Tortall Read online

  As they roistered in the tavern, some children pulled the canvas off the wagon. They laid bare an iron monster 6 feet or so in height. Its limbs are an iron giant’s bones moved by chains on wheels. The force that works them is some vile magic. I can smell it. I remind the Hostler that my Gift for smelling magic is why I was placed here.

  The fingers and toes of the thing are blades. The head is a bowl with no neck.

  The children screamed when they saw the thing, but it did not move. I ran to push them away from the wagon.

  I did not move them soon enough. The warriors returned and struck them and me with the flats of their swords while more covered the thing with its canvas again.

  Their leader made all of the villagers come to stand by the wagon. “A word to anyone,” he told us, “and we do to this place what we just did to that other town, understand.”

  We understood. Now they are gone and the people are leaving. No one wants to wait to see if that warrior changes his mind and sends his killing device to finish us off. I will send word of my next placement when I find a proper courier.

  —Mus

  Note to the Chancellor and Whisper Man by Harvester Scalzin:

  Given the date and the placement of Mus’s village, I am certain the attack made by these warriors and their monster was that on the village of Slywater, found but a day ago. Only 3 inhabitants among 37 were found alive. The only one in the village when the attack began babbled of a giant insect that slew the people. The other 2 were hunting and did not see who murdered the others and burned the place.

  April 9, 459

  Captain Jonnajin. I took this down as spoken

  Report of contact with enemy forces near the Scanran border in patrol area designated to Fief Tirrsmont

  Captain Narmon Jonnajin, 8th Mountain Regulars, in command, personally recording the report by Sergeant Fairburn Tennant, Company 3, 8th Mountain Regulars

  Tennant reported:

  Sir, I led Squad Green this morning, Corporal Whittle being sick with the liquid—well, sir, he’d had some bad meat last night, I think, so I took his squad and two extra women from my squad out—searchers, my folk were. Twelve soldiers in all, and that mage that calls himself Red Seeker. Fulk and Bendbow had the advance. I put my girls, Prout and Gress, on the right and left flank. Whittle’s lads Moody and Westcot had our rear. We were on foot, coming up on the fishing village on the river, Whitewater. By the time we reached the water, it was dawn.

  Our plan was to wait till the local men were out fishing for the day, then hit the village whilst the women were at their chores. We wanted a look in the barns. As you said when you briefed the company last night, sir, some of these local villages are dealing with the Scanrans, not just in goods, but turning a blind eye to warriors and mages. I’d a notion this village, Whitewater, was one of them.

  We were in the wood by the riverbank when those pig anuses Fulk and Bendbow walked us right into a Scanran raiding party. I thought certain we could beat the mush out of them. When were a lot of Scanran screamers a match for Tortallan soldiers, strong and true?

  Forgive me, sir. Might I have a moment? Forgive me.

  Yes, yessir, the healers think Gress will live. No promises if she’ll be able to fight again, of course. She doesn’t know Prout and Westcot are gone. I’ll have to tell her that, when she can bear it. Or about the others.

  Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

  Red Seeker laid down curtains of flame, sir. He trapped them right there on the riverbank. I was that proud of him. Them Scanrans was jumping into the river to get away from the fire, and of course the current there is just vile.

  But some of them ran for a thing on the riverbank, all bundled up in canvas. They hacked the cloth open, and I recall one of them saying something, words, but not Scanran. I speak that tongue well, even some of the dialects, they call them. It wasn’t anything like Scanran.

  A thing got up, sir, just like I told you before. I thought first it was an ogre of some kind, and I yelled for the squad to form up with me. They obeyed. I told you they’re the best girls and boys in the realm. Any others might have run, but not them.

  The Scanrans fought, they’re the hardest warriors I know, but they only engaged our people when we tried to get around behind their monster. It was their thing, but they wouldn’t go within ten feet of it. They was terrified of it. Mithros, I was terrified, but I knew we’d be dead if we turned our backs on it.

  The thing was near seven feet tall, made of iron shaped like giant’s bones. There was thin chains and rods attached to the elbows, shoulders, and wrists, then thin chains to the fingers. The same on the legs, chains and rods to the hips, the knees and the ankles, then thin chains to the blades they used for toes. It had blades for fingers, too, and those blades could gut a man. There were two elbows on both arms, and two knees on both legs, making them look spiderlike, almost. The head was like an upside-down bowl, all rough iron, with deep-set red glowing eyes, like coals from a fire. There were dagger teeth in the mouth. It ripped through my man Cassel with those teeth. There wasn’t a gap between the monster’s shoulders and head, or we might have pried the head off.

  And it was fast, great Mithros save me, it was fast. Me and Lind, the biggest of the squad, we charged it, tried to shove it down the riverbank. I got inside those arms, but it cut me up, lifted me, and threw me. I got all these cursed slashes from that. It killed Lind and went after the others.

  How many do I have left? Three, and that’s if Byhan lives through the night. Red Seeker died on the march back. All four of us that’s left are wounded bad. My army life is over. I’ll never do a long march on this leg again. A fine squad, and that thing turned us to catmeat.

  And you say that raiding party went on to Slywater village, killed most of the folk, and took the survivors back into Scanra. What the pox are they going to do with them? They can scarce feed themselves over there, along the river. How will they feed our people?

  Apologies, sir. I’m not used to failing.

  End report.

  Signed in my own hand,

  Fairburn Tennant, Sergeant

  Witnessed by

  Narmon Jonnajin, Captain

  April 25, 459

  His Majesty, King Jonathan of Conté

  To Sergeant Fairburn Tennant, Company 3, 8th Mountain Regulars

  Copy to Captain Narmon Jonnajin, 8th Mountain Regulars, in command

  Sergeant Tennant,

  Your report was passed on to us through emergency channels. You and your patrol were not the only ones to find such a metal monster, though your people paid the highest price to date.

  You have our solemn vow, both Her Majesty’s and mine, that your people will not go unavenged. Your injuries will not go unavenged. Troops, knights, and mages are gathering even now to report to the Scanran border to face whatever is coming to us from our newest enemies to the north.

  And you may yet serve, if you will, as may your fellow survivors. We need you soldiers who have lived through this encounter to tell the new troops and their officers what you saw. If you can bring yourself to remain on the border to advise and to serve your next commanding officer as a clerk, we shall promise that your family will not want. The same is true for your fellow advisors.

  Your dead will not be forgotten, Sergeant, whatever your decision.

  Signed under my own seal,

  Copy of document with note to John Juggler

  From Deputy Nursemaid Fallow Deer

  April 26, 459

  My apologies for the copy of this letter, but the original had His Majesty’s original signature and his seal by the time I saw it. I felt I could do no better than to make a copy. He has already summoned three generals and the captains of two units of the King’s Own, as well as the Knight Commander of the King’s Own, to his study, where he and Her Majesty spoke with them for several hours. He has sent for members of the treasury this morning, but I must send this out to you. I shall try to listen to those conversations, but it is very dif
ficult to eavesdrop on His Majesty. He has an ugly tendency to raise spells that alert him to any spies.

  Fallow Deer

  12 April, 442

  To Lord Sir Wyldon of Cavall,

  from King Jonathan IV, greetings.

  I hope the spring, new and rainy as it is, treats you kindly in Cavall. When last we spoke, over the Midwinter holiday, you mentioned that this was a crucial year for your deerhound lines; I look forward to the new generation, which, I imagine, is just finding its voice in the kennels.

  Earlier this week, Duke Gareth and I discussed his approaching retirement as training master. I am, of course, reluctant to let him go, but the realm can hardly ask for more than he has given. We had addressed the question of a new training master at the last session of the Council of Lords, and your name was foremost. Your record of service is upstanding in every way, and those squires who worked in your service have become the finest of knights. We would be most pleased to see you take those noble youths seeking knighthood in hand, and Duke Gareth is in agreement. I believe his words were, “If it is rigor you seek, you will not find better than Wyldon of Cavall.”

  We await your thoughts, and welcome any questions, on the matter. Please tender my warmest regards to Lady Vivenne and your daughters.

  14 April, 442

  To His Majesty King Jonathan of Conté,

  from Lord Wyldon of Cavall, greetings.

  His Majesty is gracious to ask; the rains have not caused more damage than Cavall has seen in years previous. The work done to improve drainage in the fields has kept our topsoil from being swept away in the ongoing downpour. My Lady and daughters are well, though restless at the weather. They are honored by your remembrance.

  As concerns the dogs, we’ve not lost a single one this year. The runt has taken a liking to my daughter Eiralys that seems more unshakable the closer the pups come to weaning age. His Majesty would be welcome to select from among those of the new generation deemed fit for the hunt.

  I am honored by such high recommendations, and at the consideration of my appointment to the position of training master. It would indeed be difficult to step into a post so long and superbly filled. Nothing can be said of Duke Gareth if not that he produced some of the finest young fighting men Tortall has seen in generations. They served with honor in war and rebellion, and Mithros grant will continue to serve until age or injury prevents it.

  The appointment itself is one I must consider with care. I know you will understand if I do not immediately consent. There is, after all, the matter of Cavall’s operation in my absence. While my Lady is more than capable, it would be unwise to depart without thorough provisions being made. Likewise, I must consider the concerns of my associates who stay closer to court than myself. There are affairs of state that bring them some discomfort, which, if I were to accept, would seem to matter little to me. This is not the case.

  I pray you will have patience as I weigh the generosity of Your Majesty’s offer against the duties of friendship and Cavall’s affairs.

  Yours in fealty,

  17 April, 442

  To Lord Sir Wyldon of Cavall,

  from King Jonathan IV, greetings.

  I am very glad to hear that your new drainage is helping; we had reports of some inlets jumping their banks. All pray for the rains to abate and return next year in milder humor—it is a pity indeed for the ladies to be confined indoors.

  I will speak to the Mistress of Hounds—I believe you have met her, Jessamine Leris—about visiting Cavall to look over the pups. It would be good to have a Cavall deerhound again after old Willow’s passing. If I did not mention it at Midwinter, I must say that the wolfhounds were splendid over the winter—littermates out of your Fallon, if I recall correctly, three or four years ago.

  I respect your desire to think our offer through. It was my hope that, raising your name and writing you that day, we would have time to discuss the appointment before the harvest demands your attention—but I have no doubts all will go smoothly. Many at court would be glad to see you here in an abiding capacity. Though your time would be much taken up with the pages, I do not doubt your friends would value your voice being added to their own, in whatever ways attend those bonds of friendship. The dues go both ways, surely. No true friend would wish you to turn down the appointment on his behalf, nor go to an appointment unwillingly; no more do I.

  18 April, 442

  To Lord Sir Wyldon of Cavall, greetings.

  It has been too long. I hope all continues well at Cavall, as it was when last we spoke. Leor of Seabeth also sends his regards—he and I recently watched a demonstration bout together, and I mentioned I would be writing you. The philosophical difference that day was of some interest all around, concerning as it did the longsword techniques coming across the Drell. Have you seen their work with half-swording, hooks, and traps? Benthan of Macayhill got a nasty surprise: his Tusaine opponent, Sir Cabe, reinforced a high-line parry as we might do, but where we would bind through, Cabe kept his left-handed grip on his blade and stepped in, tangling up the hilts to send Benthan’s weapon clattering across the ring. Still in the half-sword grip, Cabe flipped his point up into Benthan’s ribs and—but for a good evasion—would have added his elbow in the lad’s face.

  We frowned on that sort of thing in my day. Desperate measures at best. The Shang teaching the pages hand-to-hand fighting should have inured me to surprise—how lately they were a mystery. I report with great satisfaction that Benthan rallied and took the Tusaine two out of three.

  His Majesty let me know that you are taking some time to consider the training master position, as is only appropriate. We cannot, we must not, compel you—the gods know the only thing that could make the job harder is if you are fighting it—but our neighbors’ eyes are on us, always. Our strength is in these young men—or, rather, it will be. For their offer of service, we owe them the most exacting, the most thoughtful training we can give them, to make them new knights for these new times. I do not mean to school you in chivalry—that time is long past between us. What I want, rather, is to lend weight to my final lines: I feel it is time for me to retire. I hope you see fit to take my place.

  19 April, 442

  To His Grace Duke Gareth of Naxen, greetings.

  I had heard something about the match, but no such details. Indeed, I would hope the majority would still frown upon such graceless and reckless practices, though I do and will always say that knowledge of popular tactics and measures against them can be the line that divides the living from the dead.

  I wonder perhaps if this youthful interest stems from the study of Shang fighting techniques. A change in martial education can sometimes lead to a shift in code, both of honor and morals. I do not by any means deny that the Shang Dragon should be honored for his heroic death. The study of his school of fighting is a most appropriate tribute. It is true that Shang as a means of combat has its uses. Its warriors are often beyond reproach, but their education is not one bound by duty and chivalry. With each additional sphere of influence to which we expose our future knights, the cementing of traditional principles becomes that much more important.

  But I stray from the point of our discourse. You wish for me to take up your mantle. I am moved by your request. I will inform His Majesty of my acceptance forthwith. An invitation from a king is one kind of honor, the appeal of a mentor quite another.

  Respectfully,

  24 April, 442

  To His Majesty King Jonathan of Conté,

  from Lord Wyldon of Cavall, greetings.

  I hope this missive finds you well. I will not dally on pleasantries. If I am to take up the position of training master, I would like to begin discussing the transfer of duties and potential alterations to both the page training schedule and the educations of squires beyond the responsibilities given by their knight-masters. I am coming to Corus to begin arrangements, with your permission, and plan to pay my respects to Seneschal Evret of Jonnajin as I pass through Conté. I will
give him your regards.

  Yours in fealty,

  27 April, 442

  To Lord Wyldon of Cavall,

  from King Jonathan IV, greetings.

  I take your letter to mean you have accepted the position; we are honored and look forward to hearing your plans in more detail. Send word when you arrive in Corus, and we will invite you and Duke Gareth to dine with us.

  24 April, 422

  To Remic of Princehold,

  from Lord Sir Wyldon of Cavall, greetings.

  I am writing to reopen the discourse we began when last I was in Corus. I do not know how swiftly rumor travels in the capital. I make a point of not knowing. Perhaps you have heard of the recent offer that was made me. I have accepted the position of training master for the pages and plan to institute secondary education for the squires.

  This may surprise you, given my objections to the royal proclamation regarding the participation of females in the institution of knighthood. It is in part for that reason that I agreed to the post. Who better than the training master to protest, should the proclamation lead to a swarm of adventurous girls declaring themselves the revival of the woman knights of old? I know we discussed in brief the measures that might be taken to repeal or overturn the proclamation in court. I would like to extend the research of our options and begin to prepare the documentation necessary to take the matter to the magistrates.