Kingmaker (7 page)

"What about Mark?” He was in this as much as she was. And if time really did work differently in this dimension than it did on Earth, if she returned him to Earth, she might not make it back here for years. On the other hand, she'd dragged him here. If he wanted to go back home, she owed him that much. At worst, she could give a couple of speeches to the troops, then send Mark back, and then return. If she did it quickly enough, maybe not too much time would pass. And if it did, how much worse would it be than being locked up in a cloister somewhere?

"Ask him to move one of the gems."

"Is it safe for him?"

The bishop shrugged. “Perhaps."

She switched to English. “He wants you to move one of the jewels. It's a test of some kind, to see if you have magic potential. If it feels funny, stop and back away. I don't want you hurt."

Mark nodded. He reached for one of the smaller stones, picked it up, then set it down a few inches away.

"Now another."

"The bishop wants you to move another one."

Mark shrugged and did it.

No wave of purple shook the room. Mark was just moving pebbles.

"He has no magic. Completely useless for our purposes.” The bishop didn't sound too sad about that. Maybe untrained mages really were dangerous.

"Okay, Mark. The bishop says you're not a mage. So, what do you want to do?"

He looked confused. Of course he still didn't have enough of the language to understand what the bishop had told her.

"I figured I could hang out with you and the girls. From what I saw of this city, it's very similar to early-renaissance England. For a history buff, a place like this is good as dying and going to heaven. Who knows, maybe the local Shakespeare is alive and writing now. Staying here, I have a chance to do something interesting. Hopefully without having to kill anyone else."

So he had developed a crush on at least one of Arnold's sisters? Ellie couldn't really blame him. The girls were cute, flirty, and even halfway competent with their swords. And nobody was going to mistake either of them for a boy.

"It'll be dangerous,” she explained quickly. “They want me to be some sort of returned hero from the ancient past so we'll be targets for everyone."

Mark wasn't an idiot and he didn't look especially anxious to have everyone shooting at him, but he nodded. “I'll back you up, Ellis."

She started to correct him but stopped. If he wanted to tease her about her fake name, that was his business. It wasn't like the two of them were anything but friends, anyway. She turned her attention back to the bishop.

"Here's the deal. We'll stay, but no cloisters. I'll address the troops, be your cheerleader, but I need to stay here in the capital and I need to stay with my friends. If you want me to control my magic, I want a tutor here in Morey. And if we win, whoever killed my parents goes to trial."

"Why should I agree to that?"

She forced herself to relax. Tensing up would slow her down and, if necessary, she was ready to fight her way out of the bishop's offices. “Because the alternative is no cooperation and no miracle princess. Somehow, I think need those more than you need another prisoner right now."

Of course the Bishop's easiest solution would be for the two of them to conveniently disappear. Only Ranolf and his children knew that they were even here. And Ellie didn't think Arnold would complain if she vanished. When he'd discovered she was a woman, he'd backed away from her like she had a disease. The funny thing was, he hadn't seemed to mind when his sisters had pulled out their swords and defended themselves.

The bishop looked like he was thinking about the disappearing option and Ellie wished for the comfort of her sword. Unfortunately, they'd left their weapons with the doorman before they'd been allowed to see the bishop.

Finally the bishop shook his head.

"Perhaps you are right. The cloisters are too remote for you to be immediately accessible. As for a local tutor, I think Lawgrave could do an excellent job. What do you say, father?"

Lawgrave looked like he wanted to say it was the dumbest idea he'd ever heard.

Over the next couple of days, Ellie learned why the bishop had given in so quickly. The political and military situation was grim.

King Sergius was eighteen, the age of majority in Lubica, but it looked like the regency could go on indefinitely. The uncles had left the capital and the bishop, along with a group of barons, including Ranolf, served as acting regents while doing their best to prevent either of the uncles from returning to fulfill their titular responsibilities.

Between them, the uncles and the Rissel occupied more than ninety percent of Lubica's land mass. The only good news was, the Rissel and the uncles only agreed about one thing—the need to regain control of Sergius. Because they couldn't agree on who would control him, and because everyone would gang up on the first one to move, the capital remained in a sort of no-man's land. Sergius's own armies would be little more than a speed bump to any of the real armies massed against the capital. At best, they could keep the brigands down. Sometimes.

"It's a little like England under Richard the Second,” Mark told her while they waited for their first audience with Sergius.

She strained her memory. “Is he the one that wanted to trade his kingdom for a horse?"

"Uh, no. That was later. Another Richard."

Good, because she didn't think
that
Richard had gotten his horse—or his kingdom. “That's lucky. So how did
this
Richard make out?"

"Not well. One of his cousins had him killed by sticking a white-hot poker up his you know what."

That was not an encouraging precedent.

"I've been trying to think of a case where an infant king grew up and things worked out,” Mark continued. “I'm sure there have been examples but I can't remember any. Maybe Genghis Khan."

With that rather grim thought, they were led into Sergius's throne room.

Sergius looked down at them from the gold-plated throne. A crown, not yet officially placed on his head, sat on a pedestal nearby.

He wasn't bad looking. With his dark blond hair and solid over-six-foot height, he radiated a magnetism that spoke kingliness. This was the kind of person people would follow. Ellie wasn't so sure about the little smirk on his face, but she could see potential. He was the kind of kid her father delighted in taking into his dojo as an arrogant punk and transforming into a confident man.

Thinking of her father blurred Ellie's vision for just a moment but she shook her head angrily. She wasn't here to weep about her parents; she was here to avenge them. Even if the bishop was right and they weren't her natural parents at all. Regardless of genetics, they had raised her, cared for her, and taught her what they could. She owed them. This kingdom owed them.

"You may rise.” Sergius didn't raise his voice, but it still cut through the ambient noises of the audience chamber. That kind of voice would be worth a fortune on the battlefield, Ellie realized.

She and Mark had essayed polite bows and were already standing upright but she didn't say anything smart. Sergius was the king, after all, even if his kingdom was currently limited to the capital city and a few square miles of nearby farmland.

"The Regent Bishop tells us that you are a long-lost cousin, come to rally the troops to our aid."

"So it seems, your majesty."

"
He
seems to think it would do some good.” Sergius's voice indicated his doubts, doubts that Ellie, unfortunately, shared. She'd been reading up on her medieval warfare book and the bottom line was straightforward. Nine times out of ten, the side with the bigger armies won. Not only did Sergius not have the biggest army, he had the smallest army. He also had the most politicized generals, the least money to hire mercenaries, and the weakest power base.

"We'd all better hope something will do some good. If one of your uncles wins, they'll keep you alive for a year or so while they consolidate their power base, and then poof, the regent becomes a king."

Sergius considered her, his mouth twitching between a scowl and a grin. “What we
need to do
and what we
can do
are often very different."

He wasn't stupid. But he was discouraged. No wonder the bishop thought his troops needed bucking up. If the king spent any time with them, they'd all probably desert.

"At least we can give them a fight."

Sergius laughed. “By God, we can do that. Speaking of which, my friend Baronet Arnold tells me that you're a mean hand with the blade. Unusual for a woman."

"My father insisted."

Sergius looked down at the floor for an instant. “The bishop told me about your parents’ murder. While I barely remember my father, I miss my grandfather's presence and his strong arm."

They were both orphans. Ellie hadn't thought of that bond between them. At least
her
parents had been there to teach her, be with her, give her the benefit of their experience and training. Sergius had been saddled with uncles and regents who saw him as a pawn in their game.

"Thank you, your Majesty."

He ran his fingers down the hilt of a sword. The scabbard was jeweled and fancy, but Ellie noticed that the
tsuka
or hilt was a sweat-darkened leather. Medieval-style kings, she reflected, were not all ornamental.

"We must spar, then,” Sergius announced. “Tomorrow, perhaps."

The king rose abruptly, signaling the end of their audience. And Mark and Ellie were ushered from his presence.

"In alternate history Science Fiction, the hero usually introduces gunpowder, which changes the balance of power and allows the side with smaller armies to prevail. Guess that won't work here.” Mark sounded worried.

A week after their meeting with the king, the bishop had taken them out to review the army. It wasn't much of an army so it didn't take too long to review, but one thing was apparent. About a third of them were armed with a sort of crude musket. Most of the rest had long pikes. As far as cavalry went, there was a dispirited group of half-trained minor nobility and an even smaller group of mercenaries who looked like they had been hired only because nobody else would have them.

They'd gotten a half-hearted cheer when the bishop had announced that Ellie was the long-lost princess, returned in their nation's hour of need. But Ellie had seen the sergeants prodding the men to get even that.

So far, this miracle was turning up to be a dud.

She turned to the bishop. “Let me guess, your excellence. You've been giving them good news for a while now, right? Bragging about the successes of your allies or the problems with their enemies. Be honest. I'm not your first miracle, am I?

He narrowed his eyes but nodded. “We've got to keep their spirits up. If they desert, we'll have nothing."

"And you've poisoned the well so completely that they can't believe a real miracle when one comes along."

She knew she should be careful. The bishop wasn't blind. He could see as well as she could that the announcement of her return hadn't done anything for moral. Which meant that her value to the bishop had just fallen into the toilet. As a miracle-of-the-week, she was disposable. And she might even be worth more to the cause as a dead martyr than as a live miracle. Given what she'd seen of the bishop's pragmatism, she didn't think he would bat an eyelash if he needed to do that. It was time to take control of the situation.

"I guess I'll have to come up with a better miracle next time,” the bishop almost snarled. “You don't exactly look impressive sitting there like a lump."

She forced herself to keep a straight face. He hadn't signed her death warrant, but he'd come close.

"Does your army have a champion swordsman?"

"It's the king's army, not mine. I am merely a regent."

Yeah, sure. And if the king demanded that they'd do something they were about as likely to obey him as his uncles were. The problem was, she'd spent some time with the king and was starting to like Sergius—despite the disadvantages he labored under.

"Does the king's army have a champion swordsman?"

"How could it not?"

The bishop wasn't much good at answering questions so Ellie ignored him and addressed the troops.

"All of you are so blind that you don't recognize a genuine miracle when you see one. I didn't come across five hundred years to have you treat me like a cheap counterfeit. Give me your best swordsman and I'll teach you something about miracles."

"You're going to fight one of those monsters?” Mark whispered to her. “They've got mercenaries in this army who've been training with the sword ten hours a day for twenty years."

He was right, of course. She'd barely beaten Arnold and he was a dilettante with the sword. “We need to do something. The bishop needs a miracle and if I don't give it to him, he'll use me in another way."

She couldn't hear Mark's answer because the small army was in turmoil. It turned out that there were differences of opinion about which of their swordmasters was really the champion.

By the time that was sorted out, two injured sergeants had been dragged to the hospital and a giant with a crisscross of scars across his face stood in front of her. He was older than her father, walked with a pronounced limp, and looked about as dangerous as an atom bomb.

"At least the scars mean he can be hit,” she whispered to Mark, in English.

"But none of them look especially new,” he whispered back. Which was a problem. If he'd learned from his mistakes, she could really be in trouble.

"I don't normally give lessons to girls,” he shouted, letting his voice carry through the army. “But since you're a miracle princess, I'll make an exception."

She vaulted the wooden barrier that separated their reviewing stand from the troops. “Fabulous. Ask the soldiers to stand back, though. I want them to see
who
gets the lesson."

It took a few minutes to sort things out. The bishop wasn't happy. He probably thought she was going to get chopped up in a way that wouldn't further his goals. And Mark wasn't happy. He was even muttering something about shooting the swordsman and making it look like Ellie had beaten him.