Von Metternin’s brown eyes became slits. “You mean, I believe, that Horse Guards would not fail to find a variety of uses for.”
“Yes. John Rivendell would use it capriciously and irresponsibly; Richard Ventnor most viciously.”
The smaller man sat back. “Then the question is, how much do you tell your aunt?”
“I cannot answer that until I know how much she knows.” Vlad rose and began gathering the Happy Valley sheets. “The destruction of Happy Valley and Piety represent a threat to the Colonies, but the Crown may dismiss their elimination as insignificant since they were not chartered and were beyond lands where the Crown is granting charters. If I say that there is a serious magickal threat beyond the mountains, the best I can hope for is that they will send more people to investigate. That will take a year, and then another year before they send troops.”
“And another year before they send enough troops.”
Vlad laughed. “You know the Crown so well.”
“Too well. I suspect your news of slaughter will be transformed into attacks by Twilight People. I also expect that the floods and damage from the earthquake will warrant more attention, since the need for supplies is raising prices on food and lumber, and killing the sales of goods from Norisle.” The Count shrugged. “To a certain extent, what you send to Launston is going to be determined by whatever report Colonel Rathfield sends.”
“He’s promised to show it to me before he sends it. I’ve offered to correct geographical details.”
“How is he?”
“Doing well. We kept him here for the first three days, while he remained unconscious. Catherine Strake has thrown herself into caring for him. When he awakened, she insisted on his being moved to her home. Miranda has remained here with us so she won’t disturb him. I went over and saw him this morning.” Vlad folded the sheets and tucked them into a folio. “He’s lucid and has been dictating notes to Catherine.”
“His leg?”
“Healing nicely. He won’t have much of a limp.”
“What did he say of his report?”
Vlad frowned. “Not very much. I got the sense he was hiding something, but I did not have a chance to get it out of him. Catherine hovers, and played the hostess far too well. She sent me away, quite politely, suggesting Rathfield was fatigued.”
Von Metternin stood and stretched. “It will be a tricky business to learn if he was sent by the Crown to bring settlers back, or by the Church to bring a dangerous renegade to heel.”
“If the Fire documents had not been sent to me anonymously, I would not even suspect enough to ask that latter question. Moreover, there is no reason to believe he might not have had both missions. But if I press him to learn what he knows of Fire’s ability to work magick, he could come to suspect what I know. If he knew enough to suspect me, he would certainly communicate that knowledge to the Church.”
“And that would make you as dangerous as Ezekiel Fire in their eyes.”
Vlad raked fingers back through his hair. “That possibility has not escaped me, which puts me in another delicate situation. What I have learned is information that cannot be lost. I need to show others, like you, how to do what I can do. I would add Nathaniel if he becomes a better reader, Kamiskwa because I am certain the Shedashee have found another path to the same destination, Caleb Frost, and his father.”
“Not Owen?”
“No, I would add Owen.” Vlad sighed. “My only concern is his ability to keep a confidence from his wife. I fear I have never warmed to the woman. While I appreciate her devoting herself to Rathfield’s recovery, it is difficult to trust a woman who so thoroughly wishes to be in Norisle.”
The Count smiled. “I agree with you. Every time I see her I wonder if Johnny Rivendell was not accurate when he said she was Richard Ventnor’s mistress on the voyage from Norisle. Were that true, then Miranda…”
“I know. I look at the child and she is so good-natured and has been such a help with Becca Green, that I easily see Owen in her. I think I want to believe she is Owen’s because he clearly believes it and would be crushed were it otherwise.”
“You fear Catherine would use knowledge of your Mystrian thaumaturgy to buy her way back to Norisle?”
“It’s a horrible thing to say, but, yes.” Vlad nodded. “I am not left with many choices here. If I tell the Crown nothing, and ask for no help, then I risk the colonies being overrun by enemies wielding magick and controlling demons. If I tell the Crown nothing, but gather together an elite cadre of men and train them in new ways of magick, they might be enough to repel the rebels, but in doing so their victory would reveal to the Crown what I have kept secret. I would be seen as being treasonous, the colonies as in rebellion, and Norisle would act to put it down. If I request help to deal with enemies, they will come in to do that and might never leave.”
“You have a decision to make, my friend, but one that can be delayed until Colonel Rathfield finishes his report. After that…” Von Metternin’s face became impassive. “… you need to ask yourself one very serious question. Do you believe there is anything you could do or say to prevent the Crown from sending troops to Mystria to exert full and direct control of the colonies? If the answer is yes, then you must do those things. If the answer is no, you must still try, because your effort will buy time for people here to prepare for an invasion.”
Vlad’s eyes tightened. “Doesn’t your question require me to decide if my allegiance is with the Crown or Mystria?”
“My friend, were it with the Crown, we would never have had this discussion.” The Count slowly shook his head. “The Crown does not realize that you take most seriously your role as Governor-General. That is their mistake. Just how bad a mistake that is remains to be seen, and the answer to that question will forever shift the course of history.”
Chapter Thirty-two
15 June 1767 Saint Luke Bounty, Mystria
A week out of Plentiful, they reached the Altashee village of Saint Luke. Nathaniel had been surprised at how well Ezekiel Fire had managed to keep up on foot and in canoes. Kamiskwa had taken the preacher with him, and Nathaniel had Owen up front in his canoe. Once they left Plentiful behind, the men didn’t say much, each one being given to contemplation of what he’d seen.
As they grew nearer Saint Luke, an urgency built in Nathaniel’s chest. He tried to ascribe it to the aftermath of seeing Plentiful. Though the Altashee had never set their village up so dangerously close to a river, it would not take much of a natural disaster to destroy a village. He kept telling himself that his friends and children would be alive, well, and happy to see him, but until he laid eyes on them, doubt lingered.
But that which had destroyed Happy Valley had been anything but natural. Rufus Branch hated Nathaniel and knew where the Altashee could be found. More than once Nathaniel had awakened from a sound sleep while stretched out on the ground. He imagined hearing something beneath him clawing its way to the surface. For Rufus to race ahead through the earth and attack Saint Luke grew in his mind from a faint possibility to a dead certainty, and this pushed him to go further and faster.
None of the others resisted this effort or complained about it.
They spent the last six hours on game trails, moving through forests bright with summer green. The light breeze teased leaves. Meadow grasses swayed and bumblebees darted from orange flowers to yellow and red. The travelers cut around a small pond created by a beaver dam, and surprised a doe and her fawn in the process. None of them raised a gun, however, as the thunder of a shot would have spoiled the late afternoon peace.