Rift in the Races (87 page)

He hated that sort of thing, but he would do it for Tytamon. “When is it?” he asked.

“That was all dependin’ on when ya’ come home.”

“Well, I’ve got something I have to do first,” he said. “Tytamon would want me to attend to the living before all that.”

“Aye, that he would, lad. But don’t ya go runnin’ off like’n ya always do neither. We folks here is all alone now. We got no one ta look out fer us no more.”

“There are twenty thousand troops right outside the walls.”

“And nearly forty now inside as well,” she countered. “I got me a full house, again. It’s all back the way it was when the world was all at war last. Exceptin’ we ha’na got nobody in charge. We need ya ta start thinkin’ about us here at home, Altin. I know ya gots yer destiny ta fulfill, but don’t ferget the rest of us is all. We need ya, now. We truly do.”

He looked down into her flour-dusted face, the thin purple veins visible upon her blotchy cheeks, and saw her, really saw her, perhaps for the first time. He never realized how small she was, short, barely halfway up his chest. Stout, to be sure, ample at the shoulders, bust and hips, and yet, for all the size and strength in her, she was so very small in reality. Or so it suddenly seemed. Kettle—the mighty kitchen matron—was vulnerable. The thought struck him like a physical blow, seeing it, seeing that Kettle could be afraid. Genuinely afraid. And Tytamon was gone too. Permanently. The pillars of his world were weathering and growing weak, some had already fallen, turned mortal and begun to abandon him.

And where did that leave him? What was Altin supposed to do? How could he watch out for everyone? How could he have Orli back, save “Blue Fire” and protect Calico Castle as well? How could he fight in the wars that were suddenly being waged seemingly everywhere. The very skies held enemies that would wipe them out, much less the mountains just beyond the northern walls, the granite peaks vomiting out orcs in numbers unheard of in centuries.

Who was going to be strong for Altin if everyone was looking at him to be the one to keep them safe?

Maybe no one. Maybe nobody would be strong for him anymore. Perhaps this was what it meant to grow up. To be a man. To be alone. Everyone leaning on
him
—more than leaning:
assuming
on him. Assuming he’d keep them safe. Assuming it just as they assume there will be oxygen in their next breath or that the ground won’t swallow them up somehow. He could keep them safe, and they wouldn’t even notice it. They’d go on with their work, their meals, their magical experiments. Little girls climbing trees and hunting birds. Old men pushing goats about from pen to pen. Everyone just assuming he would get it done. Just as he had always assumed someone else would.

That’s certainly how he’d been with Tytamon. He saw it now. It’s something he always knew but never realized. Never thought about. He just took. Always took.

He grabbed Kettle by the shoulders and held her firmly, looked her squarely in the face. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “I promise. I will take care of the castle, just as Tytamon always has. I’ll go to the Queen and demand it be given to me as it was given to Tytamon. She cannot deny my claim.”

“But Altin …,” She didn’t want to say it, whatever it was, so she looked down, seemed ashamed.

“What?”

She twisted out of his grip and started washing dishes in a basin nearby. Altin saw that she was taking them from a wooden drying rack. He also knew she didn’t wash dishes here, especially now that, with the re-garrisoning, she had been forced to bring on several new scullery maids.

“Kettle. Say it. You can’t expect me to act one way while you treat me another.”

She knew what he meant.

“Fine. I’ll say it.” She turned to face him. “How are ya gonna do it? Being lord a’ Calico Castle by title in’na the same as bein’ one in the house.”

He nodded.“Yes, but all men, landholders and commoners, are expected to fight when the kingdom is at war. All may be called up, and all must go. It would have been exactly the same for Tytamon as it is for me. We have two wars going, Kettle. What do you think Tytamon was doing when he died? Sometimes to protect the den, the dragon must leave it.”

She looked away, hiding her expression in the act of wiping her hands on a clutched bit of her apron.

“Tytamon was fighting the war, Kettle. He was doing his duty as lord of Calico Castle. None of us are immune to danger now. If there’s any lesson to be learned from Tytamon’s death it’s that. But I will do everything in my power to keep us safe, and for me, that starts with dealing with the Hostile threat. Orli believes they are friendly now. I think she is under some kind of spell, but I am going to find out. If Orli is right, then I can focus all my attention on the orcs. If she is wrong, then the orcs are a far lesser problem in the greater scheme of things.”

“How can ya say that when ya’ve seen what they done? Ya seen it yerself. As we all have. What they nearly did here. What they almost did ta ma poor Pernie before that.”

A low moan came unbidden from his throat. Yes, that. Horrifying. And yet, that wasn’t the worst the orcs could do now that they had the Liquefying Stones. Kettle didn’t even know that part of it. She also didn’t know that the orcs were not the only factions willing to resort to kidnapping. There was another set of details he hadn’t mentioned yet. Her grief upon seeing him for the first time since Tytamon’s death, and her surprising added grief at learning the fate of Ilbei Spadebreaker when he’d mentioned it, had prevented him from relating the story of Orli’s misfortunes and present plight.

“Kettle,” he began. “There’s more afoot than whatever the orcs have in mind.”

She could see the seriousness in his eyes. She forced herself to calm and nodded that he should go on, braced for whatever ill news he had next to convey.

He told Kettle everything he knew about Orli’s capture, everything but the bit about the Liquefying Stone. He would keep his pledge to Tytamon on that as long as he could. If the ancient wizard thought it important enough to die for, then Altin had no desire to betray that sacrifice. He would make it right.

Kettle was indignant by the end of the account. She spit and sputtered in outrage as she leapt from the seat she’d taken upon a stool and paced about the kitchen waving her arms in the air. “Lord Thoroughgood a slaver and a kidnapper?” she fumed. “And him with noble blood and all. Oh, lords a’ hearth and home, but the whole thing is a comin’ undone, just as poor Master Spadebreaker declared. We ha’na got no one ta trust but ourselves if’n the Queen can’t keep her own in line.”

Altin agreed, but he let her vent before he finally went on. “Which is why I have to go find out if what Orli says is true, no matter how far-fetched it sounds. But to accomplish that, I have a few things I must do first. So I need you to be strong for me, Kettle. Like you always have. You and Nipper and Gimmel hold it together, all right? It will all work out if we keep our heads and stay smart.”

She tried to smile up at him, but it was weak.

“It will work out,” he promised again. “Soon I’ll be back, and we’ll clean everything up and put it right. I’ll even take Pernie on as an apprentice when she gets out of school, just like she always knew I would.”

He looked almost as surprised that he’d said it as Kettle was to hear it coming out of his mouth. He had to grin at the machinations of fate.

Tears filled Kettle’s eyes to full again, but this time with unabated joy. “Oh Altin, that will make her so happy. Ya just have no idea.”

He laughed and let her wrap him up in a hug again. “Yes, Kettle. I think I probably do. It will be good for us both.”

Kettle pulled away and once more set to the work of wiping at her eyes.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said. “And keep everyone out of Tytamon’s tower. I’m going to have to use that one for now.” He intended to add, “until mine is fixed,” as well, but knew as soon as the thought formed that this was no longer true. Or at least it wouldn’t necessarily be once he was the legal holder of Calico Castle. Which meant his first stop, before going up there and searching for Orli’s Blue Fire, should be to go and see the Queen.

Given the nature of recent events, gaining audience with the Queen was not difficult for Sir Altin, and for the first time since being so dubbed, he was actually grateful for the title.

He was admitted into the throne room which fairly buzzed today as the Queen held open court. The walls along the full length of the gallery, some hundred paces end to end, were populated by knots of nobles, dignitaries and important members of the magical elite. In conspicuous absence were members of the military command, and Altin noticed it right away. There was not a general, major or captain to be seen that was not a member of the Palace Guard.

The Queen, who had so often before brightened at his arrival, did not deign to rise joyfully this time, nor did she greet him with even the warm familiarity of the past. Instead she waited for his proper bow and greeted him formally. “Sir Altin Meade, it is always a pleasure to see you in my court.”

At least he got that.

“What business brings you?”

“One thing only, Your Majesty. I have come to request that Calico Castle be given to me.”

“You’re awfully young.” She said it without the least delay between his words and hers. She was testing him. Altin knew it by the way she narrowed her eyes. Her response had come too quick, as if it had been planned and waiting for him.

“If there is someone better suited to keep it safe than I am, let them take it from me if they can.”

She watched him for several long heartbeats but did not say a word. She looked around the crowded room, all of them watching with interest now. She frowned out over the mosaic of faces mooning up at her and shook her head. She looked back at him. “So much incompetence,” she said. “So much cowardice and greed. The kingdom overflows with it as if it were the foam of a hastily poured pair of centuries. But there are some good men, Sir Altin. And you among them. But you
are
young.”

“I cannot argue with the fact that I am young, Your Majesty.” His gaze was level, his jaw set. He waited for her reply.

She watched him for another long set of moments. “Very well,” she said at length. “You may have it. It was Tytamon’s wish as well. But I will be leaving the entire Eleventh Regiment there, and you will keep General Cavendore’s counsel. He will speak with my authority in decisions of war. Do you understand? At least so long as there is a threat from the orcs.”

Altin turned, expecting to see the general step out from the crowd, but remembered even as he looked that there were no generals there.

“Yes, My Queen. I welcome the general, and I shall be grateful for his guidance. And thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I’d like to speak to you about a private matter also, Sir Altin,” she began, then loudly to the room, “Get out. All of you.” She waved the lot of them away as if they were a pack of back-alley dogs.

The noise of the crowd increased as people voiced indignation and curiosity to one another while slowly herding themselves out of the room. Most had nearly gone when, like a salmon swimming upstream, a woman came pushing through, only visible by the hand she had hoisted in the air above the throng and in which she held a bit of parchment that she waved like a flag in a show of enthusiasm that perfectly matched the rapturous nature of her shouts.

“Your Majesty, I’ve got it. I’ve got it!” the young woman cried as she squeezed and twisted her way through the ebbing sea of courtiers.

Altin couldn’t tell who it was, but he recognized the voice.

The herald and both door guards were pulling people aside trying to get to the mysterious intruder who was so grossly bypassing all edicts of decorum.

Finally the woman burst through the back of the deflating crowd. Altin recognized her then as
Citadel’s
top enchanter, Peppercorn. She once again waggled the parchment triumphantly. “I’ve got it!” she proclaimed, just as one of the guards caught her and grabbed her by the back of her long leather jerkin. He jerked her back and threw her to the floor, his spear lifted for a killing thrust if she so much as moved.

“Tidalwrath’s fits, man. Let her up,” demanded the Queen. “By the gods, you fool, you were standing back there when I told her to come to me immediately when she figured it out.”

The guard blanched and made a point of setting Peppercorn properly on her feet. The woman seemed not to care and simply continued rushing into the room. She forgot to bow or make any other proper obeisance as she came to stand beside the marginally bewildered Altin at the foot of Her Majesty’s throne.

“The anti-magic was not a waste of time, Your Majesty. It wasn’t. I figured out how we can make it work. It solves everything. For us and the Earth fleet. We can easily defeat the Hostiles now. The problems with their weapons, the mana issues of which Conduit Huzzledorf explained, it’s all fixed, just like that.”

“Slow down, woman,” demanded the Queen. “You are talking nonsense. Take a breath and start over.”

Peppercorn was breathing very heavily, and Altin gauged that she must have run a long distance to get there. Given that she was dedicated and full-time crew on
Citadel
, his guess was that she’d come all the way from the TGS building in downtown Crown, a run of well over a measure from the Palace.