Gold Throne in Shadow (18 page)

When he went to leave, he found Torme and a squad of soldiers patiently waiting outside.

“Why didn't you just come get me?” he asked, chagrined that he had kept them idle.

“It's not our place to, sir. Weren't you engaged in espionage?”

He had been, and successfully, too. He now knew far more about wall-building than his men would learn at the end of a shovel.

“Also,” Torme added, “I put the men in lockdown. So being here means I don't have to listen to their complaints. We can sneak you in tonight, so you won't have to listen to them either, but tomorrow they will be hard to contain without direct orders from you.”

Which he was unwilling to give, since it struck him as cruelty to keep them all but caged in the barracks. On the other hand, letting them out was only sending them to the Captain's cage, and from there to the mud-pits.

Though he was prepared to siege, assault, and storm the fortifications of a thousand monsters, he was wholly inadequate to the task of disciplining two hundred rowdy young men. This whole leadership thing was harder than it looked from the outside.

“We've got to come up with a plan,” he said.

“But not tonight,” Torme suggested.

Christopher had found the lager a bit too agreeable, so he had to concede the point. In fact, he had to lean on Torme for a minute, until he got his bearings.

“I miss my wife,” he said, overcome by a deep wave of longing.

“I
'
m sorry, sir?”

He had spoken in English. “Never mind, Torme. Just take me home. And make absolutely certain Lalania does not disturb me tonight.” He did not think he could trust himself in this condition.

9

DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY

C
hristopher's entry into town had gone largely unnoticed. Gregor's did not. When the knight came trotting through town on his giant warhorse, swathed in gleaming blue armor, and at the head of a column of twoscore smartly dressed cavalry, everyone came out to see. They lined the streets, with work-stained hands and happy faces.

“He's getting quite a hero's welcome,” Christopher said to Lalania. They were waiting for the horsemen inside the barracks ground, but they could see the parade reaction through the gates.

“Of course they are. Another lord, come to kill ulvenmen. Who here would not find that salutary?”

A little girl sitting on her father's shoulders cheered, and Gregor waved his hand at her in majestic acknowledgment. Lalania sniffed in exasperation.

The troop cantered in between the blocks of riflemen standing in formation on the grounds. They brought their horses to a stop or, rather, made a credible attempt at one, only a few of the animals needing to be pulled back into line. Horses don't like standing still any more than schoolchildren do, and the cavalry was still learning. Christopher didn't care how they looked on parade, anyway.

Karl walked his horse over, slipped off it, and snapped to attention in a single movement. His horse stood perfectly still, of course.

“Reporting for duty, Colonel!”

“At ease, Major. Dismiss your men.” Christopher's only guide to military talk was a healthy dose of WWII movies.

Gregor nodded hello at Christopher, but his eyes were only on Lalania. Suddenly she dashed out to the horses and gracefully sprang in the saddle in front of him. But facing the wrong way, so she could smother him in kisses.

So much for military protocol.

The cavalry dismounted and promptly followed Torme out of the gate again to be stabled in town, as their quarters did not account for the needs of a cavalry regiment. Christopher had reserved a stall in the officer's barn for Gregor's horse. Karl and Gregor rode that way, and Christopher went to wait for them in his office.

Karl showed up twenty minutes later. Like all cavalrymen, he fed, watered, brushed, and cared for his mount first. His superior officers came second. His own needs came a distant third.

But in the privacy of Christopher's office, the two men could be friends, not fellow officers.

“Any trouble?” Karl asked, and Christopher brought him up to date.

“Yes, you must have an escort at all times,” Karl said, agreeing with Lalania's judgment, and “No, we cannot keep the men caged here,” he said, agreeing with Christopher's. “Let me go out with a few tonight and see if I can find a solution.”

“And what about Gregor?” Where was the knight, anyway?

“I left him in the stables. He had more than his horse to care for.”

In the stables? The girl was unbelievable.

“But,” Karl continued, “that is a partial answer to your question. As long as you hold the troubadour's attention, you hold his.”

Another delicate balancing act for Christopher to perform.

“Let's talk about guns,” Christopher suggested. He wanted to know if there were any problems with the carbines. At least those would be problems he could solve.

Gregor and Lalania joined them for dinner in the officer
'
s mess, the knight in an irrepressibly good mood.

“I owe you a favor, Christopher. Riding at the head of your column like a captain was an exhilarating experience.”

An experience that should have been Karl's. Not that they would have reacted to Karl that way. He had no title. But Christopher already had Karl's loyalty. It was Gregor's he needed now. Wincing inside at the necessity of politics, he made the knight another offer.

“If you really enjoy it, I could make it permanent.”

Lalania cut him off at the knees. “No, you can't. They were not cheering Gregor. They were cheering Duke Nordland. A blue knight with a cavalry troop, and one whose name is linked to yours.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Christopher was incredulous. He was pretty sure he knew how she had spent the last few hours, and it didn't leave room for intelligence-gathering.

“I deduced it. Then I went outside your barracks and asked.” On the other hand, people would talk to her, openly and easily, in a way that Christopher's rank would never let them talk to him.

Gregor was crestfallen but shook it off. “All the same, they cheered.”

“I only bring it up,” Lalania said, “to prepare you. Any minute now the Captain will come to pay his respects to the Lord Duke. I think we should disappoint him politely.”

A sentry entered the room and snapped to attention, and Christopher rolled his eyes in disbelief. Lalania's absurdly precise timing had to be a product of her tael. He'd never found exactly what her profession's powers were, and he was pretty sure she would never tell him all of them.

“Acknowledged, Private.” Christopher said. “Show him in.”

The sentry opened his mouth before realizing the question he hadn't asked had already been answered. “Yes, sir!” he finally got out, and a few seconds later he returned with the Captain in tow.

Christopher was immediately struck by the change in the man. The Captain was clean, neat, and sober. More noticeably, he was deferential. But then, Nordland was a Duke, a terrifyingly eight ranks high.

“On behalf of the Wizard, I would like to welcome the Lord Duke to Carrhill.” The Captain apparently had a short speech memorized, but Gregor didn't let him finish.

“Though I appreciate the compliment, I cannot accept it.” He stood and bowed to the Captain. “Baronet Gregor, at your service.”

The Captain scowled.

“I'm sorry,” Christopher said, even though it couldn't possibly be his fault. “Just a case of mistaken identity.” They didn't have newspapers, magazines, or televisions here. Probably no one in this county had ever seen Nordland face-to-face.

“May we offer you some refreshment, Ser?” Torme asked.

“No thanks,” the Captain grunted. “I prefer my own stock. Good night, Curate.” He bowed to Christopher and stiffly left the room.

Christopher sighed. What goodwill he had built up with the man seemed to have evaporated in an instant, and he wasn't even sure why.

Lalania smiled, however. “That went well.”

“How do you figure?” Christopher demanded.

“Nobody issued a challenge to a duel. And you can relax, Christopher. The Captain won't hate you for seeing him humbled at your table any more than he hates you for seeing him humbled at the wizard's wall.”

“But why was he so rude to Gregor?” The Captain hadn't even acknowledged his existence after the first sentence.

“As he said,” Gregor said, “he prefers his own stock. And frankly, so do I. Tell me what taverns he frequents, so that I can avoid them.”

Instinctively these people could tell who was Bright or Dark, like Scotsmen could spot a Catholic from a Protestant at twenty yards. That must be one of Lalania's skills: she could convincingly act like either, fitting into a person's expectations, giving off the subtle cues they didn't know they were searching for. Not magic, just Oscar-­caliber acting.

“Speaking of taverns,” Karl announced, “I'll retire now to do my own research. If we're going to spend two years here, we must come to an agreement with the locals.”

Christopher hadn't thought of it in those terms. “We won't get reassigned next year?”

“Probably not,” Gregor said.

“Not unless you provoke the Wizard, the King, or the Captain. Or any of the Gold Throne's allies,” amended Lalania.

“In that case . . . don't get too comfortable,” Christopher sighed. Then he went to deal with the mail Karl had brought him, and spent the rest of the night engaged in merely technical difficulties.

The next day at breakfast he was surprised to see Karl
'
s face black-and-blue.

“I thought the goal was to prevent fighting?”

“The goal was to prevent our men from being arrested and to come to an accommodation with the locals. I believe I can report success.”

“How?” Christopher wanted to know what magic Karl had worked, for the next time Karl wasn't around.

“By victory,” Karl said. “Charles's problem was that his group lost.”

So Karl's great plan had been to go into a tavern with a handful of picked men and beat the living daylights out of anybody who objected to their uniforms. Not a solution Christopher could ever implement. Or even Gregor. This was an issue between commoners. Rank had no place in it.

“Shouldn't I be healing somebody? Like, for instance, your victims?”

Karl shook his head. “They started it. If you heal their pain now, they'll just do it again all the sooner. Better to let them nurse their wounds until the lesson sinks in.”

Christopher knew Karl was not irresponsible. If anyone had been severely injured, he would have mentioned it. And of course, this town already had magical healing. No one would die from Karl's victory.

The morning inspection counted all the men present, and as long as that was the case, Christopher really had no right to complain about Karl's methods.

“We've got to get out of the city,” Christopher said. “We're supposed to be hunting ulvenmen.” There was also the consideration that every day outside was a day he wouldn't bump into Joadan.

Karl seemed to think he was concerned for the men. “Foot patrols will be safe enough, within a few miles of the city. Our cavalry is prepared to range farther afield. Although only half have carbines, their firepower and the mobility of the horses should be enough to defeat ordinary ulvenmen.”

“And for the unordinary ones?” Whatever those were.

Karl looked away and spat, deflecting as he always did when the topic turned to the need for rank. “Blood and flesh the men can face, but I do not know what battlefield sorceries to expect.”

“Neither do I,” Christopher said with an unhappy shrug. His fellow clergy focused almost exclusively on healing and truth-magic, neither of which seemed likely to be employed by their long list of foes.

“Then we should ask Gregor for advice. He has been in the councils of the ranked before.”