Fit for Life

[Kulindahr]

Argh. No, I don't. Was he one of the guards who saw Theodoro "walk through the wall"?

Close.

He was the centurion who knew the people had a right to a voice in the choosing of their bishop, and started letting some into the cathedral.

 

[Kulindahr]

De Medina​

The castle's furnishings had shown wealth; what met their eyes within the heavy door was luxurious beyond the best in the castle. Carpets, draperies, pillows; the entire vast room looked soft. Yet only at first glance did the one who rose to greet them look soft. By the time she was fully erect, even Rigel could tell what had Chen alert and on guard: this was a warrioress. Then the warrioress spoke, and none of them understood a word.

Marcos did. He responded in the same fluid, musical tongue, bowing low. Before he finished, she stomped her foot in anger, and stood looking like a wrathful spirit of some ancient civilization – an astoundingly beautiful wrathful spirit.

De Cadiz turned to Rigel. "Lord, she objects to this intrusion. By treaty, none are to come here but those sworn to protect the House de Medina. I told her I had to surrender the castle, but...." He looked trapped, and unhappy.

"A House driven into hiding -- for what crime?" Rigel asked.

"For no crime! For the fantasies of the insane!" All eyes turned to the young woman, who continued. "For being what others could not understand, were we proscribed!"

Rigel turned to Marcos. "That's it?" he asked. Marcos nodded, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Rigel turned to the room's defiant inhabitant. "What oath will you accept as binding?"

She looked him over. "You are a knight, under the Christ?" He wasn't sure of the grammar, but decided he got the idea, and nodded. "Then swear on your sword, set as a cross."

Rigel drew the Sword of Escobar, and knelt. He grasped the quillons, then decided gloves weren't appropriate, and shed those. Looking straight at the young woman, he gave his oath. "I, Rigel FitzWin, swear upon this blade and the holy Cross whose place it takes, that I shall stand between House de Medina and all persecutors, against all baseless and false threats, and in distress guard them as my own." Prayers Dmitri had led came to mind. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." A chill ran down his spine as he crossed himself, prompted not by his own thoughts but by the piety of a dead lord whose quest came with his sword.

"FitzWin? Marcos, what have you brought?"

"Nazreena, outsiders have come. A new Escobar is near to being Heir. This lord, this outsider, supports the Heir. But he has sworn...." Marcos' words ran out. Faced with the conviction that true Escobar Heirs meant danger to the de Medina, and an oath fairly given by the Prince Heir's ally, he was at a loss: these things didn't fit in his view of the world.

"But he has sworn on his sword and on the Cross, in the name of the Holy One in Three, to stand by us." She set down her scroll and walked over. "What manner of man are you, Rigel FitzWin?"

Rigel was glad she'd taken her time coming over; it allowed him to be able to speak normally. He'd thought he'd seen a woman who rated a ten before, but this one rewrote the scale. "Just an ordinary mongrel", he heard himself say, his mind still mostly captive to her dark, near-Oriental beauty.

Rita intervened. "Since my lord has sworn to protect you, I would know more of the matter. I am Rita, his Wise Woman and advisor. Please -- why were the de Medina proscribed?"

Nazreena gave Rita a considering look. Chen decided this wasn't a woman one ought to cross. "For that the Heir did judge our truth to be lies. He declared us unbelievers, heretics, to be hunted and killed."

"What truth?" inquired Rita. "About your House?"

"About our House, and St. Mohammed whom we honor--" The de Medina lady stopped at the sight of Rita staggering in shock. "You are ignorant of this truth, I see."

"I wouldn't put it that way", Rigel intervened. "With your past, it looks that way. With our past -- this is shocking. I don't call your truth a lie... but listen.
"Where we come from, Mohammed is called a prophet, not a saint, and his followers don't honor the Cross at all. He spread a new religion, by blood and slaughter and terror."

"How can there be more than one past?" she demanded. Rigel understood her skepticism; until he'd seen Earl Dennishire's little book, he'd been the same as she. "There is but one Lord, who died upon the Cross!"

Rigel had to concede a point, there. "I don't dispute that. But we have met peoplewhose pasts since then have been different. In our past, our people rebelled against a cruel king, and made their own nation -- but we recently met people for whom that isn't the past; in their past, there was no rebellion. In our past and the Escobars', a man named Cortez conquered the Aztecs, and-- What?" he asked Marcos.

"Cortez did not conquer the Aztecs", the de Cadiz son repeated. "He fell ill before reaching their city, and was carried ill into it. Father Paciencia de Dios, sent with Cortez by Governor Cáceres, took command, since they were much beset by false gods and demonic practices. When news came that Diego Velásquez came from Cuba to conquer the Aztecs, Father Paciencia persuaded Emperor Moctezuma to ally with Cortez' party. Together Aztec and Conquistador faced the governor of Cuba, and defeated him, for he thought he faced only natives, until too late.
"Then Father Paciencia, though given no authority to do so, offered to Moctezuma aid against his enemies, would he but swear to Charles of Spain. Since the priest then commanded over one thousand men, with muskets and cannon, Moctezuma accepted, granting also that the priest might establish churches and missions and schools. When Cortez was whole again, acting bishop Paciencia made him governor of Charles' interests in Mexico, so he could devote himself to the building of churches and monasteries. Hernán Cortez later was raised Duke of Yucatan -- and that is the only thing he ever conquered."

Rita was laughing. "Apologies, don Marcos! We thought your past was the same as ours. It's only similar." She turned to Nazreena. "This is truth: you, we, and Marcos have different pasts, but one present. In our past Mohammed was what Lord Rigel said, a prophet and a killer. Tell us, how did he become a saint, in your past?"

"You truly do not know?" asked Nazreena. She marvelled at their signs of negation. "Perhaps this is true, this matter of different pasts. So, then, I shall tell you. Come, sit."

Once they were seated on luxurious cushions -- the room had no chairs -- she began. "As a young man, blessed Mohammed knew nothing of Allah but the name. He worked as a caravan driver, going between Arabia and Syria. In his work, he met Christians and Jews, but though he listened to their teachings, he did not believe. His attention was given to the three goddesses of Arabia.
"But one day when he was troubled, Gibrail the Archangel came to him, and bid him learn of Allah, who had created man and all things. Mohammed was troubled, for he understood Gibrail had told him Allah made man from a clot of blood, but the accounts of the Christians and Jews said it was from a lump of clay. His wife's Christian cousin, Waraqah, told him to be not troubled, that Allah would make it clear, and suggested that he go to Jerusalem, where all the Prophets had walked.
"He preached to others the message given to him by Gibrail, that there was but one God, Allah, and to turn aside from idols. Few listened, and this, too troubled him. Yet his wife, Kadijah, and her cousin the Christian, comforted him.
"At a time when he began doubting his visitations, leading men came to him from Yathrib that their city was in turmoil and needed a leader. Because of his strength and perseverance in his devotion to Allah, they said they would all submit to the way if he would come lead them. So he escaped from Mecca and became leader in Yathrib, which renamed itself Medinat-al-Nabi, City of the Prophet.
"This title troubled him, for he had heard from Christians, who worshipped Allah, that Jesus had been the last Prophet. But he did the task he was called to, and settled affairs in the city. Then he did battle against Mecca, and was victorious though his numbers were fewer. Yet when they fought again, his army must flee, and he was wounded. This, too, greatly troubled him. Then he remembered the words of Waraqah, that he should go to Jerusalem. So he appointed leaders in the city, and went up to Jerusalem.
"On the way, he must turn aside, for bandits threatened. His party was stronger, and could well have resisted, but as he sought guidance from Heaven, he remembered how his wife and cousin had counseled that he should not shed blood, for he had much blood on his hands already, so he took a different way.. On the new path, the blessed Mohammed came upon a hut made of stone, stacked without mortar, then stone laid against stone in a crafty way so that no rain entered within. Curious, he stopped to see this hut, and inside found but the fur of a lion, a great jug of water, and a set of pages written on with a pen.
"He remembered that Gibrail had told him that God teaches man by the pen, and sought to read the pages, but it was a tongue he did not know. Then he determined to find the man who had built the hut and penned the words he could not read. This he did; for a boy in his company had wandered, and came telling of a naked man on his knees, forehead to the ground, on a ragged rug, facing north, and praying aloud, though he could not understand the words. When blesséd Mohammed heard this, he knew it for the man of the hut. Then he went where the man was, the boy leading, and stripped off his own raiment, and set his cloak on the ground as a rug, and joined his prayers to the man's.
"When they had done praying, blessed Mohammed asked, 'Who are you, who prays so here in the wilderness?' But the man replied, 'Nay, who are you? for you have come on my solitary, sent by Allah.' The blesséd Mohammed marveled at this, as he had come seeking Allah, so he said, 'I am Mohammed, called a Prophet, from Arabia. I travel to Jerusalem, seeking guidance, for I am troubled. I saw the words on paper in your hut, and wish to know them, for Gibrail told me that Allah teaches man by the pen.'

"I am Abram, called a Hermit, from Alexandria. I pray toward Jerusalem, for there was the Blood of God shed, which makes man live', the hermit answered. By these words did blessed Mohammed understand that the word of Gibrail to him was not misunderstood, but spoke of a different creation than that from clay. So he remained with Abram, and learned the words of the pages.
"When he returned to Medinat-al-Nabi, he found that his followers had conquered Mecca, and all now hailed him as Prophet. Blesséd Mohammed accepted this, for he knew that his work would not be free of blood. Then he told them that he had spoken in the desert with the Prophet Abraham, and learned from him, and there were many things to teach, but he would do so in small bites, not all in a great meal.
"Then he turned to the tribes of Jews, and bid them make copies of the accounts of Abraham and the Prophets, that all might read them. This they did gladly, for it pleased them to share their ancient words with their neighbors. So blesséd Mohammed taught all to read and heed the words of Moses and of the Prophets. And the while, his followers subdued all Arabia, and laid it at his feet.
"When that work was complete, then blesséd Mohammed revealed to them that the Allah of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was the Allah he preached, the same Allah who was Father of Jesus. For the Prophet Abraham had told him, he said, that the time of the banishment of Ismael and of Esau was over, and though the Jews had ignored the Son sent by Allah, the children of Ismael and Esau were to be gathered in. Then some asked if they were then to be Christians, and submit to Alexandria, or to Jerusalem, but he said yes, they were to be Christians, but no, they were to submit to no other city but Mecca, for there Abraham and Ismael had set the Kaaba.
"This answer pleased them, and they declared him to be Patriarch, honored alongside those of Alexandria and Jerusalem and Antioch and Rome." Nazreena saw questions were waiting to be asked, so she abbreviated. "After this, blessed Mohammed purified the church in the east, even into Persia. And after him, Allah sent his followers to chastise the heretics of Africa, whom they purified even into Spain. Thus he was named Holy, to be called, in this tongue, Saint Mohammed."

Rigel broke the silence that lasted half a minute while Nazreena and Marcos sat expectanly. "Ryan has got to hear this!" he exclaimed softly. "Rita, you know history better than I do...." His ending tone was a plea.

Rita shook her head. "Wow. Nazreena, the big difference is that in our past, Mohammed never made a trip to Jerusalem and never met a hermit named Abram in the desert. So he never became a Christian, and his followers fought Christians." Nazreena looked baffled and a bit defiant. "I know", Rita assured her, "this business of more than one past is hard to accept. But trust me -- I've now heard four different pasts, and I'm almost willing to guess that no people here has a past that matches another's, even though we're all from the world where Jesus of Nazareth was born and crucified." She decided Rigel's puzzled frown deserved its own answer. "The Celts in our past were pretty separate, Rye. The Celts we know here are a mixed society, with Irish and Scot and Continental and a hefty dash of Norse mixed in. Ryan and I kept thinking they'd gotten Snatched in bunches and dumped together, but it makes more sense if theirs was a completely different world-line where some pan-Celtic society brought them together naturally. And I can bet you what Ryan will say." Rigel just lifted his eyebrows. "He'll call it the 'Snatcher Exclusion Principle', and say the Snatcher can't grab people from the same world twice."


Nazreena declined to give them a tour; she made clear that they were not welcome beyond the outer room. But she answered questions for more than an hour, telling of her House. They had sought refuge with friendly lords, but found that against the ire of the Heir, friends withered and failed. But House de Cadiz quietly gathered them in, hiding them so thoroughly the Heir never suspected, but pursued into the savanna the false trail crafted by a son of each House. The sons and those with them never returned, but they were not caught; the Heir did return, two in three of his men dead, and certain that the pig-like beasts which had nearly ended them all had done so to his prey.

They were but a few hundred, then, scattered across the de Cadiz estates. But they had the House wealth in coin and jewels; this they shared here and there with their guardians, for making their refuges larger. They had space in more than one castle, beneath several manors, in hidden villages and caves. Many lived now as common villagers in lands of the de Cadiz, their vassals, and some allies. They numbered far more than a few hundred, enough that hiding was becoming difficult, yet still they feared revelation, because the proscription had never been lifted. Even in hiding they maintained the martial skills, as well as the crafts and arts that brought the coin to keep them supplied, but they did not wish renewed conflict: their understanding of the oath taken so long ago forbid them from shedding blood of any in Refuge except to maintain themselves alive.

Then the grandfather of the present Lord de Cadiz had conceived the possibility of replacing the existing line with another. The de Medina were revolted by the idea, since it meant plotting against the lawful Heir. But Lord de Cadiz had mentioned it in the hearing of certain informal allies and their sons – and the rest they knew, how the rightful line had been whittled down to one young man, and even now forces worked to destroy him.

 

[Críostóir]

OK, so no Moslems. Just Mohammad as the founder of the (or an) Eastern Church.

And, of course, and underground everywhere in Refuge who will rise up and support Osvaldo if he denounces the proscription.

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
Your imagination and possibly dreams of a better world bring interesting insight - garnering fascinating twists to our history.

I thoroughly enjoyed this chapter.
It will be interesting, indeed, to see how our our good Osvaldo, who has heard this tale from She, herself, and the passion that bespeaks the truth, will handle the situation.

Will he reveal himself to them?
Will he have to, once Father dearest returns from his roamings?

I look forward to your next installment.
Thanks!

 

[Kulindahr]

OK, so no Moslems. Just Mohammad as the founder of the (or an) Eastern Church.

And, of course, and underground everywhere in Refuge who will rise up and support Osvaldo if he denounces the proscription.

And Southern -- think of the African Church as the Mohammedan Rite.

Think of them as the Church REALLY Militant.

 

[Kyanimal]

Hmmm. MANY thoughts here about re-writing (our) History, and the "calming" of clashing Religions/Cultures! Exceedingly Interesting!!

And, I was not aware of the "Snatcher Exclusion"! SO ... they CAN "snatch" from the "same" World, but must do so from different Time Lines in order to make them "different"?! And, that also goes a bit further in explaining "The Others"! Are there, maybe, More "Others"??

And, yet ... when "The Snatcher" helped Anaph ... are the Shepherds, and the "How Things Work" book, and the seeds, etc., from different Time Lines, too??

So many questions! So many possibilities!

You're stretching my old brain, Sir!

MORE, Please??

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[DonQuixote]

I'm not sure if Kuli said there was, in fact, a hard and fast exclusion or not.

I agree with the confusion, had the sheep and mice and book and seeds and Fox in the back of my mind on that one, too.

I don't know that it's different TIME lines, but perhaps PARALLEL Universes? Kind of like the Warrior Federation on the original Star Trek Series, or the multiple Parallel Universes on Star Gate SG-1, I'm feeling.

Yes? No? A definite maybe? lol

 

[Kulindahr]

Confirmation Council​

A flurry of snow made the view ahead blurry. Rigel turned in the saddle and looked back on a clear road occupied by a column of five hundred troops, all mounted. In two gaps spaced not quite evenly among the mounted men rolled the cannon- now six of them, on their new two-meter high wheels, gun crews riding in the supply wagons that rolled with them. Rigel didn't expect to need artillery; his decision in bringing it had been that he didn't want it anywhere at all except under his eye.

Peripheral vision caught the motion to the rear as he turned to the front; he reversed immediately. It was one of the scouts from the rear detail under Oran, coming up at, Rigel judged, a canter -- not catastrophic, probably not urgent, but important. From the intermittent glimpses of the sun they had, he judged it nearly time for a break. Stopping would give Oran's messenger a shorter ride. "Austin, let's break", he said, and let his squire pass the orders.

Only the alert teams remained mounted. With a party of their numbers, the precaution was about as necessary as fire insurance for a scuba diving expedition, but both Rigel and Tanner believed in habit -- good habit, anyway. The rest got down to stretch, sit, lie down, whatever helped them relax for the continued ride. As for Rigel, he rode with Austin back toward the rear, to intercept the scout messenger.
"We're supposed to be breaking", Austin noted when their paths converged. "Ride slower."
"Ride more slowly", Rigel corrected, doing an imitation of Rita. Austin laughed, Rigel joined in -- they rode more slowly.

The message was simple: "De Cadiz. Oran says de Cadiz coming, that hill trace, gonna catch us, run into us maybe."
"Catch us -- so we're probably ahead?" It was a rhetorical question, Rigel thinking out loud. "Then we ride to the intersection, and wait." His memory went back.....

. . . .​

"I will end your name on the earth! I will take the Seat and make fierce war upon your realm!" De Cadiz continued to rant; Rigel made no effort to interrupt him or give any sign of response, schooling his face to an interested calm -- and making note of a few uses of words his knowledge of Spanish didn't cover. After all, he couldn't blame the man for being irrationally upset at returning home and finding it had been captured in his absence. The lord ran down after several minutes, and sat facing the man who had taken his castle.
In his original world, Rigel would have asked, "Feel better now?" as a taunt; now, that seemed petty and childish. So far, the conversation had consisted of few words: "Lord Cadiz." "You!" "I hold your castle." ... and the tirade, the lord's torrent of words. Rigel considered, having learned a great deal from Rita, that de Cadiz' words weren't really directed at him, so he didn't take them personally -- and so stuck to business. "You were supposed to ask what I wanted", he pointed out calmly. "Then we're supposed to negotiate."

De Cadiz stared at him, fuming, silent, for the better part of a minute. His fury faded before a practical recognition of reality, a practicality Rigel had expected from a man who ran so tidy an estate. "Very well -- what do you want?"

"You and your vassals to stand for Osvaldo, recognizing him as Heir. And as many of your allies as you can convince." De Cadiz flew into a rage again.

"Father!" Marcos seemed embarrassed for his sire

De Cadiz recognized his son. "Have you betrayed me?! I will see to it no one gives a daughter for marriage! Why are you here, and not the man I left in charge?"

"He's dead, father", Marcos informed his father. "He threatened a herald."

De Cadiz froze, his visage grew hard and cold. "Then you killed him?"

Marcos shook his head. "No", he answered bitterly. "You bade me follow his command in matters of defense, and he ordered me to remain in the great tower. He was prevented from dishonoring us more by Lord Rigel's... sharpshooters." He stumbled a little over the unfamiliar word, introduced from English -- along with various others, because the Spanish of Escobar and Quistador had no terms to meet the need. "He lies dead on the wall, untouched now for eight days. The herald he threatened claimed his sword."

De Cadiz nodded almost reflexively. "That is just. He may have the armor as well. As for the body...."

"He's already rotting, father. No one will venture near even to repair the battlement."

That made the lord take note. He turned slowly to regard Rigel. "What force did you bring to this task, that you could spend men tearing holes in battlements!"

"No men", replied Rigel. "Just cannon. I think you were listening when I described them to Lord Perez. The crews did some fine aiming that day."

"You did not harm the towers, did you?!" The structures were plainly standing, the portions visible above the walls apparently unharmed, but de Cadiz looked at them intently as though almost hoping to see damage.

"Well... yes, but it was repaired. Every stone is back in its place. Five were cracked, but thanks to my Druid, all are whole again. The needle towers stand whole."

De Cadiz spat on the ground between their horses. "'Every stone is back in place.' No man could know that!"

"The Sword of Escobar remembers. I studied the towers for more than a day, to be certain I knew all the stones."

"So." De Cadiz glared. "FitzWin, I could raise an army and take my castle back."

Rigel nodded. "You could. And I could put it to the torch before you got back." He tipped his head as a thought struck. "Though I'd want to evacuate the de Medina quarters first."

De Cadiz swore and threw a dagger. Rigel tried to grab it, but it passed seemingly between his fingers and struck Marcos. The second son gasped and sagged, the blade deep in his chest. "Stand fast!" Rigel ordered in a yell. Out of old habit when frustrated, he lifted his hand to scratch his head -- and froze, remembering his signals. Idiot, not realizing that! he scolded himself. You almost killed the man! "Lumina!" he called over his shoulder as he drew the Sword of Escobar and set it across his knees. "Lord de Cadiz, I will forgive your foolishness this time because your anger is understandable. But at the moment, your son is under my blade. If he is seriously hurt, you will pay for it -- dearly."

"He is no son of mine! No longer!"

Rigel sighed. Old world honor wasn't exactly his thing in novels; when faced with it, it truly grated. He started to choose words carefully.

"Father, he swore... swore to pro... to protect them", Marcos gasped out.

"Shut it and hold still!" Lumina snapped. "Rigel, his lung's punctured and his heart's cut. I need help."

Without turning, Rigel responded. "If Lord de Cadiz does anything else to harm his son, shoot him -- but don't kill him", he ordered without turning his gaze from the man. "Hedraing, can you immobilize Marcos?"

"It is not as easy with a man as with a horse", the Druid replied, already moving, "yet I can but try. Marcos, think of lying still in bed, not desiring to move yet", he instructed.

De Cadiz' face was set in stone; he hardly moved, his eyes dashing from one rifleman to another -- though he didn't realize that none of them were the real threat; Rigel's "insurance policy" rested in trees, sights already on the lead members of the lord's party. "Why should I believe you would keep such an oath?" he demanded. "You are a foreigner, an outlander, and intruder here! You do not know our ways, or honor our customs, or understand honor!"

Rigel considered how to reply. One course would be to take it all as an insult, and proceed to engage in beating at the man with metal. In fact... "I think I understand your ways and customs enough to know that by your code, you just disparaged my honor, and I could demand 'satisfaction' in a duel. But my sense of honor says its not honorable at all to take advantage of a man who isn't thinking clearly, or to risk that the life of one or another intelligent and skilled man be tossed away over such a petty thing as words.
"I will keep my oath because I made it. I would expect you to keep an oath you made. Why? Because you are a man who commands loyalty, who stands by an ancient commitment, who runs his estate well, who has raised a sensible son -- not things I would expect of a man who does not keep oaths."

"More: he cannot break it." The voice was Hedraing's, as he pushed his horse to the fore. "Lord, Marcos will live -- the knife is out, the heart sound. The Healer is exhausted; healing tissue as a blade is withdrawn is taxing. His lung must be restored by ordinary methods. But he is no longer in danger." He cocked his head at the Earl. "So you will not need to exert yourself chastising Lord de Cadiz for his folly.
"Now you", he said to de Cadiz, not only turning but urging his steed forward till nearly nose-to-nose with the lord's, "heed me: I have studied this blade. It was fashioned by a man of smooth and steady intellect, wrought by him and other men, of intellect and passion. It was entrusted to a man of both intellect and passion, an unfinished thing, charged to grow and become what was needed.
"I assure you by my life, no oath sworn on it with bare hand on metal, and the shedding of blood, can be broken. Lord FitzWin would keep his oath anyway, for he is that sort of man, but he cannot break it, even should he so wish. He masters the Sword, and gains from it, but it also masters him, forging him into what is needed. For him to be an oath-breaker would deal a sore blow to its purpose, and so it will not permit him to break such an oath. Even had he sworn with it merely on his person, breaking an oath would require effort beyond most mortals. But with his blood on the blade, the blade is in charge in this: the oath belongs to the Sword of your ancestor. If you cannot trust Lord FitzWin, trust your Ancestor: his will is in the Sword, and he will not allow Lord FitzWin to do other than keep this oath."

De Cadiz stared at Hedraing with a frown. Rigel jumped in. "Hedraing, just when did you study my sword?!"

Hedraing chuckled, something which seemed almost alien to him. "When you slept, lord. Some nights, you cried out in your sleep. I undertook to remedy this, as it distressed the guards. When I saw that it was when in your sleep you touched the Sword, I undertook to calm your cries, but not the thoughts behind them -- your mind could cry out, but not your voice. Then I kept watch, feeling your mood, reading the life of the Sword.
"And I tell you both this: the Great Druid who wrought this blade set in motion more than he knew. It has a life of its own, a life devoted to a single goal, and power to serve that goal. That power, and that life, frighten me. Lord Rigel, it is a terrifying thing you bear on your hip. Were I you, I would see to my task quickly, and be rid of it."

Austin looked over at the Sword, then up at Rigel. He didn't move his knees, but Titanium eased away from Tornado.

"Okay, you don't have to be afraid of me", Rigel told them all. "I told the Snatcher I'd burn Anaph's staff to be free of It, and I can tell the Sword I'll bury it and finish the mission myself if I need to."

Hedraing shook his head slowly. "Be not so certain, lord. It called you once."

"I hadn't been warned against it", Rigel told him. "If it wants my help, it has to play nice, just like the Snatcher.
"Anyway... Lord de Cadiz, I'll keep your secret, if you want. But I'd rather see the de Medina in their own lands, not having to hide. I know the history, so I understand why you've been hiding them all this time -- and I'm impressed; it's quite an accomplishment. I know why they were persecuted, and the stupidity that had them proscribed. I also know that their history is real; their past truly is different from yours, and from mine, and from the Celts to the north, as all our pasts are different.. I don't know why that is, but I do know it doesn't have anything to do with deception by the devil or demon activity or lies. Their faith is as real and solid as ours -- at least Nazreena's is, or even more solid!
"Or if you want I'll come to the Council and beat heads together. But they have the right to be out like other men, on their own land, not having to apologize for who they are, not having to hide in closets."

De Cadiz turned to Hedraing. "The Sword will not let him break this oath? You know this?" Hedraing nodded solemnly. De Cadiz sighed. "Then perhaps there is a reason for him to keep it after all." He looked past Rigel to gaze on the battlements of his captured castle. "Very well. Let us discuss the return of my castle."
. . . .

Tanner objected. "You weren't there", was all Rigel told him. "We can trust de Cadiz. His reasons for opposing Osvaldo and his father were honorable -- misguided and not too bright, but honorable." So forty-five minutes later the two columns joined.

It made a huge procession, for besides de Cadiz and his men there were ten vassals and/or allies, all committed now to stand for Osvaldo. That was a secret limited only to those who had been party to the meeting, for de Cadiz had not re-entered his castle, though some of his people had; he had remained apparently displaced -- a status he'd used to visit his vassals and then allies to tell them of events, and either command or request their standing with him. No lord had less than forty men; the entire joined column totaled nearly eight hundred people.

The great surprise was the presence of Nazreena's brother. "It was sister's idea", he said that night in Lord de Cadiz' tent, when he was revealed as Jaspar de Medina. "Our House was proscribed by the Heir, but that was never acted on by the Council. Our standing still counts. So long as standing is not by call of rank, no one will know other than that a country lord has come to stand for the Prince Heir."

"And if they call by rank?" Austin asked.

Jaspar answered solemnly. "Then I am but a country knight come with lord de Cadiz."

Austin chuckled. "That's good. Then what?"

"Then I seek agreement from this Heir Osvaldo, to lift the proscription set upon my House." Jaspar spoke calmly and dispassionately,

"I think he'll be willing", Rigel commented. "He seems fair and just."

"You know him well?" Jaspar asked.

"Better than anyone in this tent", Rigel replied. "We are allies."

De Cadiz regarded him curiously. "It was said he went with you south, for safety. I would think he returned, to attend the council, and conclave."

"He served well, on that trip", Rigel answered. "He joined with his own people, though. But I think he'll arrive safely to San Tesifón. Yet -- don de Cadiz, you know things here better than I: will another stand forth?"

"Some might. If Osvaldo arrives safely, they may fail in courage. If he does not.... don FitzWin, who might you support, if he does not?"

"Any of the three Osvaldo nominated for Regent -- no one else. Does it matter/"

"It could come to force. If Osvaldo does not arrive, there could be a handful of claimants. Without a strong force behind one, fighting could last years."

Rigel shook his head. "It's hard to believe Refuge has come to this. Lord Escobar's heritage is truly watered down." No one said anything. Rita held her breath; such a statement could have been taken as a serious insult.

"When people see no future", Chen mused, "honor becomes all, or honor becomes nothing." He looked directly at de Cadiz. "When honor is all, some are noble, some are foolish."

"You do not find me noble", de Cadiz observed.

"Not really", Chen answered. "Your honor and dedication are amazing -- for generations risking your own House, protecting another. Yet did it never occur to you or your father or his before him or his before, and on, to just seek audience with the Heir, and ask the proscription be lifted? I have ridden with Prince Heir Osvaldo, and if the father was much like the son, the last Heir would have heard you."

De Cadiz looked down with a sigh. "Our tradition allowed no dispute: the main Escobar line was tainted, and could not be trusted. The man was mad, to proscribe a faithful ally; madness infested the line, so it must be resisted. To my great grandfather, that came to mean the main line must be overthrown. So he allied with the de Soto, and my father with Perez. To me these were great men, and as sons are like their fathers, I held the sons also to be great." Almost wearily, he lifted his head. "I have carried on the fight, without questioning, until you, don FitzWin. You disturbed my world, and finally made me ask what is honor, and loyalty, you who gave more of each to my son than I, and saw the honor of my cause without embracing the... " He glanced at Chen.

"Foolishness", Chen supplied. "And so?"

"Yes, foolishness", de Cadiz went on, as though he'd needed Chen t say it first before the word would fit in his mouth. "And so I saw that honor did not require all the beliefs we had added to it. Friend Jaspar and sister Nazreena saw better than I; she showed Marcos, Jaspar showed me, and now I see he is right: we who are sworn to protection must go with Jaspar to the Heir. Our presence will give weight to his words."

"And your soldiers will give weight to your presence", Austin suggested. Silence hit hard.

Then de Cadiz chuckled. "Truth, yet one is expected to not say such things, squire."

"Riding in with a small army sort of says it anyway", Austin pointed out.

Chen snorted. "Only if other lords have left their small armies home." Austin made a silent "Ohhh".

"So the city could become a battlefield", Jaspar concluded, "because of me and my House".

Rigel frowned. With a troubled voice, he asked, "Don de Cadiz, are assassinations likely?"

"They are possible." The lord shrugged. "If they happen, they happen -- they cannot be stopped." Rigel had other ideas about that, but said nothing -- then. Afterward, he sought out his three best marksmen for a quiet talk.

"Time for bed, my lord?" asked the guard at the tent door.

"Definitely. Lend a hand?"

"Of course."

Rigel sat on his cot and let Austin tug at his boots while the guard unhooked the scarf that had shielded his face against the cold. "You need more coals", the guard observed.

"Austin can go for them, mister Prince Heir. You rotated position pretty quick."

Osvaldo shook his head. "You were talking longer than you thought -- I've been here nearly half an hour, and I didn't move till a third of an hour after you left de Cadiz. You talked to the marksmen?"

Rigel chuckled. "Yes. Though something Captain Aodh said once makes me think they won't be needed.
"Anyway -- what do you think of de Cadiz? If you guessed about the riflemen, you could hear well."

"I missed some moments, by cause of the wind, and a group going by laughing", Osvaldo admitted. "But not so much I cannot decide. I will rescind more than the proscription -- I will rescind the banishment."

"You'll look weak", Austin asserted, "unless you have a really good reason."

Osvaldo considered that. "Miguel might have said the same." He sighed. "I could wish I had not sent him... on errands."

"He'll join us tomorrow", Rigel reminded the Prince Heir, "or the next day. With good news, I hope. So -- you think de Cadiz can be trusted." Osvaldo nodded. "So do I", Rigel agreed.
"Now, I have a question: the Council I know, but what's the 'conclave'?"

Osvaldo set his boots by the brazier and took Rigel's from Austin to place beside them -- properly, between brazier and tent wall, to help keep heat inside, not reflecting it away from the occupants. "The Council meets, and if enough stand for me, I become recognized as Heir. A conclave is the Council transformed to consider whether the Heir may be named Lord. One was held when a false claim was put forward to having the Sword again; the claim was disproved, but the claim also failed because there was no evidence no Escobar lived in the north." He held his hands over the coals and glanced pointedly at Austin. The squire scowled at him, but headed out for more coals. Osvaldo grinned after him. "As you say, lord Rigel, 'anyway', when Lord de Cadiz spoke of a conclave, he indicated he is certain I will be confirmed as Heir -- for I hold the Horn, and you, my ally, the Sword, and he knows we will surrender them to no one."

Rigel nodded slowly, sinking back on the hot and lifting his feet toward the coals. They smelled, but after walking on frozen ground he wanted them warmed. "Do you want to be named Lord?"

Osvaldo shook his head unhappily. "No. Were I twenty-one, it would be different. Yet I think I must. Confirmed as Heir, I will have authority and power, but it would be a dance, the maneuver and scheming of the Council always like chains on my feet. But as Lord, the enthusiasm of the people and the hidalgos will move enough in the Council that with those moved on their own, there will not be any room for maneuvering or scheming: I shall command, and it shall be done." He stared through the tent wall toward the lead city of the Constant Hills. "Had things been different, the maneuvering and scheming might have made an entertaining game. But things now are truly different, since you came, and more different, knowing the British are there in truth, and a power" -- he looked Rigel straight in the eye -- "and since you aim to bring us all together and make harsh war on the Foe."

"'Harsh war'?" Rigel quoted, questioning. "No, Prince Heir, not 'harsh war' -- final war. Harsh war is for an enemy who might learn, or who might be subdued to live with you in peace. But the Foe will never do such. To them, you and Austin and others who march with us, and many others your age, and all who are younger, and nothing but food -- and the rest of us, breeders of food. One does not surrender to food, or make treaties with it; one corrals and herds and eats it.
"Nor does food make treaty with the eater: to be free, it does not drive back the eater, not inflict punishment on it -- it destroys the eater, that it may never eat again. Thus there is no longer food, nor eater, only free beings."

"'Final war' -- so there may be no more." Osvaldo plucked a piece of dry grass from his pant leg and dropped it in the coals. "End them -- throw them in the fire, till they are no more." He looked at Rigel, his eyes haunted. "Do they have children, as we do? Have they family, and tribe, and House?"

"It doesn't matter", Rigel answered. "They see us as food. We see us as us. If we would be us, we must not be food. To not be food, we must... remove them." A strong urge to continue speaking welled up in him. Not time, he told the ghost, his companion since the day they ventured to gather metal on an ancient battlefield, not yet.


The next night they saw two other camps, by their fires. "I call it three-twenty there", Chen pronounced as they took turns viewing one with telescope's. De Cadiz grunted. "Perhaps three-fifty. There are five large tents; others may cook for them, which means not as many fires." Chen conceded the point.

The other, they agreed was five hundred or a little more. "Well, we meet one of them tomorrow, after noon or evening", Chen pointed out, tracing routes on their map. "Which do we want to meet first?"

A messenger came during the first watch. He was a Celt, on one of Rigel's own horses, so he had no trouble getting admittance. The message was written, for Rigel.
Lord: need came. camp abandoned. all gone to Bilbao for safety. meet at Council. -- Captain Aodh


"The logic of conflict", Chen said happily. Rigel had chosen to meet the smaller group first; if both were hostile, it would be better, he'd thought, to overwhelm the smaller first, then battle the larger; if the first were friendly, they'd be all the stronger for meeting the larger.

"The logic of the Game", de Cadiz disagreed. "Now we must comport ourselves." They straightened in the saddle and waited for the arriving party.

"Lady Escobar", Rigel greeted, bending over her hand and kissing it. "I'm happy to find you well."

"I'd be happy to find my son", she replied, her tone gracious. "I left him in your keeping."

"I judged that if he were seen in my column, attempts might be made on him. And when word of my progress spread, some at least would come to seek him. So he is with certain people who can protect him well. Have no fears; he will arrive safely for Council."

"And for conclave", de Cadiz added. "Lady, I regret my former opposition. I have been... made aware than while I have been loyal and honorable, I have been less than intelligent and wise." Self-control kept him from glancing at Chen, but Austin's eyes darted that way. Lady Escobar noted it, and made a mental note to thank Chen, and whoever else had taken part in this change.

"So you believe there will be a Conclave?" she asked, offering him her hand.

He took it, and delivered a formal kiss. "I believe there must be", he affirmed, "and that it shall be called for -- and called for, called."


That night Osvaldo awoke to a warm body slipping in next to him on his cot. His hand let go his dagger when the tap-tap-tap of fingers on his neck told him it was Miguel. "What success?" he asked quietly over his shoulder.

Miguel rolled his cousin so they were cheek-to-cheek. "The Assassins in the north are no more -- they work for Ortega. From noon tomorrow, you are in territory where no killer seeking you can be safe."

"That's good. What else?" It wasn't what Osvaldo wanted to ask, but business came first.

"Two enemies of your father go to icy graves. I have hopes for their heirs."

"You killed them?"

"One had remorse for his wickedness, and fell on his dagger. The other fell in his wine cellar, and the bottle pierced his throat." He sighed theatrically. "I think I did well on the suicide note, and I made certain to choose not too fine a wine for the other."

Osvaldo was silent for a couple of minutes. He'd gotten adjusted to the idea that his friend didn't just kill for him in defense, but in cold blood, too. Whether he'd ever become accustomed to it was another question -- but if he was to be Lord Escobar, he had to be able to accept certain necessities. Maybe if his father had had a Miguel....

"How did you find me?" he asked. "I'm just a guard."

"Of course. A guard with six men keeping watch over him, a guard whose duty is always near the Healer's tent, a guard who stands by de Cadiz' tent while lords meet and soon moves to Lord Rigel's tent, and sleeps there." Miguel kissed him on the ear lobe.

"Is it that obvious?" Osvaldo's voice was stressed.

"I could see it. Maybe three of my teachers could have seen it. Possibly a third of the Shadows of Escobar -- they used to be assassins -- could see it. But an ordinary spy, or soldier, or lord's son? About as likely that I could sire a son on a sow."


The walls of San Tesifón were finally close enough ordinary humans could tell the difference between crenelation and guards at attention. Rigel still had scouts out, despite the fact that most of the lords with them thought it silly, since they were a body of over twelve hundred armed men -- and a few deadly maids. Chen had front, and it was the First Scout himself who came riding to meet them.

"You’re not going to believe who's riding out to meet us", he claimed, wheeling to ride beside Rigel.

"Try me", Rigel replied.

"Guardians", Chen informed him. "Bloody Guardians. Ortega has the uniforms different, some, and the job -- a lot. They're keeping the peace, and part of that is escorting in every group that shows up. They're making sure no lord takes excess soldiers into the city, and assigning spaces for camping so no enemies are near each other."

Rita laughed. "He found a use for some of them, anyway! Where are the rest?"

"Some are still locked up. Some went north to serve as 'border guardians' for Ryan. Some are hiding out in the southwest", Chen reported.

"Maybe they'll behave themselves", Rigel said, sarcasm thick.

"And pigs will fly", Austin quipped. "Lord Rigel", he added, with a small bow.

De Cadiz chuckled. "Put a pig in one of your cannon, and it would fly", he noted.

Rita caught Austin's attention and motioned him to drop back with her, for privacy. "You and Oran haven't been making your 'L'ard Ree-gel' cracks for a while. What's up?"

"He says you have sharp elbows", Austin answered. "Then it kinda stopped seeming funny. And if it bugged you that much...." He shrugged. "I thought you just didn't want him doing it front of the British earl."

Maybe they're growing up, she thought. "True", she admitted. "But Rigel was really getting tired of it." And none of you thought through those particular syllables in one of the tongues we speak -- all we'd need is some of the older Celts hearing them!


The Council chamber was packed. Guardians bid lords leave extra companions, beyond one, outside; House Guards within enforced the regulation. Packed groups congregated here and there, centered on powerful or charismatic lords. It was a colorful assembly -- in language, not just clothing; emotions ran high and tongues ran free.

"Every poor hidalgo with a name is here!" Miguel noted. He was present as Osvaldo's one companion; Lumina was present as Lady Rosalina's, Rita as Rigel's, who was present as an authorized guest of Regent Ortega. Osvaldo no longer dressed as one of Rigel's guards; he was in presentable but not ornate clothes that had been fashionable in his father's youth. It was enough that no one yet had recognized him. He found it amusing, though he understood the principle: everyone was watching the city gates and walls, expecting him to make some grand entry or mad dash or clandestine attempt to arrive, so no one considered he might already have come. For that, he had Lord de Cadiz to thank, to a great extent; the man was known as a foe, after all, and when he vouched he had not seen Osvaldo in Rigel's company, it was believed -- and believable, because he spoke the truth he knew: with Osvaldo's skin darkened and features subtly changed by Lumina's application of certain substances to his face, and with the three centimeters of height he'd put on since leaving, de Cadiz had actually greeted him twice without realizing his identity.

"No one would miss this", Osvaldo responded. "A new Heir, and the question of ending that office by turning it to Lord." He savored the word; he wasn't as naively confident as he'd been before, but he was convinced it was within his grasp, now: he had allies no one suspected, and from Ortega's reports many lesser lords were tired enough of the factions and fighting that often served to keep them poor that they would stand for almost anyone at this point, just to have someone at the helm. With the Prince Heir -- himself -- alive and present, it wasn't likely anyone else was going to step forward.

"And things don't even start for two days", Lady Escobar, present as Seat of the House, pointed out. She frowned at some of the groups, with messengers dashing between, wooing this lord or that. "Allegiances are being bought and sold, here."

"There's no frontier for them", Rita commented. "They see the lands of the Hills as tamed -- so they maneuver and scheme to extend what is theirs."

"There's no honor in it", Jaspar de Medina asserted. Lumina's bag of tricks had lightened his skin, so the darker color wasn't so remarkable. "If they have conquered the physical and reached its limits, they should seek conquests in learning and knowledge."

Rita applauded softly. "But they won't see the value of knowledge until someone shows how it brings material power", she pointed out.

"Your lord is doing that with the edge", Jaspar responded. "The tale of how with only a hundred men he broke in and took Lord de Cadiz' castle has been heard by all, now." His face laughed, without sound.

"The number keeps getting smaller", Rita agreed. "But it was the cannon that counted. Have you heard it was just one, and it fired as fast as the best of archers?"

Jaspar nodded, chuckling. "And that your lord himself rebuilt the toppled towers with his own hands, not resting for seven days and nights as he searched out each stone and put it in its place." Wise Woman and advisor, Lord Heir and representative to the Council, looked at each other in shared appreciation for the silliness of what human beings will believe.


"What do you think?" Rigel asked Lady Rosalina, who sat with furrowed brow, tapping a fancy jeweled dagger on her knee, ignoring the cup of wine by her left elbow. He took a seat looking up at her.

"I think some lords are missing", she pronounced. "Among them some friends."

"They haven't arrived yet, you mean?"

"No, I mean I think they have gone missing, been taken, been prevented from coming", she revealed. "From the south, near where I turned back."

RIGEL envisioned the Hills, and a grid of travel times. "Not much we can do", he conceded, though an idea lurked in the shadows. "Nothing", she agreed.

"What impact....?" he inquired.

"Fifteen or sixteen who would have stood for Osvaldo are not here or will not stand because others are not here. Twelve or fifteen more who likely would have stood for him will now stand for no one, because those who are not here will not be showing a lead." She stomped her foot. "I don't like this."

"How many lords are there? Who can claim a seat?"

"Three hundred seventy-eight", Rosalina replied. "Possibly two more."

"'Possibly'?"

"There are the Alfonso de Orofino, who lost their estates and went into the wild; they could still sit. And the de Medina, if they still exist." Rigel kept a straight face; she wasn't in on the secret. "The Alfonso de Orofino hated the Ortega; they might not stand for Osvaldo on that account. The de Medina hated the Heirs.... not without cause", she added in a softer tone.

"So three hundred eighty. Thirty lost because some are missing -- that's about eight percent", Rigel guesstimated. "A serious chunk, isn't it?"

"Quite serious." Rosalina sighed. "Damn them all!" she muttered, low enough only Rigel heard. "They see hardly farther than their noses!"

"Which are so high in the air they think they're angels, 'cause they can't see the ground, right?"

Rosalina smiled. "That is something your squire might say. And I think he would be in part correct. But some stand as they do for honor."

"Honor without intelligence", Rigel suggested, recalling the conversation with Jaspar.

The Lady looked sad. "Quite on the mark, friend Rigel -- quite on the mark." He didn't tell her who deserved credit for the idea.


"We have not enough!" fumed Lady Rosalina Escobar the next day. Lord Ortega had been persuaded to call a brief Council session, for a few "procedural matters", since the entire membership was within shouting distance. The results had been consistent in showing that something less than a majority would stand for Osvaldo, for whatever reason. Rigel wished he could reassure her by letting her know that de Cadiz was voting with his old fellow travelers sometimes, abstaining the rest, in order to keep his secret, but it wasn't time -- nor would it have given a majority.

Instead, he did his own complaining. "Who ever decided the Heir had to be confirmed by a majority?" he fumed. "Why can't you just inherit and be done with it?!"

Lady Rosalina smiled, barely. "Lord FitzWin, you know the answer to that: it is too easy for an heir to be a simpleton or fool. Doing it this way has saved us from more than one."

"And this time it's keeping you from getting a high-quality man in the job!"

She looked troubled. "But if we do not follow the statutes...." Rosalina groped for words.

Rigel sighed. "I don't mean that. But there's something wrong with the system when it keeps a good man who's the right one for the job from just stepping up and going to work."

"It's not the system, Rigel", Rita said.

Rigel jumped. "Don't do that! Warn me when you're coming!"

Both women laughed. "You were so intent, I could have blown a trumpet and you wouldn't have heard it", Rita told him.

That got a weak chuckle. "So long as it wasn't the Horn of Escobar", he corrected. "That would call me from a coma. Anyway -- what did you say?"

"It's not the system. The system was set up for sensible and honorable men. Men out there aren't being sensible or honorable or both. They're operating on feuds, and on habits, and on alliances that don't mean anything because key figures are dead or missing, and on pride." Rita paused, noting that Austin and Chen were listening; she motioned them closer. "No system will work when men are doing those things -- you can have a monarchy, a republic, a democracy, statutes, regulations, laws, a constitution, and none of it means a thing if men aren't acting in a rational, sensible way. When they get too focused on themselves, and not on those they lead or serve or on the whole, all systems break down."

"Like Congress was broken back home", Austin suggested. "It didn't matter who had the seats, they just kept doing the same things and the rich kept getting richer." Where Rita's more clinical explanation hadn't gotten through, Austin's down-to-earth comment did. Rigel grinned wryly.

"Okay -- it's the people. So, Lady Escobar, which ones should I insult and kill to change the numbers?" Rigel asked.

"How favorable would you like the numbers?" Rosalina teased back.

"Enough we can all go home after lunch tomorrow", Rigel told her.

"If you killed that many, we would still not go home after lunch -- the servants would need longer than that to clean the blood from the chamber." Lady Rosalina said it so calmly everyone laughed. It brought stares, along with dark looks and speculative ones.

"Oh, very good", Rita said softly. "Now they wonder why we can be so light-hearted. This would be a good time to leave -- and leave them wondering." She reached her hand to Rigel, who stood and offered an elbow. Chen escorted Lady Rosalina, and Austin led the way. As they passed a group of lords near the exit, one scowled. For no reason he could explain, that set Chen to laughing, and the others joined in.


Next day, it was real. Lord Ortega, delaying, stubbornly ran through every single item suggested by anyone. It grew tedious, to the point that it was only his prestige and the respect in which he was held that kept the Council in order. But finally it was all done. "I thank you for your indulgence", the Regent stated. "This may be a historic day -- no request, no petition, no suggestion for business, and no complaint has gone by unheeded. Now if perhaps I have missed anything?!" The Chamber broke into mingled protests and laughter.

"He has not lost his touch", observed Lady Escobar with admiration. "He has made them glad to have endured it all, focused them, relaxed them. If Osvaldo could not be Heir, we could do far worse than our old friend."

Ortega let the tumult subside. As it did, anyone with ears could tell that the background chatter was lighter, tension gone. But as he waited for quiet, a new tension began to build: everyone present began to realize that the matter for which they'd all gathered had now to be faced.
"I am Regent Heir of House Escobar", Ortega proclaimed when he was satisfied with the noise level. "I call this council to consider my replacement with an Heir, of the blood. Will any stand forth?"

Osvaldo shed the humble cloak he'd hidden under, handing it to Miguel. A few score exclamations sounded through the chamber, plus as many curses, since most had yet to gain even a hint he'd made it to the city safe and sound -- and more than a few were dismayed at the proof.

He wasn't an image of his father, this time. The hints were there, enough resemblance in dress and accessories to call his father to mind, but for those old enough to remember, there were also hints of his grandfather. Yet since riding with Rigel, he'd made a few things his own; the neckerchief adopted from the Scouts, the sash from the mounted riflemen, the second belt -- meant to hold a holster and revolver -- from the small group of privileged leaders, all marked him as different.
His choices were excellent, as well. Nothing clashed; it all worked as a whole, seeming to belong. Every item was immaculate, smoothed, pressed, polished to as much perfection as mortals may achieve. His skin was his own again, his hair back to his preferred style. He moved with the grace of a trained swordsman and fencer; added to it, the alertness of a cat.
All of it served to accent that this was not the same man who had brashly presumed to dominate a Council met only months before. Here was no longer a mere boy hoping to stick his small feet in his father's large shoes, naively confident they would fit, but a man who had placed his father's shoes on a shelf and quietly put on his own -- which were now a few sizes larger than the time before. Here was one who knew his place, and while he realized that others expected to have a voice, had no doubt that the place was his regardless of what they said. Osvaldo came to a halt before Ortega, and bowed from the waist. "I stand forth", he declared.

"Give your name, and your lineage", Ortega responded in time-honored ritual. Nearly everyone in the room tuned Osvaldo out, then; most of them knew the line as well as he did, so they turned their attention to assessing the reactions of their neighbors, and of the greater lords.

Rigel devoted his time to a problem that had been nagging at him: if there were a quarter million Escobarians, and three hundred eighty lords, how was it that numerous lords commanded over a hundred men? As he understood it, five workers were needed to keep one armed man in the field, so a hundred men meant six hundred total, plus women, and children! But the average, as best he could figure in his head, was about halfway between six and seven hundred, and that was including women and children.

Rita whispered in his ear. "It's the hidalgos, Rye. The poor caballeros of rank yet without retainers or more than a plot of land. They are masters of barely enough to keep themselves equipped, but they count. A hundred of them means thousands of people who can be attached to other lords, and thousands in the cities. Other lords have only a manor, not a castle, and command only a few score people, perhaps a hundred. The ones with more than a score fighting men are not many."
Rigel didn't bother any longer how she did it; she just would have said, "I'm a wise woman". Instead he considered her words, and nodded: most had only a few, which meant some had many.

Osvaldo finished his formal recital from the Lord Manuel Jadriano Ferdinando Escobar who had sent his House to Refuge, and bowed to Ortega. "We welcome Osvaldo", Ortega began -- though it was clear from some faces that he wasn't welcome at all in a few quarters -- and went on with flowery phrases mostly ignored: the attention of those who were alert was on the reactions to this "welcome": some stood as Osvaldo walked back to his seat, some pointedly watched Ortega, and a smaller portion turned to chat with their neighbors or companions. Rigel would have considered it just a mix of behaviors, before; now, thanks to his various tutors, he saw lords supporting Osvaldo, lords opposing him, and lords whose attention was available.

"It lies in the hands of the uncommitted", Lady Rosalina whispered to him as Ortega droned on. With her mouth near Rigel's ear, she almost missed the House Guard messenger who came in to speak with Ortega. But she saw him in time to read the hand-sign.

"Urgent. Gate guard changed early. Gates closing." She frowned as she passed the words on.

Chen put things together. "Someone's grabbed the gates. Someone's coming they don't want here."

"Maybe we should go for a walk on the walls?" Rigel suggested.

"Wait", Rosalina cautioned. "To leave now would... not help." Rigel inclined his head to her, deferring to her knowledge of the society.

Ortega handled their difficulty nicely when he was through with his flowery response to Osvaldo's appearance. "This has been a long session", he declared. "I declare an hour withdrawal, for refreshment and converse."

Several dozen lords headed almost immediately for the walls.


"That's Aodh, all right", Chen confirmed. "Looks like he's been through a bit. Tanner's got his back, though. Now they're coming ahead." He looked to Rigel for orders.

"You have your signal flags?" the Earl asked.

"Always", Chen replied. With the introduction of telescopes, Chen had decided that scouts should carry small versions of the large semaphore arms, allowing them to report to towers without actually going to them.

"Awesome. Here's the message...."


Lord Ortega arrived ten minutes after the slowest Council lord. He spoke with the officer commanding the unit which was on the schedule to replace the gate guard just a dozen minutes earlier; he spoke with the officer in charge of the unit which had actually taken charge of the gates -- and closed them. He listened briefly as Miguel spoke urgently to him and Chen signaled Rigel's camp outside the walls. Chen finished first; as he stepped back, Rigel put his hands on top of his head and interlaced his fingers. Then Ortega was nodding, and turning.

"Teniente, I am the Regent Heir, and may command this city. Outside approach a group bound for the Council: I bid you open the gates and give them entry."

"I have been instructed not to do so", the officer replied.

"I outrank whoever instructed you so", Ortega pointed out. "Now, open the gates, or I shall have them opened for you."

"He can do it, too", Rigel pointed out, grinning at the man, elbows high due to his hands on his head.

The officer glared at Rigel, taking the raised arms as an affront. "Put your hands down!" he ordered.

"I'd rather not", Rigel answered.

"Put them down!" the man yelled.

Rigel shrugged and looked at Ortega, then glanced at the gate, then beyond it to where his six cannon were lined up. The Regent made the connection, and nodded. Rigel looked back to the officer. "Just remember, you asked for it", he said, and dropped his hands.

Six cannon fired in a time of less than two seconds. Four of the six rounds slammed into the gates, three of them shattering the one on the left, leaving splintered remains hanging, still blocking the passage; the other crashed into the right gate, cracking it at the top. Another round skipped of the ground and crashed into the wall half a meter from the right gate; the last hit just below the battlements where the officer stood.

"Why did they do that?!" the officer screamed, losing his cool.

"You made me tell them to", Rigel replied. "Dropping my hands was the signal to fire." He couldn't remember the rest of the poem, or the author, only that there were lines about "if I had dropped my hands down low, as I have held them high", or something like that. Maybe he had it backwards, but it had stuck in his mind, and it made a good signal, easy to see from a distance.

"What?" The officer was confused. While he was confused, his men stood waiting for orders. While they waited, two dozen Rangers who'd crept in close to the walls stood. Half of them fired over-large crossbows loaded with bolts with grappling heads. Eleven came sailing over the battlements and skidded against the stone as Rangers pulled. Nine held fast, and down below crossbows were dropped and Rangers began dashing up the wall, walking up with the face as a floor. Rigel knew they were moving fast, faster than most people would believe when they were essentially rope climbing and walking up a wall. Still, the officer needed distracted a bit more.

"Those things out there are called cannon", he said. "The Regent wanted the gate open, and I offered to help. When I put my hands on my head, that told the men with the cannon to get them ready. When I dropped my hands, it meant to attack the gate. So when you told me to drop" -- a head with a green and brown Ranger headband peeked between crenelations; Rigel smiled -- "you told me to give the order to smash the gates. Now in just--" The six guns boomed again. This time all six struck true; the left-hand gate's remains tumbled into a heap, and the right-hand cracked neatly in two, the hinge piece still hanging, the other falling flat, inward.

The Rangers weren't the only ones who'd been moving. Aodh had closed two-thirds of the distance to the walls since the first cannon volley; now, he and his company charged. When the gates crashed in, they yelled; and the officer turned to look.

Rigel drew the Sword of Escobar and slapped the man across the side of the head. He got the blade back into its scabbard in time to grab one arm; the first Ranger over the top grabbed the other.

"Thank you, Lord Rigel:, said Regent Ortega. He raised his voice. "Any who were under this man's command, please surrender!" he called.

Men now confused and shocked by the sudden and rapid destruction of the gate, confronted with Rangers coming over the wall and their officer an unconscious prisoner, began dropping weapons and stretching out their arms, palms up and plainly empty.. Below, Aodh and a weary band rode triumphantly through the wreckage of the south city gates. In the middle of a group of grim-looking men rode nine figures in travel-stained cloaks. "Our missing lords", Rigel guess quietly as he watched them emerge from beneath the gate house and ride into the city. "Lord Ortega, if I may?" He gestured at the ragged column. Ortega nodded again.
"Rangers, give them an escort -- make sure those men make it to the Council. Chen, signal Tanner -- I want teams here to clean up the mess we made and build a new gate. Then signal Aodh's people still out there to join them.
"And I", he concluded, "want something stiff to drink."

Three hundred and seventy-eight lords took their seats, the number complete with the arrival of those escorted by Aodh. They'd been trapped in a town, essentially held captive by a siege conducted for precisely that purpose. Aodh had received word, taken the non-combatants from the unconventional loyalist camp to a safe town, and proceeded to send in Rangers to infiltrate enemy lines, then conducted a diversionary attack to give them and the rescued lords a chance to get out. They'd succeeded, at a cost of twenty-seven men. One lord had been severely injured, but Lumina had taken care of that.

What Rigel knew, and a few others, was that Jaspar de Medina was present, making three hundred seventy-nine. What he knew, and no one else in the hall but Austin, was that among the Rangers who'd ridden back with Aodh was one Tomas de Orofino -- his complete name: Tomas Martin Terens Alfonso de Orofino. They had their three hundred eighty lords, a complete council for the first time in... well, a long one. Five lords had ridden back from the lake where they were beginning settlement of their new lands, and even Perez and Ramos had representatives, their heirs.

A lord Rigel didn't know stood the moment Ortega laid his sword across the podium to signal taking his station as presiding lord, what any of the Snatched would have called the chair or president. Ortega took a moment to survey the chamber, then granted the floor.
"I set forth that the standings for Heir be closed." That simple statement made, he retreated to his seat.
One of the ragged bunch who'd come with Aodh was on his feet before the other sat. "I stand for the proposal." He remained on his feet. Then a lord on the far side of the chamber stood, and made the same statement.

Another lord stood. "I stand for immediate count." Another lord stood and seconded; then a third. After that other lords began to stand.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Rita whispered. "We have a motion and a second; they have a 'setting', a second, and a third." They'd watched the system before; Rigel decided she must actually be nervous, and talking because of it.

"Maybe it's not such a bad idea", he replied quietly. "Fewer silly proposals might get made."

De Medina and Alfonso de Orofino remained incognito, so the vote total came to three seventy-eight: one eighty-three standing, one seventy-seven opposed, eleven "with the assembly", the rest not taking a position.

"There is no decision. I declare the proposal unresolved", Ortega declared. "A glass' consideration, and I shall call by rank." That was within his discretion, but it brought hisses from many. It brought frustration from Rigel, who fidgeted until Austin took initiative and got a cold mug of fruity ale -- a very large mug, probably a liter or more. Once thus calmed, he undertook a question.

"Lady Rosalina" -- he dared not use the familiar form in public -- "the 'standing' had more -- why isn't it settled?"

"On a matter such as this, if there is no majority, a declaration of 'with the assembly' becomes a failure to stand for or against. Lord Ortega could have singled those out and demanded their position, but that would have offended them. So we consider, and watch the glass go by, and try to persuade those we might."

"You're not trying any persuasion", he observed.

She smiled. "None who might be swayed by me are uncommitted. I have done all I can." That Rigel understood, though it wasn't so long ago that he wouldn’t have, so he lifted his mega-mug in salute.

The roll call was tedious. At the end, it stood at an unsatisfactory one-ninety-one to one-eighty-four, with three taking no position. Ortega call a break of an hour -- an hour for bribes, threats, persuasion.

And for three assassination attempts. The Shadows of Escobar did their job, thoughas did Rigel’s snipers, to judge from a lone rifle shot two-thirds of the way through the break. Three unauthorized assassins were committed to the refuse heap.

Three shaken and angry lords took their seats. All three stood when Ortega's sword came to rest. Ortega looked at them one at a time, but he didn't nod. Instead, he lifted a sheet of paper. "Brothers, I have a report. Attempts were made on your lives. I wish no emotion in our consideration, so I will not give to any of you to speak.
"However, I have this to say to the Council: a single man was responsible for these acts. When his identity is established, I will impose the maximum penalty." A chill ran through the assembled lords, for the maximum penalty was death -- after stripping of titles and estates. If they were lucky, any sons might make a life as hidalgos. "I do not say this lightly", the Regent continued. "It is no light matter to make use of assassination. It is a very dark matter to do so in the election of an Heir. As this occurred while I stand here, it remains under my authority even once we have an Heir. Doubt not: I shall pursue this, and the penalty shall be paid."

"He knows who it is", Rosalina whispered. "He does not say so, because the lords would resent him taking one of their number from the Council while it sits."

"And some would think he's trying to reduce the number of votes on one side?" Rita ventured.

"That also", the Lady said grimly. "Some will be angry anyway. We have lost votes. But no matter what Lord Ortega did we would have lost votes. In that, this was well-played."

"Frakking stupid system where assassination attempts can be called 'well played'", Rigel growled. "So let's vote, already!"

"... discussion is closed", Ortega was saying. "Now, who stands for closing the standing for Heir?"

The result was one-eighty-nine to one-eighty-six, with three stubborn abstentions. Ortega sighed and looked around the chamber. He was going to call another recess, then another roll. Lady Rosalina knew the roll wouldn't change anything, and whispered so.

But the vote changed: Jaspar de Medina stood and walked to the middle, shedding his cloak. His clothes underneath were rich, splendor in style and execution and materials, a sight demanding attention. "I am Jaspar de Medina, son of Kenhar, son of Avram, son of...." He recited his lineage back to what his family called the Joining, when their isolated nomadic tribe had allied with the Escobars and become a House. "I claim standing in this Council."

Ortega's face lightened. It couldn't have been evident to many, but those near, and those who knew him, could tell. "I recognize the de Medina. Though proscribed by the Heirage, you are welcome in this Council. What say you?"

"I say that this Council has lost its way. The issue is clear: there is but one candidate for Heir -- if any would, I am able to recite the lineages. Delay is unconscionable. I stand for closing the standings for Heir."

Over a dozen angry lords leapt to their feet, yelling. Ortega turned his back. "He signifies that he does not see their misbehavior, so he does not have to judge them", Lady Rosalina explained. "He could expel them, but...."

"But it would make others angry", Rita finished, shaking her head. "This is crazy."

The chamber suddenly stilled. Rigel had recognized the hiss of steel on steel, the draw of blade from scabbard -- but not the sing of a fine blade; the sword wasn't all the way out. "Does one challenge my right to stand here?" Jaspar asked quietly, coldly... deadly. "Or more than one? The ancient way is the blade -- shall you be silent, or draw?"

For a moment, Rigel dared hope. But two lords nodded to each other, drew, and advanced. "That's not fair!" Austin protested.

"No, it isn't", Osvaldo responded. "If five came against him, it would be fair. Watch."

In under a minute, the whole Council knew the truth of his words: Jaspar waited until they were close, and moving to put one on each of his sides, when they were just too far apart to support each other, still too close for one to come at his back while he engaged the other. His speed was beyond belief, his blade a blur as he went from statue to force of nature in a fraction of the blink of an eye: wrist twisted, sword swept down, turned, cut up, and slashed the forearm supporting his opponent's sword before the other had hardly moved, then back to slap the sword from the man's reach. The Persian spun, dropping low, and met the other lord's blade on its way down; he slid it far to the side and rolled the other way, coming to his feet and without pause going straight into a lunge. He could have killed his opponent, blade deep in the gut and out the other side, but with a flick of the wrist he again slashed his foe's sword arm. Another time he spun, reaching the first lord's sword in time to slash his other forearm, scoop up the sword, and toss it upward, right toward Rigel. Grinning, Osvaldo jumped up on a bench, knocking a servant aside to catch the blade, at the cost of a deep cut on his left hand. Down on the open floor, Jaspar stood with the tip of his blade at the second opponent's throat. "Yield your life, and you may continue it", he declared.

The man stared, looked down at the blood from his forearm pooling on the floor, measured the distance to his blade with his eyes, scanned the assembly. "I yield", he said unhappily. "He is in effect a vassal of the de Medina", explained Lady Rosalina.

Rigel whistled. "High cost", he judged.

"For his life?" Rita asked. "Seems pretty fair, in this society. Think, Rye: it reduces such challenges; your life is on the line, and if an opponent grants it, you still pay a high price. It's checks and balances."

"I can see problems", he countered. "ways to game the system."

"There always are. And there are counter forces, in any stable society. Now watch."

Jaspar had approached the first man. The man spat at him. Jaspar's expression didn't change, but he looked the direction from which the man had come. "Is his heir present?" he called, a soft voice but pitched to be heard.

A shaking servant stood. "He is in the city", came the quaking voice.

Jaspar nodded. "I would not deprive the House a voice in Council. Presider, might he be summoned?"

Ortega had turned to witness the duel. Now he nodded. "Go to your heir, and say the Council requests his presence." No one moved; Jaspar's sword didn’t stray from its position pointing toward the fallen lord -- quite fallen, in fact, as his forearms wouldn't bear his weight to get up.

When the heir arrived, minutes later -- the servant was drenched in sweat -- he immediately looked to Ortega. Ortega pointed to the floor. Jaspar spoke. "You are his heir?"

"I am, but-- no!!!!" The young man charged forward, but not in time to prevent Jaspar's blade from puncturing the lord's back, and his heart.

"You now stand for your House", said Ortega wearily. "Your uncle was slain in honorable combat, by a challenge of his own choice. Do you know the customs and ways of the Council?"

"I do." The young man glared at Jaspar. "Demon!" he hissed.

"I reserve the taking of offense until after Council", Jaspar stated in the same calm voice he'd used throughout. "I will not deprive your House of a voice."

"Now both of you sit", admonished Lord Ortega. He didn't wait until they'd reached their seats. "We move to the matter of the Heir. I will call by rank."

Osvaldo handed Austin a piece of paper; the squire dashed to Ortega and delivered it. So it happened that in the course of the roll, an unexpected name was called: "Tomas Martin Terens Alfonso de Orofino, for House Alfonso do Orofino", Ortega read, a smile on his face. Tomas proudly stood, indicating support for Osvaldo.

Soon came the moment they'd waited for. "Lord Felix Stefan Amar de Cadiz, for House de Cadiz." Turmoil broke out when the powerful lord stood. Unasked, his vassals stood as well. Three allies joined them. Regent Ortega opened his mouth to call for order, but events were already out of his hands.

Jaspar had stepped forward again, dragging Osvaldo with him. "Is there still honor in Great House Escobar? Are you not all brothers? Will not all stand for the Heir of him who stood fast when all around played the coward and fled? Does not blood cry to blood?" He lifted Osvaldo's hand that had caught the tossed sword. "Here see the blood of Escobar! Will you sit for yourselves, as those not your ancestors did, or will you stand and be Escobar?!"

It began with the youngest, and with the rest of de Cadiz allies. They stood, and pulled neighbors to their feet, until a third stood. Ortega was ready to announce the result, but de Medina had another card to play: he turned to face Osvaldo.

"Your brothers have confirmed you Heir. By the Heirage, my House is proscribed. So I say this:" He held out his sword, still bloody, in both hands, and turned his palms down, a surrender of the weapon. "Take up my sword, the Sword of my House. If we are still proscribed", he went on, kneeling as he did, still holding up the blade, "strike off my head." He bowed that head to bare his neck.

Osvaldo swallowed hard, and took the sword. He rested the blade on his shoulder, and his own blood marked the hilt, for he had taken it with his left hand. He looked around the chamber. "We hold honor as the highest virtue. Some are born with it, some learn it, some never attain it. It is the same with wisdom: some have it inborn, others must acquire it, some few are fools all their days." He caught many of the eyes looking toward him, all those of the great lords. As he caught those of the heirs of Perez and Ramos, those men stood, too; young Perez tugged at a friend, then another, and they stood with him.
"One ancestor of mine was a fool. He proscribed a House for no other reason than a delusion. It is written that our Lord is a maker of worlds; who are we to say that He has not made others than that from which we sprang? Yet my ancestor claimed to tell our Lord what He might do -- and in this he erred.
"The de Medina are good Christians. They sprang of a world where Mohammed was obedient to Allah, which is another name for God. They came to us by His providence, in His plan. This I say as Heir. Unless the priests in convocation determine it false, it stands.
"And the de Medina have honor. Never have they raised violence against our House" -- all heard the emphasis that indicated he included all of them -- "even when we persecuted them. Even now, come to this Council by right, now that there is an Heir, they do not resist. Here kneels the lord of their House, ready to die if that is my will."
He raised his voice in challenge. "Who among us has remained obedient as far? His ancestors swore an oath, and he abides by it to the death! Would any of you come so, to show your loyalty, your obedience?!" An intense, tense silence was his answer. The Heir looked down.
"Jaspar de Medina, I will not have your life. You have shown us what honor is. Here is my reward: your House will be recompensed for all that was taken from it. More shall be given, for you would have grown in wealth in the time you have found need to hide. And I release you from your vows as vassal; I would be proud to call you ally." He bent and took Jaspar's hand. "And friend", he added, eye to eye. "Now take back your sword, and bear it always in honor." The two embraced, then Osvaldo turned to Ortega.
"Lord Presider, I believe we were standing, or not."
Ortega's somber face broke into a smile. "Indeed, lord Osvaldo." He looked around. "Do any others wish to stand for lord Osvaldo?"

One by one, all but three stubborn holdouts got to their feet.

 

[Kyanimal]

!!!

Awesome! Stupendous! Inspirational! Intriguing! Educational! Thrilling! AMAZING!!

"Resistance is Futile!!!"

However, there are still some, who in the tunnel vision of their own, inward, self interest, do not yet see "The Light"! Woe be to them!

I do believe, that most of what Rye & Co. came to accomplish in Refuge, has finally born righteous fruit!

THANK YOU!, Kuli, for this most Excellent Adventure!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Críostóir]

This is very cool stuff. I don't quite understand the system here. Everyone has to vote, or no decision can be made? Why are abstentions allowed in such a system? That's like giving everyone a veto on everything.

And Kuli is so clever. I refer to this bit:

Rita caught Austin's attention and motioned him to drop back with her, for privacy. "You and Oran haven't been making your 'L'ard Ree-gel' cracks for a while. What's up?"

"He says you have sharp elbows", Austin answered. "Then it kinda stopped seeming funny. And if it bugged you that much...." He shrugged. "I thought you just didn't want him doing it front of the British earl."

Maybe they're growing up, she thought. "True", she admitted. "But Rigel was really getting tired of it." And none of you thought through those particular syllables in one of the tongues we speak -- all we'd need is some of the older Celts hearing them!

'Ard-Ri' is Irish for "High King," meaning the King over all other Kings.

 

[Kulindahr]

This is very cool stuff. I don't quite understand the system here. Everyone has to vote, or no decision can be made? Why are abstentions allowed in such a system? That's like giving everyone a veto on everything.

It's not quite so simplistic.
Recall the previous council, where there were "with the assembly" and "not standing" (i.e. abstention) votes, and things proceeded. What it comes down to is that one some kinds of issues, a plurality counts and those "with the assembly" votes become whatever had the plurality, but on some issue there has to be a majority, and of there isn't, you vote until there is one. A parliamentary shortcut on truly important issues is to call the roll of the "WTA" and "NS" votes and require an actual position be taken; the more polite method is to call for a new vote.

Confirming an Heir does not allow pluralities, so the "with the assembly votes" became meaningless once it was evident there was no majority. The only place for votes to come from to get a majority is from those who voted "WTA" or "NS", so technically those votes are rendered void and have to be re-done. Ortega took the polite, and politically expedient route of having a complete re-vote.

Then young Persian Mohammedan-Rite Christian knight Jaspar had to employ charisma and disrupt the proceedings -- or bring a different sort of order, depending on one's perspective.

Just for information's sake, there are issues requiring a greater majority, either 3/5 or 2/3 or 4/5, depending on the issue. The "WTA" votes work the same way there; if there's no greater majority reached, those become non-votes because there's no "(will of the) assembly" to go with.

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
It took me awhile to get here - I started by trying to get caught up on the shorter thread installments earlier in the evening, while watching a movie with family. I found myself falling asleep during Dave and Craig, then fought my way back awake, finished the story I'd meant to read earlier, hit refresh, and saw Chaz's post as a reminder - It's 3AM EDT, and you're just coming up on midnight, and still up by my buddy list.

I see our good friend Criostoir has posted during my reading, and you've replied on the finer points of Robert's Rules - or Parliamentary Procedure, as the case may be.

But I digress. I think the aforementioned Chaz was pretty much Spot on in his analysis of the last chapter. It was GREAT! To be sure, it was another epic installment, and I loved the continued "hiding in almost plain sight" of Osvaldo - it certainly gave him a much better and totally unbiased perspective on the events of House de Cadiz and House de Medina.

And our good Mercenary in the truest sense, Aodh definitely fought the good fight in the hinterlands.

And what an ironic twist - you broadcast it so well for us - "If you insist" . . . KaBOOOM! LOL

But, the full 380 houses represented, and the strength of conviction and passion of belief in a purpose greater than oneself that both Osvaldo and Jaspar exhibited, along with the good don de Cadiz. It was a magnificent stage and oratory - to say nothing of the trial by blade - don't mess w/ Arabian Steel and Arabian "Knights".

My hat is off to you, sir Kuli, author extraordinaire.

 

[Kulindahr]

Connections​

Devon ran a finger across the map the Scouts had put together, pausing at a spot here, a spot there. "Your route won't work", he told Ryan. "A straight line that far will have too many problems crossing under all that. If it was one solid ridge, it would be okay on some levels, but still have other problems. The biggest one is ventilation -- more than a couple of kilometers and you start getting either dead air or a howling wind that will knock people over." He grabbed a handful of used matches from by the nearest lamp.
"So here's how this will go: this valley, the report says it's big enough to support a village, has a little lake. So we go from where the Valley of Horses bends back toward Devon's Mills, into the close end of the valley." He set a matchstick in place. "That's seven kilometers, not too bad. Now, there's this odd flat place, looks to me like a big canyon filled with glacial debris. The report says it's got trees, kinda sparse, but there's a stream with traces of gold, and besides some of the trees are rare, like blue oak, so a village could support itself there. So we tunnel from the first valley to this spot, all of five klicks. That'll be uphill, about a two percent grade, not bad at all. The real trouble there is from what the Scouts say about the wind, for at least half the year it'll be like a funnel for wind out of the valley, and the other half off the flat spot. So the ends will have to have jogs in them and gates to keep the wind down. That won't be good for ventilation, but if once a week or more often they open the gates and let the wind rip through it'll be okay. So from Cavern Hold to a castle there will have a dozen klicks of tunnel and nine of road.
"I know you want it open for winter, but we don't have to stay underground to do that. I've got a steam-powered snowplow designed, prototype will be ready by Samhain or whatever the Celts call Halloween. It'll be faster than the horse-driven one. Now that we have plenty of ore, I can get two built by Solstice. We'll keep one up here for the upper roads, put the other one below to keep things clear to our villages. Servant Village can fend for itself, the way they've been dissing us. Anyway, with a plow, we can keep cutting all winter. Anaph gave permission to cut blue oak for rails, so long as we collect acorns and plant new trees, so we'll run a rail line as we go. That way we can cut the stone into blocks for building, and stack them for use. When we get all the way through to the valley, we'll have the stone to throw up a castle fast once we set a foundation.
"We might get the first leg done this winter -- if we use two cutters I can about promise it. So a new village and castle could go in when Spring arrives, in time to plant and be self-supporting. The thing that might slow us up will be the rock under those mountains -- we'll have to turn the whole thing into a tight arch all the way, and pump concrete up above to fill the cavities. If there are any cave-ins...." The Engineer shrugged. "No way to predict, no way to plan for time to deal with them." He paused for a drink of herbal ale that Ocean's people had come up with. It was only four percent alcohol, but it was nutritious and invigorating. Devon appreciated being able to get a buzz and stay energetic; beer had always tended to put him to sleep.

"You'll be making 'way more building stone than a castle and village will need", Ryan noted. "Rigel's and my new vassals will be happy about that."

Devon nodded. "That's one reason I agreed to this crazy idea. I know, it will show that Perez fellow and his friend Ramos that we're powerful, and make contact with them easier, and maybe give a more direct trade route to part of Quistador territory, but we're going to need mountains of stone for all those estates. I figure a kilometer of tunnel will give enough stone for three good castles, so on these two stretches we're looking at enough for thirty-six castles.
"Trouble is, they'll need stone up there in the Spring. So once I can get a team up there, they'll start here" -- he tapped a place less than a kilometer from the spot Ryan had chosen -- "and tunnel from the other side. It'll be two links again, six klicks and five klicks. No village at the first gap, though; it's just a steep-sided canyon. But according to the report, that canyon runs uphill this way" -- he traced it on the map with a matchstick -- "and I need that climb so the next section won't be too steep in the tunnel. Also I want the gap for ventilation purposes. So that first part goes here" -- he placed a matchstick -- "and then we cut down to the flat spot." Devon set down another matchstick for the final section of tunnel. "That's a total of almot twenty-four klicks of tunnel, and twenty-two of road. That doesn't count the road up the ridge to Ramos' place; I haven't even looked at that part. I'll wait till the Scouts decide on the best route -- by then we'll have mounds of rock scrap for the road base, and lots of hands to build it, from all the new estates.
"Anyway, we tunnel from the other end as fast as we can, to give building stone to all those new estates. I figure they won't just be building castles, but putting defensive walls around their plateaus, so one estate will be a klick of tunnel. If just six estates go in next year, we'll be able to supply the stone. If anyone needs more, they'll have to do their own quarrying." He looked up from the map. "And nobody gets a cutter. We have three, and they'll all be on your tunnel road till it's done."

Ryan saw one problem. "What if Rigel wants one?"

"He can wait in line. The cutters are Engineer property now. There's no sign they run out of power, but that doesn't mean they can go everywhere. You lords have to build up your center of powrr so it looks like a real civilization to visitors. Antonio buying slaves and turning them into peasants is fantastic. There'll be more Celts, a few thousand anyway. Getting these Houses from Lord Escobar is excellent. In a couple of years it'll be a regular kingdom.
"But a kingdom needs roads. If Rigel wants roads, I need the cutters. You'll all get a supply of building stone, but the more roads we build, the more everyone will have to do their own. So make more brick factories -- that one in Misfit and the other in Shelf are already strained."

Ryan restrained a laugh. Devon had always been a good student, but as a hands-on engineer he had turned into a dynamo. It had taken awhile for him to make the shift, to get confidence, to catch his stride, but now he was a force to be reckoned with. His confidence had grown to where he now gave orders to the lords -- and in his own sphere, that made sense, just as Lumina gave orders in hers. "Did you forget Rigel's road with bridges to the Perez estate?"

Devon snorted. "If he wants it stone, he'll have to wait. For now, Perez is on his own for winter." Then he realized Ryan was teasing. "Or maybe I'll design a giant furnace to keep the way thawed all season."

"Score", Ryan conceded. "So when is the tunnel done?"

"Tunnels, you mean." Devon looked down at his matchsticks on the map. "If no big disasters, early next winter. Almost definitely before two harvests from now."

Ryan considered the map. It merely confirmed what he'd already figured: he needed those dependable lesser houses up here, because he didn't really trust Perez.


Snow was falling. Anaph judged, from the lore imparted at the Stone, that this early winter would be a light one, followed by an early spring. Last year's blizzrds had been extreme, and generally that presaged a light winter following, with no great storms, except in the high mountains.
He looked to his traveling companion. There was no need to watch for the lad to be ready; he would announce it with his usual question, and Anaph would give his usual answer. It came soon enough.

"What are we doing today, great Druid?" The tone wasn't as insolent as when they'd started out.

"Walking", Anaph responded. "In the snow."

"Light flakes", the lad observed. "Too early."

"How do you determine that?" Anaph inquired as they moved out at a liesurely pace.

The lad shrugged. "Memories. Feel. Harvest was a little early. No 'second summer' followed it. Now we have snows, before Samhain."

"Knowledge is good", Anaph noted. "But develop your senses: can you tell how long this will last?"

The lad was quiet a while. "Not past midday", he said at last. "Then blue skies."

So Anaph had judged, and so it turned out. In mid-afternoon, they crested a ridge, bathed in sunshine, and Anaph pointed. "The castle of don Antonio de la Vega. If we were birds, we could be there for breakfast. Since we lack wings, following the trails will require three days."

The lad nodded. It meant they were more than halfway done with their journey.




"Never saw so many babes born in a day, I didn't", the midwife declared, wiping her brow. "All of them late, now they come all at once. And not a one looks much at all like its mother."

That was an understatement, Ocean thought. Every birth was twins, except for some triplets, and they all looked more like their father than mother -- and for a newborn, it says a great deal that he or she can be said to look like anyone at all except other newborns. "Only three left", she pointed out. "Maybe they'll wait till tomorrow."

No such luck came to them: the last of the offspring from the welcome the Servant People had given the Snatched were born before midnight.




“That’s it.” The leftenant of Engineers slid to the ground, stomping his feet and slapping his hands against his chest – the breeze wasn’t extreme, but it was cold enough to bring pain to extremities.

He’d just finished checking the installation of the arms for the last semaphore station for which he was responsible. For the second time he’d rejected the site selection made by the scouting party; the first had been because the solid spot chosen was a little too solid, and Wizard Lord Ryan had emphasized speed. This time had been because however good a spot it was – and it was a very good one – he was not going to sit a tower where its shadow would fall on a menhir! However much the Druids might insist any spirits were confined to the standing stone, they were only students: unless he heard it from High Druid Anaph himself, he wasn’t going to risk offending anyone if he could help it. So they’d cleared the top of an oddly-shaped hill, with a slightly concave face on the west and definitely convex on the east, and a top that was flat but not level, tilting instead to the north, about a five degree slope. The ground had boulders, embedded in a yellow-brown matrix that crumbled under the blows of their picks; to make the work easier he’d approved using a packed charge of powder in the middle of the area they wanted excavated.

The result was the reason they would be staying after the semaphore tower was finished: when the dust had settled, the crew had found their hole filling with water -- very hot water that smelled a bit like a smithy to someone standing right over the anvil when the smith cropped hot steel on it. Realizing the importance of what they’d found, the leftenant had ordered a new foundation for the tower, and set part of his team cleaning up the first hole. Now a large cabin attached to the side of the tower; either was complete, but both were sufficiently functional for the moment. As evidence of the one, the semaphore arms overhead were already beginning to send his report to Wizard Lord Ryan; of the second, the last of his team’s gear was being settled under the roof by their new hot spring. That resource meant what he built would become a castle in time.

As he listened to the smooth working of the tower gear, the leftenant toyed with the idea of sending a message for his promised, back in Misfit Village. He decided against it; the system was too open, for anyone who knew the code to read, and besides, he didn’t know what plans the Wizard would make when he learned about the hot spring. But in the morning he knew: the orders were to stay and turn the small outpost into something a lot better; a rifle squad and more workers would be coming. The leftenant smiled; early-morning connections were more secure in both directions.

Come join me, he sent.

 

[DonQuixote]

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . or castle, or cavern, or construction site, roads, outposts, etc., lol.

It was good to have a quick check back at the home front - and a burgeoning one it is, too - 9 months plus a tad they've been in, through, and beyond servant valley, eh? Twins, Twins, and more Twins, with a set of Triplets or so.

Are we in New Minneapolis/St. Paul? lol

It looks like the herbs and potions and encouraging given by Rita/Lumina all those many months has definitely come to bear fruit.

It's too bad that Servant Village is proving to be so stuck in the proverbial mud.

And isn't Devon getting big in the breeches? lol Good for him! They're forecasting making tunnels and roads a LOT more quickly with their cutters than we manage with our heavy equipment and explosives.

 

[Kulindahr]

It's too bad that Servant Village is proving to be so stuck in the proverbial mud.

They're undergoing a not-uncommon psychological reaction. In a way, it's a Hegelian kind of thing.

And isn't Devon getting big in the breeches? lol Good for him! They're forecasting making tunnels and roads a LOT more quickly with their cutters than we manage with our heavy equipment and explosives.

He doesn't have to deal with unions.

Or government regulations and paperwork, for that matter. Building a tunnel like the first leg, done here, would require drainage studies and then controls to keep particulates out of the local hydrological system -- that alone would take months.

And part of it is that using explosives is MESSY, besides time-consuming: bore a hole, pack the charge, set it off, pick up the debris, check the new surface... For Devon, it's slice the next block, stick it on a wagon, keep going. The hard part for Devon is the stone arch under the existing surface, but for the most part that's not even essential. He doesn't have to worry about where to "dump" his waste, either, since for the most part he doesn't have waste.

Roads will be far more time-consuming; remember that for now they're doing plank roads. I presume he's smart enough to make the plank roads to the side of where he wants the actual road.

I think the factor that really slows him is the ventilation shafts -- even with Ryan's tech toys, it still means one cutter for a couple of days for each shaft.

 

[Críostóir]

It's not quite so simplistic.
Recall the previous council, where there were "with the assembly" and "not standing" (i.e. abstention) votes, and things proceeded. What it comes down to is that one some kinds of issues, a plurality counts and those "with the assembly" votes become whatever had the plurality, but on some issue there has to be a majority, and of there isn't, you vote until there is one. A parliamentary shortcut on truly important issues is to call the roll of the "WTA" and "NS" votes and require an actual position be taken; the more polite method is to call for a new vote.

Confirming an Heir does not allow pluralities, so the "with the assembly votes" became meaningless once it was evident there was no majority. The only place for votes to come from to get a majority is from those who voted "WTA" or "NS", so technically those votes are rendered void and have to be re-done. Ortega took the polite, and politically expedient route of having a complete re-vote.

Then young Persian Mohammedan-Rite Christian knight Jaspar had to employ charisma and disrupt the proceedings -- or bring a different sort of order, depending on one's perspective.

Just for information's sake, there are issues requiring a greater majority, either 3/5 or 2/3 or 4/5, depending on the issue. The "WTA" votes work the same way there; if there's no greater majority reached, those become non-votes because there's no "(will of the) assembly" to go with.

But it seemed that everyone except the three holdouts was voting to accept Osvald. That's a huge majority, but it didn't seem to be settled even after that. Or am I misunderstanding your description?

 

[Kulindahr]

But it seemed that everyone except the three holdouts was voting to accept Osvald. That's a huge majority, but it didn't seem to be settled even after that. Or am I misunderstanding your description?

Huh. I thought it was clear from Lady Rosalina's comments on the process that he needed a clear majority. Jaspar took the process out of Oretga's hand, turning it from calling by rank to asking for an acclamation, was the only thing that changed. But a minority of under one percent stubbornly refused to stand to affirm/confirm him. The result is that Osvaldo's definitely Heir.

Of course, time will tell just how loyal some of those who stood at Jaspar's call will be.....

And I'll note that this was still just Council, not Conclave.

 

[DonQuixote]

Dontcha just love politics - and Families?
Remember, somewhere along the line, aren't these all descendents of House Escobar to some extent, except perhaps the de Medina?

 

[Kulindahr]

Dontcha just love politics - and Families?
Remember, somewhere along the line, aren't these all descendents of House Escobar to some extent, except perhaps the de Medina?

A percentage of the original Refugees were Escobar allies -- in the high single digits. But by now, as evidenced by the fact that at this point everyone in Refuge is descended from the one Aragon lady, they're all pretty much cousins anyway.

 

[Críostóir]

A percentage of the original Refugees were Escobar allies -- in the high single digits. But by now, as evidenced by the fact that at this point everyone in Refuge is descended from the one Aragon lady, they're all pretty much cousins anyway.

This is bad news genetically. Even if they don't have terrible expressed recessives, they'd have other inbreeding problems (a disease that kills any of them will kill ALL of them, stuff like that).

Clearly they need to interbreed with Celts and alt-Brits [STRIKE]and space aliens[/STRIKE] and the Snatched!