The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (22 page)

Rabia
stroked his face. “That’s something for another day. Best not think about more
tonight.”

He
held her tighter, and they drifted off to sleep.

So,
You Want to Marry My Daughter

Yozef
hadn’t eaten with the Keelan family the evening of Culich’s return. When Breda
Keelan recommended the prospective groom not be present when her husband learned
of Maera’s desire to marry, Yozef made halfhearted objections, then gratefully
made himself scarce in St. Tomo’s library and ate evening meal with Carnigan at
the Galloping Horse Inn.

“You’re
quieter than usual, Yozef. Do you feel all right?” queried Carnigan between two
prodigious quaffs of beer.

“Oh,
just things on my mind.”

“Things?
Like what?”

Yozef
was stumped for a second. He didn’t want to get into a discussion about the
possibility of marrying the hetman’s daughter, yet he needed to say something
to distract his friend from probing harder.

“Well,
for one thing, I’m remembering a story.”

“Hah!
About time! I haven’t heard one of your stories for sixdays. Hope it’s a new
one.”

Yozef
had garnered a reputation in Abersford for telling amusing stories no one had
heard before. He hadn’t seen reason for the pub patrons in Abersford to know he
cribbed them from Earth and they weren’t Yozef Kolsko originals.

 “It
happened in a pub in Orosz City during a clan conclave. Three Morelanders are
drinking their beers and spot a Keelander. One of the Morelanders walks over to
the Keelander, taps him on the shoulder, and says, ‘Hey, I hear your hetman is
a drunken lout.’

“‘Oh,
really, hmm, didn't know that,’ the Keelander says. Puzzled, the first
Morelander walks back to his friends. ‘I told him Hetman Keelan was a drunken
lout, and he didn't seem to care.’ The second Morelander says, ‘You just don't
know how to make him mad. Watch and . . .”

Yozef
worked through the story, but at the punch line Carnigan wasn’t impressed. His craggy
brow scrunched as he went over the joke. “The first one . . . then the second .
. . then . . . ah! I get it! A good one, Yozef. Though not one of your better
ones. I had to think about it for a moment before I got it.”

The
rest of the evening, Yozef worked at diverting his thoughts from whatever was
happening at Keelan Manor. Later, he walked the two miles back to his visitor’s
quarters on the manor grounds to find a note from Maera slipped under the door.
He was to meet with her father the next morning.

A
restless night later, the meeting in the hetman’s study started off much as
Yozef predicted. The hetman sat behind his expansive desk, not bothering to invite
Yozef to sit.

“So
you think you’re a suitable person to marry the daughter of a hetman, are you?”
were the first words out of Culich’s mouth.

So
that how it’s going to be
.

Yozef
didn’t know whether Maera’s father was mad or playing a role. Either way, he
gauged that backing down wouldn’t impress the hetman.

“Frankly,
Hetman, not only do I not
care
if she’s your daughter, that’s a good
reason
not
to marry her and avoid the complications of a hetman’s
family. I want to marry Maera
despite
the fact that she’s your
daughter.” As Yozef said the words, for the first time he recognized that they were
true. He was surprised when the events had percolated for a day, and the idea
of marrying Maera made him smile. He liked her and assumed she liked him enough
to propose marriage. She was smart and attractive, and he remembered the curves
pressed against his body as they kissed. The advantages to marrying into the
hetman’s family faded to secondary considerations.

 Culich’s
tone softened. “You realize she has obligations to the clan?”

“I
know she feels responsibilities, and I’d do nothing to discourage those
feelings. My main concern would be for her wellbeing, as well as that of any
children we have. I understand there is an expectation that one or more of her
sons might be a candidate to be the next hetman. I believe we can agree that
having a broad education and being raised to be responsible would both satisfy my
hopes for the children and be an appropriate basis for whatever other training
you might deem necessary.”

“I
want you to realize that by marrying Maera, you would be accepting some responsibilities
to the clan.”

“I
don’t see that as a major problem. Keelan is my home, and here I’ll do my work,
live the rest of my life, and have a family. I could hardly want anything but
the best possible for the clan. I’d strive to be aware of formal obligations, as
long as it doesn’t interfere too much with projects I believe are important to
Keelan and all of Caedellium.”

“Then
maybe we have a basis for further discussion,” said Culich, motioning for Yozef
to sit in a chair facing the desk.

For
the next half hour, Culich grilled Yozef on his background, covering the same questions
as in previous meetings but pressing harder for details. Only once did Yozef
take refuge in claiming his memory wasn’t perfect after his ordeal of arriving
on Caedellium.

Interrupted

Culich
Keelan’s return home from the hetmen meetings had gone differently than anticipated.
The announcement of his daughter’s desire to marry a man her father had never
met until a sixday ago, a man not even from Caedellium, and a man with no
political connection to advantage the clan, all conspired to surprise Culich
enough to need time to consider the implications for both the clan and his
daughter. Not that he believed he would refuse permission. Maera’s assertion that
she wanted to marry Kolsko, Breda’s support of the idea, Culich’s worry for
Maera’s happiness, and the need for Keelan heirs all weighed toward his
blessing.

What
he didn’t convey even to Breda was, aside from all other considerations, his
relief that Maera would still be part of the clan. He had dreaded that she
would marry the son of another hetman and move permanently away from Keelan, potentially
to a clan far enough distant they would see her only yearly, if that often.

He
had planned on meeting and assessing Kolsko because of the man’s role in the
defense of St. Sidryn’s and all of the innovations he was introducing. He
hadn’t imagined evaluating him as a prospective husband for Maera. Now that he
had, the man had made a favorable impression. Culich accepted all of the
logical arguments presented by Maera and Breda, and either Kolsko was a skilled
dissimulator or he honestly cared for Maera. Plus, he had a spine, something not
apparent from earlier meetings.

Not
that Culich was completely satisfied—although, as he considered the man sitting
resolute, staring straight at the leader of the Keelan Clan and trying not to
appear nervous, Culich was reassured. He would ask further questions, probe deeper
into the man’s background and opinions, and gather more impressions of his
reliability.

Culich
was pondering what he should ask Kolsko next, when a staccato knock on his
study door interrupted them.

“Come
in,” he called out, irritated. He had given instructions not to be disturbed.

It
was Breda. “Sorry, dear, for interrupting. A rider just came with what he says
is an urgent message.”

The
hetman’s irritation was replaced by foreboding. “Send him in.”

Quickly
ushered in by Breda was a man in his late twenties, half-soaked from the intermittent
showers still passing through from the system that caused Yozef and Maera’s
abbreviated picnic. He wore riding gloves he removed as he strode into the
study. With a short bow to the hetman, he opened a satchel at his side, withdrew
a leather cylinder, and undid a flap at one end. He pulled out a rolled paper
and handed it to Culich.

“A
message from Boyerman Sarnin.”

            Culich
took the paper, scanned it quickly, then read more carefully. His face
tightened. “Did you come direct from Dornfeld?”

“Yes,
Hetman. I left Dornfeld with the message from Boyerman Sarnin. I changed horses
six times to get here as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll
have an answer ready within an hour,” said Culich. Looking at the man, he said,
“You’re in no shape to take it. I’ll send another man.” He turned to his wife, who
was watching anxiously, wondering about the message’s contents. “Breda, please
send Norlin to summon Vortig and Pedr here immediately. Also, arrange quarters
and food for this man.”

As
curious as she was, she didn’t hesitate and hurried from the room.

“Do
you know what’s in the message?” Culich asked the messenger. “Herwold’s your
family, isn’t it?”

“Yes,
Hetman. I’m Jaekel Herwold. And yes. He read it to me as he wrote.”

The
man’s tired frame straightened on being recognized by the hetman whom he had
only met once briefly ten years earlier. Such a remembrance of people and
places was one of Culich’s skills.

“I’m
sure there were more details than what is in the message. What can you tell
me?”

“We
see more and more Eywellese riders near the border; even a few times they
crossed over in places near farms or roads. Boyerman Sarnin’s worried they’re
testing the terrain in preparation for a major incursion such as happened in
Moreland and Stent, as you warned about last month at the boyermen council.”

Most
of the clanspeople in the sparsely populated Dornfeld district were concentrated
on the narrow coastal plan north of the town of Dornfeld on the Gwillamer
border. Duwid Sarnin served both as Dornfeld’s mayor and as Boyerman Dornfeld.

Herwold
went to the Keelan map on the wall and placed a finger on the westernmost part
of Keelan that poked through a mountain range to the Bay of Witlow. When Culich
moved to the map, Yozef followed, standing behind the two men. Keelan land
included no more than twenty miles of coast, and Dornfeld was the only settlement
indicated on the map. The province and the clan of Eywell lay to the north.

“These
sightings were along most of the coastal border to Eywell. Boyerman Sarnin sent
men into the mountains north of the Dillagon Pass and found signs of
encampments on Keelan land where men could observe the pass. At least once,
they saw a group of four or five men moving north toward Eywell territory.
Boyerman Sarnin also sent a group of men several times under darkness short
distances into Eywell territory at places along the border where there had been
several of these incursions. They found signs of many horsemen and went farther
and found a major encampment, estimated at about five hundred Eywellese and the
same number of Narthani not three miles from the border. The boyerman’s worried,
Hetman.”

“As
well he should be, Herwold,” said Culich. “A thousand men? That close to the
border? And who knows if there might be other encampments nearby?”

Culich
was pleased with Sarnin. It had taken initiative to send men across the border
and risk incitements, if it turned out nothing serious was underway.

Good
man
,
he thought.

“If
I remember correctly, Sarnin should be able to muster about three hundred men.”

“More
like three hundred and twenty, Hetman.”

Culich
looked at the map for several minutes, his finger tracing roads and features and
at other moments stroking his beard. Breda and Maera returned, interrupting his
thinking.

“Summons
are off to Vortig and Pedr,” said Breda. “They should be here within half an
hour.”

“We
also summoned the Caernford semaphore station manager and Vortig’s son Mulron,
as commander of the Caernford garrison,” Maera added.

Good
girl
,
Culich thought. He’d need to send messages to the other clans about his worries
and let them know he’d be going personally to assess what was happening near
Dornfeld. Getting Mulron Luwis to the manor would save time from Vortig having
to send for his son himself.

Culich
noticed Maera rocking on both feet, rubbing her hands together, and casting
furtive glances at Kolsko.

She’s
likely wondering
how
my
meeting with her
potential husband went.

Thinking
of Kolsko drew his attention to the man standing to one side, listening. Culich
still wanted to talk to Kolsko some more, although he doubted that he wouldn’t give
permission for the marriage.

Culich
glanced at Kolsko again.
Abbot Sistian wrote that the man had interesting
comments about the Narthani intentions. I wonder—

“I
suppose you’ll be going to Dornfeld,” Breda said, her voice breaking into his
train of thought.

“Yes,
yes, yes. I need to talk directly with Sarnin and see for myself what’s
happening.”

“You’ll
be needing a carriage again. It’s three hundred miles there and back by road,
and you just got home from an even longer ride. I hate to think what this is
going to do to your joints. I could hear them complaining at morning meal. I’ll
see to extra cushioning on the carriage benches.”