If that's not just his madness speaking, Sethaz thought, then pushed the deadly siren song of doubt away. I must have faith.
Kuttner licked his lips. He was a capable spy, and they'd spent years infiltrating him into the household of the young bossman of Iowa before he inherited from his father; his file indicated that he was cynical, but fundamentally loyal, ambitious, and highly intelligent. Brains were in far shorter supply than zeal. Now there was something in his single remaining eye that made Sethaz a little uneasy.
"Son of the Prophet, the Prophet's words were truer than my weak and doubting spirit could have imagined. There is something dangerous on the island. Some thing… I don't understand, something beyond the world of men. Our previous expedition disappeared without trace, until I found that shete with our mark. My attempt penetrated the mystery."
"Yes," Sethaz said, looking down at the report on his desk.
How much of it can I believe? he mused. Kuttner used to be a reliable man.
"And we'd have known more of it if you hadn't let this man Vogeler escape. To be precise, he penetrated the mystery; you were lost in visions."
Kuttner licked his lips again. "I was sure that he had made submission to the Church and was ready to learn the Dictations," he said.
"And you thought you had established a secure control link."
"I was not wrong, Son of the Prophet. I… just didn't have time to use it. I was careless."
"And lost an eye because of it," Sethaz said.
Though that is fortunate for you, he thought. If you had not been so badly wounded, we might have suspected collusion.
Kuttner went on in desperate haste: "But Son of the Prophet, he did tell me of his vision before I revealed myself. He had no reason not to, and no reason to lie while he still thought I served the bossman of Des Moines. The vision of the sword, and the dreams that told him to take the news to the far west and seek this Sword of the Lady."
Sethaz came to a decision, and motioned. One of the guards drew his shete and flicked twice at the cords in the same blur of motion. Kuttner remained motionless while the knife-sharp weapon went tick against the wood of the pole. The staff clattered on the floor of the sanc tum; another flicker of steel between his bound hands, and Kuttner grunted as he rubbed his wrists and felt the pain of circulation returning.
"However, the men I sent to the west didn't do too well with Vogeler either," Sethaz said. "A most obdurate apostate and traitor. In fact, the observation team saw him carried out of this Sutterdown place towards the lair of the Witch Queen herself… and that is precisely who we wanted to keep Vogeler's story from. You are pardoned, provisionally, and restored to your rank of High Seeker of the God-flame. You have until snowmelt to come up with a plan. Consult the archives and interview agents as you wish."
Kuttner rose to his feet, met Sethaz's eyes, gave a sin gle bow of precisely the right depth, turned on his heel and left.
Sethaz smiled to himself and opened a drawer, taking out a box and resting it on his table. In it was a clock; not just a pre-Change model, but made new of steel and brass, its exposed interior a mass of gearing. If the pagan witchcraft of the far West wasn't enough to bring the attention of the Church Universal and Triumphant, such blasphemous meddling with forbidden things would be.
He glanced at the agenda on his Rolodex. "All right, Geraldine. Generals Walker and Graham next."
The war against New Deseret was necessarily on hold for most of the winter, but that didn't mean there weren't steps that had to be taken before the spring grass grew enough to support horse soldiers.
Barony Gervais,
Portland Protective Association
Willamette Valley, Oregon
February 18, CY22/2021 A.D.
"Welcome home, my lord baron!" Odard Liu caught the apple the shopkeeper tossed. It was still fairly crisp, and he bit into it as he rode through the gloomy drizzle of a February afternoon, waving thanks with his free hand as he enjoyed the rush of sweet juice.
The rain fell in a mist of steady silver-gray, flattening the smoke from the chimneys and dappling the puddles in the asphalt streets. Hooves-his palfrey, the chargers of the two men-at-arms and the rouceys of the half-dozen mounted crossbowmen who followed him-landed on it with an endless hollow wet clop-clop-clop-clop; he could catch glimpses of the streaked concrete of the castle's towers over the shingle roofs. The column of horsemen swerved now and then to avoid an open oxcart full of split firewood, or covered ones hauling bales and boxes and sacks. A priest signed the air as he went by in his one horse, twin-wheeled carriage with its collapsible hood, and they all bowed their heads in respect.
Gervais wasn't very large, more of a big village than a town or city, and not much survived of the pre Change settlement save the southwest northeast grid of the layout and the roadside trees. Lamplight spilled out onto the street, amid a pleasant tap and tinkle and clang of folk at work, with the whirring moan of spinning wheels and the rattling thump of looms beneath it. A wave of doffed hats, respectful bows and curtsies and greetings followed him, often with umbrellas above.
Odard liked being popular here. It wasn't very dif ficult; he didn't chase any girl who really didn't want to be caught, collected no more than his legal due and was ready to remit a bit when times were hard, made sure the baronial court was honest, and kept his vassal knights from fighting out their quarrels over the tenants' crops and homes. Most of that had been his mother's policy before him and he intended to continue it now that he was of age.
He sighed heavily. Unfortunately, his mother didn't seem to realize that he was of age, or that he wasn't always going to fall in with her idea of what the Baron of Gervais should do. He hoped Mathilda didn't have the same problem with the Regent when she turned twenty-six.
I'm not looking forward to this homecoming.
A wet moat separated the castle from the town, but the drawbridge was down and the portcullis up. Spear men and crossbowmen snapped to attention to either side of the gate and on ramparts and towers above, and a trumpet sounded.
Castle Gervais was built to one of the standard plans the Association had used back in the early days. A curtain wall with towers had a gatehouse facing the town and another on the eastern wall. Within was the Outer Ward, an open paved space on all four sides. Within that was the keep, a square block with tall round tow ers at all four corners, and two big U-shaped ones for the inner gatehouse, all built to overlook the outer works.
He rode through the inner gatehouse with more ceremony, and dismounted in the Inner Ward, ringed around with smithy, stables and the great hall and lord's apartments. Odard returned the salute of the watch and nodded to his escort. From the bustle and the lights a welcoming feast was in preparation; nobody was in the stocks in the center today, he noted.
"Gavin, Armand, go get dry, get something hot to drink and then report to the seneschal. I'll be here some days, possibly weeks."
The men at-arms had hooded cloaks of the same un fulled wool that Odard wore, but theirs were over hel met and hauberk, a gleam of oiled gray under the wet cloth. The pennants on their tall lances drooped likewise, the wet canvas clinging to the ashwood. Sergeant Gavin grinned at him, the smile white in his brown face; he was in his late thirties, old for his trade, and as a young man had served Odard's father, the first baron.
"Yes, my lord. Good to be home, eh?"
"Better than being out in the rain."
The steward greeted him in the vestibule of the hall with a mug of priceless hot cocoa, along with the rest of the senior staff.
"Ah, Romarec, you're a lifesaver," he said.
He sipped at the hot sweetness as a servant took his cloak and another offered him a heated towel to dry his face. There was a slug of good brandy in the cup, too.