Helm

  Marilyn paused here. “When Noram became truly populous, space here in the High City grew very dear. An enterprising merchant came up with the idea of carving these steps down to some natural ledges a ways down the cliff. His goal was not the gardens that are there now but houses that he could sell for a fortune. Well, one of my ancestors let him finish the steps, then decreed that houses on those ledges would be in danger from siege weapons on the plain below. Hence, no houses. But, as he wasn’t a bad high steward, he paid the fellow a small fortune to create the gardens instead.”

  She led the way down the stairs. The side away from the face had been securely railed with wrought iron. Even so, the drop seemed dizzying to Leland and brought back unpleasant memories of the Needle. He concentrated, instead, on the nape of Marilyn’s neck, bare to his vision since she was wearing her hair up.

  As they continued down the steps, Marilyn told him some of the problems the original inhabitants of the High City had. “Lightning, for instance. Until someone did some serious reading and research on lightning rods, houses were burning and people were being struck dead in the streets. Moving the construction materials up from below was a problem, too.”

  The stair took a turn and Leland saw a splash of color against the gray rock below. A few more minutes and they were standing on a ledge perhaps ten meters deep and a hundred meters long.

  City compost had been used to form a meter of loam. Stone and iron walls with gravel-filtered drains kept the dirt in place. Another stairway led the way down to two other smaller ledges.

  Halfway across the top terrace a stream emerged from the cliff face, ran through a series of ornamental ponds and falls, then cascaded down the rock face to a similar arrangement on the terraces below. Marilyn stopped on the curved wooden bridge that spanned this little brook and leaned back on the railing.

  “I have an apology to make, Leland.” She stared past his shoulder, at a bush covered with bright yellow flowers. “I’ve been rude to you several times in our interactions. I’m not usually like this—I know better behavior.”

  Leland shook his head, “Gentle Guide, it’s I who must beg forgiveness. You’ve treated me most kindly. In fact, when you interceded for me at Laal, it was the first kind act I’d received in a great deal of time. I reacted very badly.”

  Marilyn frowned at the memory. “Well, now that you mention it,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. Then she smiled. “No, I didn’t understand the situation. I shouldn’t have interfered.” She tilted her head to one side. “Come to think about it, I still don’t understand the situation.”

  Leland flinched away from thoughts of his father. “For what it’s worth, I don’t, either. Do I have your forgiveness?”

  “Perhaps we can exchange them?”

  “You’ve done nothing to forgive,” Leland said.

  Marilyn put her fists on her hips. “Are you trying to start a fight?”

  He held up his hands, placating. “Forgiven, now and forever!”

  She reached out and placed one of her palms against his. “Forgiven.”

  “There, Guide, you can see them from here.”

  The servant leaned over the stone railing and pointed. Sylvan Montrose, careful to keep an eye on this man, leaned over and saw the distant figures of Leland and Marilyn standing in the garden below. He watched their hands touch as they stood on the bridge.

  The servant was a palace functionary whose primary duty was to keep a protective eye on Marilyn, no matter where she roamed, without being obtrusive about it. Marilyn knew of his existence but ignored him. The man had been approached by Sylvan early in the Cotswoldian’s stay. A purse had changed hands. A “favor” had been asked. After all, was it treason to let the gentle guide’s betrothed know where his beloved was?

  Sylvan’s face was blank as he turned back from the cliff. Casually he asked, “So, has she been spending a great deal of time with him?”

  The servant answered carefully. “There was a small dinner party at the Great Library last night. She didn’t get home until three. Also, the warden has been spending a great deal of time in the library. The gentle guide has, also, but this is normal for her. I cannot say whether they’ve seen each other there.”

  Sylvan nodded slowly, staring over the servant’s shoulder at nothing. To his mind, a “small” dinner party instantly translated to “intimate” and the library “visits” became “trysts.” He handed the man a coin and said, “Keep me informed.” Then he walked back up the street to where one of his own servants held his horse’s reins.

  May his teeth rot out of his head and the sores of scurvy fester his gums! Sylvan stroked the handle of his dagger and clenched his other fist.

  He very much wanted to kill Leland. Damn, Father, why won’t you let me gut him?

  He thought of other ways to punish Leland. Duels were illegal in Noram, but “training” bouts with wooden swords were common, and even fistfights weren’t unheard of. Sylvan wondered how much damage he could do Leland and still satisfy his father’s instructions.

  “Send a message to our friend in the Lower City,” he told the servant. “I want the Warden de Laal watched. I want to know where he goes and when. All his regular haunts.”

  “Yes, Guide.”

  Sylvan mounted quickly and sawed at the reins, twisting his horse’s head roughly around. When he’s in my hands, he thought, who knows what might happen?

  The morning of the ball saw Leland up before sunrise to ride into the city for the last day of the dawn misogi. Every morning he started class wondering if this would be the day that Marilyn attended, but she hadn’t yet. He asked Charly about it at breakfast after class.

  “She's been coming to the early afternoon class—the one I teach for the uchideshi,” Charly said. “I believe she spends her mornings entertaining Sylvan Montrose or, as Zanna refers to him, ‘Daddy’s latest mistake.’”

  “Does Zanna talk like that in public?”

  “No, of course not. She says it to his face, though.”

  Leland raised his eyebrows. “That can’t be very popular.”

  “He’s used to it. He blames me, of course, though every contrary opinion Zanna expresses has been her own.”

  “Is Marilyn more agreeable?”

  Charly laughed. “Well, yes and no. Her opinions are her own, too, but she’s more ‘politic’ in her expression. When Zanna really doesn’t like something her father has decided, she gets Marilyn to talk to him about it. Marilyn has a way of pointing out the problems with a position without making him feel like an idiot. Zanna can do this, but their past disagreements have been so stormy that it’s much harder for her to accomplish.”

  Leland rode back to the estate in time to preside over a morning parade culminating in the presentation of the unit pennant to the Seventh Hundred. The remaining Hundreds saluted while the Seventh paraded before them carrying the flag of Laal and their unit banner with the bright blue award pennant streaming from its tip.

  Watching the ritual, Leland wondered if they should have a band like Noram’s palace guard. He shook his head. No, far better to keep some mobility. They can always…

  “Halvidar,” he said quietly as the Seventh swung into place.

  “Guide.”

  “I would speak to the men.”

  “Yes, Guide.” The halvidar stepped forward quickly and raised his voice. “The Guide Leland de Laal, Captain of the Eight Hundred and Warden of the Needle, will speak. All attend.”

  Leland resisted an urge to stick his tongue out at Gahnfeld. A simple “Listen up” would have sufficed! He stepped forward, passing Gahnfeld. He paused for a moment, then said loudly, “We’ve just finished honoring the Seventh Hundred for their outstanding progress in overall training. Some of you are thinking, ‘So what?’ Is this little strip of cloth worth the extra sweat and effort? My answer for that question is in two parts.

  “First, what is the effect of being better at these skills than the next person? I think the answer is you are more lik
ely to survive the coming conflict. I don’t know what you think, but there are too many women I haven’t kissed for me to want to die now.”

  There was laughter from the troops at this statement.

  Leland continued, “Whatever the right or wrong of the coming fight, its cause is about symbols. We seek to control the place man first stepped on this planet for symbolic and economic reasons. It’s the richest farmland on Agatsu. The Rootless want the plain for similar reasons. Symbols and food. At least if we win, there’s a tangible result—something more than the pennant that hangs over there.” He paused. “So, to give that pennant some tangible meaning, the Seventh Hundred has a six-hour pass tonight, starting at six.”

  There was a spontaneous cheer from the Seventh.

  Leland then said, “It is noteworthy that the Seventh won this week’s pennant without expecting a tangible reward. I will not tempt your virtue by promising such a prize every time the pennant is awarded, but, as long as you are alive, the possibilities are endless.”

  He turned to Gahnfeld. “I’m done, Halvidar. Perhaps a song to finish?”

  “Right, sir.” The Halvidar barked out, “Unit halvidars to your training assignments. And,” he added, “a song. Something to wake up those late sleepers in the High City. So sing loud!” Then he started them off in “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

  While they probably did not wake anybody, those in the High City who were already awake heard the distant singing as it drifted down cobbled streets through the early-morning sunlight. Many of them smiled.

  Chapter 12

  TANINSUGAKE: TRAINING AGAINST MULTIPLE ATTACKERS

  Leland was not allowed to go to the ball on horseback.

  He hadn’t slept well the night before, a combination of frustrated desire and nightmares. The cause of his frustrated desire was obvious. His was a problem wrestled with by most young men, but when he finally dropped off to sleep the bad dreams were waiting.

  The dream started innocently enough. He was walking through an endless maze whose walls were bookshelves. Every so often he’d pull a book from the shelves, but, no matter how many he tried, he was unable to open them. Each book was closed with a locked clasp and Leland didn’t have the key. It was somehow vital that he find that key.

  He woke covered in sweat with the bedclothes twisted around him. Fully awake, the dream seemed silly, without the feeling of terrible significance and meaning it had when he was asleep. He straightened his blankets and lay back, ready to go to sleep again, but then Marilyn invaded his thoughts and the other problem was back. When he’d finally dropped off to sleep, the locked books had been waiting.

  So this morning he was grumpy, irritable, and unreasonable. “What do you mean I can’t go to the ball on horseback?”

  They were in the big office of the estate. Leland leaned on the edge of the big desk while Phillip and Gahnfeld presented their reasons.

  “If, Warden, you were just the Captain of the Eight Hundred, you could go mounted to the ball.” Phillip paced as he talked. “Provided, of course, you had an escort of at least four outriders. But if you were just the captain, you wouldn’t be invited to the ball in the first place.” He paused. “As the son of your father, you represent the person, family, and Stewardship of Laal. Certain standards must be maintained.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Leland said. “My father doesn’t sit still for this nonsense in Laal.”

  Phillip nodded. “In Laal, no. Here, where the perceived importance of the Stewardship hinges on appearance, he plays every bit of pomp to its fullest.” He stopped pacing and shrugged. “While William de Noram was still alive, your father could have come to a court function dressed in rags and his advice would still be sought and respected. But Arthur is a different fish. To put it bluntly, since his reputation rests not on what he’s done but on who his father was, he puts a great deal of importance on appearances.”

  Leland thought about it. “Yes, he certainly does seem to care about place and position. Very well, we’ll do it your way.” He then asked, “What way is your way?”

  Phillip smiled. “Come to the townhouse this afternoon. Bring a presentable escort of, well, eight men. We’d have twelve for your father, but that would be overdoing it for you.”

  Gahnfeld nodded. “I’ve already picked out the men, Guide.”

  “Why doesn’t this surprise me?” Leland said. “On what basis has my escort been chosen?”

  “Well, the soccer team from the Second leads the league. I would have used some men from the Seventh, but you gave them that pass.”

  Phillip creased his forehead. “It’s important that they have suitable clothing.”

  Gahnfeld nodded again. “Of course. Coronet Sanchez is scouring the entire Eight Hundred for suitable dress. The escort will be better dressed than many of the guardianship attending the ball.”

  Phillip grinned. “Well, just so they don’t look better than me.” He turned back to Leland. “Your father’s carriage is stored at the townhouse. My stableman has spent most of the morning polishing it. You’ll take the carriage. I’ll ride with your escort.”

  Leland pushed away from the desk and stood up straight. “Now that is going a touch far, Phillip. Surely that thing will hold the two of us without crowding? Will it do Laal any harm if I’m not lonely in the carriage?”

  “None, Warden. I would be honored to join you.”

  It was seven when Phillip and Leland finished dressing. Phillip made minute adjustments to Leland’s high collar, shifting the silver frogs that closed it.

  “We should have done something with your hair earlier, Warden. The style these days is shorter. Well, too late now. Let’s see what I can do.” Phillip rummaged through a drawer. “Ah, here we are.” He had Leland brush his hair straight back, then tied it in a short tail with black and silver ribbons.

  Leland looked at his reflected image and was surprised. With his hair pulled tightly back, his hairline seemed higher, making him look older. The high black collar made his face seem whiter than it was and accented the faint dark circles under his eyes, left from his troubled night’s rest.

  The hair pulled back also showed the crescent scars on Leland’s head. They had faded with time, but to Leland they were obvious as antlers. Briefly he considered putting the hair back over his temples, but decided to brave them. After all, he thought, I came by them honorably enough.

  Phillip cleared his throat and Leland realized he’d been staring blindly at the mirror for some time. “Excuse me, Phillip. I was daydreaming. Are we ready to conquer Noram society?”

  Phillip gave a half bow. “They don’t stand a chance.”

  There were bigger carriages among the guardianship than the carriage of Dulan de Laal.

  The High Steward de Noram’s, for instance, was a huge six-wheeled affair with stations for footmen, butler, and maid. It had a wine rack, insulated compartments for keeping food warm or cold, and a curtained closet for two musicians. It was sometimes drawn by eight horses and other times by an ornately decorated steam tractor.

  Most of the guardianship’s carriages were four-wheeled, some covered, some not. Most were pulled by four to six horses.

  Dulan de Laal’s carriage was pulled by only two horses. It had two oversized wheels, padded on the rims with layers of gum rubber. Unlike other carriages, Dulan’s was sprung with steel leaf springs. It would seat four, besides the driver, and had the Device of Laal emblazoned on its back and doors.

  “Squad, attention!” Gahnfeld barked as Leland and Phillip came out the door.

  The escort, lined up at their mount’s heads, straightened.

  Leland noted that two men on the end held standards, Laal’s and one Leland didn’t recognize. He looked closer and saw a section of bamboo with sprouting leaves done in yellow and green on a field of black.

  “What the hell is that and where did it come from?”

  Gahnfeld blinked. “Sir?” He looked shocked and Leland realized that he’d shouted, something he hadn??
?t done before now.

  “That standard, the one with the bamboo—where did you get it?”

  Gahnfeld actually flinched. He snapped to attention and said, “Sir! Your personal standard was put in my hands by the steward.”

  Leland sputtered. “The steward? You mean…”

  “Your father, Warden.”

  Leland dropped back on his heels. What does this mean? That devious old… He noticed that both Gahnfeld and Phillip were staring at him. He took a deep breath. “As you might have guessed from my reaction, this is the first I’ve seen of it.” He sat down abruptly on the steps of the townhouse and stared at the black piece of cloth.

  Gahnfeld looked distressed. He shifted to a parade rest, then back to attention.

  Phillip said quietly, “If I’d known you were going to sit on the steps, I would have had a cushion brought.”

  Leland realized this was a reminder that he was wearing his new clothes. He stood hastily, brushing off the seat of his pants.

  Gahnfeld spoke. “The steward didn’t give me any instructions about displaying your device, Guide. Shall I have it put away?”

  Leland shook his head abruptly. “No, Halvidar. Let it fly. My father knew exactly what he was doing when he gave it to you.” He turned back to Phillip. “Shall we go?”

  Of course one doesn’t go directly to the ball when one is riding in a carriage. As Leland had said originally, “I could walk to the palace from the townhouse in five minutes. Why do we have to ride?”

  Phillips answer had been “The point of having a carriage has nothing to do with transportation. What’s the point of having a carriage if one isn’t seen in it? As you noted, one can walk from one end of the High City to the other in fifteen minutes. Distance has nothing to do with it. You’ll see.”

  And Leland did. As the carriage and outriders pulled out onto the first major avenue, he saw other carriages, all going away from the palace with their full complement of passengers.