Petronus cleared his voice. “Lord Rudolfo of the Ninefold Forest Houses has pledged his Wandering Army to my cause and pledged his fealty to me as the Holy See of the Androfrancine Order. In the absence of the Gray Guard, he holds the Guardianship of the Light.” He paused. “You who war on Rudolfo, war on the light.”
Rudolfo nodded, whistling to his men. They pulled in closer, forming a shield around the Pope after checking the perimeter. Behind him, Rudolfo knew the Marsh King’s army would not be far behind. When they’d heard the proclamation he and the king, Winters, had run out of the tent shouting orders. Her shadow, Hanric, raised the third alarm, and their soldiers-men and women-rallied. Rudolfo rode out first with his Gypsy Scouts, but they’d agreed that the Marsh King’s army would follow after.
Rudolfo watched the rising cloud of ash on his north, west and south. The Marsh King’s shadow arrived next, followed closely by the Queen of Pylos.
She slowed her pale horse to a trot and slipped from the saddle. The silver bow upon her back glistened in the watery afternoon light. “I am for the light,” she said. She glared at Rudolfo.
She’d hoped to be first, he knew. To offer her fealty and seek the Pope’s favor and currency. Pylos was a small nation with a challenged economy.
Rudolfo smiled. “Queen Meirov,” he said. “You are radiant.”
She inclined her head, but her face remained a cold mask. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as the sounds of shouting approached.
Rudolfo had no difficulty picking out Sethbert’s raised voice, and hUed
“I dispute your claim,” he said in a loud, icy voice.
Petronus fixed his eyes upon him. When he spoke his words rumbled out, but already Rudolfo could hear the magicks fading.
“Lord Sethbert,” Petronus said, “Overseer of the Entrolusian City States. You are the Desolator of Windwir and enemy of the light. Surrender yourself. We’ve lost enough because of your senseless act of genocide. We do not need more bodies in this field of ash.”
Sethbert sneered. “Senseless act of genocide?” He laughed. “I am a patriot of the light.” He leaned in, studying the old man, and Rudolfo gathered his strength, ready to defend his Pope. “By the Gods,” the Overseer said as he looked Petronus over more closely. “It is you.”
“Then you acknowledge me as your Pope?”
Sethbert’s eyes narrowed. “I do not. I simply acknowledge you as Petronus.”
Petronus nodded. “That is enough then.” He looked around the gathering crowd. Rudolfo looked, too. Now the workers were drifting in too, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the sight of their leader holding court with nobility. “You all have heard him acknowledge that I am Petronus.”
“It does not make you Pope and King,” Sethbert said. “The Order has a Pope, Resolute the First, proclaimed in accordance with the Lines of Succession.”
One of the Gypsy Scouts whistled, and Rudolfo looked up to see Vlad Li Tam approach, his horse sweaty from the hard gallop. Rudolfo watched knowing glances exchanged between Lord Tam and Pope Petronus. “Pope Petronus,” Lord Tam said, inclining his head.
Petronus nodded his acknowledgement. “Lord Tam. We have much to discuss.”
Rudolfo watched Sethbert’s face turn purple with rage. “You should have stayed on your Emerald Coasts, Tam,” Sethbert said. He turned to Petronus. “And you should have stayed dead.” He raised his voice then, as loud as he could. “I dispute the Papacy of Petronus.”
With that, he spun his horse and rode south to his camps. His men fell in behind him.
Rudolfo looked at the faces of those gathered close to the newly proclaimed Pope. The Queen of Pylos looked uncomfortable but resolved. The Marsh King’s shadow stood neaUhadhe r her, his face blank. The boy stood near the Pope, his face a wash of emotion that moved freely between sadness and wonder. The only person in the crowd who looked pleased was Vlad Li Tam.
Rudolfo scowled, puzzling out the expression on the face of the man who would soon be his father by marriage.
It was a look of relief, but Rudolfo did not understand how anyone could feel relief knowing what was to come.
As the first snowflakes of winter fell on the Desolation of Windwir, mingling its cold white with the gray ash of the fallen city, Rudolfo’s mind spun strategies and intrigue.
The War of the Androfrancine Popes, born in a field of bones, was upon them.
Jin Li Tam
Jin Li Tam raced down the hallways of the manor with her pack slung over one shoulder. She paused long enough to knock at Isaak’s door, then opened it. “Are you ready?” she asked.
Isaak looked up from his desk of papers. “I am, Lady.”
“And you have your tools?”
He held up the leather satchel containing the mechoservitor tools. “I do.”
The bird had arrived the day before, and those members of the Wandering Army from the Seventh Forest Manor and the town that surrounded it gathered in the meadow south of town and prepared to ride west. Over the protests of the steward and the captain of the contingent, Jin Li Tam insisted on accompanying them. And because she was going, Isaak went too. She would use the pretense, if Rudolfo challenged her, that the mechoservitors might require repairs after so long in Sethbert’s care.
In two days’ time, she would meet Rudolfo at the western steppes of the Prairie Sea. There, she would slip the first of the powders into his evening brandy and give herself to the task of bearing him an heir. Apprehension fluttered in her stomach.
I should stop this, she thought.
And do what? Dishonor her father and the work of House Li Tam by questioning a will and a strategy that stretched far beyond her understanding? Because of a poisoned boy? Because of an orphaned Gypsy King? It was this strategy and will, both from her father, that shaped a leader for the Named Lands’ first catastrophe. If bearing an heir and settling into the life of a Gypsy King’s wife was her part to play in this, to create a wily and educated child who would one day take the turban-this was not a chore. This was honor.
Isaak fell in behind her, carrying the large leaUg t›‹ shoulder.="shoulder." she="She" satchel="satchel" over="over" on="on" mechoservitor="mechoservitor" limp="limp" kept="kept" if="if" her,="her," her="her" heavily="heavily" hear="hear" glanced="glanced" floor.="floor." feet="feet" eyes="eyes" carpeted="carpeted" bright.="bright." “when="“When"›
“Tomorrow night at the soonest,” she said. Coded deeply into the message she’d snatched from the steward’s hands was a note that Rudolfo intended to liberate the metal men from Sethbert’s camp whether or not the invisible Pope gave him leave. His plan was to pass the metal men over to a small contingent that would run them east and north to Isaak’s aid, then return to the front with his Wandering Army.
War is coming, her father’s note had read. She could smell it in the air now, and she sensed the tightening of a hunter’s snare but she could not quite see it.
There were birds from her brothers and sisters, passed along with her father’s approval. The scattered nations of the Emerald Coasts and the pioneer counties of the Divided Isle were teetering on fences. The Androfrancines were woven into the Named Lands-a thread that, when ripped out, unraveled the entire robe. She could read the critical mass as it built throughout, armies being recruited and supplies being stockpiled. They waited simply to be compelled one way or another, and she saw her father’s strategy with this invisible Pope now as well. She would expect some grand event soon in that regard, though she was not certain what. Perhaps a public proclamation.