Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (24 page)

“Blast
you, not now!”

Kicking
his legs up, Cynic replied with an equine version of the bronx cheer. At the
show’s conclusion, Rengeld and a few onlookers gave them both a round of
applause.

Rengeld
chuckled off and on as they trotted along. “Your mount appears to be quite
spirited. He is also most unusual in appearance. What are his origins?”

“He
is, indeed, most spirited and also quite stubborn,” Jeff replied with fervor.
“I have not yet discovered where he was foaled, having come across him in the
North fully grown. As to his breed, I am at a loss. Perhaps we will learn more
in the South.”

“I
would be surprised if you did learn more. I have traveled that land widely yet
never encountered such an animal.”

They
became so involved in discussing the merits of various horse breeds that the
return trip seemed to take only minutes. When they dismounted, Rengeld gripped
Jeff’s hand warmly and bid him good evening.

Examining
his new room, which was furnished with a real bed and small writing desk, Jeff
found it to be a marked improvement over the cell. Drawn by tantalizing smells
and hunger pangs, Jeff found his way to the mess hall. Once inside he was
attracted by an intriguing aroma that led him to a cast-iron kettle suspended
over a glowing bed of coals on a hook and chain. He leaned close and breathed
deeply.

“May
the saints be praised,” he murmured. “Not coffee, but smells as good.”

While
eating, Jeff started getting acquainted with other residents in the Bachelor
Officer’s Quarters. The men were given to rough humor, but Jeff gave as good as
he took. Compared to Valholm humor it was pretty mild stuff. With food in his
stomach, the day’s roller-coaster emotions found him out and he nearly nodded
off at the table. Excusing himself, Jeff turned in early.

The
night was not an easy one. He arose well before sunrise, driven from bed by
restless dreams and worry. The kitchen bustled with cooks and was noisy with
the clatter of pots when Jeff entered. Humid from cooking, the air was laced
with the smell of herbs, baking bread and pastry. Gingerly holding a hot roll,
Jeff dipped a mug of what he decided to call coffee. Back in his room, he
pulled a chair over by the bed and propped his legs up. Half a mug later his
mind was coming on line.

Some
things never change, Jeff reflected. No matter where you are the same patterns
seem to endlessly repeat. Doesn’t matter if it’s a tavern brawl or political
intrigue. Still, maybe he could make a difference here, or at least enough of a
difference to help a few people. Jeff smiled. Not just a few people, but also
my people. He marveled at that thought before mentally ticking off what he had
learned.

Number
one: the Salcheks came much like the Romans and had about the same experience
with northern barbarians. Then they left, but no one seems to know why.
Recalling Rome’s final decades, Jeff pursed his lips and nodded. Most likely
internal strife at home. Possibly a war of succession or an uprising.

Number
two: the scrap of parchment. The habit of empire was a deep one, and even
deeper was the need for raw materials of every kind from furs to minerals.
Materials that had to be pumped into the empire’s rotting interior to keep it
going a bit longer.

Number
three: if the Salchek invaded, his people would be totally unprepared to take
them on. Fifty years without war inevitably would and had led to dissolution of
wartime intertribal bonds. A drifting apart into tribal units that got together
once a year or so like Valholm’s moot.

Jeff
shuddered as he considered what would happen if tribesmen came up against a
disciplined army of veterans. They would be cut to pieces then defeated in
detail as the invaders ground north. Nope, he thought, crossing his legs on the
bed, can’t let that happen. His mind slipped into neutral and Jeff drew the
saber. Examining the blade without really seeing it, his thoughts drifted back
to the prior day’s meeting.

What
do I really know about Rengeld and Ethbar except what they’ve told me? I’ve
only been around Rengeld two days, and Ethbar for a matter of hours. Are they
as open and sincere as they seem? That was one intense meeting! Maybe
everything is moving too quick. I walk into that room not knowing whether I
would survive the day, and walk out with stars in my eyes. It’s possible
they’re playing games at levels I can’t possibly be aware of as a newcomer. How
do I know the writing on that piece of paper is Salchek; that there even is
such a people?

Laying
the saber on the bed, Jeff jumped to his feet and paced a tight circle. “Who
are these courtiers Ethbar spoke of? What’s their game? I know nothing about
the power plays at court! Shit. This is all too much. I feel like a babe lost
in the woods.”

The
pacing worked its charm and Jeff began to relax. Everything Ethbar said about
the Salchek invasion dovetails with Gurthwin’s tale of the Iron-shirts, he
thought, and their Redhairs can be nothing but Alarai. Even the timeline is
close. Ethbar’s schedule has the Salchek hanging on for three or four years
longer than Gurthwin’s does, but so what? It’s not unreasonable to imagine the
Salchek were hoping for reinforcements and didn’t want to give the city up. I
think Ethbar and Rengeld are what they seem to be, and God knows I still feel
driven to find out what the hell is going on!

The
commotion of breakfast in the mess hall was loud enough to intrude on his
thoughts. Sheathing the saber he looked to his appearance. On the way to the
mess hall he thought wistfully of hot showers, toothpaste and Band-Aids. The
last item made him laugh, and he entered the mess ready for whatever the day
would bring.

Jeff
had already grown fond of some of the young officers. He greeted them by name
while collecting a platter of meat and what appeared to be gruel. The trooper
who had taken possession of the saber brought a circle of friends over to
Jeff’s table. As breakfast progressed he let them pass the saber from hand to
hand. Excited question flew so fast that he barely had time to eat.

Damn,
he thought, I feel like an old man around these kids. Jeff was turning that thought
around in his head and finding it amusing when he spotted Rengeld. Washing down
the last mouthful of gruel, he made his excuses and hurried from the building.

They
took a different route than the previous day and Rengeld informed Jeff they
were going to conference at Ethbar’s residence. Rengeld carried on a decent
conversation along the way, showing no evidence to Jeff’s mind of anything but
concern for the future of the city.

Rengeld
dismounted in front of a large two-story building with spacious lawns,
carefully manicured flowerbeds and elaborate courtyard. Talk about a townhouse,
Jeff thought.

“Most
impressive. Salchek construction?”

A
cloud of strong emotion passed across Rengeld’s face. “Yes. This was the home
of a Salchek officer.”

Ethbar
was waiting with a fresh pot of the same brew Jeff had encountered in the mess
hall. As they lingered over the first mug, Ethbar’s observations concerning
palace courtiers never let up. They were so dryly scathing that Jeff found it
hard to do no more than chuckle appreciation. On several occasions he felt like
roaring laughter.

While
pouring a second round, Ethbar spared a quick glance for Jeff. “I must confess
that what you told me of Gurthwin has lighted intense fires of speculation. He
seems most astute. Will you share his tale of these Iron-shirts again?”

“I
would be happy to.”

As
the day wore on, Jeff never stopped looking for contradictions or other
discrepancies. It was a great relief when he found none of significance. Ethbar
and Rengeld proved relentless in cross checking Gurthwin’s history of the
invasion with their own. As a result, papers lay scattered around the table in
disorderly piles.

Ethbar
noticed the sun was shining directly into his study, which faced west.

“Enough.
Let us be done for this day.” He began shuffling papers together but stopped
and smiled at Jeff with twinkling eyes. “What questions you must have
concerning the two of us.”

“That
is surely truth,” Jeff replied. “I know nothing of this city, its policies, or
yours. In addition, I am new to this land and must confess that its customs
further confuse my efforts to divine intent. I am, however, indebted to you
both for the courtesies extended me. Were a greater span of time allotted us to
deepen acquaintance, I have no doubt that a fuller state of trust would come to
exist. Yet that time has not been allotted, only the same abiding urgency that
gives no rest.”

As
he spoke, Jeff realized that his doubts about the two men had evaporated for
good. Rengeld was about to reply when Jeff cut him off.

“My
apologies, but allow me to continue for a moment. Our fears concerning the
Salchek must be addressed at once. If they are coming this season it must be
within the next three months or snow will force a delay until the following
spring. Forgive my frankness, but from what I have seen of Rugen’s defenses a
determined siege would see its fall within a short span of time. And that leads
me to an issue that is central in my thoughts.” Jeff paused for effect and eyed
the two men. “What I must know is where you both stand—where the city will
stand—defense or welcome if an army does arrive. I am sure you know the North
will fight.”

“A
courageous question and one that is indeed central,” Rengeld said in a deadly
serious tone of voice. “I am honored that your trust has extended so far as to
permit such welcome frankness.” While his voice held no censure, it had a
quality that spoke of barely restrained emotion. “I sense the urgency you see
in this question of the Salchek and concur totally. Furthermore, your
assessment of Rugen’s defenses is not far from the mark. But will we fight?
Consider this.

“The
Salchek built Rugen on the backs of its people. How many deaths do you imagine
these great walls and buildings cost? They were built in only thirteen years!
Such an endeavor normally would occupy three decades or more! How many babes
starved in winter’s cold because their food was sent south or north? How many
fathers died in a war not their own, conscripted into service and ripped from
their families? How many mothers and daughters were forced into brothels for
the mighty Salchek?”

Rengeld
stopped and struggled to master himself. When he spoke again, it was in a
whisper that seethed with hatred.

“Such
a mother was my own, taken shortly after my birth never to be seen again. I
will fight, and foreswear this city should it choose not to.”

Lost
in his own memories, Ethbar shook his head as if to clear them from his mind.
“The majority of this city’s people were touched by tragedy in one fashion or
another during the Salchek occupation. With leadership their descendants will
resist, without leadership they will panic and give the city away.

“Imogo
is a mercenary’s son and experienced none of what has been described. But he
stands to lose a throne, whatever its worth is judged. More importantly, his
head and the heads of his entire family will be forfeit if the Salchek mount a
successful invasion. The difficulty we face with Imogo is not whether he will
fight, but whether he will come to believe that the threat is real in time to
prepare.” Ethbar looked pointedly at Jeff. “If in fact it is.”

Ethbar
paused to gaze out an open window at a slender tree bending and sighing in the
breeze.

“There
are many things I do not claim to understand in this world. First among them is
the manner in which we three are met. It defies all likelihood and expectation,
yet leaves no doubt in my mind that such was meant to be.

“You
have spoken of your duty, Jeffrey, and I concurred. You have spoken of the
sense of urgency that drives you, and I concur. Therefore, you must not dally.
Time is, indeed, our great enemy.”

A
period of reflective silence ensued. Jeff sipped cold coffee but didn’t mind.
He was at peace with his decision to trust Ethbar and Rengeld. The balance of
the afternoon was spent poring over a collection of maps.

It
didn’t take long to decide the objective of his trip south would be Chaldesia.
When Ethbar described Chaldesia, a country of rolling grasslands and farms to
the north of Arzak, it became clear to Jeff that its capitol, Khorgan, was
actually a city-state. Situated 500 or 600 miles to the south and somewhat to
the east of Rugen, Khorgan was Chaldesia’s only center of commerce.

Considering
its central location on the map, the city would have to be captured or neutralized
before an invasion force could proceed north. Daunted by the distance, nearly
all of it open prairie, Jeff laboriously copied the most legible map.

The
following day, supplied with a pouch of local coinage by Ethbar, Jeff set out
for the craft quarter. Leading Cynic he wandered crooked, hilly streets in a
delighted daze for much of the morning. He dawdled at a smithy, chatted with
cabinetmakers, admired colored jars in the window of an apothecary, and
fingered clothing in a tailor shop. Watching a butcher apply his saw, Jeff
found it hard to believe that it was real and not some elaborate set for a holo
production.