Finding Destiny (12 page)

“Enough!” Grinning, he held out his hand to the woman riding at his side. “Chanson, this is Berilla, a fellow warrior and a wonderful woman. She and I are betrothed ... just as you and my new brother apparently are. What was it you said, Brother?” he asked, slanting a pointed, sly look at Eduor. “Nothing like family to rob you blind?”

Grateful his future was settled, and settled happily, Eduor blushed when the others laughed again. “... Something like that.”

It seemed that, try as he may, his tongue was still getting him into trouble.

GUILDARA

ONE

For a land that professes its peaceful intentions so strongly via its
envoys,
Sir Zeilas thought, hastily sidestepping a pair of men carrying a long piece of heavily worked metal,
these Guildarans do seem to be preparing for war. I’m not sure I like this. I’m also not sure why they’re showing us how these machines are built. The engineering works of old Mekhana were a deeply guarded secret for centuries. They shouldn’t be exposing their knowledge like this.

“I don’t like this,” Sir Catrine hissed in his ear as they paused for another pair of figures hauling a stack of gears on a rattling, wheeled table. Her whisper echoed his troubled thoughts. “Why are they still working on their infernal machines when they say they want peace?”

Zeilas didn’t answer her for two reasons. One, they had to hurry to catch up with their guide, who was wearing the same ubiquitous, knitted tunic and soft-brimmed wool hat as nearly everyone else in this cavernous, barnlike building, and thus would blend into the crowd far too easily if they fell behind. Two, he didn’t have an answer for her. Hopefully, they would
get
answers out of their hosts.

It was strange that they should be led here first, though. The handful of other knights who would serve as messengers and advisors had been allowed to head straight for the suite of rooms given to them for ambassadorial quarters, but the leader of this former patch of Mekhana had insisted on talking to the chief Arbran envoy and the chief Knight-mage accompanying him. So here they were in the “motorbarn” or whatever the man guiding them had called it, surrounded by the same machines that had once been used to try to conquer Arbra.

Light poured down from the windows high overhead, strange smells oozed from the various liquids and greases in evidence, and crackling fires in pierced barrels did their meager best to warm the oversized building. There was too much space and too much metal to warm the air efficiently, though.

Their guide from the palace didn’t lead them toward the largest and most imposing of the machines. Not toward the giant metal man with its giant metal mallet suitable for smashing through ranks and walls and anything else in its way, nor toward the strange round platform high up on six imposing legs, and not toward the tube things which Zeilas had never seen in action, but which reportedly could fire an explosive spell-like object hundreds of yards to devastating effect, if whatever it targeted wasn’t thoroughly protected by spells.

Instead, the man led them toward several ranks of horselike things. Vaguely horselike. They looked like jointed statues of horses, with the shanks of each horse supported by a spoked wheel between their paired hooves. Handles poked out from their mane-draped necks, seams and hinges pierced their painted flanks, and the curve of their painted spines were interrupted by leather padding shaped something like a saddle, though this saddle seemed to be part and parcel of the thing, with no girth-strap in evidence. Nor were these horses very tall, more like ponies in height.

Their guide stopped in front of a partially disassembled horse thing, where two grease-smeared, wool-clad figures were poking their heads and hands into the metallic innards of the flank-bared beast, and loudly cleared his throat. “
Ahem.
Consul-in-Chief, I present Sir Zeilas, Knight and chief envoy from Arbra, and Sir Catrine, Knight-mage and sub-envoy. Envoys, I present Marta Grenspun, Consul-in-Chief of Guildara, and Gabria Springreaver, sub-Consul of the... Mage’s Guild.”

Zeilas wondered over the man’s palpable hesitation in saying the word
mage
but he didn’t have time to ask. The figure in the black wool tunic pulled back from the horse thing and squinted up at them, then extended a dirty, greasy hand. She—he realized suddenly that almost half the leather-and-wool-clad figures in the room were actually females—didn’t get up off the ground, just held up her hand for clasping, one side of her mouth curled up in a wry-looking smile.

“Welcome to Guildara, Sir Knights,” the woman stated. “I’m Marta, this is Gabria.”

The other woman, clad in knit gray wool, lifted a hand long enough to flutter it approximately in their direction, but didn’t look up from whatever she was doing. The one named Marta, Zeilas realized belatedly,
was
wearing a golden circlet, but it was thin, not very ostentatious in size, and half hidden between the floppy crown and soft brim of the felted cap she wore. He did recognize the motifs which the new kingdom had chosen to represent themselves by, though: the hammer, scythe, and paintbrush forming the spokes of a gear-toothed wheel. Only in this case, the top edge of the circlet had gear teeth as well as around the medallion fixed to the front.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sir Catrine frowning slightly. For himself, Zeilas guessed this informality was a test, as was the oily state of her fingers. Clasping it without hesitation, he shook hands with her as if they were merchants conducting business, then tilted her fingers and bowed more formally over her knuckles. “A pleasure, Milady Chief. I’m Zeilas, and this is Catrine. Will there be a more formal reception where we can meet the various, ah ... Guild-heads of your government? The Consuls?”

“Yes, there will be one. It’s scheduled for tomorrow, so that you have time to relax and prepare. In the meantime ... Gabria?” Marta asked, turning back to her companion.

“Sir Catrine, come here please.” Scooting over, the sub-Consul made room for the lady Knight on the leather hide spread on the ground. She even patted the leather when the other woman hesitated.

Catrine quirked her brow at Zeilas, clearly taken aback. He gave her a silent, pointed look. Sighing, she moved over to that side of the machine-horse.

“We’re having a problem integrating shielding spells into the engine matrix,” the woman Gabria stated, pointing at something inside the metallic beast’s abdomen. “The fuel which powers the mechanism is flammable, and if anything penetrates the housing ... well,
boom
! Which is deadly for the riders. We’d rather not lose lives. But the new shielding runes themselves create heat, particularly when stressed. The number of explosions has been cut down, but they’re still a serious problem. Chilling spells run the risk of locking up the mechanisms, because we can’t localize them small enough with what we currently know. The priests torched their spellbooks when the Convocation disbanded everything, and the guild doesn’t have a dozen years to experiment under controlled conditions with new combinations of runes, metals, and enchantments.”

Catrine didn’t crouch and look at the part in question. Instead, she stared at the Consul-in-Chief and her fellow envoy. “I’m ... not comfortable giving advice on how to shield a
machine
against magics. These are war machines.”

Pushing to her feet, the Consul-in-Chief pulled an oil-smeared rag out of the sleeve of her tunic and scrubbed her hands. “We’re not interested in war, Sir Knight. Guildara wants peace. It’s even in our kingdom’s charter, ratified by the people and blessed by our Goddess—who Manifested last year, and whose Name has been placed on the list for the next Convocation. We
will
seek peace and knowledge, trade and prosperity.

“Unfortunately, our land, and with it our charter, only covers our own claimed territory. Anything north of the Endevi Ridge is still filled with chaos, warlords, and would-be conquerors,” Marta told them. “Including a particularly annoying fellow by the name of Durn the Dreaded. He’s proclaimed himself ‘Leader of the Free North’ and is trying to build enough of a following for his own Patron Deity. Even more unfortunately, he’s built up the concept of a Patron God who thrives on war and conquest.
Our
Patron Goddess embodies the ideals of knowledge and prosperity. So he thinks we’ll be an easy target, as soon as his armies grow big enough. Which, by our calculations, will be this next summer, possibly even this coming spring.”

“Durn has the
exact
same technology we do,” Gabria added, tilting her wool-capped head back so that she could squint up at Sir Catrine. “The same war machines culled from all the various Precinct motorbarns scattered throughout old Mekhana. Even the same percentage of freed ... victims of the False God, some of which have joined his side. The only advantages we have are that Guildara was formed out of the guilds and guard precincts in the heart of the engineering district so we have the knowledge and tools to create better machines, that neither side has access anymore to the few but horrible spells the False priesthood used to wield, and that we managed to pull ourselves together fast enough to become a kingdom and thus gain stable,
educated
allies.”

“We specified we wanted a Knight-mage as one of your ambassadorial staff for two reasons,” Marta stated, facing Zeilas. “One, even the lies of the False God couldn’t hide the fact that Arbran Knights are honorable men and women. Two, your Knights and Knight-mages have successfully repelled invasions by the False God’s forces for centuries. What you know how to defeat and destroy, you
should
be able to figure out how to strengthen and defend.” She flicked her gaze to Sir Catrine’s face. “The Endevi Ridge is the northern border of this valley. We’re half a day’s march from that ridgeline, and a week’s march from Durn the Dreaded’s chief stronghold at most. Less, if the weather is good.”

“And before you ask,
no
, we will
not
march north and reduce it to ashes,” Gabria asserted. “Tempting though the idea is from a defensive standpoint, it’s against our charter. No conquering anyone, no starting a war, and no using force to convince anyone to join us.”

“If they want to
join us
of their own free will, they can. We have two villages north of the ridge who are negotiating with us for protection from the warlord harassing them. But we will
not
conquer anyone,” the Consul-in-Chief stated flatly.

Off in the distance, someone dropped a chunk of metal which clanged, loud and sharp, on the flagstones lining the huge, drafty building. A handful of workers catcalled the fumble-fingered accident, but most of the rest attended to their own business. Marta Grenspun held the other woman’s gaze, unmoved by the commotion.

“Now, you
have
the knowledge of spellcrafting which my people lack, Sir Catrine. It is up to your conscience whether or not you will stand idly by and allow your
allies
to die because you refused to teach us the knowledge we need to protect ourselves. We’re willing to let you have a glimpse at our engineering abilities,” she added, spreading her still-somewhat-stained hands to indicate the cold, cavernous building around them, with its strange metal machines lit by the clerestory windows high overhead. “Secrets which no outsider has ever been allowed to see before now, and secrets which we’re well aware you could use against us. What are
you
willing to share, to give this alliance a chance?”

Catrine looked like she wanted to argue the point. There were too many centuries of spilled blood between Arbra and Mekhana ... but Mekhana was no more. Having more experience at diplomacy, Zeilas could see just how much this odd Guildara version of a queen wanted to put the old enmities aside. Nobody would expose their secrets so thoroughly to foreigners, if they weren’t very much interested in cooperation.

Switching from Mekhanan to Arbran, Zeilas addressed his fellow Knight. “In the interest of fairness, I should point out that we
can
walk away right now, and do so with at least some minor information about their mechanical secrets, without exposing any of our own. But to
be
fair, I will also point out that His Majesty wishes us to secure
peace
between our two lands. These people are willing to pay for that peace by exposing a potential vulnerability. If they wanted war, they wouldn’t expose themselves. Certainly not without prompting or promises secured in advance, none of which they have.”

“But, to shield their machines,
protecting
them against our most effective spells?” Sir Catrine protested. “Wouldn’t that tempt them into using the new protections in an invasion
against us
? I don’t know if I can risk that!”

From the way the Consul-in-Chief’s mouth quirked up at one corner, Zeilas guessed she could understand at least part of their words. Given how open she was being about letting the two Knights see their mechanical secrets—even if he and Catrine couldn’t understand most of what they saw in this oversized barn, lacking any knowledge of engineering—he didn’t bother to disguise his reply, though he did keep it in Arbran.