Wine of the Gods 08: Dark Lady (19 page)

"So this summer is going to be pretty quiet, for most of you?"

The big man nodded. "It's not too bad, Harry's keeping an eye on all those gates. Romeau's recovered, and popping all over the place. Nothing much to be done, now. Maybe now that I'm not worrying about you, searching for you, I'll sleep."

December . . . Rustle followed him into the strange kitchen, where the Wolf fed Rustle while Rustle fed Quail, and changed her diaper.

December . . . Rustle
carried her off to their back room, and opened the door and windows to the beautiful day and crawled into bed. She slept as long as Quail would allow, then admired a faintly familiar bay mare while the Auld Wulf saddled Jet and rode off to taunt this Nil-who-never-paid-stud-fees.

"What I need, is a mental shield." She contemplated how slamming one such up in the middle of a battle had nearly knocked her out with pain. So she reached very, very carefully for that twist of the mind that created one . . . and winced away.
Not healed yet.

She decided to explore
the immediate surroundings, and avoid people altogether, at least for a few days. Maybe weeks.

She found the hot springs behind the winery, more vine covered hills, and more of the huge trees. To the east the land got rougher and higher, and she suspected there were mountains hiding in the haze. Or maybe she was remembering.

The grassy hills seemed very lightly grazed. No doubt the people who'd left had taken their livestock with them.

The Auld Wulf slept a lot, and even when obviously awake, gave her space and peace. And baby sat, and tended his vineyard. Talked when she approached him, showed her how everything in the kitchen worked. Or at any rate, how to get it to give her food. The how was baffling, full of terms she no idea how to parse.

After two weeks, she decided it was time to venture out again.

She hitched Quail up onto her hip and marched down the hill, shoved aside doubts that she really was ready to be around people with magic.

Time to find out who this Rustle person is.

Spring, 1376 PE

Ash, Comet Fall

Two girls on a porch stared at her, then ran inside.

That's not a good sign.

The door of the house opened again. The woman who walked out was old. Stiff and straight, with fierce eyes. Her white hair was in a bun at the back of her neck, her clothing much the same as December . . . Rustle's in style. In dove gray, the woman somehow managed to look more like a hawk than a symbol of peace.

Answer.

The name came, bare of details.

T
he old woman stalked across the road and looked down on December . . . Rustle, dammit, from a four inch advantage in height. "So, you've decided to come home, have you?"

Or maybe a vulture.
Rustle nodded. "I am not fully recovered, but I think my shields are good enough to protect me, now. Mostly." She winced under the old woman's scrutiny.

"Humph. Disobeyed orders and damaged yourself. Typical."

Oh?

"Well. It is about time you started acting like a real witch. Perhaps this is an opportunity for you to redeem yourself. All past trespasses are forgiven." She sounded like a rather snooty judge. Or a malevolent Mr. Richover.

"All . . . Oh. Dear. More stuff I've forgotten."
She turned her thoughts inward and prodded. No sense of guilt emerged.

"Forgotten? Hopefully not to be remembered." The old woman frowned.
"And we will protect you from anyone who accuses you of being a Black Widow."

December . . . Rustle
's stomach fell. "That's . . . rather horribly self explanatory. I killed my lover?"

"Rapists
. Two of them, and seriously damaged four and the last two fled. The King and Council struck them from the rolls of possible inheritors of their father's land grants. So there is plenty of ill-feeling around, even after seven years." The old woman's eye flicked toward the school building, and away.

Xen? That careful, intelligent child is the result of rape?

"The more I look at you, the more I am of the opinion that you may have permanently damaged your magical ability." Her lips thinned. "Not tomorrow. You need to heal a lot more. Come in ten days."

Rustle
glanced at the house.

"Old Gods! No, not the house. The hotsprings." The old woman huffed, turned and stalked away.

"Yikes." Rustle's voice sounded a bit small and lost. She straightened her shoulders and looked around. Houses both directions, but they petered out more quickly to the south. Her head was starting to ache; she turned around and headed for the winery.
Maybe I ought to have stayed in Jeramtown.

Sunday, May 3, 3493 AD

Jeram State, Arrival

After church, the guards, with Captains Alpha and
Stone at their head turned out in their best uniforms to ride out and meet the King.

They halted for the forward scouts to examine them, which mostly involved grinning with relief when Kurt was recognized. One messenger was sent off quickly, and the rest of them took their time meandering down to where the Army was setting up camp.

They were escorted immediately into the King's presence. All of the Royal officers were trickling in as their commands caught up to the forward elements. General Omalley was, as nearly always, at the King's side. Kurt recognized several Barons, including the one he most wanted to talk to. His Eminence Isaac Langdon, the Bishop of Arrival State, was in attendance.

"Kurt, boy . . . " the King winced slightly at the wording. "Glad to see you alive. Franklin, good to see you again. Officers, please sit."

"So, the Arbolians weren't too determined?" Omalley looked them over, his eyes suddenly narrowing as he spotted the neat repairs to Kurt's jacket. "We got your last message and sent three quarters of the troops back to sit on the Grand Highway and make sure the main force thinks long and hard before starting anything."

"Tell us what happened here, though." The King leaned on his elbows, all his attention on Kurt. "Why did they retreat?"

"We managed to hand them enough reverses in three and a half weeks that they decided to pack it in, sire." Kurt stayed formal, in this larger group of people.

"Any idea what started the ball rolling? Were they after you?"

"That may have given them their initial excuse, sire, but I'm afraid Baronet Roger Weigh had tired of waiting for his father to die and was receptive when approached by the Arbolians.

"When, in the course of the quarterly exercises, we accidentally discovered their forward elements, the first thing he did was try to kill me. We captured him and discussed the matter with him."

He sighed. "Now, sire. I do not wish to strain your credulity, however Jeramtown had a very strange visitor at the time, a very strong magic user, a lady who was able to deflect the magical parts of the Arbolian attack, and aid us in other aspects of, well, siege management. She left three days ago for her home. I mention the lady partly because there are some interesting things she left behind."

"Sounds like you need to talk to the archbishop." The Bishop frowned.

"No doubt about it, Your Eminence."

"In any case, during the three and a half week siege, the Arbolians sent assassins into the town. They killed
the baron and took the baronet. He has now left with them. This is going to make for a degree of unpleasantness. Before his death, I spoke with the baron. I informed him that in view of his steadfast loyalty, I would beg Roger's life of you. But that he would not inherit.

"The Baron said that his sister had married Baron Randal, and that perhaps one of their younger sons could inherit his title and lands. I ask that you keep that in mind, when the question comes up."

The King nodded. "That might help keep it from turning into a pitfight. Thank you. Pity Roger got away, though. It makes for future complications."

"I lost six of my original thirty-two men. The town has had a dozen killed. Damage has been light other-wise, and we were able to save most of their stored produce, so they're well set for the Fourth Year."

The king nodded. "Other than your . . . magical complications and Roger, a successful campaign. Good job, son."

"Thank you, Father."

With the confirmation of the end of the emergency, the Army's urgency and direction changed, with scouting units sent to locate and monitor the Arbolian's retreat and dissuade them from any thoughts they might have about a change of target. The Vistan's had been shadowing the Arbolian's retreat. Their ranking officer here ordered his scouts back out to guide the Army scouts through unfamiliar territory. Kurt grinned, and sent Franklin off with the scouts "to show them the short cuts."

The king conferred with his captains about forces to leave in Jeram. The remainder would return to Arrival quickly.

Kurt hesitated then asked Baron Paul for a private audience. The Bishop asked to speak privately to Kurt. "Of course, your Grace, my business with Baron Paul will take only a moment."

"And if it includes the Holy man, it won't happen." The baron tossed his head in a familiar gesture. He was known for his rare church attendance, generally state occasions, or the wedding of his peers.

"Paul, there is no need for this antipathy toward the Church . . ."

"Bishop," Kurt interrupted. "He dislikes the Church because of an early incident with a bribable Churchman. Correct me if I'm wrong, Baron, I believe your first marriage was annulled against your wishes, your bride coerced into another marriage and your daughter raised as another man's child."

"My father
paid
the church, and abducted Lucy. I spit on your dishonest organization that pretends to Holiness." He turned his back on the Bishop and glared at Kurt. "And how did you come to this knowledge? Salacious gossip among the young bloods? The tale has grown, I've heard of no daughter."

"Quite the contrary. I met Mrs. Lucy Hinton and all of her children in the course of this siege."

"The Church would not annul a marriage . . . "

The Baron flicked at contemptuous glance toward the churchman. "Without sufficient payment of cash. Clean your house, Bishop. It's not fit to worship in."

"Bishop, perhaps you should look into this matter when you return to Arrival. If the official record books are unenlightening, surely the diaries won't be." Kurt suggested. "Now, your Eminence. Please step out. I wish to speak to the baron privately."

The Bishop gathered up his robes in a great show of huffiness, and was ignored.

Kurt listed to him stomping angrily away and smiled. "I do believe I enjoyed that."

The Baron glowered. "What do you want, Prince Kurt."

"Your daughter's hand in marriage. She is in all ways an exceptional woman."

"I had heard you had . . . lost your interest in marriage."

"I was injured. I have recovered sufficiently." He cleared his throat. "Something I have not mentioned to my father, so as to avoid another disastrous foreign engagement. He will no doubt be astonished by his acquisition of grandchildren, but with a very public wedding, and a year gone by, I shall avoid a repeat of your experience with controlling fathers. However, there is the matter of your
other
children. The conundrum of whether the oldest child is illegitimate, or all of the others of both parents are, is . . . interesting."

Paul snorted. "You are going to make things difficult for me . . . " his eyes got a bit distant, and he smiled unpleasantly, suddenly. "Actually, I think legitimizing my daughter is an excellent idea. Thank you, Prince Kurt, and I shall
consider
your proposal."

"Sir, thank you." Kurt smiled. "I didn't know you would be here. You will come as a surprise to all. Especially Mr. Albert Hinton."

Paul snorted. "No doubt." He ducked out of the tent, and Kurt sank back, satisfied with the first salvo. But after a moment he dragged himself out of the folding sling chair and hunted up the Bishop.

"That was quick enough, young man. Couldn't it have waited?"

"As it might change his travel plans, no, Your Grace."

"I wanted to warn you against these wild rumors of magic. Everyone is laughing at you and your people. The Archbishop will have apoplexy and assign you a counselor."

"Yes, Your Grace. Don't you want to see the evidence before you judge?" Kurt smiled at his expression.

"And I am now obliged to do Jameson a favor."

Kurt chuckled. "I don't believe you've thought it through, Your Grace. Certainly he hasn't, or recognizing his first marriage would be the last thing he would want. I don't think he will be happy to need to beg a declaration of legitimacy for his heir and, is it two other children? Three? Yes, petitioning the Archbishop and the King for four declarations of legitimacy will be humiliating."

His Grace fought to keep his lips from turning up, with periodic success. "Indeed. It might be good for his soul to have to humble himself before God and man."

"Well, no doubt I ought to have kept my mouth shut. Tomorrow we should reach Jeramtown and I shall show you the sorts of things I considered magical in nature." He bowed as a page trotted up.

"His majesty requests your presence."

Kurt braced himself as he walked back into the Royal presence. Still no softening, no hug. At least the man made it easy to be tough in return.

"Father." He nodded politely and was waved to a seat. Only Omalley was present.

"So, would you like a reward for your single handed defeat of a serious Arbolian infraction of the peace?"

"Hardly single handed, but what did you have in mind?"

"I have numerous Royal properties, is there one you wish to manage? What about Snowfields?"

"The further away from Arrival the better, eh, Father?"

"I thought you would prefer to avoid comments."

"True. But, if it's land you're thinking in terms of, I'd prefer a Freehold west of here. Or if you're feeling generous, call it a territory, and I'll see if I can whip you up another state in a few dozen years."

"Leaving me with another empty succession."

"I have two older and two younger brothers. Surely one of them will have an extra son I could take off their hands? Or I could marry a widow with children."

"You can't marry."

"Why not? I may be damaged property as far as treaty negotiations are concerned, but I'll need someone to run my household, and if she's called a wife, we can pretend all those rumors were exaggerations, can't we?"

The King drummed his fingernails. He wasn't meeting Kurt's eyes.

"And out here in the West, I doubt I'll get into Arrival more than every other year or so."

"We'll need to find a noble woman who can keep her mouth shut."

"I'm want to marry Baron Paul's eldest daughter. His first marriage isn't well known, but he has a single daughter from it. Elizabeth, aged seventeen."

The King frowned. "And you think I will agree to this?"

"Yes. To keep up my reputation – and thus yours. To deal with me honorably. This time."

"I needed that treaty."

"Threw me to the lions, turned out they were hungry. Too bad. But it's embarrassing having a gelded son about the palace. So send me so far west I'm out of everyone's sight and won't embarrass you. I'll marry Elizabeth, adopt a nephew or whatever."

His father squirmed. "Go away."

"Sire." He bowed and walked out. He felt like he was juggling and all he really wanted to do was get back to Jeramtown. He walked to the edge of the camp and stared west as if it would help.

"Excuse me, sir?" the boy was maybe fifteen and blond, and Kurt's breath caught. "You one of the men that came in from Jeramtown?"

"Yes. Are you by any chance Lonnie Hinton?"

"How'd you know that?" Belligerent frown. No, Lucy hadn't raised her children to act like peasants.

"You look just like all your younger brothers and sisters. Liz has been fretting; she figures your body is rotting unburied out in the forest, somewhere."

One of the patrolling guards, wearing Vista colors grinned. "He brought the first warning, Captain, beat your messenger by half a day."

"Of course they didn't believe me until the guard come riding in with his purty uniform and his horse half dead. Huh, call that riding!"

The Vistan grinned. "All true, and the lad is a good hand with the horses. The Baron's half minded to keep him, once the boy's seen what's become of his family."

"They are all fine, and well, most everyone is, you'll see them tomorrow. They were at the North Cross tavern yesterday, but might be moving back to the Manor today. I suggested they see if they could beat it back into shape for the King to use while he's there."

"Huh. The Baron'll like that."

"He's dead. Sorry, boy, probably unwelcome news, but whoever takes over will still need a horsemaster."

"Whoever! Is Roger dead too!"

"No, he threw in with the Arbolians, and they took him with them."

"But, but . . . "

"Yeah, stupidest damn thing I ever heard of either."

"Cripes!"

The boy still looked a bit stunned in the morning when he left ahead of the slow column. Kurt looked wistfully after his shrinking figure, but rode along beside his Father. His own men saluted as they passed, going ahead with the scouts and the squad who would find a place fit for a King to stay.

"People tell me the land to the west isn't very good farm land," his father commented.

"I'm actually mostly interested in horse breeding. I suppose cattle and sheep would do well there as well. Limestone country, good for the bones."