CHAPTER ELEVEN
Answers?
PESTILENCE….Modern science has uncovered evidence that most plagues or pestilences are due to microscopic organisms, or microbes (q.v.) Such microbes can be transmitted in various ways – from the soil, from animals or plants, through the air, or through bodily fluids and secretions. Thus, the "Curse of San Delas", which claimed over 50,000 lives in C.Y. 238, was due to a microbial infection spread by the bites of swamp flies (q.v.); a lesser outbreak was reported in Alton, Galvenia, in C.Y. 277, carried by the same insects….
….Though containment, isolation and the use of modern medicines have been instrumental in curtailing or preventing most plagues, there are still two of them which remain a mystery, and where the causative microbe has never been isolated. One of them is the "Lesser Plague of Galvenia", which swept Davenport, Hartridge, Westchester, Mann Island and Trinden before disappearing abruptly in C.Y. 280. The second, discussed in its own article (see PLAGUE OF GHETZ) is the epidemic that spread throughout Varaldia and the Fulton Republic from C.Y. 301 onwards….
- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24th Edition, C.Y. 347
The telegram reached Lord Lucan just hours before he, and the other Council members, were due to meet for their vote on the penalties due to the Zion Empire. He tore it open impatiently, cursing the efficiency of modern technology and its ability to disturb a man at the most inopportune moments.
After reading it, he was no longer cursing; he was praying.
LORD LUCAN
ZION ATTACK ON CHECKPOINT ALPHA.
ZION FORCES HAVE CAPTURED ALPHA AND ENCAMP AT OZUNHOLD.
MARCHING ON OZUN CITY. DO NOT VOTE FOR SANCTIONS.
SEEKING A DIPLOMATIC SOLUTION.
SHEFFIELD, WAR OFFICE, LOREAN
Lucan's hand trembled with anger, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his Zion counterpart.
"Trouble, Lucan?" Kanoi said cheerily. He had received a telegram of his own, and could well guess at the causes of the other's discomfiture.
"Nothing you need to be concerned about, Kanoi," Lucan said stiffly. As he crumpled the telegram and stuffed it into his pocket, a resolution came to his mind.
Lucan was a Galvenian of the old school – his ancestors had been squires and knights in the service of King Richard Lionheart, and his great-grandfather had been granted his title for being the Lionhearts' official chronicler. The monarchy, and especially the Crown Princess, was especially dear to him, for his wife was a distant relative of Queen Katarina, and had helped look after the Princess until her untimely death in a carriage accident.
"Diplomatic solution be damned, by King Richard," he said to himself. "If this means another Lorean Castle, so be it. If this means the failure of Sheffield and his diplomatic solution, so be it. Our King and Queen deserve better than this."
His head held high, he strode into the Council room.
xxx
"Good work, Ryan," Sergeant Hume said. "You and your boys do seem to lead a charmed life."
"It wasn't that hard, Sergeant," Ryan replied, a little embarrassed. "And besides, once we figured out that they were using magic attacks, it wasn't too hard to dig out the shields. Ours are better than the Commonwealth's, that's for sure!"
"I hope that what we have is enough, and that Charlemagne realizes he cannot achieve a second Darington," Hume replied. "Anyway, we've now secured Ozun City. God save Galvenia, and God bless Lord Lucan, stubborn old mule that he is."
Ryan smiled. In the two weeks since he and his men had been deployed to the border, the whole Army had enthusiastically adopted the stand of Lord Lucan, who had voted for strong sanctions against the Zion Empire for their actions in Itaria, and had also condemned the border skirmish. On learning of this, Sir Prescott had immediately withdrawn his troops from the Ghetz frontier, and was returning with his men by ship, with his Zion allies, weakened by the constant raids of the Varald Divisions, unable to stop him. Pontiff Pious had been taken to Davenport, keeping in mind the new conflict that had just erupted, and would shortly be moved from there to Lorean. With his last breath, Captain Helms had managed to inform the War Office that the Zion were using thunder-based magic, and the old shields – gathering dust at the Military Academy since the War of Independence – had been employed once more.
Strengthened by this, the Galvenian Army had begun to fight back, and while Checkpoint Alpha was still in Zion hands, Ozunhold and the little town of Ozun City had been recaptured. Navy ships had blockaded the waters of the Sea of Arlia, and the one skirmish there had ended in a defeat for the Zion, whose underwater projectiles were not strong enough to pierce the newer, stronger Galvenian ships.
"What do you think they'll do next?" Hume wondered. "I know Charlemagne is practically a corpse, but do the madmen of his Council seriously believe that they can win a war on three fronts? The Varald are pushing them back, the Commonwealth is defending Itaria, and we're more than holding our own!"
"I think they're counting on using magic, Tom," Ryan replied. "I encountered a little of it in Itaria City, but there were only about four mages there."
"Well, that's their fault," Hume replied. He had a Republican mother, and so – like Lavie's uncle David – he was well versed in the legends and woes of the Journeymen. "Linois shouldn't have dissolved the Mage Battalions. Look how that ended up."
"Suppose they still have a few up their sleeve," Ryan suggested. "How do you think that would affect their chances? Of course, mages have very little power in Itaria – the wave of thunder that killed Captain Helms and his men only stunned us in the Pontiff's palace. That means that if they're counting on a quick knockout, they can only try it with the Varald, or with us."
"That would be scary," Hume joked. "A thousand Varald mages in their fairy robes, firing their wands at us. We'd all die laughing, and then Charlie the Dead would become Emperor of Galvenia. I don't think they can come up with those numbers, Ryan."
"I don't think so either," Ryan agreed. "Come, it's time for us to regroup and meet the Colonel. We need to get Alpha back."
"Roger on that, Ryan," Hume replied, as the two men returned to the temporary shelter of Ozunhold, followed by their soldiers.
xxx
"Please," the woman pleaded. "Can't you do anything more for my grandchild?"
"This isn't a common disease here, old mother," Doctor Kaminsky replied. "I have asked for supplies of medicine from the city, but they need it for the soldiers." He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Many men on the front are ill. It is to be expected – war, blood, wounds, sickness. In the meantime, please keep giving her this syrup, three times a day. I shall return tomorrow, or send my assistant if I cannot come."
"Thank you," she said simply, as Doctor Kaminsky emerged from the cottage. His assistant, Kuzmin, was waiting for him with a black bag, looking serious.
"Fifteen in all, including three deaths, and I've made a round of the village," he said. "We need to call the capital, Chief."
Kaminsky scowled. "The city, yes," he said impatiently, "but why Zhemu? They have more important things to worry about."
"Doesn't it strike you as strange, Chief," Kuzmin said quietly, "that some of the symptoms of this sickness resemble those of our soldiers on the front? A high, remittent fever; rashes; congestion of the lungs; inflammation of the liver…."
"You're saying it's an outbreak," Kaminsky said heavily. "Well, Kuzmin, in all fairness to you, it's quite probable that a straggler or a deserter brought this disease from the front. But even if that is the case, we just need to isolate Dmitri's Pond, and prevent any of the villagers from leaving. The city can help us with this." The 'city' was the relatively new metropolis of Jenkin Town, five miles away, and Kaminsky's home base. "Involving Zhemu would entail all sorts of unnecessary forms and red tape."
"I still think we need to, Chief," Kuzmin said firmly. "I've been doing a little reading, and this isn't a disease from around here. Neither is it from Zion, to rule out the obvious. This disease was seen in Galvenia several years ago, and once in Fulton."
"Well, there are Galvenian soldiers on the front as well, though they have pulled out after the Zion laid bare their Imperial greed," Kaminsky replied scornfully. "Inform the capital if you must, Kuzmin, but do it on your own initiative. I have had enough dealings with the bureaucrats there, and I tell you that you are simply wasting your time. We will isolate this village, and that will be the end of it all."
"I hope so," Kuzmin said doubtfully. Outside one of the cottages, a red light was burning – a traditional Varald custom for a deceased child.
xxx
"An outbreak?" Sigmund said with alarm. "Good grief, I hope it's not serious."
"We're a long way from the Varald Directorate, Sigmund," Leah said gently. "And such things often happen during wars. When I was at school, I remember studying about how a plague caused havoc among Emperor Linois' forces, and compelled him to sign a peace treaty with Queen Mother Penelope and King Arlbert."
"Besides, it's only confined to the frontier and a few border towns," David observed. "Knowing the Varald, they'll use all means necessary to contain it, including torching villages."
"How dreadful!" Emily exclaimed.
"Would you like some beer, Sigmund?" David teased, as he uncapped his bottle and poured it into a large tankard. "Doctors say it's good for you."
"I'm afraid you'll have to ask my doctors about that, not to mention Emily," Sigmund said, with a laugh. "What with all the commotion in our own country, though, I'm half glad – and half ashamed – to be here. The calm here is good for my nerves, but being away from Davenport when we're being attacked makes me feel just a little guilty."
There was a knock at the door, and a few moments later, Leah's youngest daughter, Esther, entered the room with a telegram.
"A message for Uncle Sigmund, Mama," she said, with a smile. "Are they asking him to enlist in the war?"
Sigmund chuckled. "By Prince Derren, no, child," he replied. "They don't want old men like me – they want younger men like Ryan Eramond."
Lavie looked uncomfortable, and tried to change the topic. "What does it say, Daddy?"
Sigmund tore open the cover and began to read, his eyebrows rising as he did so. "Little Esther," he said, with a serious look on his face, "you actually were right."
"What?" Lavie exclaimed.
"What does it say, Sigmund?" Emily asked.
"It's from Sheffield, the new Prime Minister. It says they're willing to grant me a full pardon, and a cancellation of my exile, if I undertake to support the current war against the Zion both financially and materially. Hmph." He tossed the telegram on the table. "That means they're worried, frankly."
Emily picked it up and read it through. "Do you think we should go, Sigmund?" she said anxiously.
"I'd say yes," Sigmund said, closing his eyes and thinking. "Even if they chose me as a convenient scapegoat after the attempt on Socius, Galvenia is still our country, Emily. And when we're unjustly attacked by the Zion, I think we should do what we can to try and help out. Besides, there are other reasons." He smiled.
"Such as the Queen's Head Pub?" David said slyly.
"David!" Leah said, both amused and annoyed.
"Oh, no," Sigmund said with a laugh. "You're quite a card, David, but on this occasion, you've guessed wrong."
"Have they asked us to leave immediately?" Lavie asked.
"No, dearest," Sigmund replied, smiling at her. "They've asked me to confirm my acceptance by telegram within a week, and said they'd send further instructions after that."
"Quite right," Emily said. "They've said it'll probably take a month or so."
"That's a relief," Leah said. "It gives us plenty of time to prepare – and to say goodbye to you all. We're going to miss you all."
"Thank you, Leah," Sigmund replied, as his sister presented him with a cup of coffee. "Someday, when this war is over, perhaps you could be our guests in Galvenia."
xxx
"Full decryption," Professor Szabek said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Over a year of careful work, but I have – how do you put it – 'hit the jackpot' at last. Oh, joy!" He held up the dusty magazine in front of him.
"And to think Recruit Tamas found it under Talmadge's bed," Fairfax said. "In retrospect, it was a very clever hiding place: no one would look for Kodenai's material in Talmadge's room, it was old and dusty, and besides, most of us would blush when looking at a magazine like this and toss it away. Tamas, my boy, you've more than earned those dollars, and there are five thousand more where they came from."
"Hey, Minister, that's swell of you," Armin said gratefully. "What does it say, exactly?"
"Ask me no questions, Tamas, and I'll tell you no lies," Fairfax replied with a smile. "Besides, don't you have an errand to run down at Ozunhold? Run along, my lad."
"Gotcha, Minister," Armin said with a wink as he left the room.
"So what have you got for me, Lolek?" Fairfax said affectionately. Besides being a professor of Mathematics at King's College, Karol Szabek was Galvenia's expert on codes and ciphers, and had often aided the Interior Ministry in that capacity. His parents had arrived in Galvenia as political refugees from the Varald Directorate when he was a small boy, and though he still spoke his native tongue well, he was a patriot who wore his heart on his sleeve. He also happened to be Fairfax's brother-in-law, which explained why they were discussing matters over a glass of wine in his home; Fairfax was married to his younger sister, Maria.
"Ah, Cornelius, it is wonderful," Szabek said. "A complex code – two distinct alphabets, and much redundant material, but I am truly proud of myself. I only hope that I am not too late." Opening a drawer of his desk, he took out several sheets of paper, and handed them to Fairfax. "Of course, much of the content is still obscure, but I am sure you can make sense of it."
Sir Cornelius flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing as he did so. "It is much as we suspect," he said. "We now have more than enough proof that socius was moving in the right lines. These two initials – E. and R. – are a brick wall, though. Sometimes they occur together: R. & E., R. + E."
"I'm afraid punctuation was one thing that we had trouble with, so any transcription thereof is going to be a guess; it could even be a space," Professor Szabek said apologetically. "It could even be a single name – R.E. – except that sometimes the letters occur apart."
"There are also cryptic references to 'the son'," Fairfax observed. "Now, there have long been rumours that our troubles are being fomented by an illegitimate son of Arlbert's, or his coterie, but the trouble is that even if such sons exist – and I do not say that they do – Arlbert has certainly kept them well hidden and well provided for. If that is what Kodenai's notes were referring to, it will be difficult to proceed, but not impossible."
"Such gloomy topics for such a beautiful summer day, Cornelius," Szabek replied, wagging a finger at him. "Come, let us speak of more cheerful things – like the excellent dinner that my dear Joan has prepared for us both."
Fairfax smiled. "You're an optimist, Lolek," he replied. "It runs in the family, I suppose."
"Indeed," Professor Szabek began, but he got no further. His study window, which was ajar, was suddenly pushed open, and the blinds had mysteriously caught fire.
"What in King George's name….." Fairfax exclaimed, springing up from his chair. Szabek, noting the fire with alarm, reached for a vase of flowers, but before he could react, the blinds had disintegrated before his eyes.
"Help!" he shouted.
A man entered through the window, carrying a sword in his hand.
"Now, there's no need to shout," the man said, softly. "Give me those papers, and I won't harm you."
Sir Cornelius's hand went to his belt. "You brigand," he shot back, "do you realize who you're speaking to?"
In a flash, the man drew a second sword, and lunged forward, a beam of yellow light issuing from its tip. Sir Cornelius lay on the ground, his eyes uprolled, his tongue protruding. Professor Szabek charged forward to defend his friend, but was struck in turn, and fell to the ground as well.
With a satisfied smile, Makarov Juno snatched the papers out of Sir Cornelius' limp hand, incinerated the notebook with his first sword, and disappeared through the window.
And it is true that when Joan Szabek – descending to her husband's sanctuary to remind him, and Sir Cornelius, that dinner was served – she received a most unpleasant surprise.
xxx
"It is time, Gruner," Hunermann said, handing the Archbishop of Caledonia a scroll. "Even the Emperor does not oppose us. We have fixed the investment for next week."
"Next week?" Gruner shrank from the Chairman of the Council. "Hunermann, it is too soon. Our people's morale is low, since the Galvenians are holding their own at one border, while the Varald fight like the infidels they are at another. Let us have some victories from your side first. Otherwise…"
"Otherwise what?" Hunermann said sharply.
"Listen, Hunermann," Archbishop Gruner said. "You and I are learned men. You have studied statecraft; I, theology. The common man understands nothing of these things. When Itaria fell and the Pontiff fled, many laypeople felt it was a divine punishment, because they reason in simple chains of cause and effect. If we make – the announcement at a time when we are also being defeated, they will not accept it. How can we claim to enjoy God's favour when we are being defeated?"
"Superstition of the lowest kind," Hunermann said with a scowl. "Gruner, if you do not accept this, we will be forced to depose you."
"You don't understand, Hunermann," the Archbishop pleaded. "The people will only accept our plan – see, I make no pretence of divine approval – if they see that the Infinity is on our side. Give me one victory – either in Galvenia or in Ghetz – and I will issue the edict the next morning, I promise. Otherwise, we will be faced with a population of malcontents whose hearts will turn to the exile in Lorean."
"A victory, you say?" Hunermann smiled. "Very well, Gruner. If that is all you want, you shall have your victory. Only, do not come to me later with any scruples about how that victory is achieved. Is that clear?"
Gruner shuddered, and Hunermann bowed to him, still smiling complacently, before he turned to leave.
xxx
"Director, we must take stock of the situation," General Smolensky, supreme commander of the Varald Divisions, said – and then paused, looking anxiously at Russell Kievan – Director of Varaldia.
"Take stock?" Kievan frowned. "A few men are ill, that is all. Sickness and famine are common in times of war, Smolensky. If you do not know that, how can you lead the Varald Army?"
"This is no ordinary disease, Director," Smolensky said apologetically. He could make the country tremble at his voice, but before the Director, he was merely another citizen – one who could be detained, silenced or simply made to disappear at Russell Kievan's whim. "Half of our men on the front are ill. The reinforcements we have received are also showing signs of the fever, and even civilians living villages and towns near the border, especially women and children, are affected."
"Wasn't there a report on this some time ago?" Kievan said suddenly.
"Yes, Director," Smolensky replied. "A physician's assistant named" – he consulted his log – "Kuzmin, from Dmitri's Pond, filed a notification with the Ministry of Public Health. He claimed that the sickness may have originated in Fulton or Galvenia."
"Fulton." Kievan's face took on an expression that those who knew him well referred to as 'dangerous', and he slammed his fist onto his table. "I have long suspected that the men of Fulton have been in league with the dogs of Zion, Smolensky, and this confirms it."
"Director, could this not be caused – either intentionally or accidentally – by the Galvenians? Until the Zion foolishly declared war on them, they were fighting together."
"It is possible, Smolensky," the Director said. "Ask this Kuzmin to investigate the matter further – let him make use of the laboratories of Jenkin Town, or even our own at Zhemu – but let him make haste. And if Fulton is implicated, Smolensky, let us send them a little greeting. They have presumed on our goodwill and tolerance for too long."
If Smolensky had not been on the edge himself, he would have had difficulties in repressing a smile – for goodwill and tolerance were not words that anyone, even the most loyal citizen of the Directorate, would associate with Russell Kievan. But he was on trial himself, for Kievan was far from pleased with the news from the front. "Very well, Director," he said, with a stiff salute. "I shall carry out your orders to the letter."
"Excellent, Smolensky, excellent," Kievan said, a hard smile on his face.
xxx
Checkpoint Alpha had been recaptured by three Galvenian troops – one of which was Ryan's division – and the remainder of the Galvenian vanguard was encamped at Ozunhold, pitching their tents among the ruins of the vast ancient fortress there. Though they were occasionally bothered by birds and insects, it was nothing that a soldier could not handle.
At least, that was how it had been so far.
The men at Ozunhold retired for the night feeling heartened. The news of Alpha's recapture had been celebrated with gusto, leaving several litres of Galvenian beer and cider missing from their stores, and with the exception of ten sentries, the men were asleep.
At midnight, the sentry near the eastern exit was alerted by a gleam of light. Thinking that it came from a lantern, he readied his rifle and took a step forward – but was instantly thrown backwards. His rifle struck the ground and fired, awakening the other sentries.
"Good heavens, Hank, what….Sweet Infinity!" one of the exclaimed, before being tackled to the ground himself. A second soldier, looking forward, ran back to the camp, terrified, and raised the alarm.
"Captain!" he screamed. "Captain, they're everywhere! We need to evacuate and take them down?"
Captain Chisholm emerged from his tent. "The Zion? Nonsense, McGinn, they can't possibly be here."
"Not the Zion, Sir!" Private McGinn said frantically. "Wild beasts! There are at least ten – no….Argh!"
One of the beasts had tackled McGinn to the ground, and was clawing at his throat, while he made desperate attempts to escape. Chisholm fired, and the creature let out a wild roar – then slashed at his face, blinding him. By now, the whole camp was in chaos, as the soldiers battled about twenty of the creatures. They were larger than wolves, about the size of small lions or tigers, with large manes and long teeth.
Just as their attack was being subdued – a task made more difficult by darkness, confusion, and the thickness of the beasts' skins – a flare was fired into the sky, and a Zion division, moving down from the hills, swooped down on the battered Galvenian soldiers.
They encountered very little resistance – for some strange reason, the beasts fled as they arrived – and at dawn, the Zion flag flew over Ozunhold. As the sun rose, the troops captured the entrance to Ozun City. A frantic message was deployed to the capital for more troops, for the men at Checkpoint Alpha were holding off a second wave of attack, but it was too late.
By noon, Zion soldiers occupied the streets of Ozun City, shot the Mayor in the town square, and had raised the Zion flag over one Galvenia's newest towns. The men from Lorean managed to breach the guard at the gate, but it was clear that the recapture would not be an easy task, especially since the reserves at Ozhunold were now non-existent.
xxx
The excitement in the air was palpable, as five thousand citizens of the Zion Empire gathered in the square outside the Cathedral of Saint Friederich at Caledonia. For the whole of the morning, announcements had been made in the streets that an important decree would be issued by the Archbishop.
Many of the faithful, shocked and dismayed by the exile of their Pontiff and the war with Itaria, assembled in eager anticipation. Not all of them approved of what their country's army had done, even if they did not say so loudly, but they all revered the Archbishop as God's representative in the Empire, and looked forward to his pronouncements.
As the square was soon filled to its maximum capacity, members of the Zion Guard – the equivalent of Galvenia's Territorial Army – sealed all exits. This generated some disquiet, but no one dared ask why.
At ten o'clock, as the sun began to rise to its peak over the square, Eduard Gruner, Archbishop of Caledonia, emerged on the balcony of the Cathedral, clad in golden garments. With him were his priestly assistants, as well as Count Hunermann.
The Archbishop raised his hand, and the buzzing crowd was silenced.
"My children," he said, raising his hands over them as if to bless them, "I bring you great and wonderful news."
He paused, aware that this was the greatest moment in his illustrious career.
"As you all know – you, the faithful citizens of Zion, who live your lives by the Sacred Books of the Infinity – there are clear signs that God is displeased with a nation. First, they are struck by pestilence, famine and wild beasts. Second, if their sins are grave, they are handed over to another nation to be conquered and enslaved."
"My friends, we see the awesome justice of the Infinity in our lives today. Galvenia, a godless country who broke faith with us, was ravaged by wild beasts yesterday. The Varald, atheists and regicides, have been struck with a deadly plague for weeks. And Itaria, who were supposed to defend the Faith but failed to do so, have not been able to defend themselves from invasion."
A round of cheers and applause greeted these announcements, with the listeners clearly oblivious to the fact that their Empire was the invader in question.
"But that is not all. Consider that at the beginning of last year, our Emperor was so ill that he could not appear in public; his son was murdered by the Varald assassins; and we were attacked by their armies. Today, we are recapturing our lands and the Zion stand strong. When the Infinity is pleased with a nation, he protects the people and their ruler. Today, my friends, he has protected and healed the Emperor, God's hand on Terra, and made it possible for him to stand before you! Praise the Infinity, source of life and victory!"
The doors of the balcony were thrown open, and Emperor Charlemagne appeared in public for the first time in six years. He seemed old and frail, but he could walk without any prop or support, and his steps were sure and steady. A wave of cheering, which seemed as though it could never end, broke out among the crowd as the people bowed to receive their Emperor's blessing.
And then, for the first time in six years, he spoke. His voice was unsteady, but he spoke slowly and deliberately.
"People of Zion!"
"People of Zion, I, Emperor Charlemagne, Emperor of Zion and of all her dependencies and vassals, Defender of the Faithful, stand before you to assure you that the Empire and the Faith will never die."
He paused, obviously short of breath.
"Furthermore," Archbishop Gruner went on, "by a solemn edict of the Council of Bishops and the Council of Viceroys, ratified by the Emperor, we, the rulers of Zion, hereby declare that Pontiff Pious XXI, and those Bishops following him, are illegitimate rulers of the Church of the Infinity, who have violated a sacred trust by attacking the troops of the Defender of the Faithful."
There was pin-drop silence in the square.
"By the powers invested in me," Charlemagne said shakily, placing a large gold chain – an identical replica of the one worn by Pious XXI – around Gruner's neck, "I hereby declare Archbishop Eduardus Gruner the Supreme Pontiff of the Church of the Infinity. He will take the regnal name of Maximillian." Confusion broke out among the crowd, with some cheering, and others wondering if the Infinity would strike Gruner with a thunderbolt. There was a sound of scuffles, and two shots rang out, as loud as the peals of a bell.
"Furthermore," the new Pontiff Maximillian said, "those who oppose this decree are guilty of treason against God and the Emperor. People of Zion, you have our blessing."
Slowly, steadily, the applause and cheering grew louder until it was deafening, drowning out any little protest that remained. The bells of Saint Friederich began to ring, and it seemed to those present that they were witnessing a birth – the birth of a new era of history.
xxx
"I have finished studying the book in its entirety," the elderly man known as Qasim said, looking across the table at David, Emily and Lavie. After some soul-searching, she had decided to tell her parents about the book; while Sigmund, preoccupied with the details of his departure, was not unduly concerned, Emily had been worried, and had insisted on accompanying Lavie to her next appointment with the Republican trader. "I am ready to tell you what I know."
"Mr. Qasim," Emily said in her gentle voice, "please tell us what you can. I know my father or mother would never preserve information unless it was valuable. Besides, my daughter has already told us about her fears that a family friend might be involved. Please be explicit."
"Very well," Qasim replied. "First of all, it is not at all improbable that there are living Journeymen in Galvenia, or at least descendents of theirs. Though most of them came here, as I was telling Miss Lavender, some of them did settle in Galvenia and mingled with the local population. The most famous of them, of course, is Albrut, who joined the army and was revered by Galvenia's elite corps, the Rough Riders."
Emily's eyes widened, but she said nothing.
"Now, as far as the reconstruction of your father's list goes, Mrs. Regale, I am quite certain that we have done so as accurately as we could. My focus is now on the last names on that list, and on the riddle of the A that became an E."
"Of course, your daughter's guess that the descendants of Aramondrius changed their name to Eramond is possible, but it is not likely. Aramondrius may not have been popular in his time, but he was hardly an outcast. The only circumstances in which this might have happened is if one of the Eramonds – I use the name out of convenience – wanted to join the Army. In that case, a change would make sense, for Aramondrius was a pacifist, and he was held in contempt by most military writers and theorists."
"Ryan's grandpa was a war hero," Lavie said softly.
"Then I think we must proceed with this hypothesis. However, we run into a roadblock again there. The last man on the family tree, T.A., is listed as being married twice – either that, or there were two men with the same initials. Twins, perhaps?"
"I've never heard of Ryan's dad having an evil twin," Lavie said, trying to laugh.
"Moreover, look at the dates of their marriages – 268 and 279. Perhaps one of those sons was illegitimate."
Emily made a face. "Gustav Eramond wasn't that kind of person," he said. "Father personally knew him. He was a soldier of the old school."
"At any rate, I found a further inscription on a later page." He held the journal open in front of them, and showed them the page. Amidst a series of smaller notations, there were two lines pencilled in:
T.A. m. L.A. c.y. 268 iss. ?, ?...
T.A. m. S.R. c.y. 279 iss. R.A. (cannot be sure which…)
"It would seem that these are two different people; only the second could match your friend and his father. Please note that this second inscription seems later than the first list; R.A. is not given any initials in that list."
"But what does it mean?" Lavie said, puzzled.
"Was your father interested in magic, or magically gifted, Mrs. Regale?" Qasim said suddenly.
"Not to my knowledge," Emily replied, shaking her head.
"And what about your friend Ryan?" he asked Lavie.
"Um, I'm almost sure he can't do magic, though he likes reading about it," she answered.
"Then the meaning is clear. Leaving aside the identity of the first T.A., either his children or your Ryan is the lineal descendant of Aramondrius and Celia, daughter of Lucien; and therefore, they are lineal descendants of Kaleb the Journeyman."
"Does Albrut have anything to do with this?" Emily asked.
"Not really, Mrs. Regale," Qasim said calmly. "Why do you ask?"
"I remember Father telling me about Albrut once; it was around the time I married Sigmund. He said that though Albrut was a great warrior, his bloodline had died out; his last descendant, a daughter, had died when I was a young girl. He implied that there was something tragic about her death, but he didn't say what it was."
"Then the first T.A. could refer to the Albrut girl," Qasim said, beaming at her. "I suspected this, but now it is clear. Albrut's faction of Journeymen left for Galvenia because they couldn't get on with Jasen's. What this means is that, if the Albrut girl left a son, and Lucien's daughter left a son, there are two competitors for the leadership of the Order. That's always dangerous."
"But the Order does not exist any more, Qasim," David pointed out. "What difference does it make if you, or I, or even Lavie is the last descendant of the Journeymen?"
"Has it not occurred to you, David," Qasim said quietly, "that in these troubled times, a title like that would be far from worthless? Charlemagne's barons have already deposed a Pontiff, whether he likes it or not. If the Emperor could get a Journeyman on his side, and place him in command of his mage battalions, then…."
"That's a pipe dream," David argued. "Besides, he may not even have any magical abilities."
"Ah, but to the Zion, descent is all-important," Qasim retorted. "Now, if you will permit me, may I speak to Miss Regale in person?" He looked at Lavie with a concerned, almost paternal expression.
"Lavie?" Emily said. "But why?"
"I think she has a right to hear certain things, Mrs. Regale. Rest assured, I will not harm her; I swear it by my ancestral house."
"All right," Lavie said suddenly. She rose from her seat, and Qasim took her into another study, quite similar to the first one. He closed the door, and unlocked a safe that was set into the wall.
"Miss Regale," he said, "I am an old man, and one of the privileges of being old is that I can be a little impertinent. Will you take some advice from me?"
"If it's good advice, certainly," Lavie replied.
Qasim had removed a long case from the safe, and placed it on the table. "Now, tell me the truth, Miss Regale. You care for this Ryan Eramond, do you not?"
"I do," Lavie said simply.
"Deeply?"
She blushed, and nodded her assent.
"But you are uncertain if he reciprocates your feelings – no, let me call things what they are. You are afraid that he does not, and that he may never, reciprocate them."
"H – how did you know that?" Lavie gasped.
"My dear Miss Regale, I have five sons, four daughters, and twenty grandchildren," he said genially. "Experience is everything. Now let me tell you something. It is entirely possible, as a daughter of Lucien yourself – though in the distaff line – that you may be of great assistance to him one day. The fact that he does not have the gift is immaterial; it may be dormant, or he may distinguish himself in other ways. But the fact that your life and his have touched indicates that this is no coincidence."
He opened the case, revealing a sword.
"Traditions are tricky things, Miss Regale, and sometimes I wonder if I am naïve for believing them. But if the experience of my entire life, the studies of my forefathers, and the chronicles of Inderness do not lie, what I now show you, Miss Regale, is the sword of Kaleb the Journeymen."
Lavie stared at the sword, awed.
"If I were younger," Qasim said wistfully, "I would travel to Galvenia with you, and meet the young man himself – in fact, even now, I am tempted to do so before I die. But I must not be foolish. When you see him again, Miss Regale, give him the sword, and tell him what I have told you. Can you do this for me?"
"I will," Lavie replied, picking up the sword. It was strong, but light, and she ran a finger along its blade.
"Then, you have my eternal gratitude. But always remember one thing, Miss Regale. Nothing in this world – not money, not possessions, not even an invaluable service – entitles us to the love of another. Affection cannot be purchased. If you care for this young man, Miss Regale, do all you can to help him. Give him the sword. Lend him your support. Be his guide when his path seems unclear. But do all these things without hope of return. Do not expect him to fall on his knees before you, even if you have done enough to merit it and more. He may never do so. Even if you follow my words, Miss Regale, you still may not possess him. But there is one thing you will still have, though you may lose him."
"What – is that, Mr. Qasim?" Lavie asked, her voice filled with pain.
"Happiness, my child," Qasim said, and once again, the look he gave her was of a loving parent. "It is what you deserve, and if you are true to your destiny, it is what you will find. Happiness does not always mean obtaining a desired object. Sometimes, it is found in wastelands rather than fields of flowers; in humble cottages, rather than in palaces; in a glass bead, rather than in a gold ring. But it always finds those who are truly deserving – and you, child, are one of them. Your Journeyman friend may not be one, but you are."
He placed his hand over her head.
"Go in peace, Miss Regale," he said, as he handed her the case with the sword, "and may the Most High protect you."
"Thank you, Mr. Qasim," Lavie replied, wiping her eyes and smiling at him. They bowed to each other, and she walked out, a determined spring in her step.
Ryan, she thought, I will help you.
xxx