The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (17 page)

“More
than just being intelligent, he knows he is but doesn’t pretend he knows
everything.”

Breda
missed her husband’s meaning, though Maera understood. “Yes,” she said emphatically,
“he listens to others and doesn’t feel threatened if they disagree or if they
have ideas better than his own. He also quotes his people’s sayings that
caution humility. I remember him once quoting that
‘A wise man knows what he
doesn’t know, while a fool knows what isn’t true.
’ Another time he referenced
a famous scholastic being lauded for his work, who said,
‘If I’ve seen farther,
it’s because I stood on the shoulders of giants
.’”

“Well,
he’s no fool,” asserted Culich. “Although there’s something else I haven’t
mentioned. We talked at some length about the Narthani. New to the island he
may be, and he claims he’s only recently learned details about the Narthani from
you, Maera, and Sistian. Nevertheless, I suspect he has a better understanding
of the threat they represent than most hetmen do, and I might even include
myself in that suspicion. He suggested several points to consider, based on his
knowledge of the history of his and other peoples. Histories and names of
realms and peoples I’ve never heard of, such as the India and Britain. Have you
heard of these, Maera?”

She
shook her head. “Never.”

“He
told me a disturbing story about how this Britain had conquered India, a realm
many times larger, by tricking the people of India to fight one another or be
bribed by Britain. Yozef suggested the Narthani may already be doing something
similar here on Caedellium.”

“He
never told
me
any such stories,” snipped Maera. Breda patted her
daughter’s leg under the table.

Calmly,
my dear, calmly
.

“I
doubt he deliberately hid anything from you, Maera. Possibly you didn’t ask the
right questions, and I did without realizing it. That would go along with my
impression there’s more underneath than he lets us see. The answers may be
there, but you may have to ask the right questions at the right time.”

Her
father’s words mollified Maera only somewhat. Her father knew her well enough
to see what was going on under that long brown hair.

“Don’t
beat yourself up for not getting more out of him.” Culich paused and looked at
his eldest daughter. “In fact, Ser Kolsko believes you are one of the smarter
persons he’s ever met, possibly
the
smartest. He also told me you’re
smarter than he is.”

Maera
was thunderstruck.
Yozef said what?!

Breda
sat smugly, eyeing her daughter.

Culich
eyes were also on Maera, but as if seeing something in a different light for
the first time. “Kolsko also said I was fortunate to have such an intelligent
daughter helping me rule the clan.”

Oh,
no
.
Breda cringed within.
As good a hetman as Culich is, and as much as I know
he listens to Maera and me, he’s still a Caedellium hetman, and telling him he needs
help from a daughter isn’t the wisest comment to make.

“He’s
right,” continued Culich. “I may not have said it before or not as clearly as I
should. Maera, I
do
appreciate not only your help but also your advice. While
I may not acknowledge it as much as I should, the way our customs are, I want
you to know it.”

Both
women teared up, Breda because she was happy for a daughter who rarely felt she
fit into customary roles, and Maera because it was the strongest expression of
respect her father had ever given her.

My,
my, Yozef,
thought
Breda.
You
do
seem to bring changes wherever you go, don’t you?

Culich
was not unaware of the response to his words and cleared his throat, returning to
Kolsko.

“I
originally planned to meet this Kolsko fellow once or twice to get a good
evaluation. Now I think it’ll take longer—both to get a better reading on him personally
and to continue discussions on the Narthani. I called him here for a sixday,
but, since I expected to be finished with him in no more than two days, I
committed traveling to meet with the Hewell and Adris hetmen. The meeting in
Hewell is more a formality. Hewell is ready to join the Tri-Clan Alliance, or
whatever we rename it once the number of members increases past three. Lordum
Hewell is still young enough and new enough at being hetman that he wisely is being
careful to get the support of his boyermen for this alliance. Adris is another
matter. Hetman Adris wants the alliance, though he has several boyerman who are
strongly opposed, evidently believing all of the Narthani problems are remote
from Adris, and why should they get involved and invite trouble? Stupid, I know,
though we still have to try to convince them.

“Another
issue they bring up is that Adris doesn’t have an adjoining border to any of
the alliance members, including Hewell. In reality, Orosz is functionally, if
not officially, also a member. They can’t join because of the custom that Orosz
stays neutral in clan disputes. While the Narthani are an external threat, Hetman
Orosz and I agree that for now Orosz should remain outside the alliance.

“All
of this means I’ll need to be gone a full sixday or more and won’t be able to
speak enough with Kolsko until I return. I’ll tell him to stay longer, two or
three more sixdays.”

“Father,
he’s busy with all of his shops and projects,” cautioned Maera.

“They’ll
have to wait until I’ve finished speaking with him,” responded Culich, automatically
assuming the man would suborn other activities, if the hetman had different
plans.

“Remember,
Father, he’s not from Keelan or anywhere else on Caedellium. He’s not a member
of the Keelan Clan, so he owes no specific allegiance to either you or the
clan.”

Maera
was right. By custom or law, even a Keelander was free to acquiesce or not to a
Keelan hetman’s request, although, in practice, few resisted. Kolsko was not
even a Keelander. Culich considered his daughter’s words. As early as it was in
his evaluation of Kolsko, Culich’s intuition nagged that Kolsko would be
important in Keelan’s future. If Kolsko had no formal ties to Keelan, they
needed to think about ways to remedy that lack.

“In
that case, let’s keep him occupied here until I return. He might like to take
advantage of St. Tomo’s library to learn more about the Narthani and Caedellium.
Maybe he can find clues to where his homeland is or at least narrow down the
possibilities. Maera, he thought you had been a good source of such knowledge
while you were at St. Sidryn’s. You could show him the library and see if he
can find anything of interest to him and useful for us. You can also introduce
him to the scholastics at St. Tomo’s. From Sistian’s letters, I’d imagine there
are some mutual interests. He can look into expanding his enterprises to
Caernford, as long as he’s here. Plus, there must be local sights of interest
to show him. I also think Vortig and Petr need to spend some time with him.
I’ll speak with them both and leave the rest to you to find ways to keep him
interested until I return.”

Maera
nodded respectfully, careful not to smile.

Yes.
I’ll find ways to spend time with Yozef. And we shall see what happens.

“All
right. I think we have a plan for the next sixdays. I’ll speak with the man who
drove Kolsko’s carriage here, Puvey something, and see if he has anything
useful to add.”

Carnigan
and the Hetman

A
Keelan retainer tracked down Carnigan Puvey in Caernford, in time for the big
man to get to the hetman’s manor before Culich left for Hewell. Culich had glimpsed
the man and knew from that momentary distant view that Puvey was big. But
this
big? Culich thought of himself as a good-sized man, though he was aware of starting
the shrinkage that came with age. Still, there were few men much bigger than
the Keelan hetman, and this was his first experience of being in the presence
of a man who made him feel truly small. Puvey might only have an inch or two in
height advantage, but his width and solidness were intimidating.

“Hetman,”
Puvey stated in a voice Culich suspected meant, “Okay, here I am. What is it
you want?”

“Ser
Puvey, I understand you’ve been at St. Sidryn’s for three years and that you
came originally from Swavebroke Province. You’re not a brother at St. Sidryn’s,
are you?”

“You’ll
have to ask Abbot Beynom about that.”

Culich
almost grumbled at the man to answer but restrained himself. He would ask
Sistian, and the purpose of this meeting was Yozef Kolsko.

“All
right. Ser Kolsko has made quite a name for himself in so short a time. You’ve
interacted with him since he arrived in Caedellium. I’ve spoken with him and
will want to speak with him again when I return from travel. However, I want to
hear any impressions or information you might have about Ser Kolsko.”

“What
kind of information?”

“I’m
not sure myself. Perhaps we can discuss a few of your experiences with him, and
I’ll see if anything useful occurs during the discussion. For example, did you
see him during the courtyard fight at St. Sidryn’s?”

“He
fought beside me.”

“Would
you say he’s an experienced fighter?”

Carnigan
laughed. “Hah! It might have been the first time in his life he ever held a
weapon.”

“You
mean a musket or a sword?”

“I
mean anything. Even a real knife. I gave him a spear and told him not to stick
me with it.”

“Did
he actually use the spear?”

“He
may have saved my life. I was fighting two Buldorians when another got to my
side. I couldn’t turn to face him, and Yozef stuck him before he did me.”

Culich
probed for another hour, learning little except the protective nature of
Puvey’s regard for Kolsko. Later that evening Culich related his meeting with
Puvey to Breda.

“Once
again, this Kolsko gives conflicting impressions. Puvey says Kolsko was totally
inexperienced with any kind of weapon, yet he stood with the others when the
time came. I think Puvey admires him because he was scared and didn’t let that
prevent him from doing what he could. I also think Puvey considers Kolsko a
friend and perhaps something more. I’m not sure what. I guess I would call it a
. . . commitment to Kolsko, although I don’t know exactly what that entails.”

They
continued their meal, Culich missing the coy smile that played along the
corners of his wife’s mouth and eyes.

Yozef’s
third morning at Keelan Manor started like the first: being awakened by
knocking at the cottage door. Once again, Norlin waited with a basket. The
difference this morning was that Yozef’s head didn’t throb from too much wine.
He’d eaten the last two nights’ meals with Carnigan at the Galloping Horse Inn,
whose beer left no aftereffects.

“Good
morning, Ser Kolsko,” chirped Norlin, who never seemed to be in a bad mood.

Which
could eventually get annoying
, thought Yozef.
There are some times
when not being in a good mood is normal
. Then he smiled at himself. 
My,
aren’t you in a good mood? No need to take it out on poor Norlin just because
you think it’s time to head back to Abersford.

Yozef
and Maera had hardly spoken, except at the first evening’s dinner, and then
only a few perfunctory words. She toured him around the Keelan Manor grounds
after his first meeting with her father, and her youngest sister persisted in
accompanying them, oblivious to Maera’s attempts to shed her sibling. Then her
father had called on her to aid in correspondence. That was the last time he’d
seen her that day.

Only
by his disappointment at how the visit had so far gone did he realize how much
he’d looked forward to seeing her again. The day of the picnic, away from
Abersford, kept rising in his consciousness. He’d enjoyed being with her that
day, and the kiss had been spontaneous. He thought she responded, then . . . what?
She’d cut him cold on the way back to the abbey, although her later letters from
Caernford hinted of overtures that things were okay between them, though maybe
only in the formalities, not the personal. If true, did that bother him? He
shrugged mentally. It was worth the trip to meet the hetman and to settle
whatever existed between him and Maera.

And
what did I suppose there might be? For Christ’s sake, she’s a hetman’s
daughter, their version of royalty. Did I imagine an affair or a fairytale
ending was plausible?

Then
there was the hetman. They’d met twice the second day, when Culich announced
he’d be away a sixday and informed Yozef he’d being staying longer than
initially planned to meet with other clan leaders, and then the hetman would meet
with Yozef again when he returned. Yozef was
not
pleased.

He
was ready to return to Abersford. He appreciated the opportunity to meet the
hetman, and his evaluation of the clan’s leader was positive. Culich Keelan fit
Yozef’s image of a beloved but stern Scottish laird. What he didn’t discern was
a sense of the hetman’s personality, except for the inattentive assumption that
Yozef would remain at the hetman’s convenience. Satisfied when Yozef
reluctantly agreed to linger, Culich ended their meeting, and Yozef had returned
to his room and continued working on his thermodynamics notes.

“And
good morning to you, Norlin. And how are you this day?”

“Just
fine, Ser Kolsko. Just fine.”

“What
about our agreement when we’re alone?”

Norlin
grinned. “Well, I wasn’t sure you were serious . . . Yozef.”

“That’s
more like it. And your scholasticum work? How’s that going?” Yozef had learned
from Norlin that the fourteen-year-old was attending the St. Tomo’s
scholasticum, with an eye to become a medicant. To meet the “inventor” of ether
had, by the boy’s own statement, been one of the most exciting things in his
life.

Poor
kid
.

“All
fine there, too,” Norlin said cheerfully. “I have examinations in herbs and
surgery this afternoon.”
 

Jesus!
He’s even in a good mood with tests coming up.

Norlin
set a basket on the table and started laying out the morning meal. First the
jug of kava and bowl of fruit, then something novel. Norlin set a folded cloth
on the table.

For
a moment, Yozef didn’t register what the cloth must be for.
A napkin?
Caedelli were not quite stereotypic medieval diners, eating with fingers and throwing
bones to the dogs, but hands were the norm for wiping food from lips. When
necessary, the ubiquitous “handkerchiefs” that all men and women kept with them
were used, the same cloths used for wiping sweat and blowing noses.

Further
surprises came when Norlin removed the covers from two ceramic plates.

As
I live and breathe!

Sitting
in front of Yozef were what appeared to be an omelet and a stack of butter-lathered
toast. A momentary feeling of disorientation washed over him, as his mind
flashed back to Earth and his previous life. Omelets, napkins, toast, cars,
television, Julie, Berkeley, 49ers, Giants, squabbling Democrats and
Republicans, and a hundred other images kaleidoscoped as they were recalled and
faded. His chest ached with a pang such as he had not felt in many months. He
swallowed hard.

“Are
you all right, Yozef?”

He
looked up at a worried Norlin.

“Is
there something wrong? The cook was unsure whether everything was done properly,
since she had never prepared such food. Sen Maera told her what to do and said it
was foods common to your people.”

Maera?
She would have given the instructions to the cook
. She, along with
the Faughns, among others, had recoiled at eating eggs any way except boiled or
scrambled—and forget poached and fried with runny yolks. He had explained and
demonstrated French toast and omelets more than a year ago. The former had
taken off, but not omelets.

“No,
no, Norlin,” he reassured quickly, “just surprised to see the omelet and
toast.”

“Oh.
Is that what they’re called? Which one is the omelet and which one toast?”

Norlin,
once apprised of the correct nomenclatures, excused himself with the message
that Sen Maera expected him at the manor house after eating, to discuss his
schedule for the next sixday.

Schedule?

Now
that sounded like Maera. Always wanting to organize.

He
took a bite of toast. Not bad. Just about the degree of toasting he liked. As
for the omelet, he assumed the eggs were from ducks the Caedelli raised. He had
never eaten a duck egg before coming to Anyar and had gotten used to the
difference in taste. The cheese inside the omelet was too pungent, and inside
were flecks of a chopped green and pieces of smoked meat he suspected was
coney, the rabbit-sized indigenous mammals grown for meat. An omelet from Earth
it wasn’t. Somehow he didn’t mind. While he tried not to read too much into the
actions of others, he wondered whether this was a gesture from Maera. He found
his mood markedly improved.

An
hour later, Norlin returned and informed him that Maera was expecting him at
the manor house. She met him in the large parlor, where chairs and tables
provided several sitting areas. She sat in one of three armchairs surrounding
what on Earth would have been a coffee table. Breda Keelan sat thirty feet away
at the other end of the room in another furniture cluster, knitting. The mother
smiled and greeted Yozef, as Norlin dropped him off and indicated the waiting
Maera.

Is
the mother chaperoning
?

When
he walked over to where the hetman’s daughter sat, she put down a book and rose
to greet him. She wore a long form-fitting dark green dress that hung to the
floor. Slipper-like shoes peeked out from folds of the fabric. The neckline was
deep enough to more than suggest the swell of her chest and exposed a goodly
stretch of skin. She wore no jewelry, and her hair was held out of her face by
a silver clip on the side opposite the part. Her arms were bare to near her
shoulders.

You
know, she
is
quite fetching
, rose by its own volition in Yozef’s mind.

Maera’s
attire and presentation were carefully designed. Her mother had long ago
advised that different shades of green were her best colors, matching her skin
tone and greenish eyes. The two women picked the dress as both appropriate for
a hetman’s daughter and to remind any male of her feminine form. From his
glances, Maera assumed the dress had succeeded, and she, in turn, noted his
appearance.

He
was dressing better since he’d arrived here, more so than she’d seen in
Abersford. She again saw an average-sized man of his middle twenties. His brown
hair and beard were neatly trimmed. There were no standard styles for either
with Caedellium men, and she was pleased that Yozef favored shorter cuts. She remembered
the tingling of his beard surrounding his lips.

She
rose to greet him. “Thank you for coming, Ser Kolsko.”

Yozef
smiled. “Do you think you and I could once again use our first names?”

She
smiled back, almost shyly. “Yes, let’s do that . . . Yozef.”

“Great
. . . Maera. So, what has the hetman planned for me to do while he’s away?”

She
didn’t miss the sarcastic tone. “Oh, Yozef, he’s really quite a warm person and
not . . . what was the word you and Carnigan called me that day at the beach? Stuffy?”

“Are
you saying that your father is never stuffy?”

Maera
laughed, loudly enough that her mother looked up from the other end of the
large room.

“Yes,
yes, I’ll concede that he can seem that way. When you know him better, you’ll
find you won’t notice it as much.”

“I
won’t notice it, or he won’t be stuffy?”

“Perhaps
both.” Maera smiled again, then picked up a piece of paper. Even upside-down,
Yozef could see the neat script and bullet points running down the paper.

“Father’s
requested you to meet with Vortig Luwis and Pedr Kennrick. They’re both
advisors, Pedr more on internal clan affairs and Vortig on what you call
military matters. Father would like them to meet with you and discuss some of
the same issues you and he have already discussed and questions they might
have. He also requested that they meet with you separately, so he can get
independent reports from them. Pedr will be here in about an hour, and we’ll
see Vortig at the Caernford armory after midday meal.”

She
indicated the rest of the list. “All of these others are my thoughts on what
you might find interesting.”

Her
forefinger moved down the page, as she read off the suggestions.

“I
assumed you would want to spend time in the St. Tomo’s abbey library. It’s
about the same size as the one at St. Sidryn’s, although it has different
collections, especially on the histories of both Keelan Clan and the mainland
Anyar realms. I know you read Caedelli, but some of the better histories are in
other Anyar languages. I can describe the books’ topics, and with those you
find interesting, I can read selected parts to you and work to give you
translations for a few of the most interesting.”

“You
can read the other languages?”

“Not
all. Only High Landolin, Fuomi, Frangelese, and Narthani well, plus I can
manage in some of the Iraquinik and other Landolin dialects.”

“That’s
all?” said Yozef, smiling. “I’m curious, Maera. My impression is that few
people on Caedellium know other languages. I suppose some were spoken in Preddi
before the Narthani came, since it was the main trading center, but the rest of
Caedellium hasn’t had the need, with so little outside contact. How is it you
know so many languages?”

“Some
are necessary to read books from other parts of Anyar. High Landolin is the
most recognized scholastic language, plus Fuomi and Frangelese, to a lesser
extent. Also, important books in other languages often have translations into
those three. Being the hetman’s daughter doesn’t give me that much to do,
especially when Father’s away, and I enjoy learning. I found studying history
and languages often more enjoyable than interacting with other children and
later with most adults.”

When
Maera finished talking, her face took on a stubborn look, perhaps defensive at
her last words.

“Of
course, I don’t speak any of the languages well, since there’s been little
opportunity to use them. I used to practice when traders went through Keelan or
with an occasional scholastic, though there’s been minimal opportunity the last
years.”

“Still,
it’s impressive you have both the ability to teach yourself and the
determination to do so.”

Maera’s
defensive look evaporated, and her face relaxed, a slight flush coloring her
cheeks. She knew and regretted that her studies were often a refuge and
contributed to her reputation for being reserved. She had always been
ambivalent toward the occasional praise for her learning. Somehow Yozef’s
regard meant more than that of other persons.

So
it’s true. Yozef thinks I’m smart, and it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he seems
appreciative. He said it that day at the picnic, and Father said Yozef said the
same to him.

I
know it’s true, but when others say it, I always wonder whether they’re being
honest or, if honest, are uneasy about it since I’m “only” a woman. Yet Yozef
is different. When he says it, I believe him, and it feels better than when
others say the words. It makes me feel . . . what? What’s going on with me?