Helm

  Marilyn laughed and pulled the ribbon and cloth from a small wooden box. In it was a brass and silver tube, with a steel pen nib sticking from one end.

  “Oh, a new pen. Brass with electroplated silver—very pretty. We saw the plating works yesterday. All my nib handles are wooden.”

  “Ah, Gentle Guide. This isn’t just any pen.” Sylvan took it from the box and produced a sheet of parchment. “Watch.” He drew the nib across the parchment and ink flowed out onto the paper.

  “You must have dipped the nib just before you joined us.”

  “No, Gentle Guide. I didn’t. This is a re-creation of a pre-Founding device called a fountain pen.” He pointed the tip of pen down and removed the end piece on the brass cylinder. “You put the ink inside this pen and it flows down into the nib.”

  Marilyn tried the pen herself, writing ten consecutive lines on the page without running out of ink. “This is perfect!” She hugged Sylvan impulsively. “How did you know I’d like this?”

  “Insight, Marilyn.” He smiled. My father’s. Left to myself, I would have tried jewels. “That you like it gives me great pleasure.”

  Marilyn turned to show Lillian and Carmen.

  Lillian shrugged. “I’ve played with Father’s. I was hoping it was something more romantic.” Carmen laughed out loud and Marilyn blushed.

  Carmen took Lillian by her shoulders. “Well, little one, it’s time to go dress for the dance.”

  “Ah, Aunt Carmen.”

  “No protests, little one. Even if you don’t care, I want to look my best tonight!” she said firmly. “See you both later, Guides.”

  After they’d left, Sylvan and Marilyn walked along the top of the wall as the sun went down and the stars came out.

  The Eight Hundred regrouped three kilometers from Brandon-on-the-Falls an hour before midnight. They were tired but in good spirits.

  “I’d not have believed it,” said Gahnfeld.

  Leland smiled before taking a deep pull from a canvas water bag. He passed it to Gahnfeld. “Have the men take their time. We want to look pretty when we get to town.”

  “Yes, Guide.”

  Well, at least he’s stopped calling me Warden, thought Leland. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and watched the men straighten their clothing and weapons. What about uniforms? He mulled the pros and cons. The Falcons did very well without and the Mounted Pikes did pretty good with uniforms.

  MASKIROVKA—THE UNIFORMS SHOULD SERVE A PURPOSE.

  Leland blinked and felt a soundless thunderclap from the dark knot in his head.

  When it had passed he was left with a connected network of ideas. The word was foreign to him, and though its exact meaning wasn’t clear, its implications were tremendous.

  The second night of the Harvest Festival was in full swing with a large dance and bonfire in the town center. Sylvan was teaching Marilyn a dance step from Cotswold when the music stopped at the end of the song. That’s when everyone heard the singing.

  “What’s this, a chorus?” asked Marilyn. “It sure seems far away. What are they singing?”

  Sylvan held a hand to his ear. “Sounds like a marching song. ‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.’”

  Guide Dulan was sitting with Captain Koss and High Steward Arthur de Noram when he heard the singing. “Who the hell is that? What time was Leland’s unit supposed to rendezvous with the Cotswold escort?”

  “Midafternoon,” Captain Koss told him. “They couldn’t be back so soon then.”

  Captain Koss watched a small group of approaching riders. “I’m not so sure. Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the warden there.”

  Leland trotted up and dismounted. Bowing, he said, “The High Steward Montrose is safely into Cotswold, sir.”

  “Where are the rest of your men? Did you leave them to camp and ride ahead?”

  “No, sir. I brought them with me. They should be here shortly.”

  “The entire unit?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh,” said Dulan. With the ghost of a smile he added, “Good time.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The first section of cavalry rode into sight, singing. Behind them came a section of foot. It took five minutes for the entire Eight Hundred to come to a halt in passable formation. Gahnfeld dressed them before riding up. “Permission to dismiss the men, Warden?”

  Leland winced, then turned back to his father. “Sir?”

  Dulan waved his hand. “Let them enjoy themselves.”

  Gahnfeld still looked expectantly at Leland and he blinked. “Oh. Turn them loose, Halvidar.”

  The dance was a little livelier after that.

  A little later Captain Koss pulled Halvidar Gahnfeld aside and handed him a drink. “How’d you do it, Myron? How’d you get these green troops back here so quick?”

  Gahnfeld swallowed half the mug of dark beer, then wiped his lips. “I didn’t do it. He did.” He jerked his thumb over to where Leland was standing alone and told Captain Koss about the leapfrog run/ride trip. “I don’t know if I’d do it in hostile country, but you should have seen the troops take after him when he started running.”

  Captain Koss whistled.

  “You said it,” said Gahnfeld. He looked over at Leland and saw him edging farther back from the crowd. Leland seemed to be looking up at the Needle. “Oh.”

  “What?” asked Captain Koss.

  “It was last Harvest Festival that he climbed the Needle and put on the Helm.”

  “Right.” Koss looked over at Leland. “So it was.”

  Just looking at it made his hands hurt.

  Leland looked down at his scarred fingertips, then back at the Needle. He reached those same fingertips up to his scarred temples.

  He stared vaguely out at the dancing couples, then blinked when he saw Sylvan and Marilyn go whirling by. She was laughing out loud, her teeth flashing in the light.

  Unbidden, his hand reached out in their direction and half closed. Then he dropped it back to his side.

  One of the coronets from the Eight Hundred passed close by bearing a tray of ale-filled tankards to his fellows. He stopped when he saw Leland there and offered him one.

  Leland was still watching Sylvan and Marilyn dancing and, for a minute, didn’t notice the soldier standing there. He finally realized the man was there when the dancing couple disappeared behind the fire. He blinked and accepted a tankard with thanks and a sorry attempt at a smile. The coronet beamed back and moved on.

  Leland drank the beer slowly. He saw his brother Anthony dancing across the ground with Clarissa de Koss. Dillan was over by Guide Dulan talking with Ricard de Laal and Margaret de Jinith. Dexter swept by among the dancers, two girls in arm.

  Suddenly Leland was very tired. He put the tankard on a table and started walking back to the castle. He noticed his bodyguard fall into step around him but, mercifully, they didn’t say anything.

  Neither did he.

  His lovemaking was not artistic, though her reactions convinced him he was expert. They lay back in the bed afterward, the covers thrown back, touching at hand and shoulder. His breathing was hard, almost labored, his pleasure great. Her breathing was quiet, her pleasure minimal. She used her free hand to fan herself lightly, quietly, trying to dry the sweat he’d left on her breasts and stomach.

  “Oh, girl. That was something.”

  She smiled to herself, being called a girl, and kissed his shoulder. “The best ever,” she said quietly. She scooted minutely toward the foot of the bed to further the illusion that he was taller than she. A languorous stretch covered the motion.

  “You’re wasted here, Carmen. Come back to Noram City with us.”

  She thought about it. “How could I, Arthur? My place is here. Besides, here I’m special. There I’d just be another hanger-on at Noram House.” And there are things I have to do.

  Arthur de Noram shrugged.

  She waited for him to say something. Plead with her, perhaps. If it really meant something to him, it could be worth
her while to go—worth Ricard’s future.

  His breathing deepened, slowed, and he slept.

  She clenched her teeth together. No, he didn’t really want her to go back to Noram City with him. She waited until he was deeply asleep before slipping from the bed.

  All men are bastards!

  High Steward Arthur de Noram had breakfast with his daughter and his sister in a room that overlooked the south garden. There was a charcoal brazier set near the window to take some of the bite out of the early-morning air. As usual, Arthur and Marilyn found it restful to have breakfast with Aunt Margaret. She was able to hold a perfectly satisfactory conversation without the slightest contribution from either of them.

  Marilyn stifled a yawn that was more from lack of sleep than boredom and tried to smile at something her aunt said. Her thoughts were on last night’s dance and the fire that had not only reached into the starry sky but had also raced through her as she danced with Sylvan.

  He’s so strong, she thought. The way he threw me into the air… She blinked as she remembered the arrival of Leland and his soldiers. She tried comparing the two of them, Sylvan and Leland, in her mind, but they blurred. She thought of Sylvan in terms of power and courtliness. She thought of Leland in terms of…anger! Yes, anger. His words from two months ago and those from just the other day in the library still burned her. The insufferable little…little…scholar? Another aspect of Leland, the only other side she had met, haunted her just as much. The scholar, damn him! She remembered the scholar with the gentle mouth and the tragic eyes.

  “What’s the matter, dear?” asked her aunt. “Aren’t you hungry?” Marilyn shrugged. “I guess not.”

  Arthur was quite hungry and in good spirits. “It’s this place. You’ll be glad to get back to Noram City, the court, and the university.”

  Marilyn said, “I certainly will!”

  Arthur looked up from his omelet, surprised at the vehemence in her voice.

  “This time next week, child,” said Aunt Margaret. “Arthur, we should have a formal ball.” She turned back to Marilyn. “I know you don’t like those things normally, dear, but we have to introduce Sylvan to the social life in the city, don’t we?” She sipped her tea. “Besides, the warden will be there for a couple of weeks. There are quite a few young ladies at the court who would love to devour him.”

  She glanced up at her brother and niece, and almost choked. “What did I say? You two both look like you have a toothache. Don’t you want to have a ball?”

  Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times. “A ball is a fine idea. I’m not sure young Leland will show so well, though, at the court. After all, Laal isn’t exactly Noram City.”

  Margaret put her tea down. “Oh, I don’t know. I think he’ll compare pretty well. If for no other reason than he knows how to listen. Most young men I know live to hear themselves talk. What do you think, Marilyn?”

  Marilyn stood up suddenly, her napkin falling to the floor. “I think I’d like to be excused from the table. There are a million details to take care of before we leave tomorrow.” She left quickly.

  Margaret watched her exit, eyes wide, mouth parted. “Well! What do you suppose that’s about?”

  “I don’t know,” Arthur said abruptly, a scowl on his face. “I don’t care.” He stood. “Have a good morning!” His exit was, if anything, more sudden than Marilyn’s.

  Margaret stared at the empty chairs and shook her head. Then she pulled his plate over and started finishing off his omelet. After a minute she called her secretary and began dictating heliograms. If there was to be a ball, the staff of Noram House would need plenty of time to prepare.

  Leland rose before dawn, riding with difficulty into town to teach the morning aikido class.

  “Why are you so stiff?” Charly asked privately.

  “You’d be stiff, too, if you’d run twenty kilometers yesterday and rode another thirty.” He peered sideways at her. “Well, perhaps you wouldn’t. Did you get my message?”

  “Yes. Love to travel with your group. I hope you’ll be able to train at the dojo?”

  “I’ll make time.”

  He dashed back to the station to breakfast with Martin, Myron Gahnfeld, and Captain de Koss in one of the military wardrooms. Captain Koss was briefing Leland and Myron about the tactics of the Rootless. Martin was there to brief them about their supply situation.

  “Nothing really new about the Rootless,” Captain Koss was saying. “Just never get in a running battle with them because they understand hit-and-run. They’ll ride into extreme firing range and loose arrows. If you try to close with them, they’ll fade out and hit you elsewhere. On flat terrain they’re deadly. When you have a fixed front, like along the Black or the Silver, they’re not so terrible. Give them room to maneuver and you can kiss your ass good-bye.

  “Never try to chase them down. They keep six horses in reserve for each man. And that doesn’t count the packhorses with extra arrows. We try to keep at least three horses in reserve for our cavalry, but your unit—the Eight Hundred, eh?” He nodded as he remembered. “Your unit is going more as mounted infantry. We’re providing horses enough to mount the entire unit, but that’s just transport. Along the Black your objective is to take and hold real estate. There will be other cavalry at the Black from other Noram stewardships. I think Malcom de Toshiko is sending almost all cavalry.

  “Besides that, take your cues from Gahnfeld here. He’s gone against the Rootless three times now. So have all your other halvidars.”

  Myron said nothing, just kept eating.

  Captain de Koss leaned back. “Well, that’s my piece. There’s a lot more but there’s not enough time.” He looked at Leland. I’m hoping those scars on your temples are more than just decoration.

  Martin put a leather dispatch case on the table and opened it. “We’re not supplying you directly, other than marching rations to Noram City. Here is a letter of credit drawn on our surplus with Grissom & Sons of Noram City. It is redeemable in cash, but I recommend you let them provide the bulk of the supplies directly. This will save them and us money. We are also giving you cash for payroll and other supplies as needed. Your personal expense money is fifteen hundred soys, but of course you can draw from Grissom & Sons for anything extra you need.”

  Leland nodded, slightly dazed. The value of a soy was tied to the buying power of one bushel of soybeans. Fifteen hundred of them was a large sum of money.

  Martin smiled. “Should you draw more, your father will want to know why.”

  “By the founders, Martin, what would I spend it on?”

  Captain de Koss laughed. “You haven’t been to Noram City since you were seven. A young man can find plenty of things to spend money on there.”

  Martin went on. “I sent notice to air out Laal House and for Phillip to buy fodder.” Laal House was Guide Dulan’s estate on the outskirts of Noram City. Phillip was Laal’s factor in Noram. “They’ve just finished harvesting the peanuts so you can billet the troops in those fields. By the time you get there, things should be in order. They better be.”

  Leland and Captain de Koss laughed. “I’d think you’d have more confidence in your own son, Martin,” said de Koss. “You know things will be perfect.”

  Martin sighed and tried not to smile.

  “You’ll need to keep the troops polite in Noram City,” de Koss added. “There will be soldiers from all over Greater Noram gathering there for the march to the plain. If you don’t keep them under iron control, you’ll have enough brawls to wreck the city.”

  Leland nodded. “We’re only supposed to be there a few weeks. I’ll keep them on the estate.”

  De Koss and Gahnfeld exchanged glances. “You’ll try. Good luck to you.”

  “I’ll find something to keep them busy,” Leland said.

  Chapter 9

  ZENSHIN: MOVING FORWARD

  By changing horses at the high steward’s post stations, a hardy man can ride from Brandon-on-the-Falls to Noram City in
about twenty-four hours. To travel the same route at a rate suitable for the backsides of guardianship took a week.

  Halvidar Gahnfeld was steaming. “How in the hell am I supposed to teach these clowns to march like soldiers if we continue at this snail’s pace?” As an afterthought he added, “Sir.”

  Leland suppressed a smile. “By tonight we’ll be through the Cloud Scrapers and we’ll have some options.” He pulled his horse to the side of the mountain trail in one of the few places that was possible. Gahnfeld followed. “Get out that map, please.”

  Gahnfeld pulled a rolled map from his saddle map tube and spread it across his lap.

  Leland pointed at the northern foothills of the Cloud Scrapers, just over the border into Acoma, one of the stewardships that, like Laal, made up Greater Noramland. “Look, here we can leave half the Eight Hundred with the high steward and take the other half on forced marches, covering as much mileage as you deem necessary and then rejoining the party by nightfall at the next inn. Or, if you want, the next day. You’ll know best about how you want to do this, but you can break them up into individual hundreds, as well.” He waited for a gap in the troops riding past at a walk, then edged his horse back into line. “Just be sure you don’t damage anybody’s fields. I don’t want the reputation that Arthur’s own troops have.”

  Gahnfeld nodded. “Right.”

  “When we reach Ryland’s Crossing, I’ll have a real mission for you.”

  “Sir?” Ryland’s Crossing was on the border between Acoma and the stewardship of Noram. Deep within Great Noramland, it was nowhere near any enemy territories. “What sort of mission?”

  Leland shook his head. “Worry about the men first. I’ll tell you later.”

  Marilyn was as sick of this snail’s pace as Halvidar Gahnfeld. She was tired of being on horseback. She was tired of residing in strangers’ homes and strange inns. She was especially tired of being away from the university and the Great Library. And, though she hadn’t admitted it to herself, she was getting tired of Sylvan Montrose.