Marshal
"I do not disparage your gift of freedom for my House", Jaspar de Medina told Osvaldo, "yet I find I must ask: is this a way of saying there are no lands in Refuge, and we are not welcome?" He sat with the Heir, Lord Ortega, Rigel, and a half dozen others in the office that had been Lord Ortega's as Regent, and would remain his in his new office of Chancellor.
"No!" Osvaldo exclaimed, hurt. He scowled at the Lord who, although young, was still older than he himself was. "You sound like my mother -- twisting things."
Rita chuckled. "No fair, accusing her when she isn't here to defend herself. Besides, that is what it could look like. In fact you may have gotten support from some lords because that's what they thought, too. Your promise last week was noble, generous, and well-meant, but you have to see how things might look to others."
"I've never been very good at that", Osvaldo admitted. "And I didn't exactly stop to think." He looked up and over at Jaspar. "No, that wasn't what I meant. But you're right, there aren't any lands here. I could try to squeeze out some, but...."
Jaspar smiled. "But you would cause anger among the Council. This I understand quite well. My father trained me until he was taken by Allah five years ago, and my mother Jazreena does so still. There is a heritage in my House, I shall not say of deceit, but of convoluted workings, to let one action cover another, let one motive hide another. It is nothing we have practiced; our scrolls say it was so even after Saint Mohammed, blessed be his name. Thus I see always two, or three, or even more motives and causes for any action, and never trust that the obvious or given one is the actual."
"Maybe I should have made you an advisor", Osvaldo told him wryly. "So you didn't really believe what you asked?"
"I never believe anything until it is verified. By your actions since I met you, you have shown that what you say is what you mean. But in the interests of my House, I had to ask."
Rigel could see that Osvaldo was still uncomfortable. "Remember you're talking to two different people -- Jaspar your friend, who trusts you, and Lord de Medina, who has his House to protect and care for."
Osvaldo cocked his head a moment in thought, then nodded. "I understand. When I was little, I could be free to do many things as Osvaldo the boy that I couldn't do as Osvaldo the Prince Heir." He grinned. "And in your camp, I could stand guard at your tent and listen, as Osvaldo the guard, but never could have as Osvaldo the fugitive." That brought a laugh, though with a bitter edge: it still cut that the legitimate Prince Heir had needed to be a fugitive.
"Lord de Medina, I will swear on the Sword of my House if you wish: I meant no slight by this promise. I would rather you by my side, but you are right: the lands once yours have been now held too long by others; you cannot return there." Inspiration struck. "As earnest of my promise, I grant you three fortresses: formerly of the Guardians, they sit empty in Tesifón, in San Isidro, and in Balestra. There are lands with the latter two." The Heir paused. "Lord Ortega, where does the great fortress in Tesifón get its sustenance?"
"Gold." Ortega sighed. "A great deal was captured when it fell to us. Far more got away. From whence it came, I have not even a guess. Nor did your father, though he searched." The Chancellor hesitated, then forged ahead. "Signs were found that it was because of that search that he was killed."
"The love of money", Rita commented. "He must have been getting close."
Osvaldo looked sick. "The Guardians. I should burn their remaining fortresses around them!"
Chen shook his head. "Waste of good real estate. Find something useful for them to do." Osvaldo looked at him for a moment, then turned to Rigel.
"Friend Rigel, you need more work horses, and we need steeds worthy of caballeros....."
The messenger hesitated only a moment before trotting into the banquet hall. His orders had been plain: "without delay". He feared he'd already delayed, stopped for half an afternoon by a sudden snow storm that left the world a prettier place, slowed by falling asleep in the saddle so his horse ambled along nibbling. Now he could see the Heir, and nothing was going to delay him more. He plowed ahead through servitors and a pair of staggering guests leaning on each other for support as they walked, yet making little progress.
Austin, limited to only weak wine, saw him coming. He jabbed Rigel with an elbow and pointed; Rigel tapped Osvaldo on the shoulder and pointed. They weren't the only ones who'd seen; the progress of a messenger recently from the road, uniform wrinkled and stained, a determined look holding at bay the weariness on his face, got attention. When it became clear he was headed for the head table, conversations died or got put on hold. When the man stumbled as he knelt to give the Heir the message, and the guest of honor himself, Rigel Lord FitzWin caught and steadied him, silence fell.
"What passes?" Osvaldo inquired as he reached for the small message scroll.
The hall was quiet enough everyone could hear. "Foe. The Foe. Calles Maderas. Merida." The last was croaked. "For love of the Virgin, have you ale?"
Hostile eyes watched as Rigel seated the man in his own chair and went to Tanner. Now, they were thinking, he will run to safety; now we will see what use foreigners are. But they were sorely disappointed. "Tanner, how soon can we ride?"
Rita answered. "Rigel, we can't stay! We should have been away already!"
"But--"
Hedraing stood, a table and a half away. "Lord, your Wise woman speaks truth: we must go."
Rigel absorbed that. "Did Anaph call...?"
"Call? No. But there is need."
"And I have to get back to Healer Hall", Lumina reminded him. It was enough.
"All right -- we go home! But I'll be damned if I leave friends without help. Tanner, what can we spare? And I don't mean what it won't really bother us to do without, I mean everything we don't absolutely need to get home alive."
His Captain didn't hesitate. "The cannon, for starters. Then the supplies that go with them. Our old rifles, and ammunition."
Rigel nodded. "Yeah -- and Captain Aodh. Aodh!" he called, forgetting where the young officer was sitting.
"Sir!"
“Work through the riflemen and make yourself a team. You get all the cannon. How many people know how to make them?"
"Without the aid of a Druid? One, and two helpers."
"Then they’re yours", Rigel ordered. "Their job is to start making cannon. Work with the smiths to make them out of iron as soon as you can."
"Lord, that will make your party small", Aodh pointed out.
"We'll have Hedraing -- we can outrun any Foe." But his heart howled within him at the thought of running; his task was to destroy! But Escobar spoke within: Let the enemy choose the place of battle, and you have lost. Victory may be yours for the day, but if he commands you to a place once, he will do so again, and he will be ready. "Besides, we're not out to fight -- this time. I'll fight when I can pick my ground."
Aodh smiled slightly, and nodded. "Any limitations?"
"No. You can shoot all the prisoners you want. Except don't do it on a lord's fine rug. Captain, don't go chasing them. Make a line you can defend, and do so.
"Lord Heir? Is there anything we can do to aid you?"
Osvaldo had been asking himself that very thing, so he was ready with an answer. "Free up resources", he answered, a phrase he’d picked up from Tanner. "Your Wise Woman Lady Rita spoke of giving the poor new lives. If you could take some who wish to go...?"
"Done. One other thing -- there's a sort of tipped shelf of land north of the lake a bit. It's west of our path, but it looked like a good place for a castle. If you could send a House to get that started...?"
Osvaldo chuckled. "Done. You wish a place between the lake and your home, secure against the Foe?"
Rigel shook his head. "Not just one; a whole line of them. But that's a good place to start. And there’s another north of it....”
"Another House, then. And the our western line -- Guardians will hold it", Osvaldo declared with satisfaction. They'd been up all night, working with maps. Rigel rested easier knowing that it hadn't been a Foe attack, just a sighting. But it had been a sighting of a group large enough to have eaten the village of Calles Maderas, children, adults, pigs, and all, without hardly slowing. The "it" that he'd decreed the Guardians would hold was a line between two fingers of hills sticking out into the savanna. The area in between was large -- large enough to hold a House in need of lands, and two smaller ones besides. So besides being an ally, Jaspar de Medina was now Count Medina, with three vassals, the first settlers outside the Constant Hills themselves. The line itself would become a wall. To aid that, Austin would be staying with the cutter Rigel had been hauling around and spend two days -- no more -- slicing into the bedrock to get things started.
Near the village of Calles Maderas itself a fortress would be built, with two cannon. On the other finger of hills another would arise, with two more cannon. The other two would go in a place Osvaldo would choose.
"A nice solution", Ortega noted. "You wished to be rid of the Guardians; now they will be useful, and be far away. But you need a commander, my Heir -- you have too many other duties."
"I know. I should send someone to Lord Ryan's school." He glanced out the window at the light. "Some lords wanted to meet for breakfast. I think 'some' means several score. And I think they want cannon and rifles for themselves."
Rita nodded. "People are frightened. Horrible creatures from stories are suddenly very real. Older people who know because they've seen them sound like they're telling tales like the Oak Knight and the Lady Elm. But now it's real."
"Enough!" Lady Escobar slammed a bronze pitcher against the breakfast table. "My son is Heir, and you will heed him! My brother's diary is still in the cabinet", she noted more quietly. It struck Rigel like the hiss of a cold, deadly snake ready to strike. Rita whistled silently. "If I his mother can grasp that he is a man, certainly a flock of flighty lords can!"
"What was that about her brother's diary?" Rigel asked quietly.
Rita chuckled wickedly. "Her brother was a compulsive secret-finder. Supposedly he knew every black thing about every noble in Refuge that there was to know. But he was almost saintly, they say, so he would never have used it. But his personal possessions were delivered to Lady Rosalina two years ago, and rumor says one of the cabinets held his diary. She just reminded them that she has -- or everyone thinks she has -- all those secrets.
Osvaldo stepped up onto his chair and sat on the back -- with its pointy decorations, it couldn't have been comfortable. He looked around the room, then held out his hand; Miguel stuck a tall wine glass of redberry juice in it. The Heir sipped, and sighed.
"There are six cannon. One by itself against Foe will be overrun, so it would be useless. Two together can do damage to them. I would rather have three places that can actually do damage to the enemy than no places at all. So the answer is 'no' -- until the fortresses are at least earthen bulwarks and the cannon dug in, and then their number doubled, none of you get any.” He took another sip; it reminded Rosalina so of his father that she bit her lip.
"There are only so many war horses in the world. Earl Rigel, Lord Fitzwin, has nearly all of them. Out of friendship he gave me two dozen. Since we are allies, he has promised two dozen more. From these we can breed our own. But I will not badger him with requests, and I will not beg for you, because there are only so many horses in the world, and they only breed so fast..
"As for building the Wall, I don't care who thinks it's folly. We have to defend the Hills. Our ancestors have been fortunate that the Foe came rarely. Yet now they have attacked folk to our south, and they have scouted our Refuge. Listen to sense! It's easier to defend a short line than a long one! So we build the wall, our allies the de Medina get land they deserve, three minor Houses get out of their cramped lands. They are willing, and if they are willing, the rest of us should breath prayers of thanks to St. Michael and all the angels that we have such brave men, and women, among us.” He sipped again, savoring the rich flavor of the recently-harvested berries.
"I was given advice that I must find a commander for this venture, that it is too much for me with all else I must do. Your badgering and arguing here have shown me the truth of that -- you would drag me into dealing with petty things and leaving major things undone. So -- I must have a commander. And not just a commander, for I know not how long this war will last. I have spoken with Lord Rigel, to whom the Lord of Life has given the burden of taking this war to the Foe, and he does not know. He does not know if he will see the end of it, or hand it to another. I hope he doesn't fall in battle, because then the Sword of our Ancestor would come to me, and there are some other things I'd like to do first." Rigel raised his glass in salute, with a chuckle. "I plan on having this sword in my hand when the last Foe in the world dies", he assured his friend. Osvaldo smiled and raised his own glass, not quite as high.
"Well. A commander, but more -- someone who doesn't just lead troops, but knows foot, horse, engines, now cannon and rifle, who knows fortifications and supply, secret places for hiding, when to come out, when to strike -- all that and more. It must be someone who can keep faith when the world heeds fools and is against him, who will stand by those he defends when it risks his own life and even his House.
"Lady Rita tells me there was such an office in her homeland. It was called 'Marshal'. It didn't mean quite the same thing all the time, but we've taken from all that what we want it to mean: a lord who commands everything in the area he's assigned, to defeat the Foe.
"Not long ago I would have said the only man who was all that was my father. But while I was making my way here to stand before the Council, I found another." Lords held their breath in expectation. Osvaldo stood on the chair, then stepped down, motioning Rigel to stand. "My ancestor's Sword, friend", he requested. More than a few let out their breath, having half-feared their Heir would name this foreigner.
Osvaldo took the blade in bare hand as Rigel released it from bare hand. The young Heir seemed transformed, more than himself, but also a stronger self, risen to withstand a great deluge. His movements very formal, he turned.
"Lord de Cadiz, come forward!" he called. "Lords of Escobar, this man risked his own honor to uphold that of another. I can think of no one more to be entrusted with the care of our western border." De Cadiz, a bit dazed, arrived, and knelt when Miguel motioned him down. Osvaldo held the blade above the chosen lord's shoulder. "Lord de Cadiz, you have shown yourself a true caballero. Now be more: I name you Marshal of the western borders."
The man who had grown up taught that the main line of the Escobars was an enemy, had to be an enemy, showed no emotion. But as the Sword of Escobar touched his right shoulder, he felt a spark, and from the tiny jerk of the blade knew that the Heir had felt it, too. Their eyes met, and both in that moment knew the other could be trusted beyond a doubt. He took Osvaldo’s hand and rose. “As faithful an enemy I have been to your House, I shall be more so to these Foe.” There was shocked silence at the bald admission, then uncomfortable laughter. “My House will pay for a fortress on the Line, for this command’s center”, he added. “And give me this honor, for we are, as Lord Jaspar reminded us, all Escobars: let me be titled Marshal Escobar, and pass this title to one of my sons.” That brought gasps – and one angry curse, as a single lord kicked his chair back, rose, and stormed out.
“Do you think Marcos is ready for it?” Osvaldo asked. De Cadiz had four sons, and nine daughters, a bit more than the usual d’Aragon gene distribution; the Heir was getting in a suggestion.
“He’s got time to grow – I don’t plan on dying till Anastasia is weddable.” His youngest daughter was three – and his wife pregnant again. “But if you grant this, I make this rule: not the eldest, but the best, shall inherit the office.”
Osvaldo smiled, plainly pleased. “Then I grant it: Marshal Escobar you shall be – once you have a place to command from.”
Rigel departed two days later, leading quite a procession. Osvaldo had pragmatically chosen the two closest lesser Houses who had volunteered to settle new lands; their lords had already begun organizing. Under sons selected for competence, not seniority, each had a contingent ready in little more than a day, with more to follow. Both of thirty men and sixty women, fighters all – the women were archers – they took what they’d need to make a quick fort, and expand from there.
Leaving Austin was hard, but if the cutter was to be left in anyone’s hands, he was the obvious choice: Titanium could outrun any horse alive, and almost any horse could outrun a Foe. The squire set off for the planned line, accompanied by a squad hand-picked by Captain Aodh from his volunteer army, their assignment simply to guard Austin.
That army wasn’t disbanding, either; it had sworn to serve Osvaldo. That gave him a force greater than that of the two greatest lords combined, and if the House troops were counted, larger than the top three. That had seriously offended some, enough that six more lords had departed, refusing to stay for a Conclave. Osvaldo remained optimistic; Lady Rosalina worried.
But that was no longer their concern; duty called, and Rigel rode.
It was the rumble that got his attention, a rumble that seemed familiar. Austin had just made a cut across a point when two very different layers of rock lay in contact. His first though was earthquake, but some instinct said to turn. He spun on his left foot. All doubt as to why the rumble had seemed familiar disappeared: for the second time in a year, a wall of water was rushing toward him, and the distance to run to get clear was too great.
Calmly, his terror seeming like something on a movie screen, not real, Rigel’s squire turned and ran away from the slope that led out of the low spot. Cries of dismay followed him, but he knew what he was about. Facing a wall of water when you have no tools is one thing; facing it with a cutter in hand was another altogether, or so he told himself. In a few quick strides he reached the spot he wanted, nearly vertical, almost all solid rock – and he slashed, back and forth. It was a big step, almost knee high, but he jumped into it as his third slash shattered the slice of stone he’d made, leaving the opening he wanted. He slashed again, suddenly thinking he’d picked the wrong spot, because it was more than difficult to balance while cutting higher on a nearly vertical face. He had to slash off to the side, so climbing this time wasn’t as simple.
The water hit just as his head rose above the top. In his concentration, Austin didn’t see the hand that swept down a full second ahead of the water. Knowledge of its presence came with the arrival of the water, by the intense pain from the force of water tearing at him being countered in his scalp: someone had him by the hair! In his struggle to remain conscious, he focused on one thing: don’t lose the cutter!
A scream dragged him back from darkness, a scream and a curse, followed by a cry for their Healer. “He said to avoid that thing!” a voice yelled. “Let lord Jaspar attend to him, and stay clear!” Austin realized he hadn’t lost the cutter – the scream was the proof. As he wondered just what someone had lost, darkness claimed him again.
Someone’s hands were doing good things to his body. Austin had learned the art of staying relaxed, so whoever it was kept working, unaware his subject was awake.. Before too long, though, the bladder pressure that had brought him into wakefulness forced him to abandon the pretense. He stretched, and rolled over to find himself facing a young Persian, one of Jaspar’s people. For the first time since being Snatched, he found himself truly embarrassed by his body’s reaction to the contact... almost caresses.
“We are taught that healing is aided by pleasure”, the man said. “I hope you recover well.”
Austin didn’t know what to say, so he dashed to take care of business. He liked that the de Medina effectively had portable outhouses, tents with seats made to go over the holes. When too many flies gathered, they poured in a light oil and lit it, scorching the surface so the flies weren’t as interested. He also liked that they didn’t mind people dashing about in bare skin, at least after dark – before, was definitely forbidden. It was definitely dark, though a hint of light in the east told him he really ought to hurry.
“You’re late leaving”, Osvaldo told him “Don’t push your horse to rush.”
Austin laughed. He really liked Osvaldo, especially the way he really cared about people important to him. “Push Titanium? Oz, Titanium doesn’t get pushed. He’s as good at not going anywhere as he is at getting places. He’ll give everything he can, and if I try to make him give more, he’ll still give what he can. Trust me – on a long ride like this, he picks the pace.”
Osvaldo looked Titanium in the eye. Something he saw there seemed to reassure him. “If I didn’t believe you, I’d insist he cover a few mares before you leave.”
“What, more than the two you’ve snuck in?” Osvaldo’s jaw dropped, making Austin laugh. “No worries – if he didn’t want to, it wouldn’t have worked. So who gets the foals?”
“Marshal Escobar, for the Line. They’ll go to no lord, only to protect Refuge.”
“How come you never did this before – make fortifications, I mean?”
“Some have. North of here there are estates with a continuous wall running for over two dozen kilometers.” He grinned wryly. “The wall is in some disrepair, but that is being changed. The size of the party of Foe has everyone frightened at least a little.”
Austin switched to what had been bothering him. “Where’d that water come from that hit me?” he asked. “That was freaky!”
“A small earthquake, friend Austin. You disturbed something, and rock shifted. Water suddenly poured out from a layer of round pebbles with mud.” He grinned. “The workers call it ‘Austin’s pond’. Water filled that hollow, then the ones north and south, and four south of those before it stopped spreading. Lord de Cadiz is delighted; he’s going to put his fortress here because it will have water. The Wall will move a little, to run along the water, making it harder for the Foe to reach the defenses – or truly, ‘Austin’s pond’ will be part of the defenses.”
“I should swim in it before I leave”, Austin joked.
“It
is warm water”, the Heir allowed, then grinned. “I knew you like swimming, so I let no one swim in it before you.”
Austin laughed. “Tonight, then – so no one will have to wear clothes to get there.”
Once word spread that he was awake and feeling fine, lord de Cadiz came to see him. “I need your aid, Squire. There is a massive boulder blocking our excavation, where we dig for the foundation of a castle wall.”
“I can deal with that”, Austin replied, grabbing the cutter – now secure in its case. He looked a question at the lord.
“No, it was not touched. Many argued it should be employed, as you were not awake to wield it. Heir Osvaldo, Lord Jaspar, the new Lord Gomez, and I told them all no.”
“Gomez?” Austin couldn’t place the name.
“His father died of a strange and horrible affliction, so evil they burned his room and those of two servants who caught it. He was the third son – the second is a priest, and the eldest...” De Cadiz took a deep breath. “When he learned of his father’s death, he began killing servants with his own hands, for letting such a horror in the house. Then he took his father’s wives, though it is forbidden.” The emphasis on “took” told Austin it wasn’t just appropriating them. “The younger defied the eldest and accused him; the eldest laughed. When the Council stood down after your confirmation, the eldest came home. The younger had already spoken with all the key retainers. The first night the new lord was home, as they supped, the younger stated his accusations again. He kept speaking of it, which made the eldest drink more and more. Finally the eldest grew angry, and took up blade. It was as the younger had planned; the eldest was unsteady from the drink, while he was sober, and had eaten only lightly.
“It was not even a contest. They sparred some minutes, until the younger had judged what he faced, and the eldest was blinded by anger. The younger disarmed him of their father’s blade, caught it, and drove it through the eldest’s heart. He declared softly, for only the closest to hear, ‘You made my mother bleed’. Then he twisted their father’s blade and drove his own up through the gut beside the heart. He said coldly, ‘Thus may all mother-rapers die’, and jerked both swords, cutting the heart from below and beside.
“So now Diego Gabriel Tiberio d’Aragon Gomez is Lord Gomez. I will be bold and say that the blood of his ancestress runs strong, and the Latin, more than the paternal. His father paid to see Osvaldo dead, his brother would not stand for him though nearly all did. When he came, he stood nowhere. Since then, he has seen the Heir and Lord Jaspar and yourself risk your own safety for ‘mere workingmen’, and he now stands as loyal as any.”
“What a way to kill your brother”, Austin muttered.
“He was not fit for life”, de Cadiz declared. Austin’s head snapped up at the phrase. “If you had a father as he did–“
“I do”, Austin snapped, cold and fiery. “If I could, I would do to him as Diego did to his brother!” Tears came to his eyes. “But he’s out of my reach.”
The very traditional lord was at a loss. He could not grasp hating one’s father enough to say such a thing, or to weep that it could not be accomplished. He stood uncomfortably. Rescue came in the form of Miguel sweeping into the tent, then Osvaldo and Jaspar, followed by young Gomez.
Miguel jumped to the wrong conclusion. “If you have harmed him–!”
De Cadiz shook his head. “He grieves over his father – not that his father fails, but that he cannot slay him.” He bowed toward Osvaldo, then Diego. “Lord Gomez, I told the Squire of your brother. He tells me his father is so vile he would slay him as you did the one who raped your mother.”
Diego’s face flashed to anger. “Squire Austin, I will aid you in reaching your father!” he declared impulsively.
“No one can reach him”, Austin said dully. He didn’t know if the tears were because he couldn’t reach his father, or because he’d never been able to reach his father, or because de Cadiz had used the words his father had used about him – that he was not fit for life.
Miguel had his own view of how to handle such things. “Squire Austin, would you like to destroy something?” he asked. Osvaldo suppressed a laugh.
Austin just nodded. “Lord de Cadiz, show me this boulder. It isn’t my father, but it will do for now.” Once he cut in, he realized it was beautiful stone, a rippled granite sparkling with pyrite. The sight defused his anger; he cut the rest carefully into slices that were as carefully hauled up to use for decorative stone.
After sunset he made the inaugural dive into Austin’s Pond. Floating on his back near midnight, an ice cold breeze making his chest tingle, he wondered if it really was impossible to reach his father. Could what had been Snatched be Returned?
Sunrise found him accepting a hot breakfast sandwich from Osvaldo and a hot-skin of
kaf from Jaspar. Austin didn’t really like the stuff, and he didn’t think it tasted much like coffee, but it definitely did a good job of keeping a guy warm. “I added honey”, Jaspar informed him with a smile, “but no milk – milk is bad for the skin.”
“Unless it’s fermented”, Osvaldo amended, “and you don’t want to be drinking that stuff!”
“Not on a ride like yours, no”, Jaspar agreed. “Ooska is for a long night by a great fire, with friendly girls–“
“Boys”, Osvaldo corrected. “Not all men want girls.”
Jaspar frowned. “How may the tribe increase, if man joins with man?”
Austin laughed. “We weren’t talking about wives, we were talking about fun!”
“So you will get married, and have sons?” Jaspar inquired.
Austin’s turned and looked east, and a little south. His eyes had a look of surprise. “Yes. She went with Rigel. I swore to care for her....” Puzzlement joined the surprise.
“And found you care for her”, Jaspar concluded. “So does Allah provide. Yet still you desire men?”
A grin washed away Austin’s previous expression. “All the time. That servant you sent me was fun.”
Jaspar looked scandalized, and Austin laughed. “I’m teasing. I offered, he declined, but was curious. I did show him a thing, though. He said if I were staying, there were some in your party who might wish my, um, ‘services’.” Osvaldo blushed and looked away; Miguel laughed, then he and Austin looked at Osvaldo and licked their lips.
Lord Jaspar frowned again and shook his head. “I do not understand this. But St. Mohammed said nothing against it in his purification of the church; indeed it is said he took solace from the company of young men when battle took him from his wives. Perhaps this is what he meant. But you ought say nothing of these things before Lord de Cadiz; he is not approving.”
“Marcos is”, two young men said at the same time. Austin and Miguel looked at each other in surprise, then laughed.
Osvaldo slapped his thigh for attention. “Time for you to leave, Squire Austin, friend – before you and Miguel begin fighting over the prettiest boys.”
“Why fight, when we can share, cousin?” Miguel asked. “But I have you to myself now, for a time. I like that – so friend Austin, do go away now”, he finished in mock severity.
“Lord de Cadiz comes”, Jaspar announced softly. The topic changed just that fast. It became a formal farewell, ended swiftly. Titanium was the one who made that decision, snorting and pawing at the ground.
“Train’s about to leave the station”, Austin observed, to totally blank looks. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll explain next year! You guys kill some Foe for me!”
Titanium took him north, along the Line, before cutting into wooded hills on an eastward road. Austin settled into the joy of riding, connecting with Titanium in a way he never had with any human until he was Snatched. He thought about Lord de Cadiz’ words, his declaration that the eldest Gomez son was not ‘fit for life’, and how Rigel had not just assured Austin that he was fit for life, but had told everyone else. He remembered how Tanner had hit Casey, and he’d hidden inside himself, knowing the blow was for him, but then Tanner had changed, and even joked with him sometimes about the new riflemen – asking once in a teasing tone, “How many of this batch would you like under you?” Ocean said that through Rigel the Universe had imposed harmony because Rigel loved them all; Dmitri, and Casey, and Tanner himself said God had changed Tanner’s heart.
God had certainly changed his heart, providing Valentina to him, when he never thought he’d ever find a girl more than a pleasant companion. That first impulse, with his declaration that he’d take care of her, and protect her, still surprised him. But as she shared his tent, things had changed....
. . . .
Austin awoke to weeping. He didn’t stop to think that he was nude; he only heard pain in Valentina’s sobs, and went to her instantly. “What wrong?” he asked, laying a hand gently on her shoulders. “Another dream?”
“They’re not dreams!” she hissed at him. “I go back there, and it happen again! It always happens the same way!” Rita had told him that was a feature of post-traumatic stress something-or-other, to relive the thing over and over. But that was her mind, not a time machine; she wasn’t really there, so didn’t that make it a dream?
“I’m sorry”, he whispered, agonizing with her. “If I’d just been there sooner....” He knew that was stupid as soon as he said it, and expected her to lecture him on being an idiot. But this time she didn’t; instead, she lifted the bee covers.
“You can be here now”, she whispered, imploring. “Don’t leave me alone!” So he slid in. She curled against his chest, he put an arm around her, and she fell asleep. Her breathing became even, rhythmic, and soon he was asleep.
He came awake again to her thrashing. Protective instinct made him turn from her, but that gave him an idea: if she was reliving it.... “Valentina!” he cried softly, but sharply, “get behind me! Hold tight, and they won’t be able to get to you!” He wanted to jump for joy when she complied; maybe this time he could make it different!
But it wasn’t that easy. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, piercing the skin. “They’re still coming!” she wailed. He wondered if she was still asleep, but there was no time to think about that: he had to change this dream! He closed his eyes and pictured the tent–her sandals were by the bed; maybe he could reach one.... It was a stretch, but he managed without pulling away from her. Getting a good grip on the sandal, he whacked it against the ground. I wasn’t a very satisfactory sound, so he tried again. He felt her cling more tightly, her left leg slipping between his. “Hit him again!” she whimpered. “Get him away!”
So Austin slapped whatever he could reach – the ground, the thin mattress, his own leg, the short leg of the low cot. Suddenly she was sobbing, clinging to him tightly. Her hand stroked his chest. “Oh, Austin, you were there! But you stopped them! They grabbed me, but you were in the way! They kept trying, but you were in the way.... then I woke up, holding you.” She gasped; her wandering hand had just found his crotch. Austin nearly panicked; he didn’t know how he would explain. But the hand made an exploratory tap, then withdrew.
“You’re not like them”, she whispered, kissing his neck. “Here you are with me, but your... animal isn’t roused!”
Austin like the word she’d chosen: “animal” was a prefect description for that part of a man, roused by its own instincts, hardly subject at all to conscious decisions, full of desires and appetites. He’d told her, but didn’t think she’d really understood, that his “animal” roused for good-looking young men. He thought he’d never been so glad in his life to be gay, because not being aroused by girls had just help comfort a girl he cared for.
As he thought it, he realized it was more true than he realized: he wanted to turn, pull her close, kiss her – and never be apart!
. . . .
They hadn’t been, much. Several nights she’d fallen asleep on top of him, both of them nude. Valentina had said it made her feel there were men who were safe, having him close like that, nothing between them, and him not lusting for her. “She’s right, too”, he told Titanium as they raced along the road. “I hold her close and don’t get hard – but she has my heart. How did that happen?” Titanium answered with a snort. “Yeah, it just did”, Austin agreed. “It’s when I’m not with her I get hard for her! But then I just go seduce some guys – cute guys. Maybe when it’s okay for her to know someone wants that, it’ll change. Hey, do you think she knows I want to marry her? She said a smart girl would let me still have guys, as long as I gave kids, just to keep me. I wonder if she was telling me she would let me?” The squire sighed. “That would be heaven – love with Valentina, and play with... I guess I’d have to settle for just a few companions, and not keep playing the world.”
Wisely, Titanium gave no answer.
Aodh stared at Heueil, raging inside. Reason told him it wasn’t the other’s fault,, but reason wasn’t serving him well at the moment. He turned to Lord de Cadiz. “Marshal, will we be assigned to different sections?”
De Cadiz was no slouch; he caught the intent. No decision had been made; now it was. “Your station will be on the south, Captain Heueil’s the north. The two of you know your men best; if the division by centuries isn’t the best, feel free to reassign any. I know you’ve worked as partners, but I need a commander on each section of the Line, and since I need to spread out your men, you two have to spread with them.” Aodh visibly relaxed, making Heueil wonder what he didn’t know.
“Your first job is to train the workers as fighters. No man can grow to manhood in Refuge without learning the use of a sword and a bow, but they lack training for working together. Some may have a small amount; disputes between lords do occasionally bring levies into the field.
“To make up for lost work time, all your soldiers will become workers. This Line won’t be fortified in a year, but we can get fortified quarters for everyone finished. Don’t forget you each have two cannon.
“Any questions?” There were none. “Captain Heueil, dismissed.” The word still didn’t sound polite to him, but it was plain and blunt. “Captain Aodh, stay.”
De Cadiz waited until Heueil was well gone, then stepped out of the crude tent-covered cabin – or wood-framed tent. “Corporal, move away five meters”, he ordered. The guard nodded and paced off the distance; he called for two more guards as well, and set them around the tent as points of a triangle.
Aodh was tense when the Marshal finally spoke, after sitting and checking some papers before turning to his junior. “Captain Aodh, I’ve been told your history since arriving here. I admire your ability to recruit and set up a training program. I admire your effectiveness.
“I do not admire your methods. You are brutal beyond need. Be assured that should you ever repeat in my presence what you did before Chancellor Ortega’s eyes, I will kill you with my own sword. Is that clear?”
A verbal response was plainly required. “Yes, sir”, Aodh said.
“Good. I also want you to know that one reason for the division in your command is that I do not judge you fit to be much more than a centurion. The single reason I don’t reduce you so is that your men would resent it. They don’t realize you aren’t worthy of them.
“To keep them from ever being so disillusioned, you will remedy this lack. Young lord Gomez came to me asking for instruction in the arts of command. So you will be his fellow pupil. There are also six other young lords who will be joining him. Keep in mind that at all times under instruction, your military rank means nothing. You are by that measure a freeman – not without respect, but lesser than they in nearly every way. So learn from someone what their ranks are, and what the standings of their families as well.” Aodh blinked and frowned. De Cadiz sighed. “Rank comes from one’s title, and from the length one’s family has held that title, and somewhat from how long one’s family has been noble. Standing comes from wealth, land, vassals, allies, and much more. If you are to be an officer here, it is necessary to know these things. As to the question behind your eyes, Captain Heueil has been studying such things on his own, from many instructors. He saw the need, and acted on it.” De Cadiz shook his head, wishing there were some easier route for this talented, brilliant, but socially delinquent officer. He knew the next blow would push the Captain near his limit.
“You will have a number of instructors for this – Chancellor Ortega will be one, as will I; young Miguel will be another, as will Heir Osvaldo. That the Heir and Chancellor plan to devote time to you is a serious honor. But your main instructor is to be de Medina – Jazreena de Medina.” He waited for the explosion, but it remained behind the Celt’s eyes and set jaw. “Along with Miguel, she has consented to train you all in unarmed combat.” Surprise pushed aside anger. “Yes, Captain, Jazreena. You’ve seen Miguel and Jaspar go some bouts; know that she trained her brother and can still defeat him, and that Miguel is somewhat in awe of her. Scout Sir Chen had the privilege of a bout; he came away battered, and proceeded to ask for lessons. So when your resentment grows great enough that you contemplate foolishness, remember that she bested your instructor from the Valley of Horses.”
“I’m certain he got in some good blows, sir!” Aodh asserted, standing up for Chen’s honor.
De Cadiz chuckled. “That is true. She also asked for lessons. You will be getting the benefit of her knowledge, plus what you have learned from him, plus what she learned from him.” He cleared his throat.
“Assist the cooks in cleanup after supper, for speaking out of turn. As for your position here: do well in the training, and next time I divide forces you’ll get an officer under you instead of another beside you.” He gave Aodh time to review that mentally. “That’s all, Captain. Dismissed.’
This time the word didn’t seem rude at all.
Austin had lost track of time. He’d slept, Titanium standing watch over him – wondering how a wild stallion had become such a faithful friend. He’d slept, in the saddle, Titanium moving at a gentle walk until he judged his rider was rested enough. He didn’t remember if he’d slept a third time, or not. All he knew at the moment was that they were heading northeast, and the sickly gray-white blotch behind them, that had been hidden for so long by a ridge, was visible again.
“Others”, he whispered, mouth dry. “Titanium, they’re on our track!” Austin looked north, wondering if they could reach the spread of woods before the Others – wondering if it would do any good.
Titanium turned and headed due east. He didn’t changed pace, just turned. Austin twisted to watch; the Others were steadily gaining ground. “Titanium, run! We have to run!” In his imagination he could already feel those pincers slicing his flesh. “Run, horse!” He pounded on the great neck.
Titanium shifted into a fast canter; Austin wanted a gallop. In his terror he tried everything but kicking his horse in the ribs – he’d done that once, and only once, and knew very thoroughly it wasn’t a good idea. Nothing made any difference; the big stallion had his own ideas, and nothing would move him. Austin checked his rifle, thinking he could at least take some with him, and feeling very betrayed.
But the Others never got closer than twelve meters. Titanium toyed with them, playing at zigging and zagging. Whenever he let them as close as twelve meters, he gave a wimpy sort of shriek and a burst of speed. It went on for an hour and into a second. Austin became curious, then amused, then finally decided Titanium had a plan. So he amused himself by riding backwards, rifle ready, and when they got close, putting a bullet into one.
Then Titanium slipped. It wasn’t much, only enough to threaten to dump Austin, only enough to allow the Others within two meters. Austin hung on somehow. The closest Other stumbled and stopped, Titanium was steady again – only then did Austin realize he was holding the Ruger and an empty quick-loader. He looked at the cylinder, and it was empty, too. Ten rounds to save his life and Titanium’s, ten rounds they couldn’t replace.
The slip had encouraged the Others; Titanium was in a good gallop and they weren’t falling behind. Austin didn’t know what to feel; he thought his feeling circuit had blown from the close call. So he turned around and rode front-ways again. “Titanium horse, I hope you do something soon, ‘cause I’m tired.” Seeing tears run down the stallion’s neck told him he was crying, but he still didn’t feel anything. Titanium slowed once more, as though resting. The Others were fifteen meters away, then twelve... ten... five... three.... The horse exploded, flying across the rolling ground at full gallop.
Austin noticed there weren’t any hoof beats before he noticed there wasn’t any grass under them. His tired mind said they were flying; instincts launched him out of the saddle so he wouldn’t be on Titanium when they hit. Water gave way to air around his head just in time to see the first Others tumble over the three-meter cliff into the small lake. “WOOOOOT!” He trode water and raised his fists. “Tie-ray-nee-UM!” he exulted. “Wooooot!” A whinny got his attention; Titanium was swimming toward him; he dove to swim underwater and meet his hero halfway.
There were too many Others. But Others don’t move worth crap in water! Austin noted with satisfaction. “Titie, hold still”, he ordered. Stretched out in the water, forearms on the horse’s back, Austin aimed... fired. The Other closest to them in the water thrashed, getting in the way of some trying to make their way to their prey. The squire aimed... and fired, aimed... and fired. Three Others, deliberately not wounded fatally, completely blocked the efforts of those behind. “Besides”, Austin observed, “they’re mostly coming forward because others” – he giggled at that – “are still falling off the cliff. And we don’t want them to stop, do we?” So he shifted in the water to raise his sights, and started shooting. His targets were any Others which had actually stopped up on the cliff. But he kept an eye on the ones in the water, too, adding a fourth, then a fifth, to his floating blockage.
“Oh, getting tricky”, he muttered. Two Others had managed to get atop the floating bodies of their fellows, and now moved steadily, if slowly, toward him. It was tempting to shoot the ones they walked on, but that might not do any good, and – worse – it would still leave the bright ones with the useful idea. So he fired low, then mid, on both of the “second-floor” Others, sending bullets ripping through their guts all along their bodies and through their heads. He didn’t know if their heads held their brains, or even if they had brains, but what they had for eyes, and a whole array of antennae-like things were up front. Besides, hit one just right in the face, and he could get a very satisfactory spray of goo and gore out the back.
Only five Others remained above on land. Austin made it four... three... two.... One jumped into the lake; the squire switched to the last, and then the only enemies he could see were in the lake. “Okay, your majesty”, he said to Titanium, “Get us the hell out of here.” He wiggled his rear. “Damn – I crapped my pants! Well, swim, and I’ll rinse ‘em in the lake.”
From the other shore, standing nude by a fire because all his gear was wet – except herbs – Austin could see more Others milling about on top of the cliff. It was long range, but he thought he could do it. He didn’t want to leave any alive. Besides, he’d realized why they’d come chasing, and that gave him a second reason to want them eliminated.
Every one of twelve shots hit, but he was sure only half had been actual kills. Mostly, he’d driven them back farther. From what Rigel had said, that wasn’t normal – but Rigel didn’t have any stories about them charging off a cliff into a small lake, and maybe that changed the rules. “Okay, Titanium, this is going to be tricky. I’m going to rub you down with some of those leafy things from the shore, then we’re going to do something about me.” He offered one of the broad, thick leaves for the horse to inspect; Titanium didn’t reject it, so Austin went to work.
He cursed himself for smearing Titanium when he had other preparations to make. But it was done; he turned to his pack. He emptied two jars into improvised pouches, then poured a bit of his precious oil into each. One of his candles was turned into shavings that joined the concoctions; that was followed by a guesstimated amount of black powder. He had a bottle of “fortified wine” from Bilbao; a spoonful on a piece of leather lit nicely, so he poured a bit into each little jar – and a bit down his throat. He heated them carefully over coals, shaking regularly, then finished them with more oil and brandy. The tops went in the fire, to be replaced with cloth coated with wax.
By the time he’d rubbed the whole horse with the weird and annoying goo the leaves made, with their weirder and more annoying smell, then mixed and resealed his two jars, most of Austin’s gear was dry. One thing wasn’t: his shorts and undershorts. Those he’d left damp on purpose, but under cover; now he sniffed the crotch, verifying that they smelled like human boy. He put them on two little racks of twigs, then turned to Titanium.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, King Horse, but if you can manage, would you pee for me? In this spot over here?” The spot was a small area Austin had cleaned of grasses and dumped mud from along the shore. Titanium looked at Austin for several seconds, then sniffed at himself, then looked over where there were still living Others. He whuffed and came to where Austin pointed, and peed on the mud.
“Thanks, Titie.” Austin gave his horse a bow, then squatted and stirred horse urine into mud. When he was satisfied, he first packed his gear and loaded it, then set the little stands with pants and undershorts a meter and a half from the fire – and then coated himself with the gross mixture, rolling in the patch to cover his back, packing it in his armpits, and rubbing his hair with the leaf goo. To finish, he stacked all the extra leaves he’d picked in front of his saddle. Before he mounted, he moved the two racks not quite halfway to the fire. “Okay, I hope this works!” He swung into the saddle, checking rifle, revolver, and his two jars. “Let’s go north”, he instructed, and they moved out.
It didn’t take much light for Others to be visible; their whitish-greyish kind of translucent bodies picked up starlight or moonlight and made them stand out rather well. It was, Austin joked with himself, like hitting the broad sides of barn sheds. They were hardly moving – the cold? he wondered – so he could pick his targets and figure his aiming shifts beforehand. He took his time.
The first shot rang out, splitting the night, turning the front of one Other’s head into pulpy confetti. Austin didn’t watch to see the full effect, but swivelled as planned, working the bolt as he moved, slapping the next bullet into the next head. He had seven targets, all picked because they were beautifully positioned for fatal or disabling shots, and he moved from one to the next methodically. The first five went without trouble. Number six was the first deviation: when the fifth’s head shredded, the sixth started to move. While shifting his aim, tracking the enemy, Austin wondered if it had taken from the first shot for one to start moving. He knew that would be worth knowing, but didn’t have any way to figure it out. Three extra seconds went to taking down number six, but it provided an opportunity: another head was in perfect visibility, so he took it. The planned seventh became the actual eighth. Then it was time to move; they were certainly all moving!
“Time for fun, big boy”, Austin told Titanium as he reloaded his ammo supply. “They should come around the end of the lake and smell me – smell my shorts”, he corrected with a cold grin. “Before they reach the camp, we need to be east of them. So to quote several famous people, ‘Let’s do it!’”
Marshal Escobar, Lord de Cadiz, cursed in polite fashion at the straight line of clouds to the south. The temperature had started dropping at midday; they were getting frost at suppertime! It would keep getting colder, too, until that line from the south pushed in – he’d seen it before. They’d have cold air on the ground, and rain from above – and the rain would freeze when it hit, covering everything with ice.
“Diego.”
Lord Gomez snapped out of his contemplation of an ice crystal growing on his empty mug. “Marshal?”
“Get our things cleared out of the buildings. We sleep in the tents again. The buildings are for the wounded and infirm.” A fair number of men had coughs from the cold nights already.
Gomez nodded. “Coughs before sniffles?”
De Cadiz chuckled. “Yes. I’m going to the wall. Maybe that master builder can shift things to give us more real housing before the ice gets here.”
Gavin protested. “Lord, if you put sick men by sick men, they will get worse!”
“Healer, if I put well men by sick men, they’ll get sick! Can you not do anything for the coughs?” De Cadiz chastised himself, silently of course, for expecting more of a talent he hadn’t had available just months before.
Gavin counted to ten. “I can end sore throats. I can do nothing in the lungs. I don’t know why, but I can’t. One of lord Romero’s archers has the spark, and he can heal some coughs, but not all. One of Lady Jazreena’s girls has the spark, and can ease sniffles but not cure it. Another of her girls has the spark, but all she can heal so far is foot itch. And that is the extent of our Healers just now.
“If I had more herbs, I could do more. You have some here I’m not familiar with, but there hasn’t been time for me to learn them. Besides, many of the men despise ‘weed women’, as they call them.
“What I need are rooms where men can be on beds, not on the floor, a long arm’s reach apart, not shoulder to shoulder – warm, dry, quiet rooms.”
De Cadiz held up a hand in surrender. “Healer, you know your warfare, as I know mine. We do not have the rooms. We have the pieces for the cots, but they are not together. We have blankets, and sheets, and hangings, and pillows. We have lumber for – for many things. With this, do your best.”
Gavin thought, letting lore from the Stone and wisdom from Lumina roll through him. His eyes unfocused, something de Cadiz took as meaning meditation, so he waited, calling for two mugs of mulled wine as he did. They arrived a half dozen seconds before Gavin blinked and nodded.
“I’ll put the sick to assembling their beds. I know there’s lots of rope. I’ll want a carpenter to build frames to hold the rope. We’ll hang sheets from the ropes, about every third man – like tents would be best. That way the germs” – he saw de Cadiz’ lack of comprehension – “the tiny evil creatures which make men cough and sneeze, will stay in their own tent. The men in the tents might share their kinds of tiny evil creatures, but they won’t easily get farther.
“And you must order this: all cookware and dinnerware must be washed in boiling water after use! And every man must wash his hands in the hottest water he can tolerate, before eating! The tiny evil creatures come from a man’s nose and mouth with a sneeze or cough, by the thousands, entire armies of them. They land everywhere, and if they get into another’s body, they can build new kingdoms and wage war on that man’s body. But they cannot survive boiling water, and they suffer from hot water, and if the hands are scrubbed well, the water will carry them away.”
De Cadiz was no fool; he knew a man who spoke what he knew, when he heard it. “Ought we wash the walls, and the tables, and the chairs?”
Gavin wanted to hug him; de Cadiz was only the fourth non-healer who plainly believed him! “In the rooms for the sick, wash the walls – I’ll have to think about how often. In the eating hall, yes, wash the tables – that’s good thinking. The chairs... only if someone has been violently coughing and sneezing.
“Lord de Cadiz, I’m glad for your men that you understand this!”
“I know a man who knows his enemy”, de Cadiz replied. With a wry grin, he added, “I am Marshal of men, for a warfare we can see. I perceive you are Marshal of this warfare we cannot see.”
Austin still didn’t have the stink out, of himself or Titanium. But it had done the trick. They’d come far enough he couldn’t see the small lake – come through freezing rain, though it hadn’t last long, only a few hours. He shuddered at the memory, though his victory had been total: the Others had come north as he’d hoped, then caught the smell of his clothes, the smell of human food. Titanium had been swift, so when the Others were ripping the camp to pieces, he’d tossed his fire bombs. One had sputtered, but the other did almost what it was supposed to, scattering flames into dry grass, flames that the wind from the east that had been coming every night swept toward the camp. The Others hadn’t even noticed until almost too late – he’d shot two as they came around the end of the flames, trying to avoid them. It had been the one that madly charged through the flames that had sliced Titanium’s flank and sent the rider into a blind rage.
He patted the cutter that now hung at his side in place of a sword. He still didn’t remember attacking, but from the way things looked after, when he was aware again, he’d launched himself on top of the Other, drawing the cutter, slicing it in two as he’d landed, then turning it into science-fiction horror goo. Titanium had called him back with a lick on his forehead. But before he attended his horse, he stalked through the ashes to where three remaining Others fought each other over the tiny remaining scraps of his clothes. He’d carved the rear ends off the nearest two, taken their heads off with two swings when they were still turning, then sliced the head of the third down the middle. After that he’d gone from body to scorched body, half of them feebly twitching, and cut them into chunks smaller than a breadbox.
That memory brought a grin, the joke on himself: after tending to Titanium’s wound – shallow, thankfully – he’d ridden for more than a day in a sort of delirium. Over and over he’d asked the savanna, “Is it smaller than a breadbox?”, and answered himself, “Yes!”, then, “Is it a piece of Other?” and gone into mad laughter.
There’d been one more, one that somehow survived and tracked him slowly despite his precautions. But the freezing rain had gotten it, coating it, weighing it down, immobilizing it, encasing it in shimmering frozen water. Austin had watched in awe and glee, whooping like an idiot. Bored of the sight, finally, he’d gotten out his rifle and shot the thing – and sat dumbfounded when it shattered along with the ice.
Now he could see, up ahead, the edge of the forested hills that marked the realm of the Celts. He should have been able to see Rigel and everyone, but his trip had taken longer than planned, and gone farther, and wasn’t on track. He shrugged: as far as he was concerned, he and Titanium had proven they could take care of themselves.
[needs pic of Austin on Titanium going off low cliff into lake]
HA! Though that would be Awesome! 
)
Absolutely WONDERFUL!! 
