"Things may change soon, Kata-girls. I may… not be here much longer." He shook his head. "No, no, I'm not going anywhere. I simply may no longer be alive. "
Kata's face seemed to grow even paler than usual. One of the other girls-Ursula, that was, the Emerald-emitted a little gasp.
By the gods, I think they are fond of me! A moment later, less happily: Or, of course, it could just be that they'd miss their comforts and luxuries.
Something in their expressions reassured him. He'd never really know, of course, but…
A time for decision, just as Verice says. And there's nothing that prevents me from telling the truth, except the old habits of an old liar.
"I care for you, girls. Very much. So I've made arrangements in case something happens to me. Men will come here-soldiers, probably-from Lady Knecht. Do what they say, go with them."
Several of the younger girls began babbling assurances that nothing untoward could possibly happen-! But not Kata. Perhaps because she was older, or smarter-or simply, like any Southron girl by the age of ten, had seen plenty of relatives hacked down in the tribes' perennial feuding.
"Can we trust them, master?"
"Yes. As long as they are from Lady Knecht. No one else, you hear?"
She bowed her head in obedience. As he had so many times before, Jeschonyk found himself admiring the clean lines of her neck and shoulders, the long blond hair spilling over her breasts, the "I'll be damned," he said, startled. "Once more-at my age? Come here, Kata."
He whispered just one thing that night, the rest of the noises he made being much louder. Into Kata's ear, this, so that none of the others could hear: "You have always been my favorite."
"I know," was her reply, whispered back. And there was something in those two words which let Ion Jeschonyk finally realize that, at least in her case, he no longer had to wonder.
The next morning, at daybreak, half the Council was pounding on his door. He spent the rest of the day-and the next, and the next, and the next-in a whirlpool of deceit and deception and double-dealing. Which had its own quirky pleasure, admittedly. Even at his age-perhaps because of his age-Jeschonyk could lie and deceive and double-deal better than anyone.
All the more so because he knew one secret that none of the other Councillors knew. Of that, he was quite sure. He had not even told Demansk that he knew.
Everyone else thought that Demansk's daughter, Helga, was still in seclusion at their distant estate in the far western province on the coast. Being a female, of course-especially a disgraced one-she was not really of much concern to the great men of Vanbert. But Jeschonyk was no fool. So he, alone, had paid spies to keep an eye on her. And he, alone, knew that she had long since departed for the south, leaving a girl who resembled her a great deal (at least at a distance) to serve as her double.
Where she had gone, exactly, Jeschonyk was not sure. Marange, according to what his spies had been able to learn. Nor did Jeschonyk have any real idea what she was doing down there.
But he could guess. He was one of the few Councillors of Vanbert who had actually seen the bastard. And if that blue-eyed babe with his fuzz of golden hair had been sired by a fat old islander pirate, Jeschonyk would eat his own tunic.
"So what do you think, damnation? Speak up, Ion!"
The half shout from one of the Councillors in the chamber broke Jeschonyk's little reverie. He looked up and saw that the shouter was one of Tomsien's allies.
Slowly, with great dignity, Triumvir Ion Jeschonyk, former Speaker Emeritus of the Confederacy of Vanbert and without question its most prestigious and respected living statesman, rose to his feet and uttered the finest lie of his life.
"Nothing to fear, my fellow Councillors! The balance of power remains intact, does it not?" He gave the man who had shouted at him a stately nod. "Despite the size of the great force Demansk has assembled-which, I remind you all, has even now set forth to rid us once and for all of the predations of piracy-Triumvir Tomsien still retains a larger force in his southern provinces. And what could possibly threaten that army?"
He sat down amidst scattered applause and a collective sigh of relief so loud it could have almost lifted the great rotunda of the chamber. And, while the Council proceeded to its next round of squabbles, went back to his contemplations on bastardy.
A week later, by sea, the same news came to Marange.
"That's it, then," said Helga. Adrian was already heading for the door, wanting to reach Prelotta's pavilion as soon as possible. From the room where he and Ilset made their own quarters, Jessep Yunkers was hurrying also.
"Not so fast, dammit," she growled. When Adrian turned about, looking suitably guilt-faced, Helga gave him a fierce embrace and a kiss. Fierce, but brief. She understood that this was no time for lingering affections. She simply wanted-something.
He gave her an embrace and a kiss just as fierce as her own. So, after the door closed, she was able to face the moment with something close to serenity.
"You didn't tell him, did you?"
That was Ilset's voice, coming from behind her. Helga turned and saw that Jessep's wife was standing in the doorway, her own infant in her arms and a questioning smile on her face.
"The gods, no, " growled Helga. "If Adrian finds out I'm pregnant again, he'll never let me out of the wagon. Not once-you watch-in the whole coming campaign."
Ilset shook her head. "Why in the name of the gods would you want to? I mean-when soldiers get into their own lingo-" She made a face. "Gods, and they say women are boring!"
Helga didn't try to answer. There was no way she could explain. Not to someone like Ilset, at any rate. Nor, she suspected, to any woman she knew.
Her brother Trae would have understood, but he had long since departed. Trae, too, came from that ancient line which had never forgotten their duty, however much all others who claimed to be of noble blood might have done so.
She was too young to understand the absurdity of her sentiments. Her father could have explained to her how ridiculous it was to call treason "duty." Yet, all the while, he would have understood her perfectly.
Of course, Demansk also would have forbidden her to leave the wagon during the campaign, had he known she was pregnant. In that, if nothing else, the authoritative father was just as much a creature of custom as the rebel lover. Even if, to the world at large, the two of them were about to turn everything upside down.
Chapter 18
"Casull probably beheaded every priest in Chalice before he set out," jeered Thicelt, glancing up approvingly at the clear blue sky. "You can bet he's had them praying for bad weather for the last three months straight."
Standing next to him on the raised quarterdeck of the huge quinquireme which served as his flagship, Demansk smiled coldly. Whether or not the King of the Isles had actually executed any priests, Demansk had no doubt at all he was thoroughly disgruntled with them by now. And with his own deities, for that matter. Especially Lemare, the Goddess of the Sea.
The weather was perfect — had been for a week, with no sign of any change. The sea was calm, the winds just heavy enough to have made the fleet's passage down the coast and across the Western Ocean to the archipelago a matter of an easy week's voyage. Now, the largest fleet ever assembled in history was off the northeast coast of the island of Chalice. From his vantage point on the elevated quarterdeck, Demansk could see the caldera which formed the harbor of the capital, if not the city of Chalice itself. And, not too far to the west, perhaps ten or fifteen miles, the snow-covered Peak of the Sun God. The largest volcano in the archipelago was still somewhat active, although it had never erupted in historical times. There was a thin plume of smoke rising from its crest to the heavens-and rising almost straight up. Even at that altitude, obviously, the winds were light.