Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Forty-two

12 July 1767 Government House, Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria

Owen turned the last page of Colonel Rathfield’s report over, then squared the stack and, righting it, handed it back to Prince Vlad. The sun had set while Owen studied the report in the Prince’s office. He’d finished by lamplight and his spindly chair creaked as he sat back.

“Highness, I don’t really see anything in there to be overly concerned about. The idea of Antediluvian ruins might attract some attention, but he largely bypasses it. His focus might have some interest to people at Horse Guards, but this is mostly the account of a man’s hunting weekend in the country. He’ll be asked to repeat the story about the wolf attack, and be congratulated on bringing the people of Postsylvania back into the fold, but he says nothing about the events after our return to Happy Valley.”

“Yes, and the slaughter at Piety can be laid at the door of the Twilight People or Ryngian settlers-whichever is more convenient at the time.” Prince Vlad smiled and set a small stone on the report. “I liked the piece about his being conveyed ‘with all alacrity’ back to Temperance, without any mention of how he returned.”

Owen nodded. “I saw that. Do you not think that someone will wonder at that?”

The Prince stood and walked to a sideboard, where he poured whiskey into two glasses. “I considered that question, but I believe the statement ends up proving itself. The expedition has been described as conducting a thorough survey, suggesting you were not moving at great speed. On the contrary, his swift return was just that, swift. He certainly has no understanding of how long it took. Outside of my household, or the men who traveled out there, no one else does either. Because the people of Launston think of Mystria as a vast wilderness, they have no idea of the vast distances we travel here.”

“I’m not certain I’m clear on that point.”

Vlad smiled. “I believe Mugwump flew roughly two hundred and fifty miles each way. How he knew where to go, or why he started going, I don’t know. This still concerns me.

“I can understand that, Highness.” Owen accepted a glass from the Prince. “What are you going to report to Launston about Happy Valley?”

The Prince rolled his glass in his hands. “This is the greater problem, isn’t it? I’ve read everything you wrote concerning the Norghaest and the visions you had among the Altashee. If we treat their knowledge of how the Norghaest work as accurate, we need to be prepared to repel Norghaest scouts next year and destroy their colonies. If we fail to do that, we face a larger war five or ten years from now. The difficulty is, of course, that if I tell the tale as you have told it, it becomes me using a Shedashee legend to get the Crown to send soldiers and money to fight a war against nightmare creatures. While I am not at all certain I want more troops in Mystria, I am fairly certain that we might not be able to defeat the Norghaest without them.”

“But once troops have been sent, Highness, they’re not likely to be recalled.”

“No.” The Prince sipped his whiskey. “I could send back some demon bones, but Mugwump’s saliva did a very good job at demineralizing them. They’re as fragile as eggshells and likely would not be seen as proof of anything threatening. They’d start a debate about a species of giant bats existing out here, and make Mystrians look silly for mistaking them for demons.”

Owen glanced down into his glass, then back up again. “Were you to travel to Norisle to press the case to the Queen herself, you would be believed, but questioning would reveal the fact that Mugwump can fly. Then we’d get lots of troops here, and all of them would be wurmriders, looking to have their wurms transformed into dragons. The Ryngians would bring theirs over, too, and we’d have dragons going to war over the heart of Mystria.”

“Exactly. If we invite Norillian troops in to save Mystria, we doom the colonies to warfare. If we don’t make the request, we could be overrun.” The Prince set his glass down on his desk. “Of course, I have one obvious choice open to me, and I shall have to avail myself of it. I’ll prepare a report about the Norghaest and request troops. For me to do anything less would be an abrogation of my responsibility, especially in light of the fact that I truly am uncertain if Mystrian militias can defeat the Norghaest.”

Owen frowned. “Are you certain Norillian regulars would be enough to contain them?”

The Prince shook his head. “No. This is why a second course, a very dangerous course, must be taken as well. I will have to rely upon you, Owen, as we discussed earlier.”

“Whatever you need, Highness.”

Weariness washed over the Prince’s face. “This will be an incredibly perilous game, Owen, and one we will lose at one point or another. I know that. Pressure from without, spies from within, somehow our effort will be revealed and there will be no controlling it. The fact is that the Norghaest, from what we saw, from what the Shedashee said, are masters of magick we do not know how to perform. It’s obvious that the Shedashee, likewise, are more skilled and powerful than we are. The Church suggests this is because of demonic influences-their way of dismissing that which they do not understand or do not wish to address except with extinction.”

Vlad crossed to a cabinet, withdrew a map, unrolled it on his desk, and pinned a corner down with his whiskey glass. He touched the map roughly where the Antediluvian ruins stood. “If we use this as one point, and Piety as another, we can suppose that both places are roughly equidistant from some central point. Exactly how far away that is, I don’t know, and I hope it is very far west. Why they chose those two points, we don’t know. Happy Valley is a third point, but I would imagine it was Branch’s use of their magick which attracted them there. But if you just look at the line between the ruins and Piety, you’re looking at an enormous front, and one that is largely unexplored by Mystrians.”

Owen came around the desk and studied the map. If the Norghaest advanced along that front, and even if their force narrowed, it would run to the northeast on a line that would split Lindenvale, Queensland, and Summerland in half. And if they shift to the coast… With a decent army, they could take what they wanted, kill what they wanted, and reestablish their empire.

“I understand the threat, Highness.”

“I needed to stress the nature of it because our counter to it could easily be worse.” Vlad picked up his glass, letting the map roll shut, and tossed the whiskey off in a gulp. “It is not enough that I know how to work proscribed magick. We are going to have to teach other men how to do it. We are going to have to teach them to create their own spells, and yet we cannot let them know this is what they’re doing.”

Owen wondered, for a moment, if that last whiskey had not, in fact, been the Prince’s first. “That’s not going to be easy, Highness.”

“I may have thought of a way.” Vlad folded his arms over his chest. “If I ask you to recall the hottest thing you’ve ever touched, what would it be?”

Owen shivered and stared at his left palm. “At school, in Norisle, some of the boys grabbed me. They held my left hand over a candle. They said I’d cry out in pain. I didn’t. Burned myself badly, and then they teased me for being too stupid to pull my hand away. Better that than being a coward.”

“Good, very good. Now, think about the spell you know to ignite brimstone. You think of the sun, don’t you?”

“Yes, very bright, a noon sun.”

“Now think of that candle flame and how hot it was. Use that and rebuild the spell around it.”

Owen thought for a moment, then nodded. “I can see how that works, Highness, but I know you’re training me to shape my own spell. How do you teach it to men without teaching them what they are doing?”

Vlad opened a desk drawer and pulled out two small vials. One clearly contained brimstone, ground finely, a black powder with the consistency of sand. The other had been likewise prepared, but had a greenish tinge to it. “What we can do is to tell men that we have a new type of brimstone, and that it requires them to think differently. They’ll choose the hottest thing they can remember, thinking that the demand is because of the difference in the new brimstone. They’ll miss the true significance of what they are doing.”

“Most will, but not all.”

“And those are the ones we have to watch for, and explain things to.” Vlad shrugged. “Once they have learned the new version of the spell, which should make them more efficient and should tire them less, we can suggest it will work with regular brimstone. If we drill them enough, invoking the new magick will take precedence over the old anyway.”

Owen gulped his whiskey down. “Wouldn’t you be better off hand picking men and training them fully? Accidentally opening the door to some may be more dangerous than fully training them.”

The Prince nodded. “That’s the argument that Count von Metternin offers. I think we have to do both. We do have men among us who can be trusted to keep this a secret, and who are intelligent enough to understand the significance of what we show them. Others are not that intelligent, nor are they smart enough to understand the gravity of what we will share with them. I don’t like having to deceive them, but if the Norghaest present as formidable a challenge as suggested, we will need more people than we can ever train.”

“Or, Highness, we have the other route.”

“Yes?”

“The Mystrian Rangers.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“It’s simple. When we went to Anvil Lake, we brought with us militia men who had no particular training. We will need them against the Norghaest. But we had the Mystrian Rangers, and they were the elite among us. What if we bring them together and train them in this new way of magick? They become the tip of the spear that we use against the Norghaest. If we are lucky, they will be enough to destroy them. If not, perhaps they will hurt them enough that the militia can destroy them.”

“And if we are doubly unlucky, it won’t really matter, will it?”

Owen shook his head.

Vlad remained silent for a bit, then slowly nodded. “Your plan has merit. To carry it out, however, will take planning and subterfuge. If Bishop Bumble were to catch wind of what we are doing, we’d best hope the Norghaest are merciful because he will not be. We’ll march west to war, and east again to a stake.”

“Agreed. We can set up training camps in the west. Come the winter, no one will see or care.”

“And we will have to liaise with Major Forest in Fairlee. I will task the Count with that job.”

“I could do it, Highness.”

“No. I do not want to spare you and, I’m afraid, you’re needed here to blind Bumble.” The Prince sighed. “Only seeing us in Church each Sunday will make him think he has the upper hand.”

Owen nodded. “He watches you as a hawk studies a field mouse.”

“Owen, if we are to make this deception work, you are going to have to continue appearing with your wife in public, at Church and the like. Work on a new book about the expedition. You need to be the hero and be seen.”

“Highness…”

Vlad smiled indulgently. “Owen, I know Catherine is angry with you, but scandal will only invite scrutiny. For the sake of Mystria, you have to make an effort. Next year, after we defeat the Norghaest, I shall put her on a ship for Norisle myself.”

Owen nodded. “As you desire, Highness.”

“Thank you, my friend.” The Prince clapped him on the shoulders. “We’re doing this because it must be done, for a land and people we love. It’s a great sacrifice, but if there is a more noble cause in the world, I cannot imagine it.”

Owen walked through the streets, taking a route around toward the docks before heading back to the apartment he let from Mrs. Lighter. Only when he reached the docks did he realize he was looking for Bethany Frost. He knew he’d not find her there, especially after dark. He paused and looked out at the ships at anchor, and the lights swaying from bow and aft. They looked peaceful at anchor, and he sought some of that peace for himself.

Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, but pride held it at bay. When the Prince had said that he could think of no more noble a cause than saving Mystria, Owen’s heart had swelled. Mystria truly was a land he loved. The people had seemed so different when he arrived and yet now he truly felt himself to be one of them. He would not just be working to save them, but to save himself as well, and the future for Miranda.

That thought made any burden easier to bear.

With a smile on his face he returned to the apartment and slipped into it quietly so as not to awaken Miranda. He looked to where she normally slept on the parlor daybed, but it remained empty. For the barest of moments he thought Catherine had fled on a ship, and had taken Miranda with her.

Then Catherine emerged from the bedroom, wearing a thin nightshirt on which she had failed to tie all fastenings shut. Wordlessly on bare feet, she rushed across the parlor and hugged Owen, clinging to him. She shook with unheard sobs.

Instinctively, protectively, he put his arms around her. “What is it, Catherine? Where is Miranda?”

“Oh, Owen, I have been so silly. You must forgive me.”

He took her by the shoulders and held her back. “Of course. Where is our daughter?”

Catherine brushed away tears, then anointed his cheek. “I asked Mrs. Lighter to look after her for this evening. I wanted you all to myself tonight. Please, forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

She looked up, surprise widening her eyes. “You truly don’t know, do you? You are so good a man, you cannot imagine, can you?”

“Catherine, make sense.”

She smiled and kissed him. “Owen, I have been horrible to you. Evil and vile. I never have given you a chance. I haven’t given Mystria a chance. I couldn’t see what you did in it. And then, today, I saw Miranda staring at things in town, and I asked her why. And she said she wanted to remember everything so she could tell people in Norisle about her home. And when she said it, Owen, she was so sincere that I knew to take her away would be to crush her heart. And a second later, my husband, I realized I had been doing that exact thing to you.”

Catherine slipped her hands down his arms and took his hands in hers. “I owe you an apology. I promise, I shall be better, Owen. I shan’t be perfect, but I shall try, really try. I will be a good wife to you and a good mother to Miranda. I shall even suggest that we care for Becca and make her part of our family. I just ask, Owen, please, for you to give me this one more chance. Don’t say no. I couldn’t bear it if you say no.”

He looked down at her, not sure if he could trust her, but desperately wanting to believe she was changing. He was too soul weary to fight her, and questioning her would trigger a fight. Though dread trickled through him, his desire for peace pushed him toward believing her. “You will have all the chances you desire, Catherine Strake.”

She smiled and pulled him toward the bedroom. “Come, Owen, make me your wife again. Remind me how much you love me, and how much you want this to be our home.”