Aric meets the princes, gains a new friend, and runs into Trouble of various sorts.

This is a clean chapter (the next two will not be) in which Aric learns more about the city and about the people he's supposed to serve. Not all of it is nice. I will try to write up a dramatis personae, as this chapter introduces the last of the major recurring characters (I think). I have tried to make this easier to read, and cut out a lot of semicolons to that end :3  Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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The Valiant and the Bold, by Rob Baird. Ch. 2, "The Useful and the Good"

Queen Ansha stared at the table between us. After pausing for several thoughtful seconds, the doe lifted one of the pieces, and moved it two squares closer to my side of the board. “How was that?"

“An intriguing choice," I allowed.

She smiled, and raised a glass of wine to her lips. “Did I, or did I not, instruct you not to simply allow me to win?" She took a long sip; the smile remained. “Aric?"

“Traditionally, one does not move a pikeman two squares in this fashion. The pikeman can block to one square at either side of him. If you advance him two squares, he is unsupported. He can be flanked by a horseman—like so." I lifted the marble knight, and showed how it could be moved to attack her exposed pikeman.

“But if you moved your horseman there, could I not simply attack him with impunity?" She pointed to one of her other pieces.

I shook my head. “At this range, you would need two archers to defeat the horseman. If I attacked your pikeman, your best move would be to counterattack with your own horses."

“The whole center of the board would become one great mass of confusion, I should think."

I allowed myself a smile. “Yes, my queen. It would. Reid's Keep is not exactly training for an actual battle, but it has its moments."

“I've never asked you to tell me any of your old war stories, Aric. You soldiers can be quiet about them. You'd rather I not ask?"

My smile wavered, and I fought to keep it. “I find that… hm…"

“Don't spare my feelings about this any more than about the game, major."

“I find that it's improper for me to assume that others would… understand. Ma'am."

“You don't believe I have the proper background?"

“No, ma'am."

Queen Ansha set her wineglass down, folded her paws gracefully before her, and looked across the table, and the gameboard—and, I perceived, the expanse of our varied histories as well. “I suspect that you're right."

“I mean no slight."

“I know you don't." Without moving her head, she looked down at the ornately carved pieces of the game we'd been playing—by the condition of the board, it might never have been used before. “I find myself amused by a thought, Aric."

“Ma'am?"

“Imagine a young girl, knowing from the age of four that she was destined to be married off to someone—gods only know who. That she was to be 'royalty,' and having no idea whatsoever what that was to mean. It's the earliest thing she remembers: that every aspect of her life had been orchestrated for her. In the end, despite her education and the lessons in manners and foreign languages, everything in her life moved to the end of being a… possession. Can you imagine that?"

“No. No, ma'am. I cannot."

“The amusing thought is that my days are consumed with the consequences of that path: all the politics and the pageantry, and the tedious long discussions over tea and too-sweet cakes. You would think it would be far more pleasant than warfare. But they've never made a game of it."

I nodded, uncertain of what else I could possibly say. Or if, indeed, I was supposed to say anything at all. I gathered I was not: Ansha didn't seem to be waiting for a reply.

“Let's do each other a favor. If it ever matters, please, tell me one of your stories—and do what you can to make certain I understand it. Spare me the rest; I won't pry. And I'll do the same for you. Ivra K'nSullach, I've heard, says that court politics is a battlefield. Does she say that?"

“Yes."

“Ivra isn't as smart as she believes. Loyalty is her weakness, unfortunately. She doesn't understand that there's not much difference, in the end, between feral guard dogs and those that walk on two legs. I know you trust her, Aric, and you should. It's a shame that life rarely finds happy endings for old bitches."

Someone knocked at the door. I rose, straightened my uniform, and strode over to open it. On the other side was a bear, wearing a suit that probably cost more than I'd ever see at once and young enough that I doubted he'd earned the coin himself. “Queen Ansha is not accepting visitors," I told him.

“It is a critical matter, soldier," he told me.

I was learning to identify the certain imperious tone that nobility adopted, when they assumed it would be sufficient to force my hand. “Please discuss it with her Maiden of Affairs, in that case."

The bear took a short, sharp breath. “I must insist. Soldier, this is—"

“Major, let him in. I recognize that voice," Ansha said. I nodded, took my stiff, martial steps back from the door to permit his entry, then closed and barred it behind him. “Please, introduce yourself to our visitor."

Still at attention, I nodded curtly. “Major Aric Laner, sir."

“My personal guard. This is Haralt Berdanish. Lieutenant Berdanish, I believe."

I saw a moment of uncomfortable tension take the bear at the queen's statement. “Formally," he said, through teeth that were not quite gritted—but very close. “Haralt, Earl of Erdurin—son of Nantor, the Duke of Cirth-Arren. My military title is… not… relevant in this company." He was trying to choose his words carefully, I felt, to avoid giving offense—though to whom, I couldn't be sure.

“I suppose not," Ansha said, airily. “But it is your rank, of course. You did earn it."

“Your Majesty, I would not disturb you if it wasn't important. I've received word that the Old Council is meeting, on a question of the military budget. Specifically, whether to authorize the raising of an additional regiment in Garstead."

“You must be mistaken, Haralt. They can't meet without my husband or your father."

“They consider it exigent circumstances, Your Majesty. There've been rumors of pirate activity on the southern coasts—not amounting to raids, yet, but who can say when that might change? And more troubling rumors that Railroad mercenaries have been dispatched to reinforce our own understrength forces on the Whistling Pale."

Ansha shook her head. “I mean they cannot meet, Haralt."

“In purely legal terms, Your Majesty, that is incorrect. Arkenprince Salda has named Lessit, the Duke of Kalran to stand in his stead while he attends to matters with the harbor in Harradon. And with Lord Kalran, they have a quorum."

“Lessit will do what my husband wishes." She glared at the young bear, watching him shift nervously, adjusting his weight from foot to agitated foot. “What? Out with it, Haralt; I don't have time for you."

“Your husband has declined to provide instructions to Lord Kalran on this matter, despite requests from my father and His Majesty the Arkenprince Tullen. And… and…"

“Directly and honestly." She conveyed her displeasure without raising her voice—merely an added sternness in her tone.

Haralt huffed, straightened, and stared past Queen Ansha, avoiding eye contact. “Lord Kalran is an obedient servant to His Majesty, but a weak man in the company of the other arkenprinces."

“Then what have you done?"

“Hallun Couthragn dispatched me to you, Your Majesty. He has removed Lord Kalran to a commissioning ceremony in Ketta Bay, which will prevent the Old Council from assembling their quorum until tomorrow morning at the earliest—but tomorrow afternoon, at the latest."

“Bloody trains," Ansha said. “Ketta used to be two days' journey. Where is your father, Haralt?"

“In Tanif, attending to my mother while she recuperates from an illness."

“Send Hallun to recall him. He'll be able to shout some order into those ungrateful princes, I'm sure."

“Mr. Couthragn accompanied Lord Kalran southwards, to make certain he was not waylaid. He's still in Garraby, Your Majesty."

“And we must be short of reliable men, if he sent you." Beyond the acerbic words, she still betrayed no outward sign of her frustration. “Major Laner, in that case, you'll ride to Tanif at once. Avoid the main roads and the train—no point in arousing suspicion. Bring Nantor back—he won't argue—and give Duchess Irina my regards."

There was nothing to be gained in contesting, although my orders specifically instructed me to remain by the queen's side. “Yes, Your Majesty," I said, bowing to her. “I'll inform Colonel K'nSullach and have a new guard assigned."

“Be quick about it," was her brief reply.

On the far side of the door, Haralt finally permitted himself to sigh. “I'll accompany you to Cassalmure, soldier. I should speak to the colonel, myself."

“Very well, my lord."

“I'd only slow you down on the way to Tanif itself. I'm not as good on horseback as my father is—nor you, I'm sure, as a soldier."

“You yourself were—"

He glanced sideways at me with a stony glare. “Don't. You may be the queen's guard, but spare me the queen's games. You're not entitled."

“I did not mean any insult, my lord."

Haralt had a purposeful stride, longer than his stature would have suggested. He slowed in it briefly, looking towards me again. “Apologies, in that case," he muttered, before resuming our brisk walk. “My family expects its sons to have a military appointment. All of us. I spent six months supervising the logistics of the Fort Athin garrison. That is all."

“There's no shame in logistics. Wars are won on supply lines, not front lines, sir."

He sighed, lowering his head and walking faster. “Yes. But it's not my place. The queen did not refer to my rank in your presence to comment on the virtue of proper supply, major."

He summoned a carriage, and passed a handful of coins to the driver along with his order to take us to Cassalmure. It didn't take very long, and Haralt remained quiet throughout the ride until we were nearly to the barracks.

Then he turned, fixing me in a sharp gaze. “Do you know my father, the duke?"

“We've met. He knows my face, but little more."

“He remembers those. Good luck."

My sense of urgency deepened once we were inside the gates of Cassalmure, where Colonel K'nSullach immediately ordered a horse readied. “I'll cable the garrison at Fort Athin and tell them to expect you with a fresh horse. You should be able to make that in an hour and a half or so."

“He should stay off the main highway," Haralt suggested. “All the towns along the coast have cable stations of their own, and we don't know who might be watching."

K'nSullach gritted her teeth, but nodded. “Then take the road to Heshten Graw and I'll have someone meet you there, presuming the military telegraph is working. If nobody meets you, continue as quickly as you can to Tanif. Leave as soon as you've changed from that uniform."

I ignored the oddity of the whole affair, and the alienness of its nature to me. As soon as I was on horseback the world began to regain its sense of order. I was a soldier again, with a soldier's purpose. I could have been back in Dhamishaya, on patrol, except the roads were empty rather than thronging with caravans.

At least it meant there was nobody to stop me.

By Heshten Graw, a farming village of a few hundred souls, my legs had begun to ache, but even this was gratifying in its own way. At the sight of the approaching rider, one of the farmers waved me to the town's post office. A new horse was waiting, held by a soldier in the Royal Army with a look of curiosity on his face.

“Some kind of emergency, sir?" he asked. “Major Fenn put the fear of Galith into me to be ready for you—an' I've not been here more'n fifteen minutes."

I pulled myself from the saddle—Gods, but I was going to be sore. “Some kind of emergency," I confirmed. “Tabisthalia business, corporal. You'll take her to Fort Athin?" I gestured back to my horse.

“Yes, sir, of course. Safe travels—I was told to inform you to take the southern road, through the woods. Don't know why, it's a bit longer, but…"

I thanked him and started off again. The forest track was even more desolate than the road from Cassalmure to Heshten. I was grateful for the shade; morning had turned to high noon, and I was pushing my horse hard. We emerged from the trees only half an hour from Tanif, and I slowed to acquaint myself with the lay of the land.

Tanif, a medium-sized town, was not itself my goal. Fortunately Duke Cirth-Arren's estate was unmistakable. The main building sat in a clearing, surrounded by immaculately tended orchards. Hardy Arrenish pears, I believed: a working property, clearly.

Duke Cirth-Arren's manor, too, was grand but not especially ostentatious—neither decorative towers nor parapets. Ivy threaded its way up stout walls made of stone instead of marble. It looked, I thought, like a university more than anything else.

One of the duke's servants met me, expressing no particular surprise when I told him that I needed an audience with the man. “You're a soldier," was his only comment. He bade me follow him inside, up two flights of stairs to a wood-paneled office overlooking the path that led to the estate.

I didn't have long to wait before the duke arrived. Nantor Berdanish, Duke Cirth-Arren, dressed simply for the occasion, but even his unadorned coat and trousers spoke to the great craftsmanship with which they'd been tailored.

“Your grace." I started to bow, but he shook his head and I caught myself. “Major Laner, sir. From the Royal Guard."

As Haralt had predicted, though, he already knew who I was. “Queen Ansha's bodyguard. What brings you to Tanif—and by horse, at that? Don't stand on principle: speak to me as directly as you can."

I nodded. “The Old Council is near to a quorum. Her Majesty asked me to bring you back—I presume, your grace, this was to prevent any possible disputes with a certain Lord Kalran and the Old Council."

“That is a friendly way of saying it, yes." The bear waved his assistant close. “Fresh horses, Tavel."

“Yes, sir."

It left us alone, and Duke Cirth-Arren remained quiet long enough for me to realize this had been his intent. “What is the matter under discussion, major?"

“The Royal Army, sir, and its budget. They mean to propose raising a regiment in Garstead—this was all that I overheard. It comes from your son, the Earl of Erdurin. He reported it straight to Her Majesty."

“Garstead?" His brow wrinkled. “It must be about the gods-damned bridge, then. I suppose it's best that you understand what's going on—it's not exactly privileged information. That garrison has been undermanned for years. The Carregan Transcontinental Railroad mercenaries make up the difference… everyone can see that they're trying to establish their own legitimacy as a proper military."

“Hence… strengthening the King's Own Army?" I suggested. “To reduce the need for the mercenaries."

“Yes. But Garstead has been drifting closer to the Carregans, and forcing them to support a new regiment is open provocation. The Old Council is playing with fire." Nantor looked to the door; we were still by ourselves. “You should know that, though."

“I don't follow, sir. Apologies."

“Don't I remember you saying you were from Stolvan? You were posted to Marskirk. Who serves there? What units?"

“The Cahied Fusiliers, sir. Half of the Keering Foot, the Calpathians—"

“The Calpathian Mounted, from Laddachshire. The Keering Regiment, from Peraford. Your Cahied Fusiliers are a mixed unit from Laddachshire and Martal. The only soldiers from the Aultlands that fought in the south were in the 16th Regiment, Branleigh's Lancers. Did you fight with them, major?"

From what little I knew of them, the Lancers had been responsible for punitive raids against the last stand of the disgruntled farmers. “No, sir. I did not."

It was true, as Duke Cirth-Arren hinted, that the Midlands bore the heaviest brunt of the fighting. And when he asked if, at last, I understood his meaning, I nodded. The Old Council desired control of the army; they did not wish to contribute their own population to it.

And I saw the implication that the bear made, when he pointed out that the commander at Castle Mirhall was a commoner. General Galtlowe, according to Nantor, was not naturally timid but understood that he did not have the authority to act on his own.

“By strengthening his command, they intend to get the general to act more decisively in pacifying the frontier. Unfortunately, they fail to reckon that numbers alone will not settle the matter."

“What will you do, then, sir?"

“Ride back and compel Lessit to see reason. Can you still travel?"

I could, though by the time we were back in Tabisthalia I was exhausted nearly beyond the ability to speak. The Duke left me at Cassalmure; Ivra K'nSullach wasn't around, and I just barely had the presence of mind to leave a message for her informing the colonel of my safe return before collapsing into my cot.

In general I was expected to sleep at the Iron Hall, where a room had been provided for me. But my rank entitled me to a room at the barracks in Cassalmure, where I kept most of my belongings: the trappings of a soldier's life seemed out of place amongst all the tapestries.

Much as I appreciated the comfort of a proper bed, I didn't even notice whether the cot was any less pleasant. As soon as I was on my back I no longer wished to move. I slept through dinner at the mess hall; it was early morning when I rose again, and time to head back to Kenley Hill.

To my slight shame, the ride had taxed my body greatly. The aching in my legs gave me a hobbled gait, and in the end I hailed a carriage to take me the rest of the way to the palace. Queen Ansha was waiting, eyeing me with a faint smile. “Are you well, Aric?"

“I will be, soon enough. Apologies, Your Majesty."

“It's fine. But it seems that my husband wishes an audience with you. He'll be free in a few minutes… perhaps enough time to stretch your legs?"

It wasn't. Willpower alone kept my stride steady. Captain Sergid, the fox who oversaw the guard's contingent at the Iron Hall and stood regular watch in front of King Chatherral's chambers, nodded politely and pushed the door open.

The sovereign was alone. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the screaming in my legs, and bowed my head. “Your Majesty. Major Aric Laner, reporting."

“Yes… yes. Please, rise. The business of this morning is concluded. I was told that you went to speak to Nan, on Ansha's behalf."

“Yes, Your Majesty."

“Let us take a walk, soldier, what do you say?"

Even if he had phrased it as a question, there was obviously no way that I could decline a request directly from my king. I nodded, and followed him through the quiet halls of the palace. He didn't seem to notice my gait, or—if he did—he said nothing about it.

Indeed, he said nothing at all until we were out in the garden: alone, though I knew that there were soldiers keeping careful watch over us from a distance. Sergid had a command of fifteen or twenty permanently assigned; I didn't see much of them.

“How was your visit to… to Tanif, was it? Nan's family lives in Tanif."

“It was…" How to describe it? I chose to tread carefully. “It was well, sire. Pleasant riding."

Chatherral smiled. “I imagine so. I don't get to do very much of that, anymore. In my day, though… in my day, we had such great hunts. Are you are a hunter, my boy?"

“No, sir."

“No. But a soldier… you must be a good shot."

I allowed that I had been trained, of course, as a fusilier in the King's Own Army. That phrase brought a smile to the stag's face. I wondered if he was about to ask me about my time in the service—perhaps to recount stories for him—but he merely inquired if I could use a bow and arrow, and again smiled at my affirmative response.

“I don't do that, either. Not these days." Still smiling, he closed his eyes and turned his aged muzzle upwards to the afternoon sun. He inhaled deeply. “Ah, it's wonderful. Yet we must have our own pursuits. Hobbies. You have hobbies, do you not?"

“Reading, sire, when I can. History in particular intrigues me."

“Mm, yes. My brother was the same way. Like you. Have you read anything of his? Goodness, I remember how much time Adan spent in the libraries… he loved the libraries. We have a beautiful one, down along the promenade. The fountains in it were designed by… oh, by who was it?"

He trailed off. I no longer knew if he still expected me to answer the question but, cautiously, I spoke when it became clear he was not going to continue. “I read Prince Adan's treatise on the Bloodrock War, yes."

“Did you like it?"

“His experience was plainly apparent, yes."

King Chatherral stopped at a crossroads in the garden. He looked me over, and I felt his eyes on the buttons of my uniform coat, very nearly a physical presence. They say the royal line has the favor of the gods, I thought. And I believed it. “My father sent him purposefully. My brother always had a way with men under fire, as I did not. We knew that our armies faced no real opposition, not in Dhamishaya, not by then. I remember Adan telling my father that to pacify the northeastern frontier would take more than campaigning, it would take a deliberate strategy to convince the last holdouts that their defeat was inevitable."

“That's why your father sent him? To develop that strategy?"

His tone, like his gaze, had turned to sharp, keen steel. “Oh, yes. Yes. Forcing them into a pitched battle at Shandur was Adan's idea, as was forming the Royal Frontier Corps with the old Bhiran's warrior shekh—their word for 'caste,' though it's really more complex than that. Adan saw that to hold Dhamishaya, the real battlefield would be within the structures of power. We made a bit of a mess of that. I should take some blame—I didn't truly understand what a tangle all those families were, this shekh and that shekh…

“But that all came later, well after the RFC was established. I'm certain it endures largely because of Adan's skill in cultivating it. You should've seen him on horseback, my boy! None could help but follow him, wherever he might lead—none would dare oppose him. He left it from the books out of modesty, and a desire not to overshadow my father, but after Shandur, when the warlords surrendered, they insisted it must be to him, directly. They swore loyalty to my brother—some of them still bleeding from the wounds he'd inflicted. That was Adan."

“Indeed. He was tremendously successful." For several decades, at least. The first cracks had begun to appear even before my unit was deployed. Had he still been alive, Prince Adan would doubtless have realized that civil war was brewing. Perhaps he could have told his brother how to stop it—but I didn't say that.

King Chatherral's eyes faded. He looked away from me, back to the hedges, and resumed walking. “Yes… yes, a good man," he mused. His voice softened. “He was a good man. He loved the library."

“We were sorry to hear of his illness."

Chatherral seemed not to be listening. He paused, bending forward to examine a flower. “Do you garden, soldier? For me, there's little greater peace to be found. This is a golden rose, from the Dominion. They require careful tending. Look at the petals…"

“Beautiful, sire."

His smile was gentle, beatific. “It's said with the right conditions, a Dominion rosebush grows no thorns. We've never had those conditions, obviously."

I wondered if it might have been metaphor—if there had been some connection to the story of his brother. But as he kept talking I gradually realized there was not. He explained the watering ritual, and how the roses needed to be kept from the coldest part of spring in the Tabis Valley.

It was completely literal, and his passion was obvious. Whatever I had glimpsed, whoever had spoken to me of Prince Adan, that man had vanished.

***

“How was your walk, Aric?"

“Enlightening."

The doe looked plainly unconvinced. “Really?"

“After a fashion, ma'am." She kept staring at me. “I was expecting something different, I'll admit. His Majesty asked to speak to me after I had ridden to bring the Duke of Cirth-Arren back. I… I expected our discussion might be around that. It was not."

“His garden? Yes, of course, it must've been that. It doesn't surprise me…"

“I didn't mind. Obviously, the king must have some pursuits, it just—"

“Wasted your time. But you were alone with him, and that won't go unremarked. People will notice that you're known by Duke Cirth-Arren, too. It could make you seem… less than impartial."

The pause had been deliberate and pointed, and she let the words hang. I couldn't tell if they had been meant as a threat—or even what the threat might have been. It seemed to me that I wasn't impartial, simply by nature of my assignment. I was loyal to the queen, which made me loyal to the royal family…

Ansha scoffed. “You don't see what's going on. I wish it was safe enough that I could envy you, Aric, but I can't. We're not all on the same side. We don't always know whose side everyone is on, but it's not the same."

“You mean the Old Council trying to… well, speaking honestly, to usurp King Chatherral's place."

“No. Beyond that. They all have angles and schemes. Even Nantor and his prince. Their loyalty to my husband blinds them. Cargal'th—if he wandered off a cliff, Tullen would be first in line to plunge after him."

“But loyalty… isn't… well, isn't—"

“There can be too much of anything, even submission to my husband. Yes, he tries my patience. You can see how much is being neglected—I love the man, Aric, but even I admit that the empire occasionally suffers for it. What happens if we continue propping the throne up? The question makes you uncomfortable, does it?"

I swallowed heavily. “Yes."

“You'll learn what I mean. Until then, though, I worry about you, and you don't make it any easier by being conspicuous. I know that I was the one who asked you to bring back the duke—you weren't seen on the ride to Tanif, were you?"

“I don't believe so." At least, I had no reason to think otherwise: “Colonel K'nSullach instructed me to take minor roads."

“Then the gossip comes from Nantor himself. This is what I mean—he wants it known that you're in his circle. You and Ivra." She rose from her chair, turning away from me and pacing to the window. The sun had given up the buttery, comforting warmth of late afternoon for deepening red; the trees sparked with it, as if from a nearby forge. “It could be dangerous. I shouldn't have sent you—that was an error on my part. Perhaps…"

“Ansha?"

She looked away from the window. “'Dangerous' surprises you still. It's obvious that you're to be more than my bodyguard, Aric. I'll have to confide in you. At times, we may need to share a room. We're alone together often. Aren't we?"

“Well. Yes."

“So the Governor's League sees you consorting with Nantor and decides that you weren't as much of an impartial choice as they thought—that perhaps he's using you to gain leverage over me. What would you do?"

“I'm not certain," I had to admit—it wasn't even a question that had crossed my mind.

“The answer is 'nothing'—there's nothing you can do. Something could be found to disgrace you—destroy you, perhaps, even. You don't matter to them, and if rumors are getting back to me about your talk with my husband, I know the League has deduced already who brought the Duke of Cirth-Arren back."

I shook my head. “I don't understand. He all but did the Midlands a favor, keeping the question of expanding the army at bay."

Ansha turned from me once more. Her paws flexed, working tension from her fingers. “The more clear-headed among them see it that way. Most of them think Nantor and those like him are too powerful, and they're too stubborn to see that he's helping them. Are they wrong? I mean the question sincerely, Aric—are they wrong?"

“To be honest, ma'am… yes, I think they are. The duke appears to be nothing but a staunch defender of the empire, and of its sovereign."

“He was appointed by, and is accountable to, no one." The doe was speaking to the window, quiet—but stern, as if she held an audience beyond me. “Nantor is someone Arkenprince Tullen listens to, that's all. How can the Iron Kingdom rest its future in the hope that the friends of princes happen to be decent men?"

Here, I had no answer. Ansha sighed, and left the window to take her seat again. She beckoned me to do the same.

“Even if you don't understand the details, Aric, do you believe me when I say that your position is riskier than it appears?"

“I have to, yes."

“Do you believe that I care about you? Oh, yes—yes, you have to do that, as well. It wasn't a fair question. I can try to protect you, Aric, but I may need you to do me some favors, now and then."

“Such as?"

“An errand that stays between you and I. Delivering a message whose existence is unknown even to your commander, and the duke. Guarding secrets I may reveal and holding them in complete privilege. You're not in Nantor's circle, Aric. You're in mine. Do you understand?"

“Yes."

“Good. You'll know when I'm asking. The rest of the time, you may carry out your duties as you ordinarily do. Albeit… it would be ideal to get you out of town for a few days, until things have settled down… does that seem reasonable?"

I nodded.

“The princes have been at school… I don't think you've been properly introduced to Cædor, have you? Well, you'll get the chance. There's a sailing review that departs tomorrow—some new ship or another. Colonel K'nSullach won't begrudge you sleeping outside the Iron Hall for a night, will she?"

“No, I don't think so."

“Then I'll see you tomorrow."

***

Still trying to decide what the conversation had meant, I returned to Cassalmure to speak with Ivra. This time, the Border Collie was in her office; when my arrival was announced, she dismissed whoever had been visiting and directed me to enter at once.

“You did well to ride to Tanif, Major Laner."

“The debate in the Old Council is—"

“Over. They've deferred the budget for another two weeks, until Lord Canley can make a report." The colonel's brow furrowed with her brief, wry smile. “It isn't what they mean. Two weeks gives both sides time to assemble allies. The gods themselves may not know yet how this affair will eventually end. But you did well. Thank you."

“Yes, ma'am."

“Lord Cirth-Arren will be watching. That's good—he should know that he can rely on you."

'Good.' I was mindful that this wasn't what Queen Ansha had told me. And that, doubtless, I was not to speak of that conversation to the colonel. “Yes, ma'am."

I'd waited too long to say it. The Border Collie tilted her head. “The Duke of Cirth-Arren understands how delicate the balance is. Moreover, he understands the army: his eldest son fought in the Harvest Rising, and fought well. I'm from the March, major—when I say it, you'd best listen."

“Understood."

“We didn't meet on the field," she clarified; this smile was rather darker than the one before. “But he's smart, and so is his father. They're loyal, and they're good allies. I'm grateful to you for showing them that I was right to ask you here. That's personal, mind you—there's no rank in that one. Thank you, Aric."

“You're welcome."

Satisfied that my hesitation had only been about the duke's character, she returned to reading over my report. “A naval review? Hm. Curious." K'nSullach set the paper down, and began sorting through a stack of similar memos on her desk.

“What's curious about it?"

“Neither Captain Sergid nor Major Harrell said anything. That would make you the only member of the Royal Guard aboard. I wonder if… sergeant!"

A moment after her barked order, the door to Colonel K'nsullach's office opened and a young hare stepped in. “Reporting as ordered, ma'am."

“At ease. Sergeant, cable the palace attaché to Lord Ashenar and find out who's serving on a review tomorrow. I don't know the ship—find that out, too. You're dismissed."

“Yes, ma'am." The door clicked shut again.

K'nSullach picked up my report, which wavered in her paw as it slowly tapped the desk. “The Admiralty often prefers to use their men in cases like this. It's fine. But Arn Sergid and the attaché know each other well. He should be going. You didn't hear anything?"

“No."

She nodded, still pensive. “Very well. Maybe the Queen has simply taken a special fancy to you. Keep your ears perked, Major Laner. And… you're a good soul. Stay outside and watch the horizon, if you can. I think that helps."

***

It didn't help, and my lack of comfort had been noticed by my traveling companions. Prince Enthar watched the way I held to the railing with interest. “I imagine he doesn't like boats, mother. Do you like boats, soldier?"

I shook my head. “Not generally, Your Majesty. It depends on the situation of course."

“You get seasick?"

“Yes," I admitted.

Prince Cædor found this extremely amusing. He was younger than Enthar by a few years, but old enough that his disposition was already becoming clear to me. “I thought you were supposed to be a great warrior. How can you be a soldier if you can't even handle a little water?"

“Most of the battles fought by the King's Own Army have been on land, Your Majesty. We only take boats to get there and back—if that."

“Well that's rather dumb, I must say. Why should the Dominion be the only one with a navy? My father said that he was going to make the Royal Navy the strongest in the whole world. It's a good start, isn't it?"

Not only did I not particularly care for boats, I knew very little about them. The Atosha might very well have been the finest ship in the whole of the Known World: as far as I was concerned, it was simply a 'frigate' the same as any others.

King Chatherral did have bluewater ambitions, of course. He was responsible for the continued existence of the dreadnought Uthariel, whose massive hulk we had been compelled to sail past as we left Tabisthalia Harbor. The Uthariel was intended to have been the first step in Aernian dominance of the ocean.

It did not leave the harbor, and even constant repainting couldn't hide the ship's shoddy construction. There had been other iron boats since, frigates that adopted the steam power used by railroad locomotives. But we were not a great naval power: it had never been in our destiny. “Is it a good start?" I tried to indulge the prince. “I am not as versed in these matters as you."

“The captain said she can sail at seven and a half knots at full steam," Prince Enthar interjected.

Prince Cædor was more interested in other things. “The Atosha's cannons were the first modern naval guns designed by iron men, rather than adapted by those Ellagdran warlords in their awful mess of a territory, and she has twenty-eight of them on either side."

“That sounds like a great many."

The young buck straightened up, continuing his recitation proudly. “Each one of them fires a hundred-pound shell, and Commander Haddar told me it has a range of over two miles. It's based on a gun the Carregan Railroad equips their frigates with, the ones they used to clean the Shrouded Rocks. Did you hear about that? My friend Ennobeck Carregan told me all about those battles."

He was referring to a series of rocky islands well to our north: an abundant source of coal and metals of interest to the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad. They'd been inhabited—once. “Not much, Your Majesty."

“The natives there had great big arrows, almost with the same range as a needlegun! So they used cannons like these and loaded them with… I can't remember, but it sets everything on fire when it hits—why, they'd burn a whole island down, very nearly. What I wouldn't have given to see those barbarians figure they had a choice between jumping off a cliff and burning up!"

His mother stirred from her perch at the railing. “That's a ghastly thing to say, Cædor."

“Well, I would! It serves them right, mother. They should've known better than to try to fight Ennobeck's uncle, shouldn't they have? Mother says you fought barbarians, too, soldier."

“Yes, Your Majesty." Given the glee with which he'd described the cannons, it wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to having. “But we didn't think of it that way. They were mostly farmers and other every day folk, stirred up into rebellion. Dhamishaya is part of the Empire, after all. They're just coming to it slower than others."

“Then they're still barbarians. You should've really taught them a lesson. I bet if you'd set some of them on fire, they—"

“That's enough," Queen Ansha cut the young man off. “And I shall have a talk with your teacher, if you've learned that as acceptable conversation."

“But mother!"

“Enthar, take your brother back to his cabin and make certain he stays there. Gods, and it's almost tea time, too."

Cædor sulked, transitioning immediately from the proud, straight-backed boy telling me of the Atosha's armament. “But I wanted to accompany you to tea, mother…"

“Then you should learn not to be horrid. Tabent Enthar, listen to me and go put your brother in his room." She glared at the two princes until they were out of sight. “I know it isn't appropriate, so you'll kindly not tell either of them or my husband, but I apologize for his behavior."

“He's… young."

“He's eleven. He should know better than to say things like that. Sometimes I… I worry about him. He could learn a great deal about propriety from his older brother, but my husband has always allowed him to be closer to… others. Ennobeck is cut from the same mold, and I swear that beast is even worse."

I wasn't sure how to respond. Cædor's demeanor was certainly unsettling. But then, he was royalty. As royalty—by definition, according to the faith I did not truly hold to—he was divine. I settled for something more muted, saying that at least Ansha offered her sons a good role model.

“You don't need to flatter me," the doe answered. “I know it's worse than all that. I can only hope it gets better."

So could I, at least to the extent that serving the queen required dealing with her children. Cædor had calmed down by dinner, though I still caught the occasional petulant glare directed at his mother, presumably for the indignity of castigating him in my presence.

After dinner, when the family retired, I discovered that staying in my cabin made my seasickness worse. Eventually, for lack of any better options, I went for a walk, making my way to the frigate's bow. To either side the sea was glass, broken only by the course the Atosha's iron hull carved through the water.

It was almost peaceful, though I'd never be comfortable on such a craft myself.

“I couldn't help hearing your accent. A Midlander?" I turned to examine the source of the voice. The otter was wearing an officer's uniform, and it fit her as it could only have fit an otter.

“Yes, from Overkiath."

“Martal, here. I'm surprised to see someone from Overkiath in a uniform of the Guard, what with the need to give appointments to the old noble families. You're the one, eh? I suppose that means they must trust you."

“Colonel K'nSullach does, yes. Or I could just be their token Midlander, I suppose."

She laughed quietly. “I suppose. I'm a token otter, I believe, don't worry. Do you have a name, 'Midlander,' or just an assignment?"

“Aric. Ah, Major Laner—I'm the Queen's guard."

“Lieutenant Commander Yanisca." One paw held a tin cup, steaming in the mild chill of the evening; she shook my paw with the other, avoiding in the lateness of the hour the formality of a salute. “I'm officially an attaché for the naval lord, but…"

“Lord Ashenar?"

The otter nodded. “One and the same. Really, I'm more of a guard, myself—a chaperone. I keep the royal family from sticking their royal hands down a cannon."

“They'd do that?"

“I wouldn't put it past some of them, let's say it that way." She turned from me, looking past the bow to the black sea and the stars above it, their glimmering light uncontested by either of the moons. “We shouldn't complain, though. Action on the south coast, fighting in Jarnshire—we could be on the wrong side of artillery, instead of a prince."

“The way you say that, I have my doubts."

Yanisca leaned past the railing, closing her eyes against the spray kicked up at the frigate's passage—faint, like the prickle of morning fog. “Do you like boats?"

“I hate boats."

“You like horses?"

“They're not bad."

“I hate horses. I've only ever met one I liked, and that was under quite special circumstances." She laughed, and looked over her shoulder at me. “We're agreed not to take offense?"

“Of course. Special circumstances?"

“A story for another time." Yanisca inhaled the salt air deeply, and pushed herself back to drop onto the deck. Her uniform had remained perfectly sleek and crisp despite the playfulness of the leap. Otters—everything about the water came easily to them. “This is a beautiful ship, Major Laner."

“I've been told, yes."

“The captain says seven and a half knots. The engineer says nine, and these are the best engines Geovia Ironworks has ever made… but at full speed she can come about in under a mile. The stag on the bowsprit was carved by Hasa Raohan—daughter of the Raohan, if you're asking—and those cannons, well, they're better than anything I've seen before. We'll see tomorrow, I suppose."

“They'll be fired, will they not?"

“Targets have been set up on the coast of Ruch Raffen, stone walls as tall as a Tiurishkan galleass—I have to believe that was deliberate. Supposedly, we can land a hit on a target of that size from a mile away—but, again, we'll see tomorrow."

“Legitimately impressive, if it's true."

“Finally, we're making iron ships worthy of the Iron Kingdom." She ran her paw along the railing tenderly. “She'll go to Giral Moss, for the Northern Squadron. Imagine what this could do to those pirates in the south. Those corsairs the smirking bastards at Issenrik say they can't do anything about? Oh, but we could… we could."

“I gather that there is an obstacle to that, commander? I might even gather what it is."

“That the Lord Atosha feels his namesake would be better deployed where he can gaze on it regularly? And, perhaps, to take cruises like these? That's only rumor, and somehow I find I've become distracted, considering it, from your doubts as to my sincerity."

“You're still not convincing me that those doubts were misplaced, I must be honest."

“The Atosha is a beautiful ship, that was my point. I should be honored to serve on her, when I can. But since you're doubting, Major Laner… yes. I was next in line to captain the HMS Eldenna when I was selected to this post. The Eldenna is a brig, a sailing ship with eighteen guns—one for every two years of her service. I was three years old when she launched."

“Being sent here is a great honor, though, is it not? Lord Ashenar seemed—from what I saw of him—to be a good man. Isn't he?"

“He is. He apologized to me. That's when I learned I was the requisite otter on his staff. It's very difficult, I think. We tend to be from the Midlands, or the South Coast, and those types don't fit in very well in Tabisthalia. But you have to have one, of course… what kind of naval staff would you have, without any otters?" She laughed, aware of the absurdity of everything she was saying. “It's a strange world we live in."

“It is, yes. Trust me."

“They tell us not to trust anybody. But if you insist, I suppose I can make an exception. The Eldenna sails under Commodore Gara. The last I heard, they'd left Reth for punitive actions against those pirates. I'd give every bit of this honor to be on her bridge when they first make contact."

“I know. Trust me," I said again.

“You too?"

“When I got an envelope containing new orders from Tabisthalia, I knew exactly what they were. They'd be telling me to take command of the 2nd Battalion of the Cahied Fusiliers. General Salla gave me the letter and the words were on my muzzle about what a great honor it would be."

“Instead you came here." Lieutenant Commander Yanisca's expression was partly hidden by the tin cup at her lips, but her eyes were soft and all-too-knowing. “My cousin served in the Fusiliers for a time. They were in Dhamishaya, then. A frontier posting?"

“My very own eighteen-gun sailing ship, if you will. They're in Dhamishaya still. What battalion was your cousin in?"

“The 3rd. At Fort... Seren-Kai?"

“Yes. A little up the Ajirandigarh River from the capital city. They're good soldiers. Care for a story?"

“Always."

“When I first came to Dhamishaya, I heard that we were soft—just tax collectors, really. The sentiment I heard told me the only proper unit was the RFC, the Royal Frontier Corps—mostly native auxiliaries with Aernian commanders. Guarding caravans and so forth. Us, we just drilled. Never left the barracks except to find company or a drink in town, and what we did there wasn't particularly noble."

Yanisca grinned. “I've seen sailors on shore leave, yes."

“The Rebellion started and we were caught by surprise. Seren-Kai was attacked by a militia four thousand-strong in the opening days. Stolen cannon, improvised mortars… but they held for three weeks before we could relieve them. I'd just been commissioned and given a platoon, under quite… dramatic circumstances."

I'd been completely in over my head, I recalled. Fighting, I knew: how to reload my musket blind and by feel, or how to keep my calm in the thick of battle. But leading men, and taking ownership of their lives as I took responsibility for my own? That was an unthinkable burden.

The otter seemed to understand, so I kept going. “I met one of my counterparts. He reeked of powder, his men were battered, and their uniforms were filthy. I told him he was relieved. I asked what he needed. He looked at his soldiers, and back at me, and he said: 'a good night's rest and a free hand to show those bastards what iron folk are made of.' And the strangest thing about it, was I could see his men were with him. What was left of the 3rd moved out with us during the first counteroffensive."

“Good soldiers," the lieutenant commander said, echoing my words. “We're not supposed to be."

“No." Not like my ancestors, the margraves of the Shining Confederacy whose children were said to grow straight from crawling into a proper, orderly march. “But we were, all the same."

“We can be sailors, too," she promised me. “There's plenty of crabs who can testify to that, well-fed on the raiders we've sent to the bottom. When I was on HMS Eldenna, they didn't even dare show their flag. Once we heard…" She laughed, and had to start the story over. “Once, we caught rumor the pirates were going to pounce on a merchant fleet from Tammervest. We were docked, waiting for more powder—but the captain let slip we'd be guarding that convoy; called us up and hoisted anchor… we heard later the leader of the corsairs wouldn't even leave the port when he got the news."

I chuckled with her, sharing in her fond memory. “Showing them what iron folk are made of."

“Yes. I do miss that part. The way the salt spray on your tongue tastes like… like a reward. Like the gods themselves telling you that you've done something. Meant something. After our first patrol, no sailor on the Eldenna could ever buy a drink in a harbor bar."

“Perhaps this ship will amount to more than that, in the end."

“I doubt it, but perhaps."

“Its armament is certainly impressive. Prince Cædor told me it was… how did he put it?"

“Ghoulishly, no doubt." I stiffened, blinking in surprise. Her expression hardened. “You can say you misheard me later, if you want."

“It won't be necessary. I have spoken with him before."

After a few seconds, the otter's stony expression relaxed, and she sighed. “Maybe I miss that, too, major. Not knowing who I was serving. Queen Ansha seems pleasant enough. It's a bit of a shame about her son."

We were in public, and I barely knew the otter. Still, I couldn't hold my tongue. “At least he's second in line. Prince Enthar is... well, less partial to telling stories about setting natives on fire in the northern islands."

By the otter's shudder, I gleaned that she'd heard those stories, too. “His friend Ennobeck Carregan brought back some little noisemakers from the east. They're made with 'Otonichi spark'—you know, that self-igniting powder? I've never met an Otonichi, myself, but I think they use them for some festival or another. You squeeze them to set off the fuse, and throw them at the ground, and a few seconds later they go off in a little burst of sparks."

“I don't want to imagine where this is going, do I?"

“He came up with the idea of tossing them in the air for the gulls to catch." She twitched again, closing her eyes. “Him and that horrid Carregan child. But there's nothing you can do about it. They won't be controlled."

“Second in line," I repeated, though it felt slightly seditious to be saying so.

If so, Yanisca didn't mind. “Thank the gods."

***

“Shall you do the honors?"

“Can I?" Cædor interjected.

Queen Ansha turned sharply. “No, you may not," she snapped. And, sensing that it might have been impolitic, she clarified. “This is for your father to do. It's his ship, after all." Not for nothing was it referred to fondly as the King's Own Navy.

“Our country's ship," King Chatherral mused aloud, no doubt thinking of just this appellation. He looked about the bridge. “Yes, I suppose it is time, isn't it? Very well. Captain Tevrey, you may fire when ready."

With a crisp, curt nod, the captain spun on his heels. “Port cannons!"

One of the other sailors on the bridge raised his voice to a lilting, musical shout. “Ready port cannon!"

I decided Queen Ansha could handle herself well enough that I didn't need to remain literally at her side. I took two steps forward to see the bustle of activity from the deck below us.

Half a minute later, some mechanical apparatus snapped a flag aloft. The sailor scanned it, and turned to the captain. “Port cannons are loaded and in position."

“Fire all guns, then."

“Aye, sir. Port—fire!"

I well recognized the sound of artillery. Even at sea it was deafening, a rippling thunder that had Ansha covering her ears and King Chatherral taken slightly aback. Cædor, at least, seemed to enjoy it—given the way he clapped his paws.

One of the sailors raised a spyglass and pointed it to the horizon. “Hit, sir. Twenty-four rounds on target. The objective is ours."

Captain Tevrey nodded, and spun just as sharply back to face the king. “Your Majesty, our broadside has been effective."

“Is twenty-four a good number?" the stag asked.

“Yes, sir. Nearly every shell hit its target. You may inspect it yourself, if you like."

Chatherral smiled, shaking his head gently. “No, captain, I'm afraid I wouldn't even be able to see much with these old eyes of mine. I trust you, and commend your crew on their marvelous effort."

“Yes, sir."

“What about the other side?" Cædor demanded. “You have twenty-eight guns on the other side, too, do you not?"

“Yes, Your Highness."

“And are they ready to fire?"

“Yes, Your Highness."

“My son has quite the interest in your vessel," Chatherral explained. Judging by his indulgent, fatherly smile, I couldn't tell if the stag understood the nature of that interest.

Captain Tevrey, though, certainly did. “Indeed, Your Majesty," he said diplomatically.

“They should shoot those, too, father."

Chatherral nodded. “He has a point, doesn't he? Captain Tevrey..."

I thought of what Peri had said—that Ansha didn't appreciate the power of nobility. Her son did not suffer from the same failing. His young voice was clear and imperious. “Order the starboard guns trained on that island."

I saw Tevrey briefly glance at the king, as if for confirmation. But the dog seemed to understand that it would not be forthcoming—and that delaying in carrying out the order would only cause Cædor to become upset. “Very well, Your Highness. Helm, take us about. Pass the order for the starboard gun crews to target the remains of the wall on the island."

“This is how they fight in the Shrouded Rocks," Cædor explained to anyone who would listen. “I remember now that it's called 'carcass.' They use carcass shots."

“That's right," Tevrey said. “Firestarting weapons. We do not carry any of those, at the moment, only explosive shells and solid shot."

“Why don't you have any carcass shot?"

“We're only testing the cannons, Your Highness," Tevrey tried to explain. “Depending on our orders, perhaps we'll have to take on different armaments, of course, when we sail on our first cruise."

The young prince was obviously disappointed that he wouldn't be seeing anything set on fire. “Well, you should've tested different shells," he grumped. “It would be fun."

“Yes, Your Highness."

“Captain, the starboard crews report they're loaded and have the target sighted."

“Tell them to fire," Cædor demanded, before the captain could do it of his own initiative.

Even having experienced the first salvo, Ansha flinched again at the second. Cædor saw this, shaking his head scornfully—then went back to peering at the island, waiting for the little bursts of smoke that would signify a hit.

“Twenty-six," he declared triumphantly.

“Yes, Your Highness. Captain, twenty-six rounds have impacted. The wall has been completely destroyed."

“Good work," Tevrey said.

“I did better than you, father," Cædor declared proudly. “By two whole shells!"

Chatherral sighed. “You could be a proper captain one day, little one. You know so much about these ships, and everything."

“I'm going to be king," Cædor replied; it was not a denial. Nor did it show much recognition that he was only second in the line of succession. I wondered how much of my reassurance to Yanisca had been misplaced.

***

“Major Laner?"

Turning, I saw the lieutenant commander. We appeared to be headed in the same direction, towards the bridge. I slowed to let her catch up. “Good morning."

“Morning." The otter smiled. “Ready to be back on dry land?"

I grinned. “I won't mind the ground staying put under my feet. How often do you get to sea?"

“Almost never—only on occasions like this one, when the royal family is traveling and someone from the admiralty needs to accompany them. I'm the palace attaché—it's a shore posting."

She seemed to be in good spirits, so I let my curiosity find a voice. “What happens next? After you've done this, will they give you a ship again?"

“Nobody's willing to make any promises. It's a bit of a conundrum, to tell you the truth." She ducked through an open hatch, reaching out to give the bulkhead a gentle pat. “If I do my job poorly, they'll ask for my resignation. If I do it well, they won't let me leave. So…"

“You said that Lord Ashenar felt sorry for you, though."

At this, the otter laughed. Her shrug, too, was somewhat resigned. “But what can he do? He values reliable sailors. I believe, if I asked, that he'd tell me something about how service comes with the occasional sacrifice…"

“Alas."

“Alas," she agreed. She forced open the heavy door that let us onto the deck, and hopped through it into the brisk, salt-heavy air. “The burden of… competence? I guess you feel it, too, since you're here."

“What do you mean?"

Yanisca stopped, her foot on the bottom step of the stairs that led up to the bridge. “Lord Ashenar almost never permits the Royal Guard aboard for these expeditions—they cause more trouble than they're worth. Queen Ansha was very insistent that you be here, though. I wonder why."

So did I.

***

“What do you think of the princes?" When I cleared my throat, Ansha gave me a dark, telling smile. “Ah, yes."

“I didn't have a chance to interact with them much…"

“But you saw enough. Can you imagine the rumors I hear, Aric? The things I'm told Cædor gets up to—the hunts he goes on with some of the other nobles… I've tried to forbid it, but of course his father won't have anything of that. He says it's good for his character."

I couldn't do enough to hide my discomfort. “He's still young, though. Things might change."

“They might," she agreed, though she didn't sound especially certain. “It's hard work trying to keep the worst of his impulses under control. What of Enthar? Did you speak much?"

“No. He kept to himself."

“He does that. It's important for him to know that I trust you, though. Enthar should be leaving school an hour or so from now. Why don't you join him on the carriage ride back?"

He studied at a stately academy by Ralcarry Hill. In the daytime, the neighborhood's wealth was even more obvious. It seemed that nobody ventured outside if they were not wearing their finest clothing. The shopfronts sold more of it: Dhamishi silk, and Tiurishkan cotton, a week's pay to the yard.

Even the streets were clean. Every now and then I saw a shadow dart from one of the alleys, tidying up a bit of errant trash or horse droppings and then retreating back into invisibility.

It was, quite plainly, not my world. Nothing I would ever have experienced, were it not for the polished uniform that told the pedestrians I was in the service of the crown. Like the servants tidying up the street, they saw fit to ignore me. I found Enthar's carriage, received directions to the door he'd exit from, and stood at attention before it.

When the door opened, the academy's students flowed around me as if I was a statue, a bit of decoration recently added and entirely irrelevant. Prince Enthar, though, noticed. His head tilted. “You're my mother's guard, aren't you? You were on the boat."

“Yes, sir. Major Aric Laner, Your Highness. Her Majesty sent me to bring you back to the palace. There's a carriage waiting at the street."

Enthar laughed. “It's not even a mile to Kenley Hill. Let's walk back, Major Laner. It's a nice day."

I had only a ceremonial sword, and whatever protection my office granted. But he was right—the palace wasn't far, and the streets between his school and the Iron Hall were quite assuredly safe. I told the carriage driver to go on ahead, and to let the guards know our intentions, and our route.

“You were a soldier before, weren't you? A real soldier, not a baron looking for advancement."

“Yes."

Enthar considered this. “I don't think I'd be a good soldier."

“Few of us know whether or not we are to begin with, sir. You might prove quite adept."

“My brother says it's all about strength and being able to use your power to enhance your prestige and that of your country. Mother taught me to see things like Tabast Albeny described them. Do you read any Albeny?"

“No, sir."

“He's a poet from the Aultlands, and he started writing after the Harvest Rising. One of his ballads has the line: o! More we pay than the price of grain, and the fields lay more than plundered: salted by blood of brothers slain, scarred by roots deeply sundered. What if we'd been able to talk, without fighting? Even if it meant we didn't use our power to enhance our prestige, wouldn't that have been better?"

“It might indeed have been." We were definitely 'in public,' by every definition of the word, and I didn't want to say anything impolitic about the rebellion itself. I also didn't want to insult Prince Cædor directly, though. I was compelled to choose my words carefully. “I think that being a soldier is more than strength. It's about serving the realm. I would do it without bloodshed, if I could."

“Do you enjoy being a soldier, major?"

“At times, I do. A freezing bedroll in a tent on the highlands is not the most restful place to sleep, but it's not all bad, Your Highness."

He was listening with interest—genuine interest, I felt. “What do you like most about it?"

“I like that it took a young man from Stolvan all the way to the frontiers of the Iron Kingdom, and back to its heart. I've learned many things, including about myself, and I've met some of the bravest, most unique men I could ever hope to call my companions. It's not a bad life."

“And you were serving your country, too."

“Yes, that's true."

“Is that important to you?" He smiled when I nodded. “I think it's important, too. Soldiers aren't the only ones who are called to serve. That's why I intend to keep my name. I hope to continue the precedent: an Enthar has always been good for the prosperity and stability of the Iron Kingdom. Well… not the fifth, I suppose."

He looked towards me, expecting an answer. “No, Your Highness," I agreed.

“But then, there were plenty of seats at the Beggar's Festival." He laughed, then caught my expression. “Oh, don't look so shocked! We do have a sense of humor."

“Well…"

“You know what it refers to, don't you?"

“Yes." At the turn of the eighth century, Aernia had gone through six kings in a decade—the crude joke had been that there were so many coronation festivals that the leftovers reached even Tabisthalia's beggars. “But..."

“It's hardly blasphemy when a god is saying it, right?" The young man's grin was a little sly, as if I was being let in on a secret. “Or maybe… oh, please, don't let me go too far, major. Are you a gerenant? Devout?"

“The former, yes. Perhaps not so much the latter."

Enthar nodded, holding up an apologetic paw to me. “Even still, I won't insult your faith. I shall continue to be divine, in your presence. It's not how I was raised, that's all, but I'll have to learn, I suppose. But do you know what I think, Major Laner? About coronations."

“No, Your Highness."

“I think I'd not like the parties. It's not for me. That money could be spent elsewhere. What if—you're from Stolvan? What if we finally metaled the road from Stolvan to Marrahurst? Or—or what if I ordered the harbor in New Jarankyld dredged? Every ship that called there would be my legacy. Even if they didn't know it. They might not know it… how would they? I'm not certain."

“Perhaps it wouldn't matter?"

He nodded again, brisk and boyish. “That's so! As long as it was done, it's not as though they really need to have my name attached to every load of harbor silt. How silly would that be?"

I decided that I genuinely liked Enthar—not simply that I preferred him to his younger brother. He would have some growing up to do—there was a certain youthful naïveté in his outlook that the throne would be certain to strip from him. But he was intellectual, and empathetic.

“I'm glad you think so," Queen Ansha told me, when I saw her next. “I think he'll be a good ruler, when it's time for that."

“Indeed. Not soon," I quickly caught myself. “Not if fortune blesses His Majesty with continued good health."

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose. In any event, the day here will be quiet. I have a task for you, Aric—remember how I said that might happen?"

“Yes, of course. What is it?"

“This is a letter I'd rather not be seen carrying, and I don't trust anyone else with it. It needs to go to Barcani Street—there's a tea house there called Kalera's. Give it only to Kalera—if he's not there, come straight back here."

“Yes, ma'am." I took the sealed letter. “How will I recognize him?"

“Kalera is an old black feline, with a halting voice and a lisp. He's quite recognizable, I assure you."

Queen Ansha said there was nothing else more pressing to attend to, and released me to take the letter at once. I made my way through the streets until I found Barcani, in the Eastern Quarter. The scent in the air had been changing, bit by bit—the smell of foreign cooking growing thicker, mixing with what drifted in on the wind from the harbor.

Not all the shops were lettered in Aernian; not all the letters were ones I recognized. Ellagdran? Dhamishi? Some of it was in the precise, geometric runes of the Dominion of Tiurishk—thousands of leagues from their home. I marveled at the pull Tabisthalia had on the world around it.

Kalera's Leafhouse might as well have been closed for all the visitors it had. The space behind the counter was packed with glass jars, stuffed to the brim with loose-leaf tea from well beyond the Iron Kingdom's reach. At the sound of my entry, the proprietor stumbled from the back.

His muzzle was white, and his tail lashed unsteadily, but his eyes were so piercing they almost seemed to glow. “How… how I help you… sir?"

“Are you Kalera?"

The panther nodded. “Kalera," he repeated, pointing to himself. His speech was slow and halting, indeed. “Kalera Tekkäskalera. You want… tea? I… serve… tea?"

I held out the letter for him. “I have this for you. It's from the Iron Hall. I don't know if you've had prior contact with them. I serve the queen."

“Yes. Yes," he repeated, more slowly. “Very… good… you should stay in case… in case I need to reply."

He took the letter from me, opening the seal and unfolding the paper—I caught a glimpse of the queen's elegant writing, packed densely on the page. Kalera read it slowly. His eyes were completely inscrutable to me, but the longer I watched, the more I became convinced the glow was not simply an optical illusion.

“She told you what the letter was?"

“No, sir. I did not ask."

“Then you only need to tell her that I said she is right, and I am happy for her. I will send more details when I've had a chance to study her findings. You may go now." His eyes went back to the letter. “Mm. Ke arrav ennam? Ya loriven valmiravikiru testain sumankuva? Ke arrav—what are you still doing here?"

He glared sharply and, raising one paw in apology, I backed out of the tea shop.

I recognized the language as Pala, though I knew none of their tongue. They lived in the jungles north of Dhamishaya, separated by a mountain range that was supposed to be impenetrable. Rumor held this to be untrue—spoke of secret passes, hidden through sorcery.

Such rumors had been beyond my purview to judge, as a soldier. Still, it was true that the Pala made their way down and into Dhamishaya, and it was true that nobody saw them going through any northern port. The jungle dwellers remained a complete mystery.

And I didn't know what Ansha wanted with him, or what she had been 'right' about.

It seemed to me that it would be safer, and I would be better-served, simply to ignore everything but my orders. Ansha would explain, or Colonel K'nSullach would explain—I was not about to divine anything on my own.

Near the edge of the Eastern Quarter, I turned and found myself in a bazaar, amongst a throng of bustling people. They were Aernian—at least, I could understand their language—but the stalls brimmed with colorful goods from the Dominion, and from Dhamishaya, and the Ishonko Mountains, and places even further beyond my knowledge.

Not the sort of place I wanted to stay. I turned to find a different route, and nearly collided with a young badger in disheveled clothes far too large for him. “Royal Guard?" he asked. His accent made him sound like a native Tabisthalian.

“Yes."

“Spare a few pence, mate? Ain't not e't since yesterday. They're not so charitable 'ere in the market. Let me bloody starve to death, they would. Kutsar's minions all of 'em. You's not, right?"

“I don't carry money on me, I'm afraid."

“But you got enough, aye?" He was nothing if not persistent. “C'mon, mate. Ain't you saw how bad off I am?" He raised one paw, as if to show that it was empty. The other stayed low, though, and for the blink of an eye I saw a glint of metal from under his robes.

“I think you should find a different mark," I told him, careful and level as I could. “Like I said, I have no money."

“We'll see about—"

Before he could draw the knife free, I grabbed his wrist to immobilize him and stamped down hard on his left foot. The badger let out a howl, staggering back and away from me—but no sooner had I turned then there was another blur of movement. I raised my arm to shield myself and the new attacker took me hard, knocking me down and into the cobblestones.

He was a wolf like me, wild-eyed and vicious. Like the badger, his ragged clothes hung limply—it was almost impossible to get purchase. His teeth snapped. I held him at bay, but just barely, and I could see his companion getting back to his feet. The knife was in his paw. He took a step towards me, eyes blazing. A second man, an otter, was right behind him, and he too held a blade.

The wolf abruptly froze in my grasp. Our eyes met. His had gone wide, startled. He opened his muzzle. I smelled the blood before I felt it, spilling between his teeth to spatter my fur. The wolf raised his fingers to the side of his neck, where a tuft of feathers were all that was visible of the dart in his throat. His jaw worked convulsively and his chest hitched as he tried to breathe. I let him roll off me and onto his side towards his friends.

But they were no longer coming. The badger glanced around in a panic—then he stiffened, paws going to his back. Two unsteady steps, and he crumpled, motionless. The otter looked at him, and then at my erstwhile assailant, thrashing about as if in frantic struggle against whatever twist of fortune had condemned him as his life soaked into the filthy street.

The otter turned and fled. I sat up—I couldn't see where the shots had come from, either. I thought I glimpsed something, an apparition with dark robes. I heard a crack, and then another—then screams, hidden by the smoke that suddenly filled the bazaar.

I rose to my feet and drew my sword just before the crowd hit, swirling around me in their rush to escape. As for me, I stood my ground. In half a minute, I could almost see again. Another minute, and the smoke had all but completely cleared. The wolf and the badger lay motionless on the ground. I couldn't see the otter, who had presumably ended up more fortunate than his comrades.

Most of the stall owners remained, electing to guard their wares. One of them approached me warily, only coming the rest of the way when I sheathed my sword again. “You hurt, soldier?"

“I don't think so." The merchant gestured to my right arm. The uniform was torn open, and now that I looked at it and saw the damp red stain, the pain made itself known over the rush of adrenaline. “Not too bad, I think," I judged. “Who were they?"

I pointed at the bodies, and he shrugged. “Thieves. Just thieves. See 'em here often enough. Think somebody's got money, they might get it in their head to go beyond begging for it. Won't be missed."

“What happened to them? Who attacked them?"

“Attacked? Nah. Just got a bit sick. Hard life, this."

Now my arm was really starting to hurt, and it lent some well-earned incredulity to my expression. “Sick?" The badger's fingers were still gripped about one of the half-dozen darts in his back. The wolf's corpse kept one side of the street dry from a pool of blood, like some grotesque dam; his muzzle was frozen open, baring teeth in the final snarl he'd never gotten out. “But they were attacked."

“Looks like maybe a bad cough," the merchant countered. He wasn't actually looking at them.

“And the darts? The smoke?"

He patted my shoulder. “You've had a hard day. Should get that arm looked at… might calm you down. Tell you what…" He trotted to his stall, and came back with a dark glass bottle, which he pressed into my hand. “For now, this'll take th' edge off. No charge, but if your commander asks about what hospitality you were shown, now, you tell 'im that was Arder Ambell an' his tincture that put you right, eh?"

“What is it?"

“Taeb's compound, an' a bit more of a friend's devising. Trade secret. Now get back to your barracks, lad. Goodness, darts and smoke." He patted my shoulder again and walked off, shaking his head. Wary of 'trade secrets,' I pocketed the bottle.

By the time I'd made it halfway back to the Iron Hall, I was having second thoughts. I hailed a carriage and directed it to Cassalmure, which had its own hospital. Get yourself treated, and a fresh uniform, then report to Queen Ansha. She'll understand.

No… better. Get yourself treated, then talk to a policeman about… about? Your… your uniform? Something happened to your uniform? The tear was fairly ragged. When I lifted my paw to examine the edge of the fabric, there was a puzzling wet sensation beneath it. I watched the blood curiously for a few seconds before remembering that it was mine.

Very far off, I heard someone say: we're here, lad. And that was all.

***

I came to resting on my back. Everything was white. I seemed to be floating, immersed in a warm bath of some sort, because my limbs resisted movement. No… no, they're gone. At least, the right one was. The left one was still there. No legs. I closed my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts.

When I opened them, Ivra K'nSullach had appeared. My vision, in general, had cleared a bit. Now I saw that I was under a white blanket, and white bandages dressed my right arm. The sense that I was floating remained, a constant and slightly disconcerting sensation.

“Are you awake, major?" Colonel K'nSullach asked.

My muzzle tasted as if it, too, was bandaged. I tried to speak and had to settle for nodding.

“Good. That's good to hear. How do you feel?" Seeing my attempt at speech, the Border Collie reached over me, and pressed an enamel cup to my lips.

It was water, and it felt like it had been years since I'd last had any. I drained the cup in two long swallows, gasping by the end of the second. She refilled it for me, and I drank that greedily too. “I'm… not certain how I feel."

“The medication dulls everything. You were sedated while they treated your injury," she explained. “That was yesterday. You'll make a full recovery, but I'm keeping you on restricted duty until your arm is better. What happened?"

At first I could only recall the carriage ride, but the more I walked backwards through my memories the clearer everything became. “I was at a market, in the Eastern Quarter. Some thieves attacked me."

Ivra cocked her head. “The Coopersrace Market—the altercation there… that was you, major? What were you doing in the eastern quarter?"

“Queen Ansha sent me. There was a letter she wanted me to deliver."

Colonel K'nSullach bristled, with her muzzle curling in a growl. “She shouldn't have done that. It's not your job, major. I'm not faulting you for obeying the order, but it never should've been given in the first place. Where was the letter going?"

“A tea shop." I dragged the name free from my hazy memory: “Kalera's. It's on Barcani." As I said it, I remembered what Ansha had said—about errands that I was not to speak of to anyone. But she hadn't identified this as one of them, and anyway it was too late for me to feign ignorance.

Ivra's scowl deepened fractionally. “Yes, so it is. He's a disgraced thaumaturgist. You can ask what Queen Ansha wishes with such a figure later. I'm glad you made it out of the market, Major Laner. In the future, don't go to the Eastern Quarter in uniform without escort. Or just don't go at all."

“Noted, ma'am. Are the pickpockets always so vicious there?"

“I doubt they would be, but the city constables don't patrol the quarter unless it's a dozen of them going to investigate a murder. Authority seems to have a way of limiting trading opportunities, so their presence isn't welcome. At least you handled yourself well…"

“I didn't."

“You forgot?" K'nSullach seemed to think it was a matter of my condition, for she poured me a fresh cup of water and held it out for me to take. “You killed two of them, according to the constables. Eyewitnesses are hard to come by."

“No, ma'am." I shook my head. “Someone else killed them. At least three pickpockets attacked me, and I saw one run away, but I can't claim responsibility for the others. It came from the rooftops—they used darts, or maybe a crossbow—I couldn't see who it was, but they were quick and plenty accurate."

The older dog's brow furrowed, and her whitening muzzle wrinkled in confusion. “Darts?"

“I didn't see the weapon, ma'am, only the results."

“Nobody in the Royal Army uses darts, though. Neither do the constables. Was there more than one of them?"

“Yes. I think so, at least… it happened rather quickly, and I was somewhat distracted. Apologies, colonel."

“No, no. It's understandable that you wouldn't have been focused on that. You were fighting for your life, after all. Just a bit of a mystery. I'll have to look into it. I'll let you know what I find out, major."

***

I drifted back to sleep, aided by whatever medication they'd chosen to give me. The feeling of movement in the room roused me, some indefinable period of time later. I opened my eyes. “Queen Ansha?"

“Hello, Aric. They tell me you'll recover fully. I'll do what I can to make that happen—whatever doctors are needed, whatever special treatment is required…"

“Thank you."

“I'm sorry. I had no idea that would happen."

“I suppose it is a hazard of my occupation, ma'am. That's all."

This answer only upset her further. The doe rested her paw on my wrist. “It is not. It shouldn't be. The attack was random, I promise… it didn't have anything to do with Kalera. But I should've known that a lone guardsman might be… might cause a disturbance, in those quarters."

“In the future I'll make sure I'm more well-informed about the varying neighborhoods, too."

“Still. You sacrificed greatly on my behalf. I shall offer you something in payment."

“I'm here to serve you, Ansha. It doesn't take any additional—"

“Then consider it a gift." She pulled a stool over and, gathering her robes, sat down at my bedside. “You're still new in the city—new to all of this. And with this attempt on your life, I imagine you have questions. Ask me. Ask me anything, and I'll tell you the truth."

“Who's Kalera? He's a mage, I guess. Are you…"

“Am I also learning charmcraft? No. Kalera used to be a scryer, a commercial scryer, in Stanlira. Sailors are very superstitious, as you know, and many of ours are immigrants—they believe in that sort of thing. But he is native Pala, and lived for many years in the jungle."

Unfortunately I knew nothing about their culture, and nothing about Palakkarpinhomi or the dark woods surrounding it. “Does that make him special?"

“He was cast out, and when the guild in Stanlira learned that, they banished him, too. He looks too much into the old texts, that's what I've heard; he thinks he might even be able to see into the past." The doe sounded skeptical, and smiled when she saw that I'd picked up on it. “I think it's silly, too."

“Why do you consort with him, then?"

“I think I should know someone who's familiar with magic. We Iron Folk are not, after all. Being so scandalous, he doesn't have any other patrons, and it puts him in debt to me. As I am in debt to you," she added gesturing to the blankets covering my form.

“He said I should tell you that you were right, and he is happy for you."

Ansha nodded slowly. “I see. Well, that is good. Are you curious?"

“A little. But it's probably between the two of you."

“My father buried a trinket with my mother when she died—young, like her mother, and my great-grandmother as well. It was a silver locket, with a ruby in it, said to be from the World Before and said to be cursed. I wrote down the runes, though, and I believe them to be Old Tiurishkan. It seems to have been a coming-of-age gift for a Dominion noble of the 4th century—obviously nothing cursed at all. It seems Kalera agrees."

“That is good, then."

Ansha let out an abrupt, quiet laugh. “I said that sailors were superstitious, but most of us are hardly better… believing in curses we don't even understand? It was really just work to give to him, to keep him busy. I meant it when I told you it was unrelated to what happened in the market—I'm quite certain of that. Kalera is harmless."

“Do you know who attacked me?"

She shook her head fiercely. “No. We've just—we've let that quarter go. The mayor won't touch it, not with all the bribes being paid. But it's unseemly, Aric. Worse, it's a blot on our city. At least… well, with a member of the Royal Guard assaulted, maybe I can convince someone to take action."

“Who's being bribed?"

The doe's eyes darkened. Her royal composure took three deep breaths to reassert. “That is not the question, Aric. Not the question you should ask, and not the answer you want to receive. It's easier to think of who's paying them. Merchants pay to import proscribed goods. Dockworkers pay to import them. The ship captains pay to avoid customs duties. How can it stop there? It doesn't. Like feeding wild animals... the corrupt learn to expect it. They lose their fear. And in the end we have you, a distinguished soldier recovering from an ambush by common criminals who thought they could get away with it."

“They didn't." And I, no stranger to bloodshed, would not be able to get the image out of my mind for some time.

“No. So there is some justice in the world, we know."

“One last question. Do you know who saved me? It wasn't our constables, or the Royal Guard… was it more criminals?"

“I can't say for certain. What did you see of them?"

“Not much. It was all a little confused, too. The darts came from the rooftops. When I looked, I saw… I thought I saw someone there. They were wearing something dark, something that hid their head—but it was only for a blink of an eye."

She froze. “Wearing something dark?"

“Very. Black, maybe. Does that mean anything?"

Ansha frowned, and spoke slowly. “No. No, it doesn't sound familiar. Maybe it was another gang… angry that you were attacked."

It was obvious that the queen was hiding something, and equally obvious that the line of questioning was not worth pursuit. “It could be. They might assume that attacking the Royal Guard would draw too much attention. Perhaps it's their hope that we won't pursue it further," I offered.

“Perhaps."

“If you found out more, would you tell me?"

“Yes. Yes, I would."

“Thank you."

This was a curious sort of lie, because I recognized it, and she recognized that. And in thanking her, I had given Ansha tacit understanding that I trusted she was keeping me in the dark for my own best interests.

She stood to leave. Before departing, she bent down, and kissed my cheek softly. For a moment I smelled expensive perfume in her soft fur, and the metal of her silver necklace glinted in my peripheral vision.

“You're a good man, Aric," she said. “I can't wait for you to recover."

And then I was alone.