“Father, be reasonable. I could leave now and be home in two days.”
“Oh? And who will escort you? Do you expect your Aunt Margaret to gallop all day for two days?”
“Aunt Margaret needn’t come. You can have some of your troops escort me…and I’ll have my maid, Dora.”
Arthur shook his head firmly. “Those troops stay with me until I’m back in Noram City.”
She knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone. “Well, then, I’m sure the warden would give me an escort from his men.”
“Absolutely not!” he responded angrily. He attempted to calm himself down. “If I had another troop of our men here or some of Cotswold’s troops, I’d send you in an instant. But it isn’t possible, so don’t bother me about it again.”
She demurred. “Yes, Father.”
It wasn’t until her horse had traveled another twenty meters that the shock hit her.
Oh, my stars! He trusts Cotswold more than Laal. Why?
They stopped that night at an inn in the foothills, the Eight Hundred camping in a recently harvested field of wheat nearby. As on the previous two nights, Leland called on the high steward for the next night’s destination before eating with his halvidars.
“Oh, say, this inn here at Louisberg should do, I think. That’s about thirty kilometers if I remember.”
“Certainly, High Steward,” Leland said, rolling up the deerskin.
They were in the common room of the inn, Arthur sitting in one of his own chairs, a wooden camp chair with leather back and seat. Also in the room were the Guides Marilyn and Margaret, as well as two of Arthur’s own guards.
Leland made to leave but was stopped by Gentle Guide Margaret. “What’s your hurry, Warden? Please join us in a glass of wine.”
Leland glanced at Marilyn. She was looking at the fire, her expression featureless.
He bowed. “I’d be honored, Gentle Guide. I’m surprised to find you so ill-attended.”
“It’s a secret, I suppose,” said Marilyn’s aunt. “But Sylvan Montrose has apparently lured all my brother’s officers out into the barn to dice.” She leaned forward and winked. “If they want to do this sort of thing in private, they shouldn’t talk about it under my window.”
Marilyn looked at her aunt, surprised. “Sylvan is not! He’s resting before dinner.”
Margaret chuckled. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yes!”
Margaret poured wine into a goblet and set it at the place across from her. She gestured at Leland to sit. “Well, then, that must be what he’s doing. Perhaps I mistook someone else for him going across the yard and into the barn with the rest of Arthur’s officers. Surely that’s what happened.” Then, arrow loosed, she shut her mouth.
Marilyn blushed but remained calm, seemingly unconcerned.
Leland sat and picked up his wine. It was Eiswein, from Laal, sweet and potent.
He took a sip, then another. The stuff slid down into his empty stomach and started a glow there.
He looked around the room and couldn’t help but notice how much cleaner and brighter the Blue Whale Inn was than this place.
Marilyn looked up at he set the goblet back down.
When Leland looked into her eyes she frowned suddenly and dropped her eyes to a book she held in her lap, one finger marking a place. Leland took a sudden gulp of wine, then ventured, “What are you reading, Gentle Guide? One of the medical books you found on your trip?” If I get her talking, all I’ll have to do is listen. And he wanted very much to listen to her voice.
She nodded slowly. “Yes. It’s a book on pathognomy.” She took extra care with the pronunciation. “We located it in Siegfried’s private library. We don’t have anything quite like it. I’m only vaguely sure what it means.”
Leland spoke reflexively. “From the Greek, pathognomonikos, one who is skilled in the diagnosis of disease.” He paused. He hadn’t intended to speak at all. Worse, he didn’t know where he’d learned that piece of information. He drank again to cover his bewilderment. Marilyn and her aunt Margaret were both staring at him, faintly surprised. Leland went on. “Ultimately from the Greek words pathos, meaning disease, suffering, or emotion, and gnomon, meaning judge.”
Arthur, over by the fire, muttered something under his breath. Marilyn frowned, as if annoyed by something.
Aunt Margaret poured more wine in Leland’s cup. “Well, go on, Warden.” She accented the title, speaking it just a little louder than necessary. Arthur stood abruptly and walked from the room.
A feeling of unreality overcame Leland as he began talking again. “Essentially then, it would be the study of the symptoms of disease, just as pathology is the study of disease in general.”
“You’re very well informed on medical terminology,” Marilyn said grudgingly.
Leland shrugged. “Look for the roots, the beginnings. We speak only a few languages on this planet. On Earth they spoke thousands. Cultures borrow terms for things new to them from cultures already experienced with that thing. Have you ever wondered why the Founders included Latin and Greek dictionaries in the books?”
Marilyn nodded. “I suppose you’re right. And here I’d thought you had some supernatural source for your knowledge.”
It was Leland’s turn to blush, but Marilyn didn’t notice in the dark room.
“We can talk about it at dinner, can’t we?” said Aunt Margaret. “You’ll join us, of course?”
“I can’t, Gentle Guide.” Leland stood and bowed. “I’m afraid my officers and our guest are expecting me back for dinner. I enjoyed talking with you both, though, very much. Good evening.”
Margaret pursed her lips mischievously. “Your guest? I’d heard you had a woman traveling with you. Some close friend?” She glanced sideways at Marilyn.
Leland ears turned a deeper shade of red. “The Guide Charlina is indeed a good friend, but it’s not romantic. She’s twice my age.” He paused. “Did I say something wrong?”
Both women were staring at him. All trace of humor had left Margaret’s face.
“Charlina de Rosen?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
Marilyn and Margaret were looking at each other. Margaret turned back to Leland and smiled brightly. “No problem. We’ll let you get back to your dinner plans. Please give Charly my regards.”
“And mine,” said Marilyn in an oddly intent voice. Leland bowed. “I hear and obey.”
Leland left the inn both relieved and frustrated. He wanted to stay and spend more time with Marilyn, but he was pretty sure she was still angry with him for his behavior in Laal. In addition, the high steward was only coldly polite toward Leland, giving him the impression that they’d both be much happier out of each other’s presence. And then there was Sylvan Montrose. Leland didn’t know whether it was jealousy, ancient hostility, or plain dislike, but he couldn’t stand to be around the man.
As he walked out onto the road, followed by the two men Gahnfeld had assigned as escort, Leland heard laughing, shouts, and the occasional curse from the direction of the barn. He was also sure that one of the voices was Sylvan’s.
Score one for Guide Margaret, he thought. I shouldn’t think Marilyn would care if he played at dice. But I’ll sure as hell bet she doesn’t like him lying to her.
He took some pleasure in this thought.
The sun was one diameter above the horizon, and some of Leland’s unit were playing soccer at the far end of the encampment. He watched the distant players for a moment, then walked on thoughtfully.
“How many soccer balls do we have?” Leland asked Halvidar Gahnfeld upon entering the area set up for the officer’s mess.
The assembled halvidars, seated on camp stools, stood abruptly. “Oh, sit down,” Leland said. “Well, how many?”
Gahnfeld sat back slowly. “I don’t know, sir. One moment.” He turned back toward the halvidars. “Report, by unit.”
Halvidar of the First Hundred said, “The First has four, I th
ink.”
Halvidar of the Second Hundred said, “I don’t know how many the Second has, sir.”
“The Third has eleven.”
Leland raised his hand. “Enough. Is soccer as popular among our men as it is in Laal proper?”
“Probably more so,” said Gahnfeld. “What we have here are mostly boys who’ve just finished mandatory schooling.”
“All right. When we get to Noram City we’ll buy enough balls to give units at least ten each. Organize teams. They can play for an hour after evening mess. Dominant teams within units can begin playing each other.” He sat. “Clear?”
Gahnfeld nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”
“Reservations, Chief Halvidar? What are they?”
“Sir, these are green troops. In order to train them to face the Rootless, we’ll need every spare moment until battle.”
Leland smiled. “It’s my intention that this competition be expanded from soccer into all phases of training. We’ll create standings among the units.” He turned to the halvidar of the First. “From now on units will pass in review in order by standing. There will also be a pennant to fly from the top unit’s banner.”
Gahnfeld was nodding now. “Yes, sir. That should work.”
“I hope so. Let’s try it, anyway. We’ll start with performance on the line of march. Perhaps unit standing will also determine order of march?”
He smiled then and said, “I better wash before supper. Has anybody seen Guide Charlina?”
“Yes, Warden—she’s refereeing the soccer game.”
“Oh. Well, good. Hope they play clean.” For their sake.
Later, at dinner, Leland passed on Margaret’s and Marilyn’s greetings to Charly. She smiled. “That was nice of them. I’m going to guess that the high steward wasn’t in the room at the time.”
“How did you know?”
“I’m not exactly one of Arthur’s favorite people. My name is usually not mentioned in his presence.” She looked a little guilty. “Perhaps I should’ve mentioned this before accepting your offer of transportation. It might even get you in trouble.”
“Are you a criminal or something?”
Charly laughed.
Leland shrugged. “I don’t care. He’s barely civil with me as it is. Let it spoil his digestion.”
“Marilyn will probably come to see me tonight.”
Leland raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“She’s one of my students and she hasn’t seen me for over nine months. Her sister is, too.”
“Zanna de Noram.”
Charly smiled at the name and her voice softened. “Yes, Zanna.”
“Is that why Arthur dislikes you? Because you teach his daughters aikido?
“No. It has more to do with his grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren? I didn’t think he had any.”
“Right. And, from Zanna, he’s not likely to get any.”
Leland frowned. “I must be stupid. What do you have to do with Zanna’s children?”
“Oh, it’s simple enough. For the past five years Zanna and I have been lovers.”
At sunrise the next morning, hours before the High Steward of Noram got out of bed, the First, Third, Fifth, and Seventh hundreds had marched, dismounted, on a side road that would take them a roundabout forty kilometers to reach that night’s stop at Louisberg. Their mounts went with the main party.
“Will you make it in by sunset?” asked Leland of Halvidar Gahnfeld.
“Probably. But send scouts only if we’re not in by midnight.”
“As you will, Halvidar. I hope you plan to train them how to do something other than march eventually.”
Gahnfeld stiffened. “Sir. I’ve prepared a schedule of training for our stay in Noram City. Would the Warden care to see it?”
Leland winced. “No need to get huffy, Myron. It’s not as if you’ve never questioned my actions.”
“Sorry, Guide Leland.” He paused, then said, “Captain de Koss made it perfectly clear that if I took these men into battle inadequately trained, I needn’t bother returning to Laal.”
“Ah. Apology accepted. I don’t want to see the training schedule, but I’m going to need at least an hour per day of the officers’ time the second week. Please work it into the rotation—halvidars and coronets.”
Gahnfeld opened his mouth as if to ask something but only said, “Yes, Guide Leland. Any other instructions?”
“Yes, keep them quiet for the first kilometer. I don’t want to wake the high steward.” He smiled then and said, “Get them going.”
Gahnfeld saluted and started the four hundred men out with a wave of his hand.
It was Sylvan Montrose, not Arthur de Noram, who noticed the men were gone.
At midmorning he came riding up the road at a gallop, careless of the horses he spooked, to rein in before Leland.
Leland said, “Good morning, Guide,” and started to steer his horse around Sylvan’s mount without stopping.
Sylvan frowned, then jerked the reins around hard. His mount whinnied in protest but turned quickly enough to block Leland’s mount.
Leland turned his horse to the other side.
Sylvan tried to duplicate the jerking maneuver and his horse began bucking. He was forced to bring his horse to a walk alongside of Leland’s mount.
Leland repressed a smile and said, “A difficult horse, Guide?”
Sylvan ignored this and said, “Half your saddles are empty, Warden. How do you account for it?”
Leland raised his eyebrows. “I don’t. I don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?” Sylvan asked, raising his voice.
“What, pray tell, do you mean, Guide? Are you under the impression that I must account for my actions to you? Or are you implying that I’ve done something improper or wrong?” Leland was the soul of politeness and reason, his voice quiet and even. “Perhaps if you could tell me what’s bothering you, I’ll be able to help you.” Let’s see if that doesn’t make you fly off the handle. He watched Sylvan’s reaction carefully.
Sylvan’s mouth widened for a moment and Leland saw a dark flush begin to rise up his neck. Then Sylvan did the unexpected. He closed his mouth, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Then he grinned.
“I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with you, Warden. Please forgive me for my manner—I haven’t been out of Cotswold very often. I’m accustomed to outranking every military officer in my vicinity. I spoke out of habit, perhaps even a bad habit.” He smiled again.
Leland was impressed. Not with the charm or the apparent goodwill but by the discipline that brought such a change of tack when Sylvan clearly felt just the opposite. What does he want from me?
“Don’t worry about it,” Leland said, apparently dismissing the affair. “Since you’re interested, my men are off on a training march. They’ll rejoin us this evening. It’s certainly no secret; I informed the high steward’s Captain of the March about it last night.”
“Ah, Marshall de Gant.”
Leland nodded. “That’s right. Apparently the good marshall will be commanding the combined forces against Nullarbor. He expects me to conduct all future training without disturbing him.”
“The marshall is getting on in years, isn’t he?” Sylvan said. “I imagined you disturbed his plans for bed?”
“No,” Leland said neutrally. “I disturbed his swordplay. He was instructing his halvidars in Batto Ho. As for his age, well, that means he’s gone against the Rootless more than ten times. I shouldn’t be surprised to find that experience useful.”
Sylvan half nodded. “Well, hopefully you’ll see lots of action. I’ve fought the Rootless myself, on our eastern border. They’re nothing much against a fortified position, but watch out for their archers. They’re deadly accurate. You’ll need to keep your head down.”
“I’ll take that advice.” And not just with the Rootless.
For the remaining days of the trip, Gahnfeld continued to train the men with a series of marches, moun
ted side trips, and unit races. The men dragged in each night, exhausted, but, as far as Leland could tell, their morale was good.
When they reached Ryland’s Crossing, on the border between Acoma and Lesser Noram, Leland dispatched Halvidar Gahnfeld’s staff assistant, Coronet Sanchez, to the northwest. He left before dawn, silent and unnoticed. The coronet’s destination was the Land-of-Lakes region in western Acoma, and he took with him six men and twenty unladen pack mules. They were to rejoin the Eight Hundred at Noram City.
They were now on the rolling plains of Noram, some of the richest farmland on the planet. Farms were spotted across the land as densely as the customs allowed, with wild wood and prairie spread between. The towns and villages occurred some forty kilometers apart, and the inns upon the highway were numerous.
Harvest was still in motion and the grass was beginning to brown. Trees that changed color with the season were just beginning to darken. Mornings were nippy though, unlike mountainous Laal, there hadn’t been frost yet.
Charly stayed back with Leland’s troops, occasionally on horseback, but usually in one of the commissary wagons making one of the infatuated foot soldiers card wool while she spun it. When Leland had offered to include her in his transactions with the high steward’s party, she’d refused gently.
Sylvan continued to talk with Leland occasionally on the road, sometimes including him in conversations with Marilyn. Leland remained polite but distant to both of them, though he would ride with the Guide Margaret for hours at a time. She talked of the court at Noram, of the city’s many attractions, and of the Great Library, where she would go to “smell the books and try to soak up some knowledge by touch.”
Occasionally the conversation would touch on Margaret de Jinith’s childhood and her memories of her father, the famous William de Noram, and, to Leland’s surprise, the Privy Consul of Noram, Dulan de Laal.
“Oh, your father was important to William, you can be sure! He wouldn’t make a major move without consulting him. There were times when it seemed like the guardianship was centered in Laal rather than Noram. I’m afraid my brother didn’t care for that very much.”