“That’s so romantic,” she said, sniffing.
That wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Imaging how he would have felt if he’d caught Thayet writing break-off letters to ex-lovers before they married, ‘romantic’ would not have made the list. It would have been considerably worse to when he’d found out that Alanna had run to George Cooper, and then to the Shang Dragon after she’d refused him. What had he felt then? Humiliated, mostly, that the heir to the throne of Tortall had been tossed aside for two commoners, one a thief? Was it anger? Disbelief? Or was it regret, just regret that he, Jonathan of Conté, for all his wealth, power, and good looks could not even tempt the one woman he’d thought he’d ever love?
He had never been able to work it out, though he’d thought about it in the decades since. Alanna had been right after she’d come back from the Roof of the World. She was no longer Alan his squire, nor Alanna the one girl he could talk to and sleep with. She was a legend. Legends were all very well, but they didn’t make very good Queens. Luckily, Alanna had known that more than he. Alanna was the friend of his heart, like Raoul, Gary, to a lesser extent George, and she always would be (notwithstanding that ridiculous spat they’d had over Keladry of Mindelan)…but Thayet? Thayet was his Queen, his partner, the other half of his soul, as the poets warbled. He finally understood why his father, even with his sense of responsibility to his people, had killed himself after Queen Lianne died. Jon didn’t even want to think of life without Thayet. He was perfectly aware that it was a fairly short-sighted thing to do, considering his wife went out and tried to get herself killed with one Rider group or another every second week or so, but that didn’t matter.
In retrospect, he felt that it had been far too optimistic of him to believe that any of their children would be conventional. Kalasin’s desire to be a page and subsequent obstinacy when he’d tried to reason with her was fairly typical. Lianne had gone through that stage too. So had the younger boys – only with different things, they were page and squire now. Only Roald had not. Roald, the eldest – Roald, who was so aware of his position as heir, so determined to be perfect.
Roald, who Jon was perfectly aware would probably go quite messily mad in white linen if that perfect, polite, pleasant exterior ever cracked. Jon hoped Shinkokami would help his eldest son open up a little.
He studied his future son-in-law. The delegation hadn’t lied, he thought with surprise and relief. Only twenty years old, and not repulsive – that, at least, gave him two advantages over all the other eligibles. He had the grace and strength of a trained warrior, though he moved a little stiffly in the cold – for it was cold in his tent, despite the charcoal braziers visible, and his breath formed puffs of steam in the air.
A ripple in the water announced the entry of another person. It was the less-aesethically-pleasing military officer, Silas, who the Prince greeted as an old friend.
“Why on earth are you up so early?”
“I could ask the same about you.” Silas accepted a cup of hot tea with a bow, and then sat down.
“I had to write a letter.”
“Ah.”
Silence.
“Speaking of which, Kay has letters from your cousin.”
“I’m surprised Justinia even remembers she’s my cousin.”
“That’s harsh. She did sign herself ‘House of Zevran,’ you know.”
Silas laughed, without humour, “That’s only so you know she’s a noble at all. I suppose you can see it from her perspective. There’s a huge difference between being the daughter of a son of an impoverished House that could barely afford to send him to the Academy, and being scion of the seventh most powerful House in the Empire. She’s also aware that if House Ferox hadn’t paid for her equipment because old Lady Ferox couldn’t bear to see one of her granddaughters, even the daughter of the prodigal daughter, go without knighthood, she’d never have won her shield.” He grimaced. “I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh on my younger cousin. Her prize money will let us send all my nieces and nephews who desire it to the Academy. No more crying and sobbing among the younger children about who should go…not that generation, at least.” Silas Zevran had an introspective look, as though he remembered being one of those who cried and sobbed when someone else was chosen to live his dream.
More silence.
“Dama Felara Eriel?” Silas asked, at length.
The prince looked flabbergasted. “How did you know?”
“Who doesn’t? She already knows you’re getting married, by the way, Kay told her weeks ago so that she wouldn’t have to hear it first on the gossip chain.”
“Kay knows?”
“Of course. You two aren’t exactly subtle, and your sister’s not exactly thick. She just doesn’t think it’s any of her business, so she didn’t make a point of it. There is a reason that a forty-third ranker got a position under General HongMau on the North-eastern front, and temporary command of the Duxa Seconda’s garrison, you know.”
“Bribery?”
“Rislyn prefers to call it ‘constructive distraction’.” Silas said mildly, taking another sip of tea. “She’s actually a very good commander. I’ll always think that her sprint heats were fixed.”
“Forty-third out of over a thousand isn’t bad,” Yevgen defended. “Besides, I was saying goodbye. It’s not as though I’ll ever see her again. I’m living out my life on this ice-block – is it never warm here? And if I know my mother and sisters, she’ll be given postings everywhere except the western provinces. I have my responsibilities, she’ll have hers. We won’t write again, and soon, we’ll be naught but vague, distant memories of a warm and carefree childhood.”
Silas was laughing. “The only thing I never envied you knights was the Academy. In case you’ve already banished it from your mind, you lot don’t have childhoods, warm and carefree or not.”
“No,” there was a ghost of a smile, “that’s what happens when you read far too much.”
“It’s not as though you would have been permitted to marry her anyway.” Silas reminded him, though not unkindly.
“I suppose not. The down side of having a eight-hundred year old pedigree is that everyone is some sort of cousin, and Mother is very funny about that sort of thing. You should hear the problems Rislyn’s having with prospective Consorts.”
Silas raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, you too. We’re about twentieth cousins. They were looking up one of your third cousins for Rislyn once.”
“And?”
“Even closer. Twelfth, in some very odd way.”
Silas sighed. “I didn’t come in here for a chat, I thought you might like to know – we’ve spotted a delegation of K’mir from the mountains and they should be here about two hours after dawn. Someone’s telling Kay now, so you’ll hear the cooks panicking right about now…”
As if on cue, there were sounds of shouting for water, light and fire far in the distance. “I should leave you to get ready. Have we translators enough?”
Yevgen nodded. “Plenty of K’miri ex-prisoners and ex-slaves are working on the site until they can locate their old clans. We’ll find a few.”
Silas hesitated as he was about to leave the tent. “We don’t know much about the K’mir. Do you know what they want?”
“To kill us, probably,” Yevgen shrugged as he went and rummaged in a clothes-chest, “they’ve been fighting whoever wore the Warlord’s crown for twenty years now – since Queen Kalasin died, in fact. The first one.” He added with a twist to his mouth that Kally understood all too well
“That’s right…her grandmother. Do you think it’ll make a difference?”
“Only one way to find out.” The Prince shrugged. “Now go. Can you send someone in to help me with the dratted breastplate and mantle, please?”
Kally’s control was wavering. She was a good scry-mage, and Numair had insisted that this particular spell took little real energy, but the distances involved made it far more difficult than her normal exercises. Feeling a headache coming on, she quickly dissolved the image in the water.
She turned to meet her father’s eyes, the exact shade of her own. There was sympathy there, regret. Not since King Jasson, her great-grandfather, had there been arranged marriages in the family until Roald and Shinkokami. Great Uncle Gareth had told her of the first meeting between his best friend the crown prince, and his sister the Lady Lianne of Naxen the evening Lianne was presented at King Jasson’s Court. There had been no going back for either of them after that night. Similarly, Baron George, Lady Alanna, even Buri if she was in a good mood would tell her how her parents had met, her mother only in a clinging sleeping robe, her father’s jaw dropping to the ground as soon as he set eyes on her.
There was a sort of self-deprecating humour when Lady Alanna told the story. Kally had wondered why for years, until someone whispered that Alanna and Kally’s father had been lovers while the lady knight was disguised as a boy and his squire. At first, she had wondered if Alanna regretted bringing Kally’s mother to Tortall, for introducing her to the king. Later, of course, she realised that the Champion had no such regrets, and had encouraged the match.
But that had never stopped Kally from thinking what Tortall would have been like with the Lady Alanna as Queen rather than Champion. Would she be in this position? She rather doubted it. But then again, Kally herself probably wouldn’t exist. From her conversations with the Lioness’s son Thom, an aspiring Mage and a student at the Royal University, she rather doubted that the diminutive Champion could have survived as many closely-spaced pregnancies as Kally’s mother had. The Contés had never previously managed large families, and, for the people of Tortall, the extraordinary fertility of the present monarchs had, at times, been the only sign that the dynasty still retained the Gods’ favour. Certainly they hadn’t managed a great deal of luck in the other aspects of their reign, what with mad relatives, earthquakes, famines, wars, megalomaniac neighbours, Immortals, raiders, and other assorted miscellaneous disasters from time to time.
“Well,” her father said softly, “it seems that I’ve made a right sorry mess of your life.”
Then, Kalasin of Conté, Princess Royal of Tortall, who had approached the betrothal like any other formal contract, never even mentioning the hope of the sort of happiness her parents had, her grandparents, and their friends had, did something she hadn’t done for nearly half a lifetime, when the whole saga had begun.
She burst into tears.
Jon held her as she wept, the last, never acknowledged, vestiges of the romantic in her flooding out in gasping sobs.
Chapter 6 – The Waiting Game
Radanae was up with the rest of the Imperials to escort the majority of the delegation to their ship docked at Port Caynn.
‘Up’, of course, in the broadest possible terms.
Luana was not at all sympathetic, the pale grey mare doing her utmost to appear maddeningly cheerful about the ride, itself a reproach that Radanae hadn’t taken her out for more than a few sedate trots around the Palace grounds since they had arrived.
Radanae really, really hated cheerful horses.
At the docks, the Ambassador made a speech thanking the Tortallans for their hospitality and expressing a wish to Princess Kalasin, who, looking shaken and pale, had accompanied them, to see her soon. The Ambassador would return with the Prince (and Princess) towards the end of summer. In turn, Sir Gareth the Younger made another speech that was remarkable only in its complete ordinariness, and Princess Kalasin sent a gift to the Prince, what appeared to be a rich cloak and a jeweled belt.
The Ambassador then had a quiet conversation with Radanae herself, last minute advice on the mission, before boarding the ship.
Radanae, Justinia, Tomas, Deryn and Sir Titus (the fifth member of the remaining Imperial party) waved goodbye from the Tortallan dock. All things going well, they would have a holiday in Tortall, a fantastic party at the wedding, then a leisurely trip home, where promotions and new assignments waited, dropping Kay, Yevgen and Princess Kalasin in Sarain on the way back.
Radanae may have been inexperienced, but she wasn’t stupid. She only hoped that she would be able to cope with the miscellaneous crises that would inevitably arise.
*******************
Sir Myles and his second, Baron George of Pirate’s Swoop, were going through what information their agents had smuggled from the Empire and the few resources from the Royal Library.
The table was depressingly bare. The most information they’d obtained was from the brief spying on the Imperial Family, and even that was not particularly helpful. Myles grew increasingly irritated and reluctantly admiring as he recalled all the reported and recorded conversations with the Imperial delegation – there was not a great deal of information imparted, despite the long exchanges – that they did not find out some other way.
“Anything new?” Gary stuck his head around the door and came in with a stack of documents – the trade agreements with the Imperials for Yamani printed silk.
George made a very annoyed noise. “We have rainfall, we have crops. We have market gossip, we have gods – not very many, and not taken very seriously, from what we can gather – we have reasonably accurate and completely useless information for our purposes.”
“Nothing is useless, George,” Myles berated his stepson/adoptive son-in-law sternly, leafing through a stack of travel-stained papers. “We have some military information from their western borders. However,” he admitted, “it’s not very interesting or surprising. Fortified installations each a day’s ride by fast horse from the next, fire-towers for communication, messenger-birds, supplies coming regularly by the month, mail every three days, though there is the occasional courier. They have good relations with the Doi, and they take irregulars from the mountain peoples. I hazard to say that was how they managed to take Sarain with so few casualties.”
“And the fact that the Saren were too busy fighting each other to notice.”
“That too. Anything, Gary?”
“The Ambassador took her aide off for orders – I couldn’t hear what they said – but they sailed out on schedule this morning. We got back just under an hour ago.”
“What of the remaining Imperials?”
“The four warriors are training. The diplomat went straight to the baths. Myles, how much did you pour down her gullet last night? Don’t think I didn’t notice. I should think that trying to drown the poor girl won’t help our chances for further trade agreements.”
“Not that much, actually. I don’t think any of them are used to wine, though. But gods, I got more on their training. It’s twelve years of academic rigor I wouldn’t wish upon the hardiest child, not to mention their martial training. From what I can gather, we’re facing a class of Shang warriors with University degrees.”
“That is not good.”
“No, it is not,” George supplied in his lilting tone. “Do y’ think we can get more out of them before the Prince arrives?”
Myles shrugged. “They may be a little less guarded now that the negotiations are over, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. If the Empire is as I think, they’ll all have been promised promotions and better assignments if they do well here, and terminal obscurity should they fail.”
“Terminal obscurity. That sounds like a disease,” Gary joked, shuffling through the papers. It was his equivalent of a nervous habit these days. “They’re not terribly interested in staples, though I’m less surprised now than I was a few weeks ago. Their main interest is luxuries – Catharki spices, Yamani silks, Scanran furs – and they’re prepared to go through Tortall for them. We’ve also had a look at the ‘gifts’ they’ve sent.”
“And?”
“I think that Kally’s new jewelry has the entire Goldsmith’s Quarter in despair. No one, apparently, can replicate it. Ditto with some of the weavings and ornaments they’ve given to Jon and Thayet.”
*******************
Things took on a new informality once most of the Imperial delegation had departed. Radanae and the others blended almost seamlessly into the Tortallan court, comparing weaponswork, raiding the library, chatting with the other ambassadors, going to parties. It was a pleasant time, a respite from their duties. A pleasant time that would end very quickly.
It flew around the Court so quickly that the Imperials caught hold of the thread without even trying. Scanran forces had pushed across the border, across the Grimhold mountains that wavered between Scanra and Tortall depending on who had the more aggressive ruler. Lady Keladry had to be almost physically restrained from saddling her horse and charging north when the news came that her home fief of Mindelan, far to the north and deep in the mountains, was under siege. Lady Alanna was equally nervous about her childhood home, which was only a little further south.
Radanae went to see the King.
“Pardon?” King Jonathan was a master at the art of diplomacy, diversion, and hedging, but not even he was prepared for the bald statement.
Nor, evidently, was his Council.
“As item 54 c (i) states, your majesty,” Radanae repeated, motioning the relevant stack of paper. There were certain advantages in having literally written the thing. She thought that she could probably recite it backwards. “The Empire shall, if requested, provide all necessary and appropriate assistance to the Kingdom of Tortall in the event it comes under attack from a military source not outlined within the constrains of Imperial treaties and law.”
“But the ink isn’t even dry yet!” Sir Gareth the Younger felt bound to exclaim.
“Treaties are ratified the moment the Empress’s hand leaves the page,” Radanae said, hiding her amusement with some difficulty, “as allies, no matter how new, we are bound to the terms of the agreement. As Imperial representative in the place of her Excellency the Ambassador, it is my responsibility to offer such aid as is stated under the terms of the treaty.”
She waited, still slightly amused at the reactions of the King’s Council as she had offered to keep to the treaty. She had been in discussions with both Lansherry and the Empress (who left Radanae in a cold sweat, despite being an old family friend. There was, she found a vast difference between the Empress Vanaria the honourary aunt (who informed Radanae that her younger brother had done very well at the Trials – he was Dux Tertia – third ranked), and the Empress Vanaria the…well…Empress), who had authorised the offer.
Though the Tortallans did not know, there were Imperial Naval units in the Inland Sea, protecting the diplomatic ships on their journey home, and in an emergency, could dock at Port Legann within a matter of days. The Tortallans had obviously not expected the Imperials to be so forthcoming in keeping their promises. Anything which kept the Tortallans guessing was good, by Radanae’s reckoning. She only hoped she was being appropriately ambassadorish. She kept her grin to herself as she recited possible support and forces, and the time it would take each to reach Tortall. She finished, sensed that the Tortallans were going to have a fight and needed her out of the room, then excused herself.
She was sure that Justinia needed her nails done again.
*************************
“Ten thousand marines in three weeks!!!” Duke Gareth of Naxen barely waited a few seconds after the aide left the room. From his tone, he was having difficulty staving off a heart attack. “We couldn’t even call up than many in three months!! I don’t think we even have that many on active call!”
“Of course, that she sounded apologetic that they were the closest free troops she knew of was the worst part,” his son groaned. “Oh to have, of all things, unfamiliar new neighbours who think that ten thousand marines with their ships are a symbolic force! That they have more to take their presence immediately. Might I say how glad I am that they appear to be on our side at the moment? Myles, I don’t want to think about other motives they may have. If they want Tortall, they could take it without blinking with that many troops.”
“Has your agent reported back, Sir Myles?” the Lord Provost wanted to know.
“No. He’s due to make a report on the knightly standards and the capital in the next few days, though,” Myles shook his head. “The distance means that he can’t send very often. It’s taken him months by cart and foot to get to the capital. It would look too suspicious for him to order fast horses at changing posts without having good enough information on their procedures.”
“So do we take the risk?” Alanna asked, “We can try to repel the Scanrans alone, knowing that they’ve made the first move and we have no idea if these are just banded raiding parties or a full-scale invasion force, and perhaps losing the mountains. We’re down on Riders and Own in the north, not to mention regulars, aren’t we?” she looked grim as Buri, Raoul and other military commanders nodded. “Or we can accept help from extremely convenient, extremely competent – seemingly, at least – new allies, of whom we know even less than the Scanrans!”
“That’s about right.” Jon reluctantly agreed.
“We can leave the door open, though,” Thayet argued. “Mention that you couldn’t possibly impose upon the Empire for a minor border skirmish, thank them for their concern, and say that you would be gratified to take up the offer at a later date if the occasion demanded it.”
**********************
“Pretty much what I expected,” Radanae was telling her four guards that evening after dinner. They’d moved into the suite that had once housed the Ambassador and the aides, not needing the additional rooms assigned to the thirty members of the Guard. A suite that was crowded for ten was strangely empty for five. “Thanks, we’ll take a raincheck, basically,” she shrugged.
They sat around cups of tea, discussing the Tortallan’s rather unsurprising response. There was something to be said about boring diplomacy seminars, Radanae thought, one worked out very quickly just what the other side was saying.
“Plan B?” Titus asked, helping himself to a pastry. He was addicted to Tortallan pastries, they found. Since sweets and cakes were only treats for special holidays at the Academy, and he’d been stationed in a particularly unluxurious province (but one which almost always guaranteed speedy promotions), Titus’s sweet tooth had been a bit of a surprise to all.
“Plan B. We did not spend thirty bloody years researching the Eastern Lands to have all our bloody maps made obsolete by one megalomaniac with bad dress sense. That’s the Scanran leader by the way – the one with far to many consonants in his name. I’m drained. Can someone else please get her Majesty and her Excellency?”
“Right, so they’re offering to ship the Prince here early with an ‘extended honour guard’,” Sir Myles announced. “Full knights, light and heavy cavalry, mountain warfare specialists, engineers, under the command of Princess Berenice, to take part in ‘joint military exercises’ with the Northern Army. Numair, have you managed to get the Empress and Crown Princess yet?”
Numair, looking sleepless, nodded, then motioned to the scrying bowl. It was easier this time, but they heard voices before images came into focus.
*********************
“Maren – I could understand that…” it was a young woman’s – the Crown Princess’s voice “Galla…maybe…but Tortall? Mother, aside from Princess Kalasin, Tortall doesn’t really have much. It’s a desert surrounded by mountains with a few farms in between!”
“It’s a very strategically placed desert with mountains around the edges,” the Empress was standing at a map-table. It showed the Eastern and Southern Lands, the Yamani and Copper Islands, and to the west to Jindazhen. Further east, beyond some raised bits that apparently represented the Roof of the World, was a huge, unfamiliar continent. They were in a small study, mother and daughter both dressed in rich robes, and had coronets lying carelessly on the edge of the table. “Maren and Galla have been dealt with adequately, and besides, neither Barnesh nor what’s-his-name in Galla have enough imagination to cause trouble. Jonathan and Thayet are both clever enough to have looked a gift horse in the mouth, and Jonathan happens to be a fairly powerful mage. Instability in Tortall leads to difficulties in Tyra and Tusaine, and spills over into Maren and Galla – which we do not need. Jonathan and Thayet are both reasonably competent – Crown Prince Roald appears adequate, if dull,”
Roald bristled at that.
“Crown Princess Shinkokami shows some promise and a degree of practicality. Have Radanae snoop around on the Princess a trifle more, will you? Failing that, the Princes Liam and Jasson show no apparent signs of running stark raving mad with a cleaver. A stable Tortall is in the interests of all the world, not just the Empire. We have enough to deal with without a raving barbarian making trouble near our borders. Adijun jian Wilima was bad enough. If he’d only been adequate, the Sarain operations would never have been necessary.”
“Have you heard from Yevgen, by the way?” Princess Rislyn asked. “I only get his letters weeks later.”
“The Palace is almost finished, and the town. They’ve concluded treaties with the K’mir tribes and Princess Kalasin sent him a present. Kay was about to send you a report, but they need to recharge. They’re packing for the trip to Tortall, and we may be sending ships with troops and specialists with the fleet that takes them there.”
“Well, I suppose the Northern Units might do,” Rislyn sounded doubtful, “I hope you remembered to bump Knight-Lieutenant Eriel?”
“’Lara? Of course. She’s riding courier far east, then she has a seminar on desert tactics in Cajilstan at the Zevran House seat. She’s a promising girl. HongMau wants her permanently in a few years.”
“Do you ever regret it?” Rislyn’s voice was light.
“If only there were two of Yevgen,” the Empress shook her head, “the Conté connection is far more suitable for Sarain, of course, and, much as I like the girl, Felara is military command, not governance material.”
“I wondered how long it would take you to admit that. She is a good second, though. Kay trusts her.”
“With good reason.”
“How many?”
“Radanae mentioned that the Tortallans panicked at the thought of the ten legions of marines Inland,” the Empress moved her finger at the stretch of blue that represented the Inland Sea. “W e may send a few of the more junior cavalry centuries that need seasoning – both light and heavy – there are some south-west near Port Sabastia, plus a few experts – the mountain engineers need more exposure than just the Northern passes. More if they’re requested.”
Rislyn nodded. “Kay in command?”
“Of course. She needs to be independent. The northern commanders have been coddling her, against my orders, and much to her disgust, I imagine.” A small smile.
Rislyn grinned, “Did they tell you that last year, when I had summer-fever, HongMau and his lieutenants used to lock her in the strategy room every time they went out on skirmishes?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. What do you think of the Carloni boy?”
“Sabriel? Short-list, certainly. Corin Neshan is still on top, though.”
The Empress nodded with satisfaction.
“Kay will be happy once she has nieces,” Rislyn allowed herself a smile and a shrug, “then she can be as foolhardy as she likes. Corin’s very handsome, don’t you think?”
“If that’s what you like. We should get out there. They’ll start the bloodbath soon.”
Rislyn made a face. “Have I ever told you I really hate watching it every year?”
“Yes. Every year.” The Empress sighed. “I do wish they’ll fix the protections on this room soon. I know it’s not likely that there will be spies, but I’d feel better if they were there. Get me Ambassador Lansherry when we return,” she ordered an out-of-sight person, “she’ll just have to pick up a change of clothes at Sebastia and turn back with the troops if the Tortallans accept.”
Mother and daughter left the room, the Crown Princess still muttering, “It’s going to cost a bloody fortune…I don’t see the point…” as the image faded.
“Well, that was informative and useless at the same time,” Gary shuffled the papers in front of him, a nervous habit. “Do we take up their offer?”
“Well, they certainly don’t think enough of Tortall to make an effort to invade,” Alanna said dryly, sounding slightly insulted at the dismissive tone the Princess had taken to Tortall.
The Imperial idea of an ‘extended Honour Guard’ for the Prince was four hundred light cavalry, two hundred heavy cavalry, and fifty specialists – siege engineers, supply and logistics experts, artillery designers and such. It would be commanded by his sister, the Princess Berenice, who would be accompanying him. The Tortallans behaved as though it were a surprise, even though they knew from their spying that the Imperials would find some excuse or another for the princess to come, presumably to keep her brother in line.
Gary, who was doing calculations madly, determined that even with the costs of fodder, and food that were all the Imperials requested, Tortall would still come out on top from the trade agreements – so long as they won against the Scanrans.
The Prince would arrive with the troops in four weeks.
************************
“Scanra is rock.” Tomas was never terribly verbose, something that had their oration teachers in despair. “The land is poor, and the vast majority of their income appears to be pillaging their neighbours with their navy.”
“Any match for ours?” Deryn was also pored over some books and scrolls they borrowed from the library.
“Ours isn’t here, so that’s irrelevant,” Justinia swung her legs over the side of her chair and filed her nails. The polish peeled off in little curls of purple and red lacquer. “I have to wonder, though, about the threat, if they turn aside ten legions of marines for six and half centuries of land troops against a naval enemy.”
“They may have confidence in their own navy, and not enough land troops,” Radanae considered, “but the more likely reason is that they don’t want ten legions of some unfamiliar power swanning around in their territorial waters where they can’t keep an eye on them. It would be easier to keep an eye on six hundred land troops.”
“Bah, politics!” Ever the soldier, Justinia threw up her arms in disgust. ‘If we really wanted this pile we could have had it decades ago!”
“But they don’t know that, besides, a King who happens to be able to control the land itself isn’t to be trifled with. We’ve seen him do it before. I doubt we have earth or elemental mages that powerful.”
“There’s that chunk of glass he has.”
“It’s been centuries since we’ve had the Dominion Jewel and look what it’s done,” Deryn reminded. After research both in Tortall and back in Bersone, they had determined that, indeed, the Dominion Jewel of Tortall was one and the same as the fabled Blue Stone (right, fine, for all their talents and virtues, Imperials weren’t known for their creativity in the naming department) that had once belonged to the Empire. The Dominion Jewel had helped the Delmaran House, originally a naval family from the eastern seaboard, take the Imperial Throne. It had been returned to Chitral Pass by the third empress, who was no mage, but a gifted general, and clever enough to know the damage it could cause if someone too close to her got hold of it. Since then, the Imperials had kept a close eye on it west of the Roof, so as to be prepared for any unexpected holders of the Jewel.
There must have been a great many chewed nails and lots of nervous pacing once the news that the Jewel had gone to Tortall, Radanae thought. Tortall, which then was known for a king passive to the point of ineffectuality, with an inexperienced heir, and a mad sorcerer nephew. It didn’t help that the said inexperienced heir was a mage, trained by his mad cousin. The transcripts of the Council sessions and Senate debates in the last days of the Empress Berenice VI, Empress Vanaria’s mother, were full of hysterical posturing, especially from non-mages.
In Sarain, the second-in-line for the Imperial Throne and her brother were packing.
“Amazing. We can finally run a decent bath and we get ordered out again!” Kay was not happy as she folded clothes into her travelling trunk. Luckily, Rislyn, who was better than either of her younger siblings at packing for ceremonial affairs, had already promised new wardrobes for both of them on the fleet that would take them to Tortall. That was a relief, as their supplies here were of everyday clothes and combat armor, with only minimal accessories to soften the harsh military gear. “Yevgen? Are you listening?” She called her brother, who was sitting on his cot, poring over a primer in K’mir.
The language was similar to Doi, of which he had a working grasp, as he had spent his first year of military service on the western borders, learning how to build (and destroy) fortifications. He’d trained as a military and siege engineer, while Kay was a general military commander and strategist.
No one, precisely, remembered what Rislyn was, only that she couldn’t wait to get out of her combat armor and into a diplomat’s robes as soon as her year was up, though anyone who suggested the heir was weak or cowardly was in for a nasty surprise on the jousting field or fencing gallery.
“Hmm…oh yes,” He put the slim volume down. “Have they thrashed out the arrangements yet?”
“I believe so. We dock at Port Caynn, we meet all the importances, we go up north and kill people we’ve never met before, and have heard of only as part of geography lessons, and then go home. Somewhere in there, you’re meant to meet, fall in love with, and marry their eldest princess.”
Yevgen made a face. “I do wish you wouldn’t remind me of that,” he complained.
“I have to,” his sister retorted dumping a mail-lined shirt into the trunk.
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Preparations were in full swing in Corus, for the twin difficulties of a war and a royal wedding. For some, it was difficult to see which was causing the most fuss.
A general Call to Muster brought knights from all over Tortall into the capital to receive orders from the King.
To Radanae’s biased eye, there were very few of them.
“Remember, they’re used to things on a much smaller scale here,” Tomas had told her. “The King’s bodyguard is barely three hundred strong. Kay’s personal units are larger than that. Hells, some of your commands weren’t much smaller than that!”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Radanae said dryly. However, it was true, as they saw the Tortallan numbers, that they were small by Imperial standards. There were around a hundred Imperial knights to every Tortallan knight.
Radanae was very glad now, that she had not mentioned that the particular cavalry centuries promised were predominantly made up of knights, with only a slight leveling of particularly gifted fighters who had come to the attention of other commanders. She had a feeling that the four hundred and fifty knights in the force, most in their first five years of service, would come near to the total number of Tortallan knights.
The fighting began before the Imperials reached Tortallan waters. Lord Raoul and the King’s Own joined one of the innumerable haMinch generals up north. Gossip in the corridors told of mysterious walking metal machines of death.
“They sound suspiciously like those things General Kyra was experimenting with, only gone drastically out of hand,” Justinia had been speaking to Lady Keladry, who had been among the very few of the King’s Own to disarm one such machine, when she had been a squire.
“You know what her Majesty said to the General about them,” Radanae said sternly. General Kyra, head of military technology, was brilliant, but sadly, didn’t quite have a grasp on what was appropriate in the real world. The Empress had funded siege engines, fortification scalers, large-scale catapults, improved equipment, but had very vocally drawn the line on metallic machines designed to replace front line shock troops, powered by magic. Not only were mages too precious to be wasted on standard military procedures, if the control mechanisms failed, they would be a danger to the very front line troops the machines had been designed to spare.
The weeks until the Imperials arrived were tense ones. Knights and soldiers continued to arrive in Corus, were received by the King and Queen, and dispatched north. Radanae and the rest of the Imperials stayed as obscure as possible, save when discussing details of the deployment with King Jonathan or his generals. There was the expected amount of wariness among them in welcoming a new force, but Radanae made sure that they had no pressing concerns.
There would be enough headaches once they saw six centuries in full combat gear.
She was not going to mention the special talents of Yevgen or Berenice. They’d spent weeks convincing the Tortallans that the Empire had almost no magic other than communication spells. The Empire had always preferred to defeat overconfident foes who had underestimated them, than to uselessly display their power. That didn’t apply anymore, of course, but it was an instinct.
Of the previous delegation, only the Ambassador herself would be returning. All the other aides and bodyguards – high ranking young knights who had been pulled from the University, junior command posts, or officers’ training for the delegation – would return to their previous assignments. They would return with commendations, and Imperial favor and would be kept in mind for other, better assignments, but to all intents and purposes, their lives would continue as they had before they had come to Tortall. Radanae wondered if the same would happen when she went home – and she had to – Gavrillian had no other heir, with neither of her brothers eligible even if they wanted the responsibilities of the House. Rory, her elder brother, was happy both with his naval career, and his forthcoming marriage to the second daughter of the House of Berlan, a similarly highly ranked aristocratic family. Her parents had written that the jubilant, newly knighted Dux Tertia, her younger brother Kelvar, was overjoyed with an invitation to join the Empress's Swords, a small, highly skilled force designed for covert activities.
The Scanrans had managed to gain a foothold in the northern passes. Mindelan was holding out with difficulty, and even a company of the King’s Own and several squads of the Queen’s Riders seemed to have little impact.
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Chapter 7 – Face to Face
Radanae was not the only one to be glad when the Imperial fleet was spotted gliding towards Port Caynn.
Crown Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami were to greet the Imperial prince and princess, and the return of the Ambassador. Kalasin, much to her disgust, remained in Corus. The arguments were unclear. At any rate, Radanae and the other four members of the delegation waited at the docks, anxiously hoping that they hadn’t done anything too wrong during their period of responsibility, even though they had been in regular contact with their superiors.
Later, Daine Sarrasri, who, along with Kitten the dragon, had come along, as the seals that inhabited the water around the Port reported something curious about the Imperial ships, wondered how she could have missed it. Perhaps it hadn’t even occurred to her. Not until Kitten had whistled, and she had placed a hand around the badger’s claw almost as a reflex, did the tell-tale copper threads around some of the Imperials appear. Suddenly many things began to make sense.
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Neither Roald nor Yevgen was particularly talkative in nature, so after the long-winded greetings and introductions, they rode to Corus in almost silence. Shinkokami and Berenice were not so restrained, however, and spoke of everything from the air quality to inhabitants of the Corus zoo. They seemed to be getting along famously, even if the Imperial princess was a great deal more outgoing and had a more dominant personality than the Yamani. Behind them, riding with Ambassador Lansherry, and in front of the six centuries sent as military aid, Radanae gave her quiet report on the last few weeks.
To her great relief, Lansherry approved. Now, of course, was the ultimate test of a diplomat – involvement in another country’s wars.
They arrived in the Royal Palace in Corus to more ceremonies. Daine observed that the prince, like Numair and Alanna the Lioness, had looked very green after disembarkation and slightly starved – as though he hadn’t eaten for a few days so that he wouldn’t disgrace himself on the dock. Aside from the slight green tinge under his freckles, however, one couldn’t tell as the Ambassador formally introduced him and his sister to King Jonathan and Queen Thayet. Princess Kalasin was still not present, but Yevgen did not ask after her. There was a preliminary presentation of gifts – the larger, live ones. To Radanae’s surprise, the Empress had managed to secure the pick of this year’s sale-horses from the Gavrillian stud. Kelvar, of course, would have been given the best of the herd for that year by their parents, as Rory and Radanae herself had when they had been knighted. The Gavrillian House may have had unwavering loyalty to the Delmaran House, but that didn’t necessarily extend to commercial transactions. Ten magnificent destriers, ranging in colour from the deepest black through bays, chestnuts, golds, and greys to almost cream, fully caprisoned in Conté colours, and a litter of mastiff puppies, who Radanae knew from experience would grow into enormous brutes the size of ponies, with teeth and jaws to rip limbs off.
“Well?” Kalasin demanded as soon as her brother entered the Council chambers. She had not been happy to be ordered not to greet her proposed bridegroom. By rights she should have already been in her rooms, getting ready for the ball to welcome him.
“He’s quiet,” was Roald’s comment as he sank into his chair. Shinko had gone to make sure that the ranking members of the Imperial force were settled in the envoys’ wing, while the soldiers were camped in their own area near the Palace, close to the Rider barracks, as near as possible to the envoys’ wing. “By the way, at least one of the horses is yours. Ten destriers. Father says that each is worth at least a few hundred gold nobles. And this.” He placed a wriggling brindled bundle with huge paws onto the Council table. “There are ten of these, too.” He commented as the not-so-small puppy climbed into Kally’s lap.
The rest of the Council, who, apparently, had been making small talk with the Imperials, then entered and took their places. Some held similar wriggling bundles to the one in Kally’s lap, some unsure of what to do with them, Lord Wyldon looking as though the gods had dumped a treasured gift in his lap. Daine the wildmage, looking as though there was something she was holding back with difficulty started as soon as the door had closed and the last – Duke Gareth of Naxen – had taken their seats.
“At least half of them are wildmages. Including both the Prince and Princess, and the five who stayed from the first delegation. We knew four of them had the Gift, but it didn’t even occur to me to see if they had wild magic.”
“How much?” the King asked quickly, “as much as, well, you?”
Daine shook her head. “Most have a trace – about enough to communicate, to sense almost. A few should be able to actually speak, even fewer could possibly shapechange. The Prince and Princess, I have to say it, are in the last category. At the same time, though” she held up a hand as half the Council got up to shout, “there are unfamiliar aspects. There may be several different types of wild magic – weather, earth and such – that we don’t have here.”
The Council exploded into shock. Well, almost all. Kalasin sat in the chair that she had been granted for discussions that involved the Imperials, stroking the puppy, and praying.
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By themselves, each of the thin gauze dresses, purple and red, were transparent. Worn one on top of the other, though, they gave a ghostly outline of the body underneath. Berenice looked at herself critically in the mirror as she pinned her hair up under her circlet. There were opals sewn into the hems of both dresses so they would not fly up in the wind. She sighed. It had been a very long time since she had worn anything other than riding leathers or half-armour, much less this finery. She planned to divert attention away from her brother, so that he could have the leisure to make the acquaintance of Princess Kalasin, without the Court gossips. She swore as her hair fought its way out of the pins. She hoped that it would be worth it.
He was already in the Crystal Room, speaking with her parents. Kalasin hovered around the door as some of her mother’s ladies fluttered about her dress and hair. They were ordinary ladies-in-waiting, not the Queen’s Ladies – who were a lot more fun to be around, frankly. His back was to the door, but Kalasin could see that he was dressed elegantly in dark grey velvet, silver band around his pale hair. She took a deep breath and entered the room, aware that there was an almost immediate silence.
He turned around.
He was a good-deal better-looking in the flesh than he was in the scrying bowl, Kally decided, as she saw dark eyes that contrasted oddly with the fair hair, skin very pale against the dark, oddly cut tunic that emphasised a strong chest and shoulders. Their eyes met, brown to blue. She didn’t know what he saw in hers, but his were carefully polite and expressionless as he bowed.
Someone must have introduced them – her parents, the Ambassador – who materialised out of thin air – but Kalasin could not recall it. She felt her hand rise of its own volition, saw him raise it to his lips, saw him offer an arm to escort her to the refreshment table. She honestly could not recall anything after that.
Kalasin and Yevgen had relative privacy for the rest of the evening, sitting near one of the large windows, no small part due to his sister, who entered just as curious onlookers and vultures descended on them, wearing, by Tortallan standards, practically nothing except gauze and expensive jewellery. Kally caught a glimpse of Yevgen’s face just before he reverted to a polite, royal mask. His smile indicated that he had expected something of the sort.
At one point in the evening, Queen Thayet and Commander Buri came over to check on them. Kalasin thought the looks on their faces as Yevgen greeted them in K’mir was almost worth marrying him.
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It was well into the early hours of the morning, so both Jonathan and Thayet dismissed their valet and maid respectively, and prepared for bed themselves. Evidently, the valet and maid had other notions why the King and Queen wanted privacy and hurried off hiding smiles.
Thayet collapsed into the bed, groaning. “Training before dawn, War Council all day, diplomatic parties until dawn. Hours like this are for the insane.”
Jonathan was grinning wickedly as he climbed in beside her. “You married me. Some say that’s as much indication as anyone needs.”
“True enough,” she conceded, shedding her dressing gown and throwing it across the room as she tried to get comfortable, then sighed. “What do you think of him, Jon?” she asked.
The king turned serious. “Prince Yevgen seems pleasant enough. Very quiet.”
“He seems a bit like Roald,” Thayet considered, then paused. “Did you know he speaks K’mir?”
“No. Does he?” Jon asked, interested.
“Yes. Quite well, in fact. Better than Kally does, in fact, though his accent is odd – almost Doi. Kally, of course, is hounding Buri for more lessons.”
Jon was quiet. “I do wish that it wasn’t necessary.” He grimaced. “With Scanra on the doorstep…” he shook his head, and sighed.
Thayet didn’t really approve of arranged matches on principle, but at least, she supposed, none of the new in-laws as yet had been unlikeable. Shinko was a treasure, and Yevgen was a good deal better than Barnesh of Maren, who had tried to pinch her bottom the one and only time they’d met. “At least he’s the right age,” she said aloud, “he’s polite, doesn’t pick his nose in public, and, well, as for the rest, we can only see.”
“They’ve proposed to hold the wedding after the Scanran campaign,” Jon told her, kissing her lightly, and was not completely surprised as she pulled him down into the bed. Further discussions of the matter were put off to another, less interesting time.
At least Kally was spending time with Prince Yevgen of her own volition, Jon thought as he finally found his daughter, after a great deal of searching, early the next morning. She was standing beside the prince, leaning against the fence of the field used by the Queen’s Riders, watching some of the Imperial Units go through their paces, trotting out their mounts after the sea voyage. They appeared to be making small talk. Kally was dressed for riding in shirt, breeches and boots, and carried a coat over her arm. The prince was similarly dressed, and appeared to have no intention of joining in the exercises, despite the saddled destrier beside him, a magnificent bay gelding.
The Countess of King’s Reach, with whom Kally had spent four moderately awful years learning to be a ‘lady’, had curtailed almost every enjoyable activity with ‘a princess doesn’t’. Originally, it had been ‘a lady doesn’t ’, until she was aware of the real skills of the Queen’s Ladies. Whenever Kally brought up the subject of her own mother, a princess who did do fun things like hunt bandits and fight, the Countess had always sniffed, and said something about her mother making the most of extraordinary circumstances, and made her do more embroidery. She wondered what the Countess would have thought of Princess Berenice, dressed in combat armour, mounted on a black warhorse, and snapping orders to cavalry squads to perform complicated maneuvers as though she did it every day.
On second thought, she probably did do it every day. Kally stole a glance sideways at Yevgen, who looked calm. He had been on his way to the fields when he saw her and stopped to talk. He seemed nice enough, in a very distant, polite way. She sighed.
Yevgen noticed. “Am I boring you, your Highness?” he asked. There was no indication of his true feelings.
“No, no. I was just looking at your sister. She has a real gift for command. I wish I shared it.”
Yevgen smiled and bowed. “She’ll be gratified to hear that.”
There was a shout and crash as one of the riders took a nasty spill, and only narrowly avoided being trampled. The princess held up a hand to stop the exercise, then dismounted herself to make sure that the rider was fine. A young man, he seemed more embarrassed than injured as he climbed back onto his dun mare and rejoined his squad. Kally noticed that Yevgen had looked at the situation, and decided it was not serious, and visibly relaxed.
By this time the King had approached, and Yevgen was the first to turn around and bow, not in the least surprised at the appearance of Kally’s father.
“Your Majesty,”
“Your Highness. I hope that the accommodations are adequate?”
“We are honoured by the care and attention of your Majesty,”
They continued in this bent for several more exchanges. Kally thought with a sinking heart that the prince, like her own brother, could, if he so chose, spend his entire life making such guarded and formal conversation. She was a little gratified, however, that Yevgen made an effort to include her in the conversation, though whether it was Imperial good manners or any real feelings on his part.
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