The Marcher Lord (Over Guard) (23 page)

“Gorgeous relief,” Brodie said from the base of a tassi tree, where he was trying to blow smoke rings from his pipe. “These trees are
my favorite animal we’ve hunted so far.”

“You haven’t hunt
ed anything yet, private,” Lieutenant Taylor said without looking up from his yeoman. He sat on a crate near Brodie, but a little closer to the edge of the demarcation between the shade and the sulfur-like sunlight. They both were angled to see the pair of Chax working on the brisa.

“On the humble contrary, sir,” Brodie said, “I have manipulated a powerful
deal with Captain Marsden so that I’ve been left out of chasing after all the silly animals that try to run away so that I have been able to hunt these.” He gave a comfortable pat on the tree trunk behind him. “And have been directly successful, if I can blow a bit. They don’t run away, and unlike all these creatures that come with heavy hides that don’t exactly come in handy for weather like this, these know how to treat a man right.”

Lieutenant Taylor gave a hearty series of appropriately succeeding laughs as Brodie’s narrative progressed. Ian smiled as
well, glad he’d been assigned to this company. It was far more amiable and socially approachable than some of his groups had been in training.

Lieutenant Taylor rearranged himself where he sat. “That’s good to hear, private. But I would appreciate
it if you would get on after those herbs. I’ll need them soon.”

“Sir—
” Brodie tried.

“Now.
If you would please, private,” Lieutenant Taylor said.

“Yes, sir,” Brodie said as he dragged himself to his feet and started off into the fields
between the brisa. “Blue flowers, red stems. Care to join me, Private Kanters? Blue flowers, red stems. Blue flowers—”

“Black flowers, private,” the lieutenant corrected.

“Right,” Brodie called dismissively. “Black flowers, blue stems. Black flowers, blue—”

“I think you’ve got it under control,” Ian said.

“And don’t forget the sarasass berries this time,” the lieutenant gave as a final farewell.

“
Are there a lot of edible herbs in this area?” Ian asked as he sat down near the lieutenant. “That’s seems strange, I wouldn’t have imagined there would be a lot of vegetation safe for humans.”

“Oh, there’s a great deal of rare and useful herbs and spices on Orinoco,” Lieutenant Taylor said.

“I know of the spices,” Ian said. “That’s one of the reasons why the planet is so valuable, isn’t it?”

“One of them,” Lieutenant Taylor said, “and even the most valuable ones are plentiful here. It’s the limits of transporting them
back that make them so expensive.”

“T
hat’s lucky for us,” Ian smiled. “I’ve heard that foreign planets only occasionally host safe things to eat, but the meals you’ve made for us here have been delicious so far.”

“T
hank you, private.”

“And I imagine you’ll be able to make a quite a tidy sum
if you take some of these spices and sell them back on Baldave,” Ian said.

“
Perhaps.” A small, satisfied smile came over Lieutenant Taylor’s face, but he said nothing more as he tapped his pipe in his lips and carefully studied his yeoman.

Ian too settled back and considered the fields that stretched out to the north. The lieutenant didn’t seem particularly hostile to Ian knowing of what
the lieutenant evidently planned to carry back in place of trophies and hides. But Ian wasn’t intensely interested either, at least enough to ask. It was something to consider though, and it was good to know that some of their company was taking advantage of their stay here on Orinoco.

He flipped his own yeoman
on and tried to read further into the local flora and fauna, but he found it difficult to concentrate.

The notion that Corporal
Wesshire might have been offering Ian a hand in something similar to Lieutenant Taylor’s enterprise seemed plausible, and Ian tried to start a list of possible aims it could entail.

Even with the aid of his yeoman’s guide, however, nothing sprang out as either
quite lucrative or illicit enough. Fumbling with his yeoman’s pagination input, he looked up at the sky and determined that it was mostly pointless to guess at it without more to go on. But that was doable enough, Ian thought. He would only have to keep an eye out, and see if he could discover anything else about Corporal Wesshire’s intentions.

They sat for some time like that. The silence was only interrupted by Kieran hurrying once to the
brisa, evidently to retrieve something of Elizabeth’s. Kieran produced much low cursing and some verbal irritation at the Chax as he hunted about for several minutes. Once that was over, however, Ian only occasionally glanced up at the plains.

It was Lieutenant
Taylor who made the first sound. Ian glanced over at him, and then off to the west where the lieutenant was staring.

There was a man coming
toward them.

“In the driest of terms, Ellosia begins at the Bevish Yungus and extends through to the far end of Drosica, its other dimensions being more heavily disputed by geostronomers.

But in more cultured words, Ellosia is the human region of space most invested in progress, guided by Christian principles. It has held scientific, military, and economic supremacy for the last several hundred years, allowing many of the great Ellosian powers to extend the light of civilization to nearly all other quadrants of known space.”

—Oliver Daxley, foreword in
Of Our General History

Looking back at Lieutenant Taylor to make sure they had no immediate cause for alarm, Ian stood and brought up his yeoman’s binocular function.

“It’s a
human,” Ian confirmed, though it was obvious enough even with his naked eyes to induce that from the man’s size and gait. “And he’s moving pretty fast.”

“Long as it’s only one,” Lieutenant Taylor said
as a means of maintaining the ease, though he leaned over for his rifle.

Ian worked at his yeoman’s control, trying to compensate for the distortion beyond what the function was already
automatically doing. It was difficult though, at least at this distance, to make out much in the way of details. He seemed to be a very large man, clad in tan clothes tightly bound around him, though a pair of long strips of cloth trailed behind and to the side of him. Ian couldn’t see any weapons yet, usually the first sign of a highwayman.

“Looks like it,” Ian said,
in regards to the man being alone. Ian took a moment to scan the stretches of field around the man, and then behind them to make sure he wasn’t overlooking any other men.

The
Chax gave a start of yelps and motions as they noticed the man as well. The brisa stamped a bit as the guides tried to wheel them around.

“Shall I signal
Private Anglas, sir?” Ian asked.

“That would be good,” the lieutenant said. “Just order him to stay where he is with the margrave’s daughter.”

“What about Brodie, sir?”

Lieutenant Taylor glanced off the way Brodie had
gone. “Probably still out of range. He’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir,” Ian said. He put his yeoman to his side as he sent Kieran three quick sets of
jump-clicks, only having to look at the display for the last one. As soon as that was done, which didn’t take very long, Ian unslung his rifle, which finally prompted Lieutenant Taylor to rise to his feet.

But once that was all done
, Ian was left standing with his Allen rifle awkwardly, unsure of how relaxed or not he was supposed to be. The situation wasn’t really cause for any large amounts of tension, but he didn’t want to be unprepared either. He was tempted to use his yeoman to sight in the distance again from where they’d first caught sight of the man. Ian thought he could’ve probably hit him from here …

The next couple of minutes were twitchy. Kieran
sent them an inquiring message, but Ian ignored it. It had actually been quite satisfying that Ian had been the one to relay the orders.

Lieutenant Taylor slowly walked
toward the approaching man until he was a little past the brisa, Ian trailing just behind him.

The last of the stranger’s approach was quiet. He slowed from the leisurely jo
g he’d maintained since Ian had first seen him, and took up a more contemplative walk. At perhaps fifty feet, he raised a hand. Lieutenant Taylor did likewise as the other man reached up to pull the covering aside, and then off, that had hidden most of his face.

“
Zholly tides,” the man said when he finally stopped a comfortable distance from them.

I
an was glad to finally get a clear look at the man, the details in focus that he’d only been able to guess at before.

H
e was human, definitely Ellosian now that his face was visible. The tan garb Ian could now see was clearly designed for movement in this locale. He couldn’t quite decide if it was extremely expensive or just well made. Camouflaging variations ran all across it that would work well in the grass. And though light fitting, there were vague traces of outlines of something sturdier, perhaps approaching armor, on his chest, arms, and legs. The outer layer of his clothing looked endothermic, which, much like their watcher cloaks, would absorb any light into usable energy. There looked to be a small pack on the man’s back, and at his side he wore a very short but blunt-looking rifle.

And he’s exceptionally Dervish,
Ian thought, two words of such moderate accent from the man being far more than Ian needed for such a deduction.

“I am glad to find you
‘ere,” the man continued, smiling at them. “We ‘ad word zhat you would be along zhis way, but I was not sure I would find you before dark time.”

“Well, you’ve found us,” Lieutenant Taylor said. “But how did you receive word about us?”

The man laughed a short, good-natured display of amusement. He was exceptionally broad-shouldered, tall. Certainly several inches taller than Ian. His hair wasn’t quite sandy, his beginnings of a beard were a fair bit darker.

“
My Lord ‘ears all words about zhis place,” the man looked back south where they had come from, and then gestured off to the north, “from Portsmouth to zhe north Chax tribes, ‘e keeps charge of everyzhing. Or perhaps lord is not zhe right word—baron?”

“What is his name?” Lieutenant Taylor asked.

“Baron Beaumon,” the man said, swallowing the last letter of the man’s name in the Dervish way, “or perhaps it should be Lord Beaumon. I dun know. My name is Gressaire, one of My Lord’s many vassals. My Lord ‘as sent me to speak to Lord Wester. May I speak with ‘im?”

“I imagine,” Lieutenant Taylor said, “once he returns.”

“Ah,” Gressaire smiled, “‘e is sampling some of Orinoco’s many delights, no? Are you in charge of ‘is men, zhen?”

“I’m second-in-
command,” Lieutenant Taylor answered. “Captain Marsden is also away at the moment. But come, sit, and wait with us and have something to eat and drink. How far away does this Lord Beaumont live?”

“Z
hank you, zhat is very kind,” Gressaire nodded as he followed Lieutenant Taylor and his gesturing arm to sit in the shade. “Lord Beaumon’s chateau is perhaps a ‘alf day walking away. It took me longer for looking exactly where you were. It is set at zhe foots of zhe Quacu Mountains, very magnificently. It is zhe most splendid chateau on all of Orinoco outside of Carciti. Though My Lord ‘as a residence zhere as well.”

“That is quite impressive,” Lieutenant Taylor said as he resettled himself.

“Sir,” Ian ventured, though he wasn’t sure if he should, “shall I see to refreshments?”

“Yes, private,” Lieutenant Taylor said distractedly. “And what exactly does Lord
Beaumont do here?”

Ian listened with half an ear as Gressaire began about Lord Beaumont’s varied trades on Orinoco, with especial attention on his wineries, which the li
eutenant received very favorably. While all that happened however, Ian sent a quick order to Kieran to keep by the margrave’s daughter and report anything unusual. Though he didn’t feel that Gressaire was part of any ill designs, he kept a close eye out on the surrounding stretches while he fetched a flask of fresh water for their guest and took the liberty of an assorted bag of fresh, watery fruits from the margrave’s stocks. He promptly returned with the goods, which were met with momentary surprise and gratitude from Gressaire before the lieutenant drew the Dervish man back into describing Lord Beaumont’s evidently extensive exporting network.

“Well, I imagine our government’s trade restrictions have hurt it,” Lieutenant Taylor was saying as Ian passed.

Gressaire, however, was quick to assure him that though there had been a great diminishment since Baldave had taken control of Orinoco, the lord was sufficiently well off not to worry about such passing things.

Pressing on, Ian resisted drawing his rifle, but kept at a steady
jog around the edges of the trees. He looked over the plains as they passed by his left and scanned with his yeoman into the trees to his right. As valiant as the yeoman’s efforts were though, it was mostly a wasted effort against the tassi trees, the primary cause of Orinoco’s turbulence. Simple jump-clicks fared better, but even they were extremely limited here. The trees were in a sense the planet’s greatest protectors, for thousands of years silently warding off the death their sun offered. But they were also its most jealous mothers, stifling all things civilized.

But though the yeoman failed to penetrate more than a dozen feet
into the trees, it was more than enough for Ian to make sure that no other men had snuck in while Gressaire had distracted them. There were also no signs of anyone approaching now, which was more than enough to allay the possibility of their visitor being part of anything false.

The circuit around the
tree line wasn’t a long one, and within a couple minutes Ian began to hear his company’s voices from where he had left them. Slowing a little, he walked the rest of the way around within sight of them. They hadn’t taken much notice of his absence, so he came and sat down near the lieutenant.

“Bevish food, no
,” Gressaire shook his head, evidently in good spirits as he had another slice from the lime fruit Ian had given him, “we Dervish feel sorry for you. Your foods are so so, so—um, bland? All tea and no good foods. It is not your fault, your planets are not rich like ours. It is no wonder you Bevish are so glad to go everywhere else, you are only looking for better food. Ha, zhat is very good, no?” He laughed for a moment, then looked at them seriously. “A Bevish man told me zhat, so so—um, no tough feelings? Is zhat zhe way? But when you come to Lord Beaumon’s chateau, you will eat good.”

“So Lord Beaumont is inviting us to his chateau?” Ian asked.

“Yes, of course,” Gressaire said, “it is fitting zhat someone as ‘ospitable as Lord Beaumon would wish to ‘ave Lord Wester as ‘is guest. My Lord insists on one evening at zhe least.”

“I can’t speak for either the margrave or Captain Marsden,” Lieutenant Taylor said, “but I would very much like to see this Lord Beaumon
t and his chateau. I had no idea there was anyone so wealthy out here in the wilderness.”

“Yes,
well,” Gressaire said, leaning back and looking at their brisa and guides, “zhe wilds draw all kinds of people. We ‘ave noticed zhat you rangers ‘ave been especially interested in our area.”

“What have you heard, sir?” Ian interjected as gently as he could, well aware that he was very much
only a privileged guest in the conversation.

Gressaire looked at him for the barest moment, it seemed for the intents of being thoughtful, but the Dervish man was already speaking.

“Ah, we ‘ave heard zhat Lord Chamberlain is in the region.”

“Really,” Ian leaned forward. “But has Lord Beaumont heard it, or seen it?”

“Ah,” Gressaire smiled, “zhere is quite a difference between zhe two. I do not know everyzhing zhat My Lord knows, but I would be quite disappointed if a Bevish man so famous as Lord Chamberlain would easily be seen.”

So no,
Ian thought, satisfied. Lord Beaumont had probably only heard the rumors, which were—

“Rumors,” Lieutenant Taylor dismissed with
a slight snort, “there are always plenty of them. They never amount to anything. If Lord Chamberlain has had any business on the planet, I wouldn’t wager he’d have to stay long.”

But with another influential person who had also heard the same rumor, Ian thought, the more support was shored to the probability that it was.
Especially when such influential persons in consideration didn’t seem to be easily swayed by baseless rumors.

“But come,” Lieutenant Taylor said, offering his
tobacco box to Gressaire, “surely you Dervish know a good deal of such sorts.”

“Indeed,” Gressaire said, not hiding all of his skepticism as he accepted a little
. “Good, zhough My Lord of course ‘as access to much better. Still, I will do much for the spirit of warm coo-peration.”

As the two were agreeing on the topic, Ian heard slight tramp
lings in the trees behind them. Turning, he saw Kieran and Elizabeth Wester ducking through the tree branches and looking at them in mild wonder.

Experiencing a rather ripe smugness that he’d managed to show up Kieran by being part of something unexpected and important, which naturally trumped being part of something else important but expected—
Ian didn’t altogether suppress it. Giving an easy kind of nod for their approach, Ian turned back to the conversation.

Gressaire had noticed
them now as well, however, and immediately stood up.

“Bon jour, mademoiselle,” he said as he bowed low
. “I ‘ad seen images of zhe Lord Wester’s daughter, but zhey ‘ave done no favor to zhe original.”

Elizabeth
in turn greeted him in Dervish, and then asked a question in that language that Ian didn’t understand—which wasn’t surprising since hello and goodbye were about the extent of his Dervish.