The Golden Princess: A Novel of the Change (Change Series) (34 page)

The table was actually more distracting right now, with an elegantly turned maple-wood tureen of steaming mushroom and ham soup, a cold raised venison pie, a salad of wild greens, fried potatoes, a round loaf of fresh white bread, butter and soft cheese and a pile of blackberry tarts with whipped cream and some things she didn’t recognize.

When the meal was finished—it was the first time she’d eaten olives, and they were pretty good—the Dúnedain both looked through her message. They spoke together briefly in Sindarin, then Faramir squinted his blue-gray eyes at her.

“Basically, this”—his hand touched the stiff paper with the broken seal, where the message was written in the same odd-looking script as the books in her room—“says that you speak for the Crown Princess. So, speak, guest.”

His English had a slight accent to her ear, fluid and a bit singsong,
though it was obviously his other native language. He probably thought hers was a nasal drawl, and their word-choices were noticeably different.

And yeah, no question that’s what it says. What the Crown Princess said to
me
was that I was supposed to evaluate you two. She knows you but wanted an outsider’s appraisal. My appraisal is that . . .

“OK, there are two ways to interpret your report about the fight here last month,” she said. “One . . .

“Is that we’re crazy,” Morfind said flatly. “Or making excuses for screwing up with that Haida.”

The scar turned redder when she flushed. Susan held up a hand.

“Yeah. The other is that you saw exactly what you said you saw. Princess Órlaith sorta inclines to that interpretation which frankly scares the shit out of me . . . and I don’t scare all that easy.”

“Us too,” Faramir said, and Morfind unconsciously touched the long bone-hilted knife at her belt.

Susan continued: “So fill me in on what happened afterwards. That news hadn’t all gotten north yet when I left.”

The Ranger cousins looked at each other. Faramir went on neutrally:

“We found the enemy ship run into an inlet up north, around
Côf en-Amlug
 . . . Drake’s Bay.”

“
We
meaning the Rangers of Stath Ingolf,” Morfind put in; Susan got the impression she liked precision. “
We
as in Faramir and I were in the infirmary.”

Faramir nodded. “As far as we can tell, what happened was that the ship just barely made shore. It’s not a Haida orca, but it’s the same as the ones the High King’s party found in the Bay, except it wasn’t on fire. This one didn’t make it that far. Out of food, out of water, missing a mast, and it came ashore hard and broke its back. Stripped of pretty well all its gear.”

“But with some bones split for the marrow on the beach,” Morfind added grimly.

Susan signed agreement. Wendigo weren’t part of her people’s legends but she was familiar with the concept. Faramir continued:

“Then someone from the ship went south and made contact with the
Eaters . . . my guess is the
skaga
, because they didn’t eat him before he could try to talk, and that would take supernatural intervention. They sent parties to sneak through Ithilien and bring back the crew.”

“And we stumbled on the last bunch,” Morfind said, a note of bitterness in her tone. “Faramir and my brother and me.”

“But there the trail vanishes,” Faramir said. “The
yrch
bands south of here are boiling like a pot left on the fire, though. It’d take a big force to find out exactly what happened.”

“You may get that,” Susan said. “I had dispatches from the Marshal’s office and the Chancellor and the High Queen to
Hîr
Ingolf. I don’t know what’s in them, but your uncle . . . and your father . . .”

She nodded to Faramir and his cousin in turn.

“. . . looked sort of satisfied. Looked downright scary, in fact. So I think it must have been news about reinforcements.”

The cousins looked at each other again. Then Morfind leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her chin on her thumbs.

“But that’s not why the Princess sent you to
us
,” she said softly. “Not with personal dispatches and a personal message through you. Is it?”

Susan licked her lips. She’d loved the High King and she wanted revenge for him, but these two
burned
.

“No,” she said. “The Princess . . . and her, um . . . guest. They think they know what this is all about. First thing you’ve got to do is swear not to speak a word of it, whatever you decide to do.”

Another of those glances, and then they made their oaths. Susan was satisfied; Órlaith said their word was good, and she ought to know. Her own impression was likewise, for what it was worth. Faramir poured their glasses full again from the clay carafe of wine.

“You’re not just talking to us about this, are you?”

“Oh, Hell, no,” she said.

Susan was more used to beer and whiskey—they were what was available where she’d been born, though fermented mare’s milk was more common still. The same friend of the family who’d shown people how to make
ger
had introduced airag, once her grandfather had talked him out of trying to ride a horse back to Ulan Bator and he’d settled down on the
makol
and married her great-aunt instead. Wine was nice, though. This one had an agreeable fruity aftertaste. She wasn’t more than slightly elevated, since she never did that among even the most friendly strangers, but she was a little relaxed.

“I’ve made a bunch of stops. You’re last. You want in?”

The young Dúnedain man said something softly in Sindarin, and his cousin nodded strongly. Susan raised a brow.

“In the Common tongue . . .
I may not live while the slayer of my kinsman walks beneath the stars.
”

Susan threw back her head, laughed, and said something in Lakota. The Rangers looked at her coldly, until she spoke again:

“That’s one of
our
sayings. And in Common English, it means exactly the same fucking thing, you know?”

They relaxed, and she went on. “The High King was my uncle by adoption, and he was there for me when I really needed it. I figure I’m due a piece of this. The Princess invites you to the dinner. And I think you want a slice of the meat too, right?”

The two Dúnedain began to grin: this time it looked wholly sincere, though perhaps not very nice. She returned the expression as if in a mirror and tossed off the glass.

“Here’s what’s been happening,” she said.

Barony Ath, Tualatin Valley

(Formerly northwestern Oregon)

High Kingdom of Montival

(Formerly western North America)

June 12–14th, Change Year 46/2044 AD

Ó
rlaith sat and chewed on the end of her pen and blinked at the paper her hostess had dropped into the tangle of notes. On the High Kingdom’s stationery, signed:

Baroness d’Ath, Lord Marshal of the High King’s Hosts
, and sealed with her Vee-and-Delta.

The text essentially read:
All requests by the bearer are authorized, and shall be carried out immediately without question or attempt to refer to the chain of command for confirmation.

That would be very useful, when it was obeyed. She suspected that would be much less often than she’d prefer; bureaucracies double-checked things the way rabbits ran in zigzags when a hawk was after them, by reflex. Military bureaucracies were sometimes an exception . . . but on the other hand, sometimes they weren’t. Heuradys’ official mother rose from the table.

“And no, don’t tell me what you hooligans plan to do with it,” she said. “I don’t want to know. When I got authorizations like that in the old days, people didn’t want to know, either.”

A formal bow of farewell. “Your Highness . . . Your Highness . . . Your Majesty . . . my appalling offspring . . .”

The Sword of the Lady rested on the table before the heir to the Kingdom, looking so normal against the burnished surface of the black walnut. Deep within her, there was a feeling like a bronze bell sounding a mellow note.

Truth.

“I’m going hawking,” Tiphaine said. “You infants carry on. What I don’t know, I can’t be duty bound to tell.”

Órlaith looked around the table at her . . .

Co-conspirators
, she thought; herself, John, Heuradys, Reiko.

They were using an out-of-the-way conference room. Ruling at any level seemed to involve a lot of sitting around and talking, and this was just a pleasant chamber with a window overlooking gardens and a distant view of fields and, on the edge of vision on a fine summer’s day, Mt. Hood. The normal sounds of everyday life came through it, along with the sweet smell of cut grass, birdsong, a horse snorting, the whirr of a push-operated lawnmower, the slow steady
tock . . . tock . . . tock . . .
of someone splitting wood with an axe. John fingered his lute—it was actually soothing when he did it like that, and it was good cover. People made music together all the time.

“All right, there’s going to be a lot of people who’d say that we’re crazy,” she said. “Too young to think straight. Or too pagan and witchy, in my case.”

John grinned and strummed and sang lightly:

“Guinnevere drew pentagrams

Like yours, mi’lady like yours

Late at night when she thought

That no one was watching at all . . .”

Órlaith scowled at him: “Or too foreign, in . . . dammit, we’re going to have to use names, among ourselves. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” Reiko said. A slight smile: “I grant official permission . . . Órlaith. We are in your land; in this we should follow your custom.”

“Oh, Powers, you can say Orrey, Reiko. All my friends do.”

Reiko lowered her eyes and swallowed, which was the equivalent of an emotional outburst from her. The Crown Princess of Montival had a feeling that Reiko hadn’t
had
many friends, growing up.

“Ah . . . Órlaith . . . what does it mean? Does it mean anything?” she asked.

Órlaith grinned; Japanese names all had a meaning apart from being an arbitrary noise attached to a person. Reiko meant Courteous Lady, more or less, though
ko
had several alternative readings.

The which is appropriate indeed, for she is very much a lady and unfailingly courteous. Though to be sure when you’re facing her in the
salle
you might think differently!

Egawa Noburu’s first name meant
Arise
and Koyama Akira’s meant
Bright Intellect
. Her grandmother Juniper had told her that English names had been that way once, compounds like
Friend of the Elves
or
Cunning in Battle
or claiming relationship with a particular Power. Between the Bible and the Norman conquerors they had gotten out of the habit, because after that their names came from foreign languages they didn’t understand.

“Órlaith is
Golden Princess
, in the old tongue. And I can’t even be called immodest, for it was my parents who picked it, and none of my own doing.”

Reiko laughed, holding a hand before her mouth. “Most of us here are monarchs’ children anyway,
neh
?
”

“Right. Some will say
too foreign
, in Reiko’s case. My mother and Chancellor Ignatius would listen to us, think seriously . . . and then possibly send an official expedition. In about six months, after the . . .”

An unexpected lance of pain hit her.
Doing something makes it feel better
. She sighed, waited an instant, and continued:

“. . . after the High King’s funeral in Dun Juniper, after things have settled down. An expedition which would not include us. Does
anyone
here think that’s after being a good idea?”

“No,” Reiko said decisively, snapping her fan from one side to the other. “It would be too late, if the
jinnikukaburi
 . . . and our other enemies . . . are already on the track. And it would fail. And also . . . we Nihonjin did not come here to completely hand our mission to strangers . . .
even friendly strangers, or even close friends. The Grass-Cutting Sword is
ours
, as the Sword of the Lady is yours.”

“I agree,” John said. He ran a hand through his hair. “The problem is that if I hadn’t had those dreams and someone else was telling me about it, I
wouldn’t
agree. I’d be strongly inclined to think the one telling the story needed a long rest somewhere quiet with lots of chamomile tea.”

“Right you are, Johnnie-me-boyo,” Órlaith said. “I might believe such a one myself—but I might not, so, if I had no Sword. Or even if I did, for what someone
believes
to be true
feels
true, do you see?”

Reiko’s eyes sharpened on her. “Your Sword . . . it does not reveal truth? This is what I understood?”

“When I’m listening to another, it tells me if they believe what they’re saying, which is not quite the same thing as truth. I can sense the intent to deceive, you see?”

Reiko gave a quick nod.

No flies on that one, indeed
.
Though there are other things it can do, from what Da said
. She went on:

“The second problem we’re having here is that the . . . other side . . . obviously know something about this, too. That’s clear from what went on down at Eryn Muir.”

Reiko made a gathering gesture with her fan. “And from the fact that my father’s ship was pursued almost as soon as it left Sado-ga-shima. Pursued relentlessly, regardless of cost.”

Órlaith made a gesture of agreement. “And the Haida cooperated with them; Da always suspected that their shamans and chiefs were in contact with the . . . the Malevolence, and that it was building them up as a second arrow on the bow if the CUT failed. Our enemies are not going to be sitting about with their thumbs up the orifice and the millwheel of their minds disengaged from the grinding stones. The Powers are at work here, though They must mostly act through human beings. And our enemies are not necessarily stupid. A great pity, but there it is.”

Heuradys nodded. “As it was before the gates of Troy,” she said. “Let’s just assume we’re not the Trojans.”

Órlaith looked down at the list she’d drawn up, thought for a moment,
and scribbled a note. Then she went to a door, and rang a handbell for a varlet.

The door opened immediately. “Dicun, take this up to the heliograph station at Castle Ath,” she said. “It’s a summons for a Royal courier, a Lakota woman named Susan Mika. She’ll be at Todenangst, so she ought to arrive in a few hours. When she does, send her straight up here.”

“Courier?” John asked.

“Susan Mika’s about our age. And she was very grateful to Da for taking her in and finding her work she loved, hard prideful work. I think she’ll . . . cooperate. And that gives us a way to communicate that doesn’t involve message logs that someone with the Royal codes . . . like our mother . . . can query any time they want to.”

“Ah,” Reiko said. “Clever! Yes, I remember her from Di-ar-muid’s home.”

“And that’s one of the places I’ll send her,” Órlaith said. “Larsdalen first—”

“Luanne?” Heuradys asked. “Good choice, though she’s a bit impulsive.”

“Grimy arse, said the kettle to the pot. Then Dun Fairfax, for that Karl Aylward Mackenzie would never forgive me if I didn’t, then Diarmuid’s steading, then Eryn Muir for my cousins, and back with the answers . . . not that I much doubt any of them. Reiko, you need to get your guard commander on side. There’s no chance of just walking off with that one not looking, is there?”

“No,” Reiko said. “He is a dedicate . . . dedicated man. His father . . . remade . . . the Imperial Guard, and raised him very . . . sternly. And he knows me from very small. That is good and bad. And we need the men under his command. Some would follow me anyway, I think, but all would be . . . disturbed.”

The folk around the table were all within a few years of twenty either way. They all nodded in unison; their worlds were full of authoritative people who were either their parents or who’d known them as infants or at least before they were toilet-trained.

Sure, and Da said one of the drawbacks of hereditary succession is that you spend
your twenties with your parents and uncles and aunts being one and the same with your political superiors,
Órlaith thought.

She had seen enough of the alternatives in stubbornly republican parts of Montival like Corvallis or the Free Cities of the Yakima League to know that she preferred the system she’d been born to, but still . . .

People who knew you when you were bubbling and dribbling have a hard time seeing you as an adult, and they can be downright irritating and give laughs like a braying donkey if you point out that you’re not a wee puling babe the now.

Reiko apparently had that problem too, only worse. She wasn’t going to let it stop her. Órlaith looked at the set of those almost-delicate features, and decided she liked that a good deal. Under that careful, gentle courtesy, there was a fair bit of tiger. She went on to her brother:

“Now, what you need to do, Johnnie-me-lad, is look up an old friend of the family in Newport; I met him not so long ago, and I’ve been in that city in the last few years.”

John made a gesture of agreement; Órlaith had spent a few semesters studying at OSU in Corvallis, both because it was an excellent seat of learning and because it was politic for the future High Queen. Newport was a part of that city-state’s territory and its principal outlet on the Pacific, a natural place to visit.

“But you haven’t. Either one,” Órlaith went on.

Her brother had been taking classes at the Protectorate University in Forest Grove instead, and at Mt. Angel. Both were heavily Catholic, which was perfectly appropriate since he was heir to the Lord Protector’s position.

He looked puzzled, but only for an instant. “Oh. That’s why. Nobody in Newport will know
me
from Adam if I’m careful.”

“Exactly; or we can hope they won’t, you see? We’re going to need a ship, and we’re going to need money.”

Everyone nodded, even Reiko. Money—and the things it symbolized, like arms and armor and ships and fighting men and horses and food—greased the axles on which the wheels of kingdoms turned. Wise rulers kept an eye on how much of it was going where, and a very close eye on disruptions to the usual flows. The High Queen and her closest advisors
would do that by ingrained reflex, especially if there was a sudden loan to the heirs. Wise bankers would automatically report any large irregular advance made to any highborn client, for related reasons. Certainly any operating in Portland or Astoria would, and there was no time to use financial houses in Walla Walla or Boise.

“We’ll need a lot more than our allowances, or what we can borrow in the ordinary course of things without word getting back to Mother or the Chancellor. Here’s what you’ll be proposing—”

•   •   •

“Newport!” the conductor said in a voice that managed to be loud and a bit blurred and utterly bored all at once.

She blew a whistle and repeated it as brakes squealed and steel wheels rattled on rail.

“Newport!”

And not a moment too soon,
Prince John of the House of Artos thought.
Mary Mother, I hate rail travel.

He’d done a fair bit of it with his parents, as a child and youth, and it was annoying if you were naturally active. Carriages were worse, but you didn’t normally stay inside one nearly as long. He’d rather bump his backside against saddle leather anytime, or walk for that matter.

All I’ve done is sit and watch trees and hills go by for hours and I feel tired out by it as if I’d been hacking at a pell or riding at the ring wearing a suit of plate. It’s a mystery. And it seems unnatural to see a town without farms outside, just a few turn-out pastures and truck gardens. Here they plow the sea.

“End of the line! All off for Newport!”

But at least the weather’s all I could want,
he thought happily, yawning with his hand over his mouth and looking out the window.

There was a fine drizzle coming down. With a wind off the cold current that ran southward along the coast, it was also a bit chilly. Throughout Montival west of the Rockies summer was the dry season, but hereabouts on the ocean side of the Coast Range they got at least a few rainy days every month. Even a summer’s day like this could suddenly dip into the fifties. The cold current running south down the shore from the Arctic made the weather undependable compared to the interior valleys.

Which
is
lucky. People will be keeping their heads down, not strolling along looking at strangers. Even in a fair-sized city like this, people usually notice outsiders.