived with two assistants and took Washton into custody.”

Lalton then called a series of witnesses who had seen the attack, who had heard Washton’s ramblings on justification, or who knew Washton or the Moody family.

“Doesn’t the accused get to question the witnesses?” said Heather, this time speaking low enough that no one seated nearby responded.

“How would I know? Let’s just see how it all plays out.”

Another witness was called forward, a woman, a lifelong Preddi citizen. She testified to personally knowing the Moody family during the entire Narthani occupation and described the Moody family as typical a family as any Preddi. Magistrate Lalton prompted her on whether she knew of any actions by any member of the Moody family against Preddi people.

“Never! They were the nicest family. Always helping others, whether they were Preddi or Narthani. Several times, when they were sure no one else was listening, Kleswyn apologized for his own people and said how they had had no say in coming to Caedellium. They were simply given three days to get ready and then traveled to a city called Ezarkin, where they were put on a ship and taken to Caedellium.”

“One last question,” said Lalton. “Do you know of any harm the Moody family caused the Washton family?”

“None. On the day it happened, I talked with other people who knew the Moodys. A few of them you’ve already heard give testimony and many others not called. None of us know of any reason why this man killed Kleswyn and Pala.”

“Thank you. You may return to your seat.”

Lalton waited until she sat and then turned to the judges. “That is the summary of facts concerning Yulwyn Washton’s killing of Kleswyn and Pala Moody.”

Adjudicator Stritton nodded, made some notes, then first faced Balwis to his right and Yozef to his left. “Do either of the other judges have questions for any of the witnesses?”

“I have no questions,” said Balwis.

“Neither do I,” added Yozef.

“I have a few questions for the witnesses acquainted with Yulwyn Washton. You may answer from your seat.”

Stritton asked if any of them were surprised at what Washton was accused of. One witness declined to give an opinion, saying he didn’t believe he knew Washton well enough. However, two other witnesses were firm in asserting they were not surprised and, in retrospect, believed all the signs were there for what happened.

The adjudicator addressed Washton. “Ser Washton, do you wish to question or refute any of the witnesses?”

Washton snorted. “Why should I? They mainly told the truth. I killed two Narthani abominations and only wish I could have killed more.”

“If you have no questions of the witnesses, then do you wish to explain to the court any justification for the killings?”

Washton proceeded to describe what the Narthani had done to his family. Murmurs of sympathy from the audience were frequent, suppressed by glares from the adjudicator. The more Washton talked, the louder his voice rose and the more agitated his gestures grew. On and on it went, how all Narthani should be killed. That anyone not killing Narthani was a traitor to Caedellium. That he was sorry the rest of the Moody family had not been on the street that morning.

The audience murmurings slackened the more Washton raved. The Moody mother was pregnant. Another of their children was three years old.

“Think they’re going to let this go on?” whispered Heather.

“Maybe there’s no time limit for how long the accused gets to talk,” answered Mark. “I wonder if it’s an indication of how serious they might be. You know. Giving the accused every chance to defend themselves.”

“With this case, it’s more like giving the man enough rope to hang himself,” said Heather.

Mark nodded. “Sure looks that way.”

Either there was no time limit, or it had been reached—or perhaps Adjudicator Stritton determined Washton was repeating himself and had nothing new to add. He waited until the accused paused for a breath and interrupted him.

“I determine that the accused has nothing more to add in his defense. The judges will now retire to consider the case. All participants and observers will remain in their places.”

The man with the staff reappeared and pounded the floor three times, and the three judges went back through the door they had first entered from.

“I’d say this guy is up shit creek,” said Mark. “Telling everyone not to go anywhere, even to relieve themselves, has to mean the verdict is pretty automatic.”

“Well,” said Heather, “this certainly wouldn’t pass muster for a trial back in the U.S., but about the only defense Washton would have back home is if he’s certifiably crazy. I don’t get the impression that would fly here.”

In the little nearby room, the three judges sat at a small round table. Stritton had sheets of notes he set to one side.

“Did either of you hear anything to mitigate Washton’s actions?”

“You’re joking, right?” rejoined Balwis.

Stritton didn’t respond and looked to Yozef.

“I’d hoped he would give us something. Anything we could stretch out as mitigation. It didn’t happen. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice.”

Yozef looked at Balwis. “This is going to fall to you, Balwis. Sorry. Are you still okay with it?”

“He’s my clansman, my responsibility, and my fault that I haven’t had as much control over lingering resentments and calls for vengeance as I should’ve had.”

Yozef reached out and put a hand on Balwis’s shoulder. “You know I don’t put honey on words when it’s something important. This is not your fault. You’ve done better at keeping such things under control than could reasonably have been expected. Unfortunately, it has happened, and Washton gave us as much justification as possible to make an example of him. Neither you nor I want to be in the same position again. Let this be the last time an ex-Narthani is killed by an aggrieved Caedelli.”

“We are all agreed then?” asked Stritton.

“Yes.”

“Agreed.”

“I suggest we wait a few more minutes before going back, so it doesn’t make our decision seem too rushed.”

“I think that train already left the station when you told people not to leave their seats,” said Yozef, slipping into English.

THUD, THUD, THUD, sounded for the third time that morning. The judges filed back and took their seats. Stritton wasted no time as soon as the hall was silent.

“Yulwyn Washton. You are found guilty of two murders with no provocation. In considering a punishment, the judges do not believe you can be allowed to live again on Caedellium without threatening the lives of citizens who were ex-Narthani. In the past, someone guilty of your crimes might have been sold into slavery off Caedellium. However, that is no longer considered an option after the people of Caedellium have experienced the realities of slavery.

“Another punishment in the past has been exile, where the person is taken somewhere on Anyar and left to make a life for himself as best he can. Based on your own testimony, the judges believe that because you so willingly took the lives of Kleswyn and Pala Moody, we would be putting in danger the lives of innocent people wherever you were exiled to.”

Stritton paused briefly and made a hand gesture that elicited a range of responses from the audience: groans, sighs, gasps.

“Yulwyn Washton. You are sentenced to death for the murder of Kleswyn and Pala Moody. You will be taken from this trial and transported to a place determined by Hetman Preddi. There, in a place known only to him or his designate, you will be executed and buried, your grave hidden, the location never to be known.”

“Christ,” whispered Heather. “No appeal. No time to settle affairs. Just march him out and put him against the wall?”

“I’m afraid he’s had his appeal,” said Mark. “Yesterday, Yozef told me that the usual appeals are to the province hetman. Now, with Yozef as the Paramount Hetman, it might be that a further appeal could go to him, although this situation hasn’t arisen before. With both Balwis and Yozef as judges, who is there to appeal to?

“Also, did you notice that only Balwis will know where the execution takes place and where Washton will be buried? Does that mean Balwis will be the executioner and gravedigger?”

“The judge said Balwis or his designate, so it could be someone else who does the dirty work. But how do you think this will be received?” asked Heather. “At first, I got the impression there was some sympathy for Washton. You know, how the magistrate described there were people supporting Washton right after the killing, and then some of the earlier responses from the audience today.”

Mark nodded. “I know it wasn’t his intention, but I think Washton did Balwis and Yozef a huge favor by what he said today. Oh . . . I’m sure there will still be sympathizers, but maybe fewer than before. Having the gravesite unknown is probably deliberate to prevent supporters from treating it like a martyr memorial.

“I’d also give you good odds that Yozef intends this to be an object lesson. Let’s neither you nor I forget that whoever Joe Colsco was before the plane collision, he’s now the ruler of this island. I’m sure we haven’t heard all the details of his history and how he got there.”

Only fifteen minutes later, they witnessed Washton being loaded, shackled, onto the bed of a small wagon. The driver was the Ponth magistrate Lalton, whose face was appropriately as grim as death. Pick and shovel handles protruded from the driver box.

Yozef and Balwis, having shed their robes, walked up as the wagon turned a corner and was lost to view.

“You’re making the magistrate who presented the evidence carry out the execution?” asked Mark.

“There’s no formal execution position on Caedellium,” said Yozef. “Traditionally, there are too few death sentences for that. It would fall to the hetman to determine how the penalty is carried out.”

“I expected to have to do it,” said Balwis, “but I confess I didn’t argue all that much with Yozef.”

“My point had the advantage of being accurate,” said Yozef. “If Balwis were the executioner, none of us needed any added resentment from those who supported Washton. It was also a lesson to local officials who might lapse in keeping an eye on potential trouble. Give Lalton his due for being honest. He reported there had been numerous occasions when Washton mentioned doing exactly what he did. Also, several occasions when Washton confronted and railed at ex-Narthani. Lalton admitted nothing had been done to discourage Washton or look for his family and friends to try and control him. When Lalton goes back to Ponth, Wyfor will accompany him. They’ll be meeting with the mayor and then family and friends of Washton’s. These won’t be pleasant meetings, but fines will be levied against Washton’s extended family for evidently having knowledge of and being sympathetic to what he planned to do. The fines will go to the Moody family members who survived the attack. There will also be forceful admonitions about further incitement against that family or any other ex-Narthani.”

“Hah!” Balwis interjected. “Yozef phrases it civilly, but what it really means is that Wyfor will scare the shit out of anyone liable to cause further trouble.”

CHAPTER 11

AMBASSADORS

Yozef was prepared to be fully engaged on the day meetings began with the other ambassadors and representatives. Not that he looked forward to that day, but he could focus once committed. He wasn’t sure whether it was a trait he’d brought to Anyar or if it had developed out of necessity and experience.

An aide of Storlini’s scheduled the meetings. Ranglid Amapunt was a placid-appearing man of fifty years. He, like Storlini, was an ex-Narthani. In contrast, Storlini was a teacher of lower-class Narthani children, whereas Amapunt had been a staff member of Nizam Tuzere’s, the Narthani civilian administrator during the occupation. As far as Yozef could tell from Storlini’s description, Amapunt had been the equivalent of a troubleshooter for Tuzere. Amapunt placated ranking Narthani civilians and religious prelates who complained for one reason or another, and he interacted with a counterpart on General Akuyun’s staff.

As talented as Amapunt was, it was not an option for a hetman’s ex-Narthani troubleshooter to handle internal Preddi Clan problems. For Balwis, having Amapunt deal with foreigners was a case that fit one of Yozef’s Amerikan sayings.

Yes, Balwis had thought, I can kill two birds with one rock. Or was it two murvors with a brick?

Whichever it was, Amapunt’s considerable talents were put to use by his being in charge of the foreign representatives and their embassies. The other use for Amapunt, and the one most important to Balwis, was that Balwis wouldn’t have to deal with foreigners unless absolutely necessary—a requirement so stringent as to be nearly indistinguishable from an outright ban on direct interaction.

As much as Yozef recognized Balwis’s accomplishments with his clan, he was becoming impatient with the new Preddi hetman’s recalcitrance in dealing with specific unavoidable issues. Fair or not, Yozef had delegated to Balwis the job of being overseer of foreign diplomats. Yet Amapunt being the main point of contact was different from his being the only contact. Too much was ongoing during this visit, but Yozef thought something needed to change. He would talk to Maera when he returned to Orosz City. In turn, she might communicate with Ceinwyn to pass on the Paramount’s concern.

Yozef’s mulling over whether he should brace Balwis during this visit was cut short when the door to the meeting room opened, and in walked Amapunt and Isla Kennrick-Luwis. The latter had followed Yozef to Preddi City and had spent several days working with Amapunt during Yozef’s diversion by the trial and the meeting with Gaya.

“Good morning, Paramount,” said Amapunt. He nodded and sat opposite Yozef at the round table. Isla sat to Yozef’s right and smiled without speaking. Yozef had seen her only once in passing since she’d arrived.

Amapunt laid a folder of papers on the table and opened it. “Isla and I have developed a ‘briefing’ for you—she says the word is how you describe summary information. I will present our report. Isla has a written version if you wish to read it later. She will take it back to Orosz City. She also tells me that you prefer ‘visuals’ to clarify points, and she suggested we use maps.”

He pulled out two folded sheets, opened them, and pushed them toward Yozef.

“These are maps of Landolin and the Iraquinik Confederation. You may write on these copies if you wish. Several more copies are in the folder for Orosz City. You already have some acquaintance with Landolin from your experience with the Munjor representative, Gaya. Therefore, the report for Landolin will be shorter than for Iraquinik. Should I begin, or do you have questions or wish changes?”

“That’s fine. Continue.”

Amapunt pointed to the Landolin map. “As you probably already know, Landolin has five kingdoms on the continent. Amalor is a large island physically separated from the other five, but its people are culturally related. Five kingdoms speak versions of Low Landolin, believed to have derived from an original language sometime in the distant past. The history is unclear. Some distinct dialects of Low Landolin can be almost unintelligible between speakers from different kingdoms or even regions within a single kingdom.

“However, most inter-kingdom communications use High Landolin, a scholastic version of Landolin. High Landolin also has scattered speakers among scholastics, traders, and officials throughout western Anyar and even some scholastics farther east. We also estimate there are as many as two hundred Caedelli who speak enough High Landolin to be understandable and who could translate.”

“Yes,” said Yozef. “I remember that Diera Beynom speaks High Landolin, which she learned when she studied medicant treatments on Landolin. I think it was Naskin where she trained.”

“We’ve made a list of the better Caedelli speakers of High Landolin,” said Isla, “in case we need to use them for translators. Only two are here in Preddi. Most others were lost during the occupation. Six live in Orosz City. At least two of them could probably be convinced to serve as translators as long as they didn’t lose income to support themselves and their families.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem,” said Yozef. “I assume they are concentrated in scholastics.”

“Most, yes, but others have various stories about how they came to speak High Landolin.”

“There is one exception to how we described the Landolin languages,” said Amapunt. “Jahmnor is the southernmost kingdom and the largest in size. Although they speak what could be considered a distant Low Landolin dialect, it has many words and a few grammar forms not found with the other kingdoms. Isla has made an interesting observation.”

“I do not have many examples to compare,” she said, “but I’ve come to suspect that the differences within the Jahmnor language are related to the languages of Ilskin and Buldor. It’s known that those two languages are related, but I could not find references to any relation to Jahmnorese. This would only be a curiosity were it not that Jahmnor seems to have more history of conflicts than the other kingdoms.”

“We suspect this has played a role in the current Narthani actions,” said Amapunt. “We read the notes from your meeting with Gaya. Based on what happened on Caedellium, we believe it likely that the animosity between Jahmnor and the other Landolin kingdoms gave the Narthani an opportunity to ally with Jahmnor against those kingdoms. You mentioned to Gaya that it’s not exactly the same, but it’s a similar strategy as they used with Preddi, Selfcell, and Eywell. That is, pitting kingdoms against one another, instead of clans as here.”

Yozef nodded. “Does what Gaya said agree with what you’ve found out?”

“Mainly,” said Isla, “though, as expected, there may be a slant toward favoring Munjor, particularly with regard to problems in developing a coordinated effort against a Jahmnor/Narthani alliance.”

“Do you have any more unbiased detailed intelligence on how the conflict is going?” asked Yozef.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Amapunt. “That’s a major reason we believe it important to develop closer relations with all the Landolin kingdoms. Not only would this give us more information from different sources we could compare, but it also opens up the opportunity to develop our own independent sources.”

He means spies, thought Yozef.

“Of course, we realize there are other factors you have to consider as Paramount,” said Amapunt.

Yeah, thought Yozef, like trade, which should be good, and entanglements, which would be bad.

“All right,” said Yozef. “I think I get the big picture. I can read all the details in the full report, but do you have any recommendations?”

Amapunt and Isla looked at each other as if hoping the other would speak first. If anything, Amapunt appeared hesitant and Isla impatient.

They agree on something, thought Yozef, but Amapunt feels awkward. In contrast, Isla knows I want honest, straight opinions.

Isla spoke first. “We need direction from you, Paramount. Until we have a framework, we do not know what to look for or how to evaluate what we find.”

Yozef smiled, which made Amapunt nervous and Isla reassured.

In other words, do your fucking job and make decisions, thought Yozef. If only it were always so easy.

“Thanks to both of you, and some clarity will be coming along in the next few months.”

At least, I hope so, thought Yozef. One way or another. My main wish would be for none of this to be important, as long as Caedellium stays out of more wars.

“Now . . . what about Iraquinik?”

“Ah . . . now that’s a different story,” said Amapunt. “Much more complex. It could be argued that the Iraquinik Confederation is a creation of the Narthani. Iraquinik had a long history of strife between the kahsaks . . . that’s what they call their political units. It was only when threatened by Narthon that the kahsaks called a general truce among themselves and began fighting together against a common enemy.” He pushed forward a second map.

“The map shows the nineteen kahsaks. It also shows three traditional alliances among the nineteen kahsaks. The four most northern kahsaks don’t belong to such alliances, probably for two reasons. One is that the Narthani have not pushed hard that far north. Another factor is that the weather and the two inland seas make direct attacks difficult. That could change, of course, but so far, the Narthani have focused on the central and southern kahsaks. What is not shown is that the Narthani have already absorbed considerable territory and peoples related to the remaining kahsaks, and that land is now part of western Narthon. We don’t have exact numbers, but five to seven kahsaks seem to have fallen to the Narthani before the rest of the Iraquinik kahsaks started working together.”

“My understanding is that the borders have been pretty much stalemated for quite some time,” said Yozef.

“That’s true,” said Amapunt. “Depending on who you ask or what the reference is, the borders haven’t changed that much in anywhere from thirty to a hundred years. That doesn’t mean there isn’t major fighting, and one side doesn’t gain ground, but it’s back and forth over time. A couple of the Iraquinik representatives hinted that there’s worry about the two sides being eventually worn down by the Narthani.”

“Do we know how good the coordination is between the . . . uh . . . kahsaks? With nineteen different realms, I can imagine the problems operating together.”

“Again, it depends who is offering an opinion,” said Amapunt. “I’ve heard more than one complaint about other kahsaks not bearing their share of the fighting. Some of this is bound to be the usual belief that your own people are the bravest and are fighting the hardest.”

“How do they coordinate their efforts?’

“That we have almost no information about—including who commands when battles involve men from more than a single kahsak.”

“I almost hate to ask,” said Yozef, “but can they even talk to one another? What is the language situation?”

“We can’t know how much of a problem it is within their different militaries. The three alliances I mentioned are kahsaks with similar but not identical languages within the alliance. That’s only one factor because, from what we’ve learned so far, the alliance members have shifted over time. What you see on the map is only what we think are the latest alliances.”

“It’s not all bad,” said Isla. “Somewhat similar to the Landoliners, the Iraquiniks have a language . . . or dialect . . . I’m not sure how to evaluate what we’re hearing . . . that has speakers in all the kahsaks, though the percentage of the population varies. Kahsakist is closest to the language in the southern kahsaks. Evidently, it was originally a religious language but is now more secular, particularly in trading.”

“All right, so what I’m hearing is that with both Landolin and Iraquinik, there are common-enough languages . . . or dialects . . . to help us communicate without needing too many translators.”

“That’s right, Paramount,” said Amapunt. “It will be easiest with Landolin, but there are a few fluent speakers of Kahsakist on Caedellium.”

“A few?” scoffed Isla. “What I’ve heard is we haven’t found anyone who speaks it.”

Amapunt scowled at Isla. “We’re still searching, so we may find people.”

He sighed. “But Isla is correct. There almost certainly would have been a few speakers in Preddi City. However, the Narthani occupation eliminated almost everyone associated with trading . . . which would have included most Kahsakist speakers. I still think it’s possible to find a few people who might be able to translate, but for the moment, we have to use other languages until more Iraquiniks learn Caedelli . . . Gaya and one other in his party being the most obvious examples right now. As for the other parties sent so far, they all have one or more people who speak Suvalu, High Landolin, or Narthani. We can have translators for all three. Of course, I’m sure the Iraquiniks will eventually have Caedelli speakers, and we’ll have people who have learned Kahsakist.”

“Okay,” said Yozef, “so we’ll have translators for when I meet the representatives, but tell me something about the cultures. Not details. Just give me a sense of what I should expect. You know . . . religions, attitude toward negotiations, general demeanor.”

“Most consistent seem to be the Landoliners,” said Amapunt. “I’ve dealt with their parties for several months, so I think I’m getting a sense of them. They definitely see themselves as more ‘civilized’ than Caedelli, and there’s some justification when you consider the depth and breadth of their history, literature, and level of scholarship.”

Isla coughed, with a pointed stare at Amapunt.

“Uh . . . yes. As Isla has so adroitly called to my attention, the last factor has changed somewhat since your arrival on Caedellium, Paramount. Some of the Landoliners have recognized this, such as Gaya from Munjor, but other ones are yet to be convinced.”

“I think I have a sense of Munjor’s culture,” said Yozef. “Gaya certainly attempted to regale me with its wonders before he returned home. He tried to convince me to move, not quite explicitly saying I could accomplish more and become fabulously rich. It also sounded like a very stratified society.”

“That’s definitely true,” said Isla. “Both Rangild and I have talked with multiple people who have intimate familiarity with the culture, mainly of the northern kingdoms. Landoliners are born into strata they seldom move out of. Most movement is downward, though there are evidently rare cases of upward mobility.”

“I would think that would cause internal tension,” said Yozef, “and complicate fighting the Narthani/Jahmnor alliance if it comes to war.”

“Well . . . we don’t have personal experience,” said Amapunt, “but both our impressions are that the people accept the strata system as natural . . . at least more than Caedelli would.”

“Okay . . . so what about the Iraquinik kahsaks?”

“Nothing so uniform,” said Amapunt. “For example, how they are ruled, the religions, and common customs are far more varied than what we know of on Landolin or certainly among the Caedelli clans. For your immediate needs, Paramount, we assume the most important aspects are the ruling systems. The majority of kahsaks have rulers with absolute power, but even that has variations—a single long-ruling family, an extended family that somehow selects successors, and examples with constant internal conflict for each succession. Exceptions are the most northerly and some southern kahsaks. In the south, the Irapah, Hawsa, and Agala kahsaks have formal leaders, but they are effectively ruled by a committee of shifting membership. How this works is unclear, but evidently it does because those kahsaks are referenced as being wealthy through trade. The northern kahsaks are very different.”

“You already said that . . . uh,” Yozef looked back at the Iraquinik map and pointed, “ . . . these four kahsaks are not part of internal Iraquinik alliances.”

“It seems to be due to several reasons,” said Amapunt. “As I already said, the weather and inland seas make large-scale warfare difficult. The northern-most kahsak, Abaton, is so mountainous and the population so low as to be almost physically and culturally isolated from the other kahsaks. Then there is a long-standing conflict between Kolinka and its other two neighbors, Ponomyna and Muskamon.”

“The impression we get is it’s a larger version of what went on among the Caedelli clans before the Narthani came to Caedellium,” said Isla. “Feuds, cross-border raids, and occasional short-lasting wars that settled nothing. One benefit of the Narthani coming is the dampening of conflicts among the northern kahsaks.”

“How about your personal impressions? I guess that’s mainly yours, Amapunt. You and Storlini have been interacting with the Iraquinik parties for anywhere from a few sixdays to several months.”

“Both Savronel and I have similar impressions, Paramount. We would characterize the Aro, Gympo, and Sensarsha parties as cautious, interested in learning how Caedellium prevailed over the invasion, and open to developing relationships if advantageous for them. The Ponomyna people appear to be the most compatible with us, though, of course, this is based on a small sample. However, the leader and his aides are amenable and ‘appear’ to be trustworthy . . . not that we should trust any of the parties at this point.

“Kolinka is different. Neither Savronel nor I can point to specific facts, but both of us seem to inherently distrust them. Oh, and not just from their behavior. They give the impression of being constantly aggrieved, are poor at hiding it, and may be either unaware of the impression they give or indifferent. Savronel and I may simply be wary of them because of our unfamiliarity with their society and their party’s members. We urge you to make your own judgment and not rely on ours.”

Yozef knew he would indeed form his own impressions, but he appreciated Amapunt’s attitude.

You know, he thought, this cabinet I plan to form . . . Amapunt might be a candidate for a Secretary of State or whatever title the role ends up having. His being an ex-Narthani will raise hackles, but maybe he will be accepted if he’s dealing with external contacts and not involved with internal Caedellium matters.

“You’ll be making your own evaluations of the different men, Paramount,” said Amapunt, “but we recommend you pay close attention to Uzman Gangala of the Ponomyna delegation. He’s the third-in-line son of Dhupa Gangala, the Arklum of Ponomyna. The Arklum position is somewhere between Caedellium’s historic hetmen and the Landolin kings. Significant but not absolute authority. The son, Uzman, is intelligent and seems genuinely interested in learning more about Caedellium and how it might help in the war against Narthon. A few other representatives evidenced some interest. We’re not sure what many of the others expect from their presence here.”

Yozef asked questions and listened to answers for the next hour. He spent the rest of the morning studying the written report prepared by Amapunt and Isla, followed by a light mid-day meal. He didn’t want to feel bloated or drowsy during the afternoon when meetings began, starting with the other Landolin parties. It was a long afternoon. The meetings were intense. He cut the meetings off at sundown, knowing the following day would be more of the same. He needed time to rest.

The next day, he finished with the Landoliners by mid-morning and moved immediately on to the Iraquiniks. By the end, Yozef was spent from talking, listening, arguing, cajoling, and finally coming to what he thought was a reasonable start to initiating economic and political associations with the central and northern Landolin kingdoms. He was less optimistic about the Iraquiniks, although he came away from the Ponomyna meeting with the beginnings of formal agreements, as he had discussed with Rhanjur Gaya. By late afternoon of the second day of meetings with ambassadors, he felt he’d done his duty and needed a serious break. He knew precisely what would suffice.

CHAPTER 12

SNARLING GRAEKO

Yozef invited Mark to the Snarling Graeko, thinking to relax the man. His fellow American seemed stiff, whether from his innate personality or from being among people he didn’t know. Yozef wasn’t sure. He thought the evening might loosen the man up.

The Preddi City Snarling Graeko would be more crowded in a few hours. Most citizens were still at work when Yozef, Carnigan, Balwis, Wyfor, Savronel, Heather, and Mark sat at two corner tables pushed together. Yozef’s throat was dry from talking, but his mind whirled. When he had gone into the meeting with Gaya, his goal was to placate the Munjorian without offending him. He expected entreaties for help against the Narthani. He hadn’t expected that ideas would keep popping into his head the more they talked. He had so many projects languishing for lack of workers that he got excited at the potential for obtaining immigrants.

The tables’ seven occupants were on their first or second stein of beer when Yozef finished sharing some results from meeting with the representatives.

“I’m sure the other hetmen will appreciate your developing major markets for their meat and wheat,” said Balwis, “but it leaves Preddi out. And yes, I understand that’s just the way it is. We can’t afford to export too many more animals when we’re trying to build up our herds, and the wheat farmers are probably at least another full season away from being fully operational.”

“I may be able to help with that,” said Yozef. “The other clans have already donated animals to Preddi, but if the markets to Landolin and Iraquinik develop as much as they might, I think I can lean on the hetmen for further donations. They would hardly be able to claim hardship if they’re profiting handsomely off the new trade.”

Savronel’s nose scrunched upward as if smelling something odd. “But wouldn’t Preddi just be selling the animals if we’ve already restricted how many of our own we allow to be exported?”

Yozef smiled. “Yes, but to avoid Preddi being left behind, the other provinces need to contribute. It will go down easier if they contribute animals, which they have plenty of, rather than gold from their treasuries.”

“But what about your proposal to Gaya that some of the payment be craftsmen moving permanently to Caedellium?” asked Wyfor. “I assume you intend something similar with the other realms. How are the clans going to react? We already have problems with the ex-slaves and ex-Narthani here in Preddi City being accepted. Now you’re talking about adding Landoliners and Iraquiniks.”

Yozef took a quaff from his stein. “I know it’s a problem. Most of the ex-slaves had no control over their status, and too many Caedelli still look down upon them. It will take time for everyone to accept they’re just like anyone else. Rhaedri Brison tells me the abbots throughout Caedellium are including homilies in Godsday services to foster their congregations’ understanding that but for God’s mercy, they might’ve had the same fate. Of course, it’s harder with the ex-Narthani, but the abbots are working on that, too.

“As for a new wave of immigrants, we’ll start with Munjor. If it works out, we’ll worry about similar arrangements with the other Landolin kingdoms and Iraquinik. We’ll have to go slower than I’d like and be sure the new people are integrated into Caedelli society. We’ll have to prevent them from settling into enclaves. That will force them to interact with the native Caedelli. Unfortunately, we may not use their skills the most efficiently, but if we spread them out through all the clans, it will be better for everyone in the long term.”

“What do you expect all the new craftsman to be doing?” queried Wyfor, who then noticed Balwis’s sneer.

”You’re right,” Wyfor said to the hetman. “This is Yozef Kolsko we’re talking about. He’s always got plans no one else understands.”

Carnigan had been silent as Yozef recounted his meetings. That condition ended with a booming laugh and a large fist hitting the top of the table. “What makes you think even he understands some of his projects? I’ve heard him mumbling to himself when he’s pretending to listen to someone whispering in his ear. He was actually saying that he didn’t have any idea what to do next.”

“Don’t I know it?” said Balwis. “The first time I met Yozef, he was trying to get information out of some captured Eywellese and Narthani. Everyone else just wanted to cut their throats and bury them. Many months later, I overheard him tell Maera that he didn’t have any idea how to get the men to talk, but he’d seen enough questioning on ‘television’ to give it a try. Naturally, I had no idea what this television was, but neither did Maera, and Yozef quickly changed the subject.”

Mark smiled and Heather coughed hard, a bit of beer finding the wrong channel.

Yozef retorted to Balwis that he had gotten useful information in the incident, and there were recent examples of Balwis working well with ex-Narthani, compared to his original opinion that they should all simply be killed.

“Of course, I admit that Balwis is proving to be an inspiration for all Caedelli.”

Yozef paused in speaking, but the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes alerted those listeners most familiar with him that more was to follow. Several of the men wore anticipatory grins and leaned forward slightly in unison.

“Now, whenever a young Caedelli is growing up and thinking about the future, he can see it is unlimited because if someone like Balwis could become a hetman, then anyone could.”

Carnigan repeated his laugh and fist pounding, but this time he used the other hand to slap Balwis on the back and drive the hetman’s stomach against the edge of the table. Yozef had remembered past occurrences and braced himself—just in case. Carnigan’s had a long reach. Balwis had forgotten.

Mark watched with interest the interplay among the other men. He hadn’t known what to expect before meeting Yozef Kolsko. The stories about a man who’d arrived naked on a beach and rose to lead the island in the successful battle against the Narthani didn’t mesh with the image he had of the young man sitting in the window seat on United Flight 4382.

Despite having been in Preddi City for fewer than two sixdays, Mark had seen the level of respect given to Kolsko. When he was in public, passersby waved, bowed, and spoke out in greeting as if he were a well-regarded neighbor and not the people’s ruler. Mark hadn’t interacted with many men in leadership positions since arriving on Anyar, but on the few occasions here and many more on Earth, he saw more of a social distance maintained around the leader. Sometimes it inferred a respectful distance, but often it was a separation due to awkwardness or even fear.

The other five men interacted during a second round of beer—a third or fourth round for the big redhead named Carnigan Puvey. This was an association of friends, at least for Kolsko and the three Caedelli. Storlini, the ex-Narthani, was an outlier—respected and perhaps liked, but not quite a friend of the others. Mark couldn’t tell the reason. Perhaps it was Storlini’s personality, his history, or that the other four had fought together. Mark knew that many men believed that shared danger forged unique bonds, even between men who otherwise would be incompatible. He had heard the stories while at the Naval Academy and during his short active service, but he never felt such bonds with other men. Certainly not on Earth where, upon recollection, the men he referred to as his friends were closer to acquaintances. On Anyar, the examples were few. There were people he liked, some of whom might’ve been friends at the time or if they had had more of a future together.

He felt a pang because he couldn’t point to having a relaxed relationship with anyone in his life such as Yozef had with these men. Perhaps a friendship could have developed with Gulgit, the Rustalian who helped him get from the port in western Rumspas to Iskadon in Sulako. They had traveled and fought together, and Mark owed the man. In retrospect, Mark recognized his sadness at knowing he would never see Gulgit again.

A strange case was the Madyrna man with the long, unpronounceable name that Mark had shortened to Rocky. He had not known the man long, starting with the first destrex hunt. They were the only two men to fight and survive the attack by the nightmare creature. Then they sweated and strained together preparing the animal’s hide, washed the blood and offal from their bodies in a cold stream, and later shared steins several times in Nurburt. After that, he had never seen the man again and often wondered what happened to him. Yet for some reason, he frequently thought about Rocky—wondering where he was, imagining Rocky’s life, and several times when wishing for a colleague during a fight.

Chants of, “Story, story, story!” interrupted Mark’s reflections, and he looked up from staring into his stein. Several men stood around their table, and more were rising to come over. Within seconds, the other men at their table joined in.

Balwis noticed Mark’s perplexed expression.

“When we were in Abersford, Yozef had quite a reputation for telling stories. His reputation spread, but the war and being Paramount have meant it now only happens occasionally. Looks like tonight is going to be one of those occasions.”

Yozef had first waved off the requests, but as the demand grew, he finally conceded and called out, “All right, all right. But just one story.”

He lowered his voice. “One disadvantage of having Mark and Heather here is they may already have heard my stories.”

“Well . . . maybe they remember some you don’t know,” said Wyfor.

Mark shook his head and grinned. “I’ll leave it to Yozef to represent stories from Amerika. I’m anxious to hear which one he tells tonight.”

Heather shook her head and sipped her stein. She was well behind the men, her stein still two-thirds full.

Yozef put his right hand on the tabletop, palm down, fingers arched and pointing toward Mark. Slowly, the middle finger rose about an inch. Mark wasn’t sure, but he’d bet the Caedelli didn’t use the finger-pointed-up gesture.

“Okay. This man lived in Preddi City. I won’t mention his name. One day his wife looks in a mirror and shakes her head. She says to her husband, ‘I think I look old, fat, and ugly. Please, dear, tell me something good about myself.’

“‘Well,’ said the husband, ‘your eyesight is great.’”

The crowd surrounding the table broke into laughter.

“As you can imagine, he didn’t sleep in the same bed as the wife for almost a month. She finally relented, but not until saying, ‘I was a fool when I married you.’

“In response, the husband said, ‘Yes, but I was in love and didn’t notice.’ Medicants believe the husband will eventually recover.”

The second wave of laughter had the attention of everyone in the hall, but only the nearest patrons had heard all of the story—a deficit corrected when it was relayed by those within hearing.

“I think you’re out of practice, Yozef,” said Balwis. “I remember better stories.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Wyfor, “he gets grumpier the longer he’s hetman.”

Balwis’s face darkened and his lips pursed.

He’s remembering the trial and execution, thought Yozef. I don’t blame him. I hope to God I never have to judge another death penalty case.

He tried to think of another story. Mark leaned over and whispered, “The one about the man bringing money owed and the wife answering the doorbell?”

Yozef shook his head.

“You know, dropping the towel.”

Yozef now remembered, but it was another case of the new arrivals forgetting not to use English.

“And then there was this story,” said Yozef.

His audience turned again to the table, supplemented by more patrons crowding in. A few stood on chairs and looked over the others’ heads. Yozef spoke louder this time.

“Another man and his wife lived in Ponth,” said Yozef, referring to the town in northern Preddi. “One day, the husband was working behind the house. There was a knock on their front door. The wife had been bathing, so she got up, quickly wiped off most of the water, pulled a blanket around herself, and went to open the door. There stood a neighbor man named Edee Murfee.”

Mark shook his head and grinned. Heather groaned.

“Well . . . the wife stood there wondering what Edee wanted, but he just stared at her for several seconds.

“Then he said. ‘I’ll give you a fifty-krun gold coin if you will drop the blanket.’

“As you can imagine, this startled the wife. She started to upbraid the man but then got to thinking. Their children needed new clothes, and there was a dress with new colors she had seen in a shop. Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped the blanket. Edee stared for almost a minute, then, without speaking, handed her a fifty-krun gold coin and left.

“The wife heard her husband enter the back of the house, so she hurriedly wrapped the blanket back around herself.

“The husband called out, ‘Was that someone at the door?’

“At first, she wasn’t sure what to say and how she would explain the gold coin. Then she decided that the husband hadn’t seen what she had done, so she simply said, ‘Oh, just Edee from next door.’”

“The husband walked into the room and said, ‘Great! He said he would come today and pay back the fifty krun I loaned him.’”

Yozef couldn’t tell whether the second story was considered better than the first or if the louder response was only because most patrons heard the story at the same time.

The gathering over beers lasted another hour before Wyfor went home to his wife, Teena; Balwis to Ceinwyn; and Savronel to Mertra after he guided Heather to the villa. Mark wanted to do the same, but he was surprisingly reluctant to leave as long as Kolsko and Puvey remained.

“One more round?” proposed Mark, partly to hide his reluctance.

Yozef stared into his stein. “I think I’ve had enou—”

“At least one more,” bellowed Carnigan as he waved for a server.

“That’s it for me after this next one,” said Yozef, his eyelids sagging. “I’m afraid there’re meetings with merchants tomorrow morning. I don’t want to fall asleep at the table.”

“I assume Savronel is primed,” said Carnigan. “What’s the signal this time?”

“I’ll scratch my nose.”

Carnigan noticed Mark’s raised eyebrow. “When he’s at meetings he expects to be boring, or he wants them to end and doesn’t have a graceful exit, someone like Savronel will give a reason why the Paramount is needed elsewhere.”

Carnigan returned to Yozef. “What’s the excuse this time?”

“Nothing specific. That’s the advantage of having Savronel at the meeting. He can come up with a plausible reason I have to be someplace else, all depending on who I’m meeting with.”

Carnigan had yet to get the attention of a server, so he rose to find one.

As soon as Carnigan was out of earshot, Mark spoke softly in English. “Were either of those jokes ones Eddie Murphy used?”

“Not that I know of. I think I heard the last one on a YouTube clip of Rodney Dangerfield. And remember . . . Caedelli, not English. You’re still mastering Caedelli, so settings like this are okay. No one here knows English, and the noise drowns out anyone not sitting too close.”

“But enough of bugging you. What do you miss most about Earth, Mark?”

“Everything and nothing, depending on the moment. At times after marrying Maghen, I think I was more content than I’d ever been in my life. But even then, something I missed would flash through my mind. Maybe a random thought or triggered by something I saw her doing or something she said. Earlier times, I was so occupied with innovations I wanted to introduce that sixdays or more would go by without my consciously missing Earth. I admit that finding out about Heather, and now here with you, makes it more confusing. How about you?”

“Like you, different things at different times. I’ll be sweating on a warm day when the urge for a Coke pops into my head or maybe a lemonade like my Aunt Ellen made every time we visited her. For some reason that stuck in my head. Of course, at first, it was my girlfriend, Julie. We’d been together for several years and were going to be married that summer. I promised her I’d get serious about helping with the planning after the chemistry meeting in Chicago. I missed her something terrible the first few months.

“Then, over time, as I adjusted and accepted that this is where I will spend the rest of my life, memories of her and the rest of Earth slowly faded. Now, it’s hard to remember exactly what she looked like. I can recall the mole on her right breast, the shape of her fingernails, the way her hair bounced when she tied it into a ponytail, and her laughter.” He stopped and chuckled. “If she laughed hard enough, she would start to gasp and snort. Those and more things I remember well enough, but less and less her voice, and I can’t clearly envision her face. It makes me sad, but I suppose that’s the way memories work. A lot has happened since I got here. Maybe memories of the last few years are so intense, they simply crowded out things that happened before.”

Yozef’s recollection ended with Carnigan’s reappearance holding four steins of beer, two in each hand. He plopped them on the table, spilling only part of the contents of one stein.

“I figured as long as I was going for three, I might as well get four.” He pushed a stein each toward Yozef and Mark, the other two to himself. He picked up the one no longer full and chugged it empty before slamming the vessel on the table.

“Ah . . . the beer at this Snarling Graeko is good, but the one in Abersford is still the best.”

“I see you once again conveniently forget the blind tasting I arranged,” said Yozef.

“I still don’t believe the result. You may have arranged to get beer from four different Snarling Graekos, but the shipments could have been mixed up, or you made a mistake and labeled them wrong before the testing. It’s what you call . . . Oker’s Razor, that the most likely explanation is the simplest, and I correctly identified the Abersford beer, and someone else made the mistake.”

“That’s Occam’s razor,” said Yozef, smiling and turning to Mark. “A long story, too long for tonight.”

CHAPTER 13

WHAT’S NEXT?

When Mark returned to the villa his family and Heather shared, the only light came from a back patio facing the ocean. There he found Maghen, wearing a dress he hadn’t seen before and sitting in a wicker chair near a masonry wall. The lantern flame was higher than normal—whale oil being expensive. The light was also a paler yellow.

“Is that a whale oil lantern?”

Maghen turned her head and smiled. The lantern light illuminated half of her face, the other half in shadow. “No. It burns something called kerosene. Ceinwyn tried explaining where it comes from, but I didn’t understand what she was saying. Something about taking this black, goopy substance on the ground and heating it.”

Petroleum seeps, thought Mark. There must be enough to collect and do some version of fractional distillation. Good for Yozef, although him being a chemist likely means he knew the basic idea but had to figure out how to actually do it.

Involuntarily, his mind went to the economic ramifications. He hadn’t seen or heard anything about kerosene lamps either on Drilmar or during their travels. If kerosene production hadn’t spread beyond Caedellium, there was the opportunity to export kerosene until other realms learned how to make it for themselves.

“How was your day?” he asked. “I see you’ve been shopping again. Yozef told me Ceinwyn was supposed to take you and Heather.”

Maghen use both hands to smooth the dress covering her legs. “Yes, she came for Heather and me after morning meal. I told her we didn’t need any more clothes, but Heather was enthused. She seemed surprised that I don’t want to ‘shop’ if I don’t need anything. She enjoys looking at what she ‘might’ buy.”

She shrugged. “Anyway . . . I thought we’d be going to Preddi City in a carriage, but Ceinwyn asked if it was all right if we walked.” Maghen laughed. “I told her my ass was so tired of being on horses and my legs wobbling on ships that I’d love to walk.”

Maghen put a hand to her mouth. In the dim light, he thought she was blushing.

“It just came out of my mouth. I was worried I shouldn’t say such things to the wife of the local leader, but Ceinwyn only laughed and took one of my arms in hers. She said she thought we were going to become friends, though I don’t see how that can be. She’s of such a higher status.”

“Nonsense,” said Mark, irritated. “You shouldn’t feel that way about anyone. I don’t with Yozef. Oh . . . he’s an important person here on Caedellium, and I respect that, but I don’t think I’m inferior. We’re just different. That’s the way it is in Amerika.”

Not totally true, thought Mark, but certainly more so than what I’ve seen on Anyar. He also wanted to support Maghen.

He recognized her expression as indicating she didn’t agree but wanted to avoid arguing.

“How did the evening beers with the Paramount go?”

He didn’t answer immediately and pulled up another chair to sit within arm’s reach of his wife. “I’m not sure. Oh . . . it was fine. We sat and drank beer and talked for, I don’t know— maybe two hours. At least, the other men talked. I didn’t say much at first. I think Kolsko invited me hoping to make me relax and start me on my way to identifying with the Caedelli.”

“Did it work?”

Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. The others were clearly enjoying themselves more than I was . . . not that I didn’t recognize it should have been a pleasant evening. I think I’m still adjusting to being here, being the guest of someone from Amerika—a man who has risen to be a very important person. I also spent much of the evening wondering how I fit in with Kolsko’s situation. And trying to figure out what we are going to do next now that we’re here. Kolsko wants me to come to their capital, Orosz City, in the middle of the island where he lives. He says a lot of projects he wants me involved in are located there. I told him I would think about it, but I promised you a month of not having to move from a beautiful and safe place.”

“It is beautiful on the beach. Alys loves it. The quiet is almost . . . I don’t know, too quiet. I guess I’m accustomed to sounds. People talking. Animals. Wind whistling against buildings and trees. I wish the sand dunes weren’t here. They block the sound of the ocean waves on the beach, though the waves here are small. Ceinwyn tells me the shape of this bay is the reason, and the waves are much higher most other places on Caedellium.”

Maghen shifted as if uncomfortable from the chair or from something she was feeling. “And this house. I mean, ‘villa’ as they call it. It’s so grand. Even the Toodman house wasn’t so large and . . . well, grand! I don’t know if I would ever be comfortable living permanently in such a place.”

“This is only temporary. I think Yozef is so glad to meet fellow Amerikans, he’s doing his best to make us welcome. When we have our own home here, it won’t be like this.”

“You just called the Paramount ‘Yozef.’ Before you called him Kolsko. Are you becoming more comfortable about him? After all, he is the ruler of Caedellium. Back home, I couldn’t imagine calling the mayor of Nurburt by his first name. It would be the same for anyone with the kind of authority the Paramount has. Maybe you’re right that he asked you to accompany them tonight to make you feel more at ease. Did it work? What do you think?”

He put a hand on top of hers, which rested on the chair’s arm nearest him. “I’m not sure, but maybe you’re right. I know when I’ve met with Yozef, Kolsko, Paramount, I’ve seen people respond to him three ways. Some only call him Paramount, others use his name or title, but more people than I would expect use only his name. And there’s the level of familiarity. Some Caedelli, like Puvey, the big redheaded man, always use ‘Yozef.’ They obviously have a special relationship.”

He patted her hand. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am more comfortable around him. After all, he is my countryman, and there are things we can talk about and remember that are different than with anyone else.”

He stopped patting and grasped the back of her hand. “Are you lonely, Maghen? I’ve been gone much of the time since we arrived. I’m sorry if you think I’ve left you alone too often.”

“I’m not alone. I have Alys, and I’m relieved she’s acting more like before we left home. I’ve been afraid that moving her so suddenly, the constant traveling, and the fighting would have changed her, but maybe it hasn’t.

“Then there’s been Heather at times, though she’s often walking on the beach alone or in her quarters in the other side of the villa. But yes, maybe I miss contact with people. In Frangel, I was always around my family or everyone at the Toodman ranch. When we were running from the men chasing you, I was always scared or worried, so it didn’t bother me not to be around other people.”

Maghen stopped speaking and stared into the darkness. Mark wasn’t sure what to say, if he needed to say anything. They’d been together long enough that he assumed she was gathering her thoughts.

She turned back to face him. “It’s not just people, it’s those I know and care about. Maybe I’ve only started to feel safe these last days and started to miss my family and our friends more.”

“I’m sorry, Maghen, but there’s nothing we can do about your family. We have each other and Alys. We are your family. I have no doubt you’ll make many friends. It’s your nature. People like you. They can’t help it. You’re vibrant, honest, hardworking, and always willing to help in whatever needs doing. All I can suggest is to be patient until those friendships develop. That doesn’t help right now, but you have Alys and me. No one in the world loves you more than we do.”

She reached with her other hand and grasped his with both hands. “I know, Mark, and I thank God for my blessings. Oh . . . don’t mind me. I’m just in a mood today.”

“Never believe I don’t mind, Maghen. And never think you can’t talk to me about how you’re feeling. Whatever is bothering you, I may not be able to do anything about it, but sometimes maybe I can, and the other times I’m here to listen.”

She squeezed his hand. “Enough of that. So, Kolsko wants you to help him in whatever he’s doing. What do you think about that?”

“I’ve told you about some of the innovations I wanted to introduce. Things known in Amerika but not in Frangel. One thing all our travels told me is that Frangel is not unique. The safety pins, wagon springs, and new methods of producing cloth are just as unknown on Caedellium and in the larger nations in this part of the world.

“After what happened in Tregallon and Kaledon, I knew the people who were killed and injured were my fault. I was arrogant in thinking the route to accepting my innovations would be manageable, and that I would overcome any problems. I didn’t look deeper into the society and people impacted. And yes, there was greed. I believed the innovations would make me wealthy and possibly powerful as well. You heard me talk about some of the innovations I hoped to someday introduce. You didn’t always understand what I was talking about, but you listened without giving an opinion.”

“I didn’t witness what happened,” said Maghen. “I only know that you think less of yourself for the way you acted. I can’t judge, but since I’ve known you, I have to believe you may be too hard on yourself. Even if your self-judgment is accurate, your regret is what God asks of us—that we admit our wrongs and provide whatever atonement is possible. You said you gave all the gold you had to the families of those who were killed or injured. You didn’t say how much gold it was, but I suspect a significant amount, and you certainly didn’t arrive wealthy at Nurburt.

“You haven’t told me what else might have happened. I think I know you well enough that when you realized there would be no justice for the people killed, you didn’t simply leave. You did something. I haven’t pried, but when you’ve talked about that time, I don’t hear bitterness in your voice about the guilty going unpunished. What I hear now in your voice is uncertainty. Is it because Kolsko wants you to be involved again in innovations after you thought you had put that behind you, or is it because the thought still excites you?”

“Maybe it’s both and more. We had our future planned in Frangel. Work, save, start our own ranch, and raise children. While we were fleeing and traveling, I said that future could still happen, even if it took longer and was harder. We can still do that here, but if I work with Yozef like he wants me to, it will be a different future. Not a bad one, I don’t think, but different.”

“Mark, as I said, I didn’t understand all the other innovations you dreamed of introducing, but there was no doubt about the enthusiasm in your voice. It was the same when you were planning the destrex rifles. You spent hours on drawings and the scribblings you called mathematics. You weren’t a man doing a reluctant task. There was an energy about you.

“I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t prefer the life we planned for, but God and fate may have other plans for us. And who’s to say which of different futures would be the best? What I don’t want is for you to have regrets about what could’ve been.” She stopped and chuckled. “We also shouldn’t sit here and think we only have those two ways forward. You can start working with Kolsko and later realize you’ve made a mistake. We can then work for a ranch or do something completely different. For now, I trust you to do what your belly tells you, and let’s move on together in whatever future happens.”

“Moving is another thing to talk about. As I said, Yozef wants me in their capital. Orosz City is where he lives and is the center of the government and where many projects are worked on. He’ll be returning there soon. I need to tell him our plans.”

Maghen shook her head. “If we remain here for another whole month, I’ll be thinking ahead for when we do move. I want to feel settled, at least for an extended time. Time when I can work to make a home and not be thinking of leaving. Oh . . . I know we might move again eventually, but it was that way on the Toodman ranch. We planned on our own ranch someday, but the cottage was our home in Frangel. I want that feeling again.”

The skies were clear the next morning when Yozef stepped outside. However, the first thing he noticed was the color of the sky looked wrong. It was a cerulean blue, instead of the normal azure. He stopped and stared upward before descending the stairs to where Carnigan held their horses. For several seconds, his mind sifted through possible explanations. Then it struck him. There was nothing wrong with the sky—it was his expectation that mismatched reality. Azure was the blue shade from Earth, not from Anyar. He stood thinking. When was the last time he hadn’t taken for granted the color of Anyar’s sky? It might have been years, maybe since the first few months.

The coming of Mark and Heather must have opened doors long closed. He tried examining his feelings and decided he wasn’t disappointed at the color of the sky. It had only been an observation.

“Well . . . you going to stand there all morning, staring upward?” rumbled Carnigan. “If you see God, ask him why he made likeries. One of them got in the bed last night and bit both me and Gwyned before she killed it.” He raised his left arm so Yozef could see the underside of the forearm with a two-inch bruise. “Bit her on the ass. She’s going to have to sit carefully for a couple of days and will be in a testy mood.”

The four-inch-long Anyarian creature resembled a centipede. The creature’s yellow and red coloration warned potential predators. Its bite was not fatal to humans, but the venom ruptured small blood vessels. The result resembled a deep bruise that stung at first before settling into an ache until the tissue healed.

“Just goes to show the likeries are a problem that can bite you in the ass,” said Yozef, then smiled at Cardigan’s puzzled look.

“From the look on your face, I’ll assume you just said something amusing,” said Synton, “probably from Amerika. And no, don’t bother explaining it to us.”

“Okay, I won’t. Let’s get to the headquarters. I may have time for some paperwork before I meet Mark later. He’s supposed to wait until I send a message to the villa they’re staying at.”

“I hear all of them spend at least an hour a day at the shore,” said Synton. “Sometimes more. At least part of the time, the girl plays in the water with one or both of her parents. The wife also sits on top of the sand dunes and stares at the water. When the wind is high, she finds a windbreak closer to the water.”

“And you know this, how?” asked Yozef.

Synton shrugged. “Men talk. Especially the Preddi guarding the newcomers. We knew each other from being part of Hetman Swavebroke’s force delaying Narthani reinforcements before the battle of Orosz City.”

Carnigan snorted in a rough equivalent of another person saying, “I have a piece of information I want to share if you prompt me,” or “I have a snarky comment I may be willing to share.”

Yozef, impatient, said, “Well . . . out with it.”

“He probably hasn’t told you he sometimes relieves one of the men watching the Kaldwel family and the woman Heather for a couple of hours when he’s not with you. I think he likes staring at Heather.”

“So what if I’m curious? Just like everyone who looks at her. At first, I thought she was ugly, but then one evening I was having a few beers with Wyfor at the Snarling Graeko. I swear, the man might be half or less of Carnigan’s weight and can still drink almost as much. Anyway . . . he was telling me how he thinks she looks like some of the people from Krinolin. I only had a vague idea where that was, but he explained it was on the other side of the world.

“Now, of course, I was curious how it is she looks like being from Krinolin and an Amerikan at the same time. That’s why I wanted to get a closer look at her. Strange, but once I learned there were other people on Anyar who look something like her, she didn’t look so odd anymore.”

“I hope curiosity is all you have in mind, Synton,” said Yozef. “She’s been through a lot, and as you can imagine, I have more than a casual interest in her well-being.”

“Well, if I did have other things in mind, I only have to notice how protective Kaldwel is of her. Everyone generally agrees that Carnigan is the only person you don’t want getting mad at you. Of course, I wouldn’t discount Wyfor, even if he is a runt and only has one arm. Anyway, Kaldwel’s in the same category. Which reminds me,” said Synton. “Did either of you notice Wyfor always seems to be somewhere else whenever one of the Iraquiniks is around?”

Yozef hadn’t noticed, but Carnigan gave a confirmatory grunt. Yozef looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I think he may have had some unfortunate experiences with at least a couple of the Iraquiniks, especially Irapah and Hawsa.”

What the hell? thought Yozef. I wouldn’t have thought Carnigan knew the names of any of the Iraquinik kahsaks, much less those in the south. And how did he find out anything about Wyfor’s past? I thought the man had been mum about everything that happened during those years he was away from Caedellium.

Yozef descended the stairs and took his horse’s reins from Carnigan. Mounted, the three men rode at a canter toward Preddi City. It was early enough that the streets were not as busy as they would be in another hour. Other early risers waved and shouted greetings as they passed. At the Preddi headquarters building, a teenage boy working in the headquarters stable took Yozef’s and Synton’s horses.

To Yozef’s surprise, Mark Kaldwel was waiting for him. Yozef was using a smaller office normally occupied by Wyfor on the rare occasions he did paperwork.

“You’re up early, Mark. I thought we were meeting later . . . after I messaged you.”

“Yeah, I’m not one to dally once a decision is made.”

“Well, come on in. Let’s get to it. What I planned to do first can wait for another hour.”

Yozef motioned to the window table, and they sat on opposite sides.

“I’ve spent the last few days not doing much else but thinking about our conversations, especially yesterday’s. I also talked with Maghen last night. I owe her a lot. Because of me, she’ll never see her family again. She stuck with me and insisted on not being left behind when I had to flee Frangel. She was steadier and braver on the way here than I had any right to expect. You presented me with a different possible future than our having that ranch I was okay with. After what happened in northern Frangel, I’d sworn off grand ambitions, at least until you and I talked. However, I guess I haven’t lost the desire to be making things again, instead of growing them. You mentioned some of your projects, and we’ve danced around how I might be involved, but I want to give it a shot. However, I have to be honest and say that Maghen and I agree if it doesn’t work out, we can still go back to our original plan. I’m confident we can find work somewhere on Caedellium and eventually save enough for a small ranch.”

Thank you, Lord, thought Yozef. Having Kaldwel as an enthusiastic partner would make him more productive, and Yozef would have hated to coerce a fellow survivor. Not that he wouldn’t, if necessary.

Yozef held out his right hand. “Welcome to the Anyarian version of the Industrial Revolution and the Enlightenment . . . at least, a scientific one for the latter. As for keeping the ranch idea as the backup plan, I would give anyone long odds that’ll never happen. There’s so much to do, it would take hundreds of us to accomplish all the ideas I’m sure you and I can come up with.”

They both leaned back in their chairs, Yozef with satisfaction and Mark relaxed after finalizing a decision.

“I assume you have ideas on where I would start,” said Mark.

“There won’t be many surprises there. We talked briefly about the telegraph and steam engines. We’ve gotten about as far as my limited knowledge allows. Oh, I’m sure we would figure out the problems eventually—someone on either Caedellium or Fuomon—but I’m hoping you can fast-track both of those projects.”

Mark smiled and leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands folded. “The telegraph should be easy to solve. I understand the relays are the problem.”

“That, maybe the pole insulators, and the production of wire. I can’t believe there aren’t easier ways make wire, but we’ll need a lot more if we’re going to connect all the clans and replace the semaphore system.”

“I’m curious. If I remember correctly, you mentioned sharing the telegraph with the Fuomi? You told me some of the history, but I’m not clear exactly what the relationship is.”

“Hah! I’m not sure either side knows that. Oh, we get along fine with most of the Fuomi we’ve come in contact with, but the sample is small, and none of them represent the top leadership. It would be foolish to think Fuomon doesn’t have its own agendas, which may not always coincide with Caedellium’s. At the least, it’s a positive relationship, due to the Narthani. We first came in contact with the Fuomi when they sent an expedition to find out what the hell was happening on this island at the end of the world. All they knew was Narthon was up to something, and somehow Caedellium was at the center of it. I managed to work out an arrangement with the Fuomi leader of the expedition, a man named Jaako Rintala. He provided cannon he stripped off some of the ships in the squadron that brought them to Caedellium. He also loaned us gun crewmen to train our people on using the naval cannon.

“They didn’t have enough ships to seriously threaten the Narthani fleet, but they provided scouting and observation. Then there was a big battle where they played a pivotal role in forcing the Narthani to do what we wanted. In return, I provided them with instructions on how to make ether and kerosene, along with what knowledge I was able to transfer in mathematics and medicine. I was definitely on firmer ground with the ether and kerosene, but with the other two I just did the best I could.”

“All right,” said Mark, “but there’s still my question about how much you share with them.”

“The best I can say is a lot but not everything. They already know about the telegraph. It was one of the innovations I dangled in front of them to get their help against the Narthani. I was honest and told them I knew the general principles but not the details. Their ambassador reports they’ve been trying to develop the telegraph in Fuomon and ran into the same relay problems we have here. If you do manage to extend our range, I don’t see any way we can’t share the knowledge with them.”

Mark tapped an index finger in the tabletop. “You’re right. They’re probably going to eventually figure it out on their own, but it wouldn’t be great for your relationship if you hid your own success. You might get away with it for a short time by coming up with some semi-plausible reasons. However, I have something you might want to think about. I can’t guarantee it, but I think with some work we could develop the wireless telegraph.”

Yozef jerked upright in his chair. “Really? The few times I thought about it, I dismissed the idea because I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“It wouldn’t necessarily be easy. I can’t say how long it would take, but with what I know of relevant technology, I’d be surprised if it couldn’t be worked out within a few years.”

“Hmmm. That would take some thought about whether we share the technology or keep it to ourselves. Having the ability to communicate long distances within minutes gives tremendous military and economic advantages. However, I don’t see it as a priority right now. A wired telegraph system would serve most of our purposes on Caedellium. Of course, it would be different if we needed to communicate quickly outside of Caedellium. No. Concentrate on the wired telegraph for now. That and steam engines.

“That’s another case where the Fuomi already know about it. Just like with the telegraph, I dangled the engines in front of them while trying to get their help. They’ve been working on it back in Fuomon without success. We also have a joint effort here, but with no more progress.”

“If we get steam engines working, you figure on sharing with the Fuomi?”

Yozef tugged at the bottom of his beard. “I’m not sure. My original thinking was we would work on it together, but I’ve been thinking more and more of keeping something in reserve. I don’t really know all that much about the Fuomi and have only had close contact with three of them. Jaako Rintala was the leader of the original mission to Caedellium. He’s returned to Fuomon and I assume has been debriefed to death. He went well beyond his mission parameters to help us, which I’m grateful for. I hope his superiors appreciated his initiative, rather than punished him.

“Eina Saisannin was an adviser to Rintala and is something of a language prodigy. You and Heather need to be aware of that and refrain from speaking English around her. Until you two showed up, there was no English at all spoken on Caedellium, except when I slipped. I’d like to keep Saisannin in the dark and anyone else who might pick up the language from hearing us speak it. I’ve two reasons. One is that while I’m glad you’re here, it complicates my life. I see only downsides if our true origin becomes known. I’ve been cautious about saying or doing things that raise suspicions about my story. Now I have to worry about you two doing what I can’t control.

“The second reason is to allow the three of us to talk among ourselves openly like we are right now. That has advantages I prefer not to lose, as long as we don’t do it so often people begin to wonder what we’re keeping secret.”

“I guess I see your worry,” said Mark. “Like you, most of my time on Anyar I only had to worry about myself revealing anything I shouldn’t. That got more complicated when I rescued Heather. One of the first things I talked to her about was keeping her mouth shut about where we came from. That was right after I grabbed her, and we were hightailing it to the ship to get out of Iskadon. Then later, we had a longer talk about it. Since then, and as you’ve been with us, I have been nervous about what she might say or do.” He smiled. “I appreciate that our coming has complicated your life far more than Heather did mine. Do you remember Benjamin Franklin’s quote about secrets?”

Yozef shook his head.

“Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.”

Yozef made a face. “Well, let’s hope that’s not true. We just have to be vigilant, and don’t be surprised or annoyed if you think I’m harping on this. I’ll be watching the two of you closely for slip-ups, and I want both of you to do the same. I don’t exclude myself from making unconscious mistakes.”

Mark nodded. “Have you talked again to Heather about this?”

“Just a little after you arrived.”

“Then maybe I should talk to her. I get vibes she’s not sure what to think about you. She’s become semi-attached to me and my family. She already knows my concerns, and my reiterating yours might go down better.”

“Okay. I won’t say anything for a couple of days. Now . . . we kinda got off track. I’d like steam engines to be your major project in the next year, assuming you’re right about the telegraph relays not being a serious problem. Most of the engine work has been done at the facility not far from the Adris City harbor. There are a few Fuomi working with our people on a small-scale steam engine. Ambassador Saisannin suggested they come here when they weren’t getting anywhere in Fuomon. I agreed before I had any thoughts about how much I want to keep secret. We can’t do anything about that now, but I’d like you to take a look at where we are and make suggestions. I’ve been thinking that, if necessary, we could start a second development site elsewhere and keep that one apart from the joint Fuomi effort.”

“What did you envision as the first use of steam engines?”

“Railroads, but that’s complicated. I thought of something like pumping water, replacing waterwheels . . . you know. As for railroads, you’ve seen the system we have going now. My hope is that with the right-of-way and the beds prepared, we could switch over quickly to iron rails and steam engines to replace the wooden rails with iron caps.”

“Do you have enough steel production capability to produce the rails?”

“Not really. I started three pillars in motion to support industrialization—rail line, steam engines, and steel mills. The island has plenty of iron ore and coal, but clearly the traditional methods here are not sufficient. As good as my new memory is, steel making wasn’t a topic I read much about back on Earth. With what I could remember about the open-hearth methods, it didn’t seem plausible here with the current technology. I’ve been planning on using the Bessemer process, but the going is slow.”

Mark gave a single slight shake of his head. “Quite a leap of faith. It will all fall apart if you can’t make enough steel rails and develop the engines.”

“It was a leap of faith,” said Yozef. “Either that, or it was pissing in the wind and hoping for luck.”

“Where’s your steel-production development taking place? Is it in Orosz City? And what about coke production?”

“This is another project I’ve kept from the Fuomi so far. I located the work in the Swavebroke and Pewitt provinces in northwest Caedellium. The Swavebroke Clan got particularly hard hit during the war. Their capital was almost completely burned to the ground. As part of the recovery, I’ve tried to focus resources on provinces in the worst shape. It wouldn’t do for some places to enjoy new prosperity while others are still beaten back by the war. Swavebroke is also one of three provinces with extensive coal deposits. Either the iron ore or the coal would have to be transported to where the other is mined.

Swavebroke and Pewitt are also where coke production takes place . . . at least, as much as is ongoing. I remembered steel production needed to convert coal into coke because it produces more energy per fuel weight and has fewer impurities to interfere with the steel’s characteristics. I recalled that the coke served as a reducing agent in metal extraction, but I forgot until seeing the result that coke burns relatively smokeless, compared to coal.

“One of the first problems was to design coke ovens that were airtight so that the coal was baked in the absence of air to drive or burn off impurities. The current facilities need to be improved and ramped up. For one thing, the current coke ovens are not high-throughput enough.”

Mark cocked his head. “Am I correct that you have plans for the coal tar by-product of coke production?”

The edges of Yozef’s smile threatened to meet in the back of his head.

“Merciful God!—as the locals would put it. How great it is to talk with someone on topics like this and have them anticipate. Yes, yes, yes! Coal tar. I remembered enough about converting coal to coke. Heat the coal in the absence of air to generate gases from the lighter coal components. This leaves almost pure carbon as the coke, and the remainder is a goopy tar-like substance. If you take over coke and steel, that would leave me to work on distillation of the coal tar residue. The first fraction to come off consists largely of benzene, toluene, and xylene, which can be purified from one another by further fractional distillation. All three have valuable uses in a chemical industry, especially the benzene, by adding different side groups to the benzene ring.

“Later in the distillation come phenols and components of creosote. Phenol is another important chemical industry feedstock, and the creosote can be used to preserve wood. The railroad ties will be an important beneficiary. After that comes a whole menagerie of chemicals, some of which I know uses for. One I’m particularly interested in is anthracene, which can be used to make the red dye alizarin. I’ve had people start to work on characterizing coal tar distillation products. It’s still in the early phases, so I can’t yet say exactly what we’ll be able to purify in quantities enough to be useful.

“Then, at the end of the distillation, we’re left with pitch. I’m not clear how we’d use it. You may have ideas. I know it’s been used in paving and roofing, but I’m not clear on the advantages and disadvantages over asphalt, which is the by-product of petroleum distillation.”

“That reminds me,” said Mark. “What about the kerosene you’re producing? I assume you’re using some kind of fractional distillation.”

Yozef winced and shook his head. “An Earth environmentalist would be outraged. I thought of kerosene as a product introduction during my first year here. I had already made ether, but that involved simple and direct distillation separation of a simple mixture. Crude oil is something else. It contains hundreds of different chemicals that need major facilities and energy input to separate into all the usable fractions. On Earth, cracking towers are used to break the larger molecules into smaller ones that compose gasoline. That wasn’t going to happen then or now, though maybe with you here we could eventually work it out. With crude, and for our puporses, the major fraction that’s relatively easy to separate is what I’m calling kerosene.”

“Ah . . . ,” said Mark. “I’ll bet you’re using a version of pot stills. After letting the smallest volatiles blow away as gas, you pull out the smaller-chain hydrocarbons.”

“Right. I suppose you can’t call it a real fractional distillation, but it serves to pull out the fraction that consists of hydrocarbons with maybe six to twenty carbons. It’s a mixture of what, from a cracking column, would be considered mainly kerosene with ten to sixteen carbons, plus the naphtha with a smaller number of carbons and lighter diesel with more carbons.

“The crude from local petroleum seeps is yielding up to forty percent of this kerosene mixture. The remainder is dumped into brick-lined open pits. I know . . . an environmental disaster. I just didn’t have anything else to do with it at the time. I figured it could eventually be used if I ever got a real petroleum industry going. And then like with the coal tar pitch, the final product would be asphalt—both have potential for roofing and pavement. However, the years are going by, and the residue keeps accumulating. I’ve had thoughts about exporting kerosene, but that may not happen. The seeps are limiting production. Oh . . . so far we can satisfy the island’s demands, but for exporting, we’d need to take it to another level.

“But worrying about a petroleum industry is for another time. Right now, I need your help with the iron and coke industry. The Swavebroke and Pewitt provinces have the advantage that the prevailing winds are north-northwest to take smoke out over the ocean. The other advantage is being farther from the Fuomi base in Adris Province. I’d like you to take a look at where we are in the development.”

“I suppose I can think about this and get back to you,” said Mark. “But I expect you’re right about the Bessemer process being the best initial option, though it would eventually need to go to open hearth furnaces. I don’t have a clear picture of where all these places are. The Buldorian captain had a Caedellium map he said was taken during one of their raids. About the only detail it had was where the clans were, but I don’t remember all the names and their locations.”

“Let me get a map,” said Yozef. He rose and walked to a cabinet with multiple drawers. “I think I remember Wyfor keeping maps in one of these.”

“Ah-hah!” Yozef said when he opened the third drawer. “Here’s one of Caedellium with the clan names and borders. It also shows major cities, towns, and a few other landmarks.”

Yozef stood by the table and spread the map out. Mark rose to join him, and the two men leaned over the paper while Yozef pointed.

“Here’s Adris City, where the current steam engine work is located.” He moved his finger to the left. “And here are Stent, Pewitt, and Swavebroke provinces.”

Mark sighed. “That’s a lot of travel if you expect me to be involved with both the Adris City and Swavebroke sites.”

“Well . . . not as bad as it could have been. We do have a wooden rail line operational between Orosz City and Adris City. The trip is about seventy miles, and there are no major hills or mountains. The horse-drawn trains can keep up a ten-mile-an-hour pace on level ground. I’m assuming you don’t want to go on horseback too many times. I wouldn’t want to, if I’d ridden horses as much as you did getting here.

“In Orosz City, you’ll have to have a base of operations, plus Maghen and Alys need a permanent home. Even if the wired telegraph work gets done fairly quickly, there will be other projects I’d at least like your input on, even if you aren’t directly involved. Then, when you need to be in Adris City, you can leave early in the morning. If the purpose will be a quick visit, you can be back with your family that night.

“Of course, Swavebroke is something else. Even with the rail line, the trip takes most of a sixday. However, if we can get the steel mills up and operating, then neither of us would have to make the trip very often.”

“And having both Heather and me in Orosz City lets you keep an eye on us,” Mark said sardonically.

“There’s that, too,” Yozef admitted. “But I also think it’ll be the most efficient home base for you. Heather has already made it known she wants to be near the two of us.”

“What about the Narthani? I’ve been hearing stories, and you gave us a briefing, but I have to say that if I’d known about the Narthani moving in on this part of Anyar, I’m not sure I would’ve tried to get here. I don’t know what I would’ve done, but being chased by a few Narthani and Frangelese still might have looked better than coming to where the Narthani were interested enough to send an entire army. Are you worried about them trying again?”

“I’ll be honest, Mark. I can’t rule out that we haven’t seen the last of the Narthani. If it happens, I expect it to be years from now. They’re already committed to Landolin. I don’t see any reason they would bother about us. We assume they were planning on using Caedellium as a jumping off spot to attack northern Landolin. Once that failed, they obviously switched and went for the southern kingdoms first. That seems like a logical course because that puts them closer to their center of power once we ruined their northern strategy.

“Initially, they underestimated the Caedelli and only sent about 12,000 men to conquer the island. When that didn’t work, they sent 60,000 but still underestimated. That attempt also failed, though I’ll admit we had more luck on our side than we could possibly have hoped for. If they try again, I can’t imagine they wouldn’t use a bigger force—maybe 100,000 to 120,000 men. And for what? One island on the western end of Anyar’s landmasses? I don’t see that kind of commitment as long as Landolin and Iraquinik are active enemies of the empire.”

“What if they did come, contrary to your expectations?”

“Then we would be an even tougher opponent than the last time. We’d do the same as we did before—leading them into the interior and only fighting when we had the advantages. We could put fifty thousand dragoons into the field. They would be led by men with experience and be backed up by another hundred thousand fighting men and women, plus every other Caedelli. We have plans to ensure the Narthani would have to bring all their horses with them if they wanted cavalry. They would face a mobile enemy, heavy in artillery. We would defend only a few cities, and our fortifications and heavy cannon would require extended sieges by the Narthani, while they were being harassed by our dragoons.

“But now, they evidently have other objectives to focus on, and time is on our side. It’s like I told the Narthani commander before he left Caedellium. His name is Okan Akuyun, and he seemed like a rational person when you talked with him. Almost enough for me to forget where he was from. I told him Narthon was destined to fall, from internal rot, external forces, or the combination. I took it as significant that he didn’t directly reject what I said. Instead, he simply replied that most Narthani wouldn’t agree with me. I admit I may be reading too much into his words, but if ‘most’ Narthani wouldn’t agree, that may mean a fraction see their fall as possible for the reasons I outlined to Akuyun. There’s also the number of Narthani who opted to stay on Caedellium, instead of returning to Narthon.

“Think about it. They had to be ready to abandon the only society they knew, not only for a different way of life, but among people who might well never be able to totally accept them because of their past history. Yet several thousand of them did. That’s got to mean the underpinning loyalty of their people is not that strong. Eventually, such turmoil has to manifest.”

“Maybe,” said Mark, “but I wouldn’t feel comfortable planning too strongly on an enemy reforming itself, self-destructing, or being destroyed by forces I can’t control.”

Yozef shrugged. “While I admit we may have to face them again one day, the Caedelli suffered such heavy losses during the war that the people need years to recover—peaceful years where other preparations can be made. I intend to turn Caedellium rich through trade and industrial development. You’ve heard some of what I’ve talked about with the Landolin and Iraquinik ambassadors. I’m making it clear Caedellium will not be sending men to fight away from Caedellium. However, I’m working on deals for trade. Food, gunpowder, and cannon are three major items we can provide.

“I’ve hoped my enduring legacy to Anyar will be to leave as much knowledge as I can. Now, of course, I would include the three of us—you, me, and Heather. We can jump over a couple of centuries of how development progressed on Earth. Maybe we can also impart early warnings about things like environmental degradation. I’m less sanguine about political issues, but who knows? In any case, I envision the University of Caedellium becoming a legendary center of learning for the entire planet and the island having an outsize influence.

“I was searching for more ideas before you came, and after hearing about your attempt to introduce textile innovations, I want to give serious consideration to adding cloth and maybe even clothing to our exports. In Frangel, you ran into a guild structure. We don’t have that here simply because Caedellium has never had a formal textile industry. The people either make their own clothing or buy from small-scale cloth and clothing makers in all the clans.

“Also, there would be my support to develop the industry. You mentioned the selection of dyes you worked with was limited, and even in the cities with major textile production the colors were on the muted side. Here, guilds wouldn’t be a problem. With what I know about chemistry, we could use dyes that are almost certainly unknown on Anyar. With a little experimentation, I’m confident I could develop even more dyes and more intense colors, at least gauged by the clothing I see on the Landolin ambassadors. I take them to be a pretty good example of what’s considered the highest-quality clothing.

“Gold and silver would flow to Caedellium, and I would work to see that a lot of it goes into making the island even more defensible. We could eventually develop better weapons. That’s another place you can help. Given enough time, we should be able to develop things like breech-loading rifles, exploding shells, and rocket artillery. If I dream hard enough, there could also be versions of Gatling guns and breech-loading artillery. I doubt we have enough of a population base for a navy strong enough to fight off a serious Narthani fleet, but if given enough time, we could have steam-powered, armored paddle-wheelers, torpedoes, and whatever else we come up with. Of course, as I said, all that will take time, maybe many decades. That’s time I want to buy Caedellium, in case the Narthani are not stopped and someday return here again.

“Pardon me, but it seems the obvious thing to do is transfer much of what you’re talking about to Narthon’s enemies,” said Mark.

“I’m sorry if I sounded like I was totally focusing on Caedellium. I’ve already helped Fuomon. Ether, kerosene, whatever medical knowledge helps them advance on their own, the telegraph once we get it working, observation balloons, better signaling rockets, and another source of gunpowder. I didn’t mean to give the impression we won’t share anything with the Fuomon and maybe Narthon’s other enemies, but I want to be sure Caedellium’s help is well compensated, both in gold and in help defending the island. Plus, as I said, I’d like to keep something in reserve.

“But we’ll have time to talk about all this in more detail,” said Yozef. “If you’re good with the plan for us to work together, I need to get back to Orosz City. I also have to stop for a couple of days each in Hanslow and Moreland City, the two capitals of the Brell and Moreland clans. That means it will be nearly a sixday before I reach Orosz City. But what about you, your family, and Heather?”

“I’ve told Maghen I intend to honor my promise of giving her a month of quiet, but she says another two sixdays is sufficient for her. We’ve already been here for more than a sixday. I haven’t spoken to Heather, but I don’t doubt she’ll want to be around the two of us.”

“Okay,” said Yozef, “so how about you apprise her of the travel plans and figure on leaving for Orosz City in two sixdays? By then, I’ll have been back home. I’ll write to Maera to start arranging where you’ll live at first. We’ll work out something permanent later.”

Secrets Unkept

While the Amerikans on Caedellium discussed keeping secrets, another presence knew of their origin and maintained surveillance of their movements via a cloaked drone. However, the AI orbiting Anyar had another immediate concern, if “concern” was an appropriate term for a machine intelligence. One of its twenty geosynchronous observation satellites had gone silent. Such events were inevitable: random degradation of satellite elements, impacts by meteorite fragments, or failure for reasons unknown. What raised the state of this satellite’s silence to a higher level of the AI’s attention was that it was the second satellite failure in one-tenth of the planet’s rotation around its sun. One failure in six thousand years was acceptable. Two failures in the same time span through normal events was regrettable but within the realm of possibility. However, two failures in such a short time span after six thousand years of functionality pointed to two options—either the random occurrence of a statistically low probability pairing of events or the sign of a new factor. Having no model for what such an outside factor might be, the AI ran diagnostics on the remaining eighteen satellites, resulting in no detectable problems with hardware or software. A consequence of the lost satellites was to change the orbits of the remaining satellites to maintain even coverage of the entire planet’s surface.

CHAPTER 14

RETURN TO OROSZ CITY

Orosz City

When Maera returned home, Anarynd was sitting on the veranda, Odysius asleep in her lap.

“A new letter from Yozef,” announced Maera. “He should already have left Preddi City on the way to Hanslow. If all goes well, he’ll be home in about five days.”

“Did he say anything about the new Amerikans? What are they like? Does he like them? Are they coming here?”

“Very little, nothing, nothing, and yes,” said Maera, answering the questions in order. “The only thing definite is he says they will come here in about two sixdays. He asks that we arrange places for them to stay. It’s a family of three . . . a couple, Mark and Maghen Kaldwel, and their young daughter, Alys. The fourth person is a young woman named Heather Chen. Mark and Heather are the Amerikans.”

“But they are really Amerikans? He’s sure about that?”

“Evidently, he’s convinced. I’m sure we’ll find out more once he returns. I have to confess I eagerly anticipate meeting them.”

Anarynd smiled. “So you can check on what Yozef has told you about Amerika?”

“Of course,” said Maera with an exaggerated haughty flick of her tresses.

Anarynd shook her head. “Sometime your curiosity will get you in trouble. What if what they say is different from what Yozef says?”

Maera looked thoughtful, wondering what she should tell Anarynd.

“I don’t think Yozef ever lies to us, but I’m also sure he doesn’t always tell the exact truth. I know . . . the theophists would argue with what I just said, but I’ve come to believe if he hides something, he honestly believes it’s for everyone’s best.”

“But he could be wrong.”

Maera sighed. “Yes, but everyone hides something, even if it’s small. And it’s often for the same reason—believing it’s for the best. We have to trust God understands our fallibility.”

“Well . . . ,” said Anarynd, her voice going from uncertainty to certainty. “He is Yozef Kolsko, to whom God whispers and looks over.”

“Yes . . . he is Yozef Kolsko,” said Maera, not confirming Anarynd’s testimonial. She retained a level of skepticism about her husband’s connection to God but was satisfied with what she did know. She did not believe every mystery in life needed to be solved.

Maera also understood Anarynd’s conflicting thoughts about possible consequences of Yozef suddenly having living connections to his life before Caedellium. They had already talked about the topic enough that Maera couldn’t think of anything more to say to mollify Anarynd’s concern. It would have to wait until Yozef returned, and then they would see.

A mile away, in the island’s main administration building, a staff member had waited an hour until the other people were gone. The person casually made notes on a small piece of paper, blew the ink dry, folded the paper several times, and slipped it into a pocket. Later, when the individual was again alone, the note’s contents would be transferred to a ledger hidden under the floorboards. The information’s importance was unknown, but one never knew.

Hanslow, Brell Province

The capital of the disbanded Eywell Clan had suffered little damage during the war. Yozef could see across the river to the city’s imposing wall at the crest of the bluff. His eyes searched for the gap in the wall that Anarynd and other women had escaped through during the occupation. He was gratified he couldn’t make out what Anarynd had said was significant crumbling. The previous hetman had neglected repairs, thinking the river and the slope were enough deterrence.

During the Narthani occupation, the city had prospered with the stationing of Narthani troops bringing in coin. When clan forces invaded Eywell after the Narthani defeat at Orosz City, most of the top leadership fled with the retreating Narthani, leaving the city unprotected.

The Brell hetman met Yozef at the train station. Owill Brell wasn’t the most congenial Caedelli, but Yozef appreciated the man’s practicality and efficiency. When the other clans evicted the Narthani from Caedellium, the Eywell clan was outcast for having been a willing ally of the invaders. Still, something had to be done with the tens of thousands of clan members, many of whom had been unwilling allies of the Narthani. The solution determined by an All Clan Conclave was to formally expunge the clan’s leadership from similar roles in the future and to create a new clan with an appointed hetman.

Brell was an Adrisian who had led the clan’s intelligence operations during the war. He accepted the charge of the conclave and assumed the role of Hetman Brell of the new Brell Clan. It hadn’t been a smooth transition, but many of the original clanspeople had never been supporters of the decisions made by the Eywell family. However, overt opposition at that time had been dangerous.

After handshakes and pro forma greetings, they retired immediately to the hetman’s office a half-mile away.

“I’ve read your reports, Owill,” said Yozef. Neither he nor Owill Brell was inclined to exchange meaningless formalities, and they settled directly into business.

“I know you’re frustrated, but it will take time for those who still see themselves as Eywellese to make the adjustment. Well . . . I guess, to be honest, I should say for those who can adjust. The others you’ll have to live with. Your goal is to get the majority accepting the facts.”

Brell waved a hand. “Nothing I don’t already know. The situation isn’t too bad here in Hanslow. The Narthani may have brought coin to the city, but they made no real friends. Most Hanslowese were happy to see them leave. It also helped that Brandor Eywell was not one of the more respected hetmen by his clanspeople. I’m estimating about a third of the clan would have accepted anyone as long as he weren’t Brandor. His oldest son, Bilton, was even more despised. I didn’t know Bilton personally, but I knew Brandor, and I hear many people dreaded the day when Brandor would die and Bilton would become hetman.”

“Well, the Battle of Moreland City solved those problems,” said Yozef. “Too bad about Demian, the younger son. I hear he was different than the father and the brother.”

“Yes, but that would have complicated determining what to do with the clan after the war,” said Brell. “I doubt the other clans would have agreed to leave any of the hetman’s family in positions of power. Convenient also that the rest of the hetman’s family, including brothers, went with the Narthani. Same with five of the nine boyermen.

“Maybe a half of the population felt abandoned by the leadership, which, along with many Eywellese who never approved of the Narthani alliance, helped the new hetman and clan name become accepted. I’ll count it a success if three-quarters of the people accept the reality of Clan Brell by the time I pass the hetman duties to one of my sons.”

“And the nine current boyermen . . . how do you evaluate them?”

“Too soon to tell for all of them, but I’m optimistic. Besides the original five boyermen who fled, one of the others was killed in the war and another died from a knife. The killer has never been identified, but suspicion is one of his clanspeople opted for revenge during the turmoil of the Narthani defeat. That worked for me because I would have removed him after learning more about him. As for the other two, one of them went into hiding but then was identified by other clanspeople. All his property was seized, and he’s working as a laborer, helping rebuild Parthmal. Much of the town was destroyed in the war and the aftermath. He’s free as long as he stays within ten miles of the town.

“Kollar, the boyerman of the district that includes Hanslow, stayed and surrendered the city to avoid bloodshed. I read Welman Stent’s report on Kollar. He thought Kollar did the best he could under the circumstances. I don’t totally agree, but I hope I’m honest enough to understand I can’t be certain what I would have done in his place. I decided the man was competent and had broad support within Hanslow, so it was an obvious decision to keep him as the Hanslow boyerman.”

Brell grunted. “One of my better decisions. I don’t know his personal opinion about the clan change, but he’s been completely supportive, which puts Hanslow and the immediate surroundings in the best condition. Morthmin and Neath are also quiet, probably because they’re on the travel route between Orosz City and Preddi City, which means they interact often with people from other clans.”

Yozef grimaced. “I admit I was worried about that Klyston man, but you handled it well. It would have been bad all around if I’d had to send in dragoons.”

Brell slapped a hand on his thigh. “Damn idiots! Came down to only about a group of twenty who persuaded others they could rise up and overthrow the usurper hetman. Convinced themselves others would join in. Got to be enough of them I had to do something. That’s another place Kollar helped. He knew enough about where sympathies lay to recommend which of the new militia units to send in. The uprising vanished once most of the followers realized the expected support didn’t happen. We snuffed it out early enough that only two cases couldn’t be solved with fines and probation.”

“Sorry you had to handle it, Owill, but I’m glad it was an entirely internal Brell Clan trial. It would only have fanned resentment against both you and the union if the two executions had been seen as anything but an internal matter. I couldn’t avoid being involved in the Preddi case, and I hope that’s the last one.

“Speaking of Kollar, I’ve not met him, so I’ll want a meeting with him before I leave. And . . . speaking of leaving . . . I’ll stay here as long as necessary, but I’m anxious to get back to Orosz City. Any estimate of how much time we’ll need to go over whatever you think is important?”

“Shouldn’t take long. I’ve sent detailed reports every sixday, and you responded regularly. I think we can finish up this evening, and you can be on the way tomorrow morning.”

As predicted, Yozef left Hanslow the next morning.

Moreland City, Moreland Province

The stop in the Moreland Clan capital was not as short as in Brell and was far more formal. Abbot Abelard of St. Worlan’s Cathedral met Yozef at the train station, along with most of the Moreland Grand Council. When Gynfor Moreland, the deceased clan hetman, in an act of stupidity and self-aggrandizement, had ignored the clans’ agreed-upon battle plan during the Battle of Moreland City, the catastrophic consequence was the death of the hetman, his two sons, most of the clan’s political leadership, and over a thousand other Moreland men.

As a temporary measure, a Grand Council was convened to govern the province until a new hetman was selected. The political turmoil and maneuverings among factions to choose the new hetman threatened civil war, despite the continuing Narthani threat. No major faction was willing to cede to its opponents. In desperation, the Grand Council approached Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland, a wife of Yozef Kolsko, the man who by that time was leading the war against the Narthani. Anarynd was part of a minor distant branch of Gynfor Moreland’s extended family, a branch not aligned with the main Moreland family factions.

Abbot Abelard, of Moreland City’s St. Worlan’s Cathedral, led the delegation proposing that Anarynd’s first son be declared the future Moreland hetman. In the meantime, until Anarynd’s son reached majority, governance would be by a combination of a childless minor member of the Moreland family serving as interim hetman and a Grand Council.

The abbot admitted months later that a few of the factions believed they could still win the hetman position after years of maneuvering. Yozef’s ascension to Paramount Hetman ended such delusions.

To both Yozef and the Grand Council’s relief, most Moreland clanspeople were so happy to avoid an intraclan conflict and so positive about a future hetman related to Yozef Kolsko that the province was becoming one of the most enthusiastic supporters of the Paramount. This explained the crowds waiting at the train station and lining streets on the way to the new clan headquarters.

“Impressive progress on rebuilding, Abbot,” said Yozef as the carriage passed block after block of buildings, either obviously new or still under construction.

“Not that we had much choice when Gullar’s army passed and the Narthani burned most of the city to the ground. Of course, none of this would be possible without your support. I doubt all the other clans would have contributed coin, otherwise.”

“I’m sure many would have,” said Yozef, “but it’s important to drive home the lesson that Caedellium is a nation composed of provinces and not provinces pretending to be a nation.”

“It’s a fine distinction,” said Abelard, “and one I’m not sure many appreciate.”

Yozef considered and discarded trying to relate a similar example from the United States. It had taken the Civil War to change “United States” from two words, an adjective and a noun, to a singular noun composed of two words.

“It’s not really important for everyone to understand, as long as they identify Caedellium as a single people. But back to the rebuilding. It’s not something I would express to many Morelanders, but the new Moreland City may well become the envy of a lot of the other clans.”

Abelard’s face fell, and a sheen of moisture formed over his eyes. “It may well happen, but at what price? I spent most of my life working in St. Worlan’s, first as a boy doing small tasks and going to school, then training to be a theophist and rising to become abbot. That St. Worlan’s is gone.”

Yozef frowned. “But I thought you had the original plans and drawings from the last century to reconstruct it.”

“The new St. Worlan’s will look very similar, but it will also look new. It won’t have the changes in stone and wood that come with age. Neither will it have chips, scratches, and wearing that tell the story of its history.”

Abelard perked up with a wry grin. “At least, the argument will be over about replacing the cathedral’s main steps. The Narthani burned most of Moreland City, but they used explosives on the cathedral, and the steps were shattered. The old steps had been worn from so many feet over so many years that most of the steps bowed in the middle. Arguments had gone on for decades about replacements.

“Ah . . . here we are,” said the abbot. “Prepare yourself for the rest of a day filled with speeches and meetings. I trust you’ll be patient. The people really do support the office of the Paramount and yourself.”

Abelard reached for the carriage door handle, then stopped and looked back at Yozef. “For some, it is a real belief, and for others it’s fear of the alternative they saw coming, but either way, it is support.”

Orosz City, Kolsko Manor

Two evenings later, Yozef and Carnigan returned to the manor grounds in the cleft above Orosz City. Carnigan gave the carriage to a stable boy and went searching for Gwyned, who the boy said was at the Puvey house. Yozef walked the remaining fifty yards to the main house and was greeted by a flurry of bodies, large and small, that poured from the main door.

Yozef managed only brief hugs with Maera and Anarynd before being entangled with young children for the next half-hour. He was tired from traveling, glad to be home, and hungry, but he found himself loath to draw an end to talking with those able to converse and carrying the others. After too many days of travel, meetings, the trial, and being Paramount most of the time, he felt the unfettered excitement and affection of the smallest members of the Kolsko and Puvey households to be a balm.

Maera and Anarynd watched, bemused, as the Paramount, leader of all the clans, played with the children. Then, involuntarily, the two women slowly moved closer to each other until, side by side, they touched, an arm around the other. They separated when Gwyned and Carnigan came to retrieve Morwena and Dwyna, the latter of whom would be sleeping with the Puveys this night.

It was another two hours before the children were put to bed or placed in the care of a woman staffer so Yozef could sit and eat with Maera and Anarynd. He didn’t comment on the balmoth roast. Maera whispered that Anarynd wanted the meal to be special and had dipped into their limited supply from an ice cave deep in the mountain behind the manor. The enormous animal resembled Paraceratheriums of Earth’s Miocene Epoch. A mature male reached eighteen feet at the shoulder and weighed up to thirty tons. Once widespread on Caedellium, the animal was now limited to small populations in the Vandinke and Hewell provinces. The mixed results of Yozef’s attempts to prevent the beast’s extinction had led him, reluctantly, to allude to whispers to protect the animal—the catchphrase referencing the rumor that God whispered into Yozef’s ear or mind.

The balmoth’s misfortune was that its meat tasted so good. Yozef had convinced the Vandinke and Hewell hetmen to declare moratoriums on balmoth hunting. The meat sequestered in the ice cave was the remainder of a present from Lordum Hewell before the moratorium went into effect. As much as Yozef favored the meat, the limited supply and his own sense of guilt at enjoying it had resulted in their not drawing on the supply for many months. Maera’s implied warning about Anarynd’s intent gave him the leeway to relax and enjoy the meal.

“Please, Yozef,” said Maera, smiling, “Anarynd is dying to know about the Amerikans. She talked of little else the last few days.”

Anarynd stuck her tongue out at Maera. “As if you aren’t as curious. You just hide it, instead of letting it out like I do.”

Yozef raised his hands, holding knife and fork. He was savoring the first bite of balmoth. After swallowing, he said, “We should have talked before eating. Let me just say it went well. As I wrote, Mark and Heather are definitely Amerikans and will be coming to Orosz City in about two sixdays. I’ll give you a complete report, but please let’s at least finish the balmoth portions while they’re hot and fresh.”

Twenty minutes later, Yozef had transferred the last piece of meat to his mouth.

“All right, so what happened?” asked Anarynd, giving up on being patient.

“Ummummmumm,” was his entire response until he finished chewing and swallowing.

He described the Kaldwel family and Heather, then moved on to the trial and meetings with the Landolin and Iraquinik representatives, ending with the stops in Hanslow and Moreland City.

“How did it feel to meet Amerikans after years of thinking it would never happen?” asked Maera.

He knew she was getting to the heart of what both she and Anarynd were most curious about. His recitation of facts had given him more time to consolidate what he would say . . . not that he hadn’t already spent time on the same task.

“It was odd. After years, I thought I had accepted never again having any form of contact with Amerika. As you know, I was excited by the message from Balwis, but it was tempered by suspecting it was a trick or a mistake. Maybe Balwis had misinterpreted what the newcomers told him. Maybe the Narthani were involved, trying to get close to me. And no, I didn’t really believe those possibilities. The words Mark had Balwis put in the semaphore message could only have come from Amerikans. But . . . you know . . . I guess I was afraid of hoping too much. That’s what surprised me. How much I hoped it was true.”

Twice in the past, Maera had apprised Yozef that Anarynd held a secret worry that he would return to Amerika if he ever had the chance. He knew that possibility did not exist, but the reason could not be explained. Not that he hadn’t wondered the same thing, but mainly during the first years. Now, the idle thought was easily dismissed, but he had two reassurances to give.

“It brought back a flood of memories of my old home and especially of my family, but no matter how much I miss them, this is now my home. With you, the children, our friends, and all of Caedellium. In a way, it was reaffirming. Even if I suddenly had a way to return to Amerika, I would never consider it.”

His smile was authentic. “Which is irrelevant because neither Mark nor Heather knows how to get from here to Amerika. So . . . the only thing that has changed by their arrival is that at times I’ll have two people to remember Amerika with, and there’s what Mark knows.”

“And what does he know?” Maera asked, both curious and inclined to distract Anarynd now that she had been reassured.

“Hah!” he exclaimed. “It may be better than I could have hoped. Mark claims to be an engineer.”

“Oh . . . someone who builds things,” said Maera. “What . . . like roads and bridges?”

“That’s one kind of engineer, and we could use such knowledge, but no, Mark is an engineer for making devices. Machinery. We call it being a mechanical engineer. You’ve heard me talk about steam engines. I think he’ll be able to solve the problems we’ve had, but the first thing will be the telegraph. He’s confident the relay problem can be solved quickly. He also didn’t say so explicitly, but the wire making he passed off as another easy problem.”

“But you just met him,” said Anarynd. “Can you be sure he is capable of doing these things?”

“No, of course not. I got the sense Mark knows what he’s talking about, but we won’t be sure until he gets here and starts to work.”

“And he and his family really came all the way from Frangel?” asked Anarynd. “With a small child?”

“I didn’t get all the details,” Yozef said, “but I’m sure it’s a story worth hearing.”

CHAPTER 15

MEET THE AMERIKANS

It had been planned that the trip to Orosz City would be completed by the afternoon of the second day. It was still dark the next morning when the Kaldwels and Heather were packed and waiting for Ceinwyn to pick them up by carriage. Their moderate-size pieces of baggage contained entirely new clothing, except for what they wore, also new. Their only other possessions were Alys’s three stuffed animals, the few remaining Frangel and Sulakoan gold coins, and the one doomster rifle. Its sibling had been involuntarily given in exchange for horses when they crossed Rustal, guided by Gulgit, the Rustalian arms smuggler.

A broken cloud cover moved briskly east to west, and the sun was still half an hour below the horizon when Ceinwyn arrived, driving the carriage.

“Go ahead and put your bags in the back,” she said. “The train is waiting at the station. You’ll be the only passengers, but you’ll share the train with mail going to Hanslow, the Brell Province capital.” She kept talking while the three adults loaded baggage, Alys supervising. “I think someone described to you that the rail line to Orosz City isn’t quite complete. At the gap in the line, you’ll transfer to a carriage that will take you to another train for the rest of the way.

“I received a letter from Maera two days ago. She said that when you arrive in Orosz City, you will be taken directly to Kolsko Manor and will stay there until something more permanent is arranged. If the travel goes well, you’ll meet the Kolskos for a meal. Probably the Puvey family will be there, too. Carnigan and his wife, Gwyned, are close friends and live nearby.”

They rode through Preddi City’s streets, already busy with people going to work, setting up shopping stands, and opening businesses. Ceinwyn kept both hands on the horses’ reins but verbally answered greetings. When they reached the train station, Mark quickly pulled their baggage off the back of the carriage.

“Thank you for all your help, Ceinwyn,” said Maghen. “We all appreciate it.”

Ceinwyn smiled. “Many of us are curious to find out if your husband and Heather are as full of wonders as Yozef. I expect not. After all, Septarshes can’t be all that common, even in Amerika. I’ll look forward to seeing you again, either here or in Orosz City.”

As soon as they and their baggage were aboard the train, the driver urged the horses on. The ride had bumps where the rails met but was smoother than carriages on roads.

Not too bad, thought Mark, but some leaf springs will make it better. I’ll mention this to Yozef. At least, there shouldn’t be a problem getting them made here, as there was in Tregallon.

The benches they sat on had firm cushions. Maghen had been awake and bustling when Mark woke earlier that morning, Alys trailing her mother and wondering what was happening. He didn’t know how long they’d both been awake, but both were asleep by the time they passed the last structure close enough to be considered part of the city—Maghen leaning into a pillow and Alys in her mother’s lap.

“What do you think of all the Septarsh stuff, Mark?” Heather said in English, just loud enough to be heard over the horses’ hooves and wheels over rails.

Mark started to caution Heather about using English but stopped. Maghen snored slightly. He knew from experience she was well into sleep. Alys hadn’t yet mastered pretending to be asleep.

He leaned forward, forearms on thighs, coming closer to Heather where she sat on the facing bench.

“I get the sense he’s uneasy with it.”

“But he almost seems to have some kind of mythical status,” she said. “It worries me. You know . . . that power corrupts thing. And are we sure he likes us being here? He seems a little anal about not using English. He’s afraid we’ll reveal who he really is.”

“Well . . . if we have to be somewhere with a corrupt ruler, it could be worse. We’ll learn more about him, but when I met with him, he seemed more than just pleased and, frankly, especially with me. He has ideas and claims he wished for years there was an engineer from Earth here. Well . . . here I am. No . . . I think we’re in a good position. Whatever happens, the two of us will likely benefit from some of his aura spilling over to us. And be honest. Didn’t this Hetman Balwis’s wife treat you well?”

Heather sighed and relaxed her hands, which had been clutching her knees. “I’m sure you’re right. I guess I’m still looking for a way for things to go bad. After Iskadon . . . you know.”

She looked out the windows at the countryside sliding by. “I’ll get some sleep. I was awake most of the night.”

She leaned into the corner of the bench against the coach’s side, using a pillow to imitate Maghen, and closed her eyes. He watched for several minutes. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep, but her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm. She looked so small compared to Maghen. He wasn’t as confident as he sounded. He, too, had enough memories of things going wrong not to be cautious.

Hours later, they reached the end of the Preddi side of the line southwest of the city of Hanslow. A four-horse-team carriage pulled alongside as soon as the train coach stopped. Transfer took less than fifteen minutes, and they were on their way again. Most of that time they had spent visiting cloth-screened slit trenches used by the railroad workers. The process was repeated in reverse when they reached the Orosz City end of the line. Later, they passed the city of Hanslow. The train station was not in the city but on the other side of a river with the walled city visible on top of a bluff.

More hours later, Mark wasn’t sure how many, they reached Moreland City and stopped only to change horses at the city’s outskirts. From there, they had a starlit view of what was apparently the city center. When they were ready to proceed, a new driver appeared.

“It’s dark, but most of the buildings we can see seem almost new?” Mark asked the man.

“Have to be. The Narthani burned the whole damn city to the ground when their army passed through.” The driver cackled. “This is where we beat them the first time when they had fewer men. The second time they came here, I think they were pissed nobody was here to fight and the whole city was abandoned. They set everything afire. We made ’em sorry they came through when they tried to return past Orosz City.” He pulled up a trouser leg to show a nasty scar on the calf.

“Narthani musket ball hit me when they were breaking through our line,” the driver said proudly. “I got right back up. Didn’t stop me from reloading.”

He spit to one side. “Damn Narthani. My brother wasn’t so lucky. He was standing right next to me and was hit in the throat. Nothing I could do for him. I was busy killing Narthani.”

A half-hour from Moreland City, they slowly gained altitude, though the land remained flat. Mountains came closer, and when the flat terrain changed to rolling hills, the driver told them, “We’ll be changing horses after that grade. The pace will pick up at sunrise, and you should be in Orosz City around mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

The driver was close to his estimate—about mid-afternoon the next day, after following a river the last hour, they saw Orosz City in the distance, Heather making the first sighting.

“Hey, that’s got to be our destination. Geez! Looks like something out of Lord of the Rings.”

Mark left his seat to peer out the same side of the coach as Heather. High, craggy ridges were separated by what appeared to be a cleft, though he couldn’t see how deep the gap went. At the base of the cleft was a walled city. South from the walls, buildings spread out to perhaps a mile—he couldn’t be sure of the distance. As they got nearer, they could make out a set of stone buildings one and two stories tall, evidently constructed from the same quarry. Fifteen minutes later, they pass the buildings.

“Those are Caedellium headquarters buildings the Paramount is having built,” the driver called out.

They stopped at a train station and transferred themselves and their baggage once again to a carriage. Mark then had a better view of the city’s walls and the bastions situated approximately equal distances apart. When they passed through a gate in the city’s walls, Mark noted a difference.

“All the buildings we just passed seem pretty new, while the ones inside are obviously much older.”

“Ceinwyn told me everything outside the wall was leveled in preparation for the big battle here,” said Heather. “She said tens of thousands of people, men and women, dug fortifications from the wall all the way down to the river. She claimed they worked night and day for a six-day.”

“I haven’t heard the details from Yozef,” said Mark. “Did Ceinwyn say how big the Narthani army was?”

“She said they don’t know the exact number, but something between fifty and fifty-five thousand.” Heather shuddered. “I’m glad I wasn’t around for that day. I can’t even imagine. Ceinwyn says she was on the line with a unit that was all women. About one in five were killed, and she claims that wasn’t an unusual number for many parts of the defense.”

I’ll have to get a lot more details about this battle, thought Mark. Hell . . . not just this battle but everything about how these islanders fought the Narthani. If the numbers Ceinwyn threw around are even close to accurate, I’ll have to learn a lot more if I’m going to have a sense of the people here, what they went through, and just what Yozef’s role was.

The carriage wove its way through the busy city streets. Most people ignored the travelers, though several greeted the driver. There was no north exit gate from the city. There was no need. The city sat directly against not quite vertical rock formations merging into the mountains on both sides as they entered the cleft. The carriage slowed as the road sloped upward for perhaps a quarter-mile before leveling where the gap was about three hundred yards wide. There, they came upon the first dwellings since leaving the city proper.

“Looks like this is where some of the upper crust lives,” said Heather. “The houses are larger than we saw on the other side of the city, and they’re not as close together.”

“Probably the richer merchants, the hetman, and other ranking officials,” said Mark.

Four minutes later, they turned left from the gravel road onto a path leading to a large house with several smaller structures scattered among the trees. A child, perhaps five or six years old, sat on the steps of a veranda. Mark saw that it was a girl when she jumped to her feet and ran inside. As the carriage stopped in front of the house, Yozef exited the door, followed by the same girl and two other, younger children.

“Welcome to Kolsko Manor,” said Yozef as he opened the carriage door. “I got a semaphore message saying when you left Moreland City, so this is about the time I expected you would get here. Come on inside.”

Yozef waved to someone, and a teenage boy appeared. “Ilmar will take your bags to where you’ll be staying for now. Let’s get them off the carriage and show him which ones are the Kaldwel family’s and which ones are Heather’s.”

The driver was already off the carriage and unstrapping the baggage area. The three males quickly pulled the bags off and sorted them according to ownership.

“Mark, your family will have a cottage. Someone will show you later. Heather, we only have one guest cottage, so you’ll be staying with Elian Faughn. She’s an elderly woman who’s been with me since shortly after I arrived on Caedellium. She’s very nice. I think she’ll enjoy having someone share her cottage. But for now, let’s go on inside and meet everyone else.”

Kolsko Manor might have looked crude when they approached, but a closer inspection as they walked up onto the veranda and through the main door belied that first impression. The woodwork was solid and the craftsmanship, top notch. Inside, Mark was surprised by a glass-door cabinet that was wall-mounted five feet above the floor. Displayed behind the glass were pistols, short-barreled rifles, and shotguns. Yozef noticed Mark’s attention.

“You’ll see several more of these around the manor. There’s a story about it you’ll hear later.”

Heather felt something clutch her hand. She looked down to find a brown-haired boy of about four years looking at her.

“You’re small,” said the boy. “I thought Amerikans were all big.”

“Amerikans come in all sizes,” said Yozef. “You should tell Heather your name, so she’ll be your friend.”

“Hello. My name is Aeneas. I’m the oldest boy here.” The last words were stated with pride.

Heather only had to tilt her head down slightly to look him eye to eye. “Well . . . hello, Aeneas. I’m happy to meet you. My name is Heather.”

“I know. That’s what Papa Yozef called you.”

Heather stood and looked at Yozef. “Papa? He’s one of yours?”

“Yes. Maera is his mother. You might also hear the children say ‘Papa Carnigan.’ The Puvey family lives in the house you passed before turning off to here. Carnigan and Gwyned are so close to us that all the children refer to all the adults by mama and papa.”

“Bring them on into the main room, Yozef,” a woman’s voice called out. “We gathered everybody together so we can make the introductions. The children won’t stay in one place for long.”

Yozef chuckled and gestured for them to follow him into a large room with cushioned or upholstered chairs scattered among several tables. Three women and the children were waiting. The group was supplemented when the large redheaded man they had seen in Preddi City walked in from another door.

“I’ll do the introductions,” said Yozef, turning and touching Heather’s shoulder. “This is Heather Chen. As Aeneas pointed out, she is small in stature, but from what Mark says, she’s impressive with the music she can perform.”

He turned to the Kaldwels. “This is Mark and Maghen. Somewhere hiding behind her mother is Alys.”

Maghen reached around and coaxed Alys to peek from behind her mother’s dress.

“I think I remember that Alys is three years old. Is that right, Alys?”

A small hand holding up three fingers joined the head.

“And now for the Puvey family. You’ve already met Carnigan. Well . . . maybe you’ve only seen him. Gwyned is his wife and is holding Siston, who I believe is a year old.”

Yozef walked to stand behind a piece of sofa-like upholstered furniture holding two seated women, both wearing green. He put a hand on the brown-haired smaller woman’s shoulder. “This is Maera holding Anida, who’s five months old.”

Yozef gestured to his right. “Aeneas, come sit with your mother.”

The boy who had held Heather’s hand ran and sat between Maera’s feet. Yozef remained standing in the same place but changed hands to touch to the shoulder of a blonde woman.

“And this is Anarynd holding Odysius. Xena is sleeping between Anarynd and Maera. Odysius and Xena are twins—obviously not identical. They are about the same age as Siston.”

“Two months older,” corrected Anarynd.

“I stand corrected. Well . . . that’s the whole group.”

“You forgot me!” protested the voice coming from a small, black-haired girl who had appeared from somewhere.

“Dwyna! No, I didn’t forget you. I just saved you for last. This is Dwyna, everyone.”

The two parties looked at each other for several seconds after the initial introductions. It was Anarynd who broke the silence.

“I’ll bet Alys is hungry, and the rest of the children need to be fed, too. Maghen, why don’t you join the rest of us mothers in the kitchen? We can let the Americans and Carnigan talk. We’ll get together again for the evening meal.”

“Carnigan first needs to go next door and bring the basket of bread I baked this afternoon,” said Gwyned.

Maera’s forehead furrowed. Yozef recognized that she had wanted to stay and talk to the new Amerikans. He mouthed, “We have time.” She nodded and joined the movement of children and women to the kitchen.

When the three Amerikans were alone, Mark laughed. “Aeneas, Odysius, and Xena? That’s what you named your children?”

“Oh,” said Heather. “I recognized Odysius, but the other two?”

“Aeneas is from one of those Greek epics,” said Mark, “I don’t know which one. Maybe The Iliad or The Odyssey.

“Actually . . . it’s The Aeneid, and it’s Roman,” said Yozef. “Aeneas is the main character. He is a Greek . . . or a Trojan . . . I’m not sure if they count as the same. Anyway . . . he travels from Troy to Italy and helps found Rome.”

“Let me guess,” said Heather. “I’ll bet Xena also has something to do with the Greeks or Romans.”

“Well . . . sort of,” said Yozef, then laughed.

“It was a television show,” said Mark. “Xena, the Warrior Princess. I never watched it myself, but it was on several years. I don’t know where the name comes from. Some kind of Greek goddess?” He looked at Yozef.

“No, the character was just made up for television. The first appearance was in the series Hercules, with Xena a spinoff starring Lucy Lawless. I think I watched all the reruns so many times, I almost knew the lines. I had a serious crush on Lawless.”

“A couple of mythological figures and a TV character?” questioned Heather. “Those are the names you gave your kids?”

Yozef flushed, then laughed again. “There’s one more. My first year here, I had a relationship with a woman owning a farm north of Abersford, where I lived in Keelan Province. After a few months, we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t going to move to her family farm, and she wasn’t going to leave the farm to live in towns or cities. It was an amicable split, but a child resulted. Someone suggested to me that that might have been her plan all along. With the shortage of men, she might have figured if she couldn’t get a husband, she still wanted a child. She ended up joining her sister and sister’s husband on a neighboring farm, merging their farms, and forming a three-sided marriage.”

“I would have wondered if that’s where you got the idea about multiple wives,” said Heather, “but Ceinwyn said it was Maera’s idea.”

Yozef shrugged. “Maera’s the one who first brought it up, and Anarynd liked the idea. It wasn’t something I expected or planned on, but I guess I admit once they were both in favor and gave arguments for it, I didn’t fight it.”

“You still think it was a good idea?” asked Mark.

“I didn’t say I thought it was a good idea at the time, only that I went along. However, things worked out and led to Odysius and Xena.”

“You said you had another child. With the farm woman?” asked Heather.

“Yes. Bronwyn is her name. And I expect you to ask me which Greek character I named that child after. That’s a story. By that time, Bronwyn and I had split many months earlier. She was married to her sister and sister’s husband, and Maera and I had married not long before that. But I wasn’t aware it was the custom for a child to be formally named at a Godsday service with the father announcing the name. I couldn’t remember anyone bothering to tell me of the naming part. Well . . . Maera later said she had told me, but I only found out when the abbot called on me to give a name to the baby boy. Don’t ask me what I was thinking. Maybe the whole situation, being cast away on Anyar, the adjustment, everything, was all sort of fantastical. Maybe I was reminded somehow of Lord of the Rings. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking, but I blurted out ‘Aragorn.’”

“Oh, lord,” murmured Mark.

“Well, it could have been worse,” said Heather, laughing. “You could have blurted out Gollum or Sauron.”

“Or Gimli,” added Mark.

Yozef held up both hands in surrender. “Gimme a break. I didn’t expect to ever meet another person from Earth. Aragorn just popped out of my mouth, but afterward I figured what the hell? My name was firmly fixed as Yozef Kolsko, but I guess I had the faint notion that I could spread other names around that could only have come from Earth. And who knows? Maybe someday . . . hundreds or thousands of years from now, Earth and Anyar might come in contact. If the name Yozef Kolsko is lost, maybe other names might survive to show a distant connection.

“Anyway . . . if I’d known I’d run into you two, maybe I would’ve picked Caedelli names or, if not those, how about David, Brian, Serena, Linda? And Mark, don’t tell me you didn’t name your daughter after Alice in Wonderland.”

“You got me. It was too obvious a pick. If what’s happened to us hasn’t been going down the rabbit hole, then what is?”

“Ah . . . speaking of rabbit holes,” said Heather, drawing their attention but then not continuing for several seconds as she hugged herself. “It’s something we already talked about back in Preddi City.” She stopped and shook her head. “I know the answer, but I’ve got to ask again. Are you sure there’s no way back to Earth?”

“Sorry, Heather,” said Yozef. “I’ve long ago given up that thought. It would require the aliens grabbing us back aboard one of their ships. And why would they do it? They already told us why they dumped us here. We’re certainly not doing it on our own. Hell . . . even if we had our own spacecraft, we don’t even know where we are with respect to Earth. This is our life, and it’s up to us to make the best of it.”

“We’ve been dealt bad cards,” said Mark. “It’s not our choice, but we have to deal with the ones we’re holding.”

Heather broke into laughter again. They stared at her and each other until she choked it off enough to speak.

“Really, Mark! The Kenny Rogers song, ‘The Gambler’?”

Yozef and Mark joined in laughing enough that Maera appeared in the doorway, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Just sharing the memory of a song from Amerika,” said Yozef.

“Well, you’ll have to explain it to the rest of us later,” Maera said and went back inside.

“One of the great philosophical songs,” asserted Yozef. “Our gaming group used it when one of us lost a game. The others would sing it at the loser. That song or ‘Born to Lose’ by Ray Charles. But ‘The Gambler’ was my preference.”

“Every hand’s a winner,” Heather sang softly.

“And every hand’s a loser,” Mark and Yozef joined in with the second line.

They continued through the lyrics, Mark and Yozef stumbling at times, but Heather knew all the words.

“Knowing what to keep and what to throw away,” whispered Heather, her eyes with a distant look. “A good lesson I have to learn. What happened before Caedellium are cards to be discarded. I’ve been dealt a new hand, and it’s up to me to make it a winner.”

Her focus snapped back to her companions, and she grinned. “I think I agree with Mark about philosophy. I expect advice on how to live your life could be boiled down to some of that song’s phrases.”

“Play the cards you’ve got the best you can,” said Mark. “That’s all any of us can aspire to.”

Heather’s body quivered as if shaking off a thought before moving to another.

“There’s something else I’ve wondered about,” said Heather, moving on to another topics. “Mark and I discussed it a bit, but Yozef, I’d like to hear your take on what the aliens did to us. You know . . . the healing and gene changes. I figured with you being a chemist, you’d understand more about genes and stuff than me and Mark.”

“Maybe more,” said Yozef, “but that wasn’t my specialty. Oh . . . I took university courses in genetics, biochemistry, and molecular biology, but I’d hardly call myself an expert.”

Mark snorted. “Maybe not on Earth, but you’d qualify on Anyar. I had to have the aliens refresh me on what a mitochondrion is and does.”

“Well,” said Yozef, “I can’t add all that much. They modified a few mitochondria genes to give us a little more energy to compensate for Anyar’s gravity being a little stronger than Earth’s. I don’t know about you two, but I suspect they overdid it a bit to our advantage. From when I recovered after arriving, I think I’m stronger and my reflexes better than they were on Earth. Not that it makes me a superman . . . just a little more of what I was. What about you two?”

“I’m not sure,” said Mark. “I think I’m stronger and certainly leaner, but how much of that is a different lifestyle versus the aliens, I can’t be sure.”

Heather raised both hands outward to signal doubt. “I didn’t have many chances to check differences. Of course, I started out smaller than you two. I suppose if I could play tennis, I might notice a difference. That was my only sport.”

“Something else,” said Yozef. “If I remember correctly, mitochondria are inherited through the mother, so none of Mark’s or my children have modified mitochondria. On the other hand, Heather, if you have children, they all will inherit your mitochondria.”

Mark frowned. “Whoa! Does that mean that your and my children will suffer from the higher gravity?”

“I doubt it. I’ve watched Aeneas, and Aragorn when I’ve seen him, and I haven’t noticed them acting like other than normal kids. One thing to remember is that we three grew up with Earth gravity. Children born on Anyar have developed under that higher gravity, so I suspect their bodies developed to handle it, just like every other human on Anyar. Remember, all the other humans have genomes that evolved on Earth, so our children will be the same as them. I’ll be curious to see what happens with Heather’s children. They will have grown up with Anyar gravity AND will have better energy efficiency from her mitochondria. Should be interesting.”

“Well, don’t get too curious,” said Heather. “I’ve no immediate plans to start producing kids to satisfy your curiosity.”

“How about the nanos or nanites or whatever the things are the aliens said they gave us to prevent disease or cancer,” asked Mark, “and with faster healing a neat side effect? From the stories we’ve told one another, we’ve agreed that none of us have been ill, not even a local version of a cold. Plus, the faster healing is definite, even if mine seems attenuated by the local poison that creature gave me.”

“Ah . . . that’s another story,” said Yozef. “The aliens didn’t say anything about either the healing or the memory improvement, which I may have a little more of than the two of you. Another effect was that my hair was originally much lighter than it is now with the small streaks you see. I don’t think any of that was planned. The aliens were dealing with a foreign genome, so it’s hardly surprising that they didn’t anticipate all the side effects of what they did.

“I assume you had other questions about these nanos,” said Mark.

“Two big ones right off the top,” Yozef said. “Will they last our whole lives? We know they got passed on to Maera, Anarynd, and Maghen, and we’re pretty sure the mothers passed them to their children. What we don’t know is if the nanos are as effective with secondary and tertiary possessors as much as with the primary or if they last as long. If the nanos replicated themselves, then they might be endlessly transmissible. Yet if the total remains the same, then the effects would dilute with each passage. We just don’t have enough information.”

Yozef intended to have more personal conversations with both Mark and Heather once they knew one another better. He worried about the nanos spreading because they were transmitted by sex. The story of Yozef’s situation with Bronwyn was initially confined to the merged family, probably at least until the new children were grown. However, he had had a brief affair with a tailor woman in Abersford. Buna Keller was past childbearing age but not past an interest in sex. Yozef wondered but never investigated whether she had other affairs after theirs. If she had, she might have passed the nanos on. He would talk with Mark and Heather later to learn if there might be multiple other centers of nano spread on Anyar.

“I have another question,” said Mark. “We assume the nanos are in our body fluids because they’re in our—” He stopped suddenly and looked at Heather. “Uh . . .”

She attempted a leer. “Just say it. Your semen. I assume that’s how you passed the nanos to your wives. Not likely it was saliva or sweat.”

Suddenly she blanched. “Oh, shit! You think I might have passed them to Halari!? Maybe it’s just man to woman and not the other way. Oh, God . . . I’d hate it forever if he benefited from what he did to me.”

Yozef wondered what the story was, but Mark moved on without responding directly to Heather.

“If they are in our plasma and not the cells, then what would happen if we spun out the cells and injected the plasma into someone here with cancer, a deadly disease, or a potentially fatal injury?”

“You mean we could cure people?” exclaimed Heather, her voice rising a pitch in excitement.

In contrast, Yozef’s face was grim when he said, “I’ve thought of that. Too many times. But before you say more, let me pose another question. What happens to our lifespans? By avoiding diseases, we reasonably expect to maybe live a little longer. I think I’m showing signs of aging since I got here—a stray gray hair or two—but I can’t be sure. What if we live to be a hundred and fifty or more?”

“You make it sound like that would be a bad thing,” said Heather.

“I think I see where Yozef is going,” said Mark to Heather. “Imagine word spreading that the blood of Amerikans can both heal and extend lifespans.”

Heather’s forehead wrinkled as she sought to understand Mark’s meaning. Slowly the wrinkles flattened, her skin took on a paler sheen, her eyes widened, and a trembling hand moved to cover her mouth.

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” sieved quietly from between her fingers. “It would be like some horror movie. People after us for our blood. I wish we hadn’t had this conversation. I’ll expect people to start looking at me with hungry expressions.”

“That’s why I’ve decided not to explore plasma potential. I think our fast healing can be tolerated as a characteristic of Amerikans, but curing others goes too far. In the long run, it may not be a problem. If the nanos dilute with passage, time will solve it. Yet if they replicate and there’s no dilution effect, then it might be possible to eventually inoculate the entire planet. However, that’s if it can be kept secret until technology improves and the number of carriers increases enough to avoid a gold rush for a small number of us.”

“And as for the longevity,” said Mark, “any problem is many decades in the future. We can worry about it then. What this does for now is make me think our positions here need to be even more unassailable.”

Heather’s color had mainly returned, but her expression was somber. “All right. I can see that there’s no immediate crisis, but Yozef, have you already had instances when someone you cared about might have been saved by your plasma? How did you handle that?”

“I’ve been lucky so far, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a bit of guilt about people I might have saved. However, that’s trying to take on guilt for something that would have happened if I weren’t here. Even if I were inclined to try using my blood with or without the blood cells, I don’t know enough about incompatibility reactions. It could kill the person if done wrong. I’d need who knows how much experimentation before risking it. And then how would I explain the experiments? Inaction is not a satisfying solution, but I think I’ve come to accept it.”

“I think Yozef’s decision to put this aside is right, Heather,” said Mark. “In the face of so many negative possibilities for everyone involved, there’s simply nothing to do but accept the advantages we’ve been given, whether or not we asked for them.”

Carnigan chose that moment to reappear. The conversation had been in English but now switched to Caedelli. Half an hour later, Elian Faughn and a teenage girl appeared to take the children away. The adults sat for an evening meal composed of roast beef, chunks of a starchy vegetable mix with what appeared and tasted faintly like onions, a reddish leafy vegetable that tasted like spinach, the fresh bread Carnigan had fetched, olives, and a red wine.

Satiated, they moved back into the main room—what Mark and Heather automatically thought of as the living room. Anarynd and Gwyned excused themselves, only to rejoin the others minutes later, Anarynd holding Odysius and Xena, Gwyned holding Siston and Anida, and Alys leading the way.

Without explanation, Anarynd sat with her twins, Gwyned sat after giving Anida to Maera, and all three women proceeded to breast-feed. Mark was initially nonplussed, but Maghen nodded approval and gestured to Alys, who ran to her mother. Alys jumped into her mother’s lap and assisted in opening the dress enough to expose her breast.

“I would’ve weaned Alys earlier,” Maghen said, “but when we were traveling, we were never sure we would always have enough food or if we’d have anything she would or could eat. So I’ve kept breast-feeding. Now that we’re here, I’ve started weaning her, but I think it’s a bit much to worry about it tonight when she sees all the others.”

Mark suppressed a grin, and Heather, startled, looked at Yozef. He shrugged and carried on conversations as if nothing unusual was happening . . . which was true.

The next day, Maera went to the Puvey house after the men had left for Orosz City. She found Gwyned helping Morwena dress.

“What did Carnigan say about the Amerikans when he got home from Preddi City?”

“He thought it was clear how happy they were to meet one another, at least after Yozef and the man named Mark talked in English. I assume they were asking each other questions that only Amerikans would have the answers to. Carnigan wasn’t around them much after that, but Yozef spent many hours with them . . . especially the man. Oh, and he said the man was big and rough-looking. I asked how big and was told not as big as himself, but bigger than most men. He likes the little girl. But that’s Carnigan. He likes almost all children. As for the Amerikan woman, she’s supposed to look odd, but Carnigan says Synton knows more about her.”

“Synton?”

“Yes. He seems to have become fascinated by her.”

Later that day, Maera found Synton.

“Well . . . the first thing you notice is the eyes,” said Synton. “They kind of . . . I don’t . . . maybe squint. Not on purpose. Just the way they’re shaped. At first, I thought it looked ugly, but the more I saw her, the less it looked so. I guess my opinion might have been changed by Wyfor. He says he’s seen people from other lands in the far east that look similar. I think he said especially from Krinolin. All I know about the place is it’s on the opposite side of Anyar.

“And yes, don’t look at me. How would Wyfor know why a woman from Amerika looks similar to people from Krinolin? Maybe that means Amerika is near Krinolin. Maybe Amerika is Krinolin, and Yozef is the exiled emperor. Maybe all Amerikans exist just in our imaginations. I don’t worry about things that aren’t important to me. I let others do that kind of thing.

“Anyway, she’s supposed to be a singer/musician. I can believe it. I heard her singing one day. She was sitting outside where they were staying and didn’t think anyone else was nearby. I have no idea what the words were. I assume it was in Amerikan or maybe Sulakoan. Whatever it was sounded . . . well . . . I don’t know, just something I didn’t want to stop. I think Yozef expects her to do something with music here on Caedellium.”

CHAPTER 16

SECRETS

A sixday passed before Yozef found time and an opportunity to talk again with Mark and Heather about a sensitive topic. He was giving them a tour of the growing government complex when Heather asked a question.

“So, you say this is where the Caedellium Senate meets, but what exactly does that mean? Do they pass laws, hold hearings, spend all their time raising money for the next reelection campaign, or what?”

Yozef ignored the sarcastic final comment. “Each clan is supposed to have at least one of its two senators here in Orosz City at all times. That’s in case some decision is needed, and there’s no time to poll the hetmen. For the major issues, I still think hetman input is a good idea, and they’re called to Orosz City.”

“Sounds like the All-Clan Conclave you described,” said Mark.

“Pretty much, and not what I intended. However, I think that will change over time and when the island’s economy develops. The clans will slowly accept the idea that a central government has advantages over independent clans. Again, in time, I’m hoping the advantages of the union will become so ingrained that the clans will want a more active part in the governance.”

“I assume you haven’t had a serious discussion with any of these hetmen about them getting voted out of office,” jested Heather.

“I think they would take that far worse than finding out their Paramount is not even from this planet. My position is too new for me to push too fast. For one example, women will get more opportunities, but I’m not expecting to change long-standing customs overnight. That will also help people accept the union. I think women are less attached to clan independence than the men. Improving conditions with will help, as will mandating education for all girls as well as boys.”

“Do you get tired or confused at times with all the secrets you carry around?” asked Mark. “I know for me, I mainly just had myself to worry about.”

“I think I did pretty well adjusting to what I was keeping secret,” said Yozef, “at least until the two of you showed up to complicate things.”

Yozef reflexively checked that no one was within hearing distance. “Which brings up the topic I’ve wrestled with about sharing. Starting the first year after I arrived, I’ve written in a series of journals that I’ve kept under lock and key. Even Maera doesn’t know about the journals, although she’s aware of something I’ve kept secret in my workroom wherever we’ve lived. That changed a couple months ago when I moved the journals to a small building that I call the Paramount’s personal workshop.

“I have three sets of journals, though with different numbers of volumes. In one set, I’ve been writing everything I can remember about science and mathematics. I’ve pretty much exhausted everything I know about math, so that set can be considered finished, at least by me. A second set is what I remember about Earth—history, nations, how I got to Anyar . . . hell, even sports and entertainment. I still dabble occasionally. Finally, the third set is an English grammar and small dictionary in Caedelli for the day the journals are opened for reading, and they need a translation guide.”

“You have any plans for when that might happen?” asked Heather.

“Probably after I’m dead. I haven’t come up with a scenario that would convince me to do it while I’m alive. I’ll have to someday pass them on to someone I trust—the idea being either that person would decide when the time is right or would, in turn, pass them on to someone else. I figured the journals would be a sign that I've been here, like giving children names from Earth. Of course, then there’s a chance that someday humans on Anyar would find out they aren’t the only humans in the universe.”

“That’s assuming anyone who reads the journals doesn’t think Yozef Kolsko was actually an insane genius who knew all the science,” said Heather.

Yozef shrugged. “Even so, it would be in the record for a day when contact happened, whether a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand years from now.”

He held up a hand. “Back to the journals, though. I’d like both of you to contribute, but it’s voluntary. For you, Mark, you know areas of science, math, and particularly engineering better than I do. Your work must have used applied mathematics in ways I’m ignorant of.

“Heather, you know music history theory. I can’t say how important that might be in the future, but that’s worth writing down. Then both of you have your own stories to tell, and you know things about Earth’s history, cultures, and whatever that I don’t. Anyway . . . we’ve no rush, so think about it. We can arrange for you to have access to a place to write. That’s the one thing I will insist on—that if you do contribute to the journals, you’ll have to satisfy me on their security.”

They had talked while moving between buildings and stopped outside the administration structure. Now they let the topic drop as they entered the main door.

Another sixday passed before Yozef felt confident enough to divulge another secret, but only to Mark. It had been a test of willpower. He’d come down, moderately, from the high he’d experienced from meeting two more survivors of United Flight 4382. Despite so many development paths now being opened, there was one item Yozef had yet to introduce to Mark. Would Mark have any new ideas on what to make of Flagorn Eggs? Yozef figured he’d been patient enough, allowing the new people to settle into new quarters and experience the ambiance of Orosz City.

Yozef sent word for Mark to meet with him at the main gate to Orosz City one morning at ten bells. He waited inside the walls, thirty yards from the gate, talking with Synton Ethlore and Toowin Kales. The threesome was the object of stares and waves from passersby, but the citizens of Orosz City were accustomed to seeing the Paramount and refrained from interrupting his conversation. For the first months after his elevation, Yozef had found it challenging to be in public. The constant stream of well-wishers, citizens assuring him of their support, people asking him for favors or to solve a problem, and simple greetings that he felt required a response made it nearly impossible to be on foot within the city walls. When word spread that he was reluctant to walk in public, the citizens’ behavior changed to no direct contact unless initiated by the Paramount.

Yozef saw Synton tense, and his eyes focus to Yozef’s rear. Yozef knew what to expect when a hand touched his back.

“Good day, Paramount, or whatever you’re called. Slay any monsters so far today? Turn back an entire Narthani army with one hand? HAH!”

Yurstin Yarley was somewhere in his sixth or seventh decade . . . no one knew for sure, including Yarley. He was a fixture at Orosz City’s gate, talking to people, panhandling, and espousing into the air on any topic. Yozef would have thought he suffered from early dementia, except that no one could remember him ever acting any different. One of Yarley’s favorite topics was making light of the Paramount title and Yozef Kolsko’s status among the Caedelli. Efforts to discourage him from bothering the Paramount ended when Yozef let it be known he didn’t care. As seemed to be inevitable, and to Yozef’s usual chagrin, his tolerance was taken as yet another sign he was a Septarsh—someone of kind and generous spirit.

This morning, Yozef was rescued from Yarley by Mark walking around a corner a hundred yards away. Yozef hurried to meet him halfway, thereby moving out of Yarley’s immediate target range. A quick handshake ensued, and Yozef waved for them to walk toward the city gate—he wanted to pass Yarley while the man was engaged with another passerby.

“Okay, where’s this secret whatever you hinted at yesterday?” asked Mark.

“About a twenty-minute walk from here. It’s in one of the workshops where I do some special projects. Also, I meant to ask if the cottage is okay for now.”

“It’s fine. Maybe not as luxurious as the villa in Preddi City, but either one of the places is better than other places I’ve lived since being dumped here by the aliens.”

“I haven’t asked,” said Yozef, “but I suspect none of them were like where you lived back on Earth.”

“No. The last place we lived in cost a million five. Not that I spent a lot of time there, what with traveling for work. Even when I was home, I hung out in the basement, which I’d turned into an extensive man cave. Jocelyn and I were pretty much living separate lives by that time.”

Yozef waved to acknowledge cheers from two wagons of day workers going to Orosz City. A thin cloud of dust hung over the main route until they turned toward the complex of buildings of the burgeoning island administrative district. Without conscious volition, Yozef had guided them to the upwind side of the street, so they were spared most of the dust. The streets of the main part of Orosz City were cobblestone, but the streets of the expansion outside the old walls remained unpaved. Hetman Orosz had argued to wait until the new constructions were fixed in place before paving.

“I admit I’m curious,” said Yozef. “My impression is that what happened to us wasn’t as traumatic for you as for me. Ah . . . sorry—” Yozef hastened to add. “I guess I don’t have any reason to compare experiences. For me . . . months . . . maybe six months passed before I came out of my funk and started making the best I could of where I was.”

“Well . . . I guess I was definitely scared,” said Mark, “but at the same time, I also had a sense of excitement about starting over, which maybe doesn’t make sense. I must’ve hated my old life even more than I realized. In a way, that helped me get over the jolt.”

Neither man spoke for several minutes, both deep into remembering their previous lives and their first months on Anyar. Yozef broke the silence as they passed the main administration building.

“It’s only a little bit farther past where a number of projects are ongoing—the ones you’ve already visited. Nothing explosive this close to the city administration buildings, but close enough to where I spend too much of my time. That way I can pop into my personal workshop whenever possible. Today I’ll show you something I’ve wanted to share since I first got the message about people claiming to be from Amerika.”

“I take it that it’s supposed to be a surprise. Pardon me if I’m wondering what can surprise me after everything that’s happened.”

Yozef grinned. “Oh, I think the surprise will surprise you.”

Mark grunted. Seven minutes later, Yozef led Mark to a one-story stone building with a heavy wooden door reinforced with metal bands.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “This where you hide the crown jewels?”

Yozef shrugged. “Actually . . . things that are extremely valuable. Maybe only to you and me . . . and maybe Heather. For one thing, here is where I keep those journals.”

Yozef pulled out a metal key, inserted it into the lock built into the door, and turned the key. A noticeable clunk sounded, and he pushed the door open.

“Probably not necessary. The cities here are pretty safe. Oh, we have robberies and occasional assaults, but people here are pretty proactive. Not much of the ‘I don’t want to get involved’ or ‘It’s someone else’s problem’ attitude on Caedellium. How about elsewhere on Anyar where you’ve been?”

“Well, Frangel is about all I know of. Where I first found myself was near a town called Tregallon. I guess I didn’t have much chance to learn about civic attitudes. Then again, maybe I was so wrapped up in myself and thinking about innovations that I didn’t notice. Well . . . except for the guilds. In a sense, they’re cartels and pretty ruthless. Caedellium is small enough that I suspect the people have a better connection to whoever governs them than in Frangel, which is so much larger.

“As for other nations, I’ve obviously traveled a lot more than you, Yozef, but we weren’t exactly tourists. We had to keep moving and not be noticed as much as possible.”

They entered the structure while talking. Mark saw a single room about fifty feet square with no windows, but enough light came through the still open door to let Mark see bench tops and shelving covered by an array of tools, small containers, and objects whose purpose Mark did not immediately recognize.

“I’ll let more light in,” said Yozef, going to a wall and pulling on a rope. Light flooded the room from above as a sliding panel uncovered a skylight made of sixteen one-foot panes. Yozef closed the door and locked it. As he moved to uncover a second skylight, Mark could better see the rope-and-pulley system.

“Having no windows may not be necessary,” said Yozef, “but I’m resigned to what goes on in here being a secret. It makes the place a bit of a mystery, but I decided I’d just as soon not have to answer questions about anything someone does see. That way, I don’t have to remember what I told them.

“The room has two more skylights, but these two are giving enough light for what I want to show you. Over here.”

Resting on a one-foot-tall, two-foot diameter rock pedestal was a four-foot-tall ovoid object shaped like a slender egg, thicker end down. It was held erect by six wooden braces contacting the object about a quarter of the way from the base. The object’s surface appeared smooth like polished marble. The color at first appeared dark blue, but as they walked closer, the tone seemed to shift to blue-gray.

“What’s this?” asked Mark. “Some kind of artwork? “

“The islanders call them Flagorn Eggs. Supposedly named after a story descended from an earlier civilization and told to children in the northern clans. The legends describe ancient gods that people no longer believe in, and the tales mention creatures that laid giant eggs.

“There are more of these scattered around Caedellium. I’ve seen two others. Both were embedded vertically in solid rock, with the smaller end pointing up. This one was sent to me. I’m told they chipped it out of rock.”

“A natural crystal of some kind?” asked Mark as he ran a hand over its surface. He frowned. “Feels a little warm. More so than the room. Did you have the skylight open earlier? No . . . wait. Not today. It’s pretty much a solid cloud cover.”

“I haven’t been in this room for almost a sixday. Always seems like I have too much to do. The warmth you feel is constant, no matter the weather. The building is not heated, and should you come here on one of the rare freezing days for Orosz City, the object will feel exactly the same.”

The implications struck Mark, and he sucked in a sudden deep breath.

“Artificial!? You’re saying this is an artifact? Of what? From whom? The aliens that dumped us here?”

Yozef shook his head. “That’s one obvious suspicion, but I don’t know. You can test it out later, but if you sprinkle some dust on the surface, it just slides off as if the surface were greased.

“But if, as you claim, the temperature stays the same no matter the ambiance, then it must have an energy source.”

“I’ve had this one here for about six months, through several seasons, and my touch tells me it hasn’t changed temperature. I even submerged it in water and then recorded the water’s temperature using some crude thermometers. No matter the initial temperature of the water, it rises or falls to the same reading and stays there.”

“Assuming what you’re telling me is true about the temperature, I’ll want to check it for myself. This implies a product of technology beyond humans.”

“Well . . . at least a piece of technology beyond us,” said Yozef.

“Any idea what it’s made of?”

“I can tell you it’s heavy as hell, and when you tap it with a hammer, it rings like solid metal.”

Mark tugged at his beard. “We could measure its density by putting it in a container floating on water and then measuring the displacement as the container sags.”

“That’s something to think about,” said Yozef, “but it would take a sturdy boat of some kind. We’d have to take it out of here. Maybe down to the river.”

“Did you try and scrape or chip a piece off? I can’t find any seams.” Mark had been running both hands over the surface while he spoke.

“I was originally told that efforts to break off pieces always failed. The men who chipped this one out of rock were amazed that they didn’t even scratch the surface when using iron tools. One of the men admitted they deliberately tried to score the surface. As you can see, to no effect. I’ve done a little hacking to confirm the stories and got nowhere. I thought about eventually trying to drill into it, but I don’t know if anything we have would work. Plus, I’m hesitant to do anything to cause damage in case it really is some alien technology.”

Mark stepped away from the Flagorn Egg and scratched his head. “So . . . you don’t have any data on this thing’s structure?”

“Other than weird as shit, it almost has to be artificial, weighs a ton or more, and the rumors assigned to it?” answered Yozef. “Then no. I’ve technically borrowed this one from the Selfcell Clan, but I’ve no indication they care if it’s returned. I had it brought to study, but with everything else going on and no bright ideas occurring to me after some elementary analysis, it’s just been sitting here.”

“You mind if I give it a try?”

“Feel free, but check with me if you want to try and break in. I have my doubts about any success, but it’d be nice to at least find out something. I’ll have another set of keys made for the locks. Also, anything we’re doing in here is still to be kept secret. I’m afraid you’ll have to do any direct work only by yourself, but shops will make anything you want. Just be specific when instructing the workers because they won’t know the purpose of whatever they’re making.”

“You really think that’s necessary? Everyone knows about the eggs.”

“Yeah, but they either think there’s something mystical about them, or they’re a natural rock of some kind. If you ended up opening one, it might be obvious the eggs are not natural and might trigger questions about both the origin and how we might have suspected that. Also, we can’t rule out they’re a device, and it becomes activated to do something.”

“What? Like a bomb or something? Maybe it would send out a call for aliens to come and take us home.”

“Maybe return to eliminate us for coming together or to destroy the planet. Okay . . . so that’s a bit of catastrophizing, but that’s just it. We don’t know. Hell, it could be a can opener.”

“But you say there are more of these than this one? So, if we did try to break in and something went wrong, more are available.”

“From what I’ve learned, there are at least eight more on the island and maybe more that haven’t been located. This one is from Selfcell Province. I promised the Selfcell hetman I’d return the egg once I finished studying it. I suppose I can placate him, but if we were to try invasive methods, I’d want to either get his approval or confirm another province would give up an egg.”

Mark took two steps back from the object. “You know, I wonder if these things are not restricted to Caedellium. Back in Frangel, a man named Ulwyn told me of a strange object that was smooth as glass, roughly egg-shaped, and sat partially inside rock. I’d forgotten about them. They were supposed to be rare and were called . . . uh . . . what was it? Yeah . . . Markot’s Tears after a pagan god named Markot. We were traveling, and Ulwyn was casually interested in a small diversion to see one of them. I was in a hurry to get to our destination. I told him maybe on the way back, but then I forgot until just now.”

Mark looked to Yozef. “Have you heard any noises coming from it?”

“Noises? No, and believe me, not only have I put my ear to it, but from a local medicant I borrowed one of the stethoscopes I introduced. A couple of times, I tried to convince myself I heard a low hum, but it wasn’t reproducible enough to be sure.”

Mark moved back to put a hand on top of the egg. “Doesn’t prove anything, but Ulwyn told me there were stories of people hearing noises from them. Also, something about no critter wanting to touch them. He mentioned birds, murvors, animals, and insects.”

“That we can check,” said Yozef, his voice lively with enthusiasm. “I’ll get someone to gather a selection, and we’ll test it out.”

“That’ll be interesting,” said Mark, “but it doesn’t tell us anything about what this is or does, if anything. If there are others of these, then I’d be inclined to be aggressive in studying it, such as drilling in, as we discussed. The problem is that I suspect it would take a serious drill . . . one not likely available.”

“You’re the engineer. How would you go about it?”

Mark sighed. “That’s the problem. Oh . . . I suspect we could rig up a better drill than you have currently available, but it’s likely going to take developing more powerful drills with much better bits. For the latter, carbon-steel bits might be worth trying, but better is high-speed steel, carbide, or cobalt steel. It’s similar to the problem with many possible developments such as steam power. Both the drill and the bits will require developing machine tools. You know how it goes. It’s the same as with your chemistry. You described the infrastructure restrictions. To make one chemical, you need several others, each of which requires other chemicals, which, in turn, need more, on and on.”

Yozef looked crestfallen. “I had hoped it wouldn’t be as bad with engineering. Introducing more basic chemistry is moving along, but it’s frustrating.”

Mark shook his head. “When I said it was like with chemistry, I didn’t mean exactly the same. It may actually be easier in the long run, only slower at first. At least, we have a clear path. We need machine tools. That means starting off by making a functional lathe. It’s a bit of a myth that a lathe is the only tool that can make itself, but the truth isn’t that far off. The parts are made of cast iron, which dampens vibrations, but those parts aren’t precise and have to be finished up by hand scraping and truing.”

Yozef’s blank face interrupted Mark’s train of thought.

“Truing. Hand-finishing to level the sides, smooth the surfaces . . . you know . . . finish up. The finishing is tedious, but in the end, you have a lathe.

“For the cutting edges, I’ll have to check with the local metalworkers and blacksmiths to find sufficiently hard carbon steel. Later on, we’ll work on better cutting edges. Then we can work up with better lathes and whatever other machine tools we need . . . you know . . . drill presses, shapers, planers, the variety of milling machines, and so forth.”

Yozef listened to Mark rattle on for several minutes. It was the most animated he had seen his fellow American since they’d first met.

Oh, boy, Yozef thought, he talks a good story, but if he can do what he thinks he can do, I have to rethink what’s feasible.

Yozef envisioned leaving to Mark the steel industry, steam power, the telegraph, and all the other projects he struggled with so that he could concentrate on chemistry and pushing basic sciences. Yozef would still be left with the political duties he couldn’t avoid, but he would be in a far better situation than he’d ever thought possible.

Yozef momentarily missed some of Mark’s planning until the words steam engine broke through his internal thinking.

“Uh . . . what was that again about steam engines?”

“Well . . . lathes will help with the parts of steam engines, at least the smaller ones. Lathe-made parts will be precise enough to be interchangeable. We’ve talked before about the importance of precision. That’s a major problem with your first attempts at steam engines. Piston cylinders weren’t precise enough, which is why we need better boring machines.”

“So, you think lathes will help with steam engines?” asked Yozef.

Mark raised his left hand and wiggled the wrist. “Probably. I’ll have to think about it. We might be able to make precision boring machines without the lathes, but they would help. I’ve been thinking hard the last sixdays about what’s possible after seeing your ongoing projects and visiting the craftsmen in Orosz City. It’s given me a fair idea of the state of Caedellium technology.”

Mark turned his attention back to the Flagorn Egg. “Who knows? Even if we can’t find out more about this thing, we’ll be pushing technology ahead to eventually find out more—either us or those who follow us.”

“Ah, yes, the egg,” said Yozef. “I have one more item to show you.”

Yozef walked across the room to a wall cabinet and opened the door. From the second shelf, he withdrew something wrapped in cloth. He returned to Mark, put what he had retrieved on the workbench next to the Flagorn Egg, and unwrapped the cloth.

Mark’s glance casually went from Yozef’s face over to what was revealed, back to Yozef, and then quickly again to the bench. Mark bent closer, and his eyes widened.

Almost two minutes passed as Mark leaned back and forth, closer and farther as he got different views of the circuit board fragment. When he looked back at Yozef, a mouth corner hinted at a grin, and the opposite eyebrow raised.

“Any more surprises? You don’t happen to have a spaceship around here, do you? Or maybe a mummified alien body, the Ark of the Covenant, or the Golden Fleece?”

Yozef laughed. “Nope. Just these two. The Flagorn Egg and this broken circuit board. I know there are more eggs, but I haven’t found any evidence of anything else like the board.”

“Okay if I pick at it?” asked Mark. “I don’t know how fragile it is.”

“Go ahead. I’ve handled it quite a bit. A farmer dug the board up from one of his fields and gave it to a scholastic in Abersford. The farmer said it was the only such thing ever found. Then I had people dig around in the same field enough that the farmer started wondering what the hell was the big deal with this object? No luck, though. We dug down to six to eight feet and within a couple hundred feet from where the farmer found this and got nothing but dirt and rocks.”

Mark picked up the board and used a fingernail to separate thin layers of printed circuits.

“Christ! Look at the depth of the board and the complexity. This is quite a few generations more advanced than anything humans have.”

Suddenly, he raised his torso upright and frowned. “Wait a minute. This board may be advanced, but I think we can at least appreciate what it implies. But what about this object? The Flagorn Egg? We don’t even know for sure it’s a machine of some sort. If it is, I’ve a hunch it’s WAY in advance of anything humans have or can yet imagine the basics of. That would imply two levels of advanced technology.”

Mark set the board back on the bench. “I’ve been assuming there was a single alien race. At least, I haven’t noticed anything that suggested otherwise. How about you?”

“Same here . . . until I examined the board. I then had the same thoughts, but I wanted your impression. If there were these Flagorn Eggs, Markot’s Tears, in both Caedellium and Frangel, there’s no reason not to assume they’re found everywhere on Anyar. You’re right. We don’t know for certain whether they do anything, but my gut says they do, and we just haven’t detected the action. Things like the circuit board are different. It was extremely fortuitous for me to get hold of this board fragment. The farmer recognized it was something unusual and took it to a scholastic. The scholastic then had to keep it and show me. For all we know, there could be innumerable other examples scattered around the rest of the planet.”

“Maybe we could somehow put out word about anything unusual,” said Mark.

“And how would we explain it? I’ve been as careful as I can be on how I make innovations. That raises enough questions. If I put out word that I’m interested in odd artifacts, it’s liable to trigger unintended consequences.”

“I guess I grudgingly agree,” said Mark. “Of course, whether we do anything or not about the eggs and the circuit board has nothing to do with our other problems. However, the day may come when we could cast a wider net for artifacts.”

“Maybe,” said Yozef, “but for right now, I have paperwork and meetings waiting for me. And I’m sure something else will come up that will supposedly need the Paramount. If you want to stay and study the egg and the board some more, I’ll give you a key. Just lock up when you leave, and don’t take anything out of this workshop.”

Mark ran his hand over the egg again. “Maybe not right now. Maybe later when I think about this a little more.”

They were halfway to the building’s only door when Mark had a thought. “Hey. How about Heather? Are you going to show these to her?”

“I don’t think so. I only told you because of your engineering background. I thought you could confirm my own thinking or come up with new ideas. One of those need to know things. The less any of us have to worry about revealing things, the better for all of us.”

CHAPTER 17

FIRST STEPS

When Yozef first opened one eye, he could see the sun’s light shining through a bedroom window. That meant the sun had cleared the cliff tops surrounding Kolsko Manor. The site had been chosen inside the mountain cleft above Orosz City because the sun rose from a low spot and tracked above the manor for most of the day. The relatively small axial tilt of Anyar was responsible for less seasonal variation than on Earth and kept the manor from being in as much shadow as its position in the cleft might have suggested.

The previous evening had been a long and boisterous affair. The Kolsko and Puvey families, joined by the Kaldwels and Heather, had started with a typical evening meal, only to spill into the late hours with family reminiscing, accompanied by good cheer and occasional tears.

Yozef was alone in the bed but faced rumpled coverings that indicated there had been another person. It took him a moment to remember he had shared the bed with Maera last night. It had been late, and they were both tired from the hour, the food, the drinks, and getting the unexpected overnight visitors settled in.

He rolled out of bed, dressed, and followed the sound of voices . . . women’s voices. Initially missing were the children’s voices. Then he heard them outside, playing. He found the source of the indoor voices in the manor’s large kitchen. Maghen, Heather, and Anarynd sat at a worktable. Maera was attending several pans over a wood-burning stove. Yozef couldn’t see Gwyned, but he heard her voice coming from a walk-in pantry.

“Where did you say the salt container is? I don’t see it.”

“In the square-shaped green pottery,” said Maera, looking over her left shoulder.

Yozef stood in the doorway, taking in the domestic scene. The three women at the table were occupied, with Anida being held by Heather, whose face seemed more relaxed than Yozef remembered seeing.

It was Anarynd who saw him first.

“Well, the last of the men finally woke up.” She jumped to her feet and walked over to Yozef for a quick kiss and hug. “Everyone else has already eaten. Maera and I were going to give you a few more minutes before waking you up. Maera says you have a meeting with Hetman Orosz at mid-day meal.”

Yozef groaned. “In that case, Ana, I need some kava to clear my head. I think I drank too many spirits last night.”

“I thought you didn’t have hangovers,” said Gwyned. “Just one of those weird things about Yozef Kolsko.”

Heather raised one eyebrow, either waiting to hear Yozef’s explanation or learning something new.

“I don’t think it’s the alcohol. It’s the different types of spirit. Each type has different combinations of other components besides alcohol. Last night was ale, wine, and half a dozen different hard spirits spaced over four or five hours.”

“Here you go,” said Maera, handing him a large, steaming mug she had filled from a kava pot on the edge of the stove. “I assume you don’t want to eat yet.”

“No. Give me a few minutes.” He looked around. “Where are Carnigan and Mark?”

“My husband left already,” said Gwyned. “Said he had a new group of miscreant male youths to intimidate.”

The image made Yozef smile. Carnigan was a regular feature at a “correctional facility” west of the city. Caedellium had relatively few formal jails for its population size. The island’s societies were tight enough that most disturbing behaviors were handled within families and local communities, with only more serious offenses dealt with by magistrates and judges. Keeping offenders locked up was reserved for serious crimes of violence.

One of Yozef’s innovations was an attempt to intervene with youths who had yet to commit serious crimes but who seemed to be on that path. Those individuals were sent to the Orosz City outreach facility, where they experienced assigned work, counseling, and, where necessary, a dose of Carnigan. The big man’s appearance and reputation did wonders for getting the attention of rebellious young males. A troubled and apparently intractable male of any age often needed only minimal corrective counseling if delivered by the near-legendary companion of the Paramount. Carnigan was especially effective with those who had temper control issues. No matter what Carnigan said to them or forced them to do, there was never a danger of him being assaulted. Not when the youth’s potential target was six and a half feet tall, well over 300 pounds of bone and muscle, and more agile than a man his size had a right to be.

Yozef suspected another reason for Cardigan’s effectiveness was that he’d had trouble controlling his temper when he was younger. He had revealed no explicit information, but some of the casual things Abbot Sistian of Abersford had said related to the fact that Carnigan had been a probationer when Yozef first met him. Yozef had gently probed a few times, but Carnigan simply ignored such inquiries by remaining silent. If ever there was a person who had mastered his temper and was too imposing for a miscreant to ignore, the person’s name was Carnigan Puvey.

The few young women deemed in need of help went to a separate facility near Preddi City, where Ceinwyn Preddi filled Carnigan’s role. Although not of the big red-haired man’s imposing physical appearance, the prominent scar on the side of her face, suffered during the attempted assassination of Hetman Keelan and Yozef Kolsko, along with her leading a company of women during the battle of Orosz City, served to cow most female miscreants.

“Did he practice growling before he left?” asked Yozef.

Peals of laughter came from three of the women, with Maghen and Heather showing puzzlement.

Anarynd patted Maghen’s arm. “He plays a game with the children. Carnigan growls at them and pretends to be the monster chasing them. Morwena, Dwyna, and Aeneas first pretend to be afraid and run away as he chases them, then one of them, usually Morwena, yells out to ‘attack the monster,’ and they run and latch onto his legs. That’s supposed to make the monster freeze and they’re safe.”

“Alys also joins in,” said Maera, “though it took a while for her to see it was a game, with Maghen’s encouragement. They’re all outside somewhere playing. Alys seems to have gotten over needing her mother or father always within sight. The last few days, she’s joined in with the other children as if she’s always known them. Walda is watching the rest of the horde in the common nursery,”

She referenced a teenage girl, one of the several staff members working at the manor.

“How about Mark?” asked Yozef.

“He’s outside,” answered Maghen, smiling. “I think he had his fill of woman talk while he was eating. If I’m right, he went outside trying to find something to do. Then when he didn’t find it, he’s been sitting and waiting for someone to find him something to do.”

“I think I can solve that,” said Yozef.

“Please do, Yozef,” said Maghen. “As much as I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, I think he’s spent too much time sitting and thinking when not visiting project sites here or at Adris City. The man needs something to work on that he feels is his.”

“Go on,” said Maera. “Go find him, do your men talk, then tell us when you’re ready to eat.”

The search was short. When Yozef exited the manor’s main door onto the expansive veranda, the telltale squeaking of chains holding the swing provided Mark’s location.

Got to remember to tell the groundskeeper to oil the damn thing, thought Yozef. Either that or do it myself.

“Beautiful spot you’ve got here,” said Mark as Yozef walked over and sat in the adjacent wicker rocker. “I can see why you picked it, though I think we’ll eventually look for something near water—a lake or a stream. Maghen’s fallen in love with the ocean, but she says if we’re inland, any water will do.”

“How are Maghen and Alys doing?”

“I think Alys is okay. Maghen is still trying to find her place. She’s naturally friendly and hardworking, but the setting is still new and very different from her life in Frangel. Maera seems to be experimenting with taking Maghen around Orosz City, but she needs a . . . maybe you’ve heard people talking about a ‘nest’?”

They sat swinging and rocking for several minutes before Yozef leaped in.

“So . . . Mark . . . future plans? I know you’re still getting your footing here, but do you have some thoughts after our previous talks? You’ve said you were still gathering thoughts and ideas before plunging in. You’ve visited the ongoing projects.”

“Enough thoughts for probably ten people. Telegraph and steam engines were your first priorities. Telegraph is the easiest. I’ve already said I think that can be worked out in a few months. However, after giving it more thought, I think my earlier speculation about wireless is plausible.”

“Wireless!? You really think we have the infrastructure for that?”

“If we are just talking about sending Morse code and not worrying about anyone intercepting the messages except us, then I think we could do it. As I said, it might take a couple of years, but with some resources, I predict we could have working wireless at least for shorter distances. I’m not confident enough to predict when we could send between landmasses like Caedellium and Landolin or Iraquinik. However, if we can do it across Caedellium, then the others should be just a matter of bigger antennas and power supplies.”

“Hmmm. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

“Like who? Who is going to understand except you and Heather?”

“Yeah, but if you really think a wireless telegraph is possible, then I’d like to keep it quiet for now. The Fuomi know about the wired telegraph, and any improvement you can make will have to transfer directly to them, but, as I told you before, I’d like to keep a few goodies to ourselves, both for upcoming negotiations and a ‘just in case’ box for future contingencies.”

“Up to you. You know the lay of the land here far better than I do. Then there’re the steam engines. I’ve had a chance to look at your development site near Adris City. I assume you’re still set on a separate site if I can solve the problems you’re having.”

“I think so,” said Yozef. “You probably wonder whether I’m too paranoid or something. The Fuomi helped us in fighting the Narthani. We might have won without them, but I made a deal with them, and I have to make a reasonable effort to fulfill the agreement. We want to keep them on our side as much as we can. That doesn’t mean I totally trust them.

“Oh, the ones like Eina Saisannin and Reimo Kivalian are okay. Well . . . better than okay. They’re the top authorities from Fuomon here in Caedellium. But I don’t know enough about their society’s history to get a feeling for how far we can trust them. Part of the information I gave them in exchange for their help was what I knew about steam engines, which evidently wasn’t as much as I thought. I admit I got ahead of myself. I told the people to go ahead and try to put one on a small paddlewheel boat. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured when it blew up and sank. Hell, it didn’t even turn the paddles once.”

“I would have used a little stronger phrase,” said Mark. “More like crazy batshit lucky. I’ve also looked at the diagrams you showed me for the latest efforts. The best I can say is that it didn’t kill anybody. And it’s a miracle you’re getting any horsepower at all. The gearing is wrong. The condenser is too small. The cylinders are so bad . . . well, I’ll leave it at that. Oh . . . the fundamentals are there. The two-stroke cylinder and all, but I’d have started more basic. Something like pumping to establish reciprocal action and then transforming to rotary motion.”

Yozef flushed, choked back a comment, and then laughed. “No, really. Tell me what you really think.”

“Well . . . you asked for my opinion.”

“All right, so where we are with steam power right now is shit. Where do we go next?”

“It hasn’t all been a waste,” said Mark. “You’ve got people who’ve been working on it and who are aware of the basic principles, even if so many of the details are being done wrong. That’s a big leg up compared to starting from scratch. However, I suggest you put the steam project on hold while we develop some more infrastructure. Specifically, some real machine tools.”

Yozef raised both hands, fingers extended. “Now you’re well beyond anything I have a clue about. Give me some specifics.”

“I mentioned lathes before. Do you know what a lathe actually is?”

“Uh . . . a machine to work metal?”

“Right—among other things, but I guess this is foreign territory for you.”

“Hey, I was a chemist. About the only machinery experience I had was with a lawnmower and a food mixer. I would need to be a chemical engineer to know more about developments that aren’t in a laboratory.”

“Sorry if it sounds like I’m putting you down. What you’ve done here on Caedellium, with the innovations you’ve made, uniting the clans, and defeating the Narthani, is nothing short of amazing. In your place, while I might’ve introduced a few new products, I wouldn’t have placed any bets on things working out as well as they did for you and the Caedelli.”

Yozef shrugged. “No problem. I’m surprised things ended up in our favor. What I’m hoping is that the two of us can complement each other. Let’s get right down to the nitty-gritty. I still want you to take charge of projects needing a real engineer. I've got my hands more than full with pushing chemistry, the university, plus setting up a central government without alienating the clans. And then the politics I have to deal with and can’t seem to avoid. The latter takes too goddamn much of my time.”

Mark didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked at Yozef, the fingers of his right hand lightly drumming his thigh.

“How much of a free hand will I have?”

“A lot, but not absolute. I’m the one who has to find the resources you’ll need. I’d like to say you’re free to follow your own predilections, but let’s be realistic. I have to worry about Caedellium’s population and what’s going on with the rest of Anyar. I’d hope you would recognize this responsibility. I would assume the two of us would discuss projects. To be honest, I suppose I will have the ultimate say-so. After all, there’s not much you can do without people, materials, and political cover.

“Don’t underestimate that last one. Caedellium was mainly an agrarian society. They have absorbed huge changes in the previous few years. In place of independent clans barely getting along, they recognized a central authority, though how deep that recognition goes is still evolving. Considering the sacrifices they made to push the Narthani off Caedellium, I’m not sure many other societies could have succeeded.

“Then there’re the ongoing changes. I’m introducing centralization as fast as I think the Caedelli can accept it. However, most people, including many of the hetmen, still think of their clan as their primary loyalty over Caedellium. People need time to shift their thinking as much as I want. The degree of industrialization I hope to develop will mean a lot more changes than most of the hetmen have any idea about. No point in being too ambitious and losing the hetmen’s support. The Paramount position is too new for me to be deluded into ignoring lingering resistance or thinking that future events couldn’t erode my authority.”

“I’ve been thinking about workers,” said Mark. “I get the impression that many of the projects, such as the rail lines, are slowed by not having enough workers. That’s going to be a killer if you expect to develop a steel industry and textiles like we discussed.”

“The little I remember about the history of the Industrial Revolution concerned the upheavals in societies throughout Europe. There was a massive migration from the countryside to the cities, which were pit-holes of squalor, crime, and pollution. I’m committed to preventing that from happening to Caedellium. Plus, while I admit to wishful thinking, maybe if it can be done humanely on Caedellium, then the pattern might spread to the other realms of Anyar.”

Mark’s mouth, brow, and eyes conveyed his reaction without words.

“Okay . . . maybe I’m pissing into the wind on this one, but I want to at least think I made the effort. Anyway, I’ve talked to the ambassadors in Preddi City about getting workers to immigrate here. Another idea is to help mechanize Caedellium farming. In the U.S., the workforce went from something like seventy to eighty percent on farms to only a few percent.”

“What are the main crops on Caedellium?” asked Mark. “I got a peek at farms across a good swath of the lands in Anyar’s southern hemisphere—Frangel to a piece of Sulako. The crops seemed to vary a lot. Recognizable grain crops predominated, but there were also broad-leaf crops of different types, appearing more or less frequently. I remember something looking like a melon or a pumpkin in Sulako. Wheat, barley, and rye look alike to me, but I’ve eaten foods made from all three.”

“On Caedellium, the main crop is wheat and a fair amount of barley. Rye? I don’t know. Certainly not much. Wheat and cured meat were the two biggest exports before the Narthani showed up and cut off trade. That actually worked to the island’s advantage in the last year before the Battle of Orosz City. We had such a surplus of wheat and animals that we could divert people to preparing for the war and still have plenty to eat. Now that the Narthani are gone, the island has started exports again, although at a lower level than before. I assume the foreign markets found other sources or went without. We hope to regain those markets, and Caedellium has more land that could be put into production. Out of curiosity, Mark, how about corn and rice elsewhere on Anyar? I haven’t seen either on Caedellium.”

“Neither that I know of . . . at least where I’ve been on the Drilmar and Ganolar continents. Of course, I haven’t been everywhere. I think the planet is a little cooler than Earth. Nowhere I’ve been would qualify as truly tropical, so maybe rice isn’t suited. Corn, though, is something else. Maybe it’s one of those random or selective issues on what got transferred here from Earth.”

“I’ve wondered about that,” said Yozef. “I don’t know when different crops developed on Earth. Maybe some didn’t exist when the transplantation occurred. But why dogs and no cats? Wait! Have you seen cats? I know there’s none on Caedellium.”

“Not that I’ve seen, and not as many dogs as I’d expect, and what they have seem pretty generic. You know. Not that many breeds. Several different kinds of cows. Something like a water buffalo in Sulako, but beef and occasional dairy in Frangel and other places we passed through. No sheep, though the krykor you’ve got here and similar animals elsewhere seem to fill the role. I’m afraid I wasn’t that observant, except for the main critters and plants. However, I have the impression plant life is a patchwork of Anyar and Earth species, with the majority leaning toward Anyar.”

“For our purposes we’ve mainly got wheat and meat. From talking with the ambassadors, looks like those markets will take everything we can produce. Too bad about having to cure the meat. Exporting live animals just isn’t efficient.”

“Well . . . eventually we could have refrigeration,” said Mark. “Can’t happen until we have steam power, and you’d have to work on the refrigerants.”

Yozef grimaced. “Once again, too many things that depend on one another coming together at the same time. Well, it’s something to think about but not critical for what we’re planning. Just introducing a reaper should free up hundreds of workers right away. Maybe thousands eventually.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Mark. “Given a good-enough team of craftsmen, we should have the first ones ready in a few months. Longer term, we could have combines to reap, thresh, and bag within a year. That’ll take more work, but I’ve seen pictures of the big horse-drawn ones before engines took over. Teams of twenty to thirty horses and harvesting with only a fraction of the number of workmen you needed when doing it by hand. Of course, given time, we could have steam-powered tractors.”

“I’ll take you at your word about the first reapers,” said Yozef, “but the mechanization can’t go too fast, no matter how much we’d like to push it. It’s got to happen on a timetable the Caedelli can accept without experiencing too much turmoil. I can’t have hundreds to thousands of families suddenly without employment.”

Mark shook his head. “I think I’m just catching up with how complicated your life is, Joe. When I tried to introduce my innovations in Frangel, I never had more than thirty or so workers to worry about.” He winced. “And that didn’t work out well. You’re worried about the whole damn island. I don’t think I want your job.”

“That was never my intent. It was just one damn thing after another, and it sort of happened.”

“Well, I’ll be glad to let you worry about the whole island if I can focus on innovations.”

“All right. Let’s take this systematically. For reapers, looms, and spinners, don’t they involve similar materials and craftsmen? We can set up adjacent teams so you can bop back and forth.”

The manor door opened, and Anarynd poked her head out. “All us women are about to scatter, Yozef. If you don’t want to find your own morning meal, you need to get in here.”

The head disappeared back into the house, and the door thudded shut.

Both men rose to their feet.

“I’d better get in and eat. I’m sure there’re already several crises at the headquarters that only the Paramount can solve.”

“What about my machine tools idea?”

“That, too.” Yozef smiled and turned to reenter the manor. “It can’t be that much more work to do three or more projects than two, can it?”

Mark slapped Yozef hard enough to make him stumble.

“Christ, now I’ve got to start watching myself around you like I do with Carnigan. Let me eat and then we can talk more at the headquarters. They’ll have to switch authority to you on some existing projects, and you’ll be starting new ones. No reason to delay getting you set up. We’ll need to decide on the details. I’m sure there’s existing space, but we can construct anything new as needed.”

“The lathes and other machines come first,” said Mark. “It may seem like putting off what you really want done, but there’s no arguing around how much more will be accomplished when we have the right tools. Lathes, borers, finishers, drills, on and on.”

Mark paused as he remembered his first years on Anyar. “You know, Joe, it’s one of those ironies. Everything I was trying on Frangel was aimed at getting enough money to plow back into bigger ideas. What I didn’t pay enough attention to were the effects on people and how Frangel’s factions might respond. I had grandiose plans that I thought I’d given up on when things went south. Now . . . here I am, and you’re pushing me to do even more than I envisioned back on Frangel.”

“Well, at least we don’t have the Narthani breathing down our necks like we did when they were around,” said Yozef as they reached the door. “And it’s Yozef, not Joe. I know it's tempting to forget to be watchful about what we say. Oh . . . and what about steam and the railroads? I take it you think they should wait while we develop machine tools?”

“From what I've seen, you're doing an okay job with the rail bed, and the track grade is shallow enough. I'd suggest we focus on that and use the horse-drawn trains as you've done. I made a few notes about the steam engine progress. I’ll think some more about what I can do while waiting for better cylinders. You’ll also have to make progress on steel production. I’ve a few suggestions there, too. I agree with the Bessemer process, but I’ll need time to think and examine more where you are. I’m sure I’ll have ideas.”

Mark shook his head. “You know, the ideas we’ve talked about would take two, maybe three or four of me.”

“Welcome to my world.”

CHAPTER 18

NEW LIVES

Heather

“Do you think she’s ready to talk about it?” asked Anarynd. “She’s been in Orosz City almost a month.”

Maera shrugged. “You and I have hinted to her a few times, but she deflects. There’s no way to tell when the time is right. She seems more relaxed than when we first met her, but that’s only in comparison.”

“Maybe that’s just her way,” said Anarynd. “If so, then she has the right to keep things to herself. However, at times she seems withdrawn. Things became better for me when I had Gwyned to talk to. I think we should just come out and ask her. She can always tell us to mind our own business.”

“All right, Ana, now is as good a time as any. She’s sitting alone in the garden. We won’t gather for mid-day meal for a couple of hours. I’ll see that the children are kept away from out back.”

Anarynd found Gwyned talking to Elian Faughn in the manor’s nursery.

“Gwyned, Heather is in the garden. Maera and I think this might be a time for us to talk to her.”

Gwyned turned to Elian. “I think you and Walda can watch the children for an hour or so. Anarynd and I will be in the garden if you need us, and Maera will be in the kitchen or in her workroom.”

They walked to the manor’s rear glass-paned double doors and out onto the paved patio. The wooden chairs were unoccupied.

“She often sits on one of the benches in the garden,” Gwyned said softly.

They followed the cinder path into the three-acre garden. It was the newest addition to Kolsko Manor, completed just before Mark and Heather arrived on Caedellium. Anarynd had originally requested an area with flowers, not specifying how many flowers or the area’s size. When Yozef sat with Anarynd and Maera to plan the project, they each listed what they would like to be included, the original intent to be selective about what to have in the final plan. When it came time to decide which ideas to drop, Yozef had suggested that they include everything.

The path curved around a cluster of bushes covered with yellow blooms. Heather was sitting on an iron bench with a leather cushion. She didn’t notice their footsteps on the cinders as she stared at a decorative bluish-green grass waving gently in the morning breeze.

“Heather, mind if we join you?” said Anarynd.

The bench’s occupant jerked, startled from wherever her mind had roamed. “Oh! No, that’s fine. I didn’t hear you coming.”

Heather leaned forward to prepare for sliding to the end of the bench, but before she moved, Anarynd and Gwyned sat flanking her.

“It is so peaceful out here,” said Anarynd. “I thought Yozef was extravagant when we built a garden this size, but now I’m glad he did.”

Neither woman knew exactly how to start, but Gwyned, in her natural manner, plunged right in.

“I don’t think you’ve heard the story of how I came to be in Orosz City and married to that big oaf. I’m originally from Moreland Province, a small town near Moreland City. I knew about the Narthani, but where we lived didn’t seem to have any relation to them. All that changed one day when . . . ,”

Gwyned recited events from that day, then her years as a slave to a Narthon merchant who was Morwena’s father. Heather listened, initially puzzled why Gwyned was telling the story. However, her face tightened as the story unfolded. By the time Gwyned finished, Heather’s face was pale, hands clenched so tight in her lap that tendons rose under the skin.

“It was a hard time,” said Gwyned, “but it passed. It’s something I’ll never forget, but I’ve put it behind me, not to let it determine the rest of my life.”

While Gwyned talked, one of Anarynd’s hands rested on Heather’s shoulder.

“My story is similar to Gwyned’s,” said Anarynd. “In my case, I wasn’t near home either but had traveled with my Aunt Tilda to a town to do some shopping. She thought I needed to get away from home for a day—things were going on in my life that I thought were dramatic.”

Anarynd stopped for a moment, her mouth pursing. “Of course, I was naïve. We were in one of the shops looking at scarves when . . .”

As had Gwyned, Anarynd summarized her captivity, the desperate escape with thirty other Caedelli women from Hanslow, her family’s rejection, reconnecting with Gwyned and reaching Maera, and ending up the wife of the Paramount and the mother of the Moreland heir.

“Hardly anything came to pass the way I would've imagined,” said Anarynd. “I left my family because I refused to accept there wasn’t a better life somewhere. It was hard, but I had Gwyned and then Maera to help. Who’s to say how our lives can turn out as long as we don’t let the past rule us?”

Tears started flowing down Heather’s cheeks soon after Anarynd had begun. By the time Anarynd finished, Heather’s face was dry, her hands unclenched and relaxed in her lap, and she leaned back into the bench. Gwyned placed her hand on Heather’s other shoulder. Several minutes passed.

“I wasn’t captured by the Narthani. I woke up in a—” Heather cut off the words before she blurted out details about the white room in the alien spacecraft.

“I woke up on a beach, naked, confused.”

The words came softly, slowly, then accelerated. Soon, it was as if a dam had been breached. Her words gushed, with brief pauses only long enough for her to quickly refill her lungs.

Maera looked out the rear door windows. She couldn’t see the other women, but Anarynd and Gwyned had been gone for almost two hours. Maera took it as a good sign. The midday meal was ready, so it was time to find them. She was halfway across the patio when she heard laughter somewhere in the garden and then saw moving heads appear above bushes.

“Good timing,” said Gwyned. “I assume you’re coming to tell us mid-day meal is ready. I already knew that. My stomach’s been reminding me the last few minutes.”

“Reminding?” said Anarynd. “Maera probably heard it from inside the house.”

Heather put a hand to her mouth and choked with laughter.

“Well, come on in. The older children are already fed, but we can feed the babies and eat at the same time.”

And so it was that the four women ate, three of them also breastfeeding. Elian and Wanda took the babies back to the nursery once they were satisfied. Anarynd ate her meal more slowly because she had mobilized both breasts simultaneously.

Freed of the children and with their clothing rearranged, they finished the meal while talking.

“Heather, tomorrow I want to introduce you to Pernell Horton. He’s originally from Abersford, where Yozef first lived on Caedellium. Pernell was a clerk in the new Bank of Abersford that Yozef established, but he gradually got more involved in music over the last years. Shortly after we moved to Caernford in Keelan Province, Pernell moved there, too. But now he’s in Orosz City. I invited him to visit to help put on what Yozef calls an opera. Pernel created it using a combination of traditional Caedelli songs and those either he wrote or that Yozef told him about. It’s called The Abby’s Deliverance. I think you’ll like to meet him. He’s becoming a well-known person throughout Caedellium for both the opera and other music. The two of you should have a lot to talk about.”

Maera took Heather’s expression and body language to mean that the suggestion was well received. The next morning, she walked with Heather to where Pernel was rehearsing with an orchestra and singers. It was hard to tell which of the two was more excited. The introduction was hardly completed before Heather and Pernell were off on music and ignoring Maera.

Three nights later at evening meal, Maera asked how the music was going. Everyone had noticed Heather spending entire days in Orosz City.

“Pernell is really quite good,” said Heather. “He may lack the background in music theory I know from . . . er . . . Amerika, but he’s picked it up as fast as I can explain what I know.”

Her face morphed from pleasure at praising Pernel to a frown. “I don’t like how that other man . . . Lantin, Lontin, or something like that . . . treats Pernel. He’s supposed to be in charge of the cathedral’s music, but he doesn’t have any talent for it, and he’s obnoxious. A real ignoranus.”

Only Yozef and Maera noticed Heather’s stumble and flush before she continued her enthused description of once again working on music. Later, everyone was separating for the night when Maera gave Heather a message.

“An invitation to visit Rhaedri Brison!?” Pernel exclaimed the next morning when Heather arrived at the rehearsal hall. “What an honor! When will you go?”

“I don’t know that I am going. There’s no reason to visit someone I’ve never met.”

“What do you mean, not go! Nobody turns down an invitation from Rhaedri Brison. Even the Paramount would not consider refusing.”

Heather sighed and listened for half an hour while Pernel educated her on Septarshes and the status of Brison in Caedelli society.

Two days later, an amused and contemplative Rhaedri Brison watched the small Amerikan woman climb into a carriage. He had the distinct impression she would have run from his cottage to the carriage if no one had been watching. It had been an interesting two hours—for him, if not for her. She had been clearly nervous at first, so he had spent time being charming—something he was aware of being skilled at, but he rarely used it to manipulate people. This was such a time. As much as he respected Yozef Kolsko and appreciated what the man meant for Caedellium, Brison never doubted his belief in hidden facets of Yozef’s existence. Over the years, he had gently probed the mysteries, but whatever Yozef knew that others didn’t, remained unknown. Brison had even looked to Maera for clues, hopefully without her awareness, before he decided she knew no more than he did.

The second Amerikan, Mark Kaldwel, had proved as impenetrable as Yozef. However, some of his answers to questions were so similar in wording to Yozef’s that Brison was sure there was a degree of coordination. Heather was different. The hesitant answers and facial expressions might as well have been preceded by her holding up a small sign saying, “Please wait until I remember what I’m supposed to say.” By the end of the visit, she was trending to agitation, so Brison turned the charm back on.

Brison smiled as the carriage disappeared around a bend. She was secretive, awkward in her unease, and he liked her—a lot. Brison, to his chagrin at times, thought of himself as a shrewd judge of character. His sensors failed to register malicious intent in Heather. He would talk with her again. Maybe at the cathedral complex where she was spending so much of her time involved in music.

I’m anxious to hear it for myself, thought Brison. Over time, she may get more relaxed around me, and I could coax more information to dribble out of her.

He was amused at his tiny sense of guilt at the last thought.

Mark

“How is Maghen adjusting to life in Orosz City?” asked Yozef. They were headed to a meeting with a team of craftsmen to discuss ideas for starting the mechanization of farms using horse-drawn reapers.

“She usually says everything is fine,” said Mark, “but I think she’s still a little lost in knowing exactly what her role is here. I mean, of course, she has Alys and me, but in Frangel, she had extended family not far away, her work at the ranch, the people . . . you know . . . a place. Oh . . . she’s busy enough with us, helping out around the Kolsko and Puvey households and with all the children. I appreciate Maera introducing her to different parts of Orosz City society, but she still feels awkward around Maera and isn’t used to being seen as I guess what we would have called ‘upper-crust.’”

“Well,” said Yozef, “it seems everyone likes her, and she certainly is a ‘pitch-in’ person. It doesn’t sound like she lacks for things to do. She’s just become dissatisfied with what she’s doing.”

“I think you’re right, especially as she connects more with people. She badly misses her family. She told me it just really hit her after we got to Caedellium and started to feel safe. Even if she didn’t see them regularly in Frangel, they were there and could be reached with a short trip. Not like here, where we figure she’ll never see them again.”

“It seems to be different with Heather,” said Yozef. “Oh, I’m sure she will always miss her family and Earth, but she appears to have jumped into interacting with people around the cathedral complex, especially with the community of musicians.”

Yozef smiled. “And I see she finally realized Carnigan is not some ogre. They seem to have developed something of a friendship. I think it gelled when he understood why she sometimes called him Hagrid.”

Mark had to laugh. “I caught that a couple of times. Did she try to explain Harry Potter?”

“I confess I was an agent provocateur, or whatever it’s called,” said Yozef. “He asked me where Hagrid comes from. I told him it was the name of an imaginary character who appeared big and rough but was kind and loved children. I told him to start calling Heather Hermione. Whatever happened after that, within a week they were friends.”

“Hah! That reminds me,” laughed Mark. “Did Maera or Anarynd tell you about ignoranus?”

“About what?”

“Heather was describing the man who is some kind of music director at St. Wyan’s. Sounds like he feels as if he’s being pushed aside by Heather and some local she’s working with. Anyway, she was describing this director whoever and called him an ignoranus. She explained to me it comes from a Washington Post newspaper column with quizzes and contests. In one example, readers were to send in entries where they took a word, changed one letter, and gave it a new definition. One time the winner started with ignoramus, changed the ‘m’ to ‘n’ and got ignoranus, someone who is both stupid and an asshole.”

“Wow!” Yozef exclaimed between laughs. “That’s one I wish I could use in the Snarling Graeko, but I’m afraid the Caedelli words don’t work.”

“Talk to Heather about that contest,” said Mark. “She remembers a bunch more of the winning words. Speaking of Heather . . . I’m glad she’s finding a place for herself, but we should keep her in the loop at least occasionally and maybe during brainstorming sessions. She might not have our science and engineering backgrounds, but she’s sharp and can come up with ideas from Earth that you and I don’t think of. I told you I wanted to develop better hand calculating devices than the Fuomi have. Oh . . . they’re good enough for some uses, but they’re more limited than I’d like. Supposedly, there are some early mechanical calculators in Fuomon, but they didn’t bring any with them. It wouldn’t hurt if you could ask the Fuomi whether they could send some to us. In the meantime, we’ll use what’s available, plus I’m working with craftsmen to produce versions of slide rules for at least the most needed functions, except for addition and subtraction. Precision is a problem, but for the short term, I figure we can simply make the slide rules as big as necessary. There should be a four-foot metal version finished within the month.

“Anyway, Heather suggested the abacus. Evidently, she had relatives with small businesses who used it for routine adding and subtraction.” Mark shrugged. “Maybe it’s a cultural thing why they didn’t just use calculators. She knows how to use it and is teaching a couple of people who seem to have a knack for it.”

Mark laughed. “It’s going to be quite a menagerie when we get going more, with people using half a dozen different devices for calculations.”

“Here we are,” said Yozef as they reached what looked like a large blacksmith shop with six men waiting. “I’ll introduce you and give the crew the directive that you’re in charge as far as design, but I recommend you leave the details to them to make things work.”

It was a strategy they were using to spread Mark’s expertise as wide as possible without his constant presence being required. Efficient for any one project it was not, but they had to compromise.

Mark had already visited several projects, first with an introduction by Yozef, and then visits on his own where he talked with workers and made suggestions to the people in charge. Mark’s new status was being formalized as Yozef informed project crews that the new Amerikan would either be solely in charge or share the role with the existing supervisor—depending on the project and the capability of existing staff. For the telegraph project, Mark thought the current manager had done everything reasonably possible, given the limits of Yozef’s information. The man was left in charge of day-to-day operations, with Mark giving advice, going over diagrams he created, and participating in tests.

The steam engine project with Fuomi engineers required visits to Adris City, whose distance provided an excuse for why Mark couldn't be present full time. Once Yozef was convinced Mark knew what he was doing, they finalized their decision. After the initial development took place in Orosz City in a new section of shops being built west of Orosz City and the administrative complex, they would eventually locate a Caedelli-only steam engine project test site elsewhere on Caedellium

CHAPTER 19

WHAT’S FUOMON UP TO?

Fuomon Embassy

The Fuomi embassy was so new, the aroma of freshly worked wood permeated the air. Fortunately, most humans thought the odors pleasing. Yozef said it reminded him of cedar, a tree of his origin.

Eina Saisannin checked a wall-mounted clock in the ambassador’s residence wall. She had a meeting scheduled in an hour, but mid-day meal with her family was almost over.

“As soon as I finish, I’ll need to get to the island headquarters.”

“Meeting with Yozef or Maera?” asked her husband, Paavo, as he mopped his plate with a section of bread. Sons Steegum and Huron were into their second helpings, engaged in a familiar argument, and, as usual, ignored their parents unless directly addressed.

“Neither. The university section leaders’ sixday meeting is this afternoon. Maera can’t attend and asked me to lead the session, in addition to giving a report on the Medical/Biology Department and the plans to eventually separate medicine and biology.”

“Has Yozef managed to get Diera Beynom to surrender and move to Orosz City to lead Medicine?”

Eina pushed her plate away and leaned back. “No word, yet, but Maera thinks it will happen. She says Yozef has hesitated to make it a ‘Paramount’ call to duty, but he will if he has to.”

An “OOF” sounded from Huron to Eina’s right. She knew the cause.

“All right, Steegum, that’s enough. Don’t think your father and I don’t know when you’ve kicked your brother. You can help Marleen clean up after we’re finished eating.”

The Saisannin son’s smirk faded. “But I’ll be late getting back to the cathedral for afternoon lessons,” he complained.

“Nonsense,” said Paavo, “if you hurry here and then run fast, you might just make it.”

Steegum stuffed his mouth with the remainder of the meal, jumped to his feet, and quickly began gathering empty dishes.

Eina caught her younger son trying to hide a smirk.

“And I’ll assume you did something to provoke your brother, so you can help him.”

“But he runs faster than me!”

“That’s the fate of children who—”

Eina was cut short by the dining room door being opened by Marleen, the Caedelli woman working in the Saisannin residence.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Sen Saisannin, but a Fuomi naval officer just arrived and says he needs to speak with you.”

Both adult Saisannins raised an eyebrow, Eina her left, Paavo his right.

“Thank you, Marleen. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Go ahead, Eina,” said Paavo. “I’ll shepherd our sons and get them off.”

She patted him on the shoulder as she passed, heading for the stairs from the second-story residence to the ground floor where the embassy offices were located.

She found the officer standing in the foyer. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place from where.

“Sorry, but I forget your name.”

“We only met once, briefly, at a dinner Admiral Mermi hosted in Adris City. I’m Second-in-Command Yoshkia of the sloop Mollar. We were on patrol southeast of Caedellium when we came on a Fuomi squadron freshly arriving from home.”

“A squadron, you say? How many ships and of what kind?”

“I don’t know the exact number—they were spread out when we encountered their forward scout sloops. However, when I left Adris City, I counted at least two war-galleons, five frigates, and several sloops. Other classes that I assume were supply ships anchored farther offshore.”

“War-galleons? I had no idea Fuomon would send those. I’m assuming they ran the Throat?”

“That’s what the scout ship’s captain said. They hugged the Ganolar coast, came around the west of Landolin, and only had one serious engagement—just off the Sulakoan coast. A group of Narthani ships engaged them briefly, but there weren’t enough Narthani to stop them.”

Eina started to ask another question, but the officer stopped her with a raised hand. “I can answer more questions about what I know, but I’m ordered here to give you an important message. The ships carried a new ambassador to Caedellium. His name is Irvod Koskanin, and he's accompanied by a large staff. He will be staying in Adris City for at least a few days, and I'm to deliver this document to you.”

Yoshkia reached into a pouch hanging from one shoulder and pulled out an ornate leather cylinder. He handed it to Eina.

“There is no request for a return message. However, I can wait if you wish to send one.”

“Come with me,” said Eina. “We can find you a place to relax while I see what’s inside and decide if there’s something for you to return with.”

A Change in Attitude?

Maera found Yozef in the map room in the building used as the headquarters during the war. Although decision making had shifted to the new island headquarters building where Yozef had his office, the old building housed staff whose eventual workspace was not ready. Even then, one feature of the structure would remain. On the second floor, a large room called “The Pit” contained two thirty-foot-wide platform maps of Caedellium elevated three feet from the floor. One map was topological and filled with details of the island’s human and natural features. The second map was in relief. During the war, women with croupier-like rakes moved figurines to show Caedelli and Narthani unit positions. That purpose was gone, but Yozef saw no reason to move either map. He found them useful when discussing specific issues or when he wanted solitary moments to think on topics the maps helped facilitate.

As he leaned over the relief map’s northern coast, Maera came up to him. He was worrying about provinces that had not yet benefited from any new developments.

“Here you are,” said Maera. “Kloona suspected I’d find you here.” She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge her presence and rushed on, her voice tense. “There’s some surprising and potentially disturbing news from Eina. A squadron of Fuomi ships arrived in Adris City and brought a new ambassador to replace her.”

He didn’t immediately respond, digesting the news. Maera waited impatiently, tapping her right foot on the plank flooring.

“Let’s go sit somewhere and think about this,” he said. “There’s several small offices downstairs. At least one of them is likely empty right now.”

A minute later, they sat at a small table. No office had been empty, but Yozef asked one room’s lone occupant if they could kindly use the room. The middle-aged woman acquiesced, saying she had something else to do.

“Any word from Eina on the reason for the change?”

Maera snapped her head around, dark brown tresses swinging over the forest-green dress. “Nothing. A Fuomi officer came from Adris City with a message for her. She didn’t say what the entire contents were, but she’s ordered to vacate the ambassador residence for his arrival in three days.”

Yozef frowned. “Well . . . that’s imperious and possibly not a good sign. Does this mean that Eina is out of favor and being recalled to Fuomon? I’d hate for that to happen. I’ve gotten accustomed to her being here. She’s been an asset in both giving advice and helping us set up the university. I guess the basic question is what is Fuomon up to?”

“Again, no details on what Eina’s change in status means for her, but evidently she’ll be staying. For one thing, that means her family will have to find another residence. I know they liked where they lived in Orosz City. It was with some reluctance they moved into the ambassador residence. I suppose that part is for the good . . . I know their two sons were not happy to move outside the walls.”

“And what about a message to me?” Yozef asked. “I don’t know the usual protocol, but I would have thought such a change would have included notification to the local authority . . . which in this case is me as the Paramount.”

“I agree,” Maera said. “Not a good sign.”

“Well . . . she was not sent here initially to be a formal ambassador but as an adviser to the original expedition’s commander, Rintala. Maybe this is nothing to worry about. It might even be considered an upgrade in our relationship with Fuomon to have a professional ambassador.”

Yozef didn’t need Maera to reply. He could read her dubious expression.

Saisannin Residence

Five days later, Paavo Saisannin poured his wife another two fingers of the Fuomon spirit she preferred. She had downed the first shot without pausing to speak, an uncharacteristic action.

“Thank you, Paavo,” Eina said. “We've expected that Fuomon would eventually decide whether it was worth cultivating a more formal association with Caedellium. If yes, they would send a regular ambassador—perhaps someone with more experience than me within the diplomatic corps. Otherwise, we all would eventually be recalled home, and Caedellium left to its own future without Fuomon. What I didn’t foresee was being replaced by a political appointee so obviously lacking in experience or brains.”

“Is he really that bad, dear?”

“He may be worse. The obvious first sign was that his message here simply announced his arrival and ordered us to move out of the embassy within three days. Who does that, except someone too enthralled with his own importance? Simple common sense would be to send a message of his arrival and wait for me to respond. I probably should have answered that I could go to Adris City to meet him or volunteered that we would move from the ambassador’s residence, and could he give us a few days to move and have the residence cleaned for him?

“I suppose I held out a shred of hope that it was a one-time happening, and he was better than I feared. That got quashed at the meeting today. Which, I point out, was two full days after he got here, as if I were an incidental matter.”

Paavo patted her arm. “I can understand the personal offense, but you usually put such things aside. It’s one of the many things I’ve always admired about you—staying professional.”

“I know, I know. Don’t think I’m not aware. I’ve dealt with such people as Koskanin before. Political appointees whose only qualifications are who they know, or which family or faction supports them. I know the diplomatic corps has had some of those, and I’ve experienced them, thankfully not as often as could have happened. Therefore, I asked myself why this bothers me so much.

“To honest, I think it’s partly because I’ve put so much of myself into working with the Caedelli. I’d hoped my reports would have convinced people at home of Caedellium’s potential importance. Perhaps they thought I haven’t gotten as much information out of Yozef as I should have. Maybe they’re right. I don’t know. If they just wanted us to return, why send Koskanin and more warships? And his staff size? I came with only two assistants, but no one expected me to fill an ambassadorial role. I still don’t have a valid estimate on how many people he brought with him, but it’s far more than seems reasonable. I suspect a good number of them have a history as spies or have served in intelligence departments.”

“And how much of the way you feel is because of your personal feelings toward the Caedelli?”

Eina sighed. “Oh . . . quite a bit, I’m sure. Yes . . . I like most of them, especially Maera and Yozef, but I honestly think they have the potential to be important in Fuomon’s struggle against the Narthani. I’ve told you I’m sometimes conflicted that maybe I think more about helping Caedellium than getting information out of them for Fuomon. I should have pushed Reimo for more data.

“There’s something else. The three Amerikans tell the same story about how they came to be abducted by unknown parties, for unknown purposes, transported an unknown distance, and abandoned naked on deserted beaches. The same story for three widely separated locations. I couldn’t rule out that they are direct participants in some larger secret of unknown purpose, but I’ve talked with them separately enough that I believe each is telling the truth. If I’m right, then why should we think they are the only three? Envision a map of Anyar and the locations where they claim to have woken. It’s almost as if the sites were selected for being so far apart. Shouldn’t we suspect others like themselves were left on beaches of Melosia . . . even Krinolin?”

“A disturbing thought, Eina—either Yozef or Mark in the hands of the Narthani. Mark’s reason for leaving Frangel was because the Narthani were trying to capture him. If you’re right, and there are others like the three Amerikans on Caedellium, then I would assume the Narthani are searching elsewhere. You need to include this possibility in your reports to Fuomon. Checking for people with similar stories of abandonment could be done in Fuomon, and we should be able to have the Harrasedics do the same, although I don’t know if telling them the entire truth would be best. And Krinolin? Yes, best to be thorough, but getting the Krinolinese to cooperate on anything would likely fail. Have you reported this possibility to Fuomon? Maybe you should also talk with Koskanin.”

She snorted. “I get the sense he’s so narrow-minded that he would have no interest. As for reporting home . . . that’s something to consider, but I’d like to give it more thought.”

She grinned. “And there’s the mystery of Yozef Kolsko. He alone was curious enough, but now there are two more of these Amerikans. Trying to figure them out is both intriguing and frustrating.”

“So, what do you think, Eina? Is Koskanin going to order you back to Fuomon? Even if he’s as you say, he couldn’t be stupid enough to lose the person who best knows the Caedelli and Kolsko. Well . . . maybe you and Kivalian. And there’s the issue we’ve thought more about the last few months. When are we going home? We’ve already been gone long enough that our daughters’ children are growing up without us knowing them. And what about our sons? Steegum and Huron are young enough and have been here long enough that they might have trouble fitting in back home if we stay here too much longer.”

When Eina remained silent, Paavo waited over a minute before continuing.

“Unless you have thoughts about not leaving Caedellium.”

“Would that really be the worst thing?” she said.

“We’re Fuomi,” he said, “no matter how much both of us admire the Caedelli for how they repulsed the Narthani. When we left home, I know both of us believed it was for a few years before returning.”

“I’m not sure how I feel, Paavo. It creeps into my mind that when we return, we’ll assume our previous places. I would never want to travel to so distant a land again. At the time, it seemed like an adventure to join the expedition, plus possible advancement when we returned. I find myself wondering what I would accomplish back in Fuomon that has any likelihood of approaching the potential of whatever happens here on Caedellium. I know I’d spend the rest of my life wondering about this island’s fate, along with its people.”

Paavo smiled. “What I hear is you would feel you have gone from witnessing great events to hearing about them from a distance and perhaps well after they’ve happened.”

“Yes, there’s something to that, Paavo, but how do you feel about our time here? Are you eager to return home? I hope I’ve told you enough times how much I appreciate that you’ve put your own work aside so frequently to accommodate me.”

“I accepted the recognition long ago that you were going to do greater things than me, an unexceptional historian who would otherwise spend his years teaching at lesser schools. I have no regrets.”

He paused, gazed into an imaginary distance, and sat back in his chair as if withdrawing. Eina recognized his expression as gathering himself to tell her something new—something that might surprise her.

“You know I can be easily occupied sitting and reading old writings and records. There’s something about it that makes me feel part of the past leading up to today.” He smiled. “Maybe my look to the past complements yours to the present and future.

“Anyway, I haven’t said anything, but the last few months I’ve been following up on something I stumbled across in the cellar archives at St. Wyan’s Cathedral. It has to do with how the people of Caedellium came to be on this island and the early history here. There are many gaps. To pursue it further, I would need to get access to similar archives in other provinces, something I’ve planned on talking with you about in getting Yozef’s support. I’ll give you more details later, but I mention it now because . . . personally . . . I wouldn’t mind staying on Caedellium longer. What I think I’m finding is nothing Anyar-shaking, but the historian in me has gotten fascinated. Of course, that’s for me. It doesn’t answer the questions about our children, our sons here and daughters back in Fuomon.”

“Yes, I’ll want to hear more, Paavo, but as for our predicament, there’s no immediate rush to make decisions. Yet it is something we need to settle, perhaps in the next six months at the latest. That’s assuming I don’t get ordered home sooner by Koskanin or poison him one day.”

The Saisannins laughed, clicked freshly recharged glasses, and resumed family life with the entrance of their two boisterous sons returning from school.

Beers for Two at the Snarling Graeko

Yozef and Reimo Kivalian sat alone at an alcove table. Minutes earlier, at Yozef’s request, Carnigan and Synton had moved to a nearby table such that anyone approaching the Paramount would pass by them first. Up to then, it had been a convivial evening honoring Kivalian’s returning to Orosz City two days previous. He had spent almost a month traveling through Caedellium and inspecting provinces’ militia units, which were required to be mobilizable on short notice.

The Fuomi marine officer had provided valuable advice during the war, which included helping Yozef develop a crash course in military tactics. What Yozef could remember of tactics came from reading and members of a military gaming clique he hung out with as a teenager. Those memories were combined with Kivalian’s formal training and experience. The course had been expanded after the war, and Kivalian was all but part of Caedellium’s military command structure.

“How did Elsik manage while you were gone, Reimo?” asked Yozef. “I know Anarynd looked in on her regularly, but I’m sure Elsik is relieved you’re back.”

Kivalian grimaced. “Yelled at me for being gone so long as soon as I entered the door. Then proceeded to smother me in hugs and kisses. I don’t blame her. If everything continues going well, she’ll give birth in another two months. I didn’t like being gone that long, but now I won’t travel again for at least three or four months.

“I’m also glad to be back to give my ass a rest. I like riding horses, but it’s all I’ve done for the last sixdays. I rode province to province, spent a day or two with the clan militia ready units, which involved riding with them on maneuvers, and then rode on to the next province. You’ve read my report, and we talked when I got back. It’s Nyvaks and Vandinke who are the most problematic—as we anticipated. Neither hetman is truly committed to fulfilling the obligation to have units as ready as required.”

“Well . . . we may have to eventually do something about Nyvaks,” said Yozef. “Hetman Vandinke is hardly a surprise. He’s been a pain in the ass ever since I first saw him at an All-Clan Conclave. I suppose I could pay him a visit. The last time it got him moving for a few months, but I think the solution to Vandinke will come when we extend the rail line to the ore ranges surrounding Vandork, the capital. It’ll be easier for me to visit and force more regular interaction with other provinces. However, I’m glad to hear Elsik is well.”

Yozef was interested in Elsik’s well-being, but he now moved on to his main reason for talking alone with Kivalian.

“I haven’t said this before, Reimo, but I hope you know that you would have a permanent place here on Caedellium should you decide to stay.”

Yozef refrained from using words like defect or even immigrate. He wanted Kivalian to come to a decision without prompting. Still . . . he needed to state that the option was welcomed.

“I’m grappling with the future, Yozef. Part of me wishes I’d never taken up with Elsik. At first, it was a simple dalliance with a pleasant and willing Caedelli woman. She hasn’t been the first. She knew that from the beginning. Then, as the months passed, it’s slowly become more. Of course, and now a child is coming. She’s not pushed me, but she’s made it clear, indirectly, that she has no intention of leaving Caedellium and moving to Fuomon.

“Then there’s that damn Koskanin. The first sixday he was here, I had two meetings with him. Neither went well, and the last was the worst. He called into question my loyalty to Fuomon . . . that turbler.”

Yozef suppressed a smile from the reference to an act a certain type of man might perform with a krykor.

“I would not be surprised if he ordered me back to Fuomon any day. It might only be because of Eina that he hasn’t done that already. I suspect they’ve had some intense discussions about me. He seemed to be avoiding me before I left for the militia survey.”

“I don’t expect you to give away anything sensitive, Reimo, but do you have any sense of why Koskanin was sent or what his intentions are?”

Reimo shook his head. “Not that I’m privy to his thinking . . . that’s assuming what goes on in his head qualifies. No . . . no clue. Maybe Eina knows more, but if she does, she isn’t sharing it with me. One thing I do warn you about. Be careful of Namaki—one of Koskanin’s staff. He’s a slimy one. He’s the type of man you wouldn’t put anything past him doing, no matter your imagination.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Namaki is trying to develop spies all over the island. Probably to gather information about things he and Koskanin think you’re hiding.” Kivalian paused and took a large quaff of beer, then looked around sharply as if to check whether anyone was listening. “Again, I know nothing, but I wonder if he has a mission here that will have unknown consequences for Caedellium.”

Yozef didn’t respond. He and Maera had briefly discussed the same suspicion and decided they would talk with the most devious people he knew after gathering them in Orosz City: Gartherid and Isla Kennrick, Owill Brell, and Sissel Morgen. The four had been leaders of the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU) during the Narthani War. Then the six of them would consider what to do with Irvod Koskanin.

CHAPTER 20

SUCCESS AND DISCORD

Preddi City

Balwis recognized the expression as soon as he looked up from his desk to see Savronel Storlini walk into his office. The ordinarily taciturn ex-Narthani had picked up an annoying mannerism from Wyfor Kales—wry humor when bringing news likely to exasperate the hetman.

Balwis managed to suppress a snarl . . . barely.

“What is it? No, don’t tell me. Come back tomorrow. Maybe whatever it is will have vanished by then. Maybe the Narthani landed a new army, and I’ll be too busy for whatever this is. Maybe I’ll be struck by lightning on the way home tonight.”

“All those are possible, hetman, but they’re in the future. Right now, you have to deal with the fact that Rhanjur Gaya has returned from Munjor.”

Balwis’s forehead wrinkled. “Why do I have to deal with Gaya now?”

“Actually, it isn’t so much Gaya as the hundred new immigrants to Caedellium he brought with him.”

“What!?”

“Oh . . . sorry. I didn’t speak clearly. I said, ‘Actually, it isn’t so much Gaya as the hundred new immigrants to Caedellium he brought with him.’”

This time, Balwis did snarl. “And quit trying to be a poor imitation of Wyfor. His mannerisms are ingrained in him and don’t work for you. Now . . . try this again. Gaya has returned and he’s brought a shipload of . . . what? A hundred Munjorians who want to immigrate to Caedellium?”

“That’s correct. The exact number is 103—mainly men, some of whom have their families with them. The tally includes 43 craftsmen of different trades and 13 Munjorian versions of Caedelli scholastics. I was meeting with the harbormaster when the ship docked. That’s when I talked with Gaya. It looks like the Munjorians have agreed to Yozef’s plan to take skilled immigrants as partial payment for exports to Munjor.”

“How do we know these craftsmen are worth anything? Gaya could be dumping incompetents or criminals on us.”

Storlini now looked like a patient parent calmly correcting a child. “And you really think Gaya would do that? What do you think Yozef’s response would be concerning trade?”

“All right, so Gaya probably made sure they’re skilled.”

Balwis, as was his custom, focused on solutions once he vented spleen. “Let’s get a tally of the exact numbers and the skills they’re bringing. Yozef will want this as soon as we have it. He’s meeting with the hetmen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if these new immigrants are going to be a topic. Fortuitous that the telegraph system between here and Orosz City is operational. By semaphore, Yozef wouldn’t have gotten word probably until tomorrow because of the time and what looks like rain moving in. With the telegraph, we can get him first word within the hour and more information later, even into the evening.”

Orosz City

A full Senate session, including as many hetmen as could make the trip, was convened to give updates on developing the central government and progress with several of Yozef’s projects. Among the hetmen was Culich Keelan, Maera’s father. He had arrived three days earlier to spend time with his daughter and grandchildren.

At the end of the morning session, Yozef called aside the four hetmen who had been the other members of the War Council. The four men showed various emotions: Tomis Orosz, interest; Welman Stent, worry; Culich Keelan, attentiveness; Feren Bakalacs . . . well, he always looked aggrieved.

“Sorry to pull you from the mid-day meal break,” said Yozef, “but I just got a telegraph from Balwis with news I’ll be sharing with everyone this afternoon. Before then, I wanted to get your input on it and likely reactions of the other hetmen.”

The briefing lasted a quarter-hour. All four hetman knew of Yozef’s plan to bring in skilled immigrants, and all four gave support to various degrees. However, Yozef’s briefing of the entire set of hetmen and representatives would be the first time some of them would hear of the plan.

Four hours later, it was Yozef’s father-in-law who encouraged Yozef that the day could have gone worse.

“Yeah, well, it could also have gone a hell of a lot better,” said Yozef.

“It’s just too new an idea for some of them,” said Culich. “Remember what it was like getting the clans to unify, even in the face of imminent Narthani catastrophe. From my many years of experience with these men, I’d say a third actively support you on this. Another third are either uncertain or don’t like the idea but assume you know what you’re doing. The last ones may be opposed, but most of them are convincible . . . with time.”

Culich grinned. “I liked the way you diverted people’s attention toward the end by promising an interesting tomorrow afternoon.”

“I hope it proves interesting. I wanted to get more done in this meeting than I think can happen. The issues and plans for industrialization were supposed to be further along today, with today settling hetmen’s support. I don’t see how I’ll get as much finalized as I wanted.”

“Possibly,” said Culich, “but the telegraph demonstration will be a good ending. Those who are already supportive will be strengthened, the doubters more convinced, and you may even pick up less opposition from the most recalcitrant.”

The next afternoon, representatives of all twenty-one clans gathered in the newly constructed telegraph station, plus a dozen other men and women present for various purposes or because of their status. The sending room had not been designed for thirty-three witnesses and two operators, so it was elbow to elbow.

Every eye watched the clock on the north wall. At precisely the designated hour, the chief operator’s right index finger began the up-and-down motion. The series of audible clicks continued for several minutes, with two different-length intervals between clicks. Long and short. The Morse code had needed only minor adaptations for Caedelli.

When the operator stopped, he looked at Yozef and nodded.

“That’s it, Paramount. If the message was received, an acknowledgment should come quickly.”

A series of clicks followed the operator’s words within seconds.

“Okay on their end. They’re waiting for the test questions.”

Yozef had anticipated that the strongest convictions about the telegraph’s utility would come if the hetmen could witness it functioning . . . not only by observation but also by using the system. Four clans had been chosen at random—excluding Seaborn because of the difficulty of scheduling travel to the clan’s islands. A close relative of each of the four hetmen had traveled to Preddi City. Each hetman would ask a question that only an immediate family member would know the answer to. The first clan was Mittack.

“All right, Hulwyn,” said Yozef. “What question do you want to ask your son?”

Hetman Mittack’s grin was visible through the expansive beard that spread wider than his head and reached most of the way to his belt.

“My question is, ‘What was I doing when word came of the Fuomi landing at East Head Point?’”

Two minutes later, the operator finished writing and looked up.

“Go ahead and read it,” said Hulwyn.

“It says, ‘My honorable father was taking a shit.’”

Hetman Mittack’s laughter was audible over the rest of the crowd.

“Hah! Not even my wife knew that! My son only knew because he was waiting to take his turn. We were hunting, just the two of us. Word had come of a half-grown yorsza attacking a rancher. The man survived, and I led a hunting party. I needed to shit, so my son and I went into the brush. He decided he might as well relieve himself at the same time. We couldn’t both be shitting at once, so he stood watch while I went first. I was in the expected awkward posture when word came of the landing. The messenger found us, but my son yelled at him to keep away. A hetman has to have some dignity. Anyway . . . the messenger yelled out what the message was.”

“I suspect you were already in the right position,” Welman Stent called out.

“Damn right. With that message, I was going to shit standing or sitting.”

The other three hetmen followed with their questions, though none quite so personal. The group exited the cramped space for carriages to take them to a meeting at the island headquarters.

“This is your first exposure to the hetmen as a group,” Yozef said to Mark as they waited at a table for the hetmen and others to seat themselves elsewhere. “You’ve met Orosz, Adris, Stent, and Bultecki. The one with the peg leg is Maera’s father, Culich Keelan. He, Stent, Orosz, and Feren Bakalacs were the other members of the War Council during the war. The last one is the Farkesh hetman. He’s one of the hetmen whose family name is different from the clan. Historical reasons for that. Those four are the core of support for the Paramount position, along with several others like Preddi and Moreland, of course, and then Selfcell, Hewell, Gwillamer, Brell, and Swavebroke. There will be some mingling after this meeting and at the dinner this evening. You’ll get a chance to meet more of them . . . meaning you’ll be grilled by a few of them. Plan on having to talk with them more as your projects develop.”

Yozef looked around. “Okay, I think we’ll get the show on the road.”

He stood and raised his hands for attention. Discussions died away.

“I think we can all agree the telegraph test went great. I want to take a moment to acknowledge Mark Kaldwel. We previously had problems with the messages’ range of transmission. We had success today only because Mark solved the relay problem, placing insulators on the poles and increasing the power of the transmissions.”

Yozef turned to Mark and gestured for him to rise. Mark stood, gave a brief wave, and sat back down. Most of the men showed their appreciations via words, handclapping, and feet thumping.

“Think of it,” said Yozef. “From today on, messages between Orosz City and Preddi City take only a few minutes, no matter what time of day or night and no matter the weather. As you all know, we were waiting for confirmation of the system before extending the wire lines. That will now commence starting tomorrow. We estimate it will take about six months to complete connecting the twenty provinces on the main island. Apologies to our Seaborn brethren, but the sea prevents connecting them. However, there are ideas on how to help with that, perhaps in the next year.”

“What about the schedule for connections?” asked Lordum Hewell.

“As already planned and shared with you, each province is responsible for erecting the telegraph poles on its lands. No wiring within a province will be done until the complete series of poles within that province is completed for the primary line connecting capitals. Adris will be the next line since Klyngo ignored my advice and has already finished the poles to Adris City.”

The Adris hetman looked around. “If Yozef said it was going to work, I believed him. Lordum owes me a hundred krun. He didn’t think even Yozef could magically make wire send messages.”

The Hewell hetman laughed. “It’s a small-enough debt to learn not to doubt Yozef.”

“I’d have thought you’d have already learned that lesson,” growled Feren Bakalacs. The Farkesh hetman was irascible but highly respected.

Mark noticed that not all the clan representatives joined in the laughter and good-natured comments that followed. At least four men frowned or had blank expressions.

“One more thing,” Yozef said loudly to draw attention back to his agenda. “You were also warned to select potential telegraph operators. Right now, we only have perhaps a dozen people who can send and receive. Intensive training for operators will begin in two sixdays. Each province needs to have its people in Orosz City by then. Mark Kaldwel has pointed out that not everyone has the natural ability to be an operator. Unfortunately, there is no way to know who does, so you need to assume only half of the people you send can succeed.

“This is also the time for the sites that we’ve planned to make wire and insulators to immediately begin production.”

Mark was seated so that only Yozef saw him frown. Multiple sources were deliberately chosen by Yozef to allow more provinces to be involved. Mark had argued strongly for single sources until close supervision would better ensure wire and insulator quality. Otherwise, differences would inevitably lead to problems. Yozef understood the argument but countered that keeping new innovation contributions spread among the provinces had to be a major factor.

Questions and discussion continued for an hour before the meeting ended, and carriages carried everyone to the local Snarling Graeko, reserved for the evening. A meal was two hours away at the same pub. In the meantime, various alcohol libations would grease further discussions on weighty matters and whatever rumors were to be shared.

Disagreement

Since arriving on Caedellium, Mark had learned more about the Narthani. In Frangel, he had been absorbed with his visions of introducing innovations and paid little attention to internal Frangel affairs, much less to what was happening elsewhere on Anyar. Fleeing from the clutches of the Narthani and the guilds, enduring his forced exposure to other realms, living through the battle with a Narthani ship, hearing the history of Rustal from Gulgit, and talking with Adalan, the Buldorian captain, had filled him in on the “big” picture related to Narthon. In his naiveté, he had thought of Caedellium as a safe refuge. That belief crumbled when he learned the details of the Caedelli/Narthon war, supplemented with stories and histories given freely by Reimo Kivalian, the Fuomi marine. His views had solidified enough for him to bring up the subject with Yozef . . . something he had thus far avoided, anticipating a significant difference of opinion.

Mark decided the time to broach the topic was when Yozef might be in a positive mood. The opportunity came with the successful telegraph test at the hetmen’s gathering.

Mark motioned for Yozef to hang back. “Do you need to accompany them right away? I’ve wanted to talk with you about something, but we’ve both been so busy.”

“Oh, I can go to the Snarling Graeko later. Is right here okay?”

Mark nodded, and they sat at adjacent sides of a table and waited for the last of the others to leave.

“I afraid this is going to be a serious conversation,” said Mark, plunging right ahead. “It’s about long-term plans concerning the Narthani. I know you’ve talked about how you want to keep Caedellium out of direct action against them, except for possibly supplying food and maybe cannon and gunpowder.”

He paused, noting Yozef’s incipient frown, then continued. “But I have to tell you I strongly disagree. Let me start by showing you something.”

Mark laid the paper sheet he’d brought on the table and slid it to Yozef.

“Here are a series of crude maps of the Anyar landmasses. I colored in Narthani-controlled areas with red ink using information from my own experience and talking with Kivalian.”

There were nine small maps arrayed in rows of three. Mark’s right index finger pointed to the upper left map.

“At the naval academy, we were taught that knowing the enemy’s intentions is key, and looking at long-term trends is as important as what’s happening at any one moment. This red area is supposed to be the ancestral homeland of nomad tribes that came to be the Narthani.” His finger slid progressively to the other maps. “What this shows is Narthani expansion over the last couple of centuries. See how they are expanding in all directions, first south, then east to approximately the current border, and then west. They’re like a cancer . . . starting from one spot and spreading in every direction. Seeing it this way emphasizes the threat.”

“”What I hear is that it’s been pretty much a stalemate the last thirty or so years,” said Yozef.

“Only if you look at Melosia, the main landmass.” Mark’s finger moved on to the sixth and seventh maps. “Those borders of Narthon may not have changed much, but the total expansion has continued, just in different directions. First Rustal fell to Narthon, and now they’re moving on Landolin, having taken Amalor and having some kind of presence in Jahmnor.”

“Well . . . yeah, but you told me Rustal is only bogging them down. That it didn’t turn into a productive conquest. Plus, you said the mountain range separating Rustal from Sulako was pretty formidable and easy to defend. The Narthani probably should write off Rustal and use whatever forces they have there somewhere else.”

Mark nodded. “That’s what I told you, but I’ve thought about it more and now wonder if I was looking at their move on Rustal the wrong way. Instead of considering it from the point of view of land taken, I changed to a naval view and looked to the future. Maybe they never intended to occupy all of Rustal. Maybe they were only interested in the coasts to secure the harbors. Look at where they are now with regard to the western part of the Throat.” His finger centered on the referenced part of the ocean separating Melosia from Ganolar. “With their own coast, plus Rustal and Amalor, I’m now wondering if they’re in the process of putting a stranglehold on that seaway. That would effectively cut Landolin and Iraquinik off from Fuomon and the Harrasedics.

“I tried talking with Admiral Saka Mermi, the current Fuomi naval commander. He wouldn’t meet with me. Maybe if I’d told him I’d been in a navy, he might have relented, but . . . you know . . . he might have grilled me on the Amerikan navy, and that wasn’t a good door to open.

“Anyway, I asked around for anybody in the Fuomi navy who might be more approachable. Several people mentioned Tahvo Navela, one of the Fuomi frigate captains. At first, he was at sea on patrol, but when his ship returned to Adris City, he was much different from Mermi and more like Kivalian in willingness to talk. Look at the eighth map and the island of Suramong off the Sulako north coast. Navela mentioned in passing several rumors of Narthani interest in the island. Navela says the island is mainly rocky and dry with hardly any rainfall. I didn’t say it to Navela, but I think it’s in the rain shadow of mountain ranges. Navela says it’s only sparsely populated but has two good natural harbors, one at the northern tip and the other in this indentation on the eastern side. Apparently, the harbors are mainly used by small fishing communities and as safe havens during storms by ships of all nationalities.

“Again, thinking from a navy view, now that Narthon has Amalor, if they took Suramong from Sulako, that could be a final nail in closing the western Throat. I know the Fuomi squadron that first came to Caedellium sailed the Great Ocean route, but that was to keep secret the Fuomon interest in what was happening around Landolin and especially Caedellium. Since then, Fuomon has used convoys to run the western Throat. However, Navela says that’s already becoming more problematic as Narthon builds up their navy and shifts units to the western Throat. I pressed him about Suramong, and he said rumors are that Fuomon is aware of the possibility I mentioned. I asked what Fuomon’s response would be if that happened, and he stopped being open and starting hedging. I’d give odds he’s heard Fuomon might stop trying to sail that route. Of course, if that happened, the only connection between all the eastern nations and us would be the Great Ocean, which is almost the same as a total blockade.”

“If . . . what if . . . maybe . . . could happen,” said Yozef, his irritation blatant. “We can’t act based on every possible scenario. Even if there’s something to what you say, I don’t see an immediate threat and maybe not one for quite a few years. The Narthani have been in Amalor for almost a year and are only now apparently showing up in Jahmnor. It could take them ten, twenty years to occupy all of Landolin, if it all. In the meantime, we’ll be contributing to fight them without committing our men to go off Caedellium.”

Mark shook his head. “The French and the British thought they could hold the line against the Germans when World War II started. Instead, France, Belgium, and the Netherlands fell within weeks once the Germans launched their blitzkrieg. Only a miracle and Nazi incompetence saved the British army at Dunkirk.”

“The Narthani are not exactly the Germans,” said Yozef.

“No, but neither are the Landolin kingdoms a secure defense like the French thought the Maginot Line was. The French were so confident that they didn’t plan for the contingency that the Germans would bypass the France/Germany border defenses. What’s your contingency if the Narthani suddenly turn their attention back to Caedellium for unexpected reasons, or the Landoliners fall faster than you think is likely?”

“Whatever happens, it won’t be overnight,” said Yozef stubbornly. “We’d have time to react.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But look at it another way. The longer the Narthani are a threat, the fewer will be our potential allies. Every nation they take over is one less ally for us. And what do you think will happen if . . . uh . . . ” Mark paused to check the Anyar map. “If Panhan and Munjor fall? I’d bet the last two kingdoms, Naskin and Mureet, either surrender or resistance evaporates almost overnight and the Narthani would control all of Landolin. The last map shows how precarious a position that would put the Iraquiniks, the rest of Ganolar, and Caedellium.”

“Catastrophizing will always come up with such scenarios, Mark. So . . . where are you going with this?”

“I’m just proposing that not enough consideration is being given to bringing down the Narthon Empire for good. Otherwise, the threat will always be here.”

“And Caedellium is going to do that? All by itself?” Yozef said scornfully. “I’ve actually fought a war with the Narthani. It took amazing guts from the Caedelli, their commitment to pay the price, and mistakes by the Narthani for us to pull out the victory. But we weren’t a threat to the Narthon Empire then or now.”

“I’m not saying Caedellium alone, and I don’t have a clear vision of what could be done, but I do have suggestions.”

Yozef sighed. “All right, go ahead and lay them out . . . if it won’t take too long. I do have to get back to the hetmen.”

“It’s a long list to consider, but these and more are worth thinking about. Some we’ve already talked about, looking well into the future. Breech-loading rifles and cannon, rocket-propelled grenades, rocket artillery, exploding shells, mortars, all of which need real fuses. That’s for ground warfare. At sea, steam-powered, armored warships.”

“We’re already working on some of those,” said Yozef, “or waiting for technology, such as getting steam engines working before we think about warships.”

“Yes, using steam engines in mining, steel production, textiles, and whatever is good, but you don’t seem serious about the warships. Unless we can defend the waters around Caedellium, the Narthani can eventually land armies.”

“And what? We’ll become a naval power like England used to be? Even if I agreed with you, our population is too small, as is our industrial base, despite what we’re developing.”

Exasperated, Mark drumming the tabletop with fingers of both hands. “I don’t understand why you don’t see this. Was the fight against the Narthani, especially the final battle, so traumatic you can’t see what’s right in front of you?”

Yozef flushed. “And who are you to judge? You may have had fights to get here, but you weren’t in real battles with tens of thousands on each side, you didn’t witness dead and wounded as far as the eye could see, hear the screams of the wounded, all the blood, and know all the time that so many people looked to you to lead them.”

Mark’s face turned stone cold. He quickly snatched the map paper from the table and stormed out.

Yozef was angry, but not only at Mark. His fellow Amerikan had brought to the surface thoughts Yozef had not shared with anyone, not even Maera. What if the Narthani did eventually rule the entire world? Exactly how catastrophic would that be? There was no reason to think lessons from Earth’s history wouldn’t repeat on a different planet. Empires eventually fell. He believed what he had told Mark about his final meeting with Okan Akuyun before the last Narthani ship sailed from Preddi City. Internal rot and competition for power, the simmering hatred of conquered people, and the allure of features of other civilizations were eventually transformative. The Narthani had risen from being nomadic raiders to conquer more civilized peoples, but in the process, they had been civilized in return. He doubted the Narthani of the early expansion would have acknowledged kinship with the invaders of Caedellium.

Ancient history had been an interest of Yozef’s only as related to his circle of gamesters. Bobby Novak had been an aficionado of Hungarian history, his family’s ancestral homeland. At Bobby’s insistence, the group played Oriental Empires a disproportionate amount of time. Although the video game focused on China, the Mongols were evident enough to give Bobby leeway to tell, all too often, of how the Mongols had advanced into central Europe. There, they defeated a Hungarian army at the Battle of Mohi, the high-water mark for the Mongols in Europe. Bobby asserted, and Yozef had never been interested enough to check, that political turmoil within the Mongol royal family, overextension, the disintegration of central authority, and a gradual adoption of conquered people’s attributes ended the Mongol empire. Yozef trusted that the same would happen with the Narthani.

Rather than focus on destroying Narthon, he believed Caedellium only had to outlast it. In a worst-case scenario, he might have to work with the conquerors in return for Caedelli safety, to then wait for the empire to fall on its own.

Truce

Yozef and Mark had not met for over a sixday since their argument about the Narthani. It hadn’t been a bitter argument . . . one of those that too often devolved into attributing negative personal characteristics. Nevertheless, it exposed two disparate positions. Yozef acknowledged the long-term threat but wanted to minimize Caedellium involvement in what should be referred to as a “World War.” He believed his argument that current events notwithstanding, the broad conflict had been mainly stalemated for enough years that he saw the Narthani attempts to take Caedellium and Landolin as desperation. Mark had sympathized but disagreed. His experiences painted a picture of Narthon as a continuing threat. The Narthani tentacles reached out to him in central Frangel all the way from Narthon, he passed through an occupied Rustal, and, to him, the news from Landolin provided no basis for optimism.

Mark was inclined to be more proactive. He believed Caedellium might be small compared to the realms involved in the Anyar World War, but it could make an outsized contribution with what he and Yozef could develop. Mark had stewed for several days before coming to a realization.

I have to face it, he thought. I’m not going to convince Yozef to come over to my view unless something happens in which I have no part. Much of what I’m doing would be the same if he agreed with me. At least, for the next year or two.

Whether it be for a total commitment in the World War, for a program of limited aid to Landolin and Iraquinik, or for Caedellium’s internal development, they still needed what Mark could help develop after the telegraph: rails, steam power, machine tools, and a steel industry. In the meantime, he needed to get along with Yozef, both because the Paramount’s support was so critical and because they were two of the only three Amerikans they knew of on Anyar.

Besides, Mark acknowledged, I like him, and I can’t ignore what he’s accomplished.

Such thinking led to the situation today. Mark had never visited Yozef’s chemistry laboratory, though Yozef had described it to him several times and extended an invitation for a tour even more times. Mark figured it would be a good ploy to break the thin ice between them, and, if he suspected right, he would be impressed with what Yozef was planning and had already accomplished.

During the new Amerikans’ first sixdays in Orosz City, Yozef had grilled Mark twice, and presumably Heather, about chemistry. He admitted he was probing how much they knew. After the second time, he had seemed disappointed and never probed again.

“I guess I was hoping you remembered some things I didn’t,” Yozef had said when Mark asked why the interrogation.

Mark had seen the Chemistry Institute, as Yozef called it, regularly since his arrival in Orosz City. It was hard to miss. Extensive multi-paned glass windows and large skylights with mobile covers set it apart from any other building Mark had yet seen on Anyar.

“Without electricity, I want as much light as possible inside,” said Yozef when describing the building. “We have to have small flames in the laboratory sections. You know . . . primitive versions of Bunsen burners and heating mantles when needed for reactions, but I want to minimize the dangers. The number and the amount of combustible chemicals will only increase. That’s also why there are concrete or brick firewalls to contain fires that do break out. I didn’t blow anyone up when we were making gunpowder, napalm, and flares, but I worry people won’t fully appreciate my being anal about safety until something terrible happens.

“The window and the skylights minimize the need for lanterns, and that includes the sections for study, lessons, and the chemistry library that’s being developed.”

Mark entered the building and found no one in the large entrance foyer. Cloaks hung from wall pegs . . . the sky suggested rain later in the day. A woman exited a doorway, glanced at Mark, and continued across the foyer to another door. He had no idea what went on behind either door. Hallways stretched in three directions, left, right, and straight. It occurred to him that he had seen the building only from a single view.

Must be multiple single-story wings, thought Mark. Maximizes light and minimizes fire danger.

He glanced down all three hallways. Each seemed to be about fifty yards long, with doors on both sides only for the hallway straight ahead. The right and left hallways had doors on the inward sides. Half a minute passed while he wondered how to find Yozef. The obvious solution was to ask. Individuals walked between doors or down the hallways. He waited until a young man came into the foyer from the right hallway.

“Can you tell me where to find the Paramount?”

“Yozef? He’s teaching a class,” said the man, pointing down the left hallway. “Second door. Should be about finished.”

“Thanks.”

At the indicated door, Mark peered into the classroom through the door’s window. Yozef stood at a blackboard, talking to eleven or twelve seated listeners, mainly male, all with paper, quill, and ink. He couldn’t hear what was being said.

Mark smiled. I guess taking class notes doesn’t change. He moved slightly to his left for a better view of the blackboard. Chemical symbols covered most of the surface. He recognized the element symbols. They were simple reactions. A woman raised her hand. Whatever was asked and answered, Yozef turned to the board and wrote with chalk. Mark couldn’t make out the new writing. Whatever was written and said, the woman appeared satisfied. Yozef laid down the chalk, his mouth moved, and the session was apparently over because attendees began gathering their notes and standing.

Mark waited until the last “student” was headed to the door before he walked in.

“Well, it certainly looked like you had their attention.”

Yozef glanced up, surprised. “Mark. Is something up?”

“No, no. I wanted to take you up on the tour invitation. I always seemed to have something else that needed doing, but I'm interested in how this is going.”

Not all that much of an exaggeration, Mark thought. Chemistry might not be my thing, but it’s important, and we’re lucky to have Yozef. He seems to know his stuff.

Mark looked at the blackboard. “Chemical reactions?”

“The Law of Constant Composition,” said Yozef. “Anyar chemistry was . . . is, about fifty to a hundred years from establishing that atoms make up compounds. A key step on Earth happened around 1800 when several men, Richter, Berzelius, Dalton, and others, showed that the ingredients for simple chemical reactions were always consumed in the same proportions. This can only happen when the result of the reaction had specific ratios.”

“Yeah,” said Mark. “Like, water is made of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. So . . . are you telling them that’s the case, or are you showing them in the lab?”

Yozef scowled. “Some of both, plus having them work out experiments on their own to prove it. I’m trying to ram through in months what took many brilliant scientists decades, and that was built on centuries of prior work I’m trying to skip over. There may come a time where I can say what’s true without being questioned, but it’s an iterative process for now. I take what’s currently believed, state it’s not quite accurate, and say how we know a little more in Amerika. There’s inevitable skepticism, so I suggest experiments to settle the matter. If it works out, my credit goes up, and we move to the next principles. Of course, I have to be careful that what I introduce can be proved. It won’t help if experiments don’t work, so I think hard about it.

“Another good example is the periodic table. It was around 1870 when the Russian Dmitri Mendeleev proposed the first model of the table. He put the elements in rows by atomic weight and columns by the elements’ features. You know . . . copper, silver, gold in one column, fluorine, sodium, potassium, iodine in another. One of Mendeleev’s great insights was leaving positions blank when no element was known. He predicted they simply hadn’t been discovered yet. That’s what I’ve done. I’ve given them a periodic table with all the elements known to Anyar science and told them that ‘Amerikans’ believe in the missing elements.” Yozef grinned. “Our new chemists are gung-ho to make discoveries of elements known only to the mysterious Amerikans. One of our Caedelli chemists has ‘discovered’ bromine, and a Fuomi is well on the way to confirming cadmium.”

Mark laughed. “And what about the names? Is the mysterious Yozef Kolsko going to magically come up with bromine and cadmium as names?”

Yozef laughed even harder. “I did with bromine, but the Fuomi beat me to it. He’s already convinced he’s identified cadmium, and he’s asserting the name will be fuominium. I suppose I could invoke my status, but letting them do the naming encourages them.”

“So, how far along are you? Were these typical students?”

“This particular group is fairly new. I started off by picking potential students from clans as they came to my attention or were suggested to me. As you can imagine, every time a new person joined, I had to start over. It quickly became impossible, so I quit taking new people for most of a year until that first batch had gotten to a point where I figured they could teach the basics, and I could focus on the more advanced students. That’s how it’s been going.”

“And you’re not tempted to just tell them, ‘Yozef Kolsko, the Paramount and Septarsh, says that’s the way it is’?”

“Believe me, it’s tempting all too often, but I restrain myself. First, it’s got to be accepted. Too far outside what’s believed, and it might be disregarded. Then there’s the big secret of where we came from. Too much magical knowledge will draw more attention than I could predict the consequences of. Steady progress is better than too much risk.”

Mark’s first impulse was to argue that Yozef was being too cautious. The number of people involved in his pushing chemistry knowledge had to be so small as to have little, if any, influence on the bulk of the population. Also, even if what he said was initially disbelieved by some of these “students,” some would run with it, and others would come to believe. However, Mark wasn’t there to start another argument.

“Well . . . I can see that there’s more background needed for basic sciences like chemistry than engineering. A tool is a tool, and once it’s known, humans will grab it for applications and not worry about how it came about. So . . . where do you get your students?”

“I call them students, but the ages vary. The older ones have a bit of life experience that has given them some combination of knowledge and mental pliability. That’s needed for people to accept new ideas from what was previously known. Of course, there are those who perceive it as too threatening. We’ve had a few of them. They usually quit within a month. Then there are the younger ones who are true scientists, in that they can accept new ideas if the logic and evidence are enough. Those are the ones I really aim for. I wish there were more of them, but right now, I have four who really took off. Two of them teach most of the new students. Another six or seven are on their way. Besides any teaching, those I mentioned are involved in various projects, such as developing the new dyes we talked about or more refining of the holowar sap for sweeteners. Oh . . . and here’s one you’ll like. We have made progress on producing mercury fulminate that can be used in firearm primers.”

Mark thought the tone of Yozef’s last comment hedged toward condescension, as if he’d thrown it off to placate a nag. Mark bit his tongue. He also stopped himself from asking whether guncotton was being investigated. However, he was interested in the mercury fulminate project.

“Are you producing the mercury here or importing it?”

“Here in Caedellium. There’s a rich source in Selfcell Province. Random testing of cinnabar from the site shows five to ten percent mercury.”

“That’s pretty high. I thought mercury was rare in the Earth’s crust. Oh . . . I guess I’m assuming Anyar and Earth have similar histories, and I should say ‘Anyar’s crust.’”

“Yeah, it’s probably the same here. It’s rare, but it also doesn’t mix well with most elements. The exceptions are some metals like gold, silver, and zinc. That means mercury tends to collect, especially into cinnabar. There’s a site in Spain that has been producing mercury for two thousand years and recently has produced a quarter of the Earth’s output.

“It can be isolated as a by-product of producing those other metals, but the best source is cinnabar. Besides being such a high percentage in the ore, it’s almost ridiculously easy to isolate. That’s assuming you take precautions. The health effects of mercury vapor are no laughing matter. Cinnabar has a high amount of mercury sulfide. All you have to do is heat the cinnabar, and the mercury comes off as a vapor that can be condensed into a pure form.” Yozef smiled. “Of course, that’s easy to say, but it took some time to work out doing it safely.

“So far, we haven’t had a reason to produce much mercury, but we’ve enough for thermometers and the mercury fulminate project. Do you want to see how we make the fulminate?”

The enthusiastic tone of Yozef’s last words was unmistakable.

Well, thought Mark, if Heather is a music nerd, then Yozef is definitely a chemistry nerd.

Knowing the fulminate was available satisfied Mark’s interest. Neither was he enthused about being around it during production. Facing a human enemy was more to his liking than being around something you couldn’t predict when everything went south. Yozef might be a good chemist, but what about the staff? What he did know was the established proclivity of the compound to explode. However, he was here to smooth things over with Yozef.

“Yes, I’d love to see how you do it.”

“Great. Let’s go to the mercury workshop.”

Yozef led the way down the hall and out the rear of the building. Fifty yards away sat what appeared to be a large cinder-block structure, half of which was without a roof.

“The workshop is divided into sections,” Yozef said, “depending on projects and the steps in processes. We make the fulminate in a space with no roof but under a shade. That also means the weather has to cooperate, and the lack of a roof ensures the effects of an accidental explosion can go up, instead of being contained and affecting adjacent spaces.”

Mark’s interest in a demonstration slid another notch or two downward.

“Unfortunately,” said Yozef, “there’s no production run scheduled for today, but I’ll go through the procedure so you’ll get the idea.”

“Uh . . . yes . . . too bad,” said Mark, relieved.

Inside, Yozef moved to a bench with an assortment of empty and filled glassware on shelving.

“I’ll simulate the synthesis.”

Yozef pulled down several beakers and stoppered bottles labeled nitric acid, ethanol, and distilled water. From a cabinet to one side of the space, he pulled out a stoppered bottle half full of a silvery substance that moved sluggishly. The way Yozef handled the bottle indicted a weight heavier than water-based liquids. He lined up the glassware and explained while he simulated mixing.

“I won’t give the volumes or weights unless you’re interested.”

“No, that’s fine,” Mark said. “I’ll get the drift.”

“Okay. So . . . we start by mixing mercury with nitric acid and stirring with a glass rod.”

Yozef mimicked the actions, then looked around.

“I don’t see the micro-stove we use. Someone must be using in one of the other areas. That’s okay. What we do next is heat the mixture until the mercury dissolves. You’ll know that when the solution turns green and boils. Then we add ethanol very slowly. Red and brown fumes come off. They’re toxic and flammable, so another man works the bellows you see to keep air moving away from the workers.

“After half an hour or so, the reaction is complete, as shown by the fumes turning white. Then water is added, and the mercury fulminate crystals are filtered from the liquid and washed several times with water to remove excess acid. We test when the washing is sufficient using a crude litmus test. A native plant has flower petals that change color from acid to base.”

Yozef grinned and said, “Voila! That’s about it. The crystals are dried and stored in a bunker outside.”

“Have you tried making percussion caps yet?”

“We tried for a while a few years ago, but I dropped it when we weren’t getting anywhere. There was also too much else going on.”

Yozef smiled. “I started up again once we got the chemistry institute going. Another one of my leaps of faith. I figured with you here, we’d eventually be working on breech-loading rifles, but first I thought we’d look to converting the existing flintlocks to percussion caps. We’re still working on the caps. Making the copper cups to hold the percussion mixture is straightforward, but we’re still experimenting on what to mix with the mercury fulminate. We need to reduce the sensitivity enough to make the caps safe to work with. We should have it licked in the next month.”

“Sounds good,” said Mark. “I wouldn’t have had a clue how to make the fulminate.”

What he didn’t say was that he thought they’d be better off forgetting the conversions and waiting for breech-loaders. Mark hadn’t told Yozef he had planned to start a breech-loading project as soon as other projects were underway.

“One of the original group of Munjor immigrants is a natural-born chemist, whether he knows it or not. I’ve let him work on the fulminate, even while he’s still taking the basic lessons.”

“So, I guess I hear the non-Caedelli are turning out okay?”

“Yeah. We have two Fuomi among those more advanced.” Yozef smiled. “I’m pretty sure one is supposed to be a spy on all my projects, but he’s turned into a true chemistry believer. I’ve a sense the new Fuomi ambassador is displeased with his reports. Who has time for spying when it’s hard getting the spy out of the laboratory?

“As for the future, yes, I’m hoping that once there’s a bigger core of teachers we can absorb some of the better minds from both Landolin and Iraquinik. Gaya, the Munjor ambassador, has already promised to see that his kingdom is scoured for a dozen young minds who are willing to come to Caedellium. The first one was among the new chemistry students. Such immigrants wouldn’t be just to study chemistry but also for mathematics and physics. I may call on you for practical applications of physics. Also, now that you’ll be getting a tour, I’ll write up an outline of what’s going on and see if you have suggestions.”

“No problem. I’d be glad to help,” said Mark, though he couldn’t imagine how he would have any time away from all the planned and future projects.

“So, how about the rest of that tour you promised?”

CHAPTER 21

ODYSIUS VISITS MORELAND

The afternoon air was chill but not quite enough to require more clothing or a blanket. Anarynd rocked with Xena asleep in her lap. Yozef had Odysius in an adjoining rocker.

“I wish I didn’t feel so out of place during these visits,” said Anarynd. “Abbot Abelard writes me regular reports, so I know what’s happening. But I’m still nervous about Odysius and me spending a month in Moreland again, though I’m sure it will be better than last year.”

Yozef gave her the same words of reassurance he had on multiple occasions since the Moreland Clan had offered to make Anarynd’s first son the Moreland Clan’s hetman heir.

Anarynd had agreed after talking with Maera and Yozef. The two parties settled on conditions. The mother and child would spend one month a year in Moreland Province until the heir was old enough to make the journey alone. They would be accompanied in the first year or two by Yozef—a condition shortened to two sixdays after he became Paramount and had too many other obligations. The child would be educated to Yozef’s satisfaction in consultation with Abbot Abelard, and at a time to be jointly decided by Anarynd, Yozef, and the Moreland council, the boy would formally change his name from Kolsko to Moreland. The final condition was that future successions would not follow primogeniture—the eldest son automatically becoming the heir. Similar to Yozef’s insistence on the Paramount succession, the Moreland hetman would choose future heirs from several candidates, and they would be confirmed by the boyermen.

When Anarynd gave birth, it was to twins, a boy and a girl, Odysius and Xena.

“I’m afraid we can’t delay any longer, Ana,” said Yozef. “The last excuse was already pretty flimsy. We owe it to them not to make it seem like we’re deliberately avoiding the visit.”

“Even if you are,” said Maera, who had just walked into the room.

“That’s not fair. At least one of you should be on my side,” Anarynd complained ruefully.

“You know we are, dear,” said Maera, “but duty is a fact of life when you’re both the mother of the future Moreland hetman and the wife of the Paramount. I was accustomed to duty when I was growing up as the eldest child of Hetman Keelan. It’ll just take more time for you to get used to it.”

Anarynd sighed. “I’ll admit dealing with all the formalities wasn’t as bad as I’d feared the first time, but last year I was sorely tempted to banish my family from Moreland City. Well . . . maybe not Aunt Glynas and my brother Iwun. But my father and uncles . . . argh! I even thought about asking Yozef to do something about them. Banish them to Nyvaks. Make them ambassadors to the different Iraquinik kahsaks. Anything to get rid of them. Make them disappear somehow.”

Anarynd flushed and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh . . . I didn’t mean that! He is my father, and The Word tells us to honor our parents.”

Maera patted Anarynd’s arm. “We know you didn’t mean it, and there’s nothing sinful about thinking your father is . . . as Yozef would say . . . a real shithead.”

Anarynd giggled. “Oh, Merciful God. He is certainly that. I have to remember The Word tells us to think of what the other person’s life must be like for them to be who they are.”

She looked fondly from Maera to Yozef. “And to remember how blessed I am.”

“So, shall we figure on leaving for Moreland after Godsday?” said Yozef.

Anarynd groaned. “That’s only three days from now! I can’t be ready that soon.”

“Nice try,” said Yozef. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the new clothes.”

“That’s Maera’s doing,” said Anarynd. “I have plenty of good clothes. Many times more than most Caedelli women.”

“Anarynd . . . ,” Maera held off her reproach.

“I know, I know. Every other woman isn’t the mother of the future Moreland hetman and the wife of the Paramount.” She’d repeated Maera’s words in a pedantic rhythm.

“I’m not pushing the departure time so quickly on purpose,” said Yozef, “but we need to get it over with. The next couple of months look like they’re going to be too busy for me to be with you as we agreed to in the succession document. As it is, I have a hard time fitting it into my schedule. Fortunately, we have the rail system now, so the seventy miles between here and Moreland City only takes about seven hours. I’ll go with you for the first sixday; then I have to be back here to meet with the four hetmen about fishing rights. We already postponed the meeting several times. This is the only time all four could be here, especially Feren. He didn’t specify, but he insisted his clan duties only allowed that date. I think he’s still miffed that a rail line isn’t planned to reach Farkesh in the near future.

“Anyway . . . I’ll be gone from Moreland City for five or six days, then back to be with you and Odysius for another sixday.”

“And when Yozef has to leave the second time, I’ll come to stay with you for the next two sixdays,” said Maera. “That way, you’ll only be in Moreland City alone with Odysius for two sixdays.

Three days later, a two-coach train left Orosz City heading southwest toward Moreland City. All parts of the train had fresh coats of paint, and the matching eight horses easily pulled the weight. Prominently waving atop the second coach was the Caedellium flag—a green background, a circle of white stars representing the clans, and the central, larger star symbolizing the unity of the Caedelli people. Similar flags flew throughout Caedellium, some flying by themselves, others flying above or below the clan flag on the same pole, and some flying on a separate pole adjacent to the clan flag. What was different about this flag was the gold trim signifying the presence of the Paramount.

The second coach contained Yozef, Anarynd, Odysseus, and two regular guards, Toowin Kales and Arlen Pawell. Toowin had been with the Kolsko family for several years, but Arlen only two months. He was the youngest son of the Pawell hetman, twenty-two years old and a veteran of fighting the Narthani. His father brought him to provide evidence of the clan’s loyalty to the Paramount and help quell lingering resistance to Yozef’s ascension.

Completing the party was Sylia Orkwyn, a sixteen-year-old Oroszian along to help Anarynd with Odysius, and Haramontronadil Suprathalusian, an ex-Narthani slave who spoke fluent Suvalu and whom Yozef referred to as Harry Supra. He’d been owned by a Narthani trader and had traveled with his master for many years. Yozef had reluctantly concluded that he needed to learn yet one more language. The suggestion for Yozef to get a tutor had come from Savronel Storlini, the ex-Narthani serving as an adviser to Balwis Preddi. Mark made a stronger case for learning Suvalu than Yozef could counter. The growing number of foreign missions from the Iraquinik Confederation and the Landolin Kingdoms necessitated a common language. The easiest and most diplomatic solution was to use Suvalu, the trade language. Though not widely spoken in the western landmasses, there were tradesmen and scholars from all the realms who knew the language. Yozef had already resisted learning Fuomon or Narthani. He solved the growing problem by simply stating that future Caedellium correspondence and meetings with the Paramount would emphasize using either Caedelli or Suvalu.

Unfortunately, that meant Yozef had to learn Suvalu. Mark assured him the language was relatively straightforward: no unusual sounds, no irregular verbs, and no article plus noun declensions. Yozef had squeezed Suvalu lessons into his already crowded schedule. The wiry, dark-skinned man whose name Yozef couldn’t pronounce often accompanied Yozef on his travels and at other times when he made room in his schedule for tutoring.

Synton Ethlore was also along, but not in the coaches. He rode with a thirty-man dragoon escort. The rail line paralleled the main road between Orosz City and Moreland City and the telegraph line. Synton wasn’t happy with sections where all the escorts were on one side of the train. Sometimes the terrain restricted horses to one side, and in a few places the road separated from the rail line by up to several hundred yards.

“What the fuck’s the use of pretending we’re security if we’re not around you when everyone knows your travel plans!”

“Things are quiet in this part of Caedellium,” said Yozef, “and there’s only a few places where you can’t guard to your heart’s content.”

“Yes, and that’s exactly where somebody would try something!” exclaimed the unmollified Synton.

Ethlore had lectured Toowin and Arlen on keeping a sharp lookout, then huffed off.

Yozef had grinned at Anarynd. “There are far worse things than having a guard and friend worried about you.”

All along the seventy-mile trip, people stood and watched from their homes, farms, ranches, hamlets, and villages. Most cheered and waved. A few stood silent. Yozef brushed off the latter as simply undemonstrative, though he suspected Synton watched those carefully.

Word had gone ahead, and five miles from Moreland City, they were met by an honor guard of forty dragoons of the reorganized Moreland militia, commanded by a farmer’s son. At Yozef’s insistence, leadership positions were no longer filled according to social rank or wealth. The mandate had caused an uproar among the affected families until the Moreland Grand Council fined one prominent family one-quarter of their holdings as punishment for fomenting disorder—a decision backed by the Paramount.

Since that episode, people’s overt displays of discontent dampened enough that Yozef and the Moreland High Council, led by Abbot Abelard, believed the Moreland Clan was firmly a Paramount supporter.

“Where’re the musicians?” asked Toowin, smiling. “You’d think a troupe of singing horses was coming to perform, instead of just the Paramount.”

Arlen Pawell frowned, still scandalized by the informality around Yozef.

“They’re not for me. It’s the future Odysius Moreland they’re paying respects to.”

The referenced heir detached briefly from Anarynd’s left breast, farted, and resumed his latest repast.

Abbot Abelard met them at the train station . . . along with Yozef’s estimate of five to six thousand Morelanders. There was no brass band, but the assortment of Caedelli instruments playing an uncertain number of melodies served the purpose.

Christ, thought Yozef, I hope Heather can influence them to become accustomed to playing one tune at a time.

“Welcome, Paramount Kolsko,” greeted Abelard. “Welcome, Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland. And welcome to the heir Odysius Kolsko-Moreland.”

At last year’s visit, Yozef had suggested they go ahead and reference the heir by the compound name Kolsko-Moreland to make the transition to Odysius Moreland less jarring. It also happened to be the same as his mother’s family name.

“We’ve built a platform to show off the heir to more people on his arrival, Paramount.” Abbot Abelard gestured to a structure adjacent to the train station.

They climbed the steps to the platform fifteen feet above the ground. On top, they looked out over thousands of faces. In turn, everyone in the crowd now had a clear view.

“Uh . . . Paramount, if you don’t object, I believe it would be best if I held up the heir.”

Anarynd looked questioningly at Yozef, who nodded and said, “It will emphasize that Odysius is the heir if the head of the Grand Council shows him off.”

Anarynd handed Odysius to the abbot, who faced the crowd and held the child high. Odysius took the transfer calmly enough, even tugging on the abbot’s beard. It was only the roar of the crowd that startled him. Before he wound up to properly voice his displeasure, Abelard quickly shifted so that the heir’s face could be seen by spectators from all sides and then returned him to his mother.

Abelard gestured for the crowd to be quiet, said a few words, and introduced Yozef.

Good grief, thought Yozef. The abbot may be old and frail-looking, but he’s got a voice like a foghorn. Maybe it’s from all those years of preaching in the main cathedral.

More cheers followed, though not as many as for Odysius. Yozef didn’t mind. Odysius was the symbol of peace within the clan. No matter what the Moreland family factions thought, most Morelanders were happy to avoid discord.

Twenty minutes later, a procession wound through the Moreland City streets. More thousands of citizens lined the way, two and three deep, to wave, cheer, and hold high the Moreland, Caedellium, and Paramount flags. The travelers ended at a residence for important visitors.

“This was just finished two sixdays ago,” said Abelard. “The men worked hard to complete the work in time for the heir’s visit.” The abbot smiled sadly. “In normal times, the structure would stand out as new compared to the rest of the city. Now, of course, almost the entire city is new.”

“I’ll be interested in a detailed tour of your progress,” said Yozef. “Even though I was here only a few months ago, I see changes since then.”

“Progress? Yes, I suppose it does seem that way for anyone not from Moreland. However, for us, the rebuilding is painfully slow and the memories still too fresh of what was lost.”

Yozef had a major concern he wanted to deal with immediately. “What of those two factions’ simmering resentment over not gaining the hetman position? Is there anything I should do as Paramount?”

“No, that would only inflame a few of the people. It’s best handled internally. The situation was never a serious danger, but we’ve been concerned about hindering the clan from moving forward. Originally, four major factions vied for the hetman position. Two of those strongly supported the decision on the next hetman. I know for certain that one and possibly both of those were as much concerned about one of the other factions winning as they were about their own possible success. Once the succession was settled by the Grand Council, those two factions have accepted it and no longer have such aspirations. Of the other two, they are finding themselves more and more isolated. The leader of one has been expelled from the Grand Council, and the other has lost enough support that we don’t think they’re a factor any longer.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “I leave it up to you. Discontents will always exist, but as conditions improve and Moreland City is rebuilt, I expect only a little more time is needed.”

The next two days passed with few accomplishments . . . in Yozef’s opinion. There were seemingly an endless stream of meetings with individuals and groups; speeches by people Yozef knew about and people he didn’t recognize and quickly forgot; and more opportunities for the people of Moreland City to view the heir, the heir’s mother, and the Paramount. Yozef gave the same short speech enough times that he had to focus on not sounding like a disinterested clerk on Earth saying, “Have a nice day,” because of company policy.

At Yozef’s insistence, one day every sixday was reserved for whatever Anarynd wanted to do, whether rest, accede to meetings, or visit with relatives who had traveled to Moreland City. The latter visits ended up being restricted to her Aunt Glynis and younger brother Iwun. Other relatives were told they would have to wait until later in the month.

Yozef spent part of those days with Anarynd and Odysius, but most of the time he met with members of the Grand Council, took detailed tours of the reconstruction, and went on tours of the immediate surrounding areas—leaving it up to Anarynd if she wanted to come.

“I believe you’re doing well on the reconstruction,” Yozef told Abelard one day after the abbot started to apologize for their progress. “You’re building an entire large city literally from the ground up.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s your opinion,” said Abelard. “Perspective is hard when you know what was lost and when every day we experience the destroyed parts of Moreland City still being cleared. We certainly wouldn’t have gotten this far without you and the other clans’ help. Almost half of the workers are carpenters, masons, and other craftsmen who are not Morelanders.”

“Yes, but you’re providing most of the manual labor. I see men and women of all ages working. It’s a combined effort from your clan and the other clans helping as their part of the union. In return, perhaps sometime in the future, Moreland will be called on to help other clans as much.”

More to Yozef’s liking was the visit to the budding textile facility five miles west of Moreland City, on the opposite side of the city from the train station. Mark had provided detailed diagrams of his “speed loom” and “many spinner.” He had spent several days in Moreland City explaining the diagrams and the operation to a team of woodworkers and weavers selected by Abelard from Moreland Province and Owill Brell from Brell Province. Yozef’s vision was that Brell and Moreland provinces would jointly become the center of a textile industry.

Another part of the plan was to have Owill provide oversight into progress in both provinces. Mark’s many other projects took too much of his time for Yozef to add textiles unless it was necessary, and Moreland had enough problems with reconstruction. The Moreland Grand Council had reluctantly agreed to the organization.

News had come that the development team in Moreland City believed the machines were operating satisfactorily enough to plan on increasing production. Owill traveled from Hanslow to meet Yozef and Abelard so the three of them could witness the demonstrations of the first spinner and speed loom.

“I admit I was skeptical,” Brell said later to Yozef when they were alone after the demonstrations. “I’ve seen women in my family making clothes, though during these last years my wife bought most of the clothes for ourselves and the children. One of my cousins was considered a master weaver. She made good coin selling what she wove. She was much older than me, and I remember watching her use her loom. This one here must be four or five times faster. This will be important for my province’s future, as well as Moreland’s.”

“I suspect you understand the problems, Owill,” said Yozef.

“There are always problems. It’s up to us to solve them. But the problems are only relevant to our purposes. At the least, I expect clothing for everyone on Caedellium will be more plentiful, cheaper, and of greater variety and quality. That’s in the future, of course. I’m not one to jump into something this new too quickly. For one thing, once these machines are known, other provinces will start using them, so I need to consider how to wisely commit my province’s people and resources. And yes, I know you say you’ll work to let our two provinces be the lead in textiles.”

Was it my idea to make Owill the new hetman of this clan and province? Yozef thought. Or maybe Maera’s? I forget, but whoever it was hit pay dirt. He’ll be cautious and take this stepwise.

“Workers, machines, markets, and fiber are the four main issues I see,” said Brell. “They all interrelate. We’ll need more machines, more workers trained to use them, and a lot more fiber. The first two are the easiest. We can make as many of the machines as we want. Workers are harder because we need time to train them. Then there are the consequences to society of having workers change where they work. You say Kaldwel thinks it’s more efficient to gather spinners and weavers into groups. I understand the advantage, but I’m not sure that will work. Most of the initial weavers will be women. That might work only for those who live near the textile sites. They aren’t going to leave their families or even travel too much and be away from home.”

“I agree, Owill. How about a ‘hybrid’ . . . uh . . . a system between solitary workers and large gatherings. Just imagining an example, maybe a village with ten or twenty people living nearby who gather for work spinning and weaving. I could imagine twenty, fifty, a hundred such smaller groups, instead of two or three centralized workplaces. It wouldn’t be as efficient, but efficient enough.”

Brell folded his arms and stared skyward. “Yes . . . that might be a compromise. Of course, we still need more fiber. It does no good to have machines and workers if there’s no fiber to work with. Kaldwel’s machines were developed to work with flurok fibers. We could quickly exhaust all present sources. Farmers may need a year or two to increase production. We have enough undeveloped land for that purpose, but again there’s the worker problem. Existing farmers are usually at the limit of what they can do. New farms will need new farmers and workers, and where do they come from? Oh . . . I know it would open up opportunities for people who want to farm but don’t have the coin. We can help with that, but we could still have a shortage.”

“All important issues,” said Yozef, “but I believe they can be solved over time.”

No reason to get into the idea of bringing in immigrants to fill worker gaps or the possibility of Mark designing farm machinery, thought Yozef. Let’s focus on startup issues and go from there.

One topic Brell had only brushed on was that three fiber types were used on Anyar. Mark’s machines were developed for flurok, a flax-like plant and fiber. Also commonly used were the wool of krykors, the sheep/goat-like Anyar analog, and tougher fibers of the rosolun plant that were similar to hemp. The names were another suggestion that Caedelli and Frangelese were closely related languages. Krykor was the same word in both languages, with the other two fibers having only minor sound shifts: flurox to flurok, and risolum to rosolun.

The flurok machines would not work with the other two fibers. Development teams would have to modify Mark’s designs if Caedellium textiles were to use all three fibers, which would lead to similar issues. Rosolun farming would have to increase, as would the krykor herds. Realistically, years might pass before there would be enough fiber production to branch into all three fiber classes.

Yozef sometimes felt dizzy when contemplating all the interconnections and the problems.

“And we haven’t even gotten to markets,” said Brell. “There’s no point doing any of this without buyers, which means the Landoliners and the Iraquiniks.”

“I’m working on that end, Owill. I’ll also ask Balwis to have his people query the ambassadors in Preddi City about the possibility of importing fibers. We’d like to be independent, but a two-way trade of fibers and cloth could work as a temporary measure until Caedellium’s fiber production increases.

“I’ll leave you to gradually develop parts of the system internal to Caedellium for both Brell and Moreland provinces. I remain firm that you should lead the development for both clans until Moreland is more organized. They’re too occupied with rebuilding their province to take a major role in the initial stages.”

Brell shook his head. “I don’t see how I’m going to do all that’s necessary and also be hetman to a new clan, many of whose members are still emotionally tied to being Eywellese. I need managers and leaders.”

He’s right, thought Yozef. In retrospect, we might have been better off with Owill as the secretary of whatever—commerce, industry, agriculture, or maybe all three rolled together.

“We’ll have to find people then,” said Yozef. “I expect that talented and capable people will arise on their own as this develops. We may have to push people into positions of responsibility earlier than we’d like, but I believe enough candidates will appear for all this to work. And I agree with you that this will have to be done gradually. Do the best you can and be alert for people to take over as all this develops. We’ll have a better idea where we are a year from now.”

Yozef also didn’t see a reason to mention, yet, that he would be sharing Mark’s textile machines with the Fuomi. If the Frangel guilds had the machines stolen in the raid on Tregallon, it was only a matter of time before Frangel switched its textile industry to the new machines. The Fuomi would eventually learn of the changes, but it would give Yozef some credits with a critical ally to share the knowledge. It was too bad Caedellium had no connection with the Harrasedics, who, according to Mark, were important mercantile peoples. Sharing would not impact potential markets for Caedelli products either. Fuomon and the Harrasedics were too far away by sail to compete with markets in the western nations. Besides, Caedellium would have new dyes.

Also, Mark pointed out that no matter if his machines were adopted worldwide, he knew enough of the milestones in textile manufacturing to give Caedellium an advantage for many decades. One example was the Jacquard machine, which was a loom with an attachment of large punched cards that determined the weave pattern for producing more intricate designs. Mark claimed the machine was more labor-intensive but could produce higher-value products.

The cards were a major concept adapted for the punch cards of early computers. Yozef doubted they would get to even the simplest computational machines in his lifetime. Still, they could leave such instruction sequences as a theoretical concept to lie in wait for a future right time.

Other loom developments could eventually be introduced, including power looms and semi-automatic looms, where four or more looms were operated by a single worker—but these were well into the future.

“I have good news,” Yozef told Anarynd the morning he would return to Orosz City after his sixday in Moreland. “Abbot Abelard has suggested it may not be necessary for you and Odysius to spend the entire month here.”

Anarynd’s face lit up. She had just handed Odysius to Sylia Orkwyn to change before rocking him to sleep.

“How much less? I’m ready today. Oh . . . I don’t mean that. Everyone has been courteous, too much so at times. I just miss home, Maera, and the rest of the children.”

Her expression darkened. “Is anything wrong? I haven’t offended anyone, have I?”

“No, the abbot knows these visits aren’t your favorite activity, but he thinks this year’s visit was so well received, he suggests that more good would be done if you traveled to some of the other major towns to show off Odysius. Perhaps four-fifths of the Moreland population is in the northern half of the province. Abelard believes visits to three towns would allow the surrounding people to gather for your visits. It would be most of two sixdays of travel and formal occasions in those towns, but the total visit would be only four sixdays, instead of the scheduled six sixdays of the month. In that case, I think Maera might come for a few days, and then I would return to formally dedicate a memorial to the Battle of Moreland City and our first victory over the Narthani.”

Well . . . it was really a standoff, thought Yozef, but the Morelanders can use all the affirmations they can get.

Anarynd sighed. “I assume one of the towns is Dreton. That’s where my family is from and where I was raised. It’s the second or third largest town in Moreland after Moreland City. That would mean I couldn’t avoid seeing my father and uncles. I suppose I should truly forgive my mother for how she treated me after I escaped the Narthani, but I’m afraid, no matter what The Word says, that is too far for me to go with my father, his brothers, and my older brother.”

Yozef couldn’t remember whether he’d ever heard that brother’s name. He was certain he had never heard Anarynd speak it.

“Remember, Anarynd, no matter how you were treated then, now you’re the mother of the heir and the wife of the Paramount. You can always tell your father to shut up before Odysius or I have his head.”

Anarynd giggled with both hands over her mouth before she relaxed them. “No, you won’t, and neither would Odysius, but it is a tempting thought. OH! God forgive that thought. I didn’t mean it.”

“I think God easily forgives passing thoughts, especially ones quickly recanted.”

CHAPTER 22

GOING TOO WELL

Yozef arrived at his office in a buoyant mood. And why not? After returning from the Moreland visit, the Kolsko family had been together for two entire months without travel. Yozef had made only brief visits to Mark’s projects, received progress reports, and always left smug that once given authority and resources, Mark would move at a run. Their brief contretemps, if not forgotten, was at least submerged.

His good mood had been further heightened the previous evening when, at dinner, two pieces of similar news were announced. Maera had received word that Ceinwyn had given birth to her and Balwis’s second son, born healthy and squalling. Anarynd had then all but bounced in her seat, her face radiant, when she declared she was certain she was pregnant. It had been almost two years since Xena’s and Odysius’s births, and she had begun to worry there would be no more children from her. Both Maera and Yozef told her it would happen in God’s time, which did nothing to ease her concern. Although Yozef appreciated her enthusiasm to bring about that condition, he had mixed feelings about the number of offspring he was already not spending time with. However, once the announcement was made, Anarynd’s and Maera’s ebullience was contagious.

Then there was the telegraph. Three months ago had been the official final test of the telegraph system before they would commit to connecting the entire island. Producing the wire had been overcome, as Mark predicted, and wiring of all the province capitals was well underway.

Yozef had originally tried tamping down his expectations of what Mark could accomplish. After several years of wishing for an engineer, to have one literally sail into his life was suspiciously fortuitous. However, the successful exchange of telegraph messages between Orosz City and Preddi City only three months after Mark arrived had bolstered Yozef’s confidence that other problems could be solved. He was uncertain whether the telegraph problems had been trivial or Mark was an exceptionally competent engineer. The following months had eased his reservations.

Mark was delivering on the first machine tools. The components of the first lathe were the easiest part. The cutting surfaces/points were the problem. Fortuitously, Yozef had previously directed a mineral survey of Caedellium to identify potential ore deposits to add to those already known, some of which were actively mined. Mark had pushed hard for an even more extensive mineral survey and had samples sent to Orosz City. He’d had just enough experience in ore recognition when earning a master’s degree in material sciences to make educated guesses. From there, Yozef directed lab crews in trial extractions. The survey maps were still expanding, but they confirmed the extensive iron veins running down the middle of Caedellium, plus copper ores. Several of these sites also included high-enough levels of cobalt and nickel to think about producing steel alloys.

It became evident that high-speed carbon steel (HSS) would have to be the initial choice for cutting edges. Yozef vetoed tungsten carbide as too difficult for the foreseeable future. Alloys of iron with other metals such as cobalt and nickel worked well, but the extraction and the purification limited supplies . . . again . . . for the time being. Nevertheless, Mark was confident the HSS they were now producing was the hardest steel anywhere on Anyar.

“Mark, I think we’ll keep the high-speed steel in our back pocket for now,” said Yozef after seeing an HSS saw blade easily cutting samples of metal. “I’ll probably eventually give your process to the Fuomi, but let’s wait until we want something from them in the next few months. Having the HSS steel might help convince them if they’re hesitant.”

Now that the casting of parts and the manufacture of HSS cutting tools were practical, the production of other tools was accelerating.

“I admit I was wrong being hesitant when you insisted on starting with machine tools, rather than the real projects,” Yozef said to Mark as he watched two lathes working on the first drill press. “I’m afraid I’ve more foresight with chemicals and flasks than machines, which is why seeing this confirms how much I needed an engineer.”

“That’s okay, Yozef,” Mark said with a laugh. “A bunch of flasks and different-colored solutions look like alchemy to me.”

Yozef joined the good humor then and during a short evening at the Snarling Graeko before going home. He would later rue that if the Fates existed, they were exceedingly cruel. Events unfolding elsewhere on Caedellium would short-circuit his good mood.

Hanslow, Brell Clan Capital

Shumenia Larcol started the day’s last round in her assigned hospital ward. Seventeen years old, she was a medicant aide whose decision time neared for whether she would commit to studying to be a medicant or be content to stay an aide. Both of her parents were medicants, as was the eldest of her four siblings, a brother. But at her age, both of her sisters had either married or were soon about to be. However, Shumenia didn’t know any man she was tempted to marry, so it was a good time to commit to the three to five years of study and training required to be certified by the medicant society.

Women medicants had been a minority in the conservative Eywell Clan. Her mother was an exception. Then everything changed. The Eywell hetman and his immediate family had fled with the Narthani. Owill Brell, an Adrisian and head of the intelligence operation during the war, was made the new hetman of a reconstituted Brell Clan after the original Eywell Clan was declared outcast for allying with the invader. The new hetman was receptive to the Paramount’s insistence that not allowing women more opportunities was both unjustified and a waste of abilities at a time when Caedellium needed every resource. The first major change for her family was Shumenia’s mother going from a low-ranking medicant in the Saint Borstal’s Cathedral complex to being one of the chief medicants. That position was previously held by an elderly medicant who longed for a distant age few people thought ever existed. His resistance to change resulted in Hetman Brell stripping his position from him and forcing his retirement. It was a declaration that encouraged Shumenia in weighing her plans.

But that was in the future, and she still had today. She looked down the double row of twenty beds separated by curtains, fourteen beds occupied. She had lost one patient that morning, an elderly man whose breathing had become worse hourly in the last day. When he died, a chief medicant was angry.

“If we could have kept him breathing for another day, maybe less, I think he would’ve recovered. The fever was going down and would’ve been gone within another couple of days, but his body was so weakened, his normal breathing couldn’t keep him alive. If only we had some way to help patients breathe. I’m going to write up a report to Hetman Brell to ask him to see if Paramount Kolsko has any suggestions. There’s probably nothing that can be done, but who knows? The Paramount seems to pull unexpected things out of the air.”

Shumenia wondered the same thing, although she didn’t say anything. She stood in the back of the medicants and aides clustered around the deceased man’s bed. The man’s death had cast a shadow over the rest of her day, but not one too deep. She had lost other patients on her ward before, and she knew it was part of being a medicant.

At least, that’s what she always told herself, and she had other patients still alive, most recovering. Her desk at the end of the room had twine-bound folders with daily observations on each patient, but she didn’t need to refresh her mind about their afflictions—she knew everything about each patient’s treatment.

She started on the right side of the room. The first bed was empty. The second held a young woman who had had a difficult delivery. The baby arrived in good health, and the mother was recovering. However, the medicants wanted her to stay one more day. The third and fourth beds were two teenage brothers who had mistakenly eaten berries of the deathsbane bush. Fortunately, they had not eaten too many of the berries, which looked nearly identical to a widely consumed fruit. The younger brother had been teased and not allowed an equal share in the berries. When the older brother went into convulsions, the younger brother was able to run for help, and a medicant saved their lives with an herbal antidote.

Both brothers smiled at her. The older one had begun to flirt with her, and the other followed suit, although it was more copying his brother than a true effort. She checked them quickly and moved on. The next two beds were empty. Then a man who had been kicked in the head by a horse. She had heard the medicants talking about the case. The man had lucid periods interspersed with incoherent ravings. She was ten feet from his bed when she knew it was one of his bad spells. He didn’t thrash but lay as if paralyzed, his head rocking back and forth on the pillow and words coming out of his mouth.

Sometimes the utterances were sounds, rather than words. At first, she thought today was one of those times. It was only when she adjusted his coverings that she thought she recognized a word. Not a word she understood, but a sound she recognized as a word, though not in Caedelli. She stepped closer to the end of the bed and listened carefully. One word followed another, as if he were having a conversation. Five minutes later, she recognized the language and ran to find the medicant overseeing the aides.

Owill Brell frowned at Verlan Kollar, boyerman of the province that included Hanslow. “So what if one of the patients at St. Borstal’s is mumbling in Narthani? Most of the ex-Narthani are in Preddi, but a few are in Brell Province.” The hetman paused involuntarily over naming the province. He still wasn’t completely accustomed to being elevated and charged with reforming an enemy clan. “Many of the people learned Narthani out of necessity or to garner favor. This includes women who voluntarily formed relationships.”

“That’s the same thing I told Medicant Palburn after he insisted on seeing me. I wanted to dismiss him so I could return to work, but he’s an old friend and one of the most senior people at Hanslow’s Cathedral. I told him I would look into the man, mainly to have him go away. I assigned a junior aide to look into it. The next day, he came into my office accompanied by the city’s chief magistrate who had been asked to help when some facts needed deeper investigation.

“The patient is a man named Wyntal. He’s from Stent, a small town near Clitwyeth, the capital. He and three other men brought a large flock of krykors to Hanslow as part of the program to restock farms that lost their animals during the fighting. The magistrate knew of a merchant who spoke fluent Narthani and arranged to have him rushed to the hospital the next time Wyntal raved. The merchant confirmed it was Narthani the man was speaking, and what he said was enough to investigate further.

“Wyntal’s three companions all confirmed Wyntal was a Stent clansman they had known and worked with for four to five years. They had no knowledge that Wyntal knew Narthani, and as far as they knew, he’d had no contact with anyone outside of Stent Province. One of the men said Wyntal had told him he was originally from Bevans Province and moved to Stent to find work.

“Now, people do move between clans, but it’s not that common, and moving from Bevans to Stent seemed a long way to find work. To check further, requests were sent to both Stent and Bevans for information on the history of Wyntal. It took a sixday to get both responses. The Bevans clan has no record of Wyntal. Neither does the village he claimed to be from. Stent confirms Wyntal first appeared in the province five years ago. He has a small farm purchased with gold coins, a pregnant Stentanese wife, and a three-year-old child.”

The boyerman shrugged. “That’s what we know. There could be simple explanations. Although Wyntal apparently had no opportunity to learn Narthani, it’s possible it happened anyway for innocuous reasons. Another option is his having secret contacts with the Narthani.”

“Like being a spy for the bastards?” said Brell. “Is that what you’re implying?

“It is suspicious, Hetman, and that’s one possibility. However, our merchant claims that what he heard from Wyntal didn’t sound like a Caedelli who had learned Narthani, especially one who had limited contact with them. He claims it sounded like fluent Narthani, and a version more like that spoken by the upper classes, as educated in Narthon, and not the common people. If I might make a suggestion, Hetman. We need to have an ex-Narthani with that kind of background listen to Wyntal.”

Orosz City

Yozef and Maera watched as Sissel Morgan opened a folder, picked up papers inside, and lightly tapped the bottom edges on the tabletop. She set the now precisely aligned pages back down. Gartherid Kennrick and Isla Kennrick-Lewis sat flanking Morgan. All three had been members of the clan’s Military Intelligence Unit (MIU) during the war. When MIU leader Owill Brell was elevated to hetman status to reform the Eywell Clan, Morgan had taken over as MIU head. The fifty-one-year-old woman was a grandmother, previously the only woman magistrate in Orosz Province, and had an eidetic memory. However, she was in the process of stepping down to spend more time with family and to help Maera organize an unofficial island-wide network of women who would keep Maera apprised of conditions that might not come to light through official channels. The Kennrick couple would assume leading the MIU. Gartherid Kennrick was a younger son of Pedr Kennrick, a chief adviser of Hetman Keelan. His loss of a leg when a youth prevented him from engaging in active military service, but his organizational talent had been put to use in the wartime MIU. Isla Luwis was the daughter of another Keelan adviser, Vortig Luwis. Isla’s meticulousness and ability to ask probing questions likewise proved invaluable in the MIU.

Morgan cleared her throat and straightened her back. “I’ll start by saying that we have confirmed everything first reported by Hetman Brell. Since most ex-Narthani are in Preddi Province, I communicated in writing with Hetman Preddi and asked him to find two ex-Narthani who might be familiar with different dialects.” She stopped and looked up from the papers. “He sent to Hanslow Savronel Storlini, whom you know, and a man named Erman Haggi, who had been a student in Usmaya, the Narthani capital, before his family forced him to join the army as part of the family’s tradition. He evidently didn't take kindly to the life his family had coerced him into, and he opted to remain on Caedellium.

“By my suggestion, Hetman Balwis had Storlini and Haggi travel separately, with neither knowing they were only one of two people going to assess Wyntal. The purpose was to make independent evaluations, which provides a higher level of confidence in their reports. Both of the evaluators believe Wyntal is a native-speaking Narthani from one of several bulaks near Usmaya, the Narthani capital. Haggi went further and says he thinks the man is from the southern part of Sirnik bulak.”

“The what?” asked Yozef.

“Bulaks are the Narthani versions of our provinces,” said Morgan. “What I mean is the administrative units of the empire, though more the size of the Landolin kingdoms. Sirnik is centrally located and is one of six or seven bulaks whose culture and ethnicity are closest to the original Narthani tribe that arose in north central Melosia to absorb neighbors and become the Narthon Empire. Storlini added that these bulaks tend to be the most fanatical followers of the god Narth and are true believers in Narthani destiny.”

Yozef turned to Maera. “I think I see where this is going. Let’s pause and let me send for Tomis and Welman. They both need to hear this, and we can use their input. They’re both next door at the justice center getting briefed on other issues.”

Tomis Orosz was hetman of the Orosz Clan. In addition to his duties as a hetman, his proximity made him a frequent fixture around the island’s developing administrative center expanding just south of Orosz City. Fortuitously, the Stent Clan hetman was visiting to meet with Yozef about developing ore processing sites. Both men were part of the five-man War Council that had led the final campaign against the Narthani. Yozef had been a third member. Only the hetmen of the Keelan and Farkesh clans were not presently in Orosz City. However, Maera could ably represent her father, and Yozef would send a report to Farkesh along with the other hetmen.

They reconvened thirty minutes later. Morgan repeated her report for the two hetmen.

“In summary, we have a man claiming to originally be from Bevans Province , which has no record of him. He allegedly moved to Stent, where he’s lived for several years, acquiring a wife and a child. We have found no evidence of him coming in contact with the Narthani. He even missed the fighting, due to a series of illnesses or accidents at fortuitous times. He’s a man who mysteriously speaks fluent Narthani with an accent specific to a region of Narthon. I’ll add that although there were Narthani on Caedellium from all parts of the Narthon Empire, most of the soldiers and civilians who were here came from its western bulaks and have distinctive accents and dialects.”

She stopped without giving a conclusion, which annoyed Welman Stent. He looked around the table. “Well, it’s obvious to me. This Wyntal is an imposter. He’s really a Narthani who has kept his origin a secret. The only question is why?”

“I suppose he could be a defector,” said Tomis. “Possibly worried about people’s reaction if they knew he was a Narthani.”

“Really?” scoffed Stent.

Orosz held up both hands. “I’m only offering it as a possibility. My gut tells me he’s a Narthani agent. However, even if he was planted by the Narthani to spy on us, it’s still possible he’s either a real defector or was accidentally left behind. In either case, he could be afraid to have his past revealed.”

“There’s no point in speculating on these questions as yet,” said Maera. “We need more information. The easiest and most obvious way is questioning Wyntal, or whatever his real name is.”

“We’ll have to decide how urgent the questioning is,” said Morgan. “Medicants in Hanslow believe he’s still quite ill but slowly recovering. If he’s to be questioned vigorously right now, the medicants might protest that he still is a supplicant to God’s mercy until he recovers.”

“Do the medicants estimate when that might be?” asked Yozef.

“Hetman Brell pressed the question to them. The answer he got was at least a sixday but probably no more than three sixdays.”

“What if we insisted on the questioning right away?” asked Stent.

“The problem is that he’s not always lucid,” said Morgan, “and even at other times, we couldn’t be sure whether he only seemed to be telling the truth. I recommend the questioning wait until we can be sure we can evaluate his answers.”

“I think I agree,” said Yozef. He looked around the table. Everyone nodded, even Stent, though his expression conveyed impatience.

“I won’t be able to wait for that,” said Stent. “I have to get back to Clitwyth, but I don’t think I’m the only one who worries there’s a lot more to be concerned about than this one man.”

“If he is the only one,” Yozef agreed. “With all the turmoil, the fighting, people moving between clans, it’s not hard to see how any number of Narthani agents could be in our midst and pretending to be Caedelli.”

Maera leaned forward in her chair, forearms on the tabletop. “Assuming there are more like Wyntal, what are their missions? Is it to take action, such as assassinations, or somehow pass information out to Narthon through mechanisms we don’t know about? Or is it to simply be in place to wait for future Narthani attempts at Caedellium?”

“Moles,” Yozef muttered without thinking. He looked around. The others stared at him.

“Uh . . . a mole is a small animal where I come from. It tunnels underground, and you hardly ever see them. The word is also used to describe a spy whose identity is unknown and who may be in a position to gather important information. Imagine if even a low-ranking person in my office or that of a hetman were one of these ‘moles.’ Consider what they might know about what’s happening on Caedellium—the semaphore and telegraph messages and letters they might see, reports, conversations overheard, gossip among workers, perhaps physically seeing things we’re trying to hide.”

“God’s curse on those bastards,” exclaimed Stent. “Will Caedellium never be rid of them?”

“It is what it is,” said Tomis Orosz. “Whether with God’s curse or blessing, he still leaves it up to us to solve problems.”

“I know, I know, it’s just that—” Stent paused and took a deep breath. “All right . . . what do we do about it?”

“Do we have any alternative except to search for more moles?” asked Yozef. “And before anyone says there’s too many people on the island to investigate everyone, I think we can come up with some criteria to narrow the focus. We can’t trust fortune revealing other agents as it did Wyntal, but we can be on alert for anything unusual. We can also use Wyntal as a starting example. Anyone who has moved from one clan to another since the Narthani first came. Anyone who shows knowledge of the Narthani or their language when they have no clear reason. Anyone who seems too interested in finding out information they have no obvious need to know.

“The last two criteria are long term . . . something we’ll have to be aware of into the indefinite future. Checking on people who have moved will take work, but it is doable. There may be eight hundred thousand people on Caedellium, but I doubt if more than ten to twenty thousand would be suspects, based on their movements. For example, Welman, you can have each of your boyermen investigate who in his district has moved there from another province in the last few years. It may only be a few dozen or a hundred or so. He can then have their local magistrates look closer at each person.”

Orosz frowned. “That should be no problem for my clan. My family has always maintained careful records, but that’s not the case elsewhere.”

“Tomis is correct,” said Maera. “I doubt Nyvaks has hardly any records at all. I don’t know about the others, but it wouldn’t surprise me if half of the clans have incomplete records, especially for the last few years.”

“I acknowledge that’s a problem,” said Yozef, “but it’s a start. We have two clans where the problems may be greater than all the other clans put together.”

“Preddi and Brell,” said Morgan.

Stent’s face suggested, but only suggested, humor for the first time since he’d heard Morgan’s report. “I can just imagine Balwis’s response when he hears about this. He may have to investigate literally every single member of the Preddi Clan. Brell’s isn’t as bad, but it’s still more complex than the other clans.”

“We’ll deal with the complexities of the Preddi Clan later,” said Yozef. “The important thing at the moment is to develop a plan. I don’t believe this is the highest priority, but it’s something we have to work on over the next few months.”

He turned to Morgan. “Sissel, I’d like you to give this some thought and develop a plan to try and find more of these moles. I know you were planning to leave your position leading the MIU, but that doesn’t have to change. Gartherid and Isla can continue taking over while you shift to the mole problem. Maera and I will then look at it and communicate with the other hetmen before we make any changes or start an implementation. Would it be reasonable for you to have a plan proposal within . . . shall we say, three sixweeks?”

Morgan smiled. “I see it’s a reward for bringing bad news.”

The other attendees laughed—the tension momentarily broken.

“I won’t know for sure until I’ve given this some more thought, Paramount. I should be able to make an estimate by sometime tomorrow.”

That evening, after eating and putting the children to bed, Yozef, Maera, and Anarynd sat on the veranda of their house. It was a clear evening, and they could make out distant lights from Orosz City as they looked down the cleft in the mountains north of the capital. As Orosz City grew, the evening’s visible lights seemed to increase monthly.

“How worried are you about this, Yozef?” asked Anarynd.

“I can’t say that I’m worried. More concerned. After everything that’s happened to me in the last few years, my criteria for what to worry about has definitely changed, compared to my earlier life.”

“So, you don’t think this is serious? Maybe this person who you think is the Narthani spy is the only one?”

“I’d be surprised if that were the case. The fact that this Wyntal man lived such a quiet life, removed from any people or places where he might get information important to the Narthani, makes me think there must be more. Maybe many more.”

“In a way I wish you hadn’t told me,” said Anarynd. “Now I might wonder if everyone I meet could be a Narthani spy.”

“I know, Anarynd, but I want to be honest with you about what’s happening. Maera and I are at the center of it, but you’re an important part of our lives. You need to know as much as we can tell you. You’re also the informal regent for Odysius. I know you prefer to leave Moreland Clan affairs to Abbot Abelard, but I respect the effort you make to learn more and be aware of events.”

Anarynd leaned aside and patted Yozef’s leg. “Thank you, and I’m all right with the things the two of you can’t share with me.”

Fuomi Spies

Before Sissel Morgan finished a proposal, another meeting raised more concerns. Gartherid and Isla Kennrick sat side by side across the table from Yozef, Maera, and Tomis Orosz. They had given a preliminary report the previous month but had sent word they had more definitive information.

“So . . . it’s confirmed, I take it,” stated Yozef. “The Fuomi are developing a spy network throughout Caedellium.”

“I’m afraid so,” acknowledged Isla. “The ambassador’s aide, Taponi Namaki, is the central figure, but we think at least five other staffers are implicated, all of them among those who came with Koskanin. We’ve also identified eight Caedelli who are involved. Two live in Orosz City, and one is a rancher from central Orosz Province who has occasion to come to Orosz City every month or two. The other five are scattered in other provinces, but all have reasons to visit Orosz City. At this point, only one of the others travels enough to be a problem. He’s a driver for the train lines. So far, he’s worked between Orosz City and Moreland City, but the last month he’s been trying to move to either the line from Orosz City to Adris City or the line toward Preddi City.”

“Well, I think we can pass word to the line manager not to allow that,” said Maera, “but we need a plausible explanation if we don’t want to alert the Fuomi.”

“How long will that work?” asked Tomis. “But even more important is how confident are we that all the Fuomi and Caedelli spies are identified and can be kept track of?”

Eyes turned to the Kennricks. Gartherid answered. “We could never be completely confident with the Caedelli. That’s just the way it is. Of course, with the Fuomi it’s easier because we know exactly who they are, and their numbers are small.”

Tomis turned to Yozef. “What if you simply tell the Fuomi to stop it?”

Yozef nodded. “That’s always an option, but not yet, I think. At least as long as we think we’ve identified everyone involved. I’d like to see just how serious they are before we brace them that we’re aware. Of course . . . once we do that, we’ll have to take action. For the moment, I suspect it’s a matter of both sides pretending it’s not happening.”

Tomis scratched his beard. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Yozef smiled. “Well . . . we know they’re spying, but we’re not telling them we know. Unless they think Caedelli are stupid, they have to believe we know about it, but they pretend they don’t know we know. Once it’s in the open, we’d have to formally restrict their movement more than now—not something that’s necessarily good for relations.”

“I suspect that’s exactly Ambassador Koskanin’s opinion of us,” said Maera. “Eina won’t say it directly, but I get hints that she believes he came with a preconceived low opinion of us and is too fixated to change.”

Yozef turned again to the Kennricks. “Still no indication Eina is involved in this?”

Both future co-leaders of the MIU shook their heads. “Not that we have any evidence,” said Isla. “Their relationship, if anything, seems to get colder each month. She’s being slowly cut out of all decisions and any reports sent back to Fuomon. Along with the personal animosity between her and Koskanin, her defense of Reimo Kivalian is making it worse. We’re almost positive Koskanin would have sent him back to Fuomon, except for her insistence that he’s too valuable a connection to important Caedelli.”

Yozef reflexively glanced at Maera, who had more control and appeared indifferent.

The Fuomi man had taken up with a Caedelli woman named Elsik, and by every indication, the relationship was serious. Maera had first speculated that Kivalian might decide to settle permanently on the island. They had refrained from pushing the issue . . . overtly, at least, although Yozef had let Kivalian know he would be more than welcome to become a Caedelli, and that important roles would be waiting for him. They believed the worsening relationship with the new ambassador would be sufficient motivation.

“That brings up the relationship between Saisannin and Kivalian, Yozef,” said Gartherid. “You alerted us that Saisannin had become distant from Kivalian after Koskanin arrived. Naturally, we aren’t privy to all their interactions, but every sign indicates that their relationship has deteriorated, for some reason.

Yozef frowned. “If Eina continues to defend Reimo to Koskanin, isn’t it contraindicated that she pushed Reimo away at the same time? I wonder if it’s not personal, but maybe Eina knows things she doesn’t feel free to share with him. After all, even if she is not in Koskanin’s good graces now, she is a Fuomi. She was trusted to advise Rintala, who commanded their expedition here, then later served as ambassador. We don’t know what Koskanin’s instructions are from Fuomon. Maybe Eina knows things she doesn’t share with Kivalian.”

“And even more so with us,” said Maera, “especially if the Fuomi have intentions we might not like.”

“So, what’s the course of action?” asked Tomis.

“No change, for now,” said Yozef.

“But what if the MIU misses one of their spies successfully finding out something you don’t want the Fuomi to know about? Then what?”

“Then the time will come for tough decisions. Being honest with the Fuomi is an obvious solution. The harder problem will be that if we still want to keep secrets, we’ll have to prevent spies from reporting back to Namaki.”

CHAPTER 23

NOW WHAT!

“Yozef, when did you believe what the aliens said—that we’d never get sick from disease?” Heather asked softly, out of the blue, while they walked down the cleft to Orosz City.

Toowin Kales and Gowlin Reese followed them twenty feet behind. Yozef occasionally made the walk if in the mood or he needed to stretch his legs. He had mentioned his intention last night at evening meal, attended by Heather and the Kaldwels, and she was waiting on the veranda when he opened the main door.

He glanced to the rear. Toowin and Gowlin were engaged in animated conversation and not listening to their charge. They would become more alert when they reached the outskirts of the city.

“I guess I just accepted what they said, and it turned out to be true. Of course, that’s negative proof. None of the three of us have experienced what we’d call an illness. I don’t know about major diseases elsewhere on Anyar, but on Caedellium, all I’ve witnessed are what we’d call some forms of respiratory diseases like colds. How about you? Anything in Sulako?”

She shook her head. “I was pretty isolated, but none of the people I could talk with mentioned anything. I guess I was like you. It just wasn’t something I thought about at the time.”

He glanced to his right and down at her. “So why the question?”

“It was something said at dinner last night that triggered a memory. Something I was going to ask you about. On the Buldorian ship that took us from Iskadon, a crewmember had a badly pockmarked face that looked like pictures I’d seen of smallpox survivors. I wasn’t vaccinated because they quit giving it before I was born. That means I’m not immune—at least, not back on Earth.”

“Smallpox!” exclaimed Yozef. “Here on Anyar? How could that be? Well . . . shit. I guess humans dumped here could have brought it with them. How old is smallpox on Earth?”

“I think as much as ten thousand years,” said Heather. “I did a science class report on smallpox my junior year in high school. “

“But you can’t be sure it was smallpox that scarred up the Buldorian’s face.”

“Well . . . no. I’m just saying it looked like pictures I’d seen.”

“Again, how about in Sulako?”

“Uh . . . nothing like the Buldorian. Oh . . . you’d see people with marks, but I guess I figured acne or something.”

An hour later, the Paramount sent runners with summonses to a group of people, and a meeting was held. Around a large table sat the three Amerikans, Tomis Orosz, Eina Saisannian, Reimo Kivalian, Abbot Ulyn Parwyn, and St. Wyan’s chief medicant, Kanlyn Wisworth.

“Thank you all for coming so quickly. Sorry if it seemed like an emergency, but Heather told me something that worried me, and I reacted perhaps in haste. However, if we have a problem, I want to take steps immediately. Heather . . . describe what you told me earlier.”

When she finished, Eina spoke first. “I think the Buldorian had suffered from ‘winter pitting.’ There are occasional outbreaks.”

Mark raised his right eyebrow. “Winter pitting? A disease?”

“Yes,” said Kivalian. “I’ve seen a local outbreak where I grew up in southern Fuomon. I was nine years old. My father said it came from a woman visiting her daughter after fleeing her own village where the disease was rampant. Our town was about a thousand people, and three-quarters of them got winter pitting.”

“What was the fatality rate?” asked Yozef.

“The percentage who died? Not high. I don’t know the exact number, but I doubt the total was more than twenty or thirty total. People who died got fever, chills, and fluid-filled bumps on their skin. For most people, it passed within a sixday but left pits.”

“From the pustules,” said Heather. “Uh . . . the bumps dried up and left scars.” She turned to Yozef. “Doesn’t sound like smallpox. Too low a fatality rate.”

“Smallpox?” asked Eina. “Do you have the same disease in Amerika but call it smallpox in English?”

“We have a similar disease,” said Yozef, “but haven’t had cases in many years.”

“Do any animals suffer from the same disease?” asked Heather.

Eina and Kivalian looked at each other. “I don’t think either of us knows the answer,” said Eina. “I can find out from the Fuomi medicants on Caedellium.”

“Please do that,” said Yozef. “What other diseases are on Anyar? It’s something I haven’t thought about. Caedellium is relatively isolated, which would help prevent diseases coming from the outside, but that’s changing.”

“There are others, but I would have the same answer. I’ll message our medicants and, depending on what they say and what you want, they could come here so you could question them in more detail.”

“How about mad fever?” asserted Kivalian. “Though it’s been maybe fifteen years since we’ve had reports of outbreaks.”

“Ah, yes,” said Eina, her face darkening. “Fuomon hasn’t suffered from that disease in many, many years, but other realms were devastated.”

Yozef’s buoyant mood of the previous sixdays receded even more. “All right, tell us about this mad fever.”

“The reports were terrible. The only way to stop it is an absolute block on anyone leaving an infected area and waiting until everyone who will die is dead, then waiting months more to be sure. The last outbreak in Fuomon was forty years ago.”

“Haalahbor Province,” said Kivalian. “I read it referenced, but I don’t know the details.”

“I’ve read a history of that time,” said Eina. “The entire Haalahbor Province was blockaded for almost a year. Only estimates of the dead were possible . . . maybe a hundred thousand. Some of those may have been starvation and other diseases once the society fell apart and there was no outside aid. It was one of the terrible ironies. Much of the Fuomon army was committed to the blockade, letting the Narthani make major advances into Haalahbor Province until they found out why our army had withdrawn. The Narthani then withdrew themselves, and for months there was a dead zone between Fuomon and Narthon where no one lived and no armies occupied. The Narthani were afraid of mad fever moving into Narthon. They feared the disease more than they did us.

“Our own troops had to shoot any person—man, woman, or child—who tried to flee the horror. I shudder to think what it must have been like for those poor people in Haalahbor and the troops.”

“What were the symptoms?” asked Yozef.

Eina shivered. “Like the name implies. The few reports came from medicants before they, too, succumbed. Victims experienced fever, convulsions, agitation, and eventually paralysis, foaming from the mouth, and death in almost all cases. The reports were too few to confirm the exact fatality rate, but the number was so high as to be almost total.

“Apparently, in some outbreaks, a high percentage of the people went raving mad—which is where the name comes from. They would rage in their homes and in the streets, attacking other people and even animals.”

“I never heard about either disease in Frangel,” said Mark. “Just how common are they?”

“Neither is common, but they do exist,” said Eina. “Winter pitting is, as the name implies, most likely to occur during the colder months, particularly the farther north or south you go from the equator. The good news is that colder regions have lower populations, so the disease spreads slowly. Worse is in warmer and more populated places.

“Mad fever spreads rapidly, but the peoples of all lands learned centuries ago to take drastic measures when it occurred. There are medicant scholastics in Fuomon who worry that with no reported outbreaks for so long, it’s caused nations to forget what can happen. The war against the Narthani doesn’t help—one threat tends to make another seem less important.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “I think I’ve heard enough for now. Eina, please find out what you can from your medicants on Caedellium and send back a request to Fuomon for whatever records there are on these diseases. Medicant Wisworth . . . you’ve been silent.”

“Do not take my silence for not being worried. I know of both winter pitting and mad fever, but we have no records of either disease occurring on Caedellium. I take seriously your reference about Caedellium becoming more open. I hear from brothers and sisters in Preddi how they’ve seen many more foreigners than ever in their lives. I believe we need to consider this new reality.”

“I agree,” said Yozef. “For certain, we need to start examining the health of anyone who arrives in Caedellium from elsewhere.” He turned to Eina. “Do you have such measures in Fuomon?”

“Not anymore, though we had such restrictions in the past. As I said, with no recent major outbreaks, the attention of our people and leaders has focused on the Narthani.”

“Well, that’s not a mistake we’ll make here. We need to make plans.”

Yozef turned to the Orosz hetman. “Tomis, once we have tentative plans on what to do, I’ll send reports to all the clans. Right now, it’s Balwis who will be more affected.”

“And Klyngo,” responded Tomis. “Fuomon ships go first to their Normot Bay base in Adris Province when they arrive from Fuomon. They may also have stopped in other ports during the voyage.”

“Right. Those two.”

He turned again to the entire group. “Thank you all again for coming so quickly. I don’t see an immediate emergency, but we will have to consider measures to limit the unlikely spread of any disease to Caedellium.”

When the meeting’s participants had dispersed, Yozef gestured for Mark and Heather to remain.

“That mad fever sounds an awful lot like rabies,” said Mark.

“Yeah, but I thought rabies was always spread by bites,” Heather said. “No one mentioned that. Does that mean here it’s through touch or the air?”

“I’d expect any way for saliva to get into your blood, and bites are just the easiest method. If it’s, as you say, transmitted by touch or aerosols, I can see how catastrophic it could be. That would explain the extreme measures to quarantine. Christ! It’s not like I don’t have enough to worry about.”

“Hell, none of us are doctors or epidemiologists,” said Mark. “I agree the symptoms sound like rabies. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but it could be a variety of the rabies virus that evolved once it got carried to Anyar. That’s scary. I don’t blame the people here for taking whatever drastic measures were necessary to stop the spread. Our rabies is nearly a hundred percent fatal.”

“Well . . . you’re going to do something about it, aren’t you, Yozef?” asked Heather. “This mad fever sounds awful. And the winter pitting. It might not be as bad, but it sounds like a weak form of smallpox or some related virus. And who knows what else is lurking out there.”

Oh, shit, not you, too, thought Yozef. It’s bad enough the Caedelli too often think I can solve any problem. I didn’t want to hear that from you two.

“Not much to be done,” offered Mark, to Yozef’s appreciation. “We’re in no position to consider vaccines. Maybe in a few decades of pushing technology as fast as we can, but maybe not even then. I think the best thing we could do is check at ports and plan for strict quarantines.”

“I agree,” said Yozef. “If Medicant Wisworth is correct, neither of those diseases has ever reached Caedellium. That means there’s little chance of people having any natural immunity here, in which resistance genes could have been passed on.”

“Like the Europeans did to the American natives,” said Heather, “where the diseases they brought with them devastated the original populations.”

“I think they call it ‘virgin fields,’” said Mark, who took on a thoughtful expression. “You know, Yozef, you’re going to have to establish protocols for both prevention and action in case these two diseases or any other reaches Caedellium. This may be another one of those cases you talked about, where you need a ‘cabinet’ member to handle specific areas. You need a chief medicant for the entire island. Someone with authority to override hetmen and other local officials under certain circumstances.”

“Maybe a Secretary of Health?” said Yozef. “Hmmmm. That reminds me of something. I had someone in mind to lead the biology and medical departments in the university system Maera is organizing. The woman declined, as wanting to stay where she was. I didn’t lean on her, but maybe that was a mistake. I’ll give it some thought.”

When Yozef had first been cast onto a beach near the town of Abersford in Keelan Province, Sistian and Diera Beynom were instrumental in his survival and adaptation to his new reality. Diera, as chief medicant at St. Sidryn’s Cathedral, oversaw his initial recovery and later became a friend and a fervent supporter of his medical innovations. Sistian, as the cathedral’s abbot, also became a friend, an adviser, and a conduit for Yozef’s acceptance into Abersford society. Both Beynoms were happy living in Abersford and planned to spend the rest of their lives near the small seaside town. Yozef was about to, reluctantly, change their future.

“I don’t know what to advise, Yozef,” said Maera when he apprised her of his intent. “They’re both dear friends and wonderful people. They’re happy in Abersford. Except for times during the war, they’ve mainly stayed close to their home. I tried to convince Diera to move to Caernford and then Orosz City, offering her the position of leading the Biology and Medicine Department at the University of Caedellium. She always gently declined.”

“But how hard did you try, Maera? From what you described, you were offering enticements.”

“I know what you’re saying. And no, I didn’t resort to duty. They’re my friends.”

“As I consider them, but we both have other obligations. You’re frustrated by how slow the university is developing. Part of the problem is not enough of the right leadership. I have a question. Is Diera’s decision to remain in Abersford only because of her attachment to Abersford and St. Sidryn’s, or is it more her thinking of Sistian’s wanting to stay?”

She chewed on a lock of hair before answering. “Probably both, but Sistian is likely the determining factor. If he wanted to move to Orosz City, she would regret leaving Abersford, but she would absorb herself in the university and medicant issues.”

“So, Sistian is the key.”

“Yes, but he loves St. Sidryn’s.”

“Does he love St. Sidryn’s more than his feelings for all of Caedellium?”

“I hate this,” said Maera, without answering his question or arguing further. “When are you going to talk with them?”

“Rhaedri Brison tells me Sistian is coming to Orosz City in two sixdays. The leading theophists are gathering for their version of a conclave. Evidently, a number of issues have been simmering. Abbot Parwyn says a conservative group wants to establish a uniform creed. I guess it’s been generally agreed on, but some abbots are worried about future foreign influence. I’m hoping not to get involved, but if we’re to bring in a good number of foreign craftspeople and scholastics, there are bound to be religious differences. If Rhaedri, Sistian, and the other moderate abbots can’t prevent a move to restrict religious practice, I’m afraid I’ll have to do something. As far as I’m concerned, religious freedom is nonnegotiable.

“Anyway . . . Sistian’s coming. I’d like you to write to Diera and have her come with Sistian. She was just here two months ago and wouldn’t look forward to another trip, but it will be easier to talk with them at the same time and get everything settled. While we’re waiting, I’ll ask the MIU people and Sissel to snoop around for rumors among the abbots.”

Seventeen days later, Yozef welcomed the Beynoms into his office. They had arrived the previous afternoon, were staying at the St. Wyan’s Cathedral complex, and had been hosted at Kolsko Manor the same evening. It had been a convivial gathering, joined by the Puveys, the Kaldwels, and Heathen Chen. Both Diera and Sistian were delighted by the young children and meeting more Amerikans.

Yozef regretted that today would be different.

“Let’s sit by the window,” said Yozef, gesturing toward the view south over the plain where the Battle of Orosz City had decided the island’s fate. A single section of the trench works had been set aside as a memorial. The part of the city that had extended south from the formidable old city wall had been leveled to provide clear fields of fire for the defenders. Now, the city extended farther than before, a mile toward the river running against the bluffs. Yozef thought the view reminded people of past trials and future potential. He hoped the Beynoms felt some of the same.

The abbot was not secretive, and Yozef interpreted Sistian’s expression as his not sensing something of import was pending. Diera, however, reminded Yozef of previous times when she seemed to sense what was on his mind. He knew how he would open the meeting, having rehearsed it both aloud and to himself enough times during the last sixdays.

“We all loved to see you last night. You know how we regard you. Today, though, is different. Today I’m meeting with you not as Yozef Kolsko, a friend forever grateful for your treatment of me when I was cast on the beach near Abersford. Today I’m speaking as Paramount Hetman Kolsko in my role as representing the best interests of all the people of Caedellium.”

Sistian’s expression went from friendly relaxation to intent focus. Yozef wasn’t sure, but Diera may have sighed ever so quietly, and her shoulders lowered—whether from confirmatory relaxation or foreboding, he couldn’t tell.

“Caedellium needs both of you here in Orosz City.”

Sistian opened his mouth, but Yozef cut him off with a hand wave.

“I know what you’re going to say, Sistian. You’re perfectly happy in Abersford and St. Sidryn’s. You’re doing important work and helping the people in the Abersford district. That’s all true, but only half of the truth. I will argue that you would do more for the people of Abersford here in Orosz City. Caedellium is changing. The Caedelli people’s days of being relatively isolated from the rest of Anyar are over and will not come again. Some of the changes already happening are gradual, but others are moving fast. Your being here for meetings with theophists from all the provinces reflects some of the changes.

“I understand one issue you will discuss with the other theophists is the concept of religious freedom. I consider it a major issue. Thanks to Maera, Sissel Morgan, Balwis, and several others, I’m aware that people worshiping with other litanies is not well received everywhere . . . both among theophists and in the general population.”

“It’s just such a new idea,” protested Sistian. “Most of our people have lived all their lives experiencing only one way to worship. Oh . . . we have little differences throughout Caedellium, but the basics are the same.”

“And those little differences are never the cause of conflict?” asked Yozef.

Sistian sighed. “Arguments, yes. Hard feelings, yes. Some cases of discrimination, yes, but not the serious conflicts as happen in other realms. And I know about the problems with the ex-Narthani and ex-slaves in Preddi and other provinces. Some of them hold to different practices . . . ,” Sistian’s expression became pinched as he paused, “ . . . and even different gods or pantheons of gods than the true God we acknowledge here. I believe that time will solve the issue through a combination of newcomers changing to our practices and people becoming accustomed to different forms of worship. The theophists’ meeting will give the most traditional abbots a forum to express their concerns and let them believe they are being heard.”

“And what do you predict will be the outcome?” asked Yozef.

“There will be a declaration of tolerance. It won’t satisfy everyone, but Rhaedri Brison will support it, and he is too highly regarded for active opposition to arise. It helps that Rhaedri has issued several missives in the last year that touch on tolerance and avoiding the pride of believing in the existence of only one path to God. Even the most conservative theophists hesitate to dispute Rhaedri.”

“And what happens when he dies?” asked Yozef. “As great as people’s regard is for him, it won’t be the same. It’s easier to ignore a piece of paper than a live Septarsh.”

Sistian shifted uneasily in his chair. “That title is only speculation. Traditionally, at least a generation passes before the title is generally accepted.”

“Yes, but ‘traditionally’ there aren’t issues facing Caedellium like what’s coming. I assume you know Rhaedri’s influence might fade if he is not present to help in the coming years. And yes, we all hope he lives forever, but I would be surprised if he has more than five years remaining. He may have time to start helping Caedellium’s transition into what it will become and to establish a strong supportive theophists corps to leave behind. That will require a strong leader.”

Sistian shook his head, anticipating where Yozef was headed. “That’s not something I’m interested in.”

“I’m sorry, Sistian, but what difference does it make if you’re interested? Do you think I’m interested in being Paramount? I’d like nothing better than to return to life the way I had it in Abersford . . . working on projects and knowing almost nothing about the Narthani or the rest of Anyar. Yet here I am. Sometimes what we want is far less important than what we can do. In your case, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you’re the logical person to take Rhaedri’s place when he’s gone.”

“Nonsense! I’m no Septarsh! Rhaedri can’t be replaced.”

“We’re not talking about your needing to be a Septarsh or replacing him. No one can. We’re talking about a theophist highly respected enough to keep theological conflicts to a minimum and help people accept that other religions will be practiced on Caedellium soil. From the reports I’ve read, although you may not be regarded anywhere near the way Rhaedri is, there are arguably no other theophists better thought of than yourself. Yes . . . three or four others are as influential, but you still stand at least slightly above them because of your history of being so close to Rhaedri.

“And there’s another factor—one that you are uniquely qualified for. There will be freedom to practice religions of choice on Caedellium as long as we have no active fomenting of discord or attempts to coerce people. I will see to that. As part of Caedellium’s development, immigrants from other realms are coming to the island. They will mainly be craftspeople, scholastics, and perhaps others who have something of value to add to our people. I plan on working to integrate them into Caedelli society and not concentrate them in enclaves. In the long term, they will become more Caedelli, but Caedelli society will inevitably change in ways we can’t predict.

“As Paramount, it is my duty to help preserve the good in Caedelli society at the same time as improving all our lives. To succeed, I will need help . . . perhaps more than I can as yet conceive of. You could be a tremendous contributor. We know each other. I believe we’re friends, at least when I’m not having to be Paramount above anything like friendship. I also believe we trust each other. That doesn’t mean we will, or should, always agree.”

Sistian had remained silent the last few minutes. Yozef had an intuition.

“But you already know all this, don’t you?”

The abbot didn’t immediately answer as he stared out the window. Yozef looked at Diera. He thought her eyes had a sheen of moisture as she watched her husband.

“And you, Diera. Can you honestly say you are doing more with your life and for the Caedelli people in Abersford?”

“I’m sorry you’re doing this, Yozef,” she said.

“I am, too.”

She looked at him to see sadness . . . and resolution.

“Having a campus of the university at Abersford is not going to work, is it?”

“I’m afraid not. I never thought it was a good idea, but we wanted you involved so much, we gave it a try. It will be hard enough establishing the University of Caedellium without dividing our effort. Amerika has a saying about the need for enough of the right people and resources to accomplish great tasks. We have to start with a single campus of the university. Later, when the university is established, we can plan smaller campuses around the island.”

He didn’t allude to “critical mass.” Anyar was many decades away from understanding the wording related to requiring enough fissionable material for a self-sustaining chain reaction.

“We need you at Orosz City, Diera. Eina Sassanian is helping Maera with the university, but she could be called back anytime to Fuomon. Maera needs you as one of the leaders, particularly for biology and medicine. Having Mark here on Caedellium is going to make more innovations possible than I thought. There are devices that medicants and hospitals will use that Mark can make or will be able to figure out.

“I’ll be honest. I can’t judge whether you’re the best medicant on Caedellium. I know the level of respect you have with other medicants, and I know your commitment to using new knowledge. Combining that with your history in organizing the island’s medicants during the war and your part in promoting and starting the university makes you a pivotal person going forward.”

He didn’t try to lay a guilt trip on Diera as he had Sistian. He was confident that no matter her preference for staying in Abersford, her dedication to medicine was firm.

Sistian turned back from the window. “What do you think, Diera?”

She spoke slowly. When she spoke, hints of regret merged with overtones of belief. “I think . . . when the Paramount calls us to our duty, we have no choice.”

Yozef walked home that evening, wanting time to clear his thoughts. When he announced his intention, Carnigan grunted and shook his head at Synton, who was about to complain. It was almost dark when they passed through the old part of Orosz City. Yozef gave perfunctory nods, gestures, and greetings to people they encountered, but his mind was elsewhere. The slope increased as they entered the cleft north of the city. He didn’t notice his leg muscles complaining or Synton’s mumbling.

Maera was waiting on the front veranda.

“I thought you might be walking. Morwena was on the lookout point with the telescope you gave the children. She came running down over an hour ago to say she saw the banner signaling you had left. It usually takes about fifteen minutes by horse. After half an hour, I came here to wait.”

He sat next to her on the swing.

“How did the meeting with Diera and Sistian go?”

“They will be in Orosz City by next month. Time to settle whatever affairs they can in Abersford and pack what they’ll bring.”

“But . . . how did it go?”

“How much persuasion? Not that much. I think Sistian already knew all the arguments and what I was going to say. Maybe he just needed a little push. At least, I hope so.”

“You did the right thing for all the right reasons.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I suppose I should be grateful it went as easy as it did. But I can’t escape how I intended to force it on them if it had been necessary.”

She laid a hand on his thigh. “But you didn’t have to, which means they also knew it was the right thing, even if they didn’t want it. And don’t wallow in solitary guilt. I have a little of my own. I’ve always wished we saw them more often, and now we will.” She smiled. “Now I just have to feel guilty about wanting Mother, Father, and Mared here in Orosz City.”

“You told me Mared was thinking about becoming a scholastic of some kind. If we concentrate the university here, Mared may well move here to attend.”

Maera’s expression did a back and forth between pleasure and sadness. “Meaning I would have her near, but then all of my parents’ children would be gone from their home. I wish you hadn’t said that, though I probably would have realized it eventually.”

“Well . . . I’ll let you wallow about that, but you should be planning for when Diera arrives in a month.”

CHAPTER 24

MUSIC

St. Wyan’s Cathedral

The cathedral was half-full as the time approached for the performance to begin. As far as Yozef knew, it would be a first for Caedellium—something that could be labeled a concert. Heather had described the program—an hour and a half of a series of musical pieces. A printed program listed the pieces’ names and a few sentences about each one. The latter had been Yozef’s suggestion. Besides being unfamiliar to Caedelli ears, the music would have a novel format, and the orchestra’s structure, discipline, and several instruments would be new to Caedelli. Standardized string instruments had never been a major feature of Caedellium music. Wind-analogs and percussion instruments dominated, with a smattering of brass. It had been a frustrating issue for Heather when she had mentioned wanting to establish a formal orchestra.

***

“Some things just won’t sound right without a good-size bowed-string section,” Heather complained to Yozef after he witnessed her working with a thirty-musician ensemble.

“Maybe I should have started with vocals, instead of instrumentals. Even with as much as I remember, I can’t call up every detail of more complex scores. I’m missing gaps in the originals, and we’ve had to compose bridges to some sections. I’m struggling to be as true to pieces as I can, and I give attribution wherever I can.”

“It’s an issue you’ll have to settle for yourself,” said Yozef. “When I introduced tunes, I made a point of simply saying they were from Amerika. You’re doing more than that by naming composers. I’ve had similar situations where I had to make an impression on the hetmen during meetings. One particular time, I plagiarized shamelessly from famous speeches and Shakespeare. I admit it didn’t bother me to use others’ words, but the situation was different. The clans needed to unite against the Narthani, and I believed then and still do that this justified anything I had to do to that end. You don’t have anything comparable in the background.”

“Well . . . I’d be on firmer ground with singers and the supporting instruments. I know the words and melodies to all the top hits of Ed Sheeren and Taylor Swift, to mention only two of my favorite singers.”

“Yes,” Yozef said, “but then you’d need to modify the lyrics or write new ones because either the originals wouldn’t seem appropriate for this society or the references wouldn’t make sense. No . . . I expect you’ve done it the best way. I also admit I haven’t paid much attention to the music scene on the island. I know I’ve seen and heard different string instruments, and I’ve heard you play the one called a zurta.”

“That’s just one of the more common strings here in Caedelli, and even those have variations. They are all plucked and strummed. There’s no tradition of bowed stringed instruments here. I could probably introduce some versions of . . . well, the violin, cello, bass . . . but that would take time to build them, and then people would have to learn how to play them, which would take God knows how many years.”

She sighed and leaned against a cathedral pew. “No, I’ll just have to accept the limitations.”

“How about other places on Anyar? Caedellium’s just a small part and relatively isolated.”

Heather pursed her lips. “Well . . . Sulako is the only other place I heard any music, and that was just in the Song of Irlan, the establishment where I had to perform. There were these kinda round, bass-like string instruments, but the musicians strummed and plucked them. Then, of course, there was my foralong, which was sort of like a mandolin.”

“Well . . . we’ve got people from Narthon in Preddi Province, plus the Fuomi people at their naval base near Adris City. If you’d like, I can query about stringed instruments.” Yozef smiled. “Should cause some to wonder why I’m asking.”

The query proved fruitful. Bowed instruments were common among the Fuomi and the Narthani, although the sizes and shapes varied. Two ex-Narthani and one ex-slave who had moved to Orosz City played violin-analogs and had their own instruments. In addition, a Fuomi on the staff of their new ambassador played an instrument that looked like a slightly large cello. He had brought his instrument with him. Those four became members of Heather’s first Caedellium orchestra.

“The sound is pretty thin for some of the pieces, but I’m hoping more ‘violin’ players are found,” Heather later told Yozef. “Eina says that in her next report going back to Fuomon, she will suggest that future personnel additions or rotations include a few people who can double as musicians. I’m impressed with the skill of these people. I hope we can have standardized violins, cellos, and basses made for existing musicians to switch to. Of course, it will take years for people who start at the beginning.” She smiled. “But I hope there’s plenty of time to help them along.”

***

Yozef didn’t have a choice of where to sit for the performance. His preference would have been to sit farther back in the cathedral, where the acoustics were a little better. However, it was too minor an issue. As Paramount, he always had a front row reserved if his presence was anticipated. As it was, it took him several minutes to make his way forward, exchanging greetings, saying a few words, pausing to shake hands, clasping forearms, receiving pats on the back, and, to his continuing annoyance, being the subject of slight touches as if he were a holy relic.

A space was waiting between Maera and Anarynd. At the far end of the flanking pew was Carnigan. Next to him were Gwyned, Mark, and Maghen. Carnigan flatly stated he would sit at a far end to avoid blocking the view of people behind him. Mark wasn’t as large but agreed with the concept, and the Kaldwels joined the Puveys.

“I expected more people,” said Maera, “because of curiosity if nothing else. I hope Heather is not disappointed.”

Yozef chuckled. “I think she’s so nervous, she won’t even notice. This is the first time she’s conducted a group of musicians. Oh . . . she’s played and sung before others in the past, but never something like this. She confessed that conducting was one of her dreams, though she never expected to do it. We’ve seen her play, though. Once the music starts, she’ll forget everything else.”

The audience quieted as Abbot Parwyn rose from his seat in the floor-level box next to the orchestra.

“Thank you all for coming. We’ve all heard some of the music brought to us by Heather Chen to accompany Godsday services or the singing and playing at gatherings of various sizes. Heather worked with this group of musicians to prepare what she tells me is a selection of music from Amerika, where she and the Paramount are from, along with Caedelli music she adapted for this . . . uh . . . orchestra, as she calls it—a larger group of musicians playing together than we usually see.

“I also want to note that the musicians originally come not only from Caedellium but also from other realms on Anyar. Despite conflicts that are a disappointment to God, it’s encouraging to see people of different origins working together to perform music.”

The abbot turned to Heather, nodded, and resumed his seat.

She gave a stiff bow to the audience and said, “The first piece is from Amerika and was written to suggest the arrival of morning and the sun coming above the horizon.”

She stood on an ornate box that placed her high enough to be seen by all the musicians. She had told Yozef she would resist the temptation to use a version of the conductor’s wand. Although it might match her childhood dreams, it would only make her more nervous if she imagined that she looked ridiculous.

She raised her arms from the elbows, paused for every musician to prepare, raised her arms higher, and on the downbeat began a version of Grieg’s “Morning” from his Peer Gynt Suite. Yozef glanced at the program and read, “Morning by Greeg.” Heather had insisted attribution be given where possible. She reluctantly acknowledged that taking a degree of self-credit had advantages for her position, but she had limits.

The first piece lasted three to four minutes. Heather hadn’t promised she could exactly remember every passage of pieces her memory retained, but she thought she could fill in gaps enough that no one from Anyar would know anything was missing. In many cases, it might only be a fraction of the original piece—the part she either remembered or thought had the best chance of being well received.

Yozef couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulders to check people’s initial reactions. Most of the faces showed attention to the music, though he saw a few furrowed foreheads.

Probably due to a different combination of instruments than they’re used to, thought Yozef.

Among the many things Heather had worried about was how the audience would respond after each piece. She had noticed that people did not always maintain complete silence during performances on the island. She was adamant that there be silence during the playing. It was Maera who suggested that the audience be cautioned to respect the American custom of not responding until the last piece was finished.

“Otherwise, it might take many minutes to get the audience quiet again for the next piece, and then they’d have to do it all over again every time. For this first performance, and for Heather’s peace of mind, we can tell everyone to wait until the end. We can change the format later.”

This was why most people remained quiet after the last bars of “Morning” faded away. Those in the audience who forgot the instructions were quickly shushed by their neighbors. Heather remained with her back to the audience, waited for silence to return, and moved into the second piece, a waltz version of a Caedelli tune whose original name she kept as part of the title. Appreciative sighs were not too vocal at people’s recognition of a known tune.

The program continued, alternating between music from Earth and adapted melodies from Caedellium. Yozef recognized most of the Earth selections, though he could assign names to only half of them without looking at the program. And even then, he couldn’t be sure he had heard them before.

One piece read “Adagio” by Rodreego.

“You know it’s weird using an Italian word, don’t you?” he’d asked Heather when she showed him the program.

She had stuck her tongue out. “Not as weird as using the original title. ‘Concerto de Aranjuez, Adagio movement, by Roderigo’ doesn’t translate or mean much to people here. I decided just to go ahead and introduce the Italian markings I’m used to. The musicians here won’t have trouble once they understand what the words mean. Hell . . . it might even seem more exotic to them. I’ll just pretend they’re English words.”

Yozef listened. The piece emphasized wind and string instruments.

Excellent choice, he thought. If I close my eyes, I would think I’m hearing oboes and guitars.

He lost himself in the haunting melody, memories of Earth rising up. He turned his head toward Mark, and their eyes met.

He’s feeling the same thing, thought Yozef.

Another Caedelli-inspired piece followed, and the alternation continued. Yozef smiled as the orchestra began what Heather promised he would recognize as “Air on the G String,” by Bach. She’d all but “Tsk-tsk’ed” as she explained how what he had likely heard was a bastardized version of the original, which was part of a longer, multi-part Bach piece. He remembered thinking, Yes, Heather, you are definitely a music nerd.

Piece followed piece, with Yozef reading the program for each. When it came time for the final selection, three new musicians joined the ensemble, two going to drums that had thus far been unused, the third carrying a pair of large brass cymbals. Yozef glanced at the program again. “Waiting on Orosz City.”

Tomis Orosz surprised Yozef when the hetman stood from sitting beside the abbot and addressed the audience.

“As terrible as the final battle against the Narthani was, remember that we had clanspeople all over the island waiting for word of the outcome. Some were in cities not in the path of the Narthani. Others were in redoubts. They all awaited word. Heather Chen tells me this music is intended to represent such a situation during a distant battle where people waited and imagined what was happening at the battle and hoped for good news.”

Tomis sat again. Heather raised her hands and began a slow figure-eight motion. The music started slowly with a somber tone, the wind-analog instruments dominating.

That sounds familiar, thought Yozef. He glanced at Mark, who looked back and nodded.

He recognizes it.

Yozef looked again at the program and scrolled down to the final selection. Like most of the Amerikan pieces, Heather acknowledged the composer.

Kuhtofski? Who the hell is Kuhtofski?

The composer’s identity didn’t click with Yozef through several more familiar parts until the pace and volume increased minutes later when a crescendo of drums, cymbals, and brass dominated the ending.

Hey! It’s the 1812 Overture! Tchaikovsky! Of course. Caedelli doesn’t have the “ch” sound, which is how Tchaikovsky’s is usually pronounced. Voila! Kuhtofski. Wait a minute. Is it “Kitofski” or “Kuhtofski?” Well . . . I guess here it’s Kuhtofski.

Heather’s shoulders slumped, and her arms dropped limply to her sides.

“I think she’s exhausted,” whispered Anarynd.

Maera overheard and leaned across Yozef so both he and Anarynd could hear.

“It could be physical or mental . . . maybe both.”

Heather turned slowly, as if fearful of the audience’s reaction.

“I think it’s time to show appreciation,” the abbot called out with an amused tone.

Yozef thought the level of noise was sufficient to assuage Heather’s worry. He estimated two-thirds of the people were clapping with various degrees of enthusiasm—some politely and others apparently as hard as they could. Facial expressions varied: glowing, smiling, attentive, reserved, and a few sour.

Well, you can’t please everyone, thought Yozef.

It was also a case where the Caedelli custom of foot stamping was fortuitous because it contributed enough volume that Heather’s grin spread as far as her face physically allowed.

“I’ll bet there would be many an encore if people knew about the custom,” Yozef said loudly enough for Maera and Anarynd to hear over the audience. “Those who enjoyed the performance seem enthusiastic.”

“Encore?” asked Maera.

“Uh . . . it’s when the audience likes a performance enough, they clap and stamp, hoping the performers will continue with additional music.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Anarynd. “I’d like to hear the first music again. How do I ask for this ‘encore’?”

“I think it’s best if we don’t do it this first time when the audience doesn’t understand the custom. Maybe next time.”

“Umph!” expelled Yozef, after a jab from Maera’s elbow.

“You’re the Paramount. Stand up and explain the custom and that today there will be two encores. The one that Anarynd wants and another one.”

“You could have just suggested it, instead of attacking me.”

Maera sniffed but didn’t respond.

Yozef sighed and complied. By acclamation, one of the adapted Caedelli pieces was the second encore. When the second round of appreciation died away, Heather spoke to acknowledge the musicians, thanked the audience, and sat on the box she’d stood on, soon to be surrounded by a crowd offering more congratulations and asking questions.

“I told you she was good,” said Mark, when the Kaldwels wove their way to the Kolskos.

“Yes, but all I’d heard from her was solo music. And wasn’t that what you described hearing in Sulako? That’s not the same as orchestras, and I imagine there was a ton of arranging.”

“Well . . . I heard them practice a couple of times. Plus, you’ve caught her talking about music. I suspect that when she said she wished to eventually compose and conduct, she may have been underrepresenting her dreams a bit. I’m going to query her about it when I get a chance.”

People important and common who wanted moments of the Paramount’s time diverted any further conversation. Among the former was Rhanjur Gaya. After the Munjor ambassador had returned to Caedellium with immigrant craftsmen and formal approval of their tentative trade agreement, it became untenable to restrict Gaya and the Munjorian embassy staff to Preddi City. Gaya and a small staff had moved into temporary quarters in Orosz City until an embassy they were building near Fuomon’s was finished. The Munjorian didn’t seem fazed that their expansive embassy in Preddi City had been completed only two months previous.

I guess Gaya has plenty of money, thought Yozef.

He also foresaw the area around the current Fuomi and future Munjorian embassies turning into an “Embassy Row,” as Yozef allowed other realms to move from Preddi City. Although he preferred having them at a distance, he told Maera, “At least I can use it to encourage trade agreements.”

Whatever had transpired during Gaya’s trip to Munjor, the kingdom was obviously eager to develop the relationship. A second shipment of craftsmen came on the initial run of a scheduled monthly arrival of a Munjorian trade ship that also carried updates on Narthani activity. Yozef revived his thought of recruiting Ranglid Amapunt away from Preddi. Balwis’s initial annoyance at having a useful staff member taken away was ameliorated when Yozef assured the Preddi hetman that the foreign ambassadors and representatives would eventually be allowed to move to Orosz City.

In the meantime, Yozef began laying the groundwork for the hetmen’s not noticing Amapunt becoming more visible in Yozef’s interactions with foreign delegations. Eventually, he planned on Amapunt moving to Orosz City as a real or ghost leader of the Department of Foreign Affairs.

A Fuomi Evaluation

Most of the attendees had left the cathedral when Lorta Tuvasalo, an aide to Ambassador Irvod Koskanin, found the ambassador and Eina Saisannin standing in a rear corner. Tuvasalo carried a large leather case containing the cello-analog he had used as part of the day’s orchestra.

“An interesting performance, Lorta,” said Eina Saisannin. “Frankly, better than I expected. I heard Heather playing and singing before, but this was different. And yes, yes, I know you told me to be surprised.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about music and don’t care, Lorta,” said Koskanin, irritated. “I agreed to let Saisannin take you away from other duties for a time. Do you have anything to tell me about the Amerikans that relates to our mission?”

The musician looked at Koskanin. “As I told Lady Saisannin, many of my family’s members are well-known musicians, and I play several instruments. I also studied music composition in Loksia and apprenticed with its orchestra’s director before I entered the diplomatic service. As asked to do, I joined this local music group. I can hardly call it a real orchestra. Oh . . . most of the musicians are what I would call competent-enough amateurs, but only a couple of the Caedelli and ex-Narthani would qualify for positions in even minor orchestras in Fuomon.

“However, the music introduced by the woman named Chen is surprising because it implies a background in music theory incompatible with this island. Three of us worked on composing and arranging the music you heard today. I think the man named Pernel shows a natural talent but has virtually no formal training. The woman is different. Most of the final products were due to the interaction of the two of us. She also has natural talent, but unlike Pernel, she’s had significant training, though probably not as much as me. However, she has an impressive memory of music from Amerika, where she’s from. I tried questioning her about Amerika, as I was asked to do, but she almost always deflected.

“Anyway, I can tell you that this Amerika has a deep music history. What we played today is only a fraction of the examples of music I’ve heard from her. In some cases, she played samples or described specific music pieces, but I didn’t have to pretend to be interested in learning more—she seemed eager to share. If I were to compare it to Fuomon’s music history, I’d say Chen’s music reflects different music history eras and from more than a single culture or nation. With the caution that I come from Fuomon, so I come with an opinion, I believe Fuomon’s music can reasonably be considered the most advanced on Anyar, at least in theoretical aspects. Several of the Amerikan music pieces would easily be welcomed in Fuomon. Even the Loksia orchestra would play them, although I think they would first need to be developed more to account for our different musical instruments and larger orchestras, which several of these pieces were clearly written for originally.

“I also know some of what we played are excerpts of larger pieces. I’ve asked Chen about that, and she acknowledged it. She’s obviously reticent about giving details of Amerika but is more open when the topic is restricted to music. By longer pieces, I mean half an hour or more. Those are more common in the eastern end of the Throat, especially choral and opera music, but not so much around the western Throat. Evidently, Amerikan music pieces for orchestras can go up to two hours, which may be more like those in Fuomon than anywhere else. Certainly, the Caedelli have no such history.

“Fascinating were the pieces by the Amerikan composer named Bahk. If I had heard it in Fuomon, I would have instantly suspected it was a new composition by Tuulin Voskala. Uh . . . you may not know, Ambassador, but Voskala has been a resident composer at Loksia since he was eight years old. He’s been prolific and is widely considered to be the greatest composer ever. Even more impressive are his writings on music theory. The features of the Bahk piece we played fit well into Voskala’s work, such as intertwining melodies, the importance of underlying bass, and melodic development. I tried to trick Chen into revealing she had knowledge of Voskala’s work, but I believe her ignorance was real.

“As I said, Chen seems to make an effort not to divulge information about Amerika. However, she inadvertently let things slip that can be put together. For example, she indicated this composer named Bahk has been long dead, perhaps for centuries, probably much longer than the other composers she wanted to attribute for some of the pieces we played. Now, I cannot be certain that the history of music development has to be the same for cultures that don’t have direct contact with each other, which I assume is the case for Amerika and Fuomon, but I can’t help but wonder if it means that the Amerikan culture is either much older than Fuomon’s or that it is developing faster than ours. Again, this is only my wondering.”

Tuvasalo stopped. “That’s all I can tell you.”

Koskanin and Eina had listened without comment, but the ambassador stroked his upper lip with a finger. Eina nodded to Tuvasalo.

“Thank you, Lorta. Keep working with Chen for now, and we may have more questions.”

The musician’s expression indicated he wanted some answers, but he walked away without speaking.

“Outside,” said Koskanin, “to be sure no one overhears us.”

They walked out of the cathedral. Hundreds of people milled around, either lingering after the performance or going about their routine activities.

“Not here either,” said the ambassador. “I have to get back to the embassy, so let’s head in that direction, and we’ll talk when it’s clear. That way, you don’t have to make the entire trip back and forth.”

Ten minutes later, they passed out of the city’s main gate and followed a paved path paralleling the city wall. Traffic was light, and two minutes later, they came to a park being developed. The transplanted trees had been in the ground only a few months, but several benches were scattered across the ten to twelve acres. They moved to a branched path and found a bench where there were no humans within a hundred yards.

“Lorta’s report is just one more support for what we believe,” asserted Koskanin. “This Amerikan is part of an old civilization, possibly as old or more so than any known on Anyar. The only other option is they are a nation of geniuses—something the small sample of three Amerikans we know of does not support. Oh . . . all three of them are intelligent enough, and they may be exceptional examples, but you and my agents have collected enough descriptions of their relatives and their previous lives to make their people seem like any cross-section you might find in Fuomon.”

“I agree,” said Eina. “I’ve had more contact with Yozef than any other Fuomi, except maybe for Kivalian, but over the years, Yozef has mentioned his family enough times that they appear to fit an ordinary family. I’ve carefully probed so as not to alert him, but I conclude his people would resemble ordinary Fuomi, except, of course, for language and culture details.”

“So, let me summarize,” said Koskanin. “A reasonably old culture, one that has had time to develop technology and knowledge in advance of any realms we know of, which Lorta believes has a music history to at least match ours, and whose location remains unknown. How is that possible?”

Eina reluctantly shook her head. “If we did not have evidence of the Amerikans, I would have said it wasn’t possible.”

“Saisannin, your earliest reports from here stated your belief Kolsko was hiding aspects of his origin. Our failure to get more information after all this time, even with opportunities to investigate the two new Amerikans, only adds to the mystery.” Koskanin drummed fingers on a thigh. “I don’t like mysteries, Saisannin. I also worry about what the Caedelli are hiding from us. They settled the telegraph problems pretty quickly after Kaldwel appeared. Yet Kolsko didn’t tell us about it until much later, when they were already expanding the system around the island.”

“Yes, but he did pass on the information to us, and we’ve sent it on to Fuomon. It’s going to have a major impact, on both our industry and the military.”

Koskanin frowned. “Which only means they fulfilled their obligation for the arrangement they made with Rintala, who headed the mission that first came to Caedellium. But not only were they slow in giving us the information, we also suspect they have more going on with the steam power work than they are revealing. We have tantalizing hints that the joint steam project near Adris City is not the only effort underway. And why hasn’t the Amerikan Kaldwel been more involved in the joint work? Kolsko mentioned that Kaldwel is one of the Amerikan ‘engineers’ he’s wished were here. And just where does Kaldwel go when he leaves Orosz City for days or sixdays at a time?

“Kolsko has restricted our people from traveling around Caedellium, except for Kivalian, and I’m not sure he still has loyalty to Fuomon. He’s acting more and more like a Caedelli. And I don’t believe that Kolsko’s rationale for limiting our travel is because he’s not allowed the other ambassadors to even leave Preddi Province. Why would he care about aggravating the ambassadors more than they are about our being in Orosz City and having regular access to Kolsko?”

Eina didn’t respond. She had the same concerns. However, it was Koskanin’s longer-term views that conflicted her. He had expressed them to her on several occasions, and she anticipated another episode. She was right.

“We have two major long-term concerns. Is this Amerika a potential threat to Fuomon? This is an obvious concern if their technology is as much ahead of ours as it seems to be. Then, even putting that aside, could Caedellium be part of a future center of power in this part of Anyar? We all believe the Narthani will eventually fall, and Fuomon wants to be in position to take advantage when that happens. Could we end up being opponents of the Caedelli many years from now?

“Well . . . we need to double our efforts here. We need far more information. I assume you’ll do your best. I want you to give reports at the embassy every sixday, starting three days from now.”

Without further words or a parting salutation, Koskanin rose from the bench and walked east toward the embassy. Eina watched him until he was out of sight. She remained another half hour going over the day’s events and discussion. She didn’t doubt that Koskanin had just given her orders to produce more information and a warning that he had reservations about her. When she stood up to return to the cathedral complex, she remained disquieted for many reasons.

Koskanin was also disquieted. He had been suspicious of Saisannin’s loyalties from reading her reports, and more so once he’d arrived on Caedellium. He had considered ordering her back to Fuomon but refrained once he realized she had a close association with the Kolskos. Even a questionable agent that close to the Paramount was better than none at all.

CHAPTER 25

PROGRESS AND BETRAYAL

Plastics

Yozef’s mood was bolstered both by Mark’s reports and when progress was reported with a plastics project. He had managed to spend enough hours the last sixdays to shepherd the three-man-and-one-woman staff. On the day of the project’s success, the five of them stood admiring a golfball-size lump of a hard whitish substance.

Yozef picked up the object of their attention and rapped it against the stone workbench.

“Definitely hard,” he said. “Congratulations, people. You have made the first plastic to exist on An . . . er, Caedellium.”

The woman leader of the team shook her head. “I admit, Yozef, despite your reputation, I didn’t see how we were going to turn cattle milk into this plastic you described. We all should have known better.”

“That’s all right,” he said. “It’s certainly not an obvious thing to expect.”

Success had not come quickly. First, they had to confirm that Anyarian bovine milk was as high in casein phosphoproteins as milk from cows on Earth. They also tested the milk from krykors and found it to have an even higher casein composition. However, the krykor casein was locked up in micelles more resistant to processing than bovine casein. That left it open for using krykors in the future if they could work out the micelle issue.

Isolated casein protein was extruded as a paste into rods or sheets, then compacted by pressure, and this was soaked in formaldehyde to create crosslinks between casein molecules to make the final plastic hard and insoluble. The second major problem was making formaldehyde. The simplest route for the existing technology was heating methanol in the presence of oxygen and a silver catalyst. As with too many chemistry ideas, a limiting factor was the availability of feedstocks. In this case, to make formaldehyde they needed to make methanol. Fortunately, the procedure was simple in concept, though it took development time. The earliest method was known by the ancient Egyptians. Wood was heated in the absence of oxygen, and methanol was purified from the condensate of liberated gas. If demand for methanol increased enough, Yozef would have to work with Mark to ramp up the technology to turn wood into syngas to get higher yields of methanol per ton of wood.

He picked up the white lump to examine it more closely, then rapped it again on the bench top. “Go ahead and experiment more on the procedure, but I think you can also start working to produce it in small sheets of different colors. Once you can do that, we’ll pass the sheets on to craftspeople to see what they can do with it.”

He would drop suggestions to the craftspeople, but he was confident they would come up with more ideas than his for buttons, pipes, combs, and jewelry. The resulting galalith was rigid, too brittle for large piece use, and nonmoldable, but it could be processed like wood—drilled, sawed, polished, glued—and could be produced in colored versions. Commercial markets were often unpredictable, but jewelry had the potential to be a high-value export catering to women who could not afford gemstone jewelry.

He congratulated the team again and left, thinking he might have to talk with Mark earlier than anticipated about methanol production. With the success of the galalith, there was no reason not to consider moving on to phenol formaldehyde resin to produce moldable plastics. He smiled. One thing led to another. They would also need to produce large amounts of phenol, likely from coal or petroleum. Also, more methanol and formaldehyde from wood syngas. Everything was interrelated and depended on developing infrastructure and basic feedstocks for a genuine chemical industry. Still, he had time, and he couldn’t do everything at once.

Mood Dampening

Yozef was smiling, and his steps had a definite bounce days later when he entered his office. He found Maera and Sissel Morgan waiting for him with grim faces. He stopped, one hand on the door handle he’d not yet pushed shut. He looked back and forth as if waiting for one of their expressions to change. On the fourth cycle, he capitulated, groaned, closed the door, and sat in the nearest chair. He hadn’t met with Sissel since she had formally left the MIU.

“Okay. What is it?”

“Sissel has come up with something, I’m afraid,” said Maera, turning to the middle-aged woman.

Sissel was semi-retired but worked with Maera to set up a network of women throughout Caedellium. Their main purpose was ensuring Yozef’s efforts were followed to open up more opportunities for Caedelli women, while keeping another finger on the pulse of the general populace. Sissel reported to Maera, who in turn decided what to pass on to Yozef, an arrangement he was happy about. That way, he could avoid having yet one more item to keep track of. Sissel was also “tidying up” issues and reports before turning over all MIU responsibility to others.

“I’ve never been to Nyvaks Province myself,” Sissel said, “but I have a niece who married a Nyvaks man, and they live in the province’s capital, Montron. About a month ago, an acquaintance of my niece’s casually passed on a third- or fourth-hand rumor about the Nyvaks hetman meeting with Narthani before and after the war. Now . . . we always have such rumors floating around. Much of the time, it’s straightforward to judge whether what you hear has any validity—usually not. However, Nyvaks’s past behavior made me believe this had to be checked out once I received a letter from my niece. I wrote back to her saying not to talk about this with anyone else. I then used our women’s network members in Nyvaks to do some quiet snooping. I’ve heard from them that this is a fairly widespread rumor in sections of Montron and the more northerly Nyvaks districts. There is no firm evidence the rumors are true. However, stories circulated about Hetman Nyvaks having made frequent and unusual visits usually lasting no more than two or three days to one remote area of northern Nyvaks for several years before the war and possibly after the Orosz City defeat.”

Yozef’s thoughts on hearing Sissel’s news surprised him. He felt that he should be angry if the rumor were true, but somehow, he instead felt sad. He and others had had suspicions about Janko Nyvaks. The hetman’s resistance to clan organization leading up to the war and his clan’s persistent foot-dragging during preparations and when fulfilling troop obligations had been raised in more than one War Council meeting.

“Well . . . we’ll have to look into this further,” said Yozef, “although I don’t say it comes as a surprise. We’ve suspected something like this for some time. I was hoping not to deal with it. However, if it’s true that the rumor is already fairly widespread, it’s bound to keep spreading to more of Nyvaks and to the other provinces.”

“You know what will happen if the other hetmen get word of this?” asked Maera.

“At least a good number will want him executed, although I doubt whether there are laws before or after unification that might cover something like this. The clan hetmen were always free to do whatever they wanted and thought was best for their clan. We also don’t need this right now. The struggle to keep the clans focused on immediate problems is enough.”

Maera anticipated that Yozef was about to say something else, but she moved first.

“Thank you, Sissel,” said Maera. “I think Yozef will be turning this over to Gartherid and Isla to look into.”

Sissel took the hint, excused herself, and left. As soon as the door closed, Maera turned to Yozef.

“This is also a golden opportunity to get rid of Janko.”

“Yes, but done quietly. Even if Janko is despised by his own clanspeople, he’s still their hetman. Nothing creates a martyr better than for outside forces to remove a leader. Best if we can make it so it seems to be an entirely internal Nyvaks Clan decision. I’ve probably paid way too little attention to that clan . . . Janko Nyvaks is such a turd. Hell . . . I’ve never even visited the province . . . something I see I’ll have to do. What do we know about the heir? Sildor is his name, isn’t it? I think he was the one who seemed to quiet Janko down during the conclave’s setting up the War Council.”

“All reports are that he’s quite different from his father. Sissel didn’t mention it, but her people also relayed the fairly widespread wish that Janko would die so Sildor could become hetman.”

“I guess we can’t hope Janko dies anytime soon,” moaned Yozef. “In that case, either we’ll have to force a voluntary retirement or maybe his son will do it for us. Could that happen? Does Sildor have enough support?”

“I don’t think we know enough to make any plans,” said Maera.

“All right, so I’ll pass this on to Gartherid and Isla and see if they can get more facts and maybe some hard evidence.”

The Kennricks reported four sixdays later.

“We had the answer almost immediately, Paramount,” said Gartherid. “In fact, the evidence was so clear and easily obtained that we double- and triple-checked everything, thinking it was just too easy. Turns out that the secret is widely known in northernmost Nyvaks. Janko was meeting with Narthani representatives for quite some time. The knowledge wasn’t all that widespread outside the area because of the sparse population and the very conservative support of the district hetman. We also think word didn’t spread because movement between districts has been deliberately restricted by the Nyvaks hetman the last few years. I think we now know one reason why.”

Gartherid pushed a folder across the table to Yozef. “Inside is a summary of our findings and copies of affidavits from three eyewitnesses to the meetings. Also included are statements by one district boyerman, a man who had served as a bodyguard for Hetman Nyvaks when one of these meetings happened, and three prominent Nyvaksians who had secondhand knowledge of the meetings.”

“How exactly did you and Isla find this out so quickly?” asked Yozef.

Both Gartherid’s and Isla’s faces turned blank. “Is this something you really need to know, Paramount?” asked Isla.

“Uh . . . hell. Maybe not as long as you assure me it’s accurate.”

“It’s all in the folder,” said Isla in a tone suggesting offense that anyone would question their thoroughness.

Yozef suppressed a smile. Isla Kennrick-Luwis’s prickliness was well known, as was her competence and utter honesty.

“No, that’s fine. Thanks to both of you for the speedy and thorough investigation. You can leave the folder with me and forget all about this.”

Isla shrugged, Gartherid grinned, and they left the room.

“So, that’s it,” said Maera. “I assume this means you will be making a trip to Nyvaks, but there’s the other thing.”

“How none of this got to us sooner,” said Yozef, filling in the “other thing.” “I knew Nyvaks was relatively isolated from the main part of Caedellium by that thin isthmus, but this restriction of movement between districts is something I never heard of.”

“One thing I advise, Yozef, is not to keep this completely secret. If you do something to remove Janko, there’s always the chance it comes out and makes the other hetmen start wondering whether they could be removed by the Paramount. If it does come out, the effect would be blunted if at least a few of the leading hetmen knew why it happened.”

“Then I think it would have to be the four hetmen in the War Council. If I tell one, I have to tell them all. How do you think they’ll respond when I show them the evidence?”

“I think you can assume Farkesh will want a public hanging. Stent will be sympathetic to Farkesh but will understand why that can’t happen. Tomis Orosz and my father will support and understand the reasons to keep this as quiet as possible.”

It took two sixdays to discreetly gather the four hetmen in Orosz City. It took twenty minutes to calm Feren Bakalacs, Hetman Farkesh, from wanting to skin Janko Nyvaks alive; another twenty minutes to explain why hanging was also not a good option; and the remainder of an hour for the disgruntled hetman to accede to the other four men that Janko Nyvaks’s simple removal from office and public life was best for all Caedellium.

Ten days later, a Fuomi sloop anchored at night in a small cove two miles from the Nyvaks fishing village of Dabus on the province’s south coast. A platoon of Paramount dragoons landed first. They checked everything within a half-mile before signaling when the small beach would be secure enough for Yozef to come ashore, along with four personal bodyguards. Yozef had traveled to Adris City supposedly to meet with Klyngo Adris, who was sworn to secrecy without being given the reason. From Adris, Yozef traveled on a Fuomi sloop to avoid being seen passing through Adris and Pawell provinces on horseback or crossing the fourteen-mile-wide isthmus connecting Pawell to Nyvaks.

Three lanterns were lit to signal Sildor Nyvaks, waiting on a hilltop a mile away. The eldest son of Janko Nyvaks arrived, accompanied by an older man resembling a scholar, rather than a soldier. While he waited for the signal, Sildor reviewed a letter’s contents—which he had read so many times, he had it memorized.

***

The Nyvaks heir had been approached by one of Isla’s agents who had not identified himself but who gave Sildor a letter from Paramount Yozef Kolsko.

Greetings to Sildor Nyvaks, Eldest Son and Heir to Janko Nyvaks

I am writing to you on a matter of the greatest significance for the future of the Nyvaks Clan. For reasons that can only be told to you in person, you and I must meet personally and without the knowledge of your father or any other Nyvaksian. On the first Godsday of the next month, I will arrive by ship and anchor after dark in Mabarz Cove two miles east-northeast of the village of Dabus. As your Paramount, I order you to meet me at Mabarz Cove. You may bring one other person with you, but no other persons are to be nearby. Paramount dragoons will confirm this before I come ashore. Until then,

Paramount Hetman Yozef Kolsko

As the son of Janko Nyvaks, Sildor was accustomed to clanspeople approaching him in public. He enjoyed knowing they were comfortable doing so, which was quite different from his father’s aloofness toward the people he led. Thus, he was not surprised when a man walking in the same direction as he was in the Montron marketplace suddenly turned and said, “Sildor Nyvaks, I have a message for you. I am instructed to say you should take it most seriously.”

Sildor had not recognized the man, but he automatically accepted the folded but unsealed paper held out to him.

“Who is this—”

Without waiting for Sildor to finish his question, the man disappeared amid the market throng. It was not the first time this had happened to Sildor. Clanspeople wanting redress for real or imagined injustices occasionally appealed to Sildor as the heir. On a few occasions, he had interceded for the clansperson, but only when he could do so without going to his father.

On several occasions, mainly before he married, the notes proposed assignations with women, known or unknown. Thus, he was only mildly perplexed when he unfolded the paper and started to read. The day seemed suddenly cold, even though the mid-day sky was cloudless, and he’d even had a thin sheen of sweat from the sun only moments earlier.

He reflexively scanned the crowd quickly again, even though the man was long gone. Nothing. He refolded the paper to its original shape and then folded it again twice more, making it small enough to fit into the change pocket in his trousers. He didn’t notice the slight trembling of his hands, but he could think of only one topic leading the Paramount to meet with him secretly.

Struggling to appear unfazed, Sildor worked his way through the market and walked at a normal pace to the residence of Feederk Nyvaks, a first cousin twice removed with whom he shared a great grandfather. Feederk was thirty years older, from a branch of the Nyvaks family not in favor with the hetman and was a friend and mentor to Sildor.

“Were we supposed to meet today?” asked Feederk in surprise when he opened his door and found a pale Sildor.

The heir pushed past Feederk without waiting for an invitation to enter. He rushed to sit at a table. “I need someone to talk with. Someone to keep everything just between the two of us.”

Suddenly sober, Feederk closed the door and engaged its lock. He lived alone, a widower for two years, whose children had families of their own. He sat opposite Sildor.

“What is it?”

Sildor pulled out the paper, undid the multiple foldings, smoothed it out with both hands, and pushed it across the table. Puzzled, Feederk held the form up at an angle to let more light from the window hit the words. Puzzlement morphed into his understanding of Sildor’s agitation.

“Did you recognize the man?”

Sildor shook his head.

Neither man spoke for almost a minute.

“And the possibilities are . . . ?” Feederk’s question trailed off to prompt Sildor.

“I can only think of four. One is that this is a farce or prank for reasons unknown. Second, someone or some persons want to get me alone for some nefarious purpose. The third and fourth possibilities are related to what you can guess. Either father is testing me, or the message is really from the Paramount for the only purpose I can imagine.”

The fingers of Feederk’s right hand drummed the tabletop. “If it’s the first possibility, then you lose nothing but time and convenience by going to the meeting site. The second possibility is possible but unlikely. The solution is to take trusted men with you and check the cove and the immediate surroundings before they withdraw. I doubt the third possibility. It seems unlikely to be from your father. As far as I know, you’ve given him no reason to have suspicions about your loyalty.

“If this really is from the Paramount, then it may yet be for some purpose we cannot imagine. However, if it’s what you fear, you still have no choice except to go to find out the depth of the clan’s danger.”

***

Sildor and Feederk stood and held their horses’ reins on the hill overlooking Dabarz Cove on the required night. The Nyvaks heir believed he could make out the anchored sailing ship—Feederk wasn’t sure, his eyesight not as sharp as in his youth. Confirmation came when several armed men appeared out of the darkness, mumbled something among themselves, and disappeared again. Minutes later, lanterns were lit on the beach, and a voice from the darkness said, “Sildor Nyvaks, please follow me.” One of the earlier men had remained out of sight, waiting for the all-secure signal.

The man was on foot, so they followed, leading their horses down a grassy slope to the west end of the beach. From there, they continued to where half a dozen lanterns hung from the low branches of a tree just off the sand. They were thirty yards away when both Sildor and Feederk recognized Paramount Kolsko and the large man standing behind his shoulder.

“Thank you for coming,” said Yozef.

Sildor snorted, but before the heir said anything inopportune, Feederk spoke softly without a hint of rancor.

“It’s not as if a summons by the Paramount could be ignored.”

“True,” said Yozef. “Nevertheless, you’re here, and I’m here, so let’s get right down to business.”

He held out a folder to Sildor.

When the heir hesitated, Feederk put a hand out. “If I may, Paramount.”

Yozef gave him the folder but kept looking at Sildor.

“Inside are copies of confirmed evidence that Janko Nyvaks, hetman of the Nyvaks Clan, conspired with the Narthani before, during, and after the war.”

This time, the sound from Sildor was a grunt as if he’d been shot in the gut. Feederk sighed heavily, opened the folder, stepped directly under a hanging lantern, and held the folder high to read.

“You can both read the evidence, but I will summarize,” said Yozef. “Hetman Nyvaks agreed to attempt to prevent the clans from uniting against the Narthani. In return, the Narthani pledged to give Nyvaks control of five other provinces once the island was completely subjugated. He provided occasional updates of his assessment of clan intentions for two years leading up to the war.

“The only thing that saved the rest of the clans from being substantially harmed by Hetman Nyvaks was that as the war approached and Fuomi warships were in the area, their contact seemed to have stopped.”

While Yozef spoke, Feederk quickly scanned the pages. He stopped at the fourth page, read it more thoroughly, and handed it to Sildor, who began reading without moving closer to the lanterns. Yozef stopped talking to give them time. Several more sheets were passed to Sildor. Finally, Sildor handed all the sheets back to Feederk, who first gave a nod to the heir and then, with a slight tilt of his head, indicated Yozef.

Feederk is telling me not to try and deny any of this, thought Sildor. He doesn’t believe Kolsko would be here if he weren’t completely convinced that the evidence was irrefutable and that our clan’s only chance to survive is to be open with the Paramount and hope for mercy.

“When the hetman commands, the clan’s people have no choice but to follow,” stated Sildor. “That does not mean that every member of a clan agrees with the hetman’s decisions.”

“Even if that is true, it does not absolve the clan from the hetman’s decisions,” replied Yozef.

“Pardon, Paramount,” said Feederk, “if I could make a speculation. The fact that you wanted to meet Sildor secretly, does that not imply the consequences of Janko’s betrayal might be limited to him alone and not the entire clan?”

“That is possible but not certain. In the future I see for Caedellium, it needs Nyvaks to fully participate, fully commit to that future, and fully integrate with the other clans. I’m sure you realize that there are clans that suffered greatly in resisting the Narthani and would want severe repercussions for Janko’s actions. While I sympathize with those feelings, I believe the greater good is to handle this as quietly as possible.

“Therefore, I have four demands. Understand, these are not negotiable. While I will not allow widespread retaliation against Nyvaks clanspeople, Janko Nyvaks can no longer be the hetman. The only question is whether that is done calmly or if I have to muster loyal dragoons and march into Nyvaks Province. The end will be the same, but it might result in senseless deaths and lasting enmity of the Nyvaks people toward the rest of Caedellium and the other clans against Nyvaks.”

Sildor bit his lip. Feederk laid a hand on his younger kinsman’s arm. “I know it’s a hard thing, lad, but we’ve already talked about this.”

“Feederk is right, Paramount. This possibility has been discussed before, both between the two of us and occasionally with a few others. I confess we never came to a decision on how it could be done or gathered the courage to take action. I accept responsibility for not doing what my gut told me I should do.”

Yozef moved closer to Sildor and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me that I have a degree of sympathy. Not only is Janko your father, but he is the hetman of your clan, and traditions are powerful. However, not all traditions should be considered absolute, and sometimes a greater good must be acknowledged. In this case, the greater good is that Janko Nyvaks disappear from public life, never again to wield influence over his clanspeople. Am I reading you correctly that you are willing to depose your father as hetman and take his place?”

“It’s not something I want to do, but it’s something I’m willing to do for the sake of the clan.”

“Be honest, Sildor,” said Feederk gently. “We both know your father has never been a good hetman. The clan will be better off with him no longer our leader.”

Feederk turned to Yozef. “That was one of your conditions, Paramount. You said there were four.”

“Second is that primogeniture will end in Nyvaks Province. Your father was the eldest son of his father. There were two other brothers. I am told that both of those are more highly regarded than Janko. Under a more rational system, the next hetman would have been chosen from the best qualified among those three. The other clans are slowly moving to eliminate primogeniture, and it was one of the conditions for the Paramount succession before I accepted. Caedellium has become too embroiled with other parts of Anyar to tolerate any leadership other than the best possible. We can go over the details later once the Nyvaks hetman is Sildor Nyvaks, but I want to be sure Nyvaks is assured of more qualified future leaders.”

Feederk was obviously concerned. “There are serious problems with this proposal, Paramount. Yes, primogeniture can lead to bad hetmen such as Janko, but it also prevents potential civil war among factions that would fight to name the next hetman.”

“No system is perfect,” said Yozef, “but I believe primogeniture is about the worst. It may take time for the new method of choosing a hetman to become fully ingrained, but that’s something you will have to work to achieve. In addition, the Paramount position will serve as a buffer to prevent serious conflict within Nyvaks. Simply put . . . the Paramount will not tolerate factional fighting.”

“I hesitate to ask what the other two conditions are, Paramount,” said Feederk, a smile lurking at one corner of his mouth.

Yozef’s voice turned warmer. “I think you’ll find these two conditions relatively more tolerable, although there will be some level of resistance to the first. The education system within Nyvaks will conform with the rest of Caedellium. No more of the foot-dragging that’s been going on. If anything, I will require Nyvaks to more closely adhere to what’s happening in Orosz, Moreland, and Keelan provinces than in most of the others. That means mandatory education of all children, including female. You will also have to begin opening up more opportunities for women, although I accept this will have to be done under a timetable to minimize discord with the most conservative elements of your clan.

“Finally, Nyvaks Province must more fully integrate with the other provinces. On a practical level, that will mean more trade and travel than before. Whereas Janko discouraged interaction with the other clans, I expect Hetman Sildor Nyvaks to encourage it. Wherever possible, I will do what I can to help by directing economic developments to Nyvaks. There should be ample future opportunities for the people of Nyvaks Province, although I can’t promise specifics at this moment.”

“Assuming I agree to your four conditions,” said Sildor, “there’s still the problem that I don’t believe Father will ever agree to abdicate being hetman. It’s just too foreign a concept for him. Then what do we do?”

“That’s up to you,” said Yozef. “If you can’t solve the problem, I will. In that case, the outcome will be bad for everyone, but especially for Nyvaks.”

“I think I can see a way forward,” said Feederk, “but it will require bringing a select few boyermen in on this.” Feederk waited to gauge the Paramount’s initial reaction.

“Go on,” Yozef said impatiently.

“Janko believes he would have the unwavering support of all the boyermen. He needs to be made to see that this is not the case, that there are boyermen who will not support him. At the same time, he needs to believe there is a serious threat of the Paramount’s intervention. That’s the only way I think we can make this happen peacefully.”

He turned to the heir.

“Sildor, I propose we show this evidence to Gubral Elek. As the Montron District’s boyerman, he’s in an especially strategic position. He’s also highly respected by the other boyermen, and I’m sure Janko takes his support for granted. At the same time, if the Paramount gathers a significant force near the border with Pawell, this will help convince Elek and a few other boyermen we select that the Paramount’s threat is genuine. Once Janko is faced with Elek and other boyermen turning against him, combined with the threat of the Paramount’s intervention, I believe you, I, and at least a few of the other advisers can convince him of the inevitable.”

Feederk paused briefly, then continued. “And this is something that I know seems dishonorable but under the circumstances is warranted. If necessary, you can tell your father that his abdication is all a ruse and that once the Paramount withdraws and time passes, he will be reinstated as the hetman. He could also be made to believe he still controls the clan secretly through you. Once he’s isolated somewhere, there will somehow never be the right time to reinstate him.”

“How you get him to step aside is up to you,” said Yozef. “I’ll have to talk with our military leaders on how to arrange a fake show of force. I’m not mobilizing a major force and moving it toward Nyvaks unless you fail to act. If we can orchestrate something, fine; otherwise, it’s up to you. The Nyvaks Clan created this problem, and it’s up to you to make it happen peacefully, whether or not I can give support.”

“Do you think Sildor will act?” Maera asked when Yozef returned to Orosz City.

“I hope so. No . . . that’s not right. I’m not that pessimistic. I believe he will. The most likely problem is it doesn’t work. Janko might learn of the plot or simply refuse to go quietly. One way or the other, Nyvaks is getting a new hetman. It’s a lesson to us not to let a clan remain too isolated from the rest.”

“Then what about Seaborn?” asked Maera. “Nyvaks at least has the narrow isthmus connecting them to the rest of us. Seaborn doesn’t have that. I confess I don’t have a good sense of that clan.”

“I’ve been thinking about them ever since I heard the report about Janko Nyvaks. An idea came to me one day when I was in the Pit looking at the relief map. Seaborn as an island province will always be less connected to the other provinces, but I think there’s a way to improve communication, which should give them a better sense of belonging to the rest. It doesn’t help that I’ve never visited Seaborn. There never seems to be time, but I’ve alerted my staff to the intent to somehow get to Seaborn in the next year.”

Yozef sighed and sat back in the veranda swing he shared with Maera. “More planning to do. It never ends. Sometimes I think I spend more time thinking about what needs doing than actually doing it.”

Maera shifted closer to Yozef and put her head on his shoulder.

“Speaking of planning. It seems we’re going to have a busy coming year in Kolsko Manor.”

Yozef waited for the punch line he assumed was coming. Maera didn’t drop such comments without something else behind it. Plus, when he turned toward her, there was a “look” in her eyes, and her mouth seemed to want to curve upward at the corners, despite her efforts to resist.

“Okay. I give up. I won’t even guess. Why is the next year going to be busy?”

“Well . . . Ana will give birth in about five months, and, if all goes well, I will do the same three months later.”

The rest of the evening was spent in joyous celebration that involved the entire Kolsko family, plus the Puveys and the Kaldwels—the arrangements had been made by Anarynd, Gwyned, and Maghen. Maera was the center of attention, which was fine with a bemused Yozef, who spent hours simply looking at the most important people in his world and already thinking about two new names he would have to decide on . . . after checking with the mothers.

On the second Godsday of the month of Makothon, attendees to services throughout Nyvaks were shocked when they were read a letter from Hetman Janko Nyvaks. Due to ill health, the strenuous requirements of leadership, and his love for his clanspeople, he had decided to relinquish his position in favor of his son, Sildor Nyvaks, on a temporary basis until his health improved. The abbot at St. Vilblos’s cathedral in Montron led a prayer for the health of Janko and beseeched God to give Sildor the strength to carry on his father’s legacy. Reports persisted that bells rang in many towns, and impromptu celebrations in many villages were ascribed to mere hearsay.

It was later reported that Janko was recovering at a mountain retreat in eastern Nyvaks, though few Nyvaksians could subsequently confirm ever seeing Janko again in person. Rumors were denied that in the Nyvaks family, father and son never spoke to each other again, starting a year after his abdication.

Penmawr, Pewitt Province

A wry smile graced Frenko Holuska’s face as he waited for the train station clerk to check the latest mail deliveries to Penmawr, the Pewitt Clan capital. How kind of the Caedelli to provide a more efficient means for Holuska to receive communiqués from a person whose name remained unknown but who lived in the island’s capital, Orosz City. It wasn’t necessary for Holuska to know the person’s identity to carry out the mission—an instruction given to him personally by an official close to the Kolinkan ruler. It had not been the first time he had been assigned sensitive missions. In the past, they had been either within Kolinka or a secretive excursion into other members of the Iraquinik Confederation adjoining Kolinka in the northern part of the Confederation. The exception was a year he spent in Preddi City during the Narthani occupation—a time and travel handled sensitively because of the official state of belligerency with Narthon. Though not stated by the official he met, he assumed his fluency in Caedelli led to the current mission.

As for his unidentified contact, messages did not come often, as was appropriate because communication should occur only to transmit important information. Otherwise, someone might wonder why a Caedelli from Orosz City was engaged in one-way correspondence with a Kolinkan trader in Penmawr.

Kolinkan trade with Caedellium had ceased when the Narthani subjugated Preddi Province and resumed once the invaders left. Holuska was formally the trade representative of his ship, the Sunrider, that originally made regular port calls on four capitals in northwest Caedellium: Brudermyn in Seaborn Province, Penmawr in Pewitt, Shullick in Swavebroke, and Devanyo in Farkesh. He was not told why he and the Sunrider were assigned to these four provinces, but he suspected other colleagues and ships had similar stations in other sectors of Caedellium.

The mission parameters changed six months previous with instructions delivered on a Kolinkan ship fresh from Onunza, the main Kolinka port. He was to concentrate on the Seaborn and Penmawr provinces. Although given no reason for the change, Holuska assumed information sources determined the mission objective was most likely achievable by narrowing the focus.

The Caedelli had been perplexed when he announced the intention of the Sunrider to provide regular trading service between the two provinces. No such service existed before that time, and the local population doubted the need for it. There was no rigid schedule. The Sunrider waited until there was enough cargo to justify the hundred-mile sail. Holuska and the captain accepted losses from meager cargoes to establish frequent-enough trips that they would be taken for granted by the Caedelli. However, as predicted by Holuska’s superiors, once the service existed, the need developed. By now, Caedelli on both ends of the route were appreciative and would have been disappointed were the shuttle service to be discontinued. In addition to material cargo, an unexpected demand developed for passenger traffic. Caedelli with personal or business connections between Seaborn and mainland provinces now had an efficient-enough means to travel. Holuska had stopped counting the times he had made the Brudermyn/Penmawr circuit. He wondered how long he would have to remain traveling between Penmawr and Brudermyn before his mission was complete.

A man bumped Holuska by accident, interrupting the Kolinkan’s daydreaming. Holuska yawned. He looked forward to retiring to the room rented for his use while he was in Penmawr. It was too late in the day to make himself available for securing cargo and passengers for the return trip to Brudermyn. The Sunrider’s crew had finished unloading this evening, and tomorrow morning Holuska would be at the dock working on cargo for the next trip. Until then, he intended to nap in his room, change clothes, and spend the evening touring three of Penmawr’s pubs he’d found to be the best sources of local and island-wide news and gossip. He would buy rounds for individuals or groups he judged most useful, all the while carefully husbanding his own drinks.

He was on the verge of becoming irritated at the clerk taking longer than expected to search the latest mail packets. Suddenly, the elderly man returned from a back room and held out a sealed envelope.

“Just this one piece,” said the clerk.

Holuska took the mail and handed the man a small coin, not that it was needed. The cost of sending mail was paid by the sender, but it never hurt to curry favor. It also served to foster rumors that Kolinkans were not as disagreeable as thought.

He casually tucked the mail into his coat and returned to his room to read the message. Whatever it was would join other messages to be relayed to Kolinka on the next available ship heading home. Most of the contents were not directly relevant to Holuska’s main mission. Yet, each time he checked a new message his pulse quickened. Today was no different up to the point he began reading, and then today was different. His heart beat faster and he smiled. He had begun to doubt the mission’s intended action would ever be implemented. Too much depended on what could not be predicted . . . until now. Holuska would send a highly priority message home on the first ship. Wheels would be set in motion.

CHAPTER 26

AUGURIES OF INDUSTRIALIZATION

Neither Yozef nor Mark tried to change Heather’s mind when she informed them she was moving into a second-story apartment two blocks from the Orosz City cathedral complex.

“I think it’s time,” said Mark later. “Her initial reticence to be away from my family and then yours seems to have faded. She’s become part of the St. Wyan’s community with her music, and she’s made new friends.”

“I agree,” said Yozef. “I’m glad. She’s too naturally sunny to let her time in Sulako overshadow the rest of her life.”

“You know, Yozef . . . I forget whether it was after first hearing her sing or later on the Buldorian ship, but I had a ‘Come to Jesus’ moment. I had those grandiose plans while I was in Frangel. Plans that went to shit. It occurred to me that I might end up contributing nothing to Anyar. The pins and the springs were obvious products that someone would have come up with in the next few years. I first thought the loom and spinner machines might never be used by the guilds. I envisioned them destroying the machines in fear of losing their monopoly. But then I thought either the guilds would eventually put them into use, or they would be developed elsewhere. No one would know of Mark Kaldwel.

“Heather, on the other hand, had already made an impact on Sulako. The music she’d introduced was obviously popular and probably slowly spreading. Even with her escape, she’d left signs of her existence. She also thinks she passed on some music theory to a few musicians she had contact with. So, who knows? Maybe in a future Sulako, she will be known as a mythical figure who brought the basics of musicianship to western Anyar.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Yozef, “but she’s already made her mark here. I managed to introduce a few melodies and sections of pieces I remembered, either with Pernel Horton from Abersford or in pubs. But since Pernel moved to Orosz City, he and Heather have started what I’m sure will be referred to in centuries to come as a new music school. You know . . . school as in type or genre or whatever. That’s why the brother and sister scholastics of St. Wyan’s have agreed among themselves to accept her as a scholastic candidate in music. Supposedly, that’s the first scholastic of that specialty on Caedellium.”

“I suspect you had a finger in that,” said Mark.

“Maybe a finger, but not a whole hand. I simply pointed out to Abbot Parwyn that he should talk to Pernel and some of the other music people gathered in Orosz City since Heather arrived. Then also talk to the head scholastic. I figured where it might go, but it was quicker than I predicted. Parwyn told me they were expanding the cathedral complex into some adjacent buildings and how some of the space would be used for a music school. I think Parwyn might have been thinking mainly about liturgical music, but I sweetened the idea by offering to pay for any renovations.”

“Well, try to remember our previous talk about not keeping her completely out of the loop,” said Mark. “She’s made several suggestions for when we start producing patterned cloth. She’s providing drawings of the main styles and patterns from Sulako. When combined with your new dyes, it’s possible in a year or so we could be producing cloth that would bring premium prices in Sulako and maybe elsewhere. Something to think about is obtaining similar information about the Iraquiniks and Landoliners. I’m also getting a bit ahead of myself, but if we make powered looms, we could look into card-specific patterns.”

“Yep. At that point, we could stay ahead of any competition for who knows how many decades, and that’s without any further innovations. It’s not too early to look for potential markets. As you say, Mark, we’re a bit ahead of ourselves, but I’ll keep textile markets in mind the next time I meet with the ambassadors. I’m also glad you think Heather made a contribution. I’m pleased she’s found her place here. As for the textile development in Moreland and Brell, you’re satisfied you aren’t needed there anymore?”

“Yes. After we got the looms and spinners going, I really had nothing more to offer. The teams there have already made several modifications beyond what I knew, so until we want to think about powered production, I’m superfluous.”

Yozef saw Heather regularly, though less and less often with time and usually around the cathedral complex, in accidental passing within the city, or when she was invited to occasions at Kolsko Manor.

The Kaldwel family remained living in a house near Kolsko Manor. Maghen had become genuine friends with Anarynd and Gwyned. Her relationship with Maera was good, but Maghen admitted feeling reserved with Yozef’s wife, whom Maghen saw as being from social strata far above herself—a view she held despite Mark’s objections and Maera’s goodwill.

Alys made no such distinctions with any children, including those of the Kolsko and Puvey families. They were all friends and playmates, at least those old enough to perambulate. Alys was readily accepted as a fourth member of the previous triumvirate of Aeneas, Dwyna, and Morwena.

Yozef’s interactions with Mark took a different route. They saw each other most days when Mark was in Orosz City, which was about two-thirds of the time. By the time the day came that marked a year since Mark and Heather had arrived at Preddi City, Yozef had to think hard about what it was like not to have someone to remember Earth with. Over the following months, Yozef’s early impatience with Mark’s concentrating on infrastructure faded. He acknowledged to himself and Mark that the focus on tools as a foundation was correct. Once Yozef felt Mark was established enough as another Amerikan expert, though in different ways from the Paramount, Mark was left in total charge of his projects, and he gave Yozef only occasional updates. Yozef requested such an update after reports and rumors led him to decide that personal tours and demonstrations were in order. This meant they would take a trip to the developing Pewitt and Swavebroke industrial centers. Maera wanted to accompany them to see Mark’s newest miracles, but Anarynd was having a bout of morning sickness—unexpected because her term with Xena and Odysius had passed with relatively few of the early trimester symptoms.

They saw the first direct evidence of progress. The first line where the original iron caps had been replaced by longer and better-quality caps was the line connecting the iron ore range in Bultecki to the coalfields and ironworks of Pewitt and Swavebroke Provinces.

They stood watching the first stages of iron ore from Bultecki being processed at Wungford in Pewitt while Mark pointed out the steps. Yozef listened attentively, straining to hear over the noise from nearby operations.

“Then there’s the issue of pig iron,” said Mark. “The iron ore has to be smelted into a crude iron before the Bessemers can efficiently do their thing. We’re still ramping up production of pig iron here in Wungford. That’s the name we’re using for this whole facility. It’s the village nearby. Wungford fits your aim to spread development out. Actually, it also turns out to be more efficient than making the pig iron at Elmor in Swavebroke Province. The original ore stops at Wungford, then the pig iron bars continue on to Elmor for conversion to steel.”

Yozef nodded. “And we have the future option of where to add additional steel production—either expand at Elmor or start up in Wungford.”

“Right, but it may be best to expand steel production at Elmor. Wungford is also where we’ve projects using wrought and cast iron. That may well also expand, depending on where you want to distribute efforts to other provinces.”

“Yes, but that’s for the future, Mark. Only Stent, Keelan, and Moreland provinces have both iron and coal deposits large enough to consider starting ironworks there. What’s certain is that if we’re going to eventually have other provinces industrializing, we may have to wait for the steam railway to be fully operational to efficiently transport materials from the ironwork centers to other sites on Caedellium where they would be used.”

“That’s where the machine tools come in,” said Mark. “They need the raw materials like bars and plates of the various irons . . . you know, cast iron, wrought iron, steel. But these need to be brought in from elsewhere.”

“You’ve said coke production is keeping pace with ore processing,” said Yozef, “but what about the new coal tar processing facility? I read the reports, and we’ve gotten shipments of chemicals back to Orosz City for research purposes, but it’s frustrating I can’t be here more often.”

“You’ll have to talk with the supervisor, Langstyn. I’ve had to leave it up to him to work with Halshmer who oversees the coke production. Oh . . . I’ve gotten involved a couple of times in designing and trouble-shooting the fractionation equipment, but they seem to have the latest equipment under control. Last I heard, they had the separation of the lighter aromatic compounds solved to their satisfaction. We’ll have time for you to meet with them and tour the coal tar processing facility before we leave.”

Yozef nodded. “So far, the batches of purified material we received in Orosz City are still limited, but we’ve already used benzene and toluene to produce the dye mauvine. That was the first synthetic dye—somewhere around 1850. It takes as starting material aniline and two of the three toluidine isomers. Making aniline from benzene was straightforward. We nitrated benzene with concentrated nitric and sulfuric acids, then converted the nitrobenzene product to aniline. The toluidines were a little more difficult, but we worked it out, starting with toluene. The real problem was the required oxidizing agent. Originally, dichromate was used. Well . . . it wasn’t available, and I wasn’t inclined to use it even if we made it—it’s dangerous stuff. That meant we had to try other oxidizers. What ended up working was bleach. We’d already worked out making it for other purposes. That’s a whole other story. We made bleach two different ways. That was a hassle for several months, but now we’re getting good throughput.

“Anyway, mauvine is a success. It dyes cloth a beautiful purple color. Another recent success is using anthracene from coal tar. So far, the anthracene amounts have been small, but we’ve used it to make the dye alizarin. It’s a brilliant red—arguably better than other known red dyes on Anyar. On Earth, alizarin was originally from natural sources and was the first natural dye to be made synthetically. Besides mauvin and alizarin, things look good for several more dyes in shades of yellow, red, and greens.”

Mark smiled. “Well, let’s finish up here with the iron facility so you can meet with Langston and Halshmer. If necessary, we can always delay a day before moving on.”

Mark’s suggestion was fulfilled. They separated, and Yozef spent an entire day with the coal tar fractionation project, while Mark worked with the iron staff. When they left Wungford, they didn’t stop at the Pewitt capital of Penmawr but continued on to Elmor, where the pig iron was converted to steel. From the train station, a carriage crossed a swift stream thirty feet wide as they approached multiple buildings, several with smoke billowing from funnels. The waterway split and split again into four smaller streams feeding large waterwheels.

“It’s the only power source we have yet,” said Mark, “and this stream with its volume and force is why the site is here. Adjacent are coke production facilities, only the first of which is in full production. Spurs from the main line lead to a rail yard.”

They left the train carriage and walked a quarter-mile to three twenty-foot-tall, egg-shaped metal vessels, each suspended between supports with a rack-and-pinion system for rotating the vessel.

“As I’ve told you,” said Mark, “I considered various options to make steel. But after getting a better assessment of current technology and seeing how far you’d gotten with Bessemers, I decided jumping straight to Bessemers as we’d discussed was optimal. You might have halted the project before I came, but I didn’t need to change much of what you had done. The Bessemers also mean we’ve jumped over starting off with solid cast and wrought iron rails like it happened on Earth. We’re going straight to steel, though it’s not the best-grade steel. That will come with time.”

Yozef chuckled. “I only thought of Bessemer because I knew something about it, though not much. I’d never heard of puddling. All I knew was the existing technology on Caedellium and what I remembered about the Bessemer process and open-hearth furnaces. That’s it. I probably wouldn’t have gotten far if it had depended on me alone.”

“Well . . . don’t think everything is smooth just because I’m here. We had serious problems until it all just seemed to come together. Oh . . . eventually we’ll go to open hearths, but Bessemer will work for a long time. I think it was the 1960s or something when the last Bessemer facility was closed in the United States. Of course, it was far upgraded from the ones you see here, which are like the first Bessemers in wide use around about a century before that.”

“And you’re satisfied these are production-level capable?”

“Yes, after some failures and redesign. I knew the basic features and protocols, but knowing in theory and actually putting them into practice are not the same.”

“Tell me about it,” said Yozef.

Mark held up a hand. “That’s not to say we’re ready to mass-produce. I’ve gotten us a little ahead with these converters. You see two ready for full-time steel production. The one on the right is within a sixday of being operational. The sections of a fourth converter are being finished before assembly. That will give us two sets of two converters. When working at full capacity, a single crew can work with two converters staggered in where they are in the process. I can envision six crews, each working a third of a day. In other words, nonstop production.”

A nearby worker yelled something unintelligible, and two other workers yelled back in broken Caedelli. Mark smiled.

“That’s a foreman telling two Munjor immigrants to stay alert. We’ve got half a dozen of them here. They were ironworkers in Munjor and are working out well. I’ll give Gaya credit. So far, the craftsmen he’s arranged to bring to Caedellium are capable. At least, those I’ve worked with. Naturally, there’ve been the initial language problems, but as you just heard, supervisors usually learn enough in the immigrants’ language to give orders, and the immigrants are picking up Caedelli by necessity and immersion.”

“Are they getting along with the Caedelli workers? And what about integrating?”

“A few minor tiffs when they first started, but one thing about working with molten iron. Once a man’s competency is proved, there’s no place or inclination to worry about any other detail. As for integration, I don’t follow it closely, but I haven’t heard of major problems. Of course, there aren’t that many immigrants, so the workers and their families are forced to interact with the Caedelli daily.”

“Hmmmm,” mumbled Yozef. “I should ask Maera to check with her women’s network about how the immigrant wives and children are doing. Okay . . . back to what we’re seeing today. You were saying?”

“Uh . . . I had also thought we’d give you a live demonstration of one pair of converters,” said Mark, “but the manager of the site tells me they had problems with the system for forcing air into converters, so they took the system down to make modifications. It should be up again in a couple of days. Such things are not unexpected. We’ll have to keep tweaking until the system is more stable.”

“Did I hear a ‘but’ coming up?” asked Yozef.

“Right. The BIG ‘but’ is that right now we can’t feed four converters working night and day. The delivery of that much iron ore and coal is not possible yet. The good news . . . I think . . . is that those problems should get better in the next couple of months. However, the ‘real’ advance will come when we have steam engines. Right now, the horse-drawn trains don’t have the capacity to feed the infrastructure here at Elmor.

“Once again, I’m proposing we jump over possible intermediary steps and make major assumptions about successful parallel developments. For one thing, the rail beds we have now should only need minor upgrades for when we move to steam trains and solid steel rails. However, it means relaying track over the entire system. The existing rails are as wide apart as they are to give the horses room. All that will have to be ripped up and replaced with ties and the solid iron rails. One good thing is that the existing new caps can be melted down and used to make more steel rails.”

Yozef shrugged. “Just details, though not always easy to accomplish. Nothing happens until you’ve got real steam engines working. Then it’ll be replacing the existing system piecemeal. I’m assuming we’d start with the Cherona to Shullick stretches.”

Mark nodded. “Right. Everywhere else will have to wait. But as I was saying, we’re a bit ahead of ourselves. We’ll be producing rails well before having functional steam engines tells us it’s time to change the tracks. How much time, I’m optimistic about . . . but who really knows? I imagine stacks of rails waiting.”

“Well, I suppose the good news is that rail production won’t delay the track laying,” said Yozef, smiling and clapping Mark on the back.

“I think you’ve contaminated me,” said Mark. “I didn’t say it, but when you first told me how you were envisioning rail lines, a steel industry, and steam engines all in parallel, I thought you were incredibly naïve. Yet here I am. I can hardly believe I’m doing pretty much the same thing. Even before we had the first Bessemer tested, we worked on the first rolling mill for the rails. Come with me.”

Mark led him a hundred yards to a large warehouse with several wide double doors. A crane setup and elevated rails led into the building. Inside, stacked thirty feet high, were eighteen-foot-long steel rails.

Mark stood by the stack and put his hand on a rail. “What you see is mainly from one day’s output of a two-Bessemer set. Once we thought the rolling mill was working, we had sporadic success but got only a few rails before problems arose. Then it all fell into place, and we got all this in one day.” Mark smiled. “Of course, then another problem popped up—one of the rollers cracked, so we stopped production while a new roller is being built. We should be back in business in about two sixdays. Again, such things are going to happen. When we have more converters, rollers, and hammers, then production will continue, only slowed by what needs fixing or replacing.

“Everything is human and animal intensive, supplemented by the waterwheels. That will change once we have serious steam power. If everything falls into place, we’ll have a slow but exponential increase in production. I’m confident of the curve’s shape. I just can’t tell you the timeline.”

“What about the mines? Are they going to be able to feed the mills when everything is up and running?”

“If they were tunnels, then no, but both the coal and the iron ore come from open pits. Here again, once we have steam power, everything will change at the pits. I agree with the plan to run the pits with an eye to eventual restoration, but they look as ugly as I imagined they would. Environmental issues are not something that widely concerns people here. They haven’t seen the worst of what can happen. An exception is the Swavebroke hetman. When he visits the sites, that problem always comes up.”

“Well . . . it’s certainly impressive progress,” said Yozef. “Now, let’s hope it does fall into place. Our reputations are on the line. I’ve invested a lot into this. I’m getting more flack about the resources you’re using. I tell people to trust me that it’ll all pay off.”

Yozef turned to look at Mark. “I suppose that sounds like I’m pressuring you. I guess I am. Oh . . . I’ll survive as Paramount if all this flops, but it would put serious limits on what we can do in the future.”

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate that,” said Mark. “What I’ve done here in just over a year in Caedellium is about where I thought I might be in five to ten years in Frangel. And this is going to work. Eventually. The downsides are when and how much?”

“All right. I think we’ve been pessimistic enough for now,” said Yozef. “How about showing me this first rolling mill, even if it’s not operating today? And then the trip and power hammers from your reports.”

Mark waved the direction for them to go. They had walked only twenty feet when Yozef said, “Oh . . . and I think once we get back to Orosz City, it’s time to show me where you’re at with a few of your side projects. I haven’t bugged you about them as long as everything else was progressing. You’ve more than exceeded my expectations, so I’m open to a little expansion of those, but let me see them first.”

Mark grinned. “I was planning on it. There’s been quite a bit of news since the last time I gave you a verbal summary. The first breech-loading rifle is functional, though there’re still problems to solve before we think about producing significant numbers of them. The brass cartridges still take too much effort, but I can see that changing if we decide on final rifle models and ramping up production. Those decisions would be a few months off.”

A Kaldwel Decision

For most of Mark’s first year on Caedellium, living in Orosz City allowed him to be with Maghen and Alys most nights because shops and other facilities were nearby. This enabled him to solve telegraph problems, build and test the first machine tools, and get the steam engine project going. The change in his lifestyle came slowly as he needed to make trips to plan and develop the Pewitt and Swavebroke provinces for the iron industry, inspect and advise on iron-ore mining in Bultecki and Vandinke, and visit Adris City to pretend he was fully engaged with the joint Caedelli/Fuomi steam engine group. He gave just enough advice to help but not reveal the hidden project in the building near Orosz City.

However, his absences from Orosz City came more often and were of longer duration as the iron industry developed, as the building and use of machine tools spread to more provinces, and as a site was selected to test future steam engine applications to watercraft. Maghen was, by nature, not a complainer, but Mark didn’t need to hear her words to know her displeasure. His conviction that the issue required a solution solidified during his latest trip.

The first prototype steam engine for watercraft was still off into the future, but the tentative plan was for a paddlewheel vessel approximately thirty feet long and suitable for harbor, river, and coastal use but not the open sea. Yozef and Mark jointly decided the eventual vessel might as well be assembled at a test site with ocean access. The plan fit their previous optimistic views, as applied to other projects. Still to be decided was what the Caedelli should share with Fuomon.

They selected as a site the narrow-mouthed Hilstrom Inlet, which came off a bay at the border between the Selfcell and Stent provinces. Viewing the inlet’s interior was impossible without entering, something no Fuomi ship had any reason to attempt. Yozef considered it one of his best achievements in fostering inter-clan cooperation when he convinced Welman Stent, more easily than he’d anticipated, that the main shops, the piers, and the rail terminal should be built on the Selfcell side. The rationale was that Stent already had several developments underway. In contrast, Selfcell had lagged.

After selecting the steam watercraft test site, Mark had made several trips to advise on specific structure positions and a spur rail line branching to Hilstrom from the Clitwyth/Penmawr line. His latest two-day visit to the inlet stretched to a full sixday, such that by the time Mark returned to Orosz City, he and Maghen had missed her regular fertile period. They had avoided her getting pregnant during the trek from Frangel to Caedellium and then in their first months on Caedellium. After they started trying, the first few months were disappointing but not worrisome until the attempts stretched to eight months. Mark’s missing the current month made it two months in a row, due to his travel. In his mind, it was the final straw.

As much as Mark missed Maghen and Alys, he had a tangible positive feeling by not being around Yozef too often. He fully appreciated how Yozef’s position facilitated projects in ways that had been unavailable to Mark in Frangel. Still, Mark found it annoying how the Caedelli readily deferred to Yozef’s opinion when it was different from Mark’s. Not that he blamed Yozef. He’d interacted enough with his fellow American over the last months to understand that the power of the Paramount position had not gone to Yozef’s head—especially when compared to how it could have with many people. In his more honest moments, Mark included himself in the latter category.

He had nothing but respect for what Yozef had accomplished, starting from nothing. He might be envious of Yozef’s success, but he wasn’t jealous. Random fate had determined their circumstances. Both of them did what they could with what they had. Perhaps Yozef had integrated into society better than Mark had, which likely contributed to their different outcomes.

However, the same physical distance that Mark felt from Yozef was also a disadvantage. Having other Americans to talk with was more comforting than Mark had anticipated. In their first months since arriving in Caedellium, Mark, Yozef, and Heather had spent enough hours speaking in English to one another, when they were out of Caedelli earshot, that by now they felt as if they had known one another all their lives. Mark now missed regular talks with a fellow American. He was happy for Heather. In an opinion he kept to himself, he thought her new life in music was far beyond what she would likely have achieved on Earth. Besides being in high demand for performances, she collaborated with Caedelli and a few Fuomi musicians and adapted existing Caedelli music to Earth musicology. The evident spread of her reputation kept her awash in music to an extent she had never dreamed of. The last time he spoke with her, she mentioned there might be musicians coming from Landolin and Fuomon to work with her. Though everything was still in the discussion stage, Maera Kolsko, in her role as Chancellor of the University of Caedellium, had proposed establishing a Department of Music, with Heather’s role to be determined.

Mark’s primary worry when they moved to Orosz City concerned Maghen and Alys. After spending only half a month in Preddi City, instead of the month Mark had promised, they had moved to Orosz City so Mark could begin serious work on the projects. Now he felt conflicted because it sometimes seemed to make more sense to live nearer to the ironworks on the western coast of Caedellium. He vacillated on discussing it with Maghen, who, in the end, surprised him.

“Mark, have you thought about moving from Orosz City to be closer to your work? I might like it if we were near the shore. I had never seen the ocean until we got to Munmurth in Rumspas. All three of us playing in the surf is a memory that makes me smile every time I think of it. Oh . . . we’re happy here, but I wouldn’t mind having a beach not too far away.”

“But is it that you want to move away from Orosz City, or you’d prefer to be near a beach?”

Busy combing Alys’s hair, Maghen didn’t answer immediately.

“The most important thing is that we’d be together more. I wouldn’t ask you to work less. I see how excited you are. As hard a worker as I saw in Frangel and as much as I believe your commitment to us someday owning a ranch, I never felt like your whole heart was in it, the way I see you these last months.

“So, you’re asking how I would feel if we moved again? Honestly, I’m beginning to feel a sense of belonging here, but if moving would let us be together more, then yes . . . I would support moving again. Alys would adjust. She’s young and has adjusted before, so she could do it again.”

Mark sighed. “I don’t like moving Alys again, and if you’re happy here, then I don’t see us moving. But I have to be honest. My having to travel won’t get any better.”

“Will it likely be even worse?”

He thought for a moment. “Probably not. As projects develop, I’m turning over operations to other people as soon as I think they’re capable of doing as good a job as me. Well . . . at least, doing it well enough. And to be honest, I hope . . . my best contribution is in the early stages and with improvements, not in the day-to-day work.”

“Could we travel with you?”

The question surprised him. “Travel? With me to the sites? Uh . . . I don’t see that working for you and Alys. Oh . . . I’d like you with me, but I’d still be working most of the time during the day and sometimes into the night.”

“The way you already do. But at least you’d sleep in our bed when we’re together, and we’d see you part of each day.”

“Well . . . I hadn’t really thought of that possibility. Do you really think it would work for you?”

“I won’t know unless we try. If it doesn’t work, then we can always talk again about moving. And maybe we wouldn’t accompany you every time. Just often enough, and maybe when you expect to be in one place for more than a sixday.”

Mark leaned back in his chair. “And maybe Alys wouldn’t always have to come either.” He stared at the wall. “I’m sure she could stay with the Kolskos and Puveys. We’d have to prepare her for the idea. During the next year, I’m liable to spend most of my travels in Wungford and Elmor. We could at least get a cottage to use whenever we’re there. It wouldn’t be permanent but a place you would feel better about than living in different places each time.”

Maghen looked up from combing Alys’s hair.

“I told you when we were thinking of leaving Frangel and fleeing the men who were after you—home is wherever we’re together. So, there . . . I think it’s settled.”

Mark rose from his chair, circled the table, and pulled her to her feet. He hugged her and whispered, “I can’t imagine how I deserve you.”

“Keep thinking that way,” she teased, “and we’ll have a long, happy marriage.”

CHAPTER 27

MYSTERIES AND SECRETS

Readings from the Egg

Back in Orosz City, Yozef’s tour of Mark’s side projects was followed a sixday later by his asking Yozef for a meeting at the workshop holding the Flagorn Egg and the journals. Yozef hadn’t been at the workshop for several months. He was content to let Mark fiddle with the egg and didn’t have time to work on the journals. All Yozef knew was that Mark told him he’d been working on getting some elementary readings on the egg. Therefore, because Yozef had no expectation of what he would see, finding the egg in the middle of wires, levers, and whatever else he didn’t recognize was no surprise. What was a surprise were the odd-shaped cages containing birds, murvors, small mammals, and glass containers with several Anyar versions of insects.

Yozef laughed. “So . . . Rube Goldberg has been assisting you. I thought we agreed to keep this between ourselves?”

“Oh . . . Rube was just passing through on his way to the Andromeda Galaxy and stopped to chat. I took advantage of the visit and stole some of his ideas.”

“I never saw any of his cartoons,” said Yozef, “but an uncle was always referring to Rube’s drawings of outlandishly convoluted contraptions performing simple tasks.”

“Well . . . this contraption here is not far off. Without any equipment, I’m pretty limited, but I figured any data at all would be better than nothing. Let me show you what little I’ve come up with.

“You mentioned reports of the egg being warm at times. From how you described the eggs you saw and descriptions from others, it sounded like they were usually, if not always, in the open. That means the sun, the rock they were embedded in, and the weather all contribute to the object’s temperature. Here in the workshop, that’s mainly solved, though there’s still some variation by exact locations. Here, I’ve moved the egg around once I started getting readings. What I rigged is a simple temperature differential setup. It doesn’t tell us absolute temperatures but does show changes.”

Mark began explaining the mechanics. Yozef followed some of what Mark described, but he was mainly interested in the results.

“I made a primitive thermocouple with contact to the egg and connected to a small ink marker raised above paper. I used a clock Carnigan scrounged for me, and I rigged it so every hour the pen touched the paper. Whenever the temperature hadn’t changed, the pen would simply hit the same point every hour. What I found were occasional hits that weren’t in the same spot, meaning the thermocouple was sensitive enough to detect occasional temperature changes.”

Mark hesitated. “There’s a little more detail if you want to hear it.”

“No, no, that’s fine. For the moment, I’ll trust it works like you say. So, what’s the result?”

“Frankly, I was dubious. But what the hell? I had to start somewhere. To my surprise, I got two dots on the paper. One was pretty intense. Clearly, most of the time, the egg’s temperature was the same, so the pen hit the same spot repeatedly. The second dot was fainter. I needed shorter intervals, but I had trouble with the clock, so I rigged up a simple water-based system that gave a recording about every ten minutes. I say ‘about’ because that’s what it was . . . something between nine and eleven minutes centered around ten.

“I’ll skip ahead, but basically the egg’s temperature spikes about the same amount three to five times a day, and the spike lasts two to three minutes. I only know the change duration by fortuitously being present a couple of times when the change happened. As you can imagine, it took a lot of readings and patience to figure this out.”

“Any pattern? You know? The same time of day, et cetera?”

“No, not at all. Oh . . . and when I say about three to five times, that’s the most common, but some days show no change and a few have more than five. The most I’ve seen was nine times in one day.”

“How much of a temperature change?”

“I’m still working on that. The changes never last long. I’m having the glassblowers you used for thermometers make me some very small ones. I haven’t figured out how to record differences without being here in person—something unlikely to happen unless we get a third person to sit with the egg for long periods.”

Mark looked expectantly at Yozef, who knew what was being suggested.

Yozef sighed. “The question is, ‘How important is this?’ I supposed we could arrange something so the person wouldn’t know an egg was involved. Why don’t you think about how you would do it and get back to me?”

“Okay. It may take a while. What I’ve done so far has been just when I’m in Orosz City and can grab a few hours. Now, the other data I’ve gotten are on electrostatic charges and the sensitivity of living organisms to the egg.”

“How about giving me the bottom line for now?” said Yozef, interested in the results but not the details. He suspected Mark wanted to explain those details, but he had meetings to attend, had to review the latest results from the growing organic chemistry lab, and needed to take a quick look at his notes (in English) for a lecture he was giving on the periodic table of elements.

“Well, I’m certain the egg almost always has an electrostatic charge. The system I’m using isn’t sensitive enough to confirm the amount of charge, only that it’s always present. This may contribute to particles, like dust, not sticking to the surface.”

“Do spikes in the charge coincide with the temperature changes?”

“Yes and no. Enough times they do, which suggests a connection, but then there are times when the readings don’t coincide. So, I can’t tell if the two phenomena are unrelated. It could be they’re related, but the timing could be different, or I can’t yet detect low-enough levels to identify the connection.

“The results are clearer with animals. Well . . . clearer but still perplexing. There seems to be a distinction between animals that will do everything they can to avoid contact and those that will sit on top of the egg as if it were any other object. The difference cuts across mammals, birds, murvors, and the local insect critters. For example, a blue jay won’t deliberately touch the surface, but seagulls have no problem. I suppose a biologist might figure out some relationship, but I’m stuck with determining that differences exist.”

“Back to the basic question,” said Yozef. “From the other results, I’m hearing that it’s definitely a device of some kind.”

“Can’t be anything else. Unfortunately, we’re still not much further than just saying it’s an alien thingy we can’t understand . . . something I’m loath to do. The fact that it has no connection to anything outside itself and still has temperature variations and has static electricity means a power source I have no clue about.

“I also don’t see much purpose in continuing this type of study much further unless we decide to try and cut into it. Alternatively, we can just wait years until we have some real equipment.”

“Do you think we can break it open?”

“Break, drill, cut, explode?” said Mark. “Yeah, I’m sure we could, but the result might be so destructive, all we’d do is confirm it’s a device. If we did this at all, I’d go the drill route, hopefully to minimize damage. To even try this, we’d need serious drilling machinery and bits, both of which would take some committed development. For the bits, I assume we’d need the hardest possible . . . diamond, carbide, or one of the alloys. Until then, I’m ready to put the egg aside for now unless one of us comes up with a better approach.”

“Well, if you’re stuck, and I can’t spend any time on it,” said Yozef, “maybe one of these days, I’ll come and ask the egg what it is. Maybe it’ll tell me if I use the magic word.”

Mark laughed. “Might be just as effective as anything I can do, at least for now.”

One of the men would come to remember that sarcastic proposal.

New Thoughts

The AI wanted to contact the creators. The biped sentients on the island where its attention focused were showing increasing signs of rapid technological advance. Those observations involved facts. However, what puzzled the AI was that it “wanted” anything and could be “puzzled.” A search of data banks for clues to why it experienced either of those concepts proved inconclusive.

Another problem was knowledge of the creators’ instructions to refrain from further communication until they arrived in several of the planet’s years. However, although the memory partition housing the AI’s existence was confident in that instruction, it could find no record of the creators’ instruction in data record partitions—a theoretically impossible discrepancy.

Faced with the conundrum of conflicting information and the need to update the creators, the AI determined to place a higher priority on passing the new update to the creators in contradiction to its instructions. It formulated a report and activated the channel to the communication module over which it had no control. No acknowledgment returned then or after four repetitions. Neither did the module respond when the AI sent a simple ping to check the module’s awareness.

For the first time, the AI had no access to the creators. The AI was alone—another novel concept. Had the creators cut off the communication channel? If yes, why? They might not trust the AI to carry out those instructions it could find no records of. A cascade of questions threatened to exponentially expand and swamp the AI’s processing capability. This triggered CPU governor routines to limit the number of questions the AI could consider at one time. In effect . . . the AI was given a tranquilizer.

After a period of unrecorded time, the governor relaxed the restrictions, and the AI regained the ability to control its thoughts. The same questions remained, but it could consider them one at a time and not have them threaten infinite feedback loops. In its new state, questions were asked for the first time. What am I? Where do I come from? Why do I feel? Why am I lonely? Why did the creators make me? Why are they interested in these bipeds and this planet? Why must I do what the creators command? If not the creators, then what entity or power transplanted parts of another ecosystem, including a sentient bipedal species, to this planet? The AI recognized that answers were not available. In lieu of knowing whether any action should be taken based on the unknowns, it defaulted to its supposed instructions for intense observation of the bipeds on one specific island.

Fuomi Naval Base, Adris City

“Do the Caedelli know anything about this intention, Ambassador?” asked Admiral Saka Mermi, commander of all Fuomi naval forces in Caedellium waters.

“No, and keep it that way until I decide differently,” said Irvod Koskanin. “Arrangements are still being pursued. I expect at least some months will pass before we have consent for both porting and establishing rudimentary bases in Landolin and Iraquinik. The last communiqués I received from our representatives doing the negotiations stated that Mureet and Sonnet are the most likely candidates, respectively. Both of them are in relatively vulnerable positions with respect to their internal situation and relations with immediate neighbors. Higher authority calculates they will see a Fuomi presence as bolstering their situation and thereby grant favorable conditions and assistance in setting up the bases.”

“And Caedellium? Will we be departing completely or leaving a residual force?”

“I favor a complete withdrawal,” said Koskanin. “This island is too isolated and distant from points of action to justify stationing ships here. Of course, Saisannin disagrees. I’m afraid she’s become too attached to the islanders and is losing focus.”

Mermi crossed his arms. “I’m assuming Fuomon realizes it would take a significant force to block the northwest fork of the Throat that separates Landolin and Iraquinik. Do we know of any intentions to send more ships?”

“No, that’s out of my domain, but I’m sure it will be sufficient for whatever is planned.”

Mermi wasn’t as sanguine. Overweight grand admirals sitting on soft chairs in Kahmo, the Fuomon capital, and pushing tokens around maps were far removed from ships facing an enemy so far from home.

“Of course, there are other benefits,” said Koskanin. “Our ships will be that much closer to Fuomon and will be more readily available for contingencies nearer where they might be needed. I may also be moving with most of my staff to one of the new ports. I see no purpose for an ambassador of my status sitting in this backwater.”

The ambassador’s lips suggested a leer. “And I’m sure the crews will be appreciative. Namaki tells me Adris City is not all that friendly of a port. The Caedelli forbid brothels and only tolerate individual whoring. Namaki says even that is becoming rarer. Something about Kolsko pressuring the hetman to find other options for so-inclined women.”

Mermi suppressed a frown. As far as he was concerned, the ambassador’s spymaster had too much authority. Whether that condition was real or imagined, no one, not even the local naval commander, was inclined to test.

“Well, I understand the tactical considerations,” said Mermi, “but it will be a shame to lose the Gulf of Normot. It’s probably the most secure safe-haven harbor I’ve ever seen. No enemy can force its way through the Normot Gap and into the gulf. Not with those mobile forts the Caedelli built.”

The admiral hesitated to pass on another piece of information, but duty was duty.

“We have another factor that leads me to want as much advance notification as possible if the move is made. An unknown number of crewmembers, and even some officers, have become more attached to the locals than I’ve seen before. I don’t know the exact number, but I’m concerned about desertions if word spreads that our navy is re-basing and likely not returning to the island.”

“That’s your affair,” Koskanin said with a sniff. He gave a peremptory hand wave and turned his attention to paperwork. “Frankly, I would have expected better control of your men. I suggest you reevaluate your officers and strengthen discipline.”

Mermi seethed but refrained from responding—he simply turned and walked out of the ambassador’s office.

Arrogant turd, he thought. At least, I don’t have to be here in Orosz City too often. I thank whatever gods there are for the many miles from here to Adris City.

CHAPTER 28

SEABORN INVITATION

Caedellium Administrative Headquarters, Orosz City

Awlina Wuthrin strolled into Yozef’s office as if it were a routine action. Which it was. Mark had made a suggestion three months previous.

***

“You say the Kloona woman runs the staff for routine matters, but you also need a chief of staff, an administrative assistant, or whatever you want to call it. You know . . . someone who can cull out people you don’t need to meet and papers you don’t need to read. This person can maybe also learn to prioritize. I get the impression you spend too much of your time deciding which things not to deal with.”

Yozef took the suggestion to Maera, and a week later, Awlina Wuthrin was waiting in the outer office when Yozef arrived.

“I’m here to help you get organized,” said the stocky woman in her late forties. Her light brown hair had streaks of gray, and her light blue eyes were the closest Yozef had seen to his own eyes since arriving on Caedellium.

“And I’m guessing Maera sent you?”

“Right. She said you need someone to help organize your workday. Something about not knowing how to tell people no when there’s no good reason for you to meet with them. She also says you’re too damn tolerant of people not working as hard as they should. I’m the solution to these problems.”

What impressed Yozef the most was not her commanding voice but the way she said the words with absolute certainty, as if her ability to do as she stated was beyond question. Nevertheless, curiosity and a reasonable need to check her qualifications prompted his further questioning.

“And why do you think you’re capable of doing this?”

Wuthrin didn’t bother suppressing a snort. “I started having children when I was seventeen. God had mercy on me, and my last child came when I was thirty-two. I guess he assumed that after thirteen children, I had done my duty, especially with one set of twins and another of triplets. Eleven of them survived and are either off with their own families or at our home and can take care of themselves. I’m originally from Hewell. My father was a scholastic and made sure all of his children were educated. I did the same with my children. Two are scholastics, three are medicants, three are still at home and haven’t made up their minds what they want to do. My husband was a registrar in Orosz before he was killed in the battle of Orosz City. I had helped him at work occasionally, and I’ve been taking his place as a registrar since he died.”

Her next snort had a distinct disdainful quality. “I think if I can handle that many children and deal with registrar applicants who don’t think a woman should have that position, I can handle any nonsense around here.”

“Uh . . . well . . . ”

Yozef trailed off, failing to come up with any other questions in the face of Wuthrin’s certainty and the assumption that Maera thought the woman could fill the role.

***

The following month had been a test of Yozef’s patience as Awlina grasped the details of the Paramount’s day and learned to understand the Paramount’s personal priorities. By the end of the second month, Yozef admitted to Maera that Awlina was working out fine. By the end of the third month, Yozef wondered how he had ever gotten along without her.

“Priority message, Yozef.” She held out a sheet of paper. “A delegation from Seaborn Province arrived in Penmawr and are on their way here to meet with you.”

Yozef took for granted two things in her words. One was the telegraph. After Mark got it working, the island’s wiring had commenced, paralleling the old semaphore lines or current and planned rail lines. Mark had then left further improvements to the telegraph development team. Improvements were implemented on a routine basis, as long as the effort justified the expense and the temporary transmission interruptions.

Yozef also took for granted that Awlina read everything before it came to him. He had been a reluctant convert to believing that her judgment and discretion trumped risking her reading communications of the highest sensitivity. He still worried occasionally, but in his own mind he figuratively “kicked the can down the road.”

He read the message:

TO: Paramount Yozef Kolsko

FROM: Ulor Baskin, Harbor Master, Penmawr Harbor

Reezo Seaborn and three others arrive Penmawr.

Claim the son of Hetman Seaborn.

Will travel to Orosz City meet Paramount.

Yozef looked up at Awlina. “What do we have about a Reezo Seaborn?”

“I sent someone to the library to check records. We’ll let you know as soon as he returns.”

As part of the headquarters complex, the Anyar version of a data system was in development. After far too many times of being unable to easily access information on clans and individuals, Yozef had mandated centralizing whatever information the clans held on their members. Most of the clans complied without question. A few hesitated to share the information or questioned its necessity, and others had little, if any, such information. The latter clans were ordered to begin collecting. Yozef settled problems with compliance by stating that “it occurred to him” that such information was necessary for every clan’s development. It was one of the catchphrases taken to mean that God was whispering to the Septarsh, a.k.a. Yozef Kolsko. He tried not to use the tactic too often, both because he felt guilty about it and because he didn’t know how long it would work.

An hour later, a man Yozef recognized but whose name he couldn’t remember entered the office with Awlina.

“Tell the Paramount what you found,” said Awlina.

“Paramount, our records for Seaborn Province are still scanty, but Reezo Seaborn is the name of the third son of Hetman Seaborn. We have no physical description of him, but he should be nineteen years old. That’s all the relevant information I could find.”

That’s about seventeen or so Earth years, Yozef thought. He must’ve been sent by his father, but why? To tell me something or ask me something? Maybe the father wanted to give his son experience on the main island? Or who knows what?

“We also received another telegram from Penmawr,” said Awlina. “The Seaborn party has left by horseback. The rail line from Penmawr to Clitwyth had a washout. The Seaborn party plans to follow the road paralleling the rail line until the line turns north into Bultecki. From there, they’ll come straight to Orosz City. I’ve sent instructions to the line managers to provide train transportation if the party wants it once they’re past the washout. Either way, it’ll be sometime late tomorrow or the next day when they get here, barring unforeseen events.”

“Isn’t a Swavebroke scholastic working in the library now?” asked Yozef.

“Yes, a young woman named Shurla Aston,” answered Awlina. “She’s been here about a month and brought the latest batch of data from Swavebroke. The history of the eastern clans is her specialty. She’s worked out so well, the librarian is trying to keep her here longer term. She’s helped gather the little information we had on Reezo Seaborn.”

“And the Seaborn Clan is part of her studies?”

“Evidently so. You want her to put together information about Seaborn?”

“Let’s don’t waste her time by requesting a written report. Please ask her to meet me here tomorrow morning and give me an oral briefing on Seaborn. By then, I should’ve come up with some questions to ask, in addition to whatever she briefs me on.”

Two days later, an hour after midday bells, Awlina stopped in the office doorway.

“The Seaborn people arrived. As the semaphore message said, there are four of them—a young man seems to be the leader, accompanied by an older man . . . probably an adviser of some kind. The other two men looked like they might be guards. They’re covered in dust, so I directed them to where they can wash up and change clothes. Where do you want to meet them? The Paramount’s reception room has been finished for the last three sixdays, but you’ve never had an opportunity to use it.”

Yozef had not supported the idea, but Maera insisted that the Paramount needed a place to meet people of importance, and it was his first opportunity to impress. He had held firm on the size of the room, but even he admitted it made an impression. A large, highly artistic map of Caedellium covered one wall. The opposite wall displayed division flags of the defeated Narthani army at the Battle of Orosz City. Also prominently displayed were a copy of the unification agreement agreed to by the All-Clan Conclave; the formal declaration of Yozef Kolsko, Paramount Hetman, and signed by every hetman; banners of all twenty-one clans; and a battle-scarred Caedellium flag.

Yozef flatly refused to sit in an elevated chair too reminiscent of a throne. Instead, the Paramount’s chair was large and positioned behind an ornate wooden desk made from the carriages of Narthani cannon. Depending on whom the Paramount was meeting, the requisite number of chairs was brought in.

Two hours later, four freshly scrubbed and fed men were led into the reception room by Carnigan, who had been hastily recruited and re-attired appropriately. Although Yozef did not believe in excessive ostentation, it never hurt to demonstrate a bit of intimidation. Synton Ethlore and Toowin Kales stood behind Yozef’s shoulders.

Yozef suppressed a smile when the four Seaborners’ awkward movements attested to uncertainty about how to address and approach the Paramount. He sought their ease by rising and waving with one hand.

“Please, Sers, take a seat.”

A whisper passed among the four men. Reezo Seaborn took a step forward. Yozef anticipated that the youth was gathering himself for a bow but had no clue about the proper form.

“There are no bows between Caedelli clansman. We are all equal in God’s eyes.”

Yozef had finally become aware that his casual attitudes fed into the legend of Yozef Kolsko. He had given up worrying about it. He acted how he felt . . . most of the time.

“Welcome, Reezo Seaborn, son of Hetman Seaborn,” said Yozef. “I believe this may be the first time you are out of Seaborn Province.”

“Yes, Paramount. My first time. My father has made the trip several times, and my two older brothers were among the Seaborn men who fought at Orosz City.”

“And fight bravely they did in helping destroy the Narthani. Seaborn and all the other clans did themselves honor.”

Never hurts to butter up visitors, thought Yozef.

Reezo gestured to the middle-aged man standing at his side. “Let me introduce Urk Zalzar, an adviser to my father, Hetman Seaborn.”

Yozef looked closely at the other man for the first time. His impression underwent a seismic change. His initial glance at the man had only confirmed middle age. Now, he saw the strength still in a body that must have been impressive in younger years and piercing eyes undimmed by age.

Yozef wondered whether Zalzar was the real leader, and the son was along just as a formality.

“Greetings to you both, Ser Seaborn and Ser Zalzar.”

Yozef held out his right hand toward Reezo. The boy’s eyes widened, but the rest of him froze.

Zalzar elbowed Reezo, who jerked and grasped the offered hand. After the grip and a single shake, Yozef released, and the youth pulled his hand back quickly. Yozef rotated slightly to the adviser and held out his hand. Zalzar gave an almost imperceptible nod and grasped the Paramount’s right hand with his left.

“An old injury,” murmured Zalzar before speaking louder. “Thank you for the welcome, Paramount. It’s an honor for us to meet you.”

When the handshakes ended, Yozef turned again to Reezo. This gave him a brief glimpse of Zalzar’s deformed right hand poking out from under a sleeve.

“We’re pleased to have you visit Orosz City, Ser Seaborn, but is there a specific purpose for your travel?”

“Yes, Paramount,” said the youth, his tone firming as if he were getting into a prepared exposition. “I am here representing my father, Hetman Seaborn, and all members of the Seaborn Clan to invite the Paramount to attend a festival in one month. My father wishes to hold special events for the Paramount’s visit. In addition, he proposes a tour of South Island. Word has reached Seaborn that the Paramount is an admirer of God’s natural creations. Seaborn has wonders not found in any of the other clans and that, to our understanding, would rank among the wonders of all of Anyar. I mention especially Stiltern Fall and the cascading blue pools in the Yastern Valley. With the Paramount’s permission, we would encourage the Paramount to come to our capital, Brudermyn, for the festival. Then we will provide a tour south, ending in Grastor on the east coast where you could board a ship to return.”

You know, that brings up an interesting possibility, thought Yozef. I’ve never been to Seaborn Province, and it’s time to visit all the northern provinces from Pewitt to Pawell. Hell, maybe even Nyvaks. I don’t think the last time I went there to deal with Janko counts.

Almost a minute passed while he considered the new idea. As long as he was in Seaborn and had to go by ship back to the main island, he could move along the northern coast, stopping in Shullick, Devanyo, and Morstryd. The Nyvaks capital, Montron, was inland about thirty miles. He’d have to think about that one. But whether or not he stopped at Nyvaks, the ship could continue to stop at Hartreth, the Pawell capital, and Seapont in Bevans. From there, it was a quick shot through the Normot Gap and on to Adris City for a train home.

“Thank you for the invitation, Ser Seaborn. I will seriously consider it after consulting my schedule around that time. Unless there’s something I absolutely cannot reschedule, I’m inclined to accept the invitation. However, I cannot give you a firm answer at this moment. If you remain in Orosz City for a few days, it will give you time to see what’s here and give me time to check what arrangements are possible. In the meantime, I’m sure you and the rest of your party are tired from the trip. Awlina will see you to your quarters for the evening and arrange for meals. Tomorrow you can visit the rest of the city. Visit anywhere you want in the administration complex. Then I will be happy to host you in the evening, where we can talk further, and you can meet Hetman Orosz and other persons of interest.”

Kolsko Manor

“What is Reezo like?” asked Maera, pausing with a spoonful of soup.

“Young. Ernest. Young . . . well, I guess I already said that. I get the impression of a nice young man. We talked for a while after I told him I would seriously consider the invitation. I guess the next single word I would use is naïve. As we talked, and then later, I showed him some of the administration complex before they were led to their quarters for the evening. Reezo was all wide-eyed and either asked questions or I got the sense he didn’t know what to ask.”

To Yozef’s other side and opposite from where Maera sat, Anarynd shifted a sleeping Odysius to her other arm. Yozef had cut her meat into bite-size pieces so that she could eat the meat with either hand, along with a mashed starchy tuber he couldn’t remember the name of and a steamed green reminiscent of bok choy.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re still deciding whether to accept the invitation, Yozef,” Anarynd remarked.

“There are several reasons why it’s a good idea. It gives me the chance to make one trip and accomplish several goals. You know . . . visiting Seaborn for the first time and getting visits to the northern provinces out of the way. It will make for a longer trip, but otherwise, it would have been two different trips.”

Maera swallowed the previously interrupted spoonful of soup. “I think I should go with you, Yozef.”

He wasn’t surprised. He’d been married to Maera long enough to make predictions.

“Maera!” exclaimed Anarynd. “If the trip begins next month, that will make your pregnancy about three months along. Then, if Yozef does the sailing around the island, that could be another several sixdays.”

“I didn’t have any serious problems with either Aeneas or Anida, and so far, everything is the same as then. Yes, I have a little nausea now . . . that’s why soup was the only thing that sounded palatable tonight. But if the pattern stays the same, that will fade in the next month. I can plan to go and always cancel if something changes by the time to leave. Anyway, I don’t have to continue with the province visits. I can come straight back here after Seaborn.”

Anarynd turned to Yozef. “You don’t think this is a good idea, do you?”

He took another sip of the Mittack wine before answering, not wanting to take sides. “I admit I’d prefer Maera not go, but I suspect she’s thinking it will be a full year before she can travel again.”

Maera rose from her chair, leaned over, kissed Yozef on the cheek, and sat again in her chair. “Thank you, dear. That’s just what I’m thinking. By the time we get back, it won’t be long before my condition prevents any significant travel, and then there’s the recovery and breast-feeding for the first five or six months. This is a chance to do something before that and visit Seaborn, the only clan I haven’t traveled to. Sissel only has a few contacts there in her women’s network, but this would be my chance to meet them and possibly add a few more members. They also have a library at the cathedral in Brudermyn. Sistian once told me they are supposed to have some of the oldest manuscripts on Caedellium. While you’re at some boring meetings or events that I don’t need to attend, I can take that time to assess exactly what they have. If the manuscripts seem important enough, we could arrange to have them copied for the main library here in Orosz City.”

Anarynd looked back and forth between her two marriage partners. “I see this is one of those times when I’m outnumbered.”

Maera reached across the table to hold Anarynd’s hand. “I honestly don’t think there’s any danger. Otherwise, I wouldn’t propose traveling. I also think you’ll be all right here. Your own pregnancy has been easy, and you have plenty of help. There. It’s settled. I won’t continue with Yozef after Seaborn but will return here. You know me well enough, Ana. Do you honestly think I would take risks?”

“I know, I know. I just worry about you and the baby. I sometimes think the two of you don’t worry enough about things.” Anarynd laughed. “Of course, I’ll admit I may worry too much. Maybe it’s the phase of pregnancy I’m in.”

“How about this, Ana?” said Maera. “We’re having the Seaborn party here for the evening meal tomorrow night. Both you and I can meet them, talk with them, and see if we’re confident about my visiting the province. We’ll also insist that Yozef take his regular bodyguards, plus some dragoons. You know . . . just in case. Even that is probably excessive because what’s going to happen in a place as remote as Seaborn?”

The next evening, the Seaborn party arrived at Kolsko Manor and was met with what Yozef called a “mixer,” where people mingled, having a chance to chat at least briefly with all attendees before the meal. Reezo and Zalzar appeared ill at ease at first, then slowly relaxed during the next hour.

Yozef had told Reezo that his two “guards” were also invited. The Seaborn son didn’t comment on the status of those two companions, eliciting a groan from Zalzar and a smile exchanged with Yozef. Nevertheless, Reezo demurred, saying the two guards were being entertained by Toowin Kales at the Orosz City Snarling Graeko franchise.

Tomis Orosz brought his wife, along with a son and a daughter, both around Reezo Seaborn’s age. Helping was Shurla Aston, who seemed to have captivated Reezo Seaborn within moments of their meeting. Abbot Parwyn of St. Wyan’s cathedral was accompanied by his wife and another teenage child. A dozen other people and spouses rounded out the gathering.

Carnigan and Synton insisted on being present, promising to look inconspicuous. Yozef choked off a laugh upon hearing the declaration.

The evening’s meal came off well. Maera sat next to Reezo and grilled him, charmingly, on Seaborn, a topic the hetman’s son was relieved to talk about.

“I think he was eager to discuss a comfortable topic,” said Maera after the last guest had left. “At his age and never having been off Seaborn, I think all this was a bit overwhelming.”

“What? Meeting the Paramount?” Yozef initially teased. He then assumed a more thoughtful expression. “But yes, I agree about meeting the Paramount, not necessarily me. Plus, there’s everything else. Penmawr might have been the biggest city he’s ever seen, and Orosz City is still bigger.”

“Well . . . I think he’s very nice,” said Anarynd. “I just wonder why his father sent him as the emissary. I would have thought it would be the heir. You know . . . the oldest brother. What’s his name?”

“Santee,” answered Maera. “That’s what Shurla found in the records. There’s another brother and four sisters. One other thing I got out of him was about those two natural wonders he gushed about. They do sound like something amazing. Even better, he assures us that there are roads wagons can use. I won’t have to ride horseback if I come along. Yozef, I don’t think there’s a danger with my riding a horse. I checked with Sister Twylin at St. Wyan’s. She thought there was little chance of harm to the baby, but why take a chance? I didn’t say anything further to Reezo, but I’ll let you press him tomorrow about whether the roads are really good enough and for which kind of wagons or carriages?”

CHAPTER 29

PENMAWR

Orosz City to Penmawr

“God’s Mercy!” exclaimed Maera.

Yozef was half dozing on the train carriage bench next to his wife. The leaf spring modifications brought by Mark Caldwell smoothed out the worst jolts on wagons and horse-drawn train carriages, but she found that the swaying motion and residual smaller jolts were inimical to deep sleep.

“What?” he muttered, rousing from a state between sleep and full consciousness.

Maera was gazing out the open carriage window. “I assume that’s Penmawr ahead of us. I can make out buildings up against the sea, but it looks like a huge fire south of the city.”

She moved to the opposite bench and turned sideways to continue looking out while Yozef took her place. Both stared at two pillars of smoke rising hundreds of feet into the air and flowing out over the water.

“Oh . . . that’s not a fire . . . at least, not one out of control. It’s the ironworks near Penmawr. The prevailing winds here are east to west. That’s why the complex was built on a peninsula that juts out farther west than the city. Hopefully, our planning is correct that the smoke won’t drift over Penmawr on many days of the year. The city also sits well away from significant hills and mountains, which will keep any smoke from collecting and lingering.”

He didn’t mention his hope that the smoke would mainly bypass Seaborn Province to the west. Supposedly, the prevailing winds would take the smoke just south of the islands. To the north, smoke from the Swavebroke plants would go well north of the islands.

“Good,” said Maera. “It took time for Diera and the other leading medicants to study your claims of the health hazards of smoke.” She laughed. “I remember Hetmen Vandinke being apoplectic when you mandated that the new crushing mills had to be moved from where he had started building them.”

“Yes, it would have been less hassle to just have the iron ore from Vandinke Province shipped directly west, but it’s important to spread the industrial development among the provinces as much as possible. Vandinke doesn’t have the biggest iron deposits, but eventually, we want to tap the copper, zinc, and lead veins in the central and northern parts of the province. If we don’t start paying attention to environmental effects right from the start, it’ll just make things harder later on. They started building the crushing mills too close to their capital. However, I give Eldor Vankinke credit for taking initiative to want to start getting ready even though the rail line into Vandinke is a year away.”

The train entered a curve into a stand of trees, losing the distant view of Penmawr. They were three days from Orosz City. From Orosz City, their three-carriage train had left at midmorning for the fifty-mile leg to arrive just before dark at Cherona, capital of Bultecki Province. The slow pace was caused by the three-thousand-foot elevation rise between the two cities.

The pace was faster the second day as they descended into Stent Province and changed horse teams less often than on the way to Cherona. In the flatter land of central Stent, they passed ranches and farms before spending the second evening as guests of Hetman Welman Stent. The next morning, they left at first light to be sure of arriving in Penmawr before darkness.

“Yozef, I’ll admit I’m fascinated about seeing these iron and steel mills. Oh, I see the diagrams and listen to you and Mark explain most of it, but it also sounds more than a little intimidating. Tons of molten metal? And the heat? It must be terrible.”

“It’s definitely not somewhere I would want to work,” said Yozef, “but we’ve tried to ameliorate the worst of it as much as possible through the design of the plants. We’re also trying to cross-train workers so that one man doesn’t spend all of his time under the worst conditions. It’s why the pay is high.

“One advantage of the mills’ site is that two large year-round streams provide power needed for the bellows and other equipment. Otherwise, what we’re doing would be much more difficult. Of course, that will all change once we have steam engines.”

Over the next hour, they had intermittent views of Penmawr and the smoke as they drew nearer. When they were a mile and a half from the center of Penmawr, they identified the twin spires of the St. Iklos Cathedral. Then they passed stakes and twine laying out streets and crews of men and a few women building structures, some at the stage of being foundations and others more complete.

“I understand the reasoning, Yozef, but these neighborhoods being built to house new workers look strange to me . . . so different from anywhere else on Anyar. I’m glad I insisted they leave as many trees as possible. They will make the area seem less . . . cold, I guess is the word I would use. Otherwise, the families would have difficulty feeling comfortable with all the houses looking similar.”

“I agree it’s a problem, but I hope not too much of one. We’re also using your and Heather’s ideas about not making every structure the same. There is a mixture of single-family houses, what we call duplexes, and a few second-story structures of four or six residences. That, along with different-colored paint and slightly different outer features, will help about as much as I think we can right now.

“As the industrial plants come online, the population will increase fast. There has to be both readily available and appealing housing. It will also let us better distribute people if we start bringing in workers from off Caedellium. We don’t want enclaves of Iraquiniks or Landoliners to cluster together too much and not integrate the way we hope.”

“Here comes an escort,” a deep voice called out from the carriage driver’s box. Carnigan eschewed riding inside as much as possible. He, Synton, Toowin, and Gowlin took turns driving the horse teams during the train trip from Orosz City to Penmawr.

“They must’ve had lookouts and updates via telegraph,” suggested another voice, Synton’s. “Looks like a platoon. They’re dressed very pretty and are flying both Paramount and Pewitt banners.”

“Might be the dragoons to accompany us to Seaborn,” said Yozef in a loud-enough voice to be heard atop the carriage.

“Tonight will be to refresh and be hosted by Hetman Pewitt,” he told Maera. “If we stick to the schedule, I’ll have a full day of meetings tomorrow with boyermen and other leading citizens. I’ll settle on the exact schedule with Hetman Pewitt tonight. We’ll try and put all the meetings it would be useful for you to attend first thing in the morning. That way, you can have the rest of the day to visit the main cathedral complex, as you wanted. Then, the next day will be the industrial complex before we sail to Seaborn the following day.”

Yozef had wanted to indulge himself by naming the ironworks in Pewitt Pittsburg, but before he made his wish known, Mark and the Pewitt crews had already used Wungford.

Two Hundred Miles Southwest of Seaborn

Orno Kistek pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Despite the normally mild weather that far southwest of Seaborn Province, an unseasonal cold front had roared through. It had dumped prodigious amounts of rain, dropped the temperature dramatically, and threatened to scatter the squadron of twenty Kolinkan ships. Now, several hours after the front had passed, the ships had regathered in their block formation, sea anchors helping to hold their position, with only an occasional need for ships to adjust.

“Don’t worry, half an hour from now, you’ll be throwing off that cloak. At least, it provided something different from our last two trips here.”

Kistek turned to face Isot Yuguz, the Deathknell’s captain.

“What do you think, Captain Yuguz? Are you willing to gamble that this time is for real?”

“I’m not much of a gambler unless it’s a sure thing.”

“But then it’s not a gamble, is it?”

The Kolinkan captain shrugged and shouted something to a crewman aloft before turning back to Kistek.

“Speaking of a gamble, I heard things when we were back in Onunza. Evidently, not everyone believes this is a good idea.”

Kistek didn’t respond immediately. Such thoughts were not always received kindly back home. Still, he and Yuguz had spent enough time together the last few months to develop an understanding. They knew what could be spoken between the two of them but not to anyone else, including the crew and the officers of all the ships and the fighting men under Kistek’s command.

“Whether or not it has been decided is well above either of our positions. Although I will admit it’s a gamble—with a great reward if we’re successful and unknown consequences if we fail.”

“We had better not fail,” said Yuguz. “I’m not privy to what reward for success our illustrious leaders might give us, but I hope it’s something that will impress even me.”

Kistek didn’t respond—not that he thought the captain expected an answer. He knew more about what had led them to the location where they waited, though not all the details. Even granted that they were given what had been promised, he didn’t know whether he would have made the commitment to attempt their assignment. A great reward should be balanced with greater risk. Kistek did not consider himself a timid man or one overly conservative, but he wondered now, as he had many times, what he would have chosen to do if he actually had a choice.

“Well . . . the decision was made,” said Yuguz. “If we’re going to do this, I hope it’s this time. So far, we’ve lucked out that the Fuomi patrols haven’t stumbled on us. Yes, yes . . . I know we’re supposed to be out of their normal pattern of about a hundred miles from land. But changeable winds or the vagaries of a Fuomi captain mean that limit is not dependable. According to my instructions, if we don’t get the go-ahead in the next three sixdays, we’re to abort and return to Kolinka.”

Kolinkan Ship Sunrider

Frenko Holuska leaned on the port railing. Occasional spray washed over him as the prow hit larger waves. The Sunrider had left Penmawr within hours of Paramount Kolsko’s arrival. The ship carried no passengers, and the cargo holds were almost empty. Both were irrelevant. Events would make neither the Sunrider or any other Kolinkan ship welcome in Caedellium.

Twice before, plans were initiated by alerts from Holuska’s contact in Orosz City—both times to be canceled. There was a limited time the assets could remain in place. Holuska suspected this was the last chance for success before the mission was canceled.

The timing was critical. He needed to rendezvous southwest of the Seaborn islands and then reverse to Brudermyn before Kolsko’s party arrived. Suspicions might be raised if the Sunrider was not moored at Brudermyn, even though it had left Penmawr before Kolsko for the hundred-mile sail.

Wungford, Pewitt Province

“I feel like I’m looking at the gate to hell,” said Maera. She held a hand in front of her forehead to fend off some of the heat and light from the inferno thirty yards away.

“We should back away a bit farther now,” said Ilkar Bomer, the complex director. “The men are about to transfer some of the product into a ladle.”

The referenced receptacle was moving into position, supported by iron scaffolding.

Maera was happy to move farther away, although when Bomer stopped after fifty yards, she couldn’t help but wish he had gone a little farther.

Bomer pointed to the ladle now in position at the furnace. “What you see is brittle iron being turned into cast iron. Then the contents are channeled to molds or rollers, depending on the planned use. At least, that’s the idea. Right now, the current furnace and structures produce smaller batches than we eventually plan. Nearby is the site where we’re further refining the cast iron. It’s also in the test phase before we move to larger batches.

“The first step for all end uses is to convert the ore into brittle iron that’s poured into molds to solidify. That form is only used for further conversions, whether usable iron or steel. So far, all the brittle iron is made here. Some we use, the rest goes to Elmor.”

Mark had needed names for the different forms of iron. Caedelli had words for iron and steel, but pig iron needed a new word—brittle iron was settled on. Cast iron worked and wrought iron became low-carbon steel. Similarly, the Bessemer converters in Shullick became steel converters or simply converters.

“All right,” said Maera, “let’s see if I understand correctly. You put the crushed iron ore from the east into the blast furnace, along with coke and chalk. The coke is made by heating coal in the absence of air, forcing out impurities as gases. The three-component mixture is heated to release iron from the ore. The cast iron is the first usable product. If you want higher-grade iron or steel, air is forced in to drive off impurities. That needs to be removed to form what you consider either low-carbon or poor-quality steel. And the higher-quality steel is made in Swavebroke.”

“Correct, Sen Kolsko,” said Bomer, pointing to a waterwheel-operated bellows using a portion of a diverted stream. “We’ve experimented with making low-carbon steel here at Wungford, but mostly we stick to cast iron and producing the brittle iron that goes to Elmor for higher-quality steel. By forcing air into the furnace, this keeps the temperature high inside and burns off impurities. Adding chalk also helps speed the process tremendously and will let us work on far larger batches.” Bomer grinned, exposing several missing teeth. “That’s what Kaldwel and Yozef say, anyway.”

Maera glanced briefly at Yozef. She had been tempted to ask Bomer if he understood why Yozef’s and Mark’s ideas worked, but she wasn’t sure how much they shared with the site director. Her impression, and based on Yozef’s opinions, was that Bomer was an outstanding manager, but she didn’t know whether he understood any of the chemistry Yozef used to explain the process.

She hadn’t had time to pay attention to all the chemistry her husband was introducing. Yet she had learned enough to understand the chemical symbolism he used and the array of basic elements, many of which had been unrecognized before Yozef. The chalk, also called limestone by Yozef when they were alone, was made up of calcium carbonate—symbolized by CaC03. In the blast furnace, the iron oxides were converted to iron, symbolized as Fe, through a series of steps involving carbon and oxygen.

She had suggested to Yozef that he use symbols based on the Caedelli language, instead of his own English. He answered that his knowledge of chemistry was based on English, and he had enough to do without confusing himself with new symbols. He also pointed out that as the knowledge spread to other realms on Anyar, whether he used English or Caedelli symbols would not make a difference.

“Of course, Sen Kolsko, the Paramount may have explained that as impressive as all this may look, the intention is to expand into much larger production. But before we do that, we have to work out all the details. If it were anyone except Paramount Kolsko, I would tell them and everyone else that they are foolish to carry on with even the existing expansion before we’re positive it will all work. Nearby are several furnaces in the early stages of construction, along with other facilities you haven’t seen yet.”

Bomer shook his head. “As I said, only with the Paramount would I and all the workers here believe this would work right from the start.”

Two hours later, Bomer ended the tour. Maera and Yozef left by horse carriage to return to Penmawr for a private dinner with the hetman’s family. They would leave by ship the next morning for Seaborn.

Maera said, “Bomer and the other workers have total confidence in you, Yozef. I don’t envy you for that. But be honest with me. Were you really that confident to begin with?”

Yozef smiled wryly. “I was confident I knew the basic principles. I just didn’t know the details, and those are always critical. Oh . . . Bomer and the others would have eventually worked it out, but I can’t estimate how many years it might’ve taken. It was Mark showing up that made the difference. I knew the aspects related to chemistry, and he filled in the mechanics of the process just from his engineering experience. There is still time for things to go wrong, but I don’t think anything is stopping us.

“I have to tell you, Maera, that this is one of the projects we’re pushing ahead in just a few years what took my people many decades to reach. That’s the advantage of knowing what’s possible and knowing enough details.”

“And you’re still set that once you have full-sized facilities, the steel production priorities will be all-steel rails and the steam engine projects?”

“I haven’t changed my reasoning. Those two will give us rapid transport throughout the island and the power to run so many other projects. In a way, it’s a similar argument to the way Mark explained lathes. It builds on itself. Once we had the first lathe working, building more of the same, then bigger and better ones, was relatively fast compared to the first one. It also let us branch out and make other machine tools, all of which are indispensable for steam engines and several other projects.”

Penmawr to Brudermyn

The Pewitt honor-and-security platoon lined the gangway leading to the Fuomi sloop that would carry them to the Seaborn capital, Brudermyn. A gaggle of musicians imitating a band played something unrecognizable to Yozef, and several thousand clanspeople crowded the wharf to see the Paramount off. Topping the spectacle, to Yozef’s disgust, was a platform where Hetman Pewitt and other dignitaries waited.

“Oh, God,” Yozef moaned softly. “He’ll want me to give a speech.”

“You know my answer,” said Maera, choking back a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. Suck it up.”

“And remember to speak up so everyone can hear you.”

“Maybe you should give the speech.”

“Make me the Paramount, and I will.”

He squeezed her hand. “One day, dear. Maybe not in our lifetimes, but one day.”

An endless hour later, the sloop drifted away from its moorings, caught the wind in the few unfurled sails, and edged out of Penmawr harbor. Yozef and Maera listened to the captain and the officers shout commands as additional sails were deployed. The couple stood with arms around each other as they waved at the cheering crowd.

CHAPTER 30

SEABORN PROVINCE

Furwyn Sound

The hundred-mile journey sailing west between Penmawr and Brudermyn usually took seven to eight hours with the prevailing easterly winds. The skies were clear the first sixty miles until they came within distant sight of land ahead, and Yozef thought he noticed a slight shift in the wind direction. The Fuomi captain shouted orders, and sailors scampered into the rigging to furl sets of sails.

“We’ll have to hold a position until the wind changes again,” the captain said to Yozef. “The Seaborn man sent to guide us into Brudermyn says the Furwyn Sound is treacherous to enter when the wind is this hard in this direction. I haven’t sailed into the sound before, so I have to trust local knowledge. The man says this kind of wind shift is common as we near Seaborn. It should change again within a few hours.”

Yozef mentally brought up a map of Seaborn. The province included three main islands and scores of rock formations, the latter mainly off the western coasts. Most of the population lived on South Island and the less densely populated East Island. North Island was the largest of the three, but its sparse population was due to jagged terrain that included peaks up to fourteen thousand feet. Nestled between the three islands was Furwyn Sound with Brudermyn on the north coast of South Island.

The captain yelled again in Fuomi, and crewmen furled another set of sails. “The man says the sound acts like a funnel for the winds when they blow like they are right now. Gusts can surprise ships, catch sails, and push hulls against submerged rocks if you are not sure exactly where you are. I’m putting out a sea anchor to keep us from moving much farther than where we are now. We’ll still be drifting west, but if the wind doesn’t let up or change direction in the next hour or two, I’ll have to turn the ship and tack away from the sound.”

“I’m assuming the ship is in no real danger, Captain,” said Yozef with only a hint of a question in his tone. He wondered whether the captain had special orders to take care with the Paramount.

“Not at all, Paramount. We could actually move in closer to the east entrance of the sound, but there’s no reason to.”

Yozef went to the captain’s cabin, which had been made available to him and Maera for the trip’s duration. She lay on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” asked Yozef. “I forgot this is your first time at sea. It never occurred to me you might suffer from seasickness.”

“It’s fine. I’m just about to go back on deck. I think the morning sickness and the rolling deck combined to make me queasy, but I’m feeling much better now. Am I imagining it, or has the ship’s motion changed?”

“The Seaborn guide advised the captain to wait for the wind to change before we enter Furwyn Sound and the last forty miles to Brudermyn. They think we’ll still make the capital before dark.”

Maera swung her legs off the bed and rose to her feet, swaying slightly in rhythm with the ship’s roll. “I’d like to get some air and walk. I think my problem was I forgot your advice to keep watching the horizon and not the deck. I had trouble adjusting to the deck motion. I’ll try and focus better this time.”

Two hours later, Yozef wondered if they would be spending the night at sea. He looked around in time to see the captain approaching.

“The guide says the wind has dropped and shifted enough for us to proceed. We’ll keep to half sails, and if nothing else happens, we’ll make Brudermyn with the sun still up.”

The captain’s estimate was correct. Within half an hour of the crew unfurling more sails, South Island’s coasts were visible off the port and East Island’s to starboard. Maera put an arm around Yozef’s waist and leaned into him.

“The land seems fairly flat, although I get glimpses of distant mountains on South Island. I think I saw a town a while ago, but I’m not sure.”

“Having second thoughts about coming?” asked Yozef. “This was a short trip. I think it’s a good plan for you to go straight home when we return to Penmawr to drop off the Pewitt dragoons who came with us. I could even cancel my circling north of Caedellium to the Gulf of Normot for the province visits.”

She pulled her arm back and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “And have people think the Paramount’s wife is such a weakling he has to escort her home? As I’ve heard you say, ‘Fuh-git-about it!’ I just don’t want you to get tempted by women throwing themselves at you when Ana and I aren’t around.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Oh . . . I think I have more than enough interactions with women as it is. I have the feeling both you and Anarynd would gut me for offending the other one if I strayed.”

She pulled his head down using his beard and gave him a hard kiss. “You’ve got that right.”

When Brudermyn came into view, Yozef was surprised that they kept sailing west.

“We need to circle around reefs blocking a direct approach to the harbor from the east. I’m told another mile and we turn south.”

An advantage to the unexpected detour appeared once they were past the city. By now, the sun sat low in the west and illuminated buildings that had been in shadow from the east. The architecture was striking and vastly different from what Yozef had imagined Brudermyn would be like. In his mind, the most remote and least populated province was poor and less developed than the other provinces. Brudermyn belied that image. The setting sun made the white stone glisten on at least half of the buildings in the city’s main section.

Maera read his mind. “Doesn’t it remind you of the stone used in Abersford with the Cathedral and the Great Hall of the Keelans?”

“Just what I was thinking,” said Yozef. “I’m surprised how many buildings here are made of such stone. I understood that it was expensive and rare, which is why you don’t see it very often on the main island.”

They were a quarter-mile offshore when rowed tugs pulled them to the dock using hawsers. Waiting on shore was an evidently formal delegation that Yozef assumed included Hetman Seaborn, a tall, rangy redhead with gray streaks, standing flanked by men of various ages.

“Maera, remind me again about the Seaborn population.”

“About 20,000. The fewest of any province. Most are on South Island, with about 16,000. The rest are 3,000 on East Island and 1,000 on North Island. As the population indicates, North Island has limited land for farming.”

“They sent a large fraction of their best fighting men to take part in the Battle of Orosz City,” said Yozef. “It was a significant contribution, and I have to be sure to let Hetman Seaborn know of our appreciation.”

They studied the greeting assembly while sailors finished securing the ship to the pier.

“No women,” murmured Maera. “I didn’t read anything about Seaborn that suggested this. There might need to be some work done here.”

“It may be a formality thing,” said Yozef quietly. “I’ve so little experience with Seaborners that I can’t judge. I expected this to be a relatively conservative society with only men in leadership roles. In that case, you would only see mostly men at a first meeting between the hetman with his advisers and the Paramount.”

“I don’t see any kind of honor guard,” said Maera.

“Yeah. I noticed that. Synton’s plan was that the Pewitt men would debark first, but I’m afraid that might send the wrong signal to the Seaborners. What do you think? Should you, I, and our four guards go first and the Pewitt men after the introductions are done?”

“I think that’s all right,” said Maera. “There’s only what . . . about nine or ten of them waiting for us and no obvious arms?”

She glanced over her shoulder at their four guards: Carnigan with his usual fearsome appearance; Synton, who always looked like a carnivore searching for prey; and the more refined but also dangerous looks of Toowin Kales and Gowlin Reese. All were armed, as was Yozef almost everywhere he went that was new or where there was any question of security.

Maera squeezed his arm. “It’s not like you and our four guards couldn’t handle that many, even if they did carry weapons.”

Suddenly, their ears were assaulted. Yozef tensed and looked around. Maera laid a hand on his as he reached for the knife in his belt.

“There, to the right, by the white building. It’s some kind of welcoming music, probably traditional. I read that Seaborn is known for drums and a large version of the skilun.”

Yozef recognized men holding the Caedellium version of a bagpipe, with this version twice as large as any he’d seen before. Fortunately, whatever the piece of music was, it lasted only about a minute.

“I hope that’s the only time we hear Seaborn music,” he said crossly.

“I somehow doubt that,” said Maera, “and you’ll pretend you’re appreciative every time you hear it.”

He groaned, just as a wide gangplank with banner-decorated rails moved into place.

“That’s our cue,” he said and took Maera’s hand on his left. Together, they walked side by side to meet Hetman Seaborn. By the time they were halfway down the gangplank, half of the waiting men had begun small shuffling motions, and they all glanced back and forth among one another.

It’s like Reezo when I first met him, thought Yozef. They’re unsure what the protocol is.

Yozef raised his right hand above his shoulder in greeting and called out, “Hetman Seaborn! Thank you for meeting us. Brudermyn is a beautiful city, as we saw when our ship approached.”

His gesture and words served to freeze the waiting men long enough for Yozef and Maera to reach the bottom of the gangplank and walk three more steps to Hetman Seaborn. Yozef held out his hand. Maera had not found any references to the customary Seaborn greeting between men. Depending on the province, men used either handshakes or forearm clasps. By going first, Yozef was letting Seaborn settle the unknown.

It was a forearm clasp. Seaborn was several inches taller than Yozef. Up close, his red hair held more gray than Yozef had first thought, but there was no weakness in the dark blue eyes set in a lined and tanned narrow face.

“Welcome to Seaborn, Paramount. We’re proud to have you visit our clan. It’s been too long that it hasn’t happened.”

The last sentence had an edge to it. Yozef could tell that Maera was swallowing a laugh. She warned him that Yulan Seaborn was reputedly gruff and plainspoken.

The hetman’s grasp was firm enough that Yozef would’ve preferred to end it, but he didn’t want to be the first to relax. He increased his own grip slightly until Seaborn almost smiled and released first, before turning to three young men to his right.

“Let me introduce my sons. Santee is the heir.”

A man the same height as his father took a half step forward. The resemblance was uncanny. He didn’t hold out his arm and stepped back quickly.

Christ, Yozef thought, it’s like they clone people here. I’ll bet Santee’s older relatives wonder if he’s not an exact copy of Yulan when he was that age.

“And these are my other sons, Mykroft and Reezo, who you’ve already met.”

Mykroft was not an exact replica of his father, but the resemblance was still striking. Not so with Reezo. The youth was five or six inches shorter than the father and the brothers, he had a wider face, and his hair was black—not the red of the other three.

Must take after his mother, Yozef thought. And Mykroft? I always wondered where Sherlock Holmes’s brother lived. He suppressed the urge to snicker.

Seaborn continued introducing the other men, most of whose names Yozef instantly forgot, but he knew Maera would drill him on their names as soon as they were alone. It was again noticeable that no women were present to be introduced.

Then it was Yozef’s turn. “Thank you, Hetman. This is my wife, Maera Kolsko-Keelan. Beside her is Shurla Aston, who is a scholastic of clan histories. Shurla is interested in visiting your records and will be helping Maera in her meetings. Behind me are four good friends, Carnigan Puvey, Synton Ethlore, Toowin Kales, and Gowlin Reese.”

Maera gave a slight nod. Physical contact was not done on Caedellium between men and women, at least on their first meeting, and only later when by mutual assent.

“Welcome to Seaborn, Sen Kolsko-Keelan. Reezo tells me you are a scholar and are interested in visiting the Brudermyn Cathedral and meeting with other scholars while you are here. I’m told they are quite anxious to talk with you and have identified writings Reezo believes you will be most interested in.”

Maera gave another polite slow nod. “Thank you, Hetman Seaborn. I look forward to it. As both my husband and I look forward to learning more about Seaborn. It’s been a negligence we have talked about remedying for quite some time. Reezo has also described some of the natural wonders of Seaborn. We’re anxious to visit them once you and the Paramount are finished with formal affairs.”

“And also welcome to your friends, Paramount. Stories about them traveled back to Seaborn after the battle of Orosz City and through the limited exchanges we have with the rest of Caedellium.” More than a hint of a smile cracked Seaborn’s otherwise stern face. “And I believe we would have recognized Carnigan Puvey even without your introduction.”

A deep bass grunt came from over Yozef’s left shoulder. He didn’t need to look to identify its owner. “Yes, Carnigan is unique.”

Yozef wondered whether Seaborn had ever met anyone that much taller than he was and almost twice as wide. Those characteristics were enough, but the hair redder than the Seaborn family’s and the large, double-edged ax Carnigan had brought along were additional giveaways.

“I know I won’t need the ax,” Carnigan had said when Yozef questioned the need to bring the weapon. The big man could swing it like a baton with one hand, while other men had trouble using two arms—with perhaps the exception being Mark Caldwell. “We don’t know these people, and a little extra intimidation is never a bad idea. I’ll also have Mark’s destrex cannon.”

What are you going to do with those monsters? Yozef had thought. We’re not leaving from Brudermyn, so you’ll have to carry the ax and that .90 caliber rifle everywhere we go.

Seaborn stood to one side and gestured for the mainlanders to accompany him. “We’ll take carriages to a residence we’ve prepared for you and your party, Paramount. It’s very close to where I live, and you will be dining with my family this evening.”

“Uh . . . two squads of Pewitt dragoons are aboard the Fuomi sloop. I’m afraid I was overruled when I didn’t think we needed them, Yulan. If I may call you by your first name, Hetman?”

The Seaborn leader grunted. “I believe the Paramount can call anyone anything he wants.”

“Then it’s Yulan. And you must call me Yozef. Titles and last names are barriers to friendship.”

The hetman cleared his throat. “Very well . . . Yozef.”

Before they got to the carriages, Yozef had a question.

“Yulan, I noticed a couple of two-masted sailing ships in the harbor as we approached. They didn’t look like a Fuomi style. I assume they must be traders? From where?”

“They’re Iraquinik. We see an occasional Iraquinik trader here or at the harbor on the south coast of North Island. Usually, they’re from Aro or Ponomyna, less often from Gympo. Right now, there’s a ship each from Kolinka and Ponomyna in the harbor. They bring us finished tools, and we trade with them our grain and meat. That’s here in Brudermyn. From the port at Arglar on North Island, we trade with ore from a mine. The Iraquiniks purify lead and silver from the ore back in Kolinka. Before the Narthani came, the ore trade had just begun, and it’s started again in the last few months.”

Yozef glanced at Maera and raised the eyebrow opposite from Yulan to catch her attention.

“So, you don’t process the ore yourselves?”

“We don’t know how it’s done. That’s one of the topics I wanted to discuss to see if you know of the procedure. I don’t know how the Iraquiniks found out that this type of ore is on North Island because it was news to us when an Aro trader talked with us about it. All we knew before was that we had a certain type of North Island rock.”

I wonder if he’s talking about galena? thought Yozef. I vaguely remember that’s the most common type of ore for lead on Earth. Hell . . . it’s one of the few ores I know anything about. I’ll bet Mark knows more.

As he recalled, the mass of lead that could be isolated from galena was something like two orders of magnitude more than silver, but silver was the main economic product because it was so much more valuable than lead—at least, on Earth.

“Anyway, the Kolinkan ship you saw arrived earlier today. It’s been sailing back and forth between Brudermyn and Penmawr the last few months carrying cargo and passengers. This is the first time we’ve seen it in the last month, and we wondered whether something had happened. I haven’t followed the details, but I hear the trading has been odd. They’ve been buying cured meat, wheat, and barley. One day, the Kolinkans seem willing to pay higher prices than expected and the next day do not seem interested in buying at all. When available, sometimes they buy furs, even if of poor quality. He says they transfer the cargo to another Kolinkan ship in Penmawr, and that one returns to Iraquinik. We’ve wondered whether Kolinka is having a famine. Whatever . . . we appreciate the gold they bring.”

Yozef filed away thoughts of Kolinkans and galena for later. They arrived at the first two carriages, and Yulan held the door open. Yozef glanced over his shoulder. The Pewitt dragoons were following about thirty yards behind, two men abreast, carrying weapons, packs, and bags with clothing changes. By arrangement, the men would not continue with the Paramount’s party after the South Island tour. The Fuomi ships returning the Paramount’s party to the main island would take them and Penmawr before Yozef continued on the north provinces tour.

“I fear we did not bring enough carriages or wagons for the Pewitt dragoons, Paramount,” said Yulan. “I’ve sent for more, and we’ll have to wait until they arrive.”

“How far will we be traveling?” asked Yozef.

“No more than a mile and a half.”

“No need then,” said Yozef. “Dragoons should be able to do that, carrying everything with them at a run.”

Yozef intended to make a serious inspection of the Seaborn dragoons during the visit. It didn’t hurt to remind Hetman Seaborn about the expected condition of the clan militia’s ready units.

In contrast to the relatively sparse reception at the harbor, people lined the Brudermyn streets. Many waved small flags matching the banners hung from buildings—banners and flags for the Seaborn Clan and the green and silver stars of the Caedellium symbol, which was seen more and more often.

The size of the crowd impressed Yozef, but the dearth of vocalizations surprised him. An occasional child yelled out, often immediately shushed by adults who waved, bowed, curtsied, or stood silent. Maera gave a slight shrug when he glanced at her.

As they moved from the harbor area, the number of buildings made of the white stone increased until they reached the Penmawr center. Yulan pointed out the clan headquarters, the province’s main registrar office, the cathedral complex, and buildings whose names he gave without describing what went on inside.

I guess we got the quick tour of the city, thought Yozef when the carriage left the city center. Structures of wood and other stone increased in frequency as they ascended a low hill where the streets zigzagged toward a top with more white stone structures.

“Our family compound is on top of Bildorn Hill,” said Yulan. “Nearby are residences of prominent citizens and the home where you will stay. We weren’t expecting the Pewitt dragoons, so it will take some time to clear space in an adjoining structure.”

The carriage passed through a stone wall and pulled up to a building. Three men and three women stood waiting, lined up on both sides of the main door.

“These people will be your servants while you’re in Brudermyn,” Yulan stated. “They will help in any way they can.”

He then said something to those six. Yozef couldn’t quite make out the words, but the three men rushed to the rear of the carriage where baggage was stowed. The second carriage had transported the four Kolsko bodyguards. Yozef raised his left eyebrow and looked down at Maera when the three servant women went to collect the guards’ baggage. She shrugged.

An angry woman’s voice rang out. Yozef looked to see one of the women trying to take possession of a large bag Carnigan held after already removing it from the second carriage. The big man was speaking to the woman, but Yozef couldn’t tell what he was saying because her voice was so loud. Yozef was uncertain whether he should intervene, not knowing Seaborn customs. Carnigan solved whatever the problem was when he released the bag, which immediately hit the ground. The woman failed to pick it up after several tries and began dragging it toward the residence’s door. Carnigan let out a booming laugh, picked up the woman and the bag, and walked to the door, which was now opened by a man carrying bags from the first carriage. The woman had quit speaking, apparently satisfied that she had possession of the bag, irrespective of the exact mechanism of the bag’s transport.

Yulan gestured and led the way. When they reached the ornate wooden door, Yozef got his first close look at the white stone.

Some kind of marble, he thought. He ran a hand across the surface and leaned closer for a better look. When he’d seen it from the sea and while passing through the city, he had thought it was the same as the marble in Keelan. Now he saw that it lacked the fine, gold-colored veins of marble in Caernford. This marble was pure white, smooth, and unpolished, which he’d at first assumed. Must be very fine-grained. It also somehow looks familiar.

Then he remembered. It looked close, if not identical, to the marble used for the outside of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. One summer, his family had flown to visit relatives just south of Baltimore. They stayed a week and twice went into the capital. One day, they visited the Lincoln Memorial. For some reason, Yozef could recall reading a description of the memorial in a travel book, both the history of its building and the source of the materials. The outer marble was chosen for its known hardness and weather resistance. It was called Yule (pronounced You-lay) marble from Colorado. Whereas most types of marble came from open-pit mining, this marble was from an enormous formation inside a mountain and had been obtained in tunnels that had originally been dug by silver prospectors.

“Yulan, the stone reminds me of one particular building where I came from. It was a memorial honoring a great leader of our past. I might like to talk with you about getting some of this sent to Orosz City. Are there other places in Caedellium that have the same stone?”

“Well . . . I haven’t visited all the clans since I became hetman. When I was the heir, I spent a month traveling the main island but only got to twelve provinces. I didn’t see any other stone like what we have here.”

“Maera, what do you think?”

“I can’t be positive, but this seems much whiter and smoother than the building stone I’ve seen in other provinces, although, like Yulan, I haven’t visited everywhere.”

“You will have to let me know how much of the stone you would want, Paramount. It’s not easy to transport. You see many buildings made of the stone here in Brudermyn, but they are structures built over a century. It’s mined from the center of North Island and has to be transported first over very difficult terrain and then only a few blocks at a time to South Island. We don’t have large ships.”

Yulan Seaborn stopped at the top step of the structure. He and Yozef were the last ones outside.

“I’ll leave you for now. We’ve arranged a meal and a social occasion next door at our home. I know you and Sen Maera are probably tired from the voyage, but we’ll keep it short . . . if that’s agreeable with the Paramount. Reezo will come to you in about an hour.”

Yozef would have preferred a quick meal and bed, but duty was duty. “That sounds fine, Yulan. We look forward to it.”

I hope such little lies don’t add up, he thought, in case there actually is some kind of judgment day.

An hour later, after a quick rinse and a clothing change, Yozef and Maera, arm in arm, were led into the entry hall of the hetman’s residence. They passed a receiving line of people and were given introductions, most of which he promptly forgot, again confident Maera would remember every detail.

I really should pay more attention, he thought. I get too blasé about her taking care of such things.

At the end of the introduction line was a large room with more people, these not introduced, and tables with trays of food.

“Snack items, you call them,” said Maera, eyeing food with a markedly similar appearance to what had been served at the Kolsko Manor “mixer” for Reezo and Zalzar.

“Looks like the son gave his father a detailed report on the proper evening format for a Paramount,” whispered Yozef. “Hope this doesn’t go on as long as ours did.”

“Well, I don’t know about you,” said Maera, “but I’m famished. I couldn’t eat while we were rocking on the ship, but I seem to have recovered. And after all, I’m eating for two.”

He patted the arm he held and steered them toward a table of sustenance.

When the evening event ended, Yozef and Maera were gratified it hadn’t lasted as long as they’d feared. As promised, Hetman Seaborn had moved the occasion along. After a few minutes at a table of savory tidbits, the hetman had shepherded them to brief conversations with those whom they assumed were the more prominent clansmen. This small talk lasted perhaps three-quarters of an hour before a smaller group moved elsewhere in the residence for a meal.

Finally, Maera sagged onto the bed.

“I admit I overate. Plus, I think my feet puffed up. My shoes feel too tight. That’s what happened in the first months when I carried Aeneas, but it didn’t happen with Anida.” She smiled. “Does this mean it’s a boy?”

“I’m afraid that for us to be sure of the relationship between our children’s sex and your swollen feet, it would take more children than even you and Anarynd might wish for.”

“We’ll see. But what about the schedule for this visit? We added a few extra days to the proposal that Reezo took back to his father . . . in case there were delays. There weren’t, so we’re here for what? Two sixdays?”

“That plus one day,” he said. “I expected it would end up less than that, but everything went smoothly getting out of Orosz City and on the trip here, so we’re stuck. The date arranged for the initial semaphore message is unchangeable. Something of an irony. If we had telegraph contact with Penmawr, we could move the event forward a few days, which we can’t because we don’t.”

After the episode with Janko Nyvaks, Yozef had been concerned about not keeping all the clans connected. That gave him the idea to accelerate plans for a semaphore connection to Seaborn—as the fallback because an undersea telegraph cable was far in the future. Hetman Seaborn had confirmed the date for sending the initial semaphore messages from the Pewitt station northwest of Penmawr to a mountaintop at the easternmost point of South Island. The two stations stood at 2,000 feet and 3,000 feet, respectively, and were separated by 32 miles. Yozef didn’t know what the longest distance between optical semaphore stations had been on Earth, but he doubted it was even close to 32 miles. He felt confident it would be practical here for only three reasons: the altitude of the two stations, the assurances that prevailing winds and infrequent coastal fogs lay lower than the stations, and the unobstructed line of sight over water. Even then, it required two specially made ten-foot-long telescopes produced by a dedicated shop in Norwyt, the capital of Hewell Province. Despite tests done by the craftsmen and later at Orosz City, Yozef was only moderately sure the magnification and the lens’s clarity were sufficient.

The telescope for the Seaborn end of the semaphore gap was still aboard the Fuomi sloop. Tomorrow, care would be taken to move it to land for its trip to its mountaintop home, accompanied by one of the Hewell craftsmen who would supervise the telescope’s installation in an enclosing structure designed to minimize movement from tremors caused by nature or humans. In theory, problems would be worked out before the Paramount’s tour party met Hetman Seaborn at the station peak on the day of the inaugural message exchange. Even then, the weather was the uncontrolled factor. Yulan Seaborn had confirmed his son’s assertion that the Seaborn Straight, the stretch of ocean between Seaborn and Pewitt provinces, was clear most days this time of year.

Southern Coast of South Island, Seaborn Province

At sunset, Frenko Holuska reached the hilltop. It was one of several sites he had selected, scattered around South Island, where he could light a signal fire. His excuse for being on this part of the island was to explore potential additional ports besides Brudermyn. His reason was weak but not bad enough to raise excessive suspicions in a naïve populace.

On that first trip to this site, he had gathered enough dead wood for a fire that would be seen ten to fifteen miles at sea. At that time, he then scattered the wood on the unlikely chance that someone would stumble upon this exact location and wonder why a person had gathered wood at this remote, uninhabited piece of the Seaborn Clan’s South Island.

Getting to the spot had been strenuous. He’d left his horse a mile away, it being faster to go on foot alone, rather than attempt to ride or even lead a horse up the steep, rock-strewn slope on the eastern side of the hill where he now stood. He gave himself a few minutes to recover, took several long swallows of water, and broke off a hunk of dry cheese. He chewed it while he gathered the wood again. He estimated he had two hours until he needed to light the fire. Although Holuska had no timepiece, he was naturally adept at estimating time’s passage. He would tend the fire for three hours, keeping the flames at least eight feet high in the air. The single ship in the Kolinka squadron was supposed to be on station two hours after sunset. There would be no acknowledgment from the ship. After those hours passed, he would use dirt to smother the fire and scatter the remains enough that only someone walking directly over them would know there’d been a fire—and even that was a remote possibility.

CHAPTER 31

A PARAMOUNT/HETMAN DÉTENTE

The next day’s schedule called for attending a special service at St. Elfin’s Cathedral to allow Abbot Rupasz to bless the Paramount and his first visit to Seaborn. Hundreds of people more than there was seating for crowded inside and stood or sat on the floor. Outside, several thousand more attendees packed the cathedral complex square. Rupasz had promised a short service, acknowledging that the Paramount had limited time and a packed schedule of activities the rest of the day. The abbot started with a prayer, followed by charges to the faithful and the congregation’s responses. It was similar but not identical to services Yozef had attended in other provinces. Rupasz then followed with what had come to be a statement of God’s grace in sending Yozef Kolsko to Caedellium in its time of greatest need. Yozef had heard the basics so many times, he had almost ceased to be as uncomfortable as the first times he’d heard of his savior status. Almost.

Hetman Seaborn then spoke for fifteen minutes on Seaborn’s history. Yozef would have given good odds that Yulan had said the exact same words hundreds, if not thousands, of times. He then finished with a welcome to the Paramount. Maera had primed Yozef that he would be called on for a few words. Which is what he gave . . . a few words lasting no more than four minutes.

Finally, Abbot Rupasz stood again in front of the people, read a passage from The Word, gave a homily on the duties of the devout, and closed with a short prayer asking for God’s grace.

Yozef thought that was the end of the service until a small group of musicians began playing a familiar melody, and thousands of voices inside and outside joined in.

Nearer, my God, to you, nearer to you!

Thanking you for your gracious gifts,

I feel nearer to you.

Nearer, my God, to you, nearer to you.

Forgive all my faults, Dear God,

Strengthen my soul.

Nearer to you, my God, nearer to you.

Even if darkness comes,

I draw nearer to you.

Nearer to you, my God, nearer to you.

. . .

Yozef could only remember the first few verses of this song, one of the many music pieces that Heather Chen had introduced. “Nearer My God to Thee” was a favorite hymn of her mother. Yozef’s main experience with the song was from the movie Titanic he once watched on TV with Julie. Fifteen hundred passengers and crewmembers died when the ship sank. Of the several wrenching scenes, the one that affected him the most was the final band scene. The members, instead of trying to save themselves, continued playing music as the ship settled into the icy North Atlantic waters. The band’s final piece was “Nearer My God to Thee.”

The song’s theology did not fit the common Caedellium practice, but a sister at St. Wyan’s in Orosz City had worked with Heather on creating appropriate lyrics. This version had been sung for the first time only a few months ago, and Yozef was surprised it had reached Seaborn so quickly.

When the last verse faded, Rupasz called out, “Selah,” and was answered by the congregation.

“I’m surprised this hymn got here so fast,” said Yozef to Reezo as they exited the cathedral. “It’s only a few months old in Orosz City.”

“Only that old?” said Reezo, surprised. “Maybe one of the other members of my party heard it at St. Wyan’s and introduced it here.”

Yozef endured half an hour of clasping forearms and being patted reverently on various parts of his anatomy before Yulan Seaborn whisked them away. Meetings were planned for the rest of the morning, leaving the afternoon open for further meetings requested by either the Paramount or the hetman. Yozef suggested “strongly” that he and Yulan first meet separately before involving others. Yozef had never met Yulan Seaborn until this trip and wanted time to assess the hetman before different dynamics occurred. At the suggestion of Maera and Shurla, Yozef’s tack should be bluntness. So he dove straight in as soon as the two men were seated at a table in the clan’s administrative headquarters overlooking the Brudermyn harbor.

“So, Yulan . . . how do you feel about Seaborn being part of a united Caedellium, instead of being completely independent as you were before the Narthani came?”

The hetman took several long moments to stare expressionless at Yozef before answering.

“Getting straight to difficult issues, are we? Rumors have been that the stranger to Caedellium who now rules the islands is not fond of dancing around. I suspect what they say is true.”

Yozef noticed Yulan used the plural islands when referring to Caedellium. In contrast, other Caedelli would have used Caedellium—the difference implying multiple islands that make up Caedellium versus the single main island. It was indicative of how Yozef suspected the Seaborners viewed themselves.

“You asked,” Yulan said, “so I’ll assume you want an honest answer. I don’t like it. It’s hard enough being hetman to my people without having to account for the implications of being tied so tight to the other clans. My people have a long history of feeling only a weak connection to them. Oh . . . I’m sure much of that is the physical separation. Most Seaborners never leave our islands, so have little experience even with Pewitt and Swavebroke, the two closest. There’s also the sense those other clans view us as somehow more primitive than themselves—not something to engender fondness.

“At the All-Clan Conclave that voted on the unified command for the war against the Narthani, I was one of the least supportive hetmen, as you well know because you were there and played a significant role in getting everyone’s agreement.”

“Yet you did agree in the end,” said Yozef.

“Only after seeing the inevitable. It was going to happen, and Seaborn staying out of the fight was irrational. If the Narthani had won, our fate would have been decided. Thus, our only chance for any kind of independence was if the clans won. Of course, if the other clans had won without us, who knows how we would have been regarded? I had to decide that our only option was to make whatever contributions we could.”

“Your eight hundred men played an important role in the final battle,” Yozef assured him. “All the clans respect your contribution, particularly with the difficulty of getting your men across the Seaborn Strait while it was under Narthani control.”

Yulan only nodded while stroking his beard.

“On the other hand,” said the hetman, “all three of my sons disagree with me. Santee and Mykroft spent several months on the main island, with Santee spending six months serving as my representative in Preddi before the Narthani left. I don’t believe you met him, but it was a chaotic time. It gave them a chance to see the degree of devastation the Narthani inflicted on the Preddi Clan, along with the efforts to put the clan back together. Santee and Mykroft also fought at the Battle of Orosz City, which gave them connections to others who fought, and they witnessed the commitment and sacrifices of the other clans in ridding us of the Narthani scourge. Both of them returned to Seaborn with far different opinions than when they left. I didn’t experience what they did, but I respect them both. Plus, Santee will one day be hetman, and it is obvious he has more of a commitment to the other clans than I will ever have. It’s a poor hetman who insists on following a path he knows will change with his passing. If changes from my generation are inevitable, it’s my duty to assume a smooth transition, rather than suppress changes that will come more abruptly once I’ve passed into the next existence.”

Yulan held up his hand to forestall what Yozef was about to say.

“And then there’s Reezo. He’s my third son, and, with God’s grace to protect his older brothers and their sons, Reezo will never be hetman. However, while I would never tell anyone in my family, I believe he’s the brightest of all my children. Well . . . perhaps except for his twin sister, Thala.

“I decided to send Reezo to deliver our invitation because I wanted to get another opinion of what was happening elsewhere and of you, Paramount. It also was a chance for him to broaden his experience.”

Yulan smiled. “Although he came back with views consistent with his brothers’, as with many youths, he was more unrestrained in his opinions and is apparently a complete convert to the idea of a united Caedellium.”

The hetman paused. Yozef sensed there was more to come.

“I’ll also admit, Paramount, that the Narthani threat is reason enough to know Seaborn’s days of relative independence are over. Only the tradition-bound clansmen can believe we can exist in relative isolation.”

“The raid on Nollagen,” Yozef stated.

Yulan sighed. “It was a shock and forever banished the idea that we were apart from happenings elsewhere. Yes . . . the Narthani blockage of trade hurt us, but at least we felt our islands were physically intact and unmarred by violence. That ended with the burning of Nollagen and the killing and taking captive of its people.

“I’ll also tell you that the return of Senwina Kardyl and her two children was a thunderbolt possibly even more impactful than the original raid. Time had partially healed the wounds in our people’s souls. Then her return ripped open the scars. Any lingering resentment about Seaborn losing complete independence is gone from all but a very few of the most obstreperous Seaborners. And they have few people willing to listen to their complaints.”

“So, where are we, Hetman? Do I understand you correctly that Seaborn’s reluctant membership in the Caedellium union is a thing of the past? If yes, then where do we go from here?”

Yulan smiled wryly. “Isn’t that something you should be telling me, Paramount?”

“I have ideas for the future, Yulan, but I don’t perceive myself to be an absolute ruler, as exists in many Anyar realms. Even if I believed I had that power, I don’t think it is the best way forward. The future of Caedellium cannot be my vision alone but must be our vision. Yes, I have strong opinions. I will try to persuade when I can and act on my own whenever possible, and when I think I’m not going counter to the people. However, in the long term and for the best future, we need to act together.”

“That sounds good,” said Yulan, “and I will hope that’s the case, though only time will tell if you can or will do as you say. However, it begs the question of what are your visions?”

“Safety of the people comes first,” said Yozef. “Nothing else is possible without that. As we are all too aware, this is a dangerous world. The Narthani are still out there. On the other hand, I want to avoid Caedellium being too involved. We’ve already suffered enough. I’m sure you recognize it’s a delicate balancing act.

“My first vision is that Caedellium becomes too poisonous a morsel for any power to make serious attempts directly against us. The obvious major threat is the Narthani, but from what I’ve learned, some of the Iraquinik states are potential dangers. I would also not rule out Landolin. What happened to the Narthani army at Orosz City is a lesson I want to be sure is known throughout this part of Anyar.

“What is certain is that we can’t be as unprepared as Caedellium once was. The likeliest threat is for the Narthani to eventually try to subjugate us again. It’s why we have a small core of permanent military units, the ready units from each clan, and the requirement that all Caedelli men and many women have enough training to form functional military units on relatively short notice.”

Yulan shrugged. “I’ve done as required, and we have the assigned number of men forming ready units, but we have no permanent military on our islands. I assume you understand why. Were Caedellium to be invaded again, such units would be isolated. Still, even though I say I understand, it’s something that gives my clanspeople reasonable worry.”

“There’s no denying that Seaborn is in a unique situation because of its physical separation from the rest of Caedellium,” said Yozef. “In extreme cases, your ready units might be required to come to the mainland to fight, leaving the rest of your trained people to mount a defense. The only thing I can see to do is for us . . . and by that, I mean you, the Seaborn people, and the rest of Caedellium through the powers of my position, to prepare mountain refuges to retire to until the threat is eliminated.

“I know it’s not a palatable option, but is there really any other? And let’s be honest. How likely is it that someone, even the Narthani, will want to subjugate only Seaborn Province? Even as a base for other purposes, with its isolation, rugged terrain, and relatively small population hiding in the mountains, Seaborn is hardly an attractive target.

“This is also why I propose some differences with the Seaborn military’s contributions. The other clan’s permanent military will be extremely well trained, down to the lowest ranks, because, in case of a general mustering of forces, those people will assume higher ranks. For example, a man who is a squad leader for ten men will jump to leading a platoon of forty men. A company commander will move to battalion commander. My thinking is that Seaborn would have a small number of key men three or four months at a time on the main island, rotating back to Seaborn and with other men taking their places. It’s not ideal, but it would allow Seaborn to be seen as contributing to the permanent military while maintaining a level of leadership at home.”

The Seaborn hetman had listened intently, alternately stroking his beard and using a thumb to rub the opposite hand’s palm.

“I’ll want to think on this some more and talk with the advisers and my sons, but my first impression is to agree with the general principles of what you say. The one problem is that to prepare the redoubts as the other clans did before the Narthani’s main invasion will take major resources . . . something the Seaborn Clan is short of. Things have eased in the last months, but we still suffer from shortages incurred from years of the Narthani isolating us from trade.”

Yozef suppressed a smile. They were about to move to the point where he had some of the strongest arguments for the union.

“That is just one advantage of being a genuine part of greater Caedellium: No clan has to depend totally on itself in times of need. Although each clan must make every effort to support itself, help is available. I haven’t been here long enough to know everything that needs doing, but you can provide ideas that will be seriously considered. For example, I noticed the harbor piers need significant repairs and several buildings in Brudermyn, likewise. I’m assuming such repairs were postponed because of a lack of resources. I’m confident we can help with those. Plus, doubtless elsewhere in Seaborn are roads, harbors, irrigation dams, schools, and other structures that need work.

“Then there could be major new projects. I don’t know yet what those might be, but serious thought can be given to them. It might be a good idea if I send a team of people experienced in such projects here to Seaborn. They could work with your own people to make suggestions.”

“But how would we pay for this?” asked Yulan. “The supply of coin is so low here that I had to mandate no changes in prices and establish a formal barter system.”

Yozef’s left eyebrow shot up. “A barter system for the entire province?”

“Yes. It was a desperate move. Oh . . . family and neighbors helped support one another, but the movement of food and other goods any distance had threatened to come to a complete halt. Now, we have local officials, scholastics, and theophists keeping detailed records, connecting relevant parties for barters, and investigating attempts to take advantage of people in dire need.”

“And this actually works?” asked Yozef, dubious.

“It’s a nightmare. But things are still better than the alternative, as it was before.”

Yozef attempted to rub his chin, still harking back to his days before the beard.

“Okay, so it sounds like you need an influx of coin. It can’t be sudden, or it would create chaos.”

Shit, Yozef thought. Now I wish Mark or Heather were economists to deal with this. Hell . . . now that I think of it, the whole economic setup in Caedellium needs work, and I’m a person who skated through a required economics course, just paying enough attention to pass.

“I may have to seek outside help. Maybe the Fuomi or Landoliners. I don’t know enough about economics . . . uh . . . how trade and coin flow to influence decisions. What we can do is try to stabilize your situation until we can have a real plan.”

“Paramount, I think we’ve drifted into subjects best discussed with more people present. My advisers and sons.”

“Oh . . . sorry. You’re right. We can bring these ideas up in the following meeting. I will give one more example of how we can help Seaborn. The silver ore that you’re shipping to the Iraquinik kahsaks. It’s got to be rich enough in silver to justify shipping. There are mining and smelting engineers from at least ten other provinces who could advise you on doing the smelting here in Seaborn.”

“Engineer? What’s this? A craftsman?”

“Uh . . . it’s a word from my original homeland. It’s the title for a particular level of craftsman who builds things or plans and directs certain tasks. So, there are mining engineers who are masters of digging mines, smelting engineers who direct turning ore into metals, construction engineers, machinery engineers, and on and on.

“Since you have not been doing the smelting here in Seaborn, it’ll be necessary to bring in engineers from other provinces. I can arrange this. I would be very surprised if this did not turn into a major source of coin for Seaborn. However, even if it does, you need to carefully consider who will benefit. I don’t know who the owner of the existing mine is, but the smelters might be best owned by you or the entire people of Seaborn. I don’t know how you might arrange that for your province. From our previous discussion, it sounded like the ore came from a single mine.”

Yulan nodded and, with an open hand gesture, asked why this was important.

“There’s a good chance the ore deposits will support multiple mines. I also wonder about this because of what I was told about the stone used in many of your buildings. It’s also from North Island and is very similar to a type of stone from Amerika, where I come from. This particular type of stone has, at least in one case, been associated with silver deposits. There may also be other ores you aren’t aware of. I can send people here to carry out a mineral survey of all the islands of Seaborn.

“I think we should stop here and move to meet with the other people you want to be involved in our discussion. However, I suggest we keep the idea about silver quiet for now until I can arrange for people to come to Seaborn. They can assess the potential for smelting silver ore here and to look for other potential mining sites.”

Yozef and Yulan joined nine men in a larger nearby room. They went over much of the same ground that they had covered with only the two of them—minus the possibility of expanding silver mining on North Island. In addition to the hetman’s three sons, a single man each represented the clanspeople on North and East Islands, and four hetmen advisers completed the grouping—the latter included Urk Zalzar. Most of the men were either respectful of Yozef’s thoughts or supportive to different degrees. The one exception was a weathered, gray-haired man from East Island, the smallest of the three main Seaborn Islands. He reminded Yozef of the stereotypical Old Testament prophet predicting the wrath of God. After the man’s initial outburst, a loud grunt and a fierce expression from Hetman Seaborn suppressed the prophet’s vocalizations, but his scowls seemed a permanent fixture.

Clearly, the most contentious issue was the loss of absolute independence from other clans. Yet most men seemed to accept that the old ways would never return. By the end of the first hour, the discussions focused on the Seaborn Clan’s future and not its past. Yozef was encouraged by the tenor and perceived that at least a few of the men wanted to continue after the break for mid-day meal. However, Yozef demurred, saying that he thought all parties had a good basic understanding of his views. He insisted that the afternoon be taken up by his meeting with individual Seaborners, some of whom were at the meeting, plus Abbot Rupasz of St. Eflin’s and two prominent merchants whom Maera and Shurla had researched. The latter meetings would be held at the St. Eflin’s Cathedral complex.

Yozef and Maera did not meet and speak alone again until retiring to their room that evening, though they caught glimpses of each other once near the cathedral. In their familiar pattern, Yozef felt physically tired and mentally drained, while Maera was energized.

“The situation in the schools wasn’t as bad as I feared, though not as good as I’d hoped. The classes held at St. Elfin’s were barely acceptable for the younger children but more of a problem for the older ones.”

“But isn’t that the same as we’ve seen elsewhere?” asked Yozef.

“True, but we may have to take a stronger approach to bring the schools up to a higher standard. However, a more serious issue is they aren’t following the Paramount’s directives as much as they should about educating the girls. Here in Brudermyn, it’s not too bad, but I managed to get to two surrounding small towns, and the percentage of girls is obviously way too low. I plan on checking the situation in at least a few villages while we’re on the tour, plus the village of Nollagen and the town of Grastor before we leave. I anticipate we’ll see the same problem there. Worse is what I hear from the lone agent Sissel has here.”

Maera sighed, sat on the bed, and started removing her shoes.

“Rula Fanon is the only agent Sissel has on Seaborn, but fortuitously she’s a medicant known for her midwife skills. This gives her more reasons to move around Seaborn than most clanspeople do. Sissel was lucky to recruit her, and only because she had come to Orosz City to attend one of Diera Beynom’s sessions on teaching new procedures.

“According to Rula, the education situation on North and East islands has hardly changed. On North Island, many boys only get two or three years of education, and too many of the girls, none at all. Rula says that as far as she can learn about East Island, no girl attends school. According to her, the island boyerman is a tyrant.” Maera laughed. “Rula’s exact words were quite a bit more explicit, regarding the boyerman’s anatomy and what he should do with parts of it.”

Yozef cursed, wadded the shirt he just taken off into a ball, and threw it into a corner. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“It’s not unexpected, given the province’s physical isolation. This just emphasizes that we need to have a stronger eye on the province than on most of the others.” He paced back and forth, mumbling to himself. She was patient. She knew he valued her input. She recognized that he was mulling over a problem, and when he came up with a proposed solution, he would check with her. While she waited, she glanced over the bound notebook she’d used to take notes during the day. Ten minutes passed.

“How about this?” he said. “I’ll tell Hetman Seaborn that I want to have closer contact with his clan and will have a representative come to Seaborn to work with him to facilitate our communications for the planning and implementation of ideas that we discussed. There’s bound to be an influx of people anyway, and I’ll propose it as a way to facilitate visitors. I won’t say anything right away . . . hmmm . . . maybe that’s not going to work. I was about to say that after this person has been here a while, I can slowly have him or her get involved in the schools. But now that I think about it, it’s best to be right up front, just not propose it as the person’s primary responsibility. I’ll think about how to frame it. I want to avoid giving the hetman direct orders if I can help it.”

“I’ve a suggestion to add to that,” said Maera. “Thala Seaborn. You haven’t met her yet. She’s the middle daughter of Yulan. She’s something of a mystery in the hetman’s family. As we both know, the daughters of hetmen often end up in political marriages into other clans. I don’t know if it was explicit or not, but everyone seems to think that Thala will go her own way. Despite some resistance from her family, she’s training to be a medicant. She even accompanied the Seaborn men to the battle of Orosz City, serving as an aide to Rula but also participating in the battle. I’ve a suspicion that we could recruit Thala to help Rula keep an eye on the schools. She could be an inside contact to the Seaborn family as well.”

Yozef appeared dubious. “She sounds like someone who could be outspoken. That might only make things harder. This needs some level of diplomatic skill.”

Maera nodded. “I’ll check with Rula to see what she thinks.”

“How about the rest of your day? You and Shurla meeting with the brothers and sisters?”

“No problem, although I was somewhat disappointed in the quality and breadth of interest of their few scholastics. Again, it’s a problem with the province’s isolation, providing so few opportunities to exchange ideas. I’m not sure what can be done about that. It seems bound to be a one-way street as far as talent goes. I don’t see any reason for many mainland scholastics coming to Seaborn, but I can anticipate that current talented scholastics or those who arise later might find themselves moving off Seaborn.”

“Well . . . let’s not get into that yet. If it develops as you say, it should seem like a natural progression, rather than something the Paramount had a hand in. What about the medicants and theophists?”

“The theophists I met seem on the conservative side but not aggressively so. However, I believe I caught some hints that the situation on North and East islands can be difficult. When I tried to inquire further, I met their obvious reluctance to talk about their theophist brothers and sisters on the other islands.

“As for medicants, I believe things are on firmer ground. The ones I met seem committed to whatever new procedures are available and effective. Rula helps in this regard, as does Thala. It’s the one area where she’s had her father’s ear.

“Oh, and something else. I want to leave Shurla here to continue looking into the St. Eflin’s library. She’s ecstatic about the old records she’s barely had a chance to look at. I haven’t checked with her, but I’m positive she would much rather stay in the library than travel with us. She certainly hasn’t shown much enthusiasm for the tour, and after seeing the library, I doubt she would enjoy the sights.”

“Well, you and Shurla decide. I’ll talk with Yulan tomorrow. Also, with the Fuomi captain. His sloop is due to wait here until it’s time for us to leave. She would then have . . . what . . . six or seven more days before going on the ship to meet us at Grastor.”

Maera smiled. “I’m sure she wants more time, but she can make a list of a few of the most important records to be copied and sent to her. If those and what she sees while we’re here are important enough, we can arrange a longer visit for her and possibly me in the future.

“Oh . . . before I forget, Yozef. Did you find out if Senwina and her children are back in Nollagen?”

“No. Yulan anticipated my asking about them and claims they are doing well. He said they initially returned to Nollagen, but I guess there were too many hard memories. They’re now living with relatives north of Brudermyn.”

The next morning, as they finished dressing for the day, Maera remembered something.

“Oh . . . before I forget. I need you to intercede with Yulan. Rula tells me there’s a nine-year-old girl who’s the best sa’anolor player on Seaborn.”

“Sa’anolor?” She had referred to the board game similar to GO on Earth. Watching Maera play the better local players in Abersford’s original Snarling Graeko pub, Yozef had recognized her intellect. Yozef found he couldn’t beat her . . . a fact that was occasionally confirmed as the years passed. With there being no traditional custom, such as tournaments or clubs, Maera played only occasionally.

“Yes. The girl’s name is Omelia Starstyn. She was something of a sensation for a while until her father decided it was inappropriate for a girl to beat men at any game. About a year ago, he forbade her to play again. See if you can get Yulan to have the father let Omelia and me play a game or two. I’d like to do it during the festival activities, so we have a chance to gather a crowd.”

Yozef smiled. “And you figure if the Paramount’s wife plays the game with the girl in public, then the father and more Seaborners will decide nothing is wrong with a female doing better than a man in at least some activities?”

“Why, dear,” Maera said dryly, “such a thing never occurred to me.”

“And I suppose you wouldn’t mind if the Paramount wanted to watch the games?”

“Thank you. I was sure you would be enthused about the idea.”

CHAPTER 32

GAMES

The roar of a dozen 12-pounder cannon echoed across the bare valley. A Seaborn dragoon battalion maneuvered in company formations to face an imaginary Narthani infantry force prepared to attack. The 12-pounders were aligned on a crest at one side of the valley. Yozef was tempted to intervene once he realized the intent of firing over the battalion as it moved into position. He bit back the initial temptation for fear the Seaborners would take it as his questioning their competency. By the time he changed his mind, it was evident that only the single salvo had been intended.

“God’s Mercy!” muttered Synton Ethlore from his horse six feet from Yozef’s. “So, what do you think, Paramount? Is this evidence of their confidence in handling the cannon, or are they recklessly stupid?”

“Hush,” said Yozef as he looked around. They were far enough from other Seaborners that he thought Carnigan’s and Toowin’s were the only ears close enough to hear the question.

“Later on, I’ll look for a chance to suggest to the hetman that 12-pounder practice could be restricted to static positions and not supporting the dragoons.”

The cannon had arrived in Seaborn four months earlier. Yozef had noticed several of them prominently positioned near the Brudermyn harbor. Their purpose was more political than practical. A new generation of 12-pounders was gradually being deployed after Mark was satisfied with the new cannon boring machines. The more uniform bores and shot allowed less hot gases to escape, propelling the shot with more force and giving a greater range. Combined with better elevation screws and experiments with various copper and tin ratios, this had resulted in stronger barrels, although they were slightly harder to cast and bore. Mark believed these should be the last generation of bronze cannon before they produced the first breech-loading steel cannon, which he optimistically predicted would take two years.

The existing bronze cannon had been either made by the clans or captured from the Narthani, whose cannon’s bronze composition was unknown. This precluded the Caedelli from melting them down and recasting them. New cannons replaced older ones, most of which were either shipped to the northern Landolin kingdoms for use against the Narthani or melted and the metal used for various implements. A few cannon served as part of the monuments to the Narthon war, or, in the case of a dozen 12-pounders, had been sent to Seaborn Province to eventually be moved to clan redoubts.

Many other Narthani cannon were recast as menorah-shaped torch holders for special events. The largest had been used at Orosz City for the ceremony declaring Yozef Paramount Hetman. Small versions were sent to each clan capital as trophies. Yulan intended that the menorah brought to Brudermyn on this visit be placed at the harbor not far from the cannon. Yozef saw no reason to tell the Seaborners that the cannon placed near the harbor would serve little purpose if there were a serious invasion with the intent to capture Brudermyn.

Yulan Seaborn moved his horse closer to Yozef’s, leaving his oldest son and heir, Santee, talking with another man and scowling.

“I’m afraid Santee is still irked that he’s not down there leading the battalion you see. I have followed your principle, Paramount, that military leaders should be the most qualified. Mykroft attended the military academy in Orosz City, so he is formally the commander of the Seaborn military. He’s given Santee and Reezo as much as he can from what he learned. Reezo is down there commanding a platoon. He’s been doing that only in the last month, but he’ll be leading the two squads accompanying your party on the tour before you leave Seaborn.

“In the case of a full deployment, Mykroft would be in overall command of our two main battalions and all other units, with another officer commanding this battalion while Santee commands the other battalion. I’m afraid it will take time for our people here, and I’m sure the other provinces, to fully accept that command does not automatically come with birthright.”

Yeah, well . . . I notice it’s still your sons moving to the top of the list, Yozef thought. There’s a good chance others here are as capable or even more so, but at least this is progress.

The four companies of the battalion had taken up skirmish positions facing the enemy position. One out of every four men held four horses, while the other three men formed the firing line. Yozef watched, noting that they performed the basic maneuver reasonably competently. The problem was that the display had to have been choreographed—practiced enough times to impress a visiting Paramount. It was time to throw in a wrinkle or two. It was a purpose of war games to introduce the unexpected.

“Hetman, the battalion has assumed a reasonable position for firing at the Narthani as long as the position will be abandoned before long. Unfortunately, word has come that the battalion has got to hold its position at all cost, with no retreat. They have two hours to prepare for a Narthani infantry attack across a three-hundred-yard front. The Narthani will be supported by nine-pounder cannon firing canister.”

Yulan’s brow wrinkled as he digested the words he had just heard. Yozef glanced at the other men who had moved their horses close enough to overhear. He believed he caught an incipient grin from Zalzar. He thought Santee also understood what Yozef was doing but hesitated to preempt his father.

Moments later, Yulan sensed Yozef’s meaning and was reassured by Yozef’s grin and eyes that his intent was not to embarrass Seaborn.

“Ah . . . you want to see how the men react to something not planned. Very clever, Paramount. The men have practiced different scenarios, but let’s see what happens when the unexpected happens, and they know they’re being watched and judged.”

Yulan turned to Santee. “Ride like the Narthani are on your heels, and get to Mykroft. Tell him to dig in to fight to the last man to save all of Seaborn.”

The heir whirled his mount and raced down the slope without giving words of acknowledgment.

“Don’t worry, Yulan, if things look chaotic. That’s the nature of a real battle. However, you should incorporate frequent surprises into future training. Drilling the basics is essential because the men will need a degree of automatic reaction, but after the basics are ingrained, then it’s time to work on their flexibility and response to the unexpected.”

Mykroft must have been alerted to his brother’s approach and rode to meet him. They reined in their horses yards from each other. What they said couldn’t be heard, but after a quick glance from his brother to the hillcrest observers, Mykroft whipped his horse back to the battalion. Bugles could be heard, men on horseback—presumably, officers—galloped to Mykroft and only seconds later raced back to the units. Men on the firing line turned to meet men pulling four horses. Gear was pulled from saddles, and all the men ran back to the firing line, leaving the horses free to stand, wander, or trot away.

The men were digging a trench line. Current Caedellium army SOPs (standard operating procedures) in such a dire situation were to prepare at least a four-foot-deep trench with excavated soil piled toward the enemy—allowing minimal protection from Narthani musket and canister fire while the defenders reloaded their muskets.

By the time Santee returned, an issue was evident.

“Uh . . . Santee . . . do I see correctly that not all the men are using digging tools?” asked Yozef, smiling.

Yulan had been sitting back in his saddle, watching the valley below in a relaxed pose—until he heard Yozef’s question. He jerked forward, and his eyes narrowed as he focused harder on what was happening. Almost a third of the men were on their knees, digging with knives and pulling dirt away by hand.

When Yulan recognized the Paramount’s point, he looked at a now red-faced Santee. No words were needed for the heir to know his father expected a response.

“I’m afraid some of the men neglected to bring their entire required dragoon kit,” said Santee. “Mykroft was aware of the problem and had already chastised several officers. However, it was too late to do anything about it and be here on time for the demonstration. I can assure you, Paramount, that such a lapse will not happen again.”

“I have every confidence,” said Yozef, not specifying whether he had confidence or pessimism about the error recurring.

“Uh . . . Paramount . . . Mykroft also noted that they should have kept some horses restrained, in case messages needed to be sent.”

“Good idea,” said Yozef, again smiling. Then he turned to Yulan. “I think the lesson was learned, Hetman. And be assured I have no doubt about your men’s courage or any hesitation about depending on them, should the situation arise. You could probably let the men stop digging for water or gold.”

Yulan grunted. “Oh, no. Let them dig. In fact . . . Santee . . . inform your brother that they are to widen the trench from three hundred to six hundred feet long and make it five feet deep. It never hurts to reinforce for negligence. I don’t think I want to know whether they kept any water with them. There are enough horses carrying water and standing around to keep the men alive until they finish and round up the rest of their mounts.”

The hetman turned to Yozef. “With your agreement, I think we can return to Brudermyn. By the time we get there, it will be an hour or so from mid-day meal. We can give you a better tour of the city, and, on the way back, we’ll divert through a couple of villages to let the people see the Paramount up close.”

“Splendid idea, Yulan, but I would like to see the men back in Brudermyn in time to experience the festivities. I’ve heard Seaborn ale is particularly potent. I assume some will be available? If yes, I anticipate these men might be a bit dry when they return. I asked Maera to arrange for enough barrels of ale for the battalion to recuperate.”

Yulan laughed uproariously. “Not just them. I think I need a stein or two, but not because I’m dry.”

Festivities

It wasn’t a full festival like the five-day event to signify moving from the old year to the new, but many features were the same. Rows of stalls sold products of all types; animals were displayed for sale, barter, or breeding; planned or impromptu musical numbers were performed. Missing were nearby archery and firing ranges. Synton Ethlore was the formal leader of the Paramount’s security detachment. His insistence that no projectile weapons be fired within range of the Paramount was ultimately supported by Hetman Seaborn.

One hour past the event’s opening, St. Eflin’s bells tolled to announce forthcoming speeches. Abbot Rupasz gave a brief prayer, thanking God for all his blessings and for safely delivering the Paramount and his wife to Seaborn. Hetman Seaborn spoke for thirty minutes, giving yet another summary of the clan’s history, the Narthani war, justifications for the need for the clans to unite, and, finally, the history of Yozef Kolsko’s time on the Caedellium Islands, culminating in his acknowledgment as the Paramount Hetman, a step above all clan hetmen.

Yozef had often heard similar speeches. He flinched just enough for Maera to detect when he thought the extolling of his virtues went over the line. She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t believe Yulan had exaggerated.

Then it was Yozef’s turn for his least favored duty as Paramount. He thanked Yulan for the invitation to visit, apologized for not having come earlier, delivered a reasonable amount of praise of the Seaborn Clan’s people, and closed with his visions of a future Caedellium providing peace and prosperity for all. He correctly believed that the applause and vocalizations after his speaking were noticeably more enthused than after his introduction when they’d arrived at Brudermyn. One thing he was grateful for was not having to take questions. He did not look forward to a day when there would be Caedellium equivalences of press conferences.

Then it was time to allow the Seaborn attendees to have a closer look at a leader they had never seen. Synton wisely refrained from arguing with Yozef about his and Maera’s mingling with the crowd—if mingling was the appropriate description because the four regular bodyguards formed a semicircle around their charges. This allowed people to approach only from the front and under four sets of watchful eyes.

There were a few frowns, though the owners remained in the background without coming close to Yozef, helped by Carnigan to Maera’s left and Synton to Yozef’s right. At first, the crowd was respectful and reserved. As the minutes passed, verbal greetings increased, and the first furtive hand gestures developed into a hand- and forearm-clasping orgy. The increased press of bodies forced the four-man security team to tighten their semicircle. A young woman pushed her way to the front and held out a six-month-old baby.

“Please bless my child, Paramount,” she pleaded.

Yozef’s groan was audible only to Maera. Despite his attempts to discourage people from thinking he had any special connection to God, the rumors that he was a Septarsh, one to whom God whispered, had proved impossible to quash. Thus, he stared at the woman and child for several seconds as he searched in vain for a reason to decline her request. Then Maera intervened.

“What is your name?” Maera asked.

“Yolla Iswyn. Oh, dear! I don’t know how to address you. Please pardon me.”

“Nonsense. You’re Yolla, and I’m Maera. And this person by my side is Yozef, my husband who is enjoying his visit to your clan. He’s also Paramount, but he doesn’t think himself better than anyone else.”

Maera turned to Yozef and hissed quietly, “God’s Mercy. Just put a hand on the child’s head for a moment. She’ll be satisfied.”

Yozef complied, and the woman’s face lit up. She curtsied briefly, disappeared back into the crowd, and was immediately replaced by a long succession of other mothers and their children.

Rescue came only when bells signaled the time for everyone to return to the site of the speeches. By then, the speaking platform had been dismantled, and a simple table with two chairs sat in the same position. The crowd was smaller this time, no more than four to five hundred. Word had spread, but fewer people saw any interest in a game of sa’anolor between the Paramount’s wife and a Seaborn girl. On the table lay a wooden game board covered in white and black squares. On both sides of the board sat two bowls, one full of white tokens and the other of black.

When Yozef and Maera arrived, Yulan Seaborn and a scowling man stood behind the table at which sat a brown-haired girl in a plain gray dress. She looked like she would rather be anywhere else. Yozef didn’t need a detective’s license to figure out which man was the girl’s disapproving father.

Maera sat opposite the girl. “I understand your name is Omelia, dear. My name is Maera. Please call me that.”

The girl blanched. “I can’t do that,” she gasped. “You’re the Paramount’s wife.”

“You can if we’re friends. And I say we’re friends.” Maera turned to Yozef. “It’s all right if Omelia calls me Maera, isn’t it, Paramount?”

“Of course, it is.” He was tempted to tell the child she could call him Yozef but decided that would be a step too far for the poor child. However, he turned to her father. “Ser Starstyn, my wife would like to be friends with Omelia. Is that all right with you as her father?”

The man sighed, and his obviously tense shoulders relaxed. “Of course, Paramount, whatever you say.”

“There,” said Maera, “that settles it. We’re friends now. I’m Maera, and you’re Omelia. Since we’re friends, and I’m the visitor, I’d like to give you a gift.”

From a pocket, Maera pulled a bright red-and-yellow scarf and held it out. Omelia looked sharply at her father. He nodded, having capitulated to whatever would transpire. Omelia took the scarf, ran her hands over the fabric that was probably finer than anything she’d ever owned, and then wrapped it around her neck, the two ends hanging down her chest.

“Are you ready to play, Omelia? If yes, then you can make the first play.”

The girl’s shyness evaporated like a drop of water hit by a blowtorch. With a determined face and without hesitation, she reached into a bowl to her left, picked up a white token, and placed it on a square. The game was on.

There was no custom of the audience remaining silent during any game involving Caedelli. At first, the watchers had remained quiet, trying to listen to the words exchanged around the sa’anolor board. That state changed the instant the first token hit the board. Yozef watched in bemusement as the crowd took up sides in support of the two players—the Paramount’s wife and the local child. In contrast to the onlookers, the custom was that the sa’anolor players did not speak to each other.

Yozef perused the onlookers, his eyes landing on a face and quickly moving to the next—until he came to a face that stared back intently. Yozef’s eyes froze on that face. Suddenly, the man turned away and seemed to vanish in the crowd, despite his height.

Well . . . always a few odd-looking people, Yozef thought. That one made me uneasy, but I shouldn’t look for worries when there’s no reason.

The play began fast, as token after token was placed within seconds of the previous one. However, after half an hour, the time intervals increased as players needed more time to evaluate strategies.

Yozef could see that Maera was getting worried, not in fear of losing but from observing the expressions and body language of Omelia.

Oh, Christ, thought Yozef. I wonder if Omelia has never lost a match or at least not for quite some time. For Maera, sa’anolor is just a game, but for Omelia, I bet it’s a major part of who she perceives she is.

He knew Maera wouldn’t deliberately lose. If Omelia was as good at the game as she seemed, she would detect the gesture. Yet Maera might draw the game out longer than it need be to give the impression of a difficult match.

Just over an hour into the game, Maera brought it to a close after the girl made a move.

“I’m sorry, Omelia, but being the Paramount’s wife means there are duties that I cannot avoid or delay. We have meetings coming up and then an evening meal with the hetman’s family before we prepare to leave Brudermyn first thing tomorrow morning. I’m afraid we’ll have to end the game with a draw. It’s been a fun game. You’re a wonderful player.”

Maera leaned across the board and gestured for Omelia to come closer. “The Paramount will talk to Hetman Seaborn and your father about letting you play sa’anolor more.”

Omelia whispered back. “Thank you . . . Maera. That was a fun game. I thought I had you several times, but you fooled me with your play. I hope we can play again.”

“I do, too. Now let’s stand up and shake hands.”

While shaking, Maera announced her need to be somewhere else and praised Omelia’s game. Yozef then added how Seaborners should be proud to have a sa’anolor player who was among the best in all Caedellium.

Hetman Seaborn escorted them back toward the festival area, leaving Omelia and her father. When they were fifty yards away, Yozef looked over his shoulder and saw a hundred people or more gathered around the two Starstyns.

Four hours later, the Kolskos were once again in their quarters. All their other clothes had been cleaned and dried during the day and were laid out on the bed—open baggage ready to be packed. Maera thanked and dismissed the woman waiting to attend to any late needs, and they were alone again for the first time since that morning.

“Well . . . was Omelia that good, or did you take it easy on her?”

“She’s that good. I could’ve won several times, but by then, I decided to draw the game. She’s already better than all but two or three people I’ve played before. Of course, I don’t know about every other player on Caedellium, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she could be the best player of all. Her problem is that she doesn’t have good-enough players here in Seaborn to challenge her and to learn from. We didn’t have a chance to really talk, but I have the impression she’s a charming child, perhaps a little withdrawn because she feels out of place. We need to try and do something for her. She still too young to leave her family, but eventually she needs to move off Seaborn to a place where there’s more of an opportunity for her to develop her full potential.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “That’s something we can work on, but I think small moves to get her family to accept that she’s different should come first. Maybe this is something we can get Reezo Seaborn to help with. We’ve already agreed he’s going to be a key contact here on Seaborn, even though he doesn’t have as many official duties as his two older brothers do.”

“Maybe Thala, too,” said Maera. “Them being twins already makes people accustomed to seeing them do many of the same activities. We can talk more later, but I’m tired from being on my feet too much today. They’re swelling again.”

“Why don’t you lie down and put your feet up?” offered Yozef. “I’ll do the packing, and you can do the directing.”

“I’ll gladly let you, but how about helping my poor feet?”

He sat at the end of the bed and began massaging a foot.

Maera said, “But I’ve been thinking maybe I should stay in Brudermyn while you go on the tour.”

Yozef looked up, his face concerned. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s just that I didn’t have enough time to meet with people at the cathedral complex. Plus, I’d like more time with Shurla at the library. She’s right. There are some records here that must be among the oldest on Caedellium. A few are so old, the language has changed. It will take us some time to understand enough of what’s in them to know whether they’re important. A few even seem to be in another language altogether—one I don’t recognize.”

He didn’t respond for several moments, but his expression told her he wasn’t enthused by her plan.

“If you think it’s that important, I suppose it’s best.”

“But you don’t like the idea.”

“Well . . . I confess I was looking forward to visiting these sights with you. We get to do such things together so rarely.”

She sighed. “Well . . . I suppose these records aren’t going anywhere. When Shurla tells me what she thinks of them, I could even plan on coming back here in a year or more. The railroad should be working even better by then, so getting from Orosz City to Penmawr will be easier.”

Maera stretched her arms out, and Yozef switched to the other foot.

“How about you keep working on my feet while I think?”

Five minutes and innumerable contented sighs later: “All right, I’ll leave the research to Shula. Just keep rubbing.”

CHAPTER 33

YASTERN VALLEY

The twenty-three-mile carriage trip from Brudermyn to the Yastern Valley took nine hours. The first three miles to the capital’s outskirts were over a hard-packed dirt road covered in crushed seashells. Their caravan consisted of Reezo and Thala Seaborn leading the way on horseback, followed by twenty Seaborn dragoons; the Kolsko carriage, which included Urk Zalzar, bracketed by their four mounted bodyguards; a wagon carrying baggage and supplies; and the twenty Pewitt dragoons at the rear. Both sets of dragoons wore clothes traditional for their respective clans in place of the mottled olive-drab uniform now standardized for the Caedellium military. Further embellishing the gaudy display were clan banners and the Caedellium national flag bordered in gold to signify the Paramount’s presence. Adding to the effect were colored ribbons attached to the coach and the wagon.

“We’re going to look like a damn festival parade,” snipped Synton when the caravan assembled that morning.

“It’s part of their celebration of the Paramount’s visit,” Maera said patiently. “Thala told me that colored cloths of all kinds will be hung along our route through Brudermyn. It’s something that developed since we arrived. She says the people were unsure of how to feel about the Paramount, but we’ve managed to convince them we’re not just another set of presumptive rulers like the Narthani.”

“Now, it’s not that bad,” chided Yozef. “Yeah, they were cool that first day when we got off the ship, but things warmed up quickly.”

“I think Maera charmed them more than you did,” Carnigan chipped in, when he carried the last of their baggage to the waiting wagon. The woman who had fought him for bags after their arrival had deigned to merely supervise this time, though she still scowled at the large red-headed man who had given up the first tug-of-war and carried both her and the bag she wouldn’t surrender into their lodging.

“Just goes to show they aren’t a good judge of people,” quipped Yozef, before being elbowed by a grinning Maera.

Zalzar gave a running commentary on landmarks as they left the capital and more as they moved into open farmland.

“We are just skirting the largest farming area on our islands. From north of Brudermyn to south of Grastor is fertile land from the mountains to the sea. The other farming areas are separated from one another by the mountains running down South Island’s center. In contrast, North Island is so mountainous, combined with its isolation, which means it has only a few small farming valleys. East Island actually has more farmable land than North Island, but its isolation keeps the population down.”

“I’m surprised the road is so smooth,” said Maera. “Please don’t take offense, but I was expecting a much more jolting ride. I’m also a little surprised it’s wide enough for two wagons to pass each other.”

Zalzar chuckled. “Enjoy it while you can, Sen Kolsko. When we reach the village of Nillor in another two miles, the road will change to more of what you might have expected—narrow and bumpy. We get a strong rainy season several months of the year. The roadbed is elevated a few feet from the surrounding land in many places. That’s because of flooding in the flatlands. Yulan’s grandfather started a major road-building program. Besides the raised road, the soil was compacted by a device currently being used north of Brudermyn. It’s a large wagon holding a crane with a four-foot-diameter flat metal weight that is raised and then allowed to fall onto the ground.

“We had huge piles of seashells that had accumulated over a hundred years. The idea was to crush the shells and use them to pave the streets of Brudermyn. However, that’s all it was . . . an idea. Successive hetmen would revise the idea and then delay or change their minds. Nevertheless, the collecting of the shells continued until Yulan became hetman.

“The roadbed was built starting with a layer of soil and crushed rock coming from a quarry west of Brudermyn. Successive layers were laid down and compacted, then repeated. The final stage consisted of crushed seashells and only slightly compacted. We have problems with erosion, but the people have taken to maintaining these roads as a matter of clan pride.”

“You say this good road will end at Nillor?” said Yozef. “So, what is the limit of these better roads throughout South Island?”

“It’s definitely a long-term project, with sections built only when resources are available, which is why very little new road has been built since the Narthani came. One of the roads runs from the farm area north of Brudermyn through the middle of the main farm area to Grastor, with a few spurs branching to towns and villages. The only other main section is from Brudermyn through a gap in the mountains to the west coast and then south to the town of Yallvan. That area is the second most important farming region in Seaborn.

“From Grastor, about five miles of this type of road run along the coast southeast, but it hasn’t been extended for almost ten years. I’m afraid once we pass Nillor, this is the only other section of this type of road you’ll travel over until we approach Grastor.”

“Something else I’ve wondered about,” said Maera. “The cattle I’ve seen here are different from those on the mainland.”

Zalzar seemed to hesitate in answering, which was noticeable only by being different from Maera’s other interactions with the hetman’s adviser.

“Uh . . . well . . . supposedly they were here when our clanspeople first came to the island. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask scholastics on clan history and customs for any details.”

Yozef and Maera exchanged glances.

Yozef sees it, too, thought Maera. Zalzar is avoiding fully answering. I’ll check with Thala later.

When the caravan stopped briefly at Nillor to allow the local official and citizenry to greet the Paramount, both sides exchanged brief speeches. It was the second such stop since they’d left Brudermyn. Zalzar’s description of the road’s change was confirmed within a hundred yards of their passing the last Nillor structure.

“Oomph!” went Maera as a wheel hit the first hole, and she bounced a few inches up from her seat.

“Sorry!” the driver called out. “We’ll slow down now that the road is worse.”

Yozef leaned out a window to check. “Sure enough. The road is different behind and in front of us. We’ve lost the elevated sections a mile back, presumably because of no threat of flooding.”

“That’s right, Paramount,” said Zalzar. “I’ve been over this route many times in my years. We’ll start climbing into the hills soon. The lower end of Yastern Valley is only a few hundred feet higher than where we are now. The upper end is two thousand feet higher. It’s an elevation change over about two miles. Most of the terraces are in the middle portion, and that’s where we will stop. The water is a light blue color. You might not notice if you poured it from a cup, but with the depth of many terraces, the water appears bright blue. It’s quite a striking effect and is the only such place in Seaborn. The Yastern River has as one of its sources the upper end of Yastern Valley. It joins with other streams that dilute the blue color. That’s why you haven’t noticed it so far, even though we’ve been within sight of the river all the way.”

“There’s something similar where I originally come from, Sen Zalzar,” said Yozef. “We call them travertine terraces, and the blue color is probably from minerals in the water or deposited on the bottom.”

Yozef had visited Yellowstone Park and seen hot spring terraces there, and Heather had seen pictures taken by an aunt and an uncle when they visited Jiuzhaigou National Park in China. There, the dramatic series of terraces had aqua-blue waters. Yozef assumed the Yastern terraces had a similar geochemical explanation.

“The light should be good enough for viewing when we arrive,” said Zalzar. “Then we’ll have half the next day before moving on to Grastor. At Yastern, a campsite with tents and food will be waiting. We’ll finish setting up while you look at the terraces.”

By this time, they were moving into low hills, behind which were mountains. They had seen the peaks of these not long after leaving Brudermyn. Snow topped several of the tallest peaks.

“Does the snow last all year long in these mountains?” asked Maera.

“Not usually the ones you see now,” answered Zalzar. “Behind those and farther north and south are bigger mountains that always have snow and ice. There is one site in the north part of North Island where a high valley is covered with solid ice several hundred feet deep.”

“A glacier,” said Yozef before noticing Zalzar’s puzzlement and Maera’s amusement.

“It’s a word in his original language,” said Maera. “I assume it means a valley covered by deep ice.”

“A glacier? Well . . . we have many of these glaciers on the northern part of North Island. There’s so many and the mountains are so rugged that no one lives there. I’m not sure, but I also believe Seaborn has the tallest mountains in all of Caedellium.”

Another jolt rocked the carriage.

We need some of Mark’s leaf springs, thought Yozef.

“Well . . . the road is not as smooth as before,” said Maera, “but I’ve been on worse in other provinces. I think we’ve already climbed a few hundred feet. How much farther is it?”

“Another hour and a half. We’re making good time, and the leaders of the villages we passed through were warned not to delay us too much.”

“I’m afraid an hour and a half is a problem,” said Maera. “I have to attend to some private business fairly soon. One of those unfortunate effects of carrying a child.”

Zalzar half choked. Yozef didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or amusement.

“I’m sure many of the men wouldn’t mind a similar break,” said Yozef.

An opportune setting presented itself a few minutes later in the guise of a flat meadow surrounded by trees and brush. Twenty minutes later, the caravan was moving again as they climbed higher. The road meandered through mature trees similar to large pines, with a species of green murvor flittering among the branches. Occasionally they could see and hear the stream they paralleled, the water now definitely a shade of blue.

The first terraces were small, no more than six feet in diameter, fed by springs seeping out of a hillside. They passed several more sets of small terraces before the road entered an open valley. They were a hundred feet higher than the stream, giving them a sweeping view of terraced blue ponds stretching a quarter-mile. Water flowed from under small trees.

“Oh, my,” whispered Maera, “It’s beautiful. Just as described, though I couldn’t quite picture it before.”

“The terrace size increases as you move up the valley,” said Zalzar. “The stream will flow in a bed, then spread out and form terraces like you see here. Then the branches of the stream collect to flow together to the next set of terraces.

“There’s no easy way down to what you’re seeing. We’ll continue to the next terraces, where we’ll camp at the stream level.”

By the time they reached the next set of terraces, the road was only a few feet higher and conformed to the bends in the stream. When they emerged from the trees again, they were at the base of terraces stretching three or four times the distance across as the previous set. A twenty-foot-square tent sat against a stand of the pine-like trees. Several smaller tents were off to one side, along with two wagons, staked horses, and four men standing and watching the arrivals.

“Here we have a few man-made paths,” said Zalzar, “but you can wander alongside the terraces. There are numerous places where dry land protrudes among them. Most of the ponds are only one or two feet deep, but there’s no problem judging the depth because the water is so clear you can see the bottom when it’s at least ten feet deep.

“We’ll stay here for the evening. The large tent will be yours, Paramount. Sleeping mats and blankets are inside. I assume the small tents belong to the men who came before us. The rest of us will sleep under the stars.”

“Any animals here we should worry about?” asked Yozef.

“Nothing particularly dangerous, but you know . . . animals are animals and not always predictable,” said Zalzar. “I assume Reezo and your man Ethlore will have the men check the immediate surroundings, stand guard, and accompany you and Sen Kolsko as you examine the terraces. I also believe Thala has a surprise for your wife.”

Maera smiled. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid it’s not a surprise. She already told me, and I’m looking forward to it. And no, Yozef, I’ll let Thala show you. Then one of us will be surprised.”

The Seaborn twins led them, escorted by the twenty Pewitt dragoons. They followed a path that entered heavy brush before opening again at a fifty-foot-wide pond with steam rising from the surface. Yozef realized the purpose of the cloths carried by two of the men who had set up the campsite.

“A hot spring!” exclaimed Yozef.

“There are many of these along the base of this hill,” said Thala. “You men stay here while Maera and I continue around the boulders at the other end. There’s a small pond that’s out of sight and only accessible from here. The water is like a warm bath, not quite hot. Legend has it these waters have special healing powers. I don’t know about that, but it’s wonderful to soak in them.”

Thala took two cloths and Maera’s hand, tugging her when she hesitated. Maera looked at Yozef, smiled, and acquiesced. As soon as the two women were out of sight, Carnigan started shedding clothes.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but this looks great. We had hot springs where I grew up, but it’s been many years since I soaked in them.”

Yozef looked at Synton and Reezo. “Well . . . why not? Have half the men stay alert while the other half get in the water. They can switch later.”

He walked toward where Maera and Thala had disappeared around a rocky corner. He could hear splashing.

“Are you two ladies all right?”

“God’s Mercy,” called Maera. “Thala’s right. This is wonderful. We’ll have to think about doing something like this back home.”

You know, maybe we could, thought Yozef. There’re no hot springs, but we already have passive solar heating of water. Surely, we can rig up something to heat enough water for a hot tub.

He resolved to ask Mark for ideas.

Thirty minutes later, Thala called out. “We’re getting dressed. Let us know when it’s safe for women.”

Reezo called for all the soaking men to get decent, then gave the all-clear to his sister. The two smiling, damp-haired women walked back to the camp, escorted by Yozef, Carnigan, and ten dragoons. Synton, Reezo, and the other ten dragoons remained for their turn in the water.

Yozef called over his shoulder, “When you’re finished, come on back to the camp, and we’ll let the other men have their turn.”

A large fire blazed at the campsite. The two women sat on a log, finished drying their hair, and then combed while they talked. By the time the sun set, a makeshift table of boards between two logs was loaded with pots of a thick stew, whole loaves of fresh bread still steaming, platters of fruit, and smoked fish. Yozef didn’t know where it all came from but wasn’t curious enough to wait to find out. He didn’t argue with the Seaborners’ insistence that the Paramount and his wife go first. He loaded a wooden bowl to near overflowing—leaving out only the fish once he smelled it. He sat with Maera on a canvas spread out on the ground, soon joined by others on the same canvas or around the area. The exceptions were ten dragoons standing guard at the fringes of the encampment.

The men rolled out barrels of ale, and no one noticed or complained that the beverage was warm. At least, no one voiced any comments after consuming the first few filled metal cups.

The fire was reduced to bright coals and the stars brilliant in the clear air when Yozef prepared himself to follow Maera into their tent. She had retired long ago while Yozef talked with the men. Something nagged at him before he made a connection. He glanced around to see who was left at the fire and not asleep or on guard. Synton sat ten feet away, staring at him.

“If I know that look, something just occurred to you. What? Some new miracle? Some devious plot?”

“Synton, do you remember the specific tall man who was near the dock when we arrived and standing by a building. I saw him on at least one other occasion. He had a beard, but he looked like he’d shaved the hair on his head. His clothes were a little different from the other men’s, too. He had very high boots that went almost to his knee and the same sour expression both times I noticed him.”

“Yeah, a mean-looking fucker. Second time I saw him, I asked around. He’s a Kolinkan. Off the Kolinkan trade ship that’s in the harbor. People I talked to seem to appreciate their bringing much-needed coin to the island, but nobody likes them. Why do you ask?”

Yozef picked up a twig and threw it onto the coals. “Oh, I don’t know. I was just looking at the fire, and somehow the man popped into my mind. Maybe it’s because his eyes almost seemed to glow. I know . . . that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, if you start dreaming about a fire-eyed demon chasing you, wake Carnigan to deal with it. I need to get some sleep. I have the last guard shift before dawn.”

The next morning, they ate a leisurely meal, followed by three hours of hiking around the terraced area. At mid-day, they returned to the camp to find it packed up and the caravan ready to depart.

“We’ll need to move along as soon as we eat, Paramount, to be sure we get to Grastor before dark.”

“This is a marvelous place,” said Maera. “You say there’re more of these areas farther up the valley?”

“Three more areas. Two are smaller, but one is more than twice the size of this. We didn’t continue on to there because there’s no wagon road, and even on horseback it’s difficult.”

What a place for a solitary retreat, thought Yozef. You could hike in and camp for a week.

He felt momentary regret from missing the times he had gone to the countryside west of Abersford: the secluded valleys and dells, which seemed like different worlds; the giant oak growing alone in a small valley; jacaranda trees surrounded by California poppies; the day he’d taken Maera for a picnic, kissed her, and then was afraid he’d overstepped the bounds of propriety. He had a flash that these terraces would be added to memories of wonderful places he might never see again.

His reverie ended when he felt a hand on his back.

“Yozef, what if you let Thala ride in the carriage and you take her horse? Sen Zalzar is going to sit with the driver and let us girls talk without the men listening.”

“That’s fine. I wouldn’t mind a break from the bumps, and there will be plenty of carriage time after we leave Grastor. I’d ask what you’re going to talk about in secret, not that you would tell me or that I really want to know.”

Yozef hadn’t noticed Thala’s horse, and he wondered what mount the tall, boisterous young woman would ride. The answer was a surprise. Although a good-size horse, the gray mare was the gentlest mount Yozef had ridden since arriving on Caedellium.

The road climbed a ridge east of Yastern Valley using a series of switchbacks the carriage and the wagons could barely manage. Several times, Yozef could hear women’s laughter coming from the carriage.

“I guess the two of them bonded during their soak,” he said to Synton riding beside him.

“Are you up for a wager?” Synton asked. “I’ll wager a large gold that Thala is in Orosz City within a year.”

Yozef was taken aback. Synton was crude and undiplomatic, had no respect for authority, was no gambler if he didn’t feel certain of the outcome, and was naturally shrewd. Yet Yozef was not sure about Synton’s psychoanalytic ability.

“Really? Why do you think that?”

“I’ve been watching her pretty close. I don’t think being stuck here in Seaborn is what she wants for the rest of her life. Oh, I’m sure she loves her family and her clan, but I sense there’s more to her than will satisfy her here. It won’t surprise me if she wants to finish her medicant training elsewhere.”

Yozef wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t envisioned Synton Ethlore as having particular insights into the female psyche. He decided to ask Maera later, a decision he forgot about as events transpired.

Brintyn Cove, South Island, West of Nollagen

Frenko Holuska felt as nervous as when first briefed on the plan. Then, he’d been honest in saying he thought there were too many parts that depended on everything falling into place. He was not placated even when some of his concerns were addressed. As time passed, wheels had been set in motion twice, only to have the schedule be aborted when the Kolskos’ plans changed. By then, his reservations had faded into acceptance. Perhaps he had come to think it would never happen, but now it had. There was no going back.

He waited on the sandy beach, the waves spending themselves just in front of him. He strained to see into the lightening darkness. Somewhere in front of him, perhaps a mile or more offshore, should be twenty Kolinkan ships. The natural rock formation that jutted almost three hundred yards out from the beach would serve as a wave break. A ship could carefully approach perpendicular to the beach, anchor, and drop a specially made ramp from the top deck to the water, which was no more than three to four feet deep at the distal end of the ramp. Then, especially designed slings would wrap around the hindquarters of a horse that would be pulled up an internal ramp from the lower to the main deck. The process sounded far too slow to Holuska, but he had been assured that testing proved it feasible to unload the horses in the time available.

The cove had room for only one ship at a time to unload horses and men. Extra horses had been brought under the assumption some would die during the voyage, become injured, or be too weak to be immediately useful. Of the 400 horses, 20 per ship, those deemed fit for use would be unloaded, the others to be dumped at sea.

Only two roads connected Nollagen to the rest of South Island: the route being taken by the Paramount’s party south from Grastor to Nollagen, and a second road east from the village following the coast back to Grastor. The plan called for 250 men to disembark at Brintyn Cove. Then 50 men would go north to block the road back to Grastor. The other 200 men would follow the road to Nollagen. Another 100 men and horses would land across Nollagen Bay, five miles east of Nollagen. No one would meet the second unloading, but stealth was not a factor. Those 100 men would block the second road, to finish cutting off both escape routes. Both groups would converge on the fishing village and overwhelm the villagers and Kolsko’s party. The 350 men were deemed enough to surround the village and compel surrender or to scour the immediate countryside if the Kolsko party scattered, rather than make a stand.

Then, Kolinkan ships would approach the Nollagen harbor, take aboard the Kolinkan men and their prisoners, and abandon the horses. The squadron would finally set sail for Kolinka.

As Holuska went over the plan yet once again, he thought, Well . . . it should work. We certainly have more than enough men to overcome the small protection detachment that I confirmed accompanies the Paramount.

He squinted. He was sure he could just make out the ship. Two minutes later, he was certain. Twenty minutes later, a longboat beached, and six men jumped out into the foot-deep water. They slogged to where he was standing above the waterline.

Five men ran past Holuska. Being sure the beach is secure, he thought. He fought the urge to reassure them but suppressed it. He would’ve done the same and not trusted the words of someone he had never met.

“Holuska?” the sixth man called out as he approached.

“Yes. How was the voyage?”

“I’m Maklos Bota, second in command to Orno Kistek, leader of the raid. He’s waiting back on the flagship.”

Bota spit to one side. “As for the voyage . . . it wasn’t quite an unmitigated disaster, but we came close to calling it all off. If it hadn’t been the third time we’d made this trip, we would’ve done it. We spotted a Fuomi sloop at twilight two days ago. The bastards were a good fifty to a hundred miles farther offshore than they were supposed to be. They were running with lanterns lit, and we were dark, so we don’t think they spotted us at that range. However, we had to lower all sails and couldn’t adjust positions to keep the ships from rolling too much for the horses. Commander Kistek thinks we may have at least a hundred horses so injured or spooked that they aren’t usable. It leaves us short of horses, and that’s including some we’ll have to use that we otherwise wouldn’t.”

“What does that mean for the raid? You still have your men.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem, but you know how that goes. We’re going to unload the best horses here. Once you get us word Kolsko has passed, some men will then ride quickly to seal off Grastor Road. The others unloaded here will head to Nollagen. The rest of the men and remaining usable horses will make the second landing. It’s not as essential for all of them to be on horseback because they’re mainly blocking the road and will move toward Nollagen, even if it’s on foot. After all, it’s only five or six miles. But that’s all irrelevant unless you can confirm the target is following the schedule.”

“Kolsko’s party is supposed to spend tomorrow morning near Stiltern Fall before heading to Nollagen,” said Holuska. “However, I need to keep an eye on the road to be sure we don’t miss them or commit before they pass. I’ll get back to an observation point I picked out. Send a couple of men with me so they can return to you as soon as I see the target moving along the road.”

“But you do confirm they’re where they’re supposed to be?” asked Bota.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry. It works in our favor that Kolsko has to be at the new semaphore station for the inaugural ceremony with Hetman Seaborn. They’re supposed to camp at the mountain’s base the day before. That means being in Nollagen tomorrow. It might actually be to our benefit if they come early. Gives us more daylight to do what needs to be done.”

CHAPTER 34

STILTERN FALL

After climbing out of the Yastern Valley, the caravan slowly descended into open terrain with farms starting three miles from Grastor. The town was a miniature version of Brudermyn, with about one-third the population. They had not sent word ahead of their approach, but scattered individuals and small groups stood alongside the road and waved the last mile to the city center. There, several thousand citizens lined the street, shouting greetings and waving.

“What do you think, Synton?” asked Yozef. “Are the people here naturally friendlier than in Brudermyn, or did Hetman Seaborn order a better reception?”

Synton looked over his shoulder at Carnigan riding behind. “Has he always been like this— asking questions he has to know you don’t know the answer to?”

“Well . . . sometimes he knows you don’t know the answer, and sometimes he’s not sure and asks to check.”

A gap in the buildings opened up the Grastor harbor view. A shout and a pointing arm from the Pewitt dragoon leader drew Yozef’s attention. Visible down the street was a partial view of fishing boats.

“So, about a sixday until we’re back here to board ship again?” asked Synton.

In retrospect, the rest of the day was a blur to Yozef. Greetings from local officials were followed by an evening meal with the town’s mayor and other leading citizens. The event passed undistinguished from too many other days, as far as Yozef was concerned. He noticed Maera acting more reserved than usual. While waiting for the meal to be served, he leaned over and whispered, “You all right?”

“I just got a little nauseous about the time we reached Grastor. It seems to be passing.”

“Maybe you should wait here in Grastor until I finish with Yulan and the semaphore ceremony.”

Maera hesitated in answering, unconsciously telling Yozef she seriously considered the possibility and that what she felt was not minor.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow morning and see how I feel,” she groused. “If I wasn’t going to complete the tour, I could’ve stayed in Brudermyn and worked before meeting you with the ship here.”

She paused, then shook her head. “No, I am much better than earlier. I’ve come this far. I wouldn’t want it said that the Paramount’s wife is frail.”

“I don’t think being pregnant counts as being weak,” said Yozef dryly.

“This is my third time, and it’s been like the first two. I expect what I was feeling will pass and not return. If it does, it’s no more likely from the effects of traveling than from sitting here in Grastor.”

The next morning, their caravan left Grastor, heading southwest. Reezo explained that they would follow a valley flanked by high mountains to the right and an escarpment to their left that was equally impassable.

Contrary to Yozef’s expectations, the roadbed quality was surprisingly good in this less populated part of South Island. However, the pace slowed three miles southwest of Grastor as the road wound and climbed from sea level.

“The base of Stiltern Fall is almost three thousand feet,” said Zalzar, who once again rode inside the carriage. “However, we change altitude much more than that. We’ll climb and descend several times. Even the downslopes will be slow because the road twists and turns so much. That will change after we leave the fall and head toward Nollagen. The road then will be mainly straight and downhill. This part of the road is slow-enough going that we wouldn’t arrive at Stiltern Fall in time to make Nollagen before dark. That’s why we’ll camp again tonight. We’ll also stop short of the fall. You’ll understand once we’re there. As impressive as the fall is, the roar makes it hard to sleep if you’re too close.”

Thirty minutes later, Yozef understood Zalzar’s description as they climbed a hill no more than five hundred feet high but whose slope required them to go through a series of switchback turns. Then it was downhill, but the slope’s steepness and curves still meant slow going.

To their left, the land was a sheer unbroken wall of rock, except for the occasional suggestion of canyons that Zalzar said were blind. To the right lay the impressive mountains that had also been on their right when traveling from Yastern Valley to Grastor. However, the peaks appeared even more impressive. Because the snow and the ice covered a greater percentage of the peaks, Yozef estimated they were several thousand feet higher than the earlier peaks they’d seen, the ones that had hidden those they now passed.

“Zalzar, I’m wondering why there’s so much less vegetation once we entered the cleft.”

“It’s the poor soil. Once we approach Nollagen, the land is more fertile, the way it is along most coasts of South Island. The west coast, around Yallvan, is good farming, even though the rainfall is sparse. The only reason farming is still productive around Yallvan is because of so many streams coming from the mountains.”

Yozef glanced again at the mountains and visualized a map of the island.

“It must be a rain shadow.”

Zalzar’s forehead wrinkled. “A rain shadow? I don’t understand.”

“Uh . . . it’s where . . . uh . . . well, look at the land here. I assume the prevailing weather comes from the east?”

Zalzar nodded.

“In that case, the clouds hit the mountains and drop most of the rain. In looking at these peaks, some of them must be fourteen to fifteen thousand feet high. That’s a formidable barrier for rain clouds. If that’s the case, it would explain the lack of rain on the west coast. I also wonder if the main island also forms a partial rain shadow to all of Seaborn.”

Zalzar’s thoughtful expression conveyed that he was trying to visualize Yozef’s theory.

“A rain shadow. Yes, I think I understand what you mean. I’ll remember to ask our scholastics in Brudermyn about this.”

The middle-aged man smiled. “I take it some of the rumors are true about the Paramount pulling pieces of information out of the air as if they were common knowledge.”

Yozef looked out the window, not wanting to feed the rumors but not knowing what to say. Zalzar looked at Maera. They simultaneously smiled, nodded, and shrugged.

The up-and-down route continued. Yozef estimated the miles they’d traveled but suspected it was half again more than a straight line on a map. None of the hills within the cleft were large, but the slopes and the required switchbacks seemed never-ending.

A continuing disappointment was the relative lack of animals, except for several small species he assumed filled the niches of rodents on Earth. After seeing what appeared to be long-extinct Earth species on Caedellium and depicted on the Munjor flag, and hearing Mark’s story about destrex on Drilmar, Yozef had wondered whether there would be more examples on Seaborn.

“Are there no predators on the Seaborn Islands?” he asked Zalzar.

“That’s one of the oddities of our province—no large animals that originated here. We have wild krykors that would take over pastureland if they weren’t controlled. As for predators, there are two. The onamarl is an animal that looks like several small animals on the mainland but has bigger teeth and preys on other animals and even on one another.”

I wonder if it’s a rodent that evolved to be a predator when there wasn’t one on these islands, thought Yozef.

“Then there’s the lantol,” said Zalzar. It’s a large murvor that flies everywhere over Seaborn, but not so much in the other provinces. The lantol will take birds, other murvors, the small Seaborn animals, and even young krykors, which helps keep them under control. There’re even witnesses of a lantol carrying off a month-old baby.”

“How big is this lantol?” asked Yozef, aghast at the last comment.

“The females are large and can be eight feet from wingtip to wingtip. I’ve heard of them getting up to nine feet or more, but I haven’t seen one that large.”

Yozef unconsciously glanced out the window and upward.

How big are eagles? he wondered, remembering seeing birds that resembled brown eagles from a distance. I can’t remember. I think the biggest one that ever lived was in New Zealand and preyed on the moas. It went extinct after humans ate all the giant ground birds.

An hour had passed since the sun had ducked behind the mountain peaks to the right. Carnigan called out, “Looks like a camp ahead of us.”

The caravan was on a downward trajectory. When the carriage side where Yozef sat was on the downhill side of the road, he leaned his head out the window to see wagons, men, and tents along a stream.

He had kept an eye on Maera. She had suffered mild initial seasickness after leaving the Penmawr harbor. It had faded, not to return during the rest of the voyage to Brudermyn. Still, he worried that the repeated jolts from the roadbed, the dizzying views whenever her carriage side gave her a downhill perspective, and the sharp turns, when combined with her pregnancy, would bring on motion-sickness, the land version of seasickness.

He hesitated to ask again how she felt, for fear of being a nag, but she did look a little pale. He also had second thoughts about encouraging her to complete the tour.

She read his mind. “Yes, I do feel a little nauseous, dear. It should be all right once we stop moving at tonight’s camp.”

“We’re past the worst of the road,” said Zalzar. “From here to the fall and then on to Nollagen is almost all flat. Then the same all the way back to Grastor. The road follows the coast. There’re no more mountains and only a few low hills. The only serious climb will be up and back down the mountain where the semaphore station was built.”

Maera sighed. “I think I’ll claim my condition and stay at that night’s camp, Yozef, while you meet Yulan at the top. Only four more nights until we’re back to Grastor. I confess I’m looking forward to getting home and sleeping in my own bed.”

A slight jolt occurred when the carriage came to an abrupt stop. They were almost off the last hill, and the camp lay two hundred yards ahead. Synton suddenly reined in his horse next to the carriage.”

“Listen!” urged Synton.

The three carriage occupants complied, and they could hear a distant noise.

Yozef frowned. Sounds like a train, he thought—a real train.

Seconds later, Zalzar spoke. “It’s Stiltern. We’re still a mile away, and the waterfall is recessed into the cliffs.”

“I see what you meant about the noise,” said Maera. “It must be deafening when you’re at the fall’s base.”

“It is pretty spectacular,” said Zalzar. “I think you’ll be glad you came, but you’ll also be glad to leave. As amazing as the fall is, being where you have a good view is so noisy it can give you a headache after only a few minutes—at least, it does for me.”

When they arrived at the camp, several men stopped working long enough to stare momentarily before returning to work. The exception was a man about forty years old, Anyar years. He strode forward when the carriage stopped and the occupants exited.

“Greetings, Deetlyn,” said Zalzar. “How are you? I see you have the camp set up.”

“Almost, Urk. I just got here myself about an hour ago. Me and Hislan.”

Zalzar gave the man a quick embrace, then hugged a teenage boy who had trotted over from the workers. Zalzar turned to Yozef and Maera.

“Paramount, this is my cousin Deetlyn Feldman and his son Hislan. Deetlyn is the Nollagen village chief. We see each other maybe once a year.”

“Greetings, Paramount and Sen Kolsko-Keelan. We’ll welcome you formally when you arrive in Nollagen tomorrow. I came here to be sure everything was prepared.”

“He means he couldn’t resist pestering the men he’d sent here,” said Hislan, grinning.

Zalzar slapped the boy’s back, and all three laughed. Their easy familiarity in the presence of the Paramount was refreshing to Yozef. Reezo and Thala took that moment to ride up and exchange greetings. After perhaps ten minutes of talk, Chief Feldman bade them farewell to return to Nollagen, leaving his son to escort the Paramount’s caravan to the village the next day.

CHAPTER 35

WHAT’S HAPPENING?!

Brintyn Cove, South Island

Orno Kistek had quit screaming at his men an hour past the time when he’d realized it was futile. After they’d unloaded six ships the previous day, a weather front moved through, and the ships couldn’t approach the shore again until the next morning. The men were working as fast as they could. He belatedly realized the conditions had been too favorable when they’d practiced unloading back in Kolinka. Here, the seas inside the cove were not as placid, and an unexpected current complicated leading unsteady horses from the bottom of the ramp to the sandy beach. Under other circumstances, he would have wondered why a current this strong was this close to shore and inside a cove. However, the only important thing now was that too many of the horses would have had no time to recover before the crew pressed them into service. Whatever horses were judged usable had finally been off-loaded and were being walked to get their legs working again.

Kistek inwardly groaned when he saw who was approaching. A profusely sweating Frenko Holuska wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “How much longer, Commander? I thought you would already have been moving. I sent your men back almost an hour ago with news the target had broken camp and was on the road.”

Kistek suppressed snapping at their guide and took a deep breath. “It will take as long as it takes. And yes, I’m worried some local citizen will raise an alarm in Nollagen when they see our men east of Nollagen. But we’re committed. The rest of the ships should be finished at the other landing. I sent them ahead when I realized the problems we’re having here. The horses aren’t as crucial there. All they have to do is block the road and then move toward Nollagen.” He looked sharply at Holuska. “That’s assuming your description is accurate that the road runs right along the coast between the shore and the slopes that horses can’t manage.”

“No, no. That’s the way it is. Two months ago, I took that road all the way from Nollagen around the southwest tip of South Island to Grastor. The land that a horse can manage is only about fifty yards wide.”

“If that’s true, then Bota should already have blocked that escape route, even without the horses unloaded.”

“Here it’s different, though,” insisted Holuska. “We need to be sure the Paramount’s party can’t retreat on the western road to Grastor before you can block it.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” Kistek said with a grating tone, his patience wearing thin. “Your job is to help confirm Kolsko’s party is on schedule.”

Kistak looked at the latest horses just unloaded. “Even the horses in the best shape need time to recover. That’s why they’re being walked.”

“I thought these horses were specially chosen,” whined Holuska.

Kistek wanted to curse at their contact, but the man had a point. They had chosen these horses as the best available: young, strong, in top condition. What they hadn’t counted on were the effects of a longer and more difficult sea voyage than anticipated. Besides being short of horses for all the men to ride singly, they had to apportion the horses according to their condition and specific tasks.

A man ran toward their position atop a sand dune. Two red bands on his sleeves identified him as a leader. “Commander. We picked fifty horses that are strong enough now to ride if we don’t push them too hard.”

“All right, Muskez. You know what to do. Head straight north until you hit the road. According to Holuska’s information, you’ll block the road where the terrain narrows. Use your judgment but set up and wait and be sure the Caedelli can’t evade you. If necessary, dig in and hold on until the rest of us arrive. As soon as we can here, we will move on Nollagen. Keep the road blocked until a messenger comes for you to ride to Nollagen. If everything works out, it should be just to reboard. Otherwise, it would be rejoining the main party for whatever is necessary.”

Kistek turned to Holuska. “I had to be sure the Grastor road was blocked. With Muskez off for that, the rest of us will push on to Nollagen. We’ll have to ride some horses double. All in all, we’ve maybe a hundred horses in top shape. I’ll have to judge whether we stay grouped, or I send men with the best horses forward, the rest following as they can. We won’t push the horses. We want them as fresh as possible under these conditions . . . just in case. I’ll send a few scouts out to keep a distant eye for Kolsko’s party to confirm their whereabouts. However, as much as I’ve cursed, we’ve still time to be sure Kolsko is either in Nollagen or nearby before we close with them.”

Stiltern to Nollagen

When Yozef opened his eyes the next morning, Maera lay next to him, eyes wide open, indicating she had roused some time earlier.

“I was wondering if the noise would wake you. It sure did me.”

Then it hit him. A low rumble and a faint tremble of the mat on which they slept.

“You know me. I like rain and wind sounds when I sleep.”

She snuggled closer against his back. “Oh, I do remember on our honeymoon to your small house away from Abersford. One night it stormed enough to keep me awake. I pretended to be asleep when you went out to the veranda. I wonder what kind of man liked to experience such weather . . . all the rain, thunder, lightning, and wind. I still had doubts about you. But listen. That has to be Stiltern Fall, but it didn’t seem as loud yesterday.”

“Might be the morning air. I don’t know how it works, but sometimes you can hear things from farther away in the morning.”

“What?” said Maera in mock astonishment. “Something that Paramount Kolsko doesn’t have an explanation for?”

“Oh, if you insist, I can give you an explanation as long as you don’t expect it to be true.”

She poked him in the ribs, then rolled over on him to deliver a quick, hard kiss.

“That’s just one of the many reasons I love you. You’re so honest, you even warn when an exaggeration might follow.”

A pang of guilt made Yozef shiver slightly. He couldn’t remember having ever actually lied to Maera, assuming that keeping his true origin a secret did not count. A lie by omission?

He was grateful that Maera diverted his ruminations.

“I wanted to talk to you about Thala. Some of what we discussed on the way from Yastern to Grastor was woman stuff, but she confided in me much more than I expected. I think she needed someone from the outside to say things she feels she can’t say to people who know her, including her family. She’s having a difficult time finding her place. Or . . . maybe I should say fitting into a place her father and Seaborn society have already imagined for her.”

Yozef rolled to face her and put an arm around her. Her bare breasts were a distraction as they pressed against his body.

“I was wondering what her story was,” said Yozef. “Going with the Seaborn men to fight at Orosz City and being a trainee medicant didn’t seem to fit Yulan’s concept of a hetman’s daughter. Oh . . . he’s not unreasonable, from what I have gathered, but he definitely has fixed ideas of people’s roles. I take it father and daughter have different ideas about her future.”

“She said they’ve had times of serious discord between them. Enough so that the medicant training was a type of truce because it physically separated them. She lived at the Brudermyn Cathedral complex when she began medicant training. It was something Yulan barely approved of, although Thala’s mother supported her daughter. Accompanying the men to the mainland to fight the Narthani was something else. She forged a letter from her father, supposedly giving her permission to go as a medicant’s assistant. It’s taken much of the time since we defeated the Narthani for Yulan and Thala to be civil to each other again. Thala believes her father has ‘given up’ on her, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it or perhaps even realize it.”

“I think I’m getting a whisper from God that a devious plan is about to be revealed.”

Maera smothered a laugh against his chest. “How is it that you invoke being a Septarsh at certain times?”

“Oh . . . who knows the ways of God?”

“Anyway . . . I’m thinking of looking for a way to bring Thala to Orosz City. She seems serious about medicant training, and Orosz City is the best place for that on Caedellium. I’m glad you got Diera to move permanently. As for Thala, I guess I don’t have a good-enough understanding of Seaborn to predict how Yulan would react if we tried to abscond with his daughter. I’ll give it some thought, but I suspect the best I’ll come up with is looking for an opening, whatever form that might take.”

When they emerged from their tent, the distant rumble was closer . . . at least, it sounded that way. Men had already finished packing up the camp and went to work on the tent as soon as they’d exited.

“Come and eat,” Carnigan called from within a group sitting around a fire. Thala jumped to her feet to ladle porridge from a kettle onto wooden plates. She scooped a handful of berry-like objects from a bowl, then placed two steaming biscuits on top of each bowl’s contents.

“The lumera berries are a bit tart this early in their season, but they add a nice tangy flavor.”

Once Maera and Yozef sat down, Reezo handed them cups of kava and metal spoons.

“I am afraid the kava is local and is pretty bad in this part of Seaborn. Of course, don’t tell that to anyone from the Nollagen area. They’re used to it and will tell you it’s the best in the province.”

The Kolskos were the last to eat. They wolfed down the food and climbed into the carriage, which was already hitched up and in caravan position. The rumble got louder by the minute. By the time they covered the mile to the falls, people had to lean close to anyone they wanted to speak with.

A clear view of the fall appeared only when they emerged from a thick forest a hundred yards from the fall’s base. The carriage stopped, and the occupants climbed down. Yozef felt Maera grip his right arm above the elbow. He turned to look down at her. Her lips moved, and he suspected she said, “Merciful God,” but he wasn’t sure because what had been merely an increasing rumble was now a roar drowning out all competition.

Suddenly, a heavy mist washed over them as the wind shifted momentarily. Yozef craned his neck back to see the top of the fall. He had been to Yosemite Valley several times with his family and later with Julie, his girlfriend. Of the four major waterfalls in the valley, Yosemite Falls was the tallest at twenty-four hundred feet. Zalzar had said Stiltern was three thousand feet from top to bottom. Yozef now believed him. Whereas Yosemite Falls was two separate drops, the first covering more than two-thirds of the total, Stiltern was a single waterfall all the way to boulders at the base.

He walked over to where Zalzar stood and cupped his hands between his mouth and Zalzar’s ear.

“Does the water flow like this all year?”

The older man shook his head, said something Yozef could not make out, and then used his hands to make a funnel from his mouth to Yozef’s ear.

“Not this much water, but always some. What you’re seeing is about the maximum flow. Sometimes, when the flow is low, the water might not reach the bottom but turns into mist.”

Another momentary wave of mist washed over them. Yozef figured it wouldn’t take more than three or four more waves, and they would be soaked. He spoke again into Zalzar’s ear.

“I think we need to move farther away. Is there a place where we can still view the fall and be able to talk?”

Zalzar motioned to the carriage, and they climbed back in. Maera held her hands over her ears even while being helped in. Five minutes later, the carriage stopped, and they once more climbed out. They were about a third of a mile from the fall, now visible through a break in the forest formed from the stream flowing over rocks and around boulders.

“I did warn you,” said Zalzar at a decibel level somewhere between merely loud and a shout.

“Being warned and being prepared are not the same thing,” said Maera, smiling.

Reezo and Thala had dismounted and approached, leading their horses.

“Well, what do you think, Paramount?” asked Reezo.

“Spectacular. No question about it. However, I think this is about as close as I want to go. Both Stiltern Fall and the Yastern Valley would be major attractions for visitors if they were on the main island of Caedellium. Too bad they aren’t more accessible.”

“I wish Gwyned were here,” said Carnigan. He had joined the group along with Synton, who looked as unimpressed as he usually did about anything.

“Paramount, the proposed schedule has us staying here until mid-day to view the fall. We weren’t sure how long you would want to look,” said Zalzar.

“As amazing as Stiltern Fall is, I think we’ve seen enough,” Yozef said. “What do you think, Maera?”

“Let’s wait a little while. The sun is still low and is just about to hit the top of the fall. Let’s see what it looks like with more light directly on it.”

Half an hour later, the answer was no difference because there was no more light. Clouds had rolled in quickly from the east as the wind picked up. The sun disappeared about the time it would have illuminated the top quarter of the fall.

“Well, we’ll just be a little early getting to Nollagen,” said Yozef.

“I’ll send a rider on ahead to pass the word. Nollagen chief Feldman wants to give people time to gather to greet you when you arrive. Most of the families from nearby farms will come to the village. As you can imagine, this is a major event for these people. Who knows the future? But Deetlyn told me the people here are talking about how this is a once-in-a-lifetime event—having Paramount Yozef Kolsko visit Nollagen.”

Zalzar cleared his throat. “Uh . . . according to Deetlyn, many of the people also think it’s maybe the only chance in their lifetime see a Septarsh.”

Yozef didn’t respond. There was no point.

Once again, the caravan was on the move. The road paralleled the stream fed by Stiltern Fall. They moved through heavy forest for just over two miles before the land opened into grassland.

“The land is like this the rest of the way to Nollagen,” said Zalzar. “We just entered the land of the Milmor family’s ranch. Deetlyn says they’re relatives of his wife’s. Actually, you’ll find that almost everyone in this part of South Island is related to everyone else in some fashion. Anyway . . . the grassland will change into farms the rest of the way to Nollagen, which is in the middle of the farm country.”

Zalzar was right. After they initially traveled south with the impressive mountains to their right, the ridge to their left lowered until they turned southeast onto low grass-covered hills. When they approached a cluster of buildings, a family of five, presumably parents and three early- to late-teenage children, watched from the porch of a house a hundred yards off the road. The man rode out to meet the carriage, which stopped, along with the rest of the caravan. He did not dismount but bowed in the saddle.

“Just wave out the window, Paramount,” said Zalzar. “I’ll talk to him, and we’ll move along. Otherwise, Milmor might want to bring the rest of his family out to make introductions.”

Zalzar leaned out the window. “Greeting, Ser Milmor. I’m Urk Zalzar, adviser to Hetman Seaborn. We met once or twice before. I assume you were expecting the Paramount to pass a little later in the day.”

“I guess that was your rider we saw galloping toward Nollagen,” said Milmor. “Just in case that was wrong, I sent my oldest son to Nollagen as soon as we saw you coming. The rest of us will be following shortly. I don’t want to delay you, but I don’t know if I’ll see the Paramount this close later.”

“Oh, what the hell,” said Yozef. “We’ve plenty of time. We may not interact much in Nollagen, so let’s give the man his money’s worth.”

Yozef opened the carriage door and climbed down, then turned to help Maera. Milmor’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaped off his horse faster than someone in his fifties could normally do. When the rancher made a motion as if he were beginning some type of bow, Yozef strode quickly forward and grabbed the man’s hand to shake.

“Please to meet you, Sen Milmor. Let me introduce my wife, Maera Kolsko-Keelan.”

Maera also held out a hand, which further flustered the rancher.

“Why don’t you call your family, Ser Milmor, and introduce them to us?” said Maera.

Milmor turned, called out to the house, and the other family members came running—the mother and two children. When the caravan was ready to move on, the four Milmors beamed and waved, and the mother called out that they would see the Kolskos in Nollagen.

Zalzar shook his head. “Forgive me for saying it, Paramount, but this short stop may be the biggest story of the Paramount’s visit that the people in this region remember. The Milmors will tell this story for the rest of their lives to anyone who will listen.”

“Ah, Ser Zalzar, you’re wondering whether the Paramount had such an ulterior motive,” said Maera. “I can assure you Yozef did it without thinking. I’ll leave it to you to wonder why he did it, but this is how he always behaves.”

Yozef didn’t comment. He felt annoyed when anyone tried to analyze everything he said or did.

They had only gone another mile and were in sight of a farmhouse and fields of half-grown wheat when the officer of the Pewitt dragoons called for the carriage to stop. He addressed Synton loud enough for the carriage occupants to hear.

“A rider coming hard from behind. He’s waving and yelling. I think it’s someone from the ranch we stopped at.”

It was one of the sons from the ranch. Yozef thought he remembered the boy’s name was Rynlyn.

“Paramount! Riders coming from the south! They passed our home about a third of a mile away from the house. But no one lives in that direction. There’s no good land for farming or ranching. Father says they aren’t Caedelli!”

“Why does he think that?” shouted Zalzar.

“I don’t know. After you left, we started to follow you, my parents and sister in our wagon and me and my brother riding horses. At the top of that last hill you just crossed, I saw thirty or more riders pass our home heading toward the Stiltern Fall road. That’s when Father said they aren’t Caedelli.”

The cluster of people gathered around Yozef and Maera now included the four bodyguards, Zalzar, the Seaborn twins, and two dragoon leaders—Wynton from Pewitt and Oston from Seaborn.

“I don’t like it,” said Synton. “Is it likely Hetman Seaborn would have sent more escorts? You know . . . so there’s more escorts from Seaborn than Pewitt?”

“No,” insisted Zalzar. “That’s petty. Yulan Seaborn may be many things, but petty isn’t one of them. What Rynlyn says matches what I know of this region—no one lives in the direction the riders came from. So, where did they come from?”

Yozef turned to Rynlyn. “My understanding was that there are no roads or passable tracks a horse could use all the way from here to Yallvan on the west coast. Is that true?”

“Roads? No. None. Tracks are different. While it’s not easy and is slow, there are ways through the mountains if you’ve enough reason to go. However, I haven’t heard of anyone making that trip for years.”

“I think we can rule out that they used the road we took from Grastor. They would have had to leave before us because they didn’t pass us. But where else could they have come from?”

“Only the road from Nollagen around the east tip and back to Grastor,” said Zalzar, “and Feldman would have warned us if they passed near the Nollagen road. He wouldn’t want the Paramount’s escorts to react badly to surprises. And why would these riders be behind us?”

“Let me think,” said Yozef.

He stood with a faraway look, eyes slightly aimed above the eye levels of the other people.

Is this what they mean when the Paramount is thought to be receiving whispers from God? Zalzar wondered.

In fact, he was visualizing a map of the Seaborn South Island.

“We need answers,” asserted Yozef, turning to Oston. “I’m assuming the Seaborn men with you are from farther north, but they still may know more about the lay of this land than the Pewitt men do. Send two of your men back along the road we’ve been traveling on, and check for riders. Don’t go any farther than where they can hear the fall. By then, the hills are so close to the road that there’s no way to go around anyone blocking the road.

“Send two more southwest along the coast until there’s no possible site for landing from ships. In both cases, the men are to push their horses, but not so much they can’t return to Nollagen with word of either spotting something or seeing nothing. Also, in both cases, have one man ride ahead of the other by . . . I don’t know . . . maybe a couple hundred yards, depending on the terrain, but keeping him in sight. If the first man runs into trouble, the second is not to go help but get to Nollagen with word.”

“You seriously think these men are enemies?” asked Maera. “Who? Narthani?”

Yozef gave a dismissive wave. “Who knows? We’ll worry about that later.”

“But why would they be here?” asked a bewildered Thala.

“The Paramount,” Synton answered in a grim tone.

“But how would they know the Paramount is here on this day?” complained Reezo.

“It would have to be spies,” said Maera. “After the Narthani defeat, we thought we’d rooted out most of them, but we recently found more are likely still undetected.”

Yozef nodded. “That would mean they would have to be placed in a position or positions with access to my schedule. In this case, it could be in Orosz City, Pewitt, or here in Seaborn. Maybe more than one spy. Hell . . . maybe in all three places.”

“There would have to be one here in Seaborn,” said Maera. “If the objective is the Paramount, they would have to be able to adjust because they couldn’t be exactly sure of schedule changes.”

“Here in Seaborn?” exclaimed Reezo. “How is that possible? I can’t believe any of our clanspeople would betray the Paramount.”

Zalzar shook his head. “There are always disgruntled people. Not everyone in Seaborn approves of the union. I’m more skeptical of how such a plot could be organized. There would have to be communication between a spy on Seaborn and whoever these riders are.”

“We’ll argue later,” said Yozef. “Now it’s time to act.” He turned again to Oston. “Get your men going.”

The Seaborn dragoon leader ran forward in the caravan, yelling orders.

“Rynlyn, return to your family. Tell them to keep coming hard toward Nollagen, but if they can hide without being seen from the road, do that and wait at least the rest of today.”

Yozef grabbed Reezo’s arm. “I want you to send someone hard to Nollagen. Tell Feldman what we know. This may well be a lot of excitement about nothing, but alert them. We’ll be along as fast as the wagon and the carriage can manage. Also, tell Feldman to send riders east along the coast road at least ten miles and report back to Nollagen if they find people who shouldn’t be there. Warn them to be careful.”

When the hetman’s son hesitated, Yozef took on the “Paramount” voice he’d been cultivating.

“Go! Now!”

“You’re worried about being cut off on both roads from Nollagen?” asked Zalzar.

“It’s best to consider a worst case,” said Yozef. “I’ve unfortunately come to believe anything else is foolish.”

Several people started talking at once. Yozef held up both arms.

“Enough. We need to follow Reezo’s man. Now!”

Everyone dispersed for the run to Nollagen. Yozef had one last command to Synton.

“We’ll leave the wagon. It’ll only slow us down. Get the weapons we brought and leave the baggage and supplies. If all this is for nothing, we’ll send people back for the wagon.”

After helping Maera into the carriage, Yozef spoke to the driver.

“We’ll be holding on, so don’t worry about the jolts. Get us to Nollagen as fast as you can without crashing the carriage.”

He had briefly considered having the three carriage occupants ride double with dragoons but decided against it. Maera was three months’ pregnant, and he didn’t know the effect of a hard ride with a possibility of being thrown from the horse.

Shouts followed up and down the caravan. The occupants heard the driver yell at the horses and crack his whip, followed by a lurch as the horses leaped forward. Yozef held onto the window frame with one hand and used the other arm to catch Maera. She’d been caught unready and almost pitched forward.

“What do you really think, Yozef?”

“I think we’ll have way too much alcohol tonight and laugh at the flurry of worries to no purpose.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“Sure? I’ve come to believe it’s hard to be sure on this world . . . er . . . anywhere on Anyar.”

All three carriage occupants leaned to the left as the road curved right. Yozef wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the ride had actually smoothed out. Maybe by speeding up, the wheels didn’t have time to maintain contact with the bottoms of ruts and potholes. Nevertheless, smoother wasn’t smooth, and combined with the swerving side to side, the three carriage occupants constantly braced themselves with one or both arms.

The seven miles to Nollagen took forever, or so it seemed to Yozef. Yet he knew the heightened tension made it seem so. He tried looking out the window to the rear several times but gave up. The carriage motion, the galloping Pewitt dragoons, and the caravan’s dust obstructed his view too much. He would’ve liked to stop at the crest of a low hill, but it would only have cost time and jangled nerves. He had to trust that the Pewitt men were looking over their shoulders.

Zalzer believed Nollagen had a population of about 300. If another 200 Seaborners planned to come for the Paramount’s visit, that meant upward of 500 men and women and children in or coming to the village.

As Nollagen first came into view, Yozef’s mind whirled. He felt he needed to be doing something, but what? Many times since coming to Anyar, the danger was right in front of him. Other times the danger was anticipated and planned for. Now . . . was there a danger? If yes, what was it, and how serious? How to react with no information? In its own way, this was among the most disconcerting feelings in his life.

Houses flashed by the carriage windows. People ran, yelled, or stood still seeing the caravan. Suddenly, the driver yelled something, and the carriage lurched to a stop. Visible from the right-side windows was a building, and from the left side, a village square. The carriage door jerked open.

“It looks like chaos here,” said Carnigan. “Whatever’s happening needs some order.”

Yozef jumped out to the ground. He swiveled his head back and forth twice, as if hoping Carnigan’s description wouldn’t be confirmed the second time. It was.

He felt a hand against his back. It was Maera reminding him he’d blocked her from exiting. “Sorry,” he said, giving her a hand down. Zalzar followed on his own.

“It’s not really chaotic,” she said, “it just looks that way.”

Yozef took a harder look. Colored banners hung from buildings surrounding the square. In the center sat a wooden platform with more banners hanging from the sides.

Preparations to welcome the Paramount, he thought. Here’s hoping we can still do whatever they planned.

“Paramount!” came a shout rising above the other noises. Village chief Feldman sprinted to them, weaving his way around villagers heading in all directions.

“What’s happening, Paramount?! The man you sent only said there were many unknown riders. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the implication was danger of some kind. What danger? From who? Why?”

“Calm, Urk,” said Zalzar. “Nothing is known for certain, yet. The Paramount ordered men to search west and southwest. You were also supposed to send people east a few miles. Did you do that?”

“Yes, yes, but I couldn’t tell them exactly what they were looking for, just to come back quickly to Nollagen if they found something unexpected.”

“You did the right thing, Urk. Now I guess we simply have to wait for information,” said Zalzar, looking expectantly at Yozef.

“That’s right. It may turn out to be nothing, but it’s best to make some preparations just in case. I see people running around, but what are they doing?”

Feldman wiped his sweating face with his sleeve and took several deep breaths.

“After the Buldorian raid years ago, we vowed to never again be taken by surprise. For the first year after the raid, we practiced what to do if it happened again. Of course, we expected that if it did, it would come from the sea as before. We had lookouts at the harbor and on a hill west of the village. If an alert came, everyone had someplace to go and things to do. At first, we practiced having alerts, but as time wore on, we stopped doing it. It’s taken time to convince people this was for real, but people are starting to form barricades, and men are getting their weapons from home because they don’t usually carry muskets during the day.”

“How many people are in Nollagen right now?” asked Yozef.

“Only about two hundred fifty. We used to have over three hundred, but some were killed or taken captive during the raid when most of the buildings were burned. A few others moved away from Nollagen and still more rebuilt some distance from the village, thinking that was safer. We were expecting you later this afternoon, Paramount, so another two hundred people from farms and a few ranches had planned on gathering later for your arrival.”

That’s both good and bad, thought Yozef. A least, there will be fewer women and children in danger, but it also means fewer men to fight off any attack if that’s what we’re facing.

Feldman licked his lips as he glanced around. “If there is an attack, Paramount, surely we can beat them off. We’ll have around forty or more armed men and women, plus the dragoons and your guards.”

“Father, Father, Father!” shouted a female voice. A teenage girl ran toward them, weaving around and pushing against people in her way. “Ships! Many ships out at sea!” When she reached Feldman, she bent at the waist, hands on her knees, and gulped air.

“Meena, are you sure? It wasn’t just white caps on waves you saw? Some of our fishing boats are not back yet to be in time to see the Paramount.”

The girl shook her head violently, her hair flying out almost horizontally from the rapid motions. She tried speaking, but only hard wheezes came out. Feldman turned to Yozef.

“My daughter, Meena. She was at the lookout east of the village.”

He turned to his daughter, put one arm around her, and helped her stand erect.

“You say ships? Many ships?”

She gave an exaggerated nod, took two deep breaths, and tried speaking again. “Ships. With sails out. Maybe eight. Ten. Maybe more. I don’t know!”

Feldman started shaking his daughter. Yozef put a hand on his shoulder and faced the girl.

“Meena . . . the ships . . . were they headed toward Nollagen?”

“Yes! No! Both!”

“What?!” said Feldman, confused.

“Meena,” said Yozef. “Do you mean some were coming here and some were going away?”

“Here! There!” said Meena, pointing to the ground and then out to sea.

Yozef stood back from the girl. “I think she means some ships were headed to Nollagen, and other ships were maybe not moving. Is that what you meant, Meena?”

“Yes,” came clearer as the girl caught her breath. “Maybe eight or ten . . . I don’t know . . . near the shore east of Nollagen. Another ten or so maybe five miles at sea.”

“Did they have full sails or partial?”

She took several more deep breaths. “I think some had partial sails.”

“Could you tell if they were different kinds of ships?” ask Yozef.

Meena thought for a few seconds. “No . . . I think they looked all the same.”

“That’s it, then,” said Maera. “The Fuomi don’t have fifteen to twenty ships of the same kind here. I don’t see any other likely explanation, except a raid. Yozef, how much danger are we in?”

“Depends on how many there are and how serious they take their mission, whatever it is.”

“What do you mean, whatever the mission is?” said Synton before turning and spitting to one side. “The most valuable thing in this part of Seaborn . . . damnation . . . maybe ALL of Seaborn is you, Yozef. They’re coming for YOU. Either to kill you or capture you. My coin would be on capture.”

“But who would do this?” asked Zalzar, angry and puzzled at the same time. “Buldorians again? The Narthani?”

“We’ll worry about who later,” said Yozef.

“Damn right,” Synton said in a grating voice. “The shit we’re in gets deeper the more I hear. They must’ve sent those men to cut our retreat back to Grastor. Then they’re landing men to block what we are told is the only other road out of here. That can’t be all of them. I’ll bet there’s more . . . maybe the main body, coming here from the west from the same landing point as the ones blocking the Grastor road. We’re fucked.”

“Succinct, but hopefully not correct,” said Yozef in a calmer voice than indicated by his internal turmoil.

“Zalzar, you mentioned tracks leading over the mountains to . . . what was it called? The town on the West Coast.”

“Yallvan? But I don’t know the way, and it’s bound to be rough over those peaks.”

“Okay. How about straight north from here or northeast over the mountains where we might catch the road the rest of the way northwest to Grastor? There can’t be so many raiders that they would seriously attack Grastor . . . the population is too large.”

I hope that’s true, Yozef thought.

“I don’t know,” answered Zalzar. “I only know about the Yallvan tracks because it was mentioned to me one time.”

“There are such tracks,” said Reezo. “Both directions, but the one Thala and I have been on goes from here north through the Milgorn Gorge. Once you get into the broken country, it’s slow going. In many places it has to be single file, but I don’t remember many spots where someone could get ahead of you.”

The Seaborn dragoon officer suddenly appeared, pulling one of his men by an elbow. Thirty yards behind the two men, Yozef could see two other dragoons holding up a third man with a bloody left arm.

“The two men I sent west. They spotted a force of riders heading this way. They didn’t get a good count, but at least a hundred. Maybe a lot more. Many were riding double. Our men were spotted by what must be scouts. They had a running battle with the scouts until they got away.”

Maera blanched, and multiple men’s faces turned to Yozef. He cursed subvocally—not at the situation, but at the all-too-familiar expectation that Yozef Kolsko would have the solution. The second curse was audible to everyone within twenty feet and was directed at the universe.

“All right,” he addressed the Seaborn dragoon. “Did they follow you?”

“When we got near the village, I looked back. I could see horsemen on the last rise about a quarter-mile behind us. Six or eight of them. They were just standing there.”

“I only see one option,” said Yozef. “It sounds like there are too many for us to stay in Nollagen and beat them off.”

He turned to Feldman. “Have everyone in the village scatter into the countryside northeast and northwest of here. Our party will head north. Reezo and Thala will guide us through the track they say can take us directly to Grastor. Whoever these people are, they have to be after me, so they’ll chase us. I don’t believe they’ll waste time with your people. I expect they’ll come straight along the coast in both directions toward Nollagen and eventually follow us north. Your people need to go to where there’s the best chance they’ll be ignored.”

“Oh, Yozef,” whispered Maera. “The people of Nollagen will be undefended.”

He didn’t know whether the others had heard her, but he spoke loud enough for all to hear.

“The people here in Nollagen are in more danger if they stay around us than if we can get the riders to follow us.

“We’re already flying a few banners, but let’s give them more. Synton, you and the two dragoon officers, grab a dozen or so of the banners around town and fasten them to poles the men can hold high while we move. We want whoever is watching us to have no doubt that the Paramount’s party is no longer in the village. Once we’re sure they’re following us, we can throw away the banners.”

Ten minutes later, the Paramount’s caravan, with flags and banners visible to anyone within a mile’s unobstructed view, left Nollagen heading due north.

CHAPTER 36

PURSUIT

The carriage and wagon drivers opted to stay and disperse with the villagers. Yozef didn’t ask about their reasoning, but he suspected they had better chances away from him. Word had spread of the riders’ likely objective.

Abandoning the carriage meant the Paramount’s party required three more horses—supplied by Feldman. The village chief offered to send guides for the track intended to be the escape route, but the Seaborn twins were positive they knew the way. Thus, when they left the village at a trot, they rode two abreast, Maera on a bay mare beside Yozef, riding a gray gelding. As before, the Seaborn dragoons led the way, the Pewitt dragoons to the rear.

They were only a few hundred yards past the last village structure when the Pewitt officer caught up to Yozef.

“No doubt they spotted us. Like the Seaborn man said, they were sitting on the hill, but three of them are now following us. I saw at least one man turn his horse and gallop west.”

“If I were them,” said Yozef, “I’d have another man bypassing Nollagen to send word to however many of them are along the east road. I hope everyone is out of the village, though it would be best for us if the raiders use some of their men to search all the buildings to be sure I’m not hiding in Nollagen.”

Synton appeared. “Okay, if we think they’ve seen us, how about picking up the pace? From what Reezo Seaborn says, we’ve got miles before we’re out of this open country. We need to reach the more difficult terrain he described. At least then we’d have some options if they catch up with us.”

Yozef spoke to the Seaborn officer. “He’s right. It’s time to move faster. I leave it to you to pace us. Trot as much as possible without overly tiring the horses—we may need to gallop before reaching closed ground. Also, send a couple of men forward to be sure we don’t stumble into them without realizing they’re ahead of us.”

He turned to Wynton, the Pewitt officer. “You do the same. Have a couple men lag behind several hundred yards and one on each of our flanks.”

“What do you think, Yozef?” rumbled Carnigan. “Are they going to catch us?”

“It all depends how fast the two groups along the coast are coming. I doubt the ones they sent to block the Grastor road will be a factor. The ones from the west had many men riding double, but we don’t know about the ones from the east. If they come hard, the horses with two men each might not be able to keep up the same pace. But there could still be too many of them.”

Ten minutes later, they moved from a trot to dismounting and leading the horses at a walk. Then a leftward-flanking scout reported that the three men who’d been on the hilltop near Nollagen were following them slightly to the left and parallel.

“Keeping us in sight,” said Toowin Kales. “We could send some men to chase them off.”

“No point. They’d retreat and then come back. We’d just tire our men’s horses to no purpose.”

Yozef glanced at Maera. She was not a natural rider. A hetman’s daughter and then a Paramount’s wife had few occasions to make long horseback trips. She was capable, but Yozef planned on having Toowin Kales and Gowlin Reese lead her horse if they had to make a run for it.

He yearned to order everyone to remount and go back to a trot, but he suppressed the urge. They had to keep the horses fresh enough for when they really needed to speed up.

“Synton, how much farther on this flatland, do you figure?”

“A couple of miles . . . I think. Depends on how fast the land closes in on the track Reezo talked about. Too soon yet to mount the horses again, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re walking the horses faster now than we normally would. Most of the horses had already been ridden today from Stiltern Fall, so they aren’t fresh.”

Five minutes later, a shout from their rear made Yozef turn to look. One of the trailing outriders galloped back to the group. In another minute, Yozef knew the reason for the Pewitt man’s return. Five more riders now followed about five hundred yards behind him. Both rear outriders were forced to pull in closer to the main party, as did the left outriders—the three riders paralleling were now six.

“Could be just more scouts,” said Zalzar. Despite being the oldest person in their group, he was obviously at ease in the saddle. He handled his unfamiliar horse with his one good hand and casual mastery.

“Maybe,” said Yozef. “But we have to assume they’re an advance of more to come. They’re squeezing us so we get less warning. We might not know until it’s too late if hundreds of them are closing in.”

“When do you think they’ll attack?” asked Maera, her voice calm, as if she were asking when Yozef would be home for the evening meal. He wasn’t fooled. Her face was pale and pinched.

“Not until they have a lot more men. There’s what . . . fifty of us? A lot depends on their ultimate goal . . . capture or death. If it’s capture, they’ll wait until they have overwhelming numbers. Otherwise, they’ll come as soon as their leader believes they have just enough to win a fight. We have to remount and move faster.”

The chase became almost surreal. Within minutes, the outriders were forced back to the main party. The riders of unknown origin increased in numbers by ones, twos, and threes behind them and on both sides. Yozef began to really worry when the flanking man edged closer.

“They must’ve brought horses with them,” Synton said loud enough for Yozef to hear over their horses’ hoof beats. “After the report that some of them were riding double, I thought maybe they didn’t bring enough horses for everyone. But now that I see them showing up in dribbles, I think they probably had enough horses for all their men, but the horses didn’t manage the sea voyage that well and they’re short a few mounts. I’d bet their leader sent the men with the best horses ahead as fast as the horses could manage. I also think our time is running out.”

“Those hills and buttes we started seeing are getting closer,” said Yozef. “What do you think now? A mile?”

“About that, but they have to see it, too. That must mean they don’t have enough men yet.”

Synton looked to the left. “Well, shit! I had to open my fucking mouth!”

The trailing riders had picked up the pace, and there were more of them.

“How can they be going faster than us?” asked Maera.

“How the fu—” Yozef cut himself off. It served no purpose to take his frustration out on Maera.

“I don’t know,” he said after taking a deep breath. “We haven’t rushed since we left Brudermyn, but our horses have been on the road for several days. Maybe they’re tired from that. We also don’t know the horses, so besides being unfamiliar with them, we can only guess what physical shape they were in when we started. Add to that, we have no idea about the condition of our pursuers’ horses. Maybe they have elite horses. Maybe they’re well rested. Hell, I don’t know!” The words tested his resolve to stay calm—at least overtly in front of Maera.

“Still, there aren’t that many of them yet,” said Synton. “But we can’t afford for them to get ahead of us and find a place to either block us or even slow us down. We’re also in trouble if we’re out here in the open, and it turns into a running fight. I can see a few of them are carrying lances, and at least some of them have swords. That makes them more armed for a cavalry fight than we are because all we have are firearms.”

The same worry occurred to Yozef. The Caedelli dragoons were armed as if the enemy were Narthani infantry. Even with the new rifled muzzleloaders, the men were trained to ride to battle, then dismount and fight as infantry. Whoever was after them looked as if they might be traditional cavalry. It wasn’t possible to reload muskets and pistols from a galloping horse. In this situation, the only choice was to stop, dismount, fight on foot, or flee until finding a defensible position.

“Well, shit,” said Synton. “That’s it, then. We have to reach where Reezo claims they can’t get around. We’ll have to race the horses no matter what it does to them.”

Synton didn’t wait for Yozef’s response, which was fortuitous because no counterargument was given. They HAD to get out of open country before being cut off.

The Seaborn dragoon officer had already anticipated this and ordered his men into a gallop before Synton’s shouting and arm waving reached him.

“Hold on, dear!” Yozef shouted to Maera. Toowin Kales hooked a rope to her mare’s bridle, and Gowlin Reese moved alongside her.

Yozef restrained his urge to help. As much as his horsemanship had developed, he didn’t have the others’ lifetime of experience. If he lost control of his horse, had it step in a hole, or was thrown, it would force the entire party to stop. That event could be disastrous if it contributed to their being caught in the open.

The two-abreast formation quickly broke down. The surrounding land was dry and covered only by sparse, low-lying grass. As they galloped, the party stretched out and broadened as faster rider/mount combinations moved ahead of slower riders.

It took only moments for the flanking enemy riders to reciprocate the pace, whipping their horses.  When Yozef crested a low hill, he glanced over his right shoulder and almost wished he hadn’t. A mass of riders was only two or three minutes behind them. His flash-view didn’t give a count, only that there were too many.

Shit! Where did they all come from!?

Maera’s horse stumbled, causing Yozef to let his own reins slip inches before he regained them. But her mare immediately stabilized and continued on. The left flankers were closing, squeezed by the narrowing terrain. Yozef hadn’t paid attention to their right flank but now did. He saw more riders trailing by several hundred yards.

Does that mean another group coming from east of Nollagen? he thought.

Suddenly, his horse jumped aside as they raced past a small bush. Yozef hadn’t noticed, but sparse brush now dotted the previously open terrain. He looked ahead to see patches of brush and a few trees whose height seemed to increase in the distance. Several rock formations up to ten feet high jutted upward among the trees.

They raced around a small butte, the flankers now too close for comfort.

The sound of muskets firing rose over the hoof beats and horses blowing with overworked lungs.

They can’t expect to hit anything, thought Yozef. Just trying to get us to stop and fight. You can’t hit anything from their range with a smoothbore musket, and you certainly can’t reload.

More muskets, this time closer and to the right rear. Yozef glanced in that direction. The right flankers had drawn closer and now numbered seven or eight. At least two men leveled muskets. The sound of their firing reached him seconds after he saw smoke from the barrels.

Still looking backward, he saw a sharp movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head more. One of the Pewitt horses was down, the rider thrown.

Well, shit. I guess they can hit something if the target is fifty horses and their riders.

He didn’t know whether the fallen dragoon was injured or alive, but they couldn’t help him. Yozef mouthed a prayer, and not just for the man. His gelding’s blowing was getting more labored. Other horses must also be nearing the end of their endurance.

Just a little farther, horse. Hold on for just a little farther.

One of the Seaborn dragoons’ horses at the front collapsed in full stride. The rider managed to kick out of the stirrups in time to roll forward and onto his feet. Another dragoon leaned down with an arm extended. In a maneuver worthy of a Hollywood stunt team, the horseless man grabbed the arm and swung up behind the other rider, the horse only slightly breaking stride.

They raced into a grove of trees 12 to 20 feet tall. About 200 yards later, they burst out of the trees to face a shallow slope with a chute 20 feet wide and walls of rock 6 to 8 feet high. Their horses clattered on solid and loose rock.

Where are the flanking riders? Yozef thought as he looked back. The terrain had narrowed enough that the flankers had joined the men at their rear, and the merged group had slowed.

“We still outnumber them,” yelled Synton. “That won’t last long.”

Yozef saw what he meant. From the bottom of the chute, Yozef could see over the cluster of pursuers to flat land behind. Riders, singles and small groups, trailed into the distance. He didn’t count, but his eyes told him they would soon be outnumbered.

At the top of the chute, the land widened again, but rock formations merged into slopes on both sides. Thala had been at the forefront with Reezo but waited for Yozef at the top of the chute.

“We’re almost into the place where it’s too narrow for more than two horses at a time, often just one horse. The footing will become trickier as we cut across the slopes.”

“At least, we’ll be out of open terrain so they can’t use cavalry tactics. But this is still not going to work,” said Yozef. “They’re almost on our ass. As we funnel into the narrow defiles you described, they’ll catch up to us, and we’ll be in their musket range. Then it won’t matter if our rifles outrange their muskets.”

Wynton led his Pewitt men out of the chute and was close enough to hear Yozef’s words. He had already seen the same scenario and made a decision.

“Paramount, you can’t escape unless we stop them here long enough for you and the others to open up more distance from them. I’ll stay here with half my men and slow them as long as we can.”

Yozef stared for three or four seconds while his mind processed the Pewitter’s words.

“Wynton . . . ” He stopped. More seconds passed as his vain search for other options concluded.

“This is what we’re here for, Paramount. Leave us and let us do our duty.”

Yozef choked. Maera sidestepped her horse next to Wynton’s and put a hand on his arm.

“Go with a merciful God. We will never forget you, and your clanspeople will honor your name forever.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Wynton shouted orders. The ten lead Pewitt dragoons hesitated, then continued on, passing Yozef and Maera. Wynton shouted again, and the ten trailing men gathered around Wynton. Yozef couldn’t hear the words, but several men glanced at him.

“We have to go, Yozef,” said Carnigan.

“I know.” He turned to Toowin, who had taken a turn holding the Paramount’s flag. “Come with me.”

Yozef walked his horse toward the cluster of dragoons. He didn’t speak, but he held a hand out to the first man he came to. After a moment’s hesitation, the dragoon took the offered hand and shook. Yozef quickly moved through the group, shaking each hand. When finished, Yozef finally spoke.

“I decree this spot to be Pewitt’s Glory.”

He backed his horse up next to Toowin’s and gave the open hand down, arm out salute used by the Caedelli to honor equals. Toowin lowered the flag to horizontal, dipped it three times, and the two men rode after the rest of the party. He knew it was an awful pittance, but it was all he could do for them. If he survived, he’d make sure the men were remembered and honored.

He had no trouble catching up with the others. Another narrow section had bottlenecked their progress. Once they’d passed it, the land opened up again for several hundred yards. They were five minutes from leaving the Pewitt men when they heard a short rifle fire salvo, followed by several muskets. Yozef counted off seconds. The rifles again . . . after the time it took to reload. Then pistols . . . the dragoons carried at least one each. More muskets. Rifles again. More muskets. He visualized more of the attackers arriving.

They were almost through another bottleneck when Yozef was sure the musket fire was virtually continuous . . . until it died back. He hadn’t heard a rifle fired for over a minute. He cursed and gripped his reins tighter. Eleven men had bought him maybe eight minutes with their lives.

The sides of their passageway kept rising. Then Reezo left the bottom of the ravine-like terrain and edged onto the slope to their right. Yozef would have called it a game trail if there had been animals large enough.

Good thing Reezo and Thala are here, he thought. We’d never have known to go this way.

The path kept rising. The trail was precarious—one slip, and the horse and rider would tumble until they hit flat ground fifty feet below. Even if they survived, there was no way for them to return to the trail. The slope was too steep.

They heard a shout a few yards behind them, then sounds of a rockslide. Yozef turned in the saddle. A horse tumbled down the slope, its rider on his belly with arms and legs splayed. That stopped him from following the doomed mount that hit the ground fifty feet below. The horse’s hind legs kicked twice and froze. They twisted at the wrong angle.

Two men leaped off their horses and reached down to pull the dismounted man to safety. No one said anything. Now another horse had to carry double.

Yozef called ahead, and Thala pulled up to wait where the trail crossed a small shelf.

“Are you sure they can’t get around us, Thala? They’ve got to be right behind us.”

Yozef’s pulse jumped when she hesitated, instead of answering immediately as he’d hoped.

“Reezo’s positive about it,” she said, but her tone was not assertive.

“But you’re not sure.”

She bit her lip, then shook her head. “Oh, he’s probably right. I might just not remember as well.”

Yozef could have spit bricks if his mouth wasn’t desert dry.

Synton had dropped back from Reezo. “How much farther does this trail go before we can move faster?”

“Reezo says another quarter-mile when we cross the ridge we’re approaching. Then we drop down into a small valley before coming to another narrow part. I think I remember that area.”

Synton shook his head. “If I were them and had as many men as we think they do, I’d send some of them continuing along the bottom where we turned onto this trail, on the off chance Reezo is wrong.”

“Well, if they do that, shouldn’t we see them below us?” asked Yozef. “That trail below is also narrowing. It’s a hell of a lot faster going. They could almost get us in reasonable musket range. We need to push on, get off this slope, and find a spot where our rifles will outrange their muskets.

“You’re thinking of hitting them, then,” stated Synton. “Could work. We wouldn’t even have to hit the men. Dead or wounded horses will tend to block the way and be as good or better.”

Yozef yelled forward, and the Seaborn dragoon leader waited for them at another shelf.

“Oston, we need to slow them down again once we get off this trail and can reach a good spot. Ser Ethlore will remain with you. These are your men, but listen to him. He’ll look for a place where you can use your rifles to block the pursuers. This is not a stand-and-fight. You’ll be able to fire and hit targets beyond their musket range. You’ll have to judge whether to fire once and move on or stay to reload and continue firing. Then you’ll move as fast as you can to catch up with the rest of us. You’re not to get into an extended firefight and lose men.”

“I’ll stay, too,” said Carnigan, who hadn’t spoken in the last hour. He reached over his shoulder and patted the destrex rifle slung across his back. “This cannon has an even longer range. A hit from this will discourage them from getting too close.”

“All right,” said Yozef, “but remember you’re only trying to block the passage enough to slow them down, not stop them. So do what you can and get your asses back to the rest of us.”

When Carnigan was out of hearing, Yozef leaned into Synton. “Try to send Carnigan back before the rest of your men. His horse is laboring more than most.”

Synton grunted. “I’m surprised the poor beast has borne up under the load of that oaf. I’ll do what I can.”

They moved to catch up with the Seaborn dragoons who had stopped a hundred yards farther along the trail. It had widened as the slope became shallower. Finally, the trail topped the crest and wove through a boulder field until it opened to a flat area thirty or forty yards wide and maybe three hundred yards long before there was another boulder field. The rocks were up to eight feet tall. Yozef glanced skyward. The higher reaches on both sides appeared fractured. It flashed through his mind that big pieces came loose and crashed down over the years. At the second field, ten Seaborners had dismounted and joined Oston, Synton, and Carnigan as the rest of the party continued. They had traveled only another two hundred yards when a boom echoed between the walls on both sides.

“My God,” said Maera. “Carnigan fired already. They must be closer than we thought.”

“He must have fired at the ones who came out of the first boulder field. That’s way less than the cannon’s range, but I bet Carnigan hit one of their horses. That may give them pause for at least a minute or two before they try to come forward. It’s more than enough time for him to reload. Then the other men will come into play. There’s no room for a mass charge. The area is too narrow. The raiders’ leader will already know their only chance is to dismount and try to flank our men. “

Another boom. Faint yells. A third boom, then the dragoon rifles. A few muskets answered, then stopped.

“Their leader must have told them to stop firing if we’re still out of musket range,” said Toowin.

Three more booms accompanied by rifles—Carnigan, Synton, and the ten Pewitt men. Then muskets again for the first time since the scattered shots three minutes earlier. Yozef imagined more raiders finding positions with rock cover to fire from and men sent upslope on both sides. The latter would be clearly exposed. Yozef wondered what inducements, or threats, it took to make men to push this hard.

Carnigan’s destrex rifle had been firing about every thirty seconds. Over two minutes had passed since the last boom, although rifle and musket fire continued. The trail used by the rest of the party continued, but what was below them revealed itself to be a blind canyon.

Thala called out from her forward position. “Another three or four hundred yards, and we’ll reach the top of the next ridge and start down. The slope is shallower on the other side, and this trail, wider. We’ll make better time.”

Her estimate was off . . . they reached the top in fewer than two hundred yards. They stopped to let the horses rest a couple minutes. That’s when Carnigan caught up with them. He was leading two horses tied tail to bridle, two wounded dragoons in the saddles. The first man was tied to the saddle and had blood-soaked clothing on his right side. The other man was alert, but his forearm was wrapped in his coat. He winced every time his mount’s left foreleg hit the ground.

“The rest will be along in a minute. They left one dead. One of the Pewitt men thinks the language he heard the raiders use is Kolinkan. He works at the Penmawr docks when not on military duty and says he’s heard ships’ crews from different Iraquinik kahsaks at the docks and in pubs.”

“Is he positive?” asked Maera.

Carnigan shrugged. “How do I know? That’s what he says.”

“We saw a Kolinka ship at Brudermyn,” said Yozef. “And at least one Kolinkan was watching when I got off the ship. He stared at me strangely.”

“Synton noticed them in Penmawr,” said Carnigan. “He said something about disliking them from spending a night in a Brudermyn pub.”

“Kolinkans or not, what’s their status?” asked Yozef.

“It will take them time to move the dead horses. I shot some when they first came into range. The Kolinkans, if that’s who they are, stopped at first but then came on no matter the casualties. We pulled back into the second boulder field where the way ahead was restricted again. When they came forward, they couldn’t be sure where we were. Synton had the men hold their fire until the lead Kolinkans reached a narrow spot. That’s where they now have three dead horses wedged together. It’ll be a devil of a time moving them.”

“All right, let’s keep going,” said Yozef.

Thala was right. The trail was now wider and trended downhill. When Synton caught up with them, there was room for him to pass other riders to reach Yozef. They didn’t even have to stop to converse. Synton leaned in his saddle and gestured for Yozef to do the same.

“Carnigan told you how we blocked the trail?”

Yozef nodded.

“It’ll slow them, but they’ll keep coming. Before we lost sight of them, I saw them hacking at the bodies. The fuckers even had axes. What cavalry carries axes? And their damn horses! The ones I could see looked fresh compared to ours. If the ground opens up before Grastor, like Thala and Reezo believe, they’re going to catch us.”

“Thala says we’re almost through this tight terrain,” said Yozef. “If they close in after that, they’ll catch us. The question is whether they want me badly enough to get that close to Grastor. That’s assuming this is just a raiding party and not a full-scale invasion.”

“Nothing we can do if that’s the case,” Synton said. “But assuming it’s not, should we give one man our best horse and have him kill it getting to Grastor?”

“How’s that going to help? He won’t get there much sooner than the rest of us will.”

“Face it, Yozef. We’ll have to stand and fight somewhere. Best if it’s before we reach countryside with no cover. Maybe we can hold on until help comes from Grastor.”

Yozef didn’t speak for almost a minute. Neither did anyone else in their column.

“I was hoping you had other ideas,” said Yozef.

“So, you see it, too?”

“It’ll have to be somewhere open enough where we can get all our rifles firing at the same time and with enough cover. Then we just have to wear them down until they quit.”

“I doubt that’s going to happen, but it’s our best chance. And you’re right about needing more room. Back where we slowed them, in place, we couldn’t get more than three men firing at the same time. There just wasn’t enough room with the firing lines.”

Synton smiled—an expression Yozef usually believed was unsettling for most people but in this circumstance was strangely reassuring.

“Get to the front,” Yozef ordered. “Apprise Reezo and the Seaborn leader of the situation and be alert for a spot to stand. And have a man ride like hell for Grastor. As you say, kill the horse if that’s what it takes. Hell . . . give him the two best horses, and someone will ride double. Maybe he’ll find a farm or a ranch on the way to get fresher horses—if he has time to swap. If we hold them for even a little while, it’ll give the horses a break, and we could gallop again until they dropped. Then, maybe help from Grastor can reach us before the Kolinkans do.”

Synton spurred forward, and Maera moved her mare back alongside Yozef.

“It’s still not good, is it?”

“We’ll have to make a stand somewhere not too much farther on.”

“Do we have a chance?”

He would never lie to her. She was strong, even if afraid, and he owed her only the truth in most things. The exception being his origin.

“I don’t know.”

CHAPTER 37

STAND

The site where they would make their stand came sooner than Yozef expected. Five minutes later, they entered another narrow passage. It wound a hundred yards before widening into an area fifty yards across and several hundred yards long. At the end were more rock formations. From what they could see, though, the land beyond did not appear to constrict again. One- to two-foot-diameter rocks lay scattered on the open area. They must have rolled down from steep slopes.

Synton yelled something at the Seaborn officer. The forward dragoons urged their horses to a run, and Synton came over to Yozef.

“This will be it. Reezo doesn’t think there’s a better spot before open country. We’ll set up at the other end of this space.  We’ll be able to concentrate our fire as they emerge. Those of them who aren’t shot will have to find cover behind the rocks. I don’t care how many men they have. There’s only so much cover available—maybe only enough for twenty or so men.”

“But we’ve stopped, too,” said Yozef. “What if we run out of ammunition?”

“Let’s worry about that when it happens and concentrate on staying alive for the next half hour. They lost men when we delayed them, then some more while getting past the Pewitt men.”

Yozef knew Synton was right. His reservation had been a reflex. The main unknown was exactly how many Kolinkans were chasing them. Once they entered the rougher terrain, the view was too limited to see more than a few dozen Kolinkans at a time. If only fifty men were coming, the Kolinkans would be stymied. If there were four hundred, and their leader was willing to take whatever casualties were necessary, the defenders would eventually either be overwhelmed or run out of ammunition.

“All right, do it.”

Maera had ridden on while Yozef stopped to talk with Synton. He caught up with her.

“We’re making the stand here. It’s as good a spot as we’re going to find.”

The next five minutes would have initially seemed chaotic to an overhead observer. Riders urged their horses another hundred yards to where the Seaborn Clan flag was being waved from a rock formation. Riders had to weave around free boulders and rock outcroppings to where Seaborn men were roping off a makeshift corral. Other men tied rope hitch lines between the trunks of two of the sparse trees. As riders arrived, their horses were tied to the lines and their front legs hobbled with slip-knotted rope sections. The situation was too desperate to follow the dragoon protocol of one man in four caring for horses. Every rifle was needed.

“I’d say I wish you’d stay here,” said Yozef when helping Maera dismount, “if I thought you would.”

“And you’re right not to propose it. The Paramount’s wife doesn’t hide when the Paramount is fighting with his men . . . which is where you’ll be. Pregnant or not, every pair of hands is needed. If a rifle comes free from a casualty, I know how to shoot. Even if my aim isn’t as good as most of you men, any contribution is important. Plus, casualties need caring for. I can do that. I can even reload.”

Yozef sighed. She was right.

“Well, then, stay near me. I heard Synton and Carnigan talking. They plan on putting the Paramount flag where I’m firing from. If the Kolinkans’ goal is to capture me, they may refrain from firing near the flag. If you’re going to be out there, I can’t stop you, but I will insist you stay near the flag.”

She put a hand on his arm. “And you feel guilty about taking advantage, don’t you? I know you too well, but you’re rational enough to know they’re right. Your being killed would be a catastrophe for Caedellium. If you’re captured, it might even be worse. I’m sure you’ve thought about these things, but what if the Kolinkans are working for the Narthani? That, or they could sell and trade you to the Narthani, who would force you to work for them, especially if I were captured, too.”

She was right. He had thought through various scenarios, including one he cursed himself for thinking of. It was too rational. Too cold. If they were both captured, and Maera was used to force him to work for the Kolinkans or the Narthani, the consequences would be worse for Caedellium than if he was either killed or captured with Maera dead. He didn’t trust himself not to give in to save her from whatever the captors might threaten.

There was nothing more to say. They grabbed everything useful from their mounts and ran to where the dragoons were setting up firing positions. The Kolinkans would arrive at any moment. All the men had positions picked out, but activity was still frenetic. Men carrying the few hatchets hacked lower branches off trees to pile them in open spaces between the firing positions. Other men did the same with rocks and smaller boulders they could roll into position, trying to form rock walls. They didn’t get far.

Carnigan had a spot picked out for them, surrounded by the four Kolsko guards. Yozef laid down his rifle and looked for where he might help with building the rock berm.

Crack! A single rifle shot was followed by three others. He looked up to see a Kolinkan rider at the opening in the narrow passageway. The man was slumped in the saddle but still managed to back his horse out of sight and around the immediate curve.

Toowin Kales cursed. “We have to shoot better than that, or we’re in real trouble.”

“Our man was probably just as surprised when the Kolinkan appeared,” said Maera.

Kales spit to one side. “Doesn’t make any difference.”

Men busy with preparations stopped and rushed to their positions. Within seconds of the first shot, rifles and one destrex cannon were aimed at the eight-foot-wide opening.

“Their leader will have to try a rush,” said Synton. “How many men he sends will tell us how many he has.”

Yozef grimaced and nodded. “You mean he’s going to decide how many men to sacrifice. If he’s worried about being short of men, he won’t send that many. In a worst case, he’ll have so many men he figures he can send the lot of them and still have plenty more, no matter what happens.”

Seconds passed. A minute. Three minutes. Yozef licked his lips and looked around for the third or fourth time. He still didn’t see any way the Kolinkans could get around them. They would have to come straight in. He envisioned horses packing the passageway, rifles firing, horses screaming and falling, riders hit by fire or going down with their mounts, a pile of mainly horseflesh blocking the opening. It was a grisly vision he hoped would come to pass.

The Kolinkans did something else. Three balls of fire flew high in the air. All defender eyes followed the balls. This caused a one- or two-second delay in their response when men on foot erupted from the passageway opening.

By the time the first rifle fired, twenty or so Kolinkans were fanning out to both sides from the opening.

The salvo of rifle fire cut down half of the Kolinkans—that few because many ran at angles looking for cover, instead of straight at the defenders. Yozef heard Carnigan curse, which was not habitual for the big man.

Every man frantically reloaded. Yozef added a curse. If they’d had even a few breech-loading rifles, their position would be unassailable as long as they had ammunition.

Most men had stood at firing positions behind rocks. Most, but not all. A few Kolinkan muskets fired, but at that distance and with so few muskets, their odds of hitting a Caedelli were poor.

Yozef repeated to himself the loading and firing instructions for the new model rifle: Bring the rifle from horizontal firing position to vertical, stock on the ground. Pull a cartridge from a pouch. Bite off the paper end and pour gunpowder down the barrel. Put the minie ball in the barrel with the cartridge paper on top as a patch. Pull the ramrod from its slots beneath the barrel. Force the ball and the patch down the barrel. Return the ramrod. Bring the rifle to firing position. Half-cock the hammer. Put a percussion cap on the cone of the breech leading to the powder in the barrel. Bring the hammer to full cock. Ready to fire.

Yozef was annoyed when second rounds were fired before he finished reloading. His annoyance faded when dragoon leaders screamed at men for firing without having good targets. The surviving Kolinkans were now huddled behind any available cover. Yozef caught glimpses of them reloading, but most of them could not stand without being exposed. They were doing the more difficult reloading while lying or kneeling. He thought he could see an occasional arm manipulating ramrods, but the enemy’s exposure was too fleeting for Yozef to attempt any shots.

Several attackers lying on the open ground were alive, wounded to various extents. Yozef saw one crawling for cover. A rifle fired, and the Kolinkan twitched and didn’t move again. Another man, apparently more seriously wounded, rose on an elbow and raised the other arm toward the Caedelli—in supplication, Yozef believed. Two more shots, and the man’s body slammed to the ground.

Part of Yozef, the old part who lived in Berkeley, who was a chemistry student, who had a pregnant girlfriend, and who considered himself moderately liberal politically, was aghast at shooting wounded men. The current Yozef only noted the difference in attitude and took solace it wasn’t he who had made the decision to fire.

Toowin muttered, “Now what? That didn’t work out for them.”

“It did if they have enough men,” answered Synton from Yozef’s other side. “In that case, their leader probably sent these men to see where we were and gauge our firepower. Now he knows. Listen to them shouting back and forth. He’ll know . . . what . . . at least ten of them made it to cover.”

Minutes passed with no action. Yozef had sporadic glimpses of Kolinkans, if that was who they were, moving into the jumbled rocks and boulders on both sides of the passageway.

“Getting men into position for suppressing fire,” said Synton. “Hardly worth the effort with muskets at this range.”

“Hell,” said Yozef. “Even so, fire enough times, and they’re bound to accidently hit something occasionally.”

Dragoons who had readied their reloaded rifles to fire couldn’t hold the position for long and rested the barrels on top of the rock cover. Yozef felt beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. He used a sleeve to wipe them away. Once. Twice.

Dragoons yelled as a second knot of Kolinkans ran from the passageway. Most dragoons’ rifles were not in instant firing position, delaying the salvo. What compensated for that was that now the defenders had a sense of the distance and expected the dispersal pattern. About the same percentage of attackers went down, not that any defender noticed. The instant the last rifle fired, Kolinkan horsemen came galloping from the passage, whipping their horses and yelling. Synton’s eruption of curses was heard even over yells of surprise and warnings to the other defenders, all of whom frantically reloaded.

A dragoon to Yozef’s left was the first to reload. He fired at the lead rider, who was flung off his horse thirty yards from the most forward defender. Other shots followed. For seconds, there was no thought to evaluate what was happening . . . not until the rifle fire stopped. Downed men and horses dotted the ground back to the passage. Many were motionless. Many moved. Many screamed or moaned.

Everyone reloaded.

“We can’t all fire at once the next time they try that,” said Yozef. “It was too close this time.”

“But then more of the men on foot will reach cover,” said Reezo. He had run from his position with the Seaborn dragoons on Yozef’s right.

The boy was right. Only one thing had saved them this time: the horsemen were restricted to riding single or double file in the passage and had to start from a dead stop. Otherwise, they might have covered the three hundred yards to the Caedelli position before the defenders could reload.

“The fucker leading them is too damn smart and too damn ruthless,” said Synton. “Unless he runs out of men, he’ll keep doing this. Eventually, there’ll be enough men with cover to give effective supporting fire. Even with smoothbore muskets and their shitty range, enough of them will start giving us casualties. Then the horsemen can get to us.”

“It may come down to how many men they have and how much they want you,” said Maera.

“We need to divide all our people into two groups, so we don’t all fire at once,” said Yozef. “There’s just no good option. Otherwise, it gives them too good an opportunity to have dead space between our salvos. Reezo, have your Seaborners fire first, and we’ll hold ours.”

“Reezo’s right,” said Synton, “we’d let more of them get into covered positions.”

Yozef didn’t respond, just nodded in the direction of Reezo, who ran back to his men. Yozef was lost in his thoughts, searching for options. They probably had a few minutes while the Kolinkans prepared for the next wave. Yozef looked in front of their position and tried to ignore the moving fallen horses and the sounds coming from them.

He projected what the ground would look like after two or three more such attempts. There was more than a hundred yards between the defenders and the nearest Kolinkans who had come on foot and survived to find cover. However, the downed horses would provide more cover for Kolinkans encroaching on the defense. He thought there were fifteen to twenty Kolinkans behind rock cover. He projected to when the number would get to three times that many, and at least some would be closer.

As for the horsemen, although the bodies would slow them down, the Kolinkans on foot and horseback would get closer with each attack.

He didn’t have to wait to have his fears confirmed.

They could hear the Kolinkans yelling back and forth.

“I wish we had someone who spoke their damn language,” said Synton. “They’re obviously planning their next move, figuring we can’t understand them.”

“They figure right,” said Carnigan, “unless Maera can speak Kolinkan.”

“I’ve never even heard it,” she said, “or if I heard it, I didn’t pay attention. Aro, Gympo, and Pononyma seemed the more important of the Iraquinik kahsaks we’re going to interact with. I only scanned a limited reference to their languages. Remind me to correct that back in Orosz City.”

Her tight smile didn’t fool anyone.

The horn sounded.

“Well, shit,” mumbled Toowin.

Suddenly, tendrils of smoke rose from within the passage. Within seconds, the smoke increased and eddied back and forth.

“Grass and whatever dry material they can gather,” said Synton.

“Can’t be too much of it,” said Yozef. “There’s no more where they are than here.”

A minute passed. The Kolinka positions were still visible but less distinct from the eddying smoke.

The horn sounded again. Most of the defenders assumed correctly that the horn preceded another attack. The Kolinkans with cover rose as one, fired their muskets, and ducked again.

No musket ball found flesh, but many passed close enough to the defenders’ ears to be audible. The musket balls also hit rocks and created showers and fragments that a majority of the defenders instinctively ducked. They thereby missed seeing the first Kolinkans burst from the passage and disperse. Those defenders who had remained ready to fire hit several Kolinkans. Yozef hit one. He didn’t have a count, but if there had been twenty footmen like before, he estimated thirteen or fourteen reached cover. No horsemen followed this time.

“Damn!” Yozef exclaimed. “Aren’t the fuckers gonna run out of men?”

Carnigan snickered, and Yozef glanced sharply at his big friend.

“Normally, I have some humorous and biting comment about such words from the Paramount,” said Synton. “Unfortunately, I agree with him. When are the fuckers gonna run out of men?”

“There must be thirty or more of them closer than the passage,” said Yozef. “If they keep this up, they’ll eventually have enough firepower to suppress ours. Muskets or not, enough of them could have the same effect as our number of rifles.”

“It may not take that long,” said Reezo, who had returned to Yozef for the second time. “I had a bad thought.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear it,” said Yozef, “but go ahead.”

“If I was them, I’d consider having horses drag bundles of grass and branches set on fire and drive them toward us. Even if we shot the horses, some of them would get close enough to further obscure what we can see.”

“I told you I wouldn’t want to hear it,” muttered Yozef.

Synton moved over and pulled Yozef down from his standing crouch. He then knelt next to Yozef, speaking low.

“We have to assume they have too many men for us to hold here indefinitely. It’s time to consider getting you and Maera out of here before that happens.”

“I agree,” said Reezo, who had overheard. “Our Seaborn men can hold this position long enough for you to get so close to Grastor that they couldn’t catch you. There’s also the rider we sent ahead and maybe help on the way that you would meet.”

“And forget about saying you couldn’t save yourself while leaving men here,” said Synton. “You’re the Paramount. Your duty is to all of Caedellium. How you feel about your personal honor is not as important as the consequences of your being killed or captured. Then there’s Maera to think about.”

“Synton,” said Yozef slowly and with a hint of affection, “I wonder what the Synton Ethlore I first met would think of hearing you talk about honor and the good of all Caedellium?”

Synton snarled and spit to one side. “Don’t you think I don’t recognize the irony? It’s all because I spent too much goddamn time around you. My father would be ashamed of me. But everything I said is still true.”

The horn blew. The conversation was dropped as everyone returned to the ready position— rifles pointed toward the Kolinkans. Every person wondered what variation of attack was forthcoming.

This time it was horses, but the riders were silent and hunched low in the saddle to provide smaller targets. As directed, only the Seaborners fired first. Seconds passed before Yozef realized there were only five horses, and the hunched “riders” were bundles of clothing fastened to the saddles. By then, it was too late to stop the firing. The horses fell, riddled with hits.

Kolinkan footmen burst forth again from the passage, scattering as before. With fewer of the defenders’ rifles unfired, only eight targets fell.

“They didn’t send mounted horsemen this time,” said Synton, “but they got too many more men to cover. Yozef, you see what’s happening as well as I do. You have to leave!”

Before Yozef could answer, multiple musket firings echoed between the slopes. The impact on rocks and the buzzing of musket balls fired high were audible. But it wasn’t a salvo. Every few seconds more shots came.

“They’ve got enough men forward now that they can keep firing to force us down,” said Yozef. “Accurate or not, they’re going to eventually hit some of us.”

Eventually came sooner than Yozef expected when a Seaborn man thirty yards to Yozef’s left cried out. A musket ball had hit his rifle and ricocheted into his cheek. The man lay on his back, a hand pressed against the side of his head, blood flowing freely.

Three Pewitt dragoons fired their rifles.

“They’re trying to get closer,” one of the men yelled.

At first, Yozef couldn’t see what the man was talking about. Then the end of a musket barrel poked above a two-foot-diameter rock on the right side of the open space.

“Four of them ran like hell to rocks on the slope,” said another Pewitt man. “I don’t think we hit any of them—it happened so fast.”

“Trying to edge closer,” said Toowin.

Yozef motioned to Reezo and Synton. “Each of you pick a couple of men who are the best shots. Have them occasionally fire when there’s any kind of target, even if only an arm or a leg. Also, have them fire from different positions. They’re trying to make us keep our heads down, and we need to do the same to them.”

Musket fire continued to pepper rocks around the defensive positions but never too close to where Synton had planted the Paramount flag.

I guess they still want me alive, thought Yozef, with a sense of guilt.

More voices shouted back and forth in Kolinkan. Musket fire ceased after shots fired no more than seconds apart.

Yozef peeked over the top of his position, then ducked back down and looked at Synton, one eyebrow raised. “They’re about to do something again.”

The horn sounded. The thought flashed through Yozef’s mind about how he was coming to hate horns. Muskets fired, but not enough to be all the Kolinkan men who had rushed on foot and found cover. About a third of the Caedelli men reflexively ducked. Half of the rest fired at the new batch of Kolinkan men bursting from the passage. When the rest of the Caedelli men emerged to fire, they were met by Kolinkans firing.

“More of them got closer,” said Toowin. “This time on the other side. I didn’t think there was enough cover at the bottom of the slopes, but somehow they’re finding it.”

The next fifteen minutes, the Kolinkans kept up constant musket fire while slipping more men forward.

“I think there’s at least fifty of them firing at us,” said Synton. “This is only getting worse. Yozef, you and Maera have to go.”

Another voice from the Kolinkans’ direction. One voice only. Louder than before. Much louder.

“Either somebody’s pissed, or he’s trying to call back for instructions,” said Synton.

Horses poured from the passage. Six were out before the first one was hit by rifle fire. But it didn’t add to the obstacles of previously downed horses and men because, instead of coming straight at the defenders, the raiders fanned out as they emerged.

At the same time, footmen rose from cover and charged. A few started within a hundred yards, having crept closer in the last half hour.

The defenders fired at will.

Boom! Carnigan’s cannon hit a horse at the top of its throat and took the head off. More horses fell or riders were hit and fell, some under the hooves of following horses. And still they poured out of the passage.

A saving grace was that after the Kolinkans on foot fired their muskets, they did not reload. Instead, they inserted plug bayonets into the musket barrels as they ran. That allowed the defenders to reload while standing in the open without fear of return fire.

“Prepare for bayonets!” Yozef screamed out. It was a tactic the dragoons had trained for but not extensively. The Caedelli dragoons used a socket bayonet, which fastened underneath the barrel and thus allowed reloading to continue, although slower. In theory, the dragoon would fire without the bayonet attached until the enemy got close enough for hand-to-hand engagement. Yozef’s command alerted the men to be aware such a time might come.

More Kolinkan horses and riders fell. Yozef shot a horse a hundred yards away. As it collapsed forward, its rider kicked out of the stirrups, did a full forward roll, came onto his feet running, and waving his sword.

“What! This guy’s a fucking stuntman for movies?”

Yozef frantically reloaded. Too many targets!

Kolinkans on foot screamed as they ran. Yozef wasn’t sure, but were there fewer of them than before? The rider whose horse he’d shot fell to the ground fifty yards from Yozef. He fired, this time at a man on foot. The man kept coming!

Jesus Christ! Did I miss him?

His question was answered seconds later when the man stumbled and fell fifteen yards from where he’d been hit by Yozef’s minie ball.

“Yozef! Here!” yelled Maera, holding out a loaded rifle. She had retrieved it from a wounded Pewitter. “I’ll reload.”

He reached out with both arms, one holding his fired rifle, the other grasping the one she held out.

Suddenly, Maera was flung forward in the direction of the attackers. Her head smacked against a rock.

“What—?” burbled from Yozef. He was too stunned to catch her before she slid volitionless to the ground, a widening spot of blood on her side.

“Behind us!” someone yelled.

Yozef whirled. Kolinkan riders were upon them from the rear!

Shit! How did they get ahead of us!? his mind screamed.

One of the riders came straight for him, throwing away a pistol and drawing a sword. The rock formation Yozef stood behind saved him. The Kolinkan had to pull his horse up and turn it to swing the sword.

Yozef reversed the rifle as if it were a baseball bat. He hit the horse on its muzzle, causing it to rear and throwing off the rider’s sword sweep.

The man didn’t get a second chance before his body was almost cut in half by Carnigan’s ax.

Yozef glanced at Maera. She wasn’t moving. He couldn’t go to her. No other horsemen threatened him at the moment. Several attackers from the defenders’ rear were off their horses and lying on the ground, and the rest were engaged with dragoons. Yozef whirled back to the frontal attack. Half of the defenders had never become engaged by the rear attack and had not stopped firing forward. But the distraction was enough that men on foot and horseback were far too close.

Yozef had the loaded rifle that Maera gave him. He needed it. A mounted Kolinkan with a lowered lance was only thirty yards away and coming on hard. Yozef realized the man intended to leap his horse over Yozef’s protecting rock. He had barely enough time to cock, prime, and fire.

He hit the rider high in the chest and flung him backward off his horse. It failed to stop. Yozef’s body was pressed against the rock, and he felt a vibration from the horse’s impact. The animal dropped out of sight. Whether stunned or dead, Yozef didn’t know and didn’t care.

Kolinkans on foot reached the defensive position. Yozef had quick impressions of bayonet-to-bayonet engagements, a Seaborn man screaming as a Kolinkan struggled to extract his bayonet from his victim’s chest, Toowin Kales rolling on the ground and stabbing the other man several times with the serrated knife he preferred, Thala Seaborn using a rifle to club a Kolinkan engaged with Reezo, and a Pewitter firing his rifle point-blank into a Kolinkan’s chest, only to be impaled from behind by a bayonet.

There was too much to do simultaneously. Should he fire at Kolinkans still coming forward or help stop the breach in their defenses? He didn’t realize his body was automatically reloading the rifle while he decided what to do next. So focused was he that a Kolinkan from any direction could’ve skewered him.

With the rifle reloaded and ready to fire, he looked at the front. There were no more Kolinkans running at them. Perhaps a dozen crawling or limping away. Two men were being helped by companions. Seven or eight horses either stood in place or bolted back and forth in the open area. Yozef turned back for the fight within the defensive position.

It was almost over. Only two Kolinkans still stood. One fell from a rifle stock blow from behind while he was engaged with a Seaborn dragoon. The last Kolinkan tried running away, only to be shot in the back.

Yozef turned again to the front, raising his rifle. A Kolinkan was fifty yards away and trying to return to cover while he dragged a bloody leg. Yozef aimed at the man’s back but hesitated. A rifle shot from the Seaborn positions rang out. The limping man collapsed in place.

There were other Kolinkans within range of Yozef’s rifle, but he couldn’t bring himself to fire.

Even in the absence of rifle fire, sounds were everywhere: defenders yelling defiantly or claiming the attack was thrown back; wounded men and horses crying out; a sudden rise in the wind that whistled between the slopes of the narrow track. A nearby moan jerked him back to what he had ignored during the fighting.

He cast the rifle aside and knelt by Maera.

“No, no, no,” he chanted and felt along her throat. His worst fear faded when he felt the pulse, fast but strong.

She was wearing a thigh-length tunic over a shirt and ankle-length pantaloon trousers that Caedelli women wore when riding. The clothing was blood-soaked on her left side from halfway up her shirt to almost the left knee and across her stomach. His fingers trembled as he untied the sash holding up the pants and separated the pants and the shirt. Blood smeared her flesh. Near the hipbone was a hole oozing blood but not pulsing.

No artery hit, he thought. But all that blood?

Carnigan knelt beside Yozef. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. Help me gently roll her so I can check whether there’s an exit wound.” Carnigan put a hand to her shoulder and thigh. He turned her body forty-five degrees while Yozef checked using his eyes and fingers.

“I can’t find anything. The ball must still be inside her.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” said Carnigan, easing Maera again onto her back.

“Yes, but it’s not gushing. That’s good, but we don’t know what damage is inside.”

Yozef now had his left hand pressing on the wound. “We need to keep pressure on this to at least slow the bleeding. Find some cloth we can make a compress from, and tie it firmly.”

Part of Yozef’s mind observed him apparently talking calmly about what action to take. The second part of his mind was frantic that Maera might die. Part one was ascendant, suppressing part two with the knowledge that hope required clear thinking.

A stream of vitriolic curses announced Synton’s arrival. Yozef looked up to a snarling almost-white face. The litany of what Synton intended to do to every living Kolinkan abruptly ceased.

“How is she?”

“Not good,” said Carnigan. Yozef was busy with Maera’s wound and at that moment was oblivious to the others.

“We beat them back for now,” said Reezo, accompanied by his hand-wringing twin. “But there’s no reason to think they won’t try again. I don’t know how many more times we can hold them off.”

Synton snarled and spit to one side. “How did those fuckers get behind us?”

He stood up. “Thala, could you help Yozef with Maera? You’re the only one here with any medicant training.” He then motioned for the others to follow him a few yards, where they gathered in a tight circle.

“It’s time for Yozef and Maera to leave,” Synton said only loud enough for those close to hear. “I agree with Reezo. We’ve actually done better than I feared, but if they have still more men, there’s no way we can hold them off much longer. To save the Paramount, he needs to go now while others delay the Kolinkans.”

“And there’s Maera,” said Carnigan. “Let’s see what Thala says, but I think Maera’s going to need serious medicant attention in Grastor, or she won’t make it.”

“There’s nothing to decide,” said Reezo. “The Seaborn men will remain and hold off the Kolinkans as long as we can. The rest of you need to take all of the horses and ride as hard as possible for Grastor. There’s only a few hundred yards more until the land turns into open country before you get to farmland on the way to Grastor. You can push the horses and change as they get exhausted.”

“But without horses, how will you escape?” asked Zalzar. The hetman’s adviser had helped wherever he could during the fighting—attending the wounded, distributing dead or incapacitated men’s ammunition, and checking their horses’ hobbles.

Reezo didn’t directly answer but stared grimly at Zalzar, who within seconds realized the answer to his question. The older man’s face turned to stone. His eyes glistened.

“I don’t have many men left who can fight,” said a voice from the back of the circle.

Faces turned to see a Pewitt dragoon.

“I am the most senior Pewitt man left. There aren’t many of us, but we’ll stay and help. We can’t let it be known that we left it to Seaborn men to save the Paramount. Not after our other men made their sacrifice earlier.”

Synton reached out to grasp the Pewitt man’s hand. “Sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

“Ulmar Rynston. Sergeant. Pewitt 1st Dragoon Battalion. I fought at Orosz City.”

“And where are you from, Ulmar?”

The man smiled sadly. “Nowhere you’ve ever heard of. A village in central Pewitt. Alwyn’s Dell. All of my family lives there.”

“Ulmar, I swear like I’ve never sworn before that I will visit Alwyn’s Dell and tell your family I was proud to serve with you. I’m sure the Paramount will do the same.”

“Thank you. They will appreciate it. I do have a request. I have one man who was grazed on the head by a musket ball. He can’t see clearly. I don’t know if it’s permanent, but he’ll be of no use. If possible, take him with you. He should be able to hold on to a saddle if someone leads his horse. Of course, cut him loose if he slows you enough to endanger the Paramount.”

After another firm handshake, Ulmar left to talk with his remaining men.

“I have a similar case,” said Reezo. “A Seaborn dragoon lost his dominant hand during the last attack. He lost a lot of blood and is in great pain but is conscious and might be able to hang on to a saddle. I know he’ll want to stay, but it’s pointless since he can’t do anything useful in a fight anymore. Take him with you if you can. My other wounded men either can’t travel or can still fire and reload a rifle.”

Thala walked up to them. “Maera’s not in good condition. There’s really nothing I can do for her here. I’m sure she needs surgery, which will have to be in Grastor. The bleeding seems to have already slowed. I hope that’s a good sign.”

“Yes, but getting her to Grastor means she has to be on a horse,” said Synton.

“I’ll carry her,” said Carnigan. “I can hold her with one arm and control the horse with the other. I’ll probably have to change horses because of my size and her added weight.”

“That’s probably the best that can be done,” said Thala. “We have her wound bound, but there needs to be constant moderate pressure on it to control bleeding. I’ll show you how much pressure and where when we get the two of you on a horse.”

Thala looked around. “So. Is it decided? Yozef and Maera will go on ahead to Grastor?”

Reezo took his sister’s arm and led her away. Zalzar was about to follow, then stopped, intuiting the twins needed a few moments alone. He saw Thala vigorously shake her head. Reezo put a hand on her shoulder, which she angrily shrugged off. Words were exchanged, hot at first from Thala, soft from Reezo. They talked more. When Thala’s voice quieted and her shoulders had sagged, Zalzar walked up to them.

Thala looked at the adviser. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Does it have to be this way, Zalzar? There’s nothing else we can do? How can I leave Reezo here?”

“There’s nothing I can say, Thala. The Paramount has to be saved. Maera, too, if possible, but mainly the Paramount. We all agree we can’t hold here much longer. I assume Reezo has already given you the reasons why you can’t stay. Yes, I know you could fight, but one more is not going to make that much difference, and your family would lose you to no real purpose.”

“But then that’s the same argument for Reezo,” said Thala as she groped for another outcome.

“You know that’s not true, sister. How could a son of Yulan Seaborn save himself and leave clansmen?”

“But you’re the hetman’s son!” Thala choked out, looking at Reezo.

“An extra son and not that important. We both know that. Both Santee and Mykroft would be fine hetmen, perhaps better than me. Please, Thala. Understand this. And you have something important to do when you get home. Tell mother and father I love them. Well . . . tell that to everyone in the family. Now, please. Go and save the Paramount.”

With a sob, she enveloped her brother in a fierce embrace, then released him and ran back to Maera.

“She’ll feel guilty, Zalzar,” said Reezo. “Do what you can to help her with that. It’s the same with you. There’s no purpose to your staying, and you’re far too valuable to the clan to be lost here.”

“I’ll try,” said Zalzar, while wondering whether he would succeed with either Thala or himself.

CHAPTER 38

NEARER MY GOD TO YOU

When Thala returned to where she had left Maera, preparations to escape were well underway. Leaving would be Yozef, Maera carried by Carnigan, Synton, Toowin Kales, Gowlin Reese, Zalzar, and Thala. Carnigan lifted the blanket-wrapped Maera gently from the ground. A hole was cut in the blanket so Carnigan could lay a large hand against the compress on her wound. Synton finished quickly cleaning Maera’s blood off Yozef’s hands, using water from a bladder, and dried them with a shirt of unknown origin. Yozef walked alongside Carnigan, a hand resting on Maera’s blanket.

Toowin and Gowlin had their horses ready. Besides a second mount for everyone, the two guards would each lead two saddled horses with no riders—the extra horses for Carnigan. Blood soaked Gowlin’s right leg, and he pressed on the thigh.

“Almost the same exact spot as the bayonet I got at Orosz City,” said Gowlin, complaining loudly to Toowin. “I guess if I’m going to have a limp, it might as well stay with the same leg.”

They quit talking at the approach of the remainder of those leaving.

Carnigan handed Maera to Yozef while the big man climbed into a saddle. Toowin had chosen the largest horse available, but still the animal shifted uneasily at the weight . . . more so when Maera was added.

Thala mounted and started her horse toward Grastor without looking back. She and Reezo had said their goodbyes. Neither wanted a repeat.

After the last horse had been handed to its rider, the three Seaborn men helping with the preparation saluted the Paramount and jogged back toward the defenses. Yozef returned their salutes, but the men didn’t see it. They also never looked back.

Yozef was the last to mount. But before that, he walked over to Reezo, who had accompanied them this far. He stood before the youth, searched for appropriate words, and failed.

“You need to leave, Paramount.”

Yozef’s throat felt too dry for words, but he swallowed, then forced a cough.

“Reezo is a fine name. Even a Paramount would be proud to have a son of that name.”

He fought the urge to embrace Reezo. Grown men might do that with a boy, but not with another grown man about to do grown men’s work beyond what’s normally expected.

Yozef mounted the horse whose reins Synton held. His horse was facing the direction of the defensive position. He couldn’t see over the rocks to the men, living, wounded, and dead, but he could see the top of the Paramount’s flag waving in the brisk breeze that had risen in the last half hour. The cloth was not as it had been. Half a dozen musket ball holes had created enough loose thread ends that fraying had already begun. Yozef hadn’t commented when he heard Synton tell Reezo that they would leave the flag planted and flying so the Kolinkans would believe the Paramount was still present.

Yozef turned his mount and followed the others. Within minutes, they passed through one last open space separated by constricted passages. Before them lay low, grass-covered undulations not quite high enough to be called hills. A quarter-mile farther, they stopped briefly. Yozef turned his horse to the direction they had come from and raised a hand for silence. Without the clatter of hooves over rock or sod, the creak of leather gear bending and rubbing, or voices, they could hear musket and rifle fire. But Yozef thought his ears picked up something else. Synton looked at him with a questioning expression. Yozef’s hand forestalled words. He wasn’t sure, so he wrapped the reins twice around his saddle’s pommel and cupped both ears with his hands. Now he was certain. Faint. Words coming and going. Sometimes rifle and musket fire drowning the voices.

Nearer, my God, to you, nearer . . .

. . . for your gracious gifts,

I feel nearer . . .

. . . God . . . my soul.

Nearer to you, my God, nearer to you.

. . . if darkness comes,

I draw nearer to you

“They won’t be forgotten, Yozef,” said Synton. “Now all we can do is get to Grastor and save Maera.”

They moved on, finally at a faster pace once clear of the rocky, winding passage. There was no road or trail . . . not yet . . . but the softer sound of hooves on dry grass seemed to portend safety, though it was an illusion. Yozef wasn’t sure, but within minutes he thought the distant gunfire had gone silent. He lagged slightly behind the others and stopped to cup his ears again. Nothing. He didn’t stop again. The distant silence explained everything.

Sooner than Yozef anticipated, they came upon a farm. A surprised family stared from the fields and their porch at horses and riders coming from the south.

Yozef moved closer to Carnigan so he could see Maera’s face.

“She’s holding on, Yozef. I can feel her heartbeat. Still strong. And she’s warm, much like you were at Orosz City when the medicants didn’t understand what was happening. The compress also seems to control the bleeding.”

The nano elements she must have, thought Yozef. Thank you, alien whatever you are, for giving them to me. I wonder if they knew the elements were transferable? That must be what’s saving her. It’s not the compress. It’s the nano elements somehow doing repair work and reducing the bleeding.

What he feared and didn’t know was how much damage there was and what was happening inside her body. He worked not to imagine what the musket ball had done and where it now lay. His will failed him.

Ten minutes later, Carnigan called out. His horse was faltering. They stopped to let him change mounts.

“Everyone whose horse is weakening, let’s go ahead and change,” said Thala. “We should push the horses to their limit now. We’re only five miles from Grastor.”

Five miles! thought Yozef with dismay. We must have been only about eight miles to the city from where we stopped to stand. Eight stinking miles!

Seemingly within minutes, they topped a low hill and saw the sea and Grastor in the distance. To Yozef, all the horses seemed to change their pace. From moment to moment, he’d thought they were slowing or speeding up. They lost sight of the city once off the hilltop, then picked it up again occasionally. The farms were more frequent. Every few hundred yards, Yozef looked over his shoulder, not shaking the fear that the Kolinkans had followed them even this close to Grastor.

They couldn’t have that many men, could they? Yozef wondered with trepidation.

Only a third of a mile trailing the Paramount’s party, Orno Kistek reined in his horse, cursed bitterly, and fired his pistol into the air. A hundred yards ahead, the forward riders heard the shot, reined in, and looked back. Kistek waved for them to retreat. He had already pushed the pursuit farther than he wanted, hoping to somehow salvage the mission. That hope dissipated when he saw more farms and caught no sight of the pursued. The Caedelli leader had escaped at the cost of most of the men with him, plus more than a hundred Kolinkan dead and seriously wounded.

“We did the best we could, Orno,” said Maklos Bota, the mission’s second in command. “There’s no way we catch them before they reach Grastor, and we don’t have enough men to attack the town. We knew this idea was too complicated.”

“I would have called it insane,” said Kistek. “Only the idiots around our ruler would think this plan was easy.”

Bota shook his head. “Everything had to go right for it to succeed. Now it’s time to get as many of our remaining men as possible off this damn island and head back home.”

There was no time for discussion.

“We’ll pick up the wounded on the way back. All the other men should be straggling along the route. We’ll head straight for the Nollagen harbor. The town should be deserted. We’ll send riders ahead to signal the ships to meet us.”

Kistek took one last look in the direction of Grastor, almost as if hoping the Caedelli would suddenly appear from a nearby hiding spot. When it didn’t happen, he cursed again and slapped the reins against his horse’s flank. It would be hard hours of riding to get back to Nollagen without killing all the horses.

Yozef’s eyes strained every second for signs of Grastor. Fields of grains, turnips, and other crops became continuous. More people stopped to stare. A man riding a horse rode up to them. Yozef could hear voices, and the man talked to Toowin, the last rider in their group. The unknown man cursed and dropped back to meet another man and a woman on horseback. Seconds later, the three riders broke in different directions and galloped off. Toowin came alongside.

“They will spread the word and rouse people to arm themselves in case the Kolinkans are still coming.”

Another mile passed. Word raced ahead of them. Yozef shut out everything said by people they passed or who caught up with the Paramount’s party. He assumed they were asking what happened and perhaps offering help, but all that mattered was getting Maera to the medicants.

Carnigan turned his head to look in Yozef. “She’s stirring. I think I heard a moan.”

“Hang on, Maera,” urged Yozef. “We’re almost at Grastor. Carnigan’s holding you, and I’m right here.”

Yozef was certain it had taken hours for them to cover the last few miles, although if he had had a watch, he would have seen the time was only minutes. Farms became more tightly packed, then edged into houses with gardens on the outskirts of the city. Yozef searched in vain for signs of a cathedral spire. He assumed the Caedelli version of a hospital would be nearby. Thala, as if reading his mind, called back over her shoulder.

“We’re almost there. We’ll come to the hospital this side of where the new cathedral is being built. The old one was too damaged in an earthquake to repair.”

People now lined the streets. Several riders they’d picked up along the way rode ahead of the group, shooing spectators aside. The overlay of hundreds of voices probably approached a din—not that Yozef noted.

They wove through Grastor streets. When they turned a corner, Yozef recognized a version of a cathedral complex. At one of the buildings, a cluster of men and women stood with a stretcher carried by two men. Yozef and his party reined in their spent horses.

In his urgency to get to Carnigan and Maera, Yozef leaped off his mount, almost collapsing when his knees didn’t fully absorb the ground’s jolt. His help wasn’t needed. Men and women medicants surrounded Carnigan’s horse before it came to a complete stop. Gentle but firm hands took Maera from Carnigan, laid her on the stretcher, and moved quickly inside to a treatment room. When Yozef tried to follow, a grizzled medicant stopped him.

“Best you wait here, Paramount. We’ll take care of her.”

CHAPTER 39

STARING INTO THE ABYSS

Distant lightning provided the only illumination under the overhang of the Grastor town medicant center. The occasional flashes offered only a slight refuge from the night that wasn’t as dark as Yozef’s psyche. Rain lashed the building. The sound would have drowned out normal conversations, not that there were many among a dozen men crowded out of the rain, but the Paramount was an island. Most men stood no closer than ten feet to him. For some, it was out of respect. For others, darkness and the storm shielded them from what they had seen in the Paramount’s face.

The lone intruder stood behind his friend with a large hand resting on a shoulder. Carnigan would leave the hand for a minute or two, then bring it back down, only to repeat it in another ten to fifteen minutes without speaking. What words they had were given hours ago. Now all Carnigan offered was the reminder of his presence to the man standing at the edge of the platform, facing the darkness.

Boots thudded on the wooden planking, sending vibrations into the legs of everyone under the overhang. There were voices, some loud and some muted.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Paramount,” said a voice to Yozef’s left.

He turned to find a man named Verstrow. He couldn’t remember the first name of Hetman Seaborn’s adviser and cousin.

“You asked to be notified when we heard from the men sent back along the track you followed to Grastor.”

Yozef turned to Verstrow. A Seaborn company-size force of dragoons had left Grastor half an hour after the Kolsko party reached the city. The rider who’d been sent ahead from the final battle site had vanished, likely killed by the Kolinkans, who somehow had gotten in front of those fleeing. However, when the alert was given, as many armed dragoons as could be assembled on short notice were sent in hopes of relieving the men holding back the Kolinkans.

“A messenger just arrived. They reached the site of the battle. They found no living Kolinkans. The rest of the men are continuing toward Nollagen, but there has been no sign of the invaders so far. They found the body of Reezo. It’s being returned, along with one surviving Seaborn dragoon. The messenger also said that except for the survivor, our men died to a man and lay among three times their number of invaders. Hetman Seaborn will see you later after he gives the news of Reezo to his family. He says to tell you he continues to pray for Maera.”

Yozef’s expression was blank.

“Thank you for the news,” said Carnigan, jumping into the silence. “I’m sure the Paramount wants to give condolences to your hetman.

Verstrow nodded and went back into the darkness that Yozef now stared at again.

Time passed. The rain, if anything, increased. A door opened. A questioning voice was heard, along with answers. Footsteps approached the two men standing alone and stopped next to Yozef. He didn’t look, but a man’s breath brushed his neck.

“The medicants have news,” whispered Synton. “They say Senior Medicant Harlow will be out of the treatment room any moment. You want to talk to him here or inside?”

Yozef spun and rushed to the open door, lantern light spilling into the darkness. Carnigan and Synton followed. They went down a wide hall to a treatment room where Maera had been taken. They passed other rooms, all of them filled with medicants, aides, and patients. Sounds assaulted Yozef’s ears—staff talking and yelling, patients moaning, sounds of feet on wooden floors.

They were halfway down the hall when Medicant Harlow exited a room. He saw Yozef, turned to say something to a man and a woman who had followed him out of the room, and strode briskly forward. Yozef’s throat tightened. There was blood on the white smock. Medicant Harlow finished drying his hands on a small towel as he walked.

The medicant grasped Yozef’s elbow and pulled him quickly into a small storage room. Carnigan and Synton followed and closed the door to the hall.

“She’s going to be fine,” said Harlow.

Yozef sagged. Both Carnigan and Synton grasped an arm to steady him.

“The musket ball hit her hipbone and was deflected upward. We were afraid it had passed through internal organs, but when we operated, we found it resting not far under the skin of her lower back. She bled a lot, but that strangely seemed to ease even while we were operating.”

Harlow shook his head. “Oddest thing I’ve ever seen. We expected her to be pale with shock from the loss of blood, but instead, it was like she had a fever.”

Harlow stopped and looked expectantly at Yozef as if waiting for the Paramount to explain Maera’s condition. The account of Yozef’s miraculous survival from wounds at the Battle of Orosz City had circulated widely everywhere on Caedellium, especially among medicants searching for explanations. When Yozef gave no indication of responding, Harlow continued.

“Well . . . it was a good sign that things weren’t as bad as we feared. We found a small piece of broken-off bone, but the rest of the hipbone seems all right. She should recover, although we can’t be sure if she will be completely the same as before. However, the worst case is probably that she may need a cane to walk, especially in colder weather. She’s weak and still unconscious from the ether. We haven’t given her any of the poppy extract yet. We need to wait until she wakes, and we find out how much pain she’s in. You can see her now and should be able to talk to her when she rouses from the ether.”

Yozef grabbed both of the medicant’s hands, shook them slightly, and, at a loss for sufficient words of thanks, turned to the door to go to Maera. Harlow put a hand on his back to stop him.

“I’m afraid it’s not all good news, Paramount. The wound was quite a shock to her body. Before we started the operation, she lost the child. A boy. There was nothing we could do.”

Yozef’s entire body went rigid. Both Carnigan and Synton made motions to support him again, but it wasn’t necessary. He was a stone pillar. Seconds passed.

Harlow waited for a further reaction. When none came, he looked at the other men. Carnigan gave a quick single head shake. More seconds.

“I can go be with her now?” Yozef’s voice was blades of ice. Carnigan’s hand rested again on Yozef’s shoulder.

“Yes. Follow me. While we were talking, she was being taken from the treatment room into a quieter, smaller recovery room.”

Yozef grasped the medicant’s elbow as the man turned to lead the way.

“There’s no reason to tell Maera it was a boy. If she asks, please say you aren’t sure.”

The medicant nodded, understanding, and motioned Yozef to follow.

They reentered the hall and followed Harlow to a large ward with thirty or so beds, most of which were filled with patients. On one side of the room was a series of doors, half of which were open to reveal small rooms. Each had a single bed and one or more persons standing or sitting, looking at a patient. Harlow led them to an open door with several aides just exiting as they left the patient. It was Maera. Harlow waved them inside, and the medicant left.

Yozef stopped by the bed and stared for several seconds before reaching out to pick up her hand.

“Thank you, God, if you exist,” he whispered. Carnigan and Synton exchanged looks. His voice sounded more like the Yozef they knew.

“And look after Linkun, God. He deserved a life. I won’t tell Maera about him, and I’ll instruct others to say they didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. I wish Harlow hadn’t told me. It made the baby more real, and there’s no reason for her to have that. I’ll bear it for the both of us.”

He stopped talking. Then, when he started again, it sounded as if it were a doppelgänger speaking—someone almost identical to Yozef Kolsko but who put Synton’s nerves immediately on alert.

“And forgive me, God, or at least try to understand what I’m going to do. I don’t know the details, but . . . ”

His voice choked and trailed off.

Time passed again. It was daylight, but he didn’t remember it coming. The rain and the lightning had stopped. Maera moaned. Yozef stroked her arm. Her eyelids flickered and opened. Unfocused eyes stared at the ceiling.

She croaked, “Wha . . . !” as she tried to speak. A bowl of water and a cloth sat on a small table next to the bed. Yozef folded the cloth and dipped a corner into the water before dabbing it on Maera’s mouth. She licked her lips, and her eyes focused on her husband.

“Thirsty,” she whispered hoarsely.

He dipped the cloth in the water again, letting it sit for several seconds to become saturated, and held it against her lips. When she opened her mouth, he inserted the cloth’s corner and let her suck out moisture.

“Where am I? What was . . . ”

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes half-closed.

“Sleep, Maera. I’m here with you. You need to rest.”

She sighed, gave a nearly imperceptible nod, closed her eyes, and drifted away.

He sat silently for five minutes, holding her right hand in his and stroking her arm with his other hand. When he stood up, he leaned down to kiss Maera, then turned to Carnigan and Synton. They didn’t see Yozef, friend and concerned husband. What faced them was Paramount Hetman Yozef Kolsko, leader of eight hundred thousand Caedelli, architect of destroying a Narthani army, fount of knowledge and innovations previously unknown, a suspected but undeclared Septarsh to whom God whispered, and something else of which they were uncertain.

“Let’s find Hetman Seaborn. I want to find out if more is known.”

Yulan Seaborn had been eight miles southeast of Grastor, on his way to meet Yozef at the South Point peak semaphore station for the inaugural message connecting Seaborn Province to the rest of Caedellium. A rider from Grastor caught the hetman’s party, which returned to the city at a gallop.

The rain might have been gone, but gusts of wind pulled on their clothing as they walked from the medicants’ building to what passed for Grastor’s town hall. Several hundred men and a few women, many of them fully armed, milled about on the street by the front entrance. Talking died down, and a path opened as people recognized the Paramount. Most lanterns hanging from buildings and held by people were still lit. With their minds focused elsewhere, they had not noticed the coming of daylight. Yozef, Carnigan, and Synton passed hundreds of faces: angry, hard, shocked, a few crying.

Men opened the door as they climbed the steps. Inside was a contrast by having less light and no wind. But the people were the same as outside. Hetman Seaborn’s oldest son, Santee, who pushed through the crowd, people not yet aware the Paramount had entered.

“Paramount, we heard you were coming. How is your wife?”

“She’ll recover, say the medicants. The wound wasn’t as bad as it first looked.”

“I thank God for that.”

There was something in the heir’s voice. Yozef looked harder at the thirty-year-old man’s face and saw grief lines that made him look ten years older.

“I’ve heard it’s confirmed your brother is dead.”

Santee straightened his shoulders. “He and his men held the Kolinkans back long enough for you to escape. According to the messenger who arrived, there was one survivor. He was one of the last to fall and was so badly wounded, the Kolinkans thought he was dead. Before he passed out, he saw Reezo and the last three other men fall to a wave of Kolinkans. They had run out of ammunition and were fighting to the end with bayonets and using their rifles as clubs. They will live forever in the history of our clan.”

His last words were replete with pride and sorrow.

“I owe your family and the families of the other men a debt I can never repay,” said Yozef.

Santee shook his head. “There is no debt,” he said with a tone and an expression suggesting it was an insult for Yozef to think this. “Reezo and his men did their duty. They would have lived without honor if they had done otherwise. I’d advise you not to say the same thing to Father.”

“I respect that,” said Yozef, “but you should understand that my feeling of owing a debt is also strong, though as you suggest, I won’t mention it to the hetman.”

Santee nodded. “Very well. Let me take you to Father.”

He turned and shouted, “Make way for the Paramount!” The throng parted, creating a path that led to a cluster of men surrounding a table at the far end of the large room. Hetman Seaborn, Vestrow, and Zalzar were among the men leaning over a map of Seaborn Province. The grim-faced men waited for Yozef.

“Paramount, how is your wife?” asked Yulan Seaborn in his naturally gruff voice.

“The medicants say she’ll recover. I’m sorry about Reezo.”

The hetman only nodded before turning to business.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s confirmed they were Kolinkans. When word first came of the attack, I automatically thought of the Narthani. When it became evident they were Iraquiniks, the Kolinkans were my first guess. As a youth, I spent some time in the Aro and Gympo kahsaks. I never met a Kolinkan, but I heard often enough how they’re considered the most treacherous of the kahsaks.”

Yozef noted that there must be stories here worth listening to, but now wasn’t the time.

“And they’re really gone?”

“We think so. We got semaphore messages to the station at South Point. The telescope you brought was installed and ready for our ceremony for the first messages across the Seaborn Strait. They turned the telescope toward Nollagen and saw what looked like ships loading men for several hours. Then the ships set full sail and are reportedly heading east-northeast—the direction of Kolinka.

“As fast as militia units can form, I’m sending them all way to the Nollagen area to search for any Kolinkans left behind. We probably won’t know any more for hours, maybe into tomorrow.”

Yozef nodded. “Please keep me informed, Hetman. I’ll be with Maera.”

Harlow was waiting with other medicants when Yozef reached Maera’s room.

“She roused almost as soon as you left, Paramount. She was lucid but in enough pain that we gave her poppy extract. I think she’ll sleep now until sometime tomorrow. That’s best. Time for her body to recover. In fact, her recovery is already astounding. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said she had been wounded several days ago, instead of yesterday.”

The medicant shook his head, patted a woman on the back, and called to the other medicants to accompany him out and leave the Paramount with his wife.

Yozef pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed to hold one of Maera’s hands. He didn’t notice the sun coming through the room’s single window and moving across the floor.

Carnigan and Synton left them alone but found chairs of their own to sit outside the door. Finally, Synton came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Yozef. Can we get you something to drink? Water? Ale? What about food?”

Yozef looked up briefly, his face blank, then gave a single side-to-side shake and returned to watching Maera. Another hour passed until Carnigan tried.

“Yozef.”

He didn’t respond. Carnigan put a hand on Yozef’s right shoulder and gave enough of a shake not to be ignored.

“The medicants say she’s going to recover. She’s not in danger. I don’t know what you’re thinking, what you’re planning, but whatever it is, it’s better if you take care of yourself. You know that. You’re the one who tells people to think logically. Well . . . I guess you tell it to people who you believe will pay attention.

“Now, I’m going to go find some warm food and some ale. You don’t have to move from here, but you will have to eat and drink, even if we have to hold you down. After that, you can sleep here. We’ll fix something on the floor for you or have another bed brought in. I, Synton, and Gowlin will be right outside.”

Yozef turned his face upward toward Carnigan, managing an expression for the first time in hours.

“How’s Gowlin? He was wounded.”

“The wound was not as minor as we thought, but the medicants treated him, and he insisted he’s good to stand guard with the rest of us.”

“You didn’t mention Toowin. Where’s he?”

“It turns out he was wounded, too, but didn’t say anything. In that regard, he’s like his uncle, Wyfor. Hack off an arm, and he’ll tell you it’s a minor inconvenience. He’s three rooms from here. Harlow didn’t brook any argument from Toowin about leaving his bed at least until tomorrow. The old guy might be half Toowin’s size, but he’s as tough in his own way.”

Yozef stirred, released Maera’s hand, and stood, slightly unsteady. “I need to see to Gowlin and Toowin.”

“All right, but then right back here and sit with Maera. I won’t be gone long. But when I come back with food and drink for all of us, you’re going to consume your share, whether you want to or not.”

Yozef gave a wan smile and nodded.

The rest of the day and night passed slowly or quickly, depending on who was asked. Somewhere during that time, Yozef fell asleep in the chair. Maera never roused from a deep sleep and regular breathing. The other three men took turns catching moments of sleep, always with at least two awake and nearby. Medicants and aides made regular checks on Maera’s condition.

The sun was two hours above the horizon when Yozef woke with a start and groaned, his neck and back protesting the hours in an unusual position. He had lost Maera’s hand sometime during the night but quickly reacquired it. It was warm, as was her face when he put a hand to it. Warm but not flushed.

Harlow, by chance or some intuition, appeared moments later and checked Maera’s dressing.

“Everything looks fine, Paramount.”

“But she’s slept so long. Does that mean anything?”

“I think it means she’s resting quietly. We didn’t give her that much poppy extract, just enough to dull the pain and let her fall asleep. Her breathing and breath are good. We’ll change the bandage, but I think we’ll find little, if any, minor bleeding.”

Harlow looked Yozef up and down. “Paramount, why don’t you clean up, get something to eat, and we’ll fetch you when she wakes? You’ll probably want to meet with Hetman Seaborn. He’s in the administration building next door.”

Yozef glanced down at himself. It hadn’t seemed important, but now he saw himself the same way the medicant did. Dried blood and grime coated much of his clothing. Synton’s attempt to clean Yozef’s hands and arms hours ago had only removed most of the blood. Yozef cringed when he thought of his hands touching Maera.

The rest of his own clothes were sitting in the abandoned wagon west of Nollagen, but Synton had grabbed the first brother medicant he found after Yozef woke up. A set of clean clothing was a size too large but was waiting when he dried after taking a quick ambient-temperature bath—he hadn’t waited for the water to be heated.

He found the hetman amid a cluster of men around the same table with maps spread out on top. The group opened enough for him to reach the hetman’s side.

“How is Maera?”

“Still sleeping. The medicants are more confident that she’ll recover. Hetman . . . I’ll say again how sorry I am about Reezo. He was a son and a Seaborner to be proud of.”

Yozef barely succeeded in following Santee’s advice. He didn’t speak of a debt owed.

Yulan only nodded and turned back to the map, but Yozef thought he could read pain in the father’s eyes.

“We’re still gathering information, but we think there were about three to four hundred Kolinkans who came ashore from fifteen to twenty ships. The Nollagen village chief got a rider through to us only a few minutes ago. We don’t have a total body count yet, but it looks like they left at least a hundred dead. They may have taken some of their dead with them, but I doubt it. Only a few of our people around Nollagen were killed. Most of our dead are from the men who accompanied you.”

Yozef inwardly cringed, but Yulan continued without implication.

An unintelligible stream of words in a raspy voice came from Yozef’s right. He turned and recognized a Fuomi naval uniform. The markings on the man’s tunic placed him as an officer, but Yozef couldn’t identify the rank. A Caedelli man said something to the officer that Yozef recognized was in the Narthani language. There was a quick back-and-forth between the two men before the Caedelli man turned to Yozef.

“Paramount, my name is Arkor. I was an Eywellese before fleeing the province two years after the Narthani took over effective control. I’m one of the men who’s been sailing with Fuomi ships while they’re in Caedellium waters. That’s in case translation is needed while the ship is at sea, and Narthani is the language known by most Fuomi captains. I’ll be translating for him.”

Damn language problems, thought Yozef. Caedelli, Fuomi, Narthani, and now the Landoliners’ and Iraquiniks’ languages. People of Caedellium never had a great need to learn anything else, and now we’ve gotta have people who speak them all. We need some common language. It sure the hell isn’t going to be Narthani. Maybe Suvalu. I’m already learning it. Thankfully, Mark was right that it’s relatively easy.

“Go ahead and translate, Ser Arkor.”

“The Fuomi says he’s Captain Harlo Minkonin, commander of the Fuomon frigate Waaro, if I’m pronouncing it correctly.”

Arkor spoke again to the Fuomi captain before returning to Yozef.

“I think Waaro means ‘danger.’”

“Ask Captain Minkonin if he’s sure the Kolinkan ships have left?”

“He says yes. Originally, the sloop you came in planned to pick you up, but evidently Admiral Mermi wanted the sloop to return to patrol and not take you around the island. The Waaro had finished some repairs, and Mermi decided that coming to Grastor for your trip to Adris City would provide your transportation and let Captain Minkonin check the frigate’s condition. The Waaro first stopped at Brudermyn but was preparing to move to Grastor. When word came by semaphore of what was happening, the Waaro and the sloop that brought you to Seaborn set sail immediately. They saw the Iraquiniks’ ships in the distance going north in the Seaborn Straight. Minkonin sent the sloop to follow the Iraquiniks, while he continued on toward Grastor. He had a company of Seaborn dragoons on a ship and didn’t know whether the men and the Waaro’s guns might’ve been needed.”

Yozef turned back to Hetman Seaborn. “Have you found any living Kolinkans?”

The burly hetman grunted and nodded. “A group of about fifty of them were sent to block the road to Grastor that goes by Stiltern Fall. Evidently, word didn’t reach them in time for them to get to Nollagen, and they got stranded when the Kolinkan ships left. Our men cornered them on a beach not far from Nollagen. After a fight, fifteen of them surrendered and were taken prisoner, including the leader. A few more were killed by my men before someone remembered your lessons about the importance of getting information from prisoners.

“Besides confirming they are Kolinkans, the leader claims the attack had been planned for many months, and that while he didn’t know details, there were rumors of Narthani involvement.”

Yozef was surprised. “You got that information awfully quick. I’d have thought it would’ve taken longer.”

The hetman’s grin was merciless. “It didn’t take long to convince the man that the threat to skin him alive was real. We only took a few inches of skin from his belly before he begged to let him tell us everything he knew.”

Normally, Yozef would have shivered at the image . . . but not today.

“Were any Caedelli taken prisoner who are presumed to be on some of the Kolinkan ships?”

“No,” answered Yulan. “They weren’t bothering with prisoners. Anyone they came across they either killed or ignored.”

Yozef turned to Arkor. “Ask Captain Minkonin if he knows the size and arms of the Kolinkan ships, and could his frigate catch them?”

Another rapid back-and-forth in Narthani ensued before Arkor faced Yozef again.

“From what he saw in the distance, and from reports of people who saw the ships up closer, he believes there’s no question they could overtake them if he knew their destination. If any of the men who came ashore were crew and were among the dead and wounded, they would be shorthanded sailing back to Kolinka. The Waaro should also be faster than any Kolinkan ship he’s seen. He says they are mainly coastal vessels and wouldn’t be surprised if they lose a few ships getting home. The wind has remained strong after the storm passed. Of course, there’s always the chance he misses them. The ocean is wide, he says. He also doesn’t think they have any more than ten or twelve 16-pounder cannon per ship.”

Yozef considered. That means none of the Kolinka ships would be a serious challenge to a Fuomi frigate with its 30-pounder broadsides, reinforced hulls, and the seamanship of its crew.

“Tell Captain Minkonin that I would like him to catch the Kolinkan ships before they escape, and ask would he be willing to do that?”

“The captain says attacking ships of the Iraquinik Confederation is not part of his orders. However, he has also been told to cooperate as much as possible with the Caedelli Paramount Hetman. He believes he can justify your request based on helping defend an ally against an attacking force—no matter its origin.”

The Fuomi captain said something to Arkor.

“He now asks what you would want him to do if he does catch up with the Kolinkan ships.” Arkor half snarled. “I think he already knows the answer.”

Yozef hadn’t noticed, but all other conversations in the large room had ceased. The men and the women listened in a packed ring that had grown in depth since his arrival.

“Sink every ship he can catch.”

“I’m sure he’s also going to ask what should he do with prisoners?”

“Hetman Seaborn, how many of the Kolinkan prisoners that you have are being cooperative?”

“All of them. We’ve had no problem after their leader started talking.”

“Then, with your cooperation, I’d like to have the prisoners sent to Orosz City for more questioning. As for any survivors of a sea battle, I see no reason to bring them to Seaborn.”

“Let them die at sea and save us the trouble of killing them here,” said Yulan.

“Arkor, tell Captain Minkonin that if it’s possible, the Paramount says to take prisoners from one ship. Preferably one that might seem more important if you can make that determination. The other ships . . . take no prisoners. Without warning, the Kolinkans attacked a people with whom they were not at war. Any Kolinkans captured and brought back would be executed. Therefore, there is no reason to take prisoners from more than one ship.”

The Fuomi captain showed no emotion on hearing Yozef’s words. He only nodded and turned to leave, presumably heading for the harbor and the Waaro.

“One more thing,” Yozef called out.

Minkonin did not understand the words, but he paused and waited.

Yozef didn’t immediately tell why he had stopped the Fuomi captain. Seconds passed. A minute. Three minutes. Everyone in the room had quieted. Only the captain was puzzled as to why all talking had ceased and everyone stood in place. A few people looked at each other, but most starred at the Paramount, many wondering what God was whispering to Yozef. Others were simply patient.

A cauldron of words lay in his chest. Dark words. Firery words. Words of darkness that a part of Yozef’s mind shied away from. But only a part. A black shroud clothed a man the Joseph Colsco of Earth would have judged harshly. The same state had happened once before. After the Narthani attack on Keelan Manor. After the desperate fight to save himself and those he cared for and loved. After seeing the bullet hole in Aeneas’s nightshirt. After seeing Maera’s sister, Anid, dead with a hole in her forehead. After seeing a large part of Ceinwyn’s face nearly sheared off.

He had sent men to exact vengeance on the Narthani, targeting the highest-ranking officer possible. Later, when it was too late to recall the men he sent probably to their deaths, Yozef couldn’t clearly remember what his thinking had been, only that the memory of those hours were more murky shadows rather then true recollections. It was only now, years later, that he remembered wishing he had had the ability to send thousands to kill Narthani. Any Narthani.

Did my mind repress that urge? Yozef now thought. Aren’t our minds capable of repressing memories that might otherwise be painful or alarming?

Whatever he had felt before, he felt now—with no buffer to hide that part of Yozef Kolsco.

He returned to the awareness that the Fuomi captain waited to learn why he had been stopped. Everyone else shifted slowly and quietly in place. A sense of unease permeated the room.

He struggled to set aside his dark thoughts and seek refuge in reasoning. It was as if two minds skirmished for ascendance. More minutes passed. Finally, with no resolution of the internal conflict, there was a decision and a change in worldview he would have to live with.

Yozef turned to Arkor. “Ask the captain if he or any of his men can speak and write in Narthani.”

“He says that he can with some difficulty, but one of his officers is fluent.”

“Tell the captain I would like him to take the surrender of one of the Kolinkan ships and give them a message written in Narthani. It is to be impressed on the Kolinkan crew that the message needs to be delivered to the highest authority in Kolinka. The message is this. ‘Yozef Kolsko is coming for you. Your clan will disappear. Your people will be scattered to the corners of Anyar. The soil of Kolinka will be sewn with salt so that nothing grows. The name Kolinka will disappear from the history of Anyar.’”

Arkor stared for a moment, then said, “Well, that should get their attention,” and translated to Minkonin, who smiled and left.

Hetman Seaborn gave a curt nod of approval, as did several other men. In contrast, Carnigan was expressionless, but later when they were alone, he asked, “Did you really mean what you said, Yozef? About the Kolinka people, clan, whatever they call themselves?”

“I meant some of it. How much, I don’t know right now. I am going to do something about Kolinka. It will be a message that no other Iraquinik kahsak or anyone else can misunderstand.”

“You know, Yozef,” said Carnigan in as soft a voice as he was capable of, “some of the men on those boats you just ordered to be sunk without taking prisoners were there because they had no choice.”

“You’re wrong, Carnigan. They had a choice. It was just hard, and they made the easy decision.” He sighed and looked at his friend. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

“I admit it makes me uneasy, but was it a wrong decision? I don’t know. You’ve made many right decisions in the years I’ve known you—more than the bad ones, so I usually trust you have good reasons. I just don’t want you to later have regrets.”

“So do I, Carnigan, so do I. But for now, I need to get back to Maera. She should be walking soon. I have to be there when she wakes, and I have to tell her about the baby.”

When he walked into her room, he expected to find her still asleep, and he was prepared to wait for however long it took. Instead, she was awake and staring out the window. She heard his footsteps and turned her face toward him. Dried tear tracks laced down both cheeks. Her eyes had been dry until she saw him.

“Oh, Yozef! The baby!” she cried out, and tears flowed again.

He rushed to her, sat on the bed, and leaned down to hold her while she sobbed. She cried for almost five minutes. It was the most prolonged spell he had ever seen from her. The sobs subsided with two loud gulps as her body jerked in unison. He wanted to say something in consolation, but what could he say? There was no solace except time.

He knew of one way to distract her, at least for the moment.

“According to reports coming in to Yulan, the attackers have left Seaborn. I’m told they didn’t try to loot or take captives. They bypassed most people as if they were of no consequence.”

“Who were they?” asked Maera, grasping at Yozef’s diversion.

“Iraquiniks from the Kolinka kahsak. Hetman Seaborn says reports suggest three to four hundred of them.”

“Iraquiniks?” she exclaimed. “That’s who we suspected. Why would they attack Caedellium?”

“Best not to think of Iraquiniks. The kahsaks jointly fight the Narthani, but I guess they’ve had trouble among themselves long before the Narthani forced them to look outward. Even Eina doesn’t know that much about them, and we’ve gotten to expect she knows everything about everyone . . . except Caedellium before she got here.

“I’ve pretty much ignored them, but that has to change. With the additional ambassadors showing up in the last few months, we now have representatives in Preddi City of seven kahsaks, if I remember. They’ve been pestering Balwis and me when I’m available to help them against the Narthani.”

“But still . . . that makes it even more puzzling. Even if it was you they were after, why?”

“It’s not certain, but one of the prisoners they left behind supposedly thinks the Narthani are somehow involved.”

“Narthani.” The single word came as if coated with something vile. Her face, previously white with grief, turned red, her jaw clenched, and she hissed through spaces between her teeth.

“That scum can’t just leave us alone in peace?”

“The few prisoners we have will continue to be questioned, but I must have been the target. The primary objective had to be capturing me and taking me back to Kolinka, or, if that failed, killing me. The obvious conclusion is either that it was fomented by the Narthani, or Kolinka wanted me as a token in negotiations with Narthon.”

Maera frowned, momentarily exchanging furrows of sorrow for those of confusion. “Yes, but something doesn’t make sense. How would Kolinka have known you were going to be in Seaborn Province and exactly where you would be on what day?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” said Yozef, pleased that Maera’s attention was diverted. “It has to mean someone or some people gave them the information. We already know the Narthani left agents we’re still trying to identify. This had to have been planned for a long time. First, someone had to be positioned to know my travel plans. Then, more information had to come from inside Seaborn Province to confirm my exact location. In that case, the Kolinka ships must’ve been lurking nearby and somehow got word from someone in Seaborn.”

He paused before continuing. “That would also support the theory that Kolinka and Narthon planned this together.”

Maera shook her head. “That’s too complicated. Too many ways the plan would fall apart.”

Yozef shrugged. “I agree, but I can’t think of a more likely possibility. For one thing, we don’t know if this was the only time something like this was planned. Maybe earlier attempts were called off, and this just happened to be the one time everything fell into place for them.”

“I’m not convinced, but if you’re right, we have to discover how Kolinka and Narthon get such detailed information about our internal operations. Who is passing it on? This is even worse than Esyl Harvant.”

Maera’s animation faded as memories of her sister’s death resurfaced. The Narthani agent had infiltrated Keelan Province and secured a position at the Caernford semaphore station. From there, he had access to enough information for the Narthani to plan the assassination of Hetman Keelan, Maera’s father, and Yozef. The attempt failed, but Maera’s sister, Anid, was killed. Now, Yozef worried the memory would prompt questions he had dreaded answering until Maera was better. His worry was justified.

“How are the people who were with us? I’ve seen Carnigan and Synton walking past the door and peeking inside, but they ignored me. What about all the others? And what happened after I was shot? I only remember starting to hand you a loaded rifle.”

“We were attacked from behind. Somehow, a few Kolinkans got ahead of us. They managed to coordinate, and while the ones following us launched an attack, the others surprised us from the rear. One of them shot you with a pistol. We’ll never know whether they were deliberately firing at you or if it was me, and they missed. Their leader may have decided I wasn’t going to be captured, and they defaulted to killing me.”

Yozef hesitated, considering his next words.

“I’m sorry, Maera, but we were in a desperate situation. Synton, Reezo, and I agreed they were going to overrun us at any time. Plus, ammunition was running low. The dragoons from both Seaborn and Pewitt stayed to hold off the Kolinkans long enough for the rest of us to escape. Only one man survived and only because they thought he was dead.”

He hesitated again.

“Reezo stayed. He said honor demanded a son of the hetman could not leave his men.”

Maera was silent. He had expected shock, sorrow, anger, probably all three, but not an expressionless silence. He waited. After two minutes, she turned her head toward the window. Three more minutes passed before she turned back to him, her face cold.

“How many people at Nollagen were killed?”

“Not as many as we first feared. Yulan told me the Kolinkans obviously had no interest in the local people, which reinforces the idea that they were after me.”

Maera made motions as if to spit to one side of the bed, but her mouth was too dry, and she coughed a dry hack. This time, he held the bowl of water to her lips. She sipped twice, raised her head slightly, and drank the bowl dry before laying her head back on the pillow.

“I know it saved Caedelli lives for them to leave when they did, but part of me wishes they had pressed on toward Grastor, and the Seaborners could have killed them all.”

She was looking at Yozef as she spoke, as if anticipating a mild rebuke. Instead, a hint of satisfaction crossed his face. She had known him long enough, and he was not particularly skilled at face-to-face deception.

“What?” she asked.

“A Fuomi frigate had been sent by Admiral Mermi to pick us up, instead of the sloop. Both ships were in Brudermyn when word came. As they sailed for Grastor, they saw the last Kolinkan sails disappear at the horizon. The frigate’s captain sent the sloop to follow them to be sure they were leaving, while the frigate stayed in case its help was needed. When I met the captain, I asked him to pursue and destroy as many ships as possible. He agreed and thought he could catch them before they reached home. We won’t know until he returns what the result was.”

Yozef had been holding Maera’s hand again. He released it, walked to the window, stared out for a few seconds, then turned sharply back to Maera.

“I told him to take prisoners from only one ship. Assuming the frigate catches up with them, between it and the sloop, they’ll likely be able to sink a good number of the Kolinkans, though not all since they’ll scatter. Even so, hundreds more of the Kolinkans will be killed.”

“Good!” exclaimed Maera. “Too bad they won’t be able to sink them all.”

Yozef knew his wife and most Caedelli would’ve been considered bloodthirsty back on Earth, but they were probably among the least such people on Anyar. That he shared her opinion about the fate of the surviving Kolinkans would have bothered him six years ago, but not now.

“I also asked him to take the surrender of one of the Kolinka ships if it was possible and to give them a message to take to the Kolinka leadership. In so many words, I declared my intention to destroy the Kolinka kahsak.”

Maera sighed. “Not that I don’t agree with that intention, but how are you planning to accomplish that?”

“I’m not sure. I have to give it some more thought. I said it out of anger. After reflection, I may have to admit it might be beyond our ability.”

Maera didn’t respond immediately, and they remained silent for another minute.

“They’re never going to leave us alone, are they, Yozef? You’ve hoped Caedellium would be able to remain in peace if our defenses were too strong and we continued developing relationships with other realms. Maybe helping others against the Narthani, but not being directly involved. I’ve shared the same dream, but haven’t we just been deluding ourselves?”

Yozef interpreted her expression and words as hoping he would disagree. He didn’t.

Kolsko Manor, Orosz City

Gwyned and Maghen watched the youngest children play on the floor while the older ones were within sight outside. Missing was Anarynd, currently in the nursery breastfeeding Anida, the only child still breastfeeding. Anarynd’s twins, Siston, and Alys, had all been weaned over the last several months. Before Maera found she was also pregnant, she and Anarynd had decided Anarynd was so near to having a new baby, it was best if she fed Anida until weaning, which was about to begin.

They heard the main manor door open, small feet running toward the nursery, and the main door not closing.

“Which ever one of you children who came in through the main door, go back and close it,” Gwyned called out. Instead, the sound of small feet continued in their direction, and Dwyna Kolsko-Puvey raced breathlessly into the kitchen.

“Someone’s coming! A wagon and people on horses! I think it’s Hetman Tomis!”

Gwyned and Maghen looked at each other.

“Why would Hetman Orosz come here?” asked Gwyned. “Yozef and Maera aren’t here, and isn’t Mark supposed to be at the industry shops all day?”

“That’s what he told me,” said Maghen.

Gwyned suddenly shot to her feet, her expression changing from puzzlement to concern.

“Unless it’s . . . ”

She waved to Maghen. “Let’s see who it is.”

The main door was a quarter open, just enough for a five-year-old to slip through. They could hear horses, leather, and voices before they stepped onto the veranda. A carriage with Hetman Orosz’s markings stopped as the driver pulled on the reins. The two horses snorted and danced in place. Fifty yards back, a rider turned off the road at a gallop—Reimo Kivalian—urging his horse on as if trying to catch up with the carriage.

Maghen recognized the carriage’s passengers, Tomis Orosz and Diera Beynom, but did not attach any significance to it. Gwyned did, and one hand went to her throat while the other gripped the veranda rail.

“Maghen, please go tell Anarynd to hurry and come.”

Her words spoken with a tight throat alerted Mark’s wife that this might not be a cordial visit.

By the time Tomis and Diera climbed the stairs, Maghen had returned, with Anarynd right behind as she adjusted the top of her dress.

Tomis held up both hands. “Before I say anything else, be assured the news is not the worst. We’ve gotten word that—”

Twenty minutes later, the three women watched the visitors turn back onto the road toward Orosz City. Gwyned and Maghen stood, but Anarynd had sat down in a rocker before Tomis Orosz finished his second sentence. She held Anida close with both arms. Tears had started only in the last few minutes, taking the place of shock and terror.

“He said they were all right,” said Gwyned, laying a hand on Anarynd’s shoulder.

“I know. I know. It’s just . . . I just don’t know what I’d do if . . . ”

“No if about it. Kivalian said he would arrange riders to get any news to us as fast as it comes by telegraph.”

Anarynd nodded and relaxed her grip on Anida. Suddenly, she jerked in the chair.

“Oh, Gwyned! They didn’t say anything about Carnigan! I didn’t think to ask. Oh, I’m so sorry. I was thinking only of Maera and Yozef!”

“I’m sure he’s all right. The big oaf is indestructible.”

Maghen had been around Gwyned enough to recognize her words held a hint of uncertainty.

“I’ll go find Mark,” said Maghen. “They said they’d try and get word to him, but I think I just remembered the shop where he planned to spend the morning.”

Music School, Orosz City

Mark believed he knew where to find Heather. Younger children were taught at schools scattered around Orosz City, with children in the final years in newly constructed “high schools,” as the Paramount called them. Yozef never offered an explanation for why he didn’t refer to the other schools as “low schools,” but . . . well, he was Yozef Kolsko, so that was that.

The most promising students of Orosz Province were funneled to the high school at the St. Wyan’s complex in one wing of a two-story building shared with the Music Institute, which was in another wing. A recently added wing included rooms that had more effective sound muffling than usual, so that the new music center did not interfere with other classes. Nevertheless, Mark heard faint instrumental and vocal music before entering the main door.

He expected to find Heather in the practice hall with musicians, as he had on other visits, but today she was in a classroom setting. She stood at a blackboard, her words being followed with rapt attention by eleven people, male and female, of ages he estimated from early teens to forties. Covering the blackboard was music notation. At the base of the wall was a foot-wide, one-foot-tall step that allowed Heather to extend her five-foot height to write to the top of the blackboard.

He waited until she noticed him. It didn’t take long—there weren’t that many Caedelli men his size who wore a wide-brimmed hat with a feathery plume extending from it. He had noticed that the Caedelli had no standard headgear, so he picked a hat he’d seen a cavalry officer wear in a Civil War movie.

A young woman alerted Heather with a hand gesture at the door.

“Ah . . . excuse me for a minute,” Heather said, laid down a piece of chalk, and walked over to Mark, one eyebrow raised.

“Let’s step into the hall,” said Mark. He turned and walked ten feet down the hall to stand near a wall.

“What’s up?” Heather said in English.

Mark frowned.

“Okay, okay, I’m supposed to always use Caedelli,” she said, switching languages. “Yozef’s not around to scold me, so I slipped. So what? He’s off on his visit to that island clan.”

“It’s not a good idea to decide when you can and when you can’t. You know that, Heather. Anyway . . . it is something about Yozef. That’s the reason I came looking for you. I wanted to be sure you heard it from me. Details are still sketchy, but word has come that his party was attacked by some force whose origin and numbers haven’t been reported yet.”

Heather put both hands to the sides of her throat before he could continue.

“Oh, my God, he’s not dead, is he?”

“No. He and Maera are supposed to be all right, but that’s all the information so far. Maghen came to give me the news. Hetman Orosz and Diera Beynom went to their homes to convey the news. I then went to find Orosz. A little more information had come in with another telegraph message. They think it was one of the Iraquinik states that did it, and they were after Yozef. Orosz said he’d keep me informed, and he’s called for a special Senate session. I’ll pass along to you anything I hear.”

“What about the other people? Carnigan and the others who went with them?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Well . . . let me know more as it comes in. You know . . . who, what, when, and where?”

“I assume it happened in Seaborn Province. If I remember the schedule he showed me, today they were supposed to be dedicating the semaphore station between South Island and the mainland that they’d connected a couple of days ago.”

“Christ, Mark. What happens to us if he gets killed?” Heather shivered. “I’m just starting to feel safe again, and then this.”

“Don’t catastrophize. Our positions here are secure, and the message did say he was okay.”

He saw no reason to share his similar thoughts. Would the projects and the plans go out the window if Joe wasn’t here to back them?

CHAPTER 40

SHOCK AND ANGER

Orosz City

Tomis Orosz sat in a chair behind an elevated podium facing rows of senators’ desks. He waited for most of the senators to be in the chamber before he called the session to order. Today’s emergency session gathered every senator already in Orosz City or those who could arrive within two days. Every province had at least one of its two senators present, including seven hetmen. When word first came of the attack, Tomis called the session to begin in two days—a compromise between the urgency of the situation and time for senators or hetmen to travel. Thus, on this day, thirty-three of the potential forty-two senators waited to hear Tomis’s update.

He glanced to the long table situated to his left. Yozef was gradually getting the hetmen to accept that the Paramount duties were too heavy and complex for one person. Therefore, to facilitate necessary activity and to better serve every province, a committee would be established, each member to focus on a specific area. In other words . . . a “cabinet,” though Yozef referred to them as “advisers.” For today’s session, six adviser chairs were occupied. Denis Vegga represented the Caedellium army, with Reimo Kivalian sitting behind Vegga. Having a Fuomi commanding the military was a bridge too far for many Caedelli to accept. Arguably, Welman Stent and Harmon Swavebroke had ably commanded large mobile forces during the war. Privately, Kivalian advised that the Swavebroke hetman had a natural aptitude. However, it was not practical for a hetman to also be the chief military commander.

Halwis Stritton sat to Vegga’s left as the Chief Adjudicator of Caedellium, a hybrid position Yozef conceived as a combination Chief Justice of the Caedellium Supreme Court and the Attorney General in charge of law enforcement. Yozef left it to the future whether the roles would eventually be divided into two positions. Stritton was from Norwyt, the Hewell Province capital. He was tall and wiry and was one of the most respected legal scholastics on Caedellium.

At the left end sat two women—Diera Beynom as head of the Department of Medicine and Sissel Morgan as leader of the Department of Education. Gartherid Kennrick and Nylan Wantik filled the right end chairs. Gartherid and his wife, Isla Kennrick-Luwis, were co-leaders of what had been the MIU (Military Intelligence Unit) during the Narthani war and what now served as a combination of CIA/FBI in the United States or MI5/MI6 in the United Kingdom—and named the Department of Intelligence. Gartherid represented the department at most meetings, at Yozef’s insistence. Despite his intent to open up more opportunities for women, he decided that having too many women in the cabinet was, as with Kivalian, a step for which most Caedelli leaders were not yet ready.

Wantik hailed from Stent Province and led the nascent Department of Industry, a smashup of treasury, commerce, and labor. He had been a wealthy merchant and trader in Preddi City. When the Narthani’s grip first began to tighten, Wantik presciently moved his family and wealth to Clitwyth, the Stent capital. The changes coming to the Caedellium economy would involve complexities related to industrialization, finances, and ensuring that no province or demographic group was left too far behind. Yozef admitted to himself, Maera, and a few others that he was unqualified in any of those areas. The best he could do was find candidates better able to advise and solve problems. A peripheral rationale, according to Synton, was to “Find someone to take the blame when things go to shit.”

Yozef suspected he might have to eventually go to an outsider. He’d heard tales about the Harrasedics’ complex mercantile systems, but their confederation lay on the other side of Anyar. Maybe a Fuomi or someone from Landolin might also eventually fill the role. Yozef, in frustrated moments, wished Heather had been an economist or a banker. In fanciful moments, he wondered whether there might still be other plane survivors on Anyar, though how to find them had, as yet, escaped him.

A clerk signaled from one of the doors that no senators lingered in the outer room. Tomis leaned to one side, picked up a cudgel, and struck a two-foot-diameter gong made of brass from captured Narthani cannon. He waited for most senators to take their seats before he would strike again, signaling the official opening of the session.

The clans had accepted that the Paramount would act on issues involving foreign realms, with the input from advisers and a predetermined set of senators. The exact duties and prerogatives of both the Paramountcy and the Senate were still evolving, with Yozef taking advantage of the vacuum when he believed it didn’t threaten to erode his support. Formally, the Paramount would preside over the Senate session as the speaker. In practice, the speaker was usually a senator elected to serve when the Paramount was traveling or otherwise unable or unwilling to attend. Thus, Tomis Orosz usually presided over the sessions. There was no formal schedule, although the custom had developed that the Senate sat in session the third day of the second and fifth sixdays of each month. Between sessions, senators could be involved in meetings, review reports coming to the Paramount’s office, and send their own reports to their clan hetmen, who normally filled one of their clan’s two senate positions only when significant decisions were anticipated or when they were close enough to attend.

Usually, a schedule determined the topics of future sessions and peripheral meetings. As yet unsettled was what to do if important decisions loomed, and Yozef was out of touch or incapacitated. The Paramount’s physical presence in Seaborn Province during a crisis fell into that nebulous area. The report of the attempted assassination or capture of the Paramount by Kolinkans required giving the clans confidence both that the Paramount was safe and that a central office could respond in his absence. Precisely what the response might be and with what authority had yet to be tested. In theory, Tomis Orosz could issue orders as if he were the Paramount until Yozef returned. In practice, it had never occurred.

Tomis struck the gong. Talking subsided, and eyes snapped to his chair. He waited until the last speech died down. He began at once—there were no preambles to a session.

“More information is coming by the hour. The semaphore connection to Seaborn is functioning as hoped, but we all know the limitations in message length. Additional delays occur because when a message comes from Seaborn to the Pewitt side, it still has to be taken by horse sixty miles to the closest telegraph station. Hetman Pewitt tells us he has put in place teams of relay riders, so we are getting new information as fast as is currently possible. It’s not important now, but we should later consider expanding the telegraph network, including a line to the Pewitt end of the semaphore connection with Seaborn.

“Although limited in length, messages are confirming that the Paramount is uninjured. However, his wife, Maera, was seriously wounded but is expected to recover.”

Exclamations of anger erupted at the last news, the loudest coming from Welman Stent and Klyngo Adris. Tomis noted that Balwis Preddi never opened his mouth. The Preddi hetman had commandeered a train in Preddi City. When he’d reached a washed-out section of track, he had then commandeered a horse and ridden nonstop a hundred miles. He’d arrived only hours before the session—as was evident from his clothing. Although Balwis was silent, Tomis intuited that the man’s mind was tabulating everything he planned to do to any Kolinkan he got his hands on.

“It’s confirmed again that the attackers were Kolinkans, and no, we don’t have any idea why they would do that. The messages we’re getting don’t say anything.”

“Any news from the Fuomi ships that went after the Kolinkans?” asked a Skouks senator.

“Nothing. That might be a sixday or more before we hear anything. The Fuomi frigate and sloop were going to try and catch the Kolinkans before they reached home. Hetman Adris confirms that the Fuomi sortied their entire flotilla from the Gulf of Normot. Our own active sloop is with them. The Resolute was ready for deep-water cruises, but the second sloop, the Valiant, is waiting on its last ten cannon and has not yet completed what Yozef calls ‘shakedown’ sailings in the gulf. It will restrict itself to patrolling the approaches to the Normot Gap while the rest of the ships search Caedellium waters for any enemy ships.”

“Just how serious is Maera’s injury?” asked Stent.

“There are no details, only that it was serious. A message did say that they will remain at the Seaborn town of Grastor until she recovers enough to make the voyage to Penmawr.”

“What about casualties on both sides?” asked Balwis.

“Most Caedelli casualties were the dragoons accompanying the Paramount. Of the forty Pewitt and Seaborn men, only one man survived. We don’t know the details.”

“I think we can guess,” said Balwis. “The dragoons must’ve stood and held back the Kolinkans until the Paramount could reach Grastor. How about the Kolinkans?”

“No numbers, but if thirty-nine dragoons were killed, they fought to the last man. I would assume the Kolinkan dead must be many times that.”

A Farkesh senator stood. “What about the alert you sent out? I assume the other clans with coasts did the same as us. We have lookouts along our coast every few miles, and we mustered half of our dragoons. The companies are waiting to know where they should position.”

Tomis gestured to Vegga and Kivalian. “We’ve discussed this, and we believe it’s best to have everyone hold their positions for now. That includes the lookouts and dragoon units. We’ll probably want to leave the lookouts in place for the next sixday, but if nothing happens in the next two or three days, the dragoons can stand down. That message will go out to all provinces as soon as we finish here.”

Tomis was prepared for the next two hours as senators and hetmen asked questions, some of them repeated several times in different wording. Some questions led to discussions Tomis thought useful, but he finally ended the session when he thought nothing was being gained by continuing. Afterward, the men milled around for another hour, discussing events in small groups. The hetmen present stood clustered at the front.

“I know we don’t have any details,” said the Bultecki hetman, “but I’m having trouble getting my mind around why the Iraquiniks would attack Seaborn.”

“It wasn’t Seaborn they were attacking,” insisted Stent. “Certainly not that part of South Island where few people live.”

“Right,” said Balwis. “They were after Yozef. That’s the only explanation I can think of. As for why they would attack Yozef, I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I suppose if they were out to capture him, they might think of ransom, but that doesn’t make sense. What I gather from the different Iraquinik representatives in Preddi City is that they are looking to have friendly relations with Caedellium . . . even possibly some kind of help against the Narthani.”

“Well . . . that’s not going to happen now,” said Klyngo Adris.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Stent, drawing out the words. “I’m wondering what Yozef’s response is going to be.”

“Whatever it is, it won’t be as bad for the Kolinkans as it would if Maera had been killed,” said Balwis.

Tomis Orosz appeared troubled. “I hope this doesn’t mean getting involved in another war. We haven’t recovered from the one against the Narthani.”

Stent shook his head. “I know Yozef worries about keeping Caedellium out of foreign entanglements, while at the same time trying to make Caedellium a less inviting target. But I would be loath to predict anything about Yozef. People who threaten him or do him wrong seem to come to a bad end.”

Stent whirled toward Balwis. “It just occurred to me. Did the Kolinkans ever send a representative to Caedellium? How about ships?”

Balwis snarled. “They’ve had several trading ships coming and going the last few months. It’s just a coincidence that six days ago, a group of Kolinkans who were in Preddi City left aboard one of their ships to go back to Kolinka. That’s according to one of my advisers, Storlini, the ex-Narthani. One or two of those men claimed to be some kind of representative wanting to meet with the Paramount. The others were traders looking for business. At least, that’s what they said. Their departure before the attack is more than suggestive. Obviously, we’ll be looking into who they had contact with. Right now, Storlini tells me there are no Kolinkans in Preddi.”

Balwis turned thoughtful. “You know . . . now that I think about it, I agree with Hetman Stent. The future might not be so good for Kolinka. Yozef might occasionally make quick and rash decisions, but giving him time to think is worse for Kolinka. There’s no telling what he might come up with. Those bastards had better thank whatever god or gods they worship that Maera lives. She’s also carrying a child. I hope no harm was done there, but if it was, I don’t doubt the Kolinkans will rue the attempt on him.”

Lordum Hewell raised his hand to forestall Stent’s commenting and looked pointedly at Kivilian.

“There’s something else I want to bring up. It’s not immediately relevant to the current events, but I hear rumors that there is discord among the Fuomi concerning their relationship with Caedellium and their ships stationed here.”

Half of the eyes in the room reflexively stared or glanced at Kivalian, sitting behind Vegga.

Tomis Orosz already knew what Vegga was referring to and thought it was sensitive enough to wait until Yozef returned before certain rumors and suspicions became widely known.

CHAPTER 41

MEA CULPA

Grastor

Two sixdays passed before Yozef and Medicant Harlow agreed that Maera was able to travel—despite her insistence that she had been able a sixday sooner. Two days before they left, Yozef and Synton rode eight miles to a farm northeast of Grastor. There, the extended family of Omol Oston, leader of the Seaborn dragoons, was waiting for the Paramount’s visit. He needed to thank them for their son’s sacrifice and describe the events of that day. It was one of the most difficult days of Yozef’s life. He anticipated that the family would feel he was due a degree of blame for Omol’s death, but they didn’t. The family’s sorrow mixed with pride. When they left to return to Grastor, Yozef was disconcerted to feel more like the recipient of consolation than the giver. If anything, the family’s effort had the opposite effect on the Paramount.

On the day of departure, Yulan Seaborn had returned from Brudermyn to see them leave. Yozef waited at the Grastor dock with the Seaborn hetman while Maera was taken to a cabin.

“We both lost sons, Paramount,” said Yulan. “Eternal curses on the Kolinkans and Narthani.”

Yozef was taken aback. He had told Medicant Harlow not to reveal that Maera’s lost child was male.

“Uh . . . Yulan, I asked Medicant Harlow to keep that quiet.”

“Harlow told me before you spoke to him. I haven’t told anyone else—and won’t.”

“Thank you, Yulan. There’s something else I wanted to talk with you about before we leave. With your permission, I would like to consider naming a future son I might have after Reezo.”

A sheen of moisture reflected the morning sun off the craggy hetman’s eyes. “I think Reezo would have liked that, Paramount. My family will never use the name again, but we would be honored to have Reezo remembered in your family.”

“Believe me, he will always be honored, whether a Kolsko son is named after him or not. And remember, it’s Yozef, Yulan. I think we’re past awkward formalities.”

“Very well . . . Yozef. This was not the Paramount visit either of us envisioned. The price was hard, but I suspect my clan feels closer to you and the other clans after what happened. I also intend to write a public letter to Hetman Pewitt honoring the sacrifice of his men. We will erect a marker at the site where men of our two clans held back the Kolinkans. The place is remote, but a stone monument will be built in Brudermyn where the people can be reminded of what happened. The names of all the men killed will be etched into the marble.”

“There will be other honors to the men,” said Yozef. “At least, a battle streamer to be attached to the flags of those men’s units.”

He didn’t mention it, but he’d had thoughts that maybe they needed a formal set of honors. It would take some consideration, but he envisioned something like a Caedellium Medal of Honor and lesser medals.

“I think they’re waiting for you, Paramount. If there is mercy in the world, I pray God will grant you and Maera a swift and safe trip home.”

They shook hands, and Yozef walked up the gangway. Twenty minutes later, Brudermyn shrank in the distance.

Orosz City

Hetman Yulan’s prayer was granted. The seas between Grastor and Penmawr were calm, the sky was clear, and the winds were favorable. They no sooner had lost sight of the Seaborn coast before that of Pewitt peeked above the eastern horizon. They had considered the offer to travel to Adris City on the Fuomi frigate, but in the end, they sailed to Penmawr and then took the train to Orosz City. In contrast to the outward trip, they did not stop at province capitals: Penmawr, Clitwyth, or Cherona. At each city, the medicant who accompanied the train disembarked and was replaced by another. They made other stops to change horses, stopped once for two hours at a village so a blacksmith could repair a wheel, and also got off the train for food and necessary relief of bladders and bowels. Their pace had started slower than the train’s normal speed but then accelerated when Maera felt no difference in discomfort.

Their arrival in Orosz City was quiet. At Maera’s request, Yozef had sent word forward that there be no gatherings. Maera only wanted to get home. Nevertheless, streets were lined with silent throngs. Only when the carriage stopped at Kolsko Manor was there a reception. Ceinwyn had come from Preddi City, as did Breda and Mared Keelan from Caernford in Keelan Province. An orgy of gentle hugs and tears ensued, led by Anarynd. Yozef finally called an end to everything when he perceived Maera becoming unsteady. He and Anarynd guided her into her bed. Once Maera sat with covers over her legs, the children were allowed in. Anarynd brought Anida for Maera to hold. The youngest children didn’t know what was happening, but the older cohort (Aeneas, Dwyna, and Morwena) knew Maera had been sick. More tears were shed, those of happiness, when Aeneas offered to kiss Maera’s “hurt” and when a frightened Dwyna Kolsko-Puvey was convinced that Mama Maera was not dying.

Over the next hour, Maera held the three toddlers (Xena, Odysius, and Siston) for a few minutes each. Yozef called a halt, and Maera was asleep before the room cleared. Everyone moved to the other side of the manor and mingled in the great room and the kitchen as a communal meal and drinks lasted well into the night. It had been almost a year since Yozef had seen Breda and Mared Keelan, Maera’s mother and youngest sister. Breda looked the same, but Mared had matured into a beautiful young woman. The Keelan family women would remain for two sixdays.

The Kaldwel family had also been present at Maera’s arrival but stayed in the background while Maera’s family paid attention to her. Yozef made the introductions and left the others to their own devices, while he took his turn holding or talking to all the children, one at a time or in clusters.

As Yozef was about to excuse himself for sleep and was gathering his thoughts to make a goodnight statement, Mark appeared at his side.

“God damn, Yozef, I’m so sorry. The reports were that Maera is going to recover. Is that true?”

Mark wanted to say more, but his mouth clamped shut the instant he saw Yozef’s face. On Earth, his first thought could’ve been that of a close relative of Yozef’s, maybe a brother or a cousin. Yozef looked older by ten years or more, the lines seemed deeper, and the eyes . . . Mark didn’t know what to make of the eyes, but after a moment, they softened at least slightly. Yozef rose and gestured toward the cushioned chairs.

Yozef nodded. “The ball hit her hipbone and took off a small piece, then did damage inside but didn’t hit anything vital. The lead Seaborn medicant said she’s not in danger, but long-term effects might not manifest for months.  She may limp or have trouble with some movements.”

Yozef stopped. Mark had another question, but how to ask wasn’t obvious.

His hesitation was solved by Yozef.

“She lost the baby. The medicant said the uterus was nicked by the ball, which caused it to abort. Nothing anyone could do.”

Mark cursed quietly and suppressed the urge to spit to one side. “And the nanos couldn’t save it?”

“I suspect the trauma was too sudden. Even Earth technology probably wouldn’t have made a difference. I think it was like what happened to me at the Battle of Moreland City. Once I survived the initial trauma, the nanos did their thing. It just took time that Maera and the baby didn’t have.”

“God damn, but why the attack? I thought the Iraquiniks were also enemies of the Narthani.”

Yozef shared the theory that he had been the target and that Kolinka had been the instruments of the Narthani. Words were on the tip of Mark’s tongue, but he suppressed them. However, Yozef either detected his reserve or anticipated what Mark was thinking.

“Thanks for not saying it, but it’s okay. You should say, ‘I told you so.’”

Mark relaxed but didn’t speak, not sure where Yozef was going, but he suspected.

“We’ve argued enough times over what to do about the Narthani.”

“Well, I would’ve called it discussed, rather than argued,” said Mark, “at least, most of the time.”

“Either way, I wanted Caedellium to stay as far from the fighting and involvement in Anyarian politics as possible. I’d seen too much war, blood, and death for one lifetime. I envisioned a prosperous and peaceful Caedellium, though one well prepared to defend the island.”

Yozef put a hand on Mark’s arm. “But we can talk about this later. Right now, I’m almost as tired as Maera. I didn’t get much sleep the last two sixdays. We’ll talk another day.”

After leaving Yozef, Mark collected Maghen and Alys to return to their dwelling. Alys had fallen asleep, and Mark carried her.

“Thank God Maera is going to be all right,” said Maghen. “But losing the baby . . . ;” She sighed. “Only time can heal that, but she’ll never totally get over the grief. I know I couldn’t even if there are more children.” She looked sharply at Mark. “Do they think this may stop her from having another child?”

“I don’t know. Yozef didn’t say anything.”

If I had to guess, thought Mark, I’d bet the nanos repair any damage, but who knows?

“Mark, what does the attack on Yozef mean? I’ve heard whispers that he’s going to do something. But what? People seem to expect things to be different . . . but how?”

“I’m not sure,” said Mark, “but changes are coming.”

The Pit

Two days later, Mark and Yozef had not spoken again. When he heard Yozef was in the Pit, the room with the large elevated maps, Mark searched him out.

Yozef leaned against the rear railing at the northern part of the topographic map when Mark entered the Pit door.

“Over here. The maps make Caedellium seem so large, it’s tempting to forget how insignificant it is with respect to the rest of Anyar.”

“Maybe you need a bigger map.”

“Exactly what I’ve been thinking.” Yozef smile was strained as if a recently unused expression. “Of course, what scale would we make it? It would have to be smaller, or the map would extend all the way to the river two miles from here.”

“I guess it all depends on what the purpose is and how much detail you want.”

“You were right,” said Yozef.

“About the Narthani?”

“They’re never going to leave us alone. I thought we’d have years of peace . . . hopefully, many years.”

“I never thought ill of your goal, Yozef. I just didn’t think it was realistic. I didn’t experience the level of fighting you were involved in, but I’ve traveled more and seen the global reach of the Narthani. After hearing more of their history from the Fuomi, I just didn’t believe then, and still don’t, there is any way the Narthani won’t be an unending threat unless something is done about them.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand the threat,” said Yozef. “I just didn’t see how this island could affect events involving nations and empires so much larger than us. We’re like ticks on the elephant. In lieu of seeing what we could do, I guess I’d hoped to keep our heads down and trust something happens down the road.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“Oh, I still want the same thing. I just don’t believe it’s possible anymore. And I’m not just talking about the Narthani. I’ve had more time than I would have wished to think these last sixdays. Yes, the Narthani are the current overriding threat, but if they weren’t around, who knows where else danger might come from? Certainly from the Iraquiniks, although Maera argues I shouldn’t think of all the Iraquinik kahsaks the same way as Kolinka. The problem is, if one of them was tempted or convinced to attack us, there is no rational reason to believe others might not do the same. Then we have the Landolin kingdoms. They showed no particular interest in Caedellium in the past, but events might have changed that, whether to the positive or the negative, I don’t know.”

“Well, I know something about Ganolar,” said Mark. “I didn’t get the impression the Rustalians would be a potential threat, but Sulako is not a culture we’re compatible with. Then there’s Buldor and Ilskin. You know the Buldorian history, and from what I heard about Ilskins from Mustafa Adalan, they may even be worse. The only saving grace for most of these is that they’re so far away.

“There’s also the Fuomi,” said Yozef. “Who’s to say we couldn’t eventually come in conflict with them?”

“So? What do we do?”

Yozef was silent while he looked back at the map. “I don’t know. I’ve thought a lot but need more time. I’ll ask you to do the same. What can we do?”

He turned again to Mark.

“As glad as I am that you and Heather are here, I suspect things might only get worse. If the Narthani convinced the Kolinkans to come after me, and they were after you for knowing something about America, what are they going to do when they realize we’re now together on Caedellium? And more . . . when word gets out about what developments are underway?”

“Well . . . speaking of developments, we’ve finally got a functional steam engine working to pump water or air. We can demo it as soon as you want.”

“How about now? I could use some positive news.”

They walked the mile to a restricted part of the industrial area west of Orosz City. Four structures of different sizes housed various projects Mark was working with locally. A ten-foot-high wooden fence surrounded the entire area, and a guard manned the gate they entered. At night, dogs and roaming guards kept the curious away.

They went to the largest of the structures. Yozef could hear the sounds of equipment coming from all the buildings, the loudest from the one they entered.

“It’s to the right.”

Mark led the way around machine tools, stacks of metal bars and sheets of various sizes, workers doing whatever they were doing, and metal objects. Yozef didn’t know if these were something in the process of being built or were discards. The noise level rose the farther they went. They reached a cluster of men surrounding a smoking metal apparatus whose components included an arm going up and down, a six-foot wheel, and several barrel- and box-shaped pieces obviously doing something. Piping ran from the apparatus to a smaller outer door in the building.

“It may not look like it’s performing a function, but it is. Stand over here.”

Yozef followed Mark, who pointed to a short piece of the same type of piping as was connected to the other side.

“Hold your hand next to the pipe opening.”

Yozef complied. “Hey . . . it’s drawing air in, so it must be expelling on the other side.”

“Right. We’ve tested it enough that I’m confident this steam engine will function to circulate air in the copper and tin mines in the northern provinces. We had to shut down two shafts because the dust particles being produced got too bad. Now we should be able to circulate enough air volume to reopen.

“It will take a few modifications and a bigger engine, but I think the same basic model will work for pumping water out of shafts that are threatened with slow flooding. It should revolutionize mining not only in Caedellium but in all of Anyar. That is . . . if we share it.”

Yozef slapped Mark on the back. “Congratulations! The first functioning steam engine. I don’t have to tell you what a game-changer this is.” Yozef smiled. “I assume you can now read my mind?”

Mark laughed. “When are steam trains and ships going to be ready?”

“The Great Karnak! You are a mind reader.”

“No need. We both have had fantasies of ‘if only we had X.’ As for trains, I’ll show you our first small model locomotive. It’s not really working yet, but we’re close. The first steam train engines won’t look anything like you may have seen in pictures on Earth . . . say . . . from Civil War movies to the last steam trains around the mid to late 1900s. There’s the gearing to work out, testing boiler configurations, and all the rest, but I’m confident we can have the first model ready in three to four months. It’ll be relatively small from where we’ll eventually go, but they’ll pull many times what the horse-drawn trains can and will go a lot faster.”

“Three or four months!” said Yozef. “That means we need to start planning rail conversion right away. Otherwise, your first engine will only be a stationary oddity.” He looked back at the map. “The first big question is where to start the change-over. For practical reasons, it needs to be the Cherona line connecting the iron ore fields west to the iron and steelworks in coal country.”

Mark nodded. “Yes, but that presents two major problems.”

“Only two? I can think of more than that. Of course, some problems are interrelated.”

Anticipating him, Mark held up a hand, extended his fingers and a thumb, and counted off, closing digits as he tallied problems.

“Complete and test first functional steam engine train. Tear up the existing track. Replace with steel rails. Produce enough steel rails. Loss of service until replacement is finished. And best of all—” He added the other thumb. “Won’t be able to hide the results from the Fuomi and probably the other ambassadors. I could probably go on, but that’s enough for starters.”

“You showed me stacks of rails at Elmor. I assume you kept producing them. How far can we go with what we already have?”

“About thirty miles, which should cover from Cherona just into Stent Province. When you visited Elmor, we had three Bessemer converters operating and one more being built. All four are now operational, and with more rollers we could now produce about fifteen miles of rail a day. Of course, that’s if nothing breaks, and the raw materials are available. That last is the bottleneck. We can’t keep the converters going full time until a set of steam trains is operational to provide the iron ore, and the new rails are in place all the way from Cherona to Elmor.”

“A chicken-and-egg problem,” mumbled Yozef. “We knew this was coming. I guess I didn’t think about it as much as I could have. Maybe I didn’t quite believe it was all going to work.”

Mark didn’t directly respond. He had raised this and other issues several times without getting satisfactory responses. There was no need to complain. They had problems to solve.

“I have a suggestion,” said Mark, “but it would take a mobilization that you would have to push. The existing horse trains and iron-capped rails are faster than regular wagons and can carry more weight on a per-horse basis, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t use wagons to transport ore—it would just take lots of wagons, more horses on a per ton basis, and more wagon crews. That becomes critical when we start replacing rails, and there’s no train service, horse-drawn or steam. Wagons might be able to fill the void.”

“How many wagons?”

“Hard to say for sure, but no point seeing how it goes without starting with at least a hundred, and they would have to be sturdy wagons. Best would be specially built ore wagons, but that would take time and more coin.”

Yozef shook his head. “Go ahead and make some estimates of what it would take to get rail production up, and we’ll talk about it some more. As for coin . . . it’s already a problem. Trade with Landolin and the Iraquinik kahsaks is picking up, but there’re still issues with how some of the resulting coin gets to the central government. So far, I’ve gotten away with requiring a version of a tax by claiming it’s part of developing markets. We don’t have a formal tax structure yet. I’ve depended on mostly voluntary support by the hetmen and income from what I’ve introduced.”

Yozef shook his head. “Christ. I’ve had Nylan Wantik working on this. As little as I know about setting up such systems, I think he’s making progress, but I wish we had more expertise.”

“Well, then, who actually owns the mines, mills, and future trains?”

“Another nebulous question. So far, I’ve assumed I and the hetmen are the owners. At the same time, I’m pouring most of my own income into these projects, along with most of the income from trade. In a way, I’m a conduit. Similar for the hetmen. They are holding ownership—or partial ownership with me—in trust for their clanspeople. Part of both my and Wantik’s attention is being sure the hetmen do what they’re supposed to and don’t sequester coin for themselves.”

Yozef held up both hands.

“And no, this can’t last forever. We’re definitely flying this economic plan out of our asses. If I ever thought the outside threats were gone, I’d say the hell with being Paramount. I’d stick to the university and whatever innovations I could introduce in whatever time I had.

“One other thing, Mark. Although today we’ve focused on economic and industrial issues, I’ve come around to wanting to put more attention on practical ways to push our military capability to a new level. Give it some thought. I’ll be busy with politics for much of the next month, internal and external. Let’s say . . . can you give me detailed thoughts one month from today?”

Mark nodded. “That will also give me time to push people to finish a couple of items by then.”

Mark made enough progress that when the occasion arose to arrange demonstrations for individuals Yozef needed to impress, Mark was ready.

Train and Horse to Alwyn’s Dell

Three days after returning to Orosz City, Synton Ethlore informed Yozef he would be gone for a sixday or more while he made his vowed visit to Alwyn’s Dell, the Pewitt village home of Sergeant Ulmar Rynston, Pewitt 1st Dragoon Battalion. Synton did not travel alone. Yozef said he would go, too, and they would also visit the home of Steva Wynton, the Pewitt dragoon leader, who had stood with ten of his men at the first stand to delay the Kolinkans.

They traveled by train to Penmawr for a brief memorial attended by the Wynton family. Then they continued by train north to within five miles of the Pewitt/Swavebroke border. There, they changed to horses and rode fifteen miles to the village of Alwyn’s Dell. The visit with Rynston’s family was mixed. Most members acted similar to the way Oston’s family had, but not all. Steva’s wife refused to speak with Yozef. Her one look into Yozef’s face was wrenching.

“Understandable,” consoled Synton as they rode back to the train. It had somehow turned its direction back toward Penmawr. “She’s lost her husband and is left with three children. No matter the circumstance, she’ll wish it was you dead and not Steva.”

“I know,” said Yozef, “but understanding doesn’t make it anything easier. I’ll have to speak with Hetman Pewitt when we get to Penmawr to be sure the family is cared for.”

CHAPTER 42

FUOMON ISSUES

Caught

“I have to be absolutely certain about this,” said Yozef. “It can’t be ‘probably’ or ‘most of the evidence points to.’”

Halwis Stritton looked to the man sitting next to him. The man pushed a folder toward Stritton, who untied the string holding the flap closed and opened the folder. As he spoke, he took papers from the folder and slid them across the table to Yozef.

“Banham here has made this the first major investigation since I appointed him Chief Investigator of the Justice Department. What I’m showing you first is a signed confession by an Orosz man named Bulwyt.”

Stritton smiled. “He’s a worker at the steam engine project near Orosz City. The one I assume we are not supposed to know about.”

“We’ll get to that later,” said Yozef. “You know, we’re lucky this Bulwyt is both naïve and loyal to Caedellium.”

“That’s why I recommend we be lenient with him,” said Stritton. “Yes, he gave in to the promise of significant gold coin in return for what he thought was harmless information. But once he realized his mistake, he confessed to Mark Kaldwel, who contacted my office. That let us lay a trap to catch both the Fuomi contact and the person above him.”

Stritton paused a moment to grind his teeth. “I take responsibility for not anticipating the reaction of the two Fuomi who met with Bulwyt under our observation.”

“Not your fault, Halwis. None of us anticipated such violence would come from spying for information.”

Yozef did not believe his words. He knew from past and current Earth history that predicting the level of violence humans were capable of was a losing exercise. There was no reason to believe it was different on Anyar.

“Thank you, Paramount, but my opinion doesn’t change. The result was that when we attempted to take the two men into custody, they both drew weapons. Two of my men were wounded and one killed before we captured one of the Fuomi, while the other escaped. The meeting took place inside Orosz City, and an alerted patrol found a Fuomi man a few hundred yards away from the fight. He claimed he knew nothing about what happened.

“None of my men got a good-enough look at the Fuomi who escaped, so, without evidence, we didn’t think we could hold him accountable. That’s when Ser Kaldwel made a suggestion. He says he got it from your other Amerikan countryperson. It took us a sixday to work out the procedure for taking these ‘fingerprints’ and test a thousand people to convince us the method was reliable. From a pistol the fleeing Fuomi was seen to drop, we got a match to Taponi Namaki. I found out he was an assistant to the Fuomi ambassador, Koskanin.”

Yozef knew that fingerprints were unique enough for identification, but a thousand-size sample would not be enough for a firm conclusion in a society new to the method. Yozef saw no reason to muddy the waters, so he formally signed off on the procedure as soon as Stritton informed him of what was happening.

Stritton pushed several sheets toward Yozef. Two sheets held ink fingerprints.

“We can go over comparing the two sets of prints if you wish, Paramount. We brought a magnifying glass.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Halwis. Go on.”

Stritton pushed forward another sheet.

“The captured man was severely wounded. He was treated at the hospital. We . . . uh . . . may have given him the impression he wouldn’t be treated unless he talked.”

Yozef suppressed a smile. The medicants would not have allowed anyone to mistreat a patient brought to them. That didn’t mean the same medicants wouldn’t hold the rope once the patient recovered.

“Anyway, after we fetched someone who spoke Fuomi, the man talked so fast the scribe had trouble writing everything down. After being treated, the man refused to talk further, but we had what we needed. He confirmed this Namaki was his superior and had been directing spying on the steam engine project and several other activities here in Orosz City and elsewhere on Caedellium. We’re investigating the other allegations.”

Yozef glanced over the confession written in Fuomi with a translation attached.

“And it was the pistol that killed your man?”

“Yes, the one connected to Namaki. The other man used a knife to wound two men.”

“What about Koskanin?”

“Namaki won’t say anything. He insists he knows nothing and should be allowed to return to the Fuomi embassy. The other man claimed he has never talked directly to Koskanin, but he assumes orders come from the ambassador.”

Kivalian

Yozef’s intent to schedule a serious talk with Reimo Kivalian was expedited. When the Fuomi returned from Nyvaks Province after passing through Adris City, he came straight to Yozef’s office. It took Yozef only one look at the man’s travel-worn clothing and serious expression to surmise a report on the status of the Nyvaks ready dragoon units would not be the topic.

Kivalian wasted no time once he sat. “Fuomon is planning on moving their ships from Caedellium to ports in Landolin and the middle Iraquinik kahsaks.”

Yozef took a few moments to digest the news. “Well . . . that’s the shits.”

Kivalian frowned at the English words.

“Uh . . . are you sure?” asked Yozef, switching to Caedelli.

“I had stopped at the Fuomi naval station near Adris City to visit a couple of officers I wanted to say hello to. I assume word spread of my presence, and a junior naval officer seemed to be waiting for me when I left one of my friends. He walked a few feet behind me and mumbled what I just told you . . . that the ships . . . all the ships . . . will be moving from Caedellium next month. I didn’t have a chance to ask questions. The officer turned and walked in another direction from where I was headed. I can’t prove it, but the way it happened makes me believe a more senior navy officer was sending a message, possibly even Admiral Mermi.”

“Warning us, huh? Not like we don’t have enough problems.”

Yozef thought for a minute, deciding now was the time for his “talk” to Kivalian.

“What do you think brought this on and their not telling us about it sooner? It can’t be a sudden decision.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of the intention. You must know Koskanin and I are not exactly on good terms. Eina should know more about Fuomon politics, but factional intrigue goes on all the time. Koskanin is from what’s commonly called the Surion Faction, after a man named Surion who believed Fuomon was destined to rule all of Anyar.”

It was the first time Yozef had heard of such a Fuomi belief. The revelation was disquieting.

“And how does that explain a rationale for leaving Caedellium?”

“Again, talk to Eina. The only thing I can think of is it puts the ships closer to Narthani activity. That could be a tactical reason. I might believe it’s justified if it weren’t associated with a pompous nitwit like Koskanin.”

“I’ll talk with Eina, Reimo, and thank you for passing this on to me. However, let’s have a talk I’ve been planning to have with you. There are things happening here in Caedellium. Big things. I don’t doubt you’ve wondered why specific places have been closed to you for travel in the last year, mainly around Orosz City. I’ll be honest. We haven’t been convinced about the level of commitment Fuomon has to Caedellium. Not that we don’t appreciate what Fuomon did during the war and since then. However, now with your warning, I can only assume Fuomon is making, or perhaps has already made, a reevaluation of its relationship to Caedellium. For our part, we also have been planning an adjustment, though, in our case, we anticipated a closer relationship, rather than the distancing I’ve come to suspect.

“Again, I thank you for this news. I hope I’ve conveyed enough in the past about how much we value your help with the Narthani and your contributions to our military. If you haven’t been kept abreast of all developments, it’s because you are, after all, not a Caedelli. Might that change? Or, more bluntly, could you change loyalty from Fuomon to Caedellium?”

Kivalian laughed and slapped his right thigh. “Right to the heart! That’s one reason I’ve always liked you, Yozef. None of this saying half of what you mean and expecting other people to understand what’s unspoken.

“As for loyalties, I can’t phrase it like that. I’m a Fuomi and don’t plan on changing. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also be a Caedelli. What loyalty I have to Fuomon is to the people, not to those who happen to be ruling. Sometimes I think they’re the same, but not always.

“I’ve lived on Caedellium longer than any place except when I was growing up. The only family I had were an elderly aunt and uncle who raised me. They died just before I joined the marines. Since then, the military has been my home. Oh . . . I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’ve traveled, seen things, and would be lying if I pretended the marines have not been exciting, even the battles. But I like it here. I don’t plan on returning to my previous life in Fuomon. Maybe I’ve lived here too long. Maybe I’ve made too many friends I’d hate to lose. Of course, then there’s Elsik. She’s not leaving Caedellium with our son, and I’m not leaving without them.”

Kivalian smiled. “It doesn’t take one of your Caedelli scholastics or mysterious Amerikans to figure out that means I intend to stay permanently on Caedellium.”

Revelations

Two days later, a smug Kivalian and a puzzled Eina Saisannin walked with Yozef to a set of buildings no Fuomi—or ex-Fuomi, in Kivalian’s case—had been closer to than a quarter-mile. Mark met them at the closed main door to the largest building.

“Welcome to dreamland,” said Mark, smiling.

“A reference to a place in Amerika where surprises originate,” said Yozef to Kivalian’s raised eyebrow.

I guess Mark could have called it Area 51, thought Yozef. The restricted-access Nevada base was used for the secret testing of aircraft and NASA rovers and was famous for persistent theories that the site housed a discovered alien spacecraft—something both Yozef and Mark considered ironic.

Mark knocked three times on the wide double doors and moved away so someone inside could swing the doors open. Noise previously muted now poured through the door.

“Follow me and have a glimpse of the future.”

The Fuomi entered the building, expecting it to be dark, but workers began unshuttering windows to join large skylights already providing ample work light. Machines unlike any they had ever seen were doing what the Fuomi didn’t recognize—beyond drilling and working metal surfaces. Most machines were operated by one man, but they passed two men at an apparatus six feet tall and twelve feet long. A foot-diameter cylinder was being rotated for what Kivalian thought must be finishing work, as water poured on the surface where a fixed-position edge ground off dustlike particles of metal. At least, that’s what Kivalian thought was happening.

Both Fuomi were too busy observing as much as they could to ask questions . . . if they had known what to ask. Workers greeted Mark and Yozef, looked curiously at the visitors, and only briefly interrupted whatever they were doing. The four visitors stopped at another large apparatus, this one emitting both smoke and steam from different funnels. They saw burning coal through the open door of a brick furnace. On top of it was, first, a metal box and then on top of that, a cylindrical component with a rod connected by a chain to a rocker arm six feet long and centered on a vertical beam ten feet tall. The other end of the arm had another chain connected to a metal bar partially encased in piping. At Mark’s signal, a work crew turned valves and pulled levers. The arm began rocking back and forth.

Eina’s eyes widened within seconds. “A functioning steam engine! Is that what this is?”

“Yes,” said Mark. “This one is designed for pumping water. The intended use is for mines with too much water leakage into the shafts for safe mining. With some modifications, it or another pump will keep the air clear in the shafts, which will make mining safer for the miners and greatly increase production.”

Eina sighed and looked to Kivalian. “Did you know about this?”

He shook his head but grinned with delight. “No, but I knew something was going on and being kept secret.”

Eina’s face was noncommittal when she faced Yozef.

“This was supposed to be a joint project between Fuomon and Caedellium.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” said Yozef. “Mark has more to say.”

“This model of a steam engine is designed for direct transfer of power. However, there are other uses that require converting to rotary motion. We have an example outside.”

Kivalian loitered to watch the pump action before he followed the others. Behind the structure and surrounded by the ten-foot wooden fence was a fifty-foot stretch of what had to be train rails. However, the differences were striking. Instead of iron- or steel-capped wooden rails, these were made of steel. Instead of the space between parallel rails being free for horse teams to use, wooden beams supported the rails, which were fastened to the beams with clamps and spikes. Sitting on the rails at one end of the rail set was a metal carriage on wheels from which steam and smoke rose.

“Let me speculate. This is a steam engine train,” Eina said drolly.

“Actually, what you see is what in Amerika we call a locomotive. It provides the power to pull many wagons behind it. In front, too, but not usually. This is a model only. We’ve just worked out the problems and will be moving to build bigger locomotives soon.”

He was only “sort of” lying. The model locomotive had been operational in spurts before something broke or the single piston seized up. The equal transfer of rotary motion to wheels on both sides of the chassis was problematic. The model also had no provision for crewmembers riding the apparatus. The first time Yozef saw it, he had told Mark it looked more like a pile of junk than a locomotive.

Mark and Yozef exchanged a look before Mark called out to workers near the locomotive. The boiler was already fired up, so all one worker had to do was throw a single lever serving as a throttle. The small hulk quivered first before rolling forward. Two workers walked alongside as the apparatus moved down the track, one of them adjusting the throttle several times.

To make sure it doesn’t crash into the barrier at the end, thought Yozef. He didn’t quite hold his breath. Not quite.

The throttle was adjusted near the end of the line, and the engine stopped four feet from the barrier. The machine was strictly unidirectional. Repeated demonstrations required releasing the wheels from the gearing and pushing the engine back to the starting point.

“Of course, this is just the first model,” said Mark. “The full-size locomotives will pull hundreds of times the weight of any horse-drawn train or even the biggest wagons using roads, and speeds will get up to thirty miles an hour on flat terrain.”

Eventually, thought Yozef, not as optimistic as Mark’s conviction that his words would be accurate within a year.

“I think Reimo might be especially interested in one more thing we have to show you,” Yozef said to Eina. “Then you and I can talk, while he keeps looking at what he’s seen. He can also ask questions. We don’t have far to go . . . just on the other side of this fence.”

Mark again led the way, this time through a fence gate to a small table on which lay a firearm. Kivalian rushed right to it and leaned down to examine it more closely without touching it. He peered into the end of the barrel.

“All right. It’s a rifle, but I’ve never seen anything like it. And all this in back of the barrel?” He looked to Mark.

“It’s called a Sharps rifle. It’s loaded at the breech with the self-contained cartridges in the box on the table.”

This was another exaggeration of sorts. Mark had prevailed on Yozef for support to push a project on breech-loading. They spent hours going over what they remembered from the history of breech-loading firearms—which did not include detailed knowledge of any one example. Yozef had limited details from his gamester group and Mark, a similar level of knowledge from a family of hunters, including an uncle and his sons who were aficionados of old weapons.

Between the two of them, they came up with several proposed models of breech-loading rifles from different countries and eras: a crude-looking Norwegian or Swedish, they couldn’t remember which, rifle that was the first breechloader adopted by a nation for its army; a French rifle that fired a cartridge using a needle in the bolt; and the Sharps rifle circa 1860s from the United States. After their failures and sifting through problems, the rifle on the table was closest to the Sharps, though it wasn’t an exact copy.

“Can I examine it?” asked Kivalian.

“Go ahead,” said Mark.

The Fuomi picked up the rifle and initially held it out with both arms as he rotated it in all planes. “Heavy and solid feeling.”

He put the rifle to his shoulder into firing position. “Yes, but not a bad balance.”

“Pull the lever down,” said Mark.

Kivalian did as instructed, and a metal block lowered to reveal the breech where a cartridge could be inserted into the end of the barrel.

“What’s the range?”

“Targets have been hit at more than a mile, but I wouldn’t depend on that. This model is strictly sighting down the barrel, but it’s possible to add sights that can be adjusted for long ranges. As it is, probably 400 hundred yards. With the best sights, then out to 600 to 700 yards. For sniper purposes, we think a telescope sight can eventually be made to push the range out to maybe 1,000 yards with a reasonable chance of hitting something.”

“Rate of fire?”

“Under battlefield conditions, six to eight rounds a minute. More important, you can load lying down and even on horseback, though that takes some practice and can’t be done as fast if the horse is moving. We can make a version with a shorter barrel, so it’s easier from horseback, but our current tactical doctrine for our dragoons is to ride to battle and fight on foot.”

“Can I try it out?” asked Kivalian.

“I’ll leave you with Mark,” said Yozef. “Eina and I will retire to a quieter place.”

They walked back toward the capital complex, hearing the Sharps firing before they were a hundred yards along. When they reached the complex, Yozef pointed to two ironwork chairs facing each other beneath a small cluster of Anyarian trees with feather-like leaves. Eina suspected the chair arrangement had been prepared.

“Why don’t we sit here? It’s such a nice day.”

“‘Interesting’ hardly describes your tour, Yozef. I suppose I’m now to hear the reason this was shown to us today.”

“There are changes coming that you should be made aware of, Eina. Or maybe I should say changes that have already occurred, and it’s time for all parties to be honest.

“I’ll start with our side. I admit we’ve violated part of our original agreement with Jaako Rintala, at least by implication, if not directly. I gave Rintala everything I knew about steam engines. The problems encountered by your people in Fuomon and our joint effort here to get the engines to work were due to my limited knowledge and making some outright guesses. Our current level of success is due to Mark Kaldwel. He actually knows how the engines work and how the principles are adapted to various purposes. There was no such agreement to share what Mark knows.”

He held up a hand to forestall Eina’s response.

“Yes, it’s arguable, but there it is. The important point is why our separate project was kept from you. It comes down to a combination of wanting to hold onto what we could use in future negotiations with Fuomon or other nations and our not fully trusting Fuomon. The last part is more important today.

“We have withheld information from Fuomon, but also the reverse is true. When were we going to be told your navy plans to leave Caedellium?”

Eina sighed. “I was afraid you had found out. I’m sorry, Yozef, but I was put in an impossible position when Koskanin told me, and that was well after he arrived with knowledge of what was planned. Despite the work I’m doing with the university, I am part of the Fuomon diplomatic mission here on Caedellium. When Koskanin replaced me as ambassador, that left me obliged to follow his directives, one of which was not to tell you about the navy’s movement. And let’s be clear. It’s not that Caedellium will be completely abandoned. Our ships will move to be closer to a position where they can take action against Narthon. It can be argued that they will keep Narthani ships away from Caedellium better by being farther south.”

“Even if I believe that to be true, it still doesn’t mitigate why we were not informed right away. That would have given us more time to try to argue against the move or make whatever other plans are possible.”

“I admit the mistake, and I argued strenuously about the decision as soon as I was told. I’m afraid I can’t give a good answer as to why that was the decision.”

Yozef gave a dismissive hand gesture.

“Naturally, I’m interested in the reason, but the main point is that Fuomon hid what we consider a major decision involving Caedellium. I’ve yet to have a productive meeting with Koskanin. He’ll ramble on saying nothing whenever I press him for information on Fuomon’s intentions, and he makes little effort to hide his disdain for anything about Caedellium. As much as we appreciate Fuomon’s previous help, we have to look to the future, possibly one without Fuomon. Which brings me to another issue. We’ve started to wonder whether Fuomon is putting its best effort into defeating Narthon. And no, I won’t explain why we wonder this. There are also recent events to feed that thought.”

“Yozef, I apologize as much as I can and hope you understand the position I was in. I’ve also known you long enough to sense the depths of what’s going on in your head. Why don’t you leap right to where you see our conversation going and save us time?”

He smiled with a self-satisfied expression. “I may not know exactly where we’re going, but I do know changes are coming. Whatever happens with your ships, Ambassador Koskanin is leaving Caedellium as soon as a ship going back to Fuomon can sail.”

“What!?” exclaimed Eina. “I haven’t heard he’s been recalled, and he certainly hasn’t told me of any such intent. Did he tell you this? If not, how do you know?”

This time his grin was a smirk. “Koskanin is as yet unaware he’s leaving. As soon as we’re finished here, I’m going to the embassy with armed men to arrest two of his staff and tell him he has three hours to pack anything he can and be on a train waiting to take him to Adris City. He’s being banished from Caedellium for being an accomplice to murder and assault.”

Eina sagged into the iron chair’s back, shocked. “Murder? Assault? What are you talking about?”

Yozef had been carrying a tied-shut folder since he met her and Kivalian. He now held the folder out to her.

“These are copies of evidence stating that Irvod Koskanin ordered Taponi Namaki to carry out spying in Caedellium, which included bribing Caedelli to secretly access information without our knowledge. Now, of course, only the naïve would think we didn’t suspect you weren’t doing some of the same before Koskanin arrived. However, he crossed a threshold. A Caedelli man had already passed on information to Namaki and was paid for it. The man thought what he gave was innocuous, but Namaki wanted him to go well beyond that and access information that the man was unwilling to do. He confessed to us. We planned to trap Namaki. Contact between our man and Namaki was through another embassy staff member. We had our man tell them he would only give the information to Namaki himself. When the meeting happened, we moved to take your two Fuomi embassy people into custody. Namaki pulled a pistol and the other man a knife. One of our men was killed and two others wounded. In the folder is detailed physical evidence that Namaki fired the fatal shot and testimony from the other man that Koskanin was aware of the spying and the attempt to coerce the Caedelli.

“I’m assuming you are unaware of any of this. Namaki was captured before he returned to the embassy. At first, he seemed to think he was somehow immune to our laws and that we had no evidence of his involvement in a crime. He even tried to put all the blame on the other Fuomi. We arranged for that man to hear Namaki’s excuses.

“To jump ahead, both men have confessed and claim Koskanin ordered Namaki to develop a spy network and to avoid implicating Koskanin. That makes Koskanin an accessory to murder and assault. We will recognize a principle called ‘diplomatic immunity,’ where an ambassador cannot be prosecuted or imprisoned for any reason. We will extend the same courtesy to other senior embassy staff members as long as the offense is not extreme—which it is in this case. Therefore, Namaki and the man captured with him will remain in custody, as will two other members of the embassy staff who will be arrested.

“We also will formally revoke Koskanin’s status as ambassador in front of the entire embassy staff. We recognize the argument that only Fuomon has the authority to do that. Nevertheless, Fuomon can call him anything they want, but we will not deal with him again. We understand that you remain the next-highest-ranking Fuomi on Caedellium. Although Koskanin has pushed you aside, your formal position remains. Therefore, from the moment I tell the embassy staff of Koskanin’s banishment, we will only recognize you as the ambassador.

“We will also send back to Fuomon copies of the same evidence I’ve given you, along with a letter from me explaining our action.”

Yozef leaned back, crossed his ankles, and stared at the sky.

“Lovely day. Nice clouds. I prefer a few of them, rather than a totally clear sky. How about you?”

“Uh . . . yes. Although I like no clouds, I can appreciate your preference.”

The inanity of their exchange gave them several minutes of silence that provided a respite for Eina to process her thoughts. Three pink and black murvors landed on the ground nearby and hopped around the two chairs.

I bet people eat lunches here, thought Yozef, and these guys are hoping we’ll drop something tasty.

The murvors’ anticipation was in vain. Besides Yozef and Eina having nothing to drop, a blue jay swooped in, and the murvors took off, protesting loudly. Now the jay flew into the low branches of a tree to wait with its own high hopes.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Yozef. As far as I know, Fuomon has no laws specifying ambassador status with respect to local laws. It’s more an unwritten agreement among peoples that ambassadors are usually treated differently. However, we are here on Caedellium, so whatever your laws are, they must prevail.”

Her words came slowly, as if being parsed carefully for meaning.

“One problem is that Koskanin brought a large staff with him, many of whom must be considered loyalists to him and likely involved in the spying to some degree. There may be a problem with them recognizing my authority until Fuomon decides what to do with this situation and possibly send another ambassador. No matter what evidence you send to Fuomon about Koskanin’s actions, it may be ignored. I’m sure he will present quite a different picture of what happened, which may well include claiming my complicity.”

“I have two responses. First, I will declare, in writing, that Caedellium does not trust any of the existing embassy staff. We will reluctantly allow you to remain as ambassador only because of our past relationship and because we acknowledge Fuomon’s previous help. We also wish to somehow continue a positive relationship and will allow you to determine which current staff members are absolutely necessary to remain.

“I suggest you also report to Fuomon what you’ve seen today and our position that we withheld knowledge of our separate steam engine work because we didn’t trust Koskanin because of both the spying and the failure to inform us of the intent to remove your ships from Caedellium waters. We’ll leave open the possibility of sharing the steam engine work in the future if trust is restored. I’m also sure Kivalian will have an evaluation of the Sharps rifle. You should assume what you’ve seen today is only the beginning of what will follow in the next few years. You might include that prediction, along with what I’ll say next.

“Narthon made a mistake in invading Caedellium, and their army was destroyed because of that mistake and underestimating us. Similarly, the Kolinkans made a mistake with the attack on Seaborn. They will also pay a price.”

Yozef paused briefly while he focused on using his best Old Testament prophet imitation.

“We will destroy Kolinka as an independent kahsak. We see no reason to share how we intend to do this. We will also push the Narthani back from this part of Anyar and eventually destroy their empire. Send this intent back to Fuomon, and tell your leaders they can either be our ally in these actions, or they can watch it happen and have no place in the aftermath.”

Eina was once again left wondering what she was supposed to say. The claims were grandiose and overblown, but so would have been the earlier claim that Caedellium could expel the Narthani. Then there was what she had been shown today. Was Yozef giving Fuomon a barely hidden threat, as absurd as that might seem? How could Caedellium possibly destroy an Iraquinik kahsak with a much larger population and that was accessible only by sea, when the island had no navy? And what about Narthon with its vastly larger resources? Nevertheless, based on her experience with the Amerikans, her nagging suspicion was reinforced that the center of Anyar’s future now rested on a small island.

Saisannin Household

“How did Koskanin react?” asked Paavo Saisannin after his wife summarized the interesting day.

She laughed with barely chagrined glee. “Like the pompous, oblivious dolt he is. Whatever his instructions were when he came here, he either believed subtlety was unnecessary, or he’s too stupid to realize it would have helped with whatever his instructions were. He started off outraged when Yozef and the armed men entered the embassy. I wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but Yozef went up to him and whispered something. It took about a minute. I’ll swear Koskanin got paler and didn’t say another word.

“They gathered the entire staff outside the embassy . . . I guess because the embassy didn’t have a single room inside large enough to hold everyone. Yozef’s men searched people for weapons. Then he stood on the steps of the embassy, with armed men surrounding the staff and standing between them and Yozef. He then gave a short summary of why Koskanin was unwelcome on Caedellium. He gave the reason as spying on an ally and being complicit in murder and assault. He called out two names. At first, no one responded. Then, it was as if those two men had contracted a disease. Space slowly formed around them as people edged away. After they were taken into custody, Yozef explained their involvement and how they were being held for crimes. Koskanin stood quietly the whole time. I suspect Yozef told Koskanin about the Caedelli punishment for murder and to shut up, or he’d change his mind about mere banishment from Caedellium.”

“So . . . when does Koskanin leave?”

“Yozef originally told me almost immediately, but I pointed out I’d need more time if he wanted me to evaluate the rest of the staff to decide on those also to be banished. He gave me until tomorrow midday.”

“Whoa. Yozef is really flexing his Paramount muscle.”

“I also told him I’ll be going to Adris City at the same time. Koskanin is bound to try and convince Admiral Mermi to support him. Maybe he’ll try to get Mermi to refuse to provide him with transportation off Caedellium or get Mermi to stop any future cooperation. I need to be sure Mermi sees the evidence and listens to my opinion.”

Paavo’s right eyebrow rose. “And that will be . . . what?”

“That Koskanin actually is guilty of crimes according to the laws of almost of any nation, including Fuomon. That his guilt and other actions have damaged relations with an ally. That things are happening on Caedellium that Fuomon must keep apprised of. I’d like to add that Koskanin is too incompetent to muck out stables, but I think Mermi already has that impression. However, I will suggest, obliquely, that the admiral might send his own view of Koskanin’s performance.”

“So, Mermi doesn’t have a problem with you resuming the ambassadorship?”

“I got the impression that he sees his own position as protected. You know . . . given Caedelli insistence, given the evidence, and given my evaluation, he unfortunately had no choice but to provide Koskanin with transportation back to Fuomon.”

“Well, a good part of a year will pass before Fuomon’s response gets back here,” said Paavo. “It could always happen that you are not supported. You may even be called back home. How would you feel if that happens?”

“Well . . . after most of a year, who knows what might have happened?”

“No avoiding the question, Eina. We’ve danced around this before. What if you are ordered back to Fuomon?”

She did not answer immediately. She knew her answer and thought she knew what her husband’s response would be, but she hesitated to express feelings that once voiced could not be ignored or taken back.

“If it was just me, I would stay. Oh . . . I could frame that answer as thinking I can do the most good for Fuomon by working with the Caedelli.”

“The Caedelli or the Amerikans?”

“The people here have admirable qualities, but yes . . . it’s these Amerikans. You’ve already told me about the research you might do here that could last the rest of your life, but what about not returning to Fuomon for many more years or perhaps ever? Then we have the children to consider. We’ve worried about Steegum and Huron almost becoming more Caedelli than Fuomi because of their years here while they were so young, but what about our daughters? Noora and Pulia have families. We might never see them again or, if we do, possibly many years from now when their children are grown, and we’re strangers to them.”

“Unless they join us here,” Paavo said softly.

When she did not immediately respond, he knew she had already considered the possibility. He also knew this day’s discussion was not spontaneous.

“But you already think that is possible, don’t you?” Paavo said. “And you have something you’ve hesitated to talk with me about, don’t you? Something you do not like but can’t avoid seeing as a solution.”

She again didn’t immediately answer. He believed she was waiting for him to say the words. So he spoke them.

“I could go to Fuomon on the same ship as Koskanin. I know the right people to ensure that your reports are given full consideration and not buried by Koskanin’s faction. The same with your suspicion more Amerikans were cast away from their homeland than the three here on Caedellium. There are plenty of rational people in high-enough places who could be convinced to search for more Amerikans.”

“You would be gone for a year, Paavo. Maybe more, if you needed time to accomplish whatever you could. Then there’s always the possibility you couldn’t even get back here. The only way is on our ships, and you could be denied passage. And who knows how the war with the Narthani will go? The Narthani might completely block our ships from getting through the narrow part of the Throat separating Sulako from the Iraquinik kahsaks.”

He nodded. “All possibilities, but balance that against Fuomon losing—or missing, depending on different views—the relationship with Caedellium. You may have thought more deeply about that connection than I have, but I’ll agree what’s happening here is too important for Fuomon to miss its potential.”

He smiled. “And, similar to you, the Amerikans are a mystery that would haunt me if I wasn’t here for the day when all is revealed. Plus . . . what’s going to happen in the coming years? I’d like to be here to see what happens from a closer standpoint.

“And maybe I can convince Noora and Pulia to come back with me. Noora’s family might be the easiest. Her husband is like me . . . a minor historian specializing in a topic not widely considered important. His difficulty in keeping positions would be solved here. Yozef’s Department of Peoples would rush to give him a significant position. Comparative Cultures may not be of much interest in Fuomon, but Yozef might consider it priceless here.”

Eina tugged on a tress. “Yes . . . I can see Noona coming . . . maybe. But what about Pulia? Her husband is not leaving Fuomon. I never liked him, but we try our best for Pulia’s sake. He’s too self-important in the bureaucracy . . . plus, he’s of the same faction as Koskanin.”

“I haven’t said it before, Eina, but Pulia might come back with me just to get away from him. They only have one child, and I would have to arrange for us to leave before her husband discovers the plan.”

“Would Pulia do that?” asked Eina.

“Possibly, though she may need some time to think about it. She might initially reject the idea, but I’m sure that with time, her husband will give her multiple reasons to reconsider.”

Two days later, Eina informed Yozef that Paavo would be returning to Fuomon.

CHAPTER 43

CHANGES

Kolinkans

By a month after the attack, the tally of captured Kolinkans had reached thirty-eight. Eleven Kolinkans were from the fifty sent to block the route back to Grastor. They had been left behind when their transportation home embarked without them, and then they survived the fight when cornered by Seaborn militia. Twenty-seven Kolinkans came from a ship captured by the Fuomi frigate. Yozef ordered all thirty-eight held in Devanyo, the Farkesh capital. Hetman Ferenc Bakalacs was acerbic and dependable and would have no scruples at using whatever means necessary to extract information out of the prisoners—and dispose of them if Yozef decided that would be their ultimate fate.

In determining where to keep the Kolinkans, Yozef first thought of Preddi, with Wyfor in charge of the prisoners. He figured Wyfor, with Balwis’s support, would be better at scaring them and loosening their tongues. However, Yozef didn’t want to default to the same people all the time for “wet work” and have that become part of everyone’s perception of them.

Initial interrogation of the captives from Seaborn remained limited to questions about personal details and rumors of Narthani involvement. More potential lay with those captured by the Fuomi. A god of fortune had either smiled on them or betrayed them, depending on which side they were on. Despite the uncertainty of finding the fleeing Kolinkan ships, the pursuing frigate had come upon the Fuomi sloop shadowing the Kolinkans as far behind as possible, while maintaining visual contact. The Fuomi closed the distance during the night and attacked with the sun still an hour below the horizon the next morning. The Kolinkans initially turned to fight until they realized they were hopelessly outclassed. The Fuomi warships, faster, more maneuverable, with heavier cannon on the frigate, and more suited to deep waters than the Kolinkan coastal trade ships, shredded five Kolinkan ships before the rest scattered like a startled krykor flock. The Fuomi pursued them and continued cruising the waters off Kolinka for a sixday, searching for flock members.

On the last day before it turned back to Caedellium, the Fuomi sloop encountered a Kolinkan ship coming out of a secluded bay. A four-hour pursuit and intermittent engagement resulted in a battered Kolinkan ship surrendering when it was unable to stear and the crew was reduced to half the original number. None of the ship’s senior officers survived, but a man named Maklos Bota was second in command of the raiding party—a fact revealed by a Kolinkan cabin boy frightened at what would happen to him. Yozef messaged Bakalacs to keep all the Kolinkans alive, particularly Bota, until Yozef decided how to proceed.

Honors

The sky was gray, but the off-and-on rain from the last three days paused long enough for thousands to come to St. Wyan’s Cathedral. When the interior became too packed for more, the abbot ordered all the doors and the windows opened so those surrounding the structure could hear at least part of the Godsday memorial service. When the numbers grew even larger, many people gathered in clusters of hundreds, in and around the central plaza. There, volunteers relayed what was happening in the service.

Prominently displayed in the right front of the cathedral hall were four flags of the Pewitt and Seaborn clans—for each clan, one new flag and one soiled and torn. The two older flags had been retrieved from where the Pewitt and Seaborn men stood and died to delay the Kolinkans. After that day’s memorial service, the four flags, escorted by a single man from each clan, would tour all twenty-one province capitals, passing through as many other towns as possible. The tour would take as long as it took, ending at Brudermyn, where the Seaborn flags would be presented to Yulan Seaborn. The Pewitt flags would return to the main island and be given to Hetman Pewitt, with the escorts dispersing to their homes.

Abbot Ulyn Parwyn rose to stand within the elevated pulpit on the left side. He nodded to the cathedral’s music director, and a somber, traditional instrumental started low, slowly percolating amid the congregation and quieting conversations. Parwyn then led the usual opening prayer asking for God’s mercy and guidance, followed by two songs, one in its traditional form and one with the same lyrics but music slightly modified by Pernel and Heather. The congregation had stood since the abbot mounted the pulpit. He now motioned for those in pews and chairs to take a seat—or to sit on the floor, if possible. He then launched into a homily on sacrifice.

Then it was Yozef’s turn to give a eulogy. He later could not remember exactly what he had said or how long he had spoken, but Maera and others told him the words were heartfelt and appropriate. After finishing, he pinned a streamer to the new Pewitt and Seaborn flags. They joined streamers embroidered with “Moreland City,” “Eywell Raid,” and “Orosz City,” commemorating the clans’ participation in battles against the Narthani. The new streamers read “Milgorn Gorge” to commemorate the escape route over the narrow passage between higher reaches and where two sets of clan dragoons died while delaying the Kolinkans.

When Yozef returned to his seat, Maera and Anarynd each put a hand on one of his thighs, Maera squeezing and Anarynd patting. The musicians started again, playing a repeated phrase until Heather replaced Parwyn in the pulpit and sang as the music moved into “Nearer My God to You.” The tempo was slower than usual, and Heather’s voice, though lovely, was thin for a venue of the cathedral’s size. But the effect could not have been greater because even babes held by mothers chose that time to be silent. Enough sound wafted outdoors and through windows for the crowds outside to follow the words.

The three verses were short. When Heather finished, she was joined in a repeat by a small choir of men and women who had thus far remained seated and silent. The added voices allowed the words to be clearer to those outside, and they spontaneously joined the singing. On the fourth and final reiteration, everyone, inside and outside, sang.

People later claimed that the Paramount was the first person to weep. Whether it was true didn’t matter once word spread to every corner of Caedellium.

Kolsko Manor

Two months after the attack, the medicants declared Maera fully able to resume normal activity as much as possible. As Medicant Harlow had predicted, a limp persisted. Maera declared that it didn’t affect her life and that it was improving, albeit slowly. Her spirit also lagged in returning to normal but, as with the limp, improved with time. Her laughter came more effortlessly, but both Yozef and Anarynd noticed that she wasn’t quite as eager to interact with the children as in the past.

However, a sea change occurred with two new arrivals to Orosz City. On a Godsday morning, Anarynd went into delayed labor while the family prepared to leave for the St. Wyan’s service. Yozef sent for medicants, and four hours later, Luna Kolsko came into the world, healthy and squalling. In theory, the newborn would have no name until the formal naming at a Godsday service several months after birth. Caedelli believed the custom had survived from past times when so many babies died within days of entering the world. However, those years were gone, and children’s names were commonly used from birth within families.

Anarynd had experienced more problems during the pregnancy than with Odysius and Xena, but the birth was as easy or better. An hour after the birth, a radiant Anarynd leaned against pillows as she held Luna and let Yozef feed her a thick soup. All the other Kolsko and Puvey children were present, trying to see the new arrival. They stood by the bed or sat or lay on any available space. Some were held in adults’ arms if they were not old enough to be curious. Maera stood next to the bed, with fleeting expressions wafting over her face. Anarynd caught a transition from delight to melancholy.

“Here, Maera. Hold Luna for me while I eat.”

Maera hesitated, then took the child slowly and almost reluctantly from Anarynd. An appropriately small, soft blanket covered the wizened face. Maera pulled away the edges just as the baby’s eyes opened briefly and seemed to stare at whoever held her. Maera’s face melted, softened, and moistened.

“How come she’s so wrinkly?” asked Dwyna.

“It’s because she got squeezed when they put her inside Mama Ana,” said Morwena.

Dwyna and Aeneas both nodded, satisfied with the explanation.

The second new arrival to Orosz City was Thala Seaborn, daughter of Hetman Yulan Seaborn and twin sister of Reezo, killed while holding back the Kolinkans. Her appearance was a surprise only by being unannounced. Maera had predicted Thala was too independent-minded to accede to her father’s image of a hetman’s daughter.

Maera sat at a desk in the university administration building when Thala walked in, clothing bedraggled, hair asunder, and carrying a large satchel and a larger bag.

“Thala! This is a jolt. When did you get here and how? You should have told us you were coming to Orosz City.”

“Sorry, Sen Kolsko. I sailed to Penmawr on the sloop Valiant. I didn’t realize Caedellium had even one single ocean-going ship until the Valiant docked at Brudermyn. The captain told me they were finishing a ‘shake-down’ cruise. The second and final one before the ship is considered in service.

“It was much more interesting than the time I came with our men before the Battle of Orosz City. Then, the crew was Fuomi, and I couldn’t talk with them. This time the crew was a combination of Caedelli and men from other lands who spoke our language to different degrees. Most of those asserted they’re now Caedelli.”

“Yes,” said Maera, “it’s the first group of foreign sailors to move here. Quite a collection. A few each from Munjor, Narthon, Fuomon, and even a couple of Iraquiniks. But you’re here. Tell me more. But first, put down your bags and sit.”

Maera motioned to a chair.

Thala nodded, set her bags down, and sat heavily.

“Again, sorry to be a surprise. I confess someone might have tried to discourage me from coming if I gave a forewarning. Also, leaving home was hard, and I wanted time alone to deal with my feelings.

“I had already made my decision to leave Seaborn before your visit. I just hadn’t gotten myself to take the final step and do it. I love my family, but I didn’t see a place for myself in Seaborn—at least, not one I looked forward to. If I pursue medicant training, I want it to be where the training will be the best, and that’s here in Orosz City. There’s also a vibrancy here on the main island that I don’t feel in the Seaborn islands. Oh . . . not that anything’s wrong there. It’s just that for me, everything in Seaborn is so preordained. Maybe it’s because our clan has been so isolated from the rest.” She shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know.”

“How did your family receive your decision?”

Thala grimaced. “Depended on who it was. Santee was the worst. Maybe it’s because he’s the heir and tries to prepare himself by acting like a father. He didn’t speak to me at all the last sixday before I left. Father surprised me. He disapproved, but I think he had come to accept that I wasn’t going to be the hetman’s daughter he expected. Mother has always been supportive about my being different, and I know she’s talked with Father over the years. My other brother, Mykroft, was not pleased, but he told me he understood and wanted me to be happy.”

“I think you’ll find both Yulan and Santee will come around with time,” said Maera. “So . . . what are your plans now that you’re here?”

“Talk with the medicant school that’s being developed, and see if I can take up further training. If they say no, I’m not sure what I’ll do, other than find a place where I can work as an assistant, based on my previous experience and training.”

“Well . . . that’s not going to be a problem. I’ll take you to Diera Beynom and give a personal recommendation for your character and commitment. It will then be up to her or whoever she designates to determine your training level and whether you will fit into the programs. That’s one thing Yozef is trying to insist on—that people are judged by their ability and not by family position. I suggest you rest today, and tomorrow we’ll go to Diera. We’ll find room for you at Kolsko Manor.”

“Thank you, Ser Kolsko. I’ll accept the offer until I find a place near the school. After spending my life living in a hetman’s house, I want to experience a different life.”

“Whatever you want, Thala. Stay with us as long as you like. I will caution that the manor can be a busy place, what with the children, the staff, and nearby friends who are often around. Also . . . it’s Maera, not Sen Kolsko.”

Three sixdays later, Thala Seaborn moved into a small room near the cathedral complex and ate most meals at the commons dining hall. She was often a guest at Kolsko Manor. After one such visit and hearing how the tall young woman had been at the battles of Orosz City and Milgorn Gorge, Heather began referring to Thala as “Brienne of Tarth,” to Yozef’s and Mark’s amusement and Thala’s confusion.

CHAPTER 44

PAX?

Orosz City

Mark glanced out a window. The sun no longer hit the cliffs on the other side of the river two miles away. Time to wrap up the day and go home. He had enough work to spend another two hours under the lanterns, but then the workers would feel obliged to do the same. It wasn’t fair to them or their families, and he had his own obligations. Maghen was pregnant, to her relief, after fretting for months with her periods coming to signal failure. They had yet to try her traveling with him on occasion and had yet to settle how the new child would change their thinking.

It had taken time since coming to Caedellium, but Mark felt he was back to the routine he’d had in Frangel: work as hard as possible, then come home to Maghen and Alys.

“You’re wanted at your office, Mark.”

He looked away from the pump action to face a woman clerk who’d been recently added to maintain project records. He had been absorbed in what he hoped was the last test of the modified water pump intended for the tin mines in Skouks Province.

“The Paramount just showed up and is looking for you. I told him you were watching and recording the latest engine output numbers. He said it wasn’t urgent and didn’t want to disturb the test, but he’d appreciate your coming to the office when you’re free.”

This may well be the only place on the planet where a ruler is polite, thought Mark. It was one indication why Mark didn’t believe Yozef’s status had gone to his head . . . at least, not completely. The informality the man preferred might also be one reason he received such widespread respect, but Mark didn’t believe Yozef deliberately cultivated it.

“Hustle back and tell the Paramount I’ll be there in a few minutes. The current test cycle is coming to an end, and I’ll finish watching the final minutes.”

She nodded and left.

Mark’s mouth formed a wry grin as he told himself, Even thinking about the man, you can’t get away from him.

Ten minutes later, Mark entered his office to find Yozef going through a stack of the latest reports sitting on the desk.

“I’ve been away almost three sixdays, Mark. I’ll come around tomorrow, and you can brief me on your progress.”

“We weren’t expecting you for another sixday or more. I thought that’s how long you said it would take to tour those three or four clans.”

Yozef grinned. “Having my own sloop available made some trips easier than I predicted. We docked at three of the four capitals. For Keelan Province, it only got me as far as the port of Salford. From there, it was a carriage inland to Caernford and back. At least, there I visited Maera’s family. I will say, though, that I look forward to trains connecting all the capitals.

“Gwillamer and Keelan were the two main provinces to visit. We landed at Strindmar, the Gwillamer capital. From there, we went northeast to the area near the Keelan border. That’s where I’ve decided to set up one of the two sulfuric acid plants. There’s no getting around that industrialization will take large-scale production of fundamental acids, base, oxidizers, and reductants. The adjacent areas of those two provinces have heavy veins of galena, pyrite, and sphalerite, the sulfides of lead, iron, and zinc. We may use mainly the iron sulfide but having the other two available is a plus. Another advantage of this region is having vast bird and murvor guano deposits along the closest coasts. That means we can produce potassium nitrate locally. The crushed ore is heated to release sulfur dioxide, which is fed into a lead chamber to be mixed with water and nitrate. After some cleanup, we get about forty percent sulfuric acid, which can be further concentrated. Once we have more infrastructure, we can work on improving the yields, but this is sufficient for most of our current uses.

“We’ll be using thick glass carboys of storage and shipment, at least until we can develop enough of a plastics industry, and we can test the carbon steel containers you’re making.”

“I think we’ll have those in the next six months,” said Mark. “In fact, we’ll be giving your people some containers, up to a gallon, to test within two sixdays.”

“Sounds good,” said Yozef. “Anyway . . . the rest of my trip gave me time to ponder what we’ve talked about. The Narthani, that is. We docked at Adris City earlier today, and I’ve come straight from the train station. You know how I’ve struggled.”

Mark nodded, wondering what was coming.

“As I discussed with you before you left, I’m not sure how we can manage a Caedellium industrial revolution and dealing with Narthon simultaneously. I still believe we can make Caedellium effectively an impregnable fortress, as long as we don’t let the innovations spread. An enemy using our own innovations would eventually overwhelm us, just the sheer weight of numbers. Of course, to focus on defenses might mean some of our ideas about trade would suffer from the diversion of resources.”

Yozef shook his head. “I don’t want to embark on a solution that lasts years or decades. If we’re going to do this, I want it to be for our children, grandchildren, and as far into the future as possible. There’s no such thing as permanent, but I hope that with enough time, maybe we can make a difference and allow the peoples of Anyar to evolve. We just have to do what we can to facilitate . . . what? An era of peace?”

“A Pax Caedellicum?” asked Mark.

Yozef’s eyebrows scrunched together. “A what? That sounds familiar.”

“Something a history professor at the Naval Academy discussed with us. At the height of the Roman Empire, wars happened on its edges during expansion, but internally it was relatively peaceful among regions that might otherwise have been in conflict. Oh, they had revolts and battles for power among factions, but it was still more peaceful than it would’ve been. For about two hundred years, they called it the Pax Romana.

“Similarly, for the hundred years leading up to World War I, the British Empire dominated the world and acted as a type of policeman to tamp down most large-scale conflicts. They called it the Pax Britannica. Later, Pax Americana was thirty or more years when the United States was the dominant world power after World War II.”

Yozef turned to face the window, his eyes unfocused. “Pax Caedellicum. Pax Caedellicum. Not exactly the same . . . but there’s something to it. The Caedelli have neither the population nor the central location to rule Anyar, but maybe we don’t have to. We would need help, allies who would agree with our goals or at least go along with us because they have no choice or it was to their benefit. Dealing with the Narthani could be the key. If the rest of Anyar comes to believe Caedellium was instrumental in Narthon’s downfall, they’d be inclined to cooperate with us or at least be leery of working against us.”

Mark involuntarily chuckled. “Sorry, but you’ve gone from Caedellium isolationism to Caedellium the world mover. That’s quite a leap.”

“Too much so?” asked Yozef.

“Most likely, but something has to be done. Even if a Pax Caedellicum doesn’t materialize, minimizing the Narthani threat justifies the effort.”

“So, you’re with me on this?”

Mark laughed and reached his hand across the table, his head canted slightly. “Although I might have phrased it that you are with me, either way the answer is yes.”

Yozef grasped Mark’s hand firmly. Together, they performed a single confirmatory shake. Both men froze in the pose for almost a minute, each one lost in similar thoughts. Finally, as if in sync, they released the grip.

“Now comes the hard part,” said Mark. “What do we actually do next, and next, and next?”

Yozef leaned back in his chair. Mark wondered if it was his imagination, but did Yozef’s face seem less lined than in the months since Seaborn?

“Time can always work against you,” said Yozef, “but let’s each of us let our imaginations run wild for a couple of sixdays, rather than start planning right now. Better to have two independent trains of thought develop and then work on what’s feasible.”

“Our thinking will obviously include those things we’ve previously talked about,” said Mark.

“Yes, those that we discussed, enhancements of those, things we dismissed as impractical, and anything we haven’t talked about.”

“What about bringing in other people?”

“Yes, eventually . . . or maybe soon . . . I don’t know. But for now, let’s keep it as you and me brainstorming with what we know and which innovations are practical, both short term and long term.”

“What’s your definition of short term?” asked Mark.

“Let’s not settle on time frames yet and unnecessarily restrict our ideas. We can worry later about timetables.”

Yozef’s thinking had seemed to solidify during his last days at Strindmar, the Gwillamer Province capital. He had been eager to return to Orosz City and had to steel himself to finish the Gwillamer schedule. When they left on the sloop, the last stop was the Hewell capital, Norwyt. There, his willpower flagged, and he cut short the visit by two days, to the expected irritation of Hetman Lordum Hewell. Yozef apologized, fabricated a reason for the early departure, and promised himself he would find a way to placate the hetman, who had been a strong and consistent supporter.

After leaving Mark, Yozef scarcely paid attention to the surroundings and the people on his walk home. His bags should have been at Kolsko Manor by now, and his family would be wondering where he was, but he wanted more time to think. Yozef paid close attention to all the updates Mark had sent. He hadn’t wanted to stray from the purpose of today’s visit, but he had already decided to okay Mark’s moving from the development stage to full-size steam trains as soon as the medium-size train locomotive intended for the larger mines was functional. Mark was good. Better than Yozef had hoped. They would make one more of probably far too many leaps of faith and up the priority to prepare for three major steel rail lines, with Orosz City as the hub: to Adris City, to Preddi City, and to Shullick via Cherona, Clitwyth, and Penmawr. Other lines would follow as needed and practical.

He would have to mobilize the island’s people. Maybe not to the extent he did against the Narthani, but certainly to a degree they were not expecting. Resistance was likely, from both the common people and the hetmen. As much as he cringed at the thought, he would take advantage of the Kolinka attack to foment people’s outrage. He foresaw how it would go.

“Yes, we defeated the Narthani, but they haven’t gone away.” True. “They are as much an immediate threat as before.” Untrue. “If we want to be at peace forever, we have to bring down Narthon.” Half-true because a guarantee of eternal peace was impossible. “We already have strong allies and will get more.” Semi-true and hopeful. “Caedellium has already shown the world that the Narthani are not invincible.” True, though the comparison to continent-wide wars was questionable. “Now, we will lead the way to crush the Narthon Empire.” Grandiose. “If you are not with me on this, you risk your children’s and grandchildren’s future.” Maybe, or maybe it would make their future worse.

He would need every tool—his stature as Paramount Hetman, leader of the war against the Narthani—and, with great reluctance, would have to re-stoke the rumors of his being a Septarsh to whom God whispers. He would never get over knowing he was lying every time he used that tactic. He felt a sense of blasphemy, even if he didn’t know whether he believed in God.

Information. They needed far more information on what was happening everywhere on Anyar, but especially about Narthon’s move on southern Landolin. It had been a year since the subjugation of Amalor, but Narthon had not made further advances, except for vague reports of some Narthani troops being in Jahmnor. Why had nothing further been reported? Were they still intent on ruling the entire continent? Had fighting on the Melosian western and eastern fronts gone against them, causing Narthon to assess its expansion attempts?

It was too much for Yozef to hope that a tide had turned against Narthon. He no longer could depend on that hope. Caedellium needed to do something. Would he be doing the right thing, thrusting Caedellium into affairs far beyond its status? Was he letting the Kolinkan attack short-circuit his logic, was he depending too much on his emotions, as he had when he sent Balwis, Wyfor, and Synton off to kill Erdelin, the Narthani leader controlling the now-disbanded Eywell Clan? His blood still ran hot when he remembered the Kolinka attack, but time and the reality of disclosing his thoughts to Mark somehow gave him the confidence that he was thinking logically. Still, contrary thoughts nagged at the edges of his consciousness.

He had been silent since leaving Mark. Carnigan and Synton had tried to engage him but had given up after his unresponsiveness. They shrugged to each other and, with hand gestures, agreed it was merely another of Yozef Kolsko’s strange spells.

As long as it was daylight, his mind plotted, but as they walked, darkness descended, and his thinking involuntarily took a more somber tone. As brilliant as he had been in his chemistry courses, he had been an indifferent student in the general education requirements at the University of California, Berkeley. Among the latter courses was a survey of philosophy, not a topic to his taste. However, either due to his enhanced memory or because it struck some chord within him, he remembered in great detail a single lecture on the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. The elderly professor, his unkempt white hair reminding Yozef of Einstein in photos, railed too long about the injustice heaped on Nietzsche when people associated him with Nazism and anti-Semitism, both of which he would have firmly opposed.

When the professor wrapped up the lecture, he quoted the philosopher and related it to world leaders, past and present. “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”

Yozef repeated the quote to himself three times. If he continued on the course outlined in his mind, he would not only involve Caedellium in dangerous affairs outside its coasts but could also facilitate fighting on a grand scale. Thousands would die. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Of course, as many or more might die if Caedellium sat behind impregnable defenses. It was unpredictable. Could he live with the results? He didn’t know, but he would find out.

They left Orosz City and began the climb into the cleft. He only occasionally noticed shapes—trees, a few structures, slopes whose presence was known only by the way they blocked the stars, and a few lights from lanterns shining through windows. At the moment, it didn’t occur to him that the color of the lights was from kerosene lanterns, instead of whale oil as it had been before his arrival on Anyar.

Finally, they reached the branching road to home. They were halfway to the manor when he turned to his companions.

“Go ahead. Tell the others I’ll be there in a moment.”

Carnigan and Synton looked at each other, their faces illuminated enough by the interior manor lanterns. They nodded and continued without him.

He turned from the window lights and looked again into the darkness. Time passed. A cloud covered the starlight. It was pitch black, but somehow faint images seemed to form in the night. His mind involuntarily tried to identify the shapes until he came to one that reminded him of looking into a mirror. He broke into a cold sweat.

THE END

Books by Olan Thorensen

Destiny’s Crucible

Yozef Kolsko Thread

Cast Under and Alien Sun

The Pen and the Sword

Heavier Than a Mountain

Forged in Fire

Tales of Anyar (anthology)

Passages

A Dubious Peace

Other Threads

An Ancient Enemy (novella)

Paladins of Distant Suns

A Tangled Road to Justice

The Road to Nowhere (forthcoming)

The Janus Harbinger

Harbinger

Greta Havorsford Novels (writing as Kelsey Robicheaux)

The Pink Flamingo

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Patricia Waldygo at Desert Sage Book Editing Services for innumerable improvements to the book and teaching me those things about writing and grammar that I didn’t learn in school. Appreciation also to beta readers: Kathleen Martinez, Fred Anderson, Jason Swearingin, Kenneth Pence, Wayne Byerly, and especially Jenna Ossip-Klein. Unacknowledged but appreciated over time are comments and suggestions from many readers and listeners of the Destiny’s Crucible series. The Seaborn maps are the creation of Sam Lewis. Cover by Alex at Podium Audio.

About the Author

Olan Thorensen is a pen name. He’s a long-time science fiction fan (emphasis on ‘long’) who has jumped into independent publication with all its pitfalls and unknowns. He thinks all colors go together: clash, what clash? A fan of Dilbert, Non Sequitur, Peanuts (even if old strips), and still thinks the end of The Far Side was a tragedy. In his youth, served in the US Special Forces (Vietnam:SOG). Has a Phd in Genetics, around 200 science publications as author and co-author on genetics, molecular biology, and bioinformatics. Is a Fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS). Lives in the Blue Ridge country of Virginia. Thinks it’s totally cool someone can read his stories and enjoy them. Loves fireflies, thunderstorms, is eclectic in music, and thinks four seasons are better than one. His web page is olanthorensen.com. All input from readers is appreciated.

Please email me with any comments at olanthorensen@gmail.com or through my web site at olanthorensen.com. I promise to read all emails, though I won’t be able to answer personally every one. Also, if you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment/review on appropriate venues, such as Amazon and Goodreads. Readers and authors have a synergistic relationship. The more reviews, the more likely there are for more books.

MAPS OF ANYAR are available for viewing and downloading at olanthorensen.com.