Page 9 of Into the West

He spoke clearly enough that Delia figured his words had not been meant for Isla’s ears alone. But she couldn’t think of a proper response, so she just laughed a little nervously. “Well, my love, they haven’t had time for it to properly sink in yet,” Isla pointed out. “In the morning . . .”

“I fully expect we’ll have some more people electing to go back,” he said into her pause. “That’s why I’m keeping the Gate at this end of the lake open a little longer. If anyone has been ignoring the danger this caravan is going into until now, I am pretty certain I made it clear. And if anyone has someone they can’t tolerate in the group that’s going, they may elect to turn back.”

“There are going to be some who will decide by morning that they don’t want to go back, but they don’t want to go on, either,” Isla said thoughtfully. “They’ll want to know why we can’t stay here, even though you explained it. But I have a suggestion.”

Kordas made a little gesture of encouragement, as Beltran talked on in the background.

Isla continued. “I’ll ride around to the headmen of the local villages, and get their agreement on how many people they are prepared to allow to make a village of their own here on the lake. When we know that, we’ll be ready with an answer if a new lot of people decide they want to stay.”

“That’s a better solution than I had, which was none, because I haven’t had time to think about it,” he sighed. “That’s why we’re good partners. Good plan, and it will be a ‘first to ask, first to allow’ basis. Once the quota is filled, they must come with us or go back.”

“Of course, whatever town or hold they build here, it may be populated by those who want to be hateful, but don’t want to go back,” Isla half-joked.

“Eternal optimist!” Kordas accused.

Beltran concluded his “town crier” function and yielded the stage to a pair with a fiddle and a gittern. They weren’t expert musicians by any means, but they knew their audience and their own abilities, and were pleasant enough to listen to. He came over to join their little group, plopping himself down on a corner of a blanket, next to Delia. “I hope I didn’t make a complete hash of that,” Kordas said, as he always did.

“You really need to stop saying that,” Delia told him. “You always do fine, and it sounds like you are fishing for compliments.” That came out a bit harsher than she had intended, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “I’ve certainly had enough practice by now that I shouldn’t be making a hash of it.”

Isla tsked. “Kordas, that was good. You hit all the right notes, and it was honest and sincere. People can tell. I don’t think there is going to be much muttering, except from the headaches you just caused by making them think so much. And you’ve set important precedents—there are fifteen-thousand-something people here who now know what the level of tolerance is going to be and what the ultimate punishment is going to be. Sending scum back to an unknown Imperial destination is better than deciding what warrants an execution.”

“I thought about that,” Kordas admitted. “And summary execution is not off the table in the case of someone caught red-handed in a murder or other High Violation. I’m not at all sure that this sort of exile is more merciful than an execution,” he added, sardonically. “But it does have just enough ‘escape’ built in that I appear merciful and keep my hands clean.”

Isla grimaced. “Well, that’s something else I can do: I can find out who were the village judges and the like, and pull them into the adjudicator ranks so that when we need them, we have them at hand to do all of the trying and judgments exactly as they did at home. We’ll allow appeal to you, but that will mean you aren’t the one handing down the verdicts. So far, thank the gods, most people have been kept too busy to get into mischief. Some of them are actually enjoying it.”

“Nothing has gotten too bad yet. We’ve had a few deaths, accidents mainly, a few dozen fistfights and thefts. Who knows how many children have been conceived in the name of emotional comfort,” Beltran put in. “That isn’t an immediate problem yet. I’ll collate the informants’ reports an extra time each day, though, just until the dust from your address settles. Better to know where trouble is coming from early.”

“Why can’t people just behave themselves?” Delia blurted. “We have enough problems without—”

But Kordas laughed sardonically. “Because people are people and there are good ones and bad ones and mostly middling ones. Grandfather and Father and I always knew there was a chance we’d get some bad apples along with the good, and we were never able to figure out a test to apply to tell which was which before they made trouble. So we’ll have to work things out as we go along, using the model of how the Duchy worked, and somehow apply it to a population that is strung out over a long distance, on the move, and probably in constant danger.”

“Well,” said a strange, female voice. “At least you’ve got a firm grasp of things. I was a little afraid that you’d be one of those well-meaning boobies who thinks everyone is good, they’re just misunderstood.”

“No one who was raised as a hostage in the Capital would ever be under that illusion,” Kordas replied, standing up to meet the person coming out of the shadows behind the stage. Two of Kordas’s guards, who had been “lounging” nearby, immediately but discreetly stood up too, and casually put their hands on their weapon hilts. But the woman stopped well out of striking distance, and bowed to the Baron. She didn’t seem to be one for curtsying, so, probably ex-military.

When she stood up again, she spread her hands wide to show she was unarmed, then clapped slowly. “That was an excellent speech. And with what I’ve learned since I got here, I think I can assume you mean every bit of it?”

Kordas eyed her. “Don’t try me,” he warned.

“I have absolutely no intention of doing so,” she replied. “Actually I was told to come talk to you in person by your Guard Captain, and once you had finished your speech, this seemed like a good, quiet time. I rather doubt you’re going to have anyone itching to speak to you about it until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Kordas got to his feet. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

Kordas left his family to listen to whatever the rest of the evening’s entertainment was going to be, and headed for the nearest common kitchen, trailed by the strange woman and flanked by his two guards, who were keeping a sharp eye on her. He noticed that Rose had also detached herself from the family group and joined them. They didn’t have too far to go. As he expected, the kitchen was “dark”: no one in it, and only the faint warmth from the banked ovens and the yeasty smell of rising bread to tell what the business of the place was in the daytime. He found an empty bucket, overturned it, and sat on it, inviting the woman to do the same, but she remained standing. The guards stood one on either side of her, in easy weapons-reach. Rose joined him. He conjured a small mage-light in his hand and sent it to hover higher than her head, glowing in the air between them, so that they could see each other.

What he saw was a tough-looking woman, a bit short of middle age, if he was any judge. Dark-haired, dark skinned, dark eyed. And . . . wearing an Imperial uniform. A very well-tailored Imperial uniform, so it wasn’t stolen, and she was clearly no stupid recruit.

“How did you manage not to get skinned by someone, wearing that?” he asked.

She laughed. “The Valdemar badge your Guard Captain kindly gave me as soon as I was vouched for by my Valdemaran cousin. A lot of us only had the clothes on our backs when we went through, so nobody’s too critical of a uniform. Story first, or what brought me to you tonight first?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and settled into his seat. “Story first. You seem like the type to make a long story as short as possible.”

“I’m from Belkenny,” she said, which he immediately recognized as a town in the Duchy of Penrake, and just across from the Valdemar border. “I have kin in Briarglen in Valdemar. Name’s Master Sergeant Fairweather. I was in the Penrake Guard, and when my two idiot cousins drank too much one night and got tricked into taking the Emperor’s penny, with the Duke’s permission I enlisted to keep an eye on them.” Her generous mouth quirked in a sardonic smile. “Between demonstrations that I know what I’m doing, and a few carefully placed bribes, I managed to become and stay their officer. As I saw it, my job wasn’t to be in the army to protect people—it was to protect people from the army. Now as to how I wrangled myself here, we were all on leave visiting my Valdemar kin when we found ourselves part of the biggest mass desertion I have ever heard tell of. Not being eager to get sent to the southern front, I was happy to help them load boats and skid out of there myself. The boys had no idea what was going on, bless their thick skulls, but since I was going, they just followed where I led. That’s how I’m here, and that’s why I’m here, and one of your Dolls has already run everything I just told you and quite a bit more through their truth-sensing, and passed me.” She rubbed the side of her nose. “Good man, your Guard Captain. Questioned me right down to the color of my smallclothes.”

He considered that a moment, as a few late-staying frogs croaked dismally that autumn was here and winter was coming. “Rose?” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman.