Snippet – Elliot’s Tale
A novella, set more or less directly after Queenmaker, which may become a novel. Comments?
Prologue
The higher you rise, as the saying goes, the further you fall.
I grew up in one of the poorest parts of America, a poor boy from a poor family. The army was my salvation, teaching me discipline and skills and everything I needed to build a life and a career for myself. I fought in the wars, climbed in the ranks, married and had two sons who would never know the deprivation of my childhood. Everything seemed rosy, until I came home and discovered my wife in bed with another man. I drove away …
And found myself in another world.
It was bizarre, a land of magic and newborn science … a land touched, I came to discover, by an earlier traveller from another world. I landed on my feet, finding myself a role in teaching modern soldiering and military tactics, first to a city-state and then in service to Princess Helen, heir to a land dominated by ravenous warlords. I found myself a great lord, with vast lands of my own, and a position that seemed secure. I even fell in love again, with Fallon – a young woman who had a magical talent of her own. I defeated a coup, put the princess on the throne, and led my new armies against the warlords. Everything seemed rosy. When I learnt that Fallon was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to be a father again.
The warlords knew they couldn’t defeat us in battle, so they chose trickery. They lured us into a trap and tried to kill us. They did manage to kill Fallon. I saw red and went mad, leading my army in a brutal assault on their positions, smashing their troops under the sheer force of my anger. The warlords broke, and tried to surrender. After Fallon’s death, and that of our unborn child, I was in no mood to be merciful. I killed them.
Helen told me I had to go into exile. It sounded ungrateful, but I understood. Her throne would not remain secure, not for long, if she kept me around after I’d ignored her orders and executed the warlords. She was secretly pleased, I was sure, but she couldn’t say it out loud. How could she? She was the final authority in the land, thanks to me, and she couldn’t afford to allow anyone to throw that into doubt. Even me. We struck a deal. She would ensure my supporters and subordinates would retain their power and positions, if I went into exile quietly. A handful chose to come with me. The remainder stayed to serve her, and to enjoy the fruits of their victory.
And that, my readers, is how I found myself, and a small group of friends, heading into the unknown.
Now read on.
Chapter One
The less said about the traveller’s inn, the better.
The beer should have been poured back in the horse. The bed rooms should have been washed with soap and water, the bedding taken outside and burnt; the less said about the kitchens, and the dinner tables, the better. The air stank of tobacco, which was bad enough, and a bunch of other fumes I suspected were intended to hide the stench of a poorly-cleaned room. The handful of other buildings in the tiny crossroads hamlet weren’t much better, from a small cluster of shops to a barracks that had been abandoned long ago and a brothel that made me itch just looking at the sign outside. I had no idea if the whores had enough custom to keep them alive, although I wouldn’t have cared to bet against it. There were a surprising number of convoys passing through, in the wake of the last two wars. The only surprise was that the travellers didn’t sleep under the stars instead.
I tried not to show my frustration too obviously as I sat outside the inn and stared at the distant mountains. The kingdom bordered Tarsier and we had been careful not to take a direct route through the kingdom, certainly not passing anywhere near the capital or anywhere else the local monarch might find threatening. The idea I might pose a threat, either in myself or Helen’s representative, was absurd, but the people on this world were larger than life, speaking of their heroes and villains as if they did their deeds on their own. There was never any sense they’d had an army behind them. I might have bested the warlords, but not alone. If I tried to walk into their fortress on my own, I would have been quickly killed. That sort of crap only worked in the movies.
The landscape was vast, endless in a manner that chilled me despite the warm evening heat. The kingdom was relatively small, compared to the USA or Russia, but on a human scale it might as well be endless. There were a handful of cities and towns, surrounded by farms and an endless forest that hid everything from bandits to supernatural creatures; the locals, from what I’d seen, rarely had any real sense of belonging to a bigger country. Few travelled beyond the handful of villages surrounding their hometown, let alone crossed the border and headed into the next kingdom. There had been some hints of development as we passed – I’d seen a railway line being build, and a cluster of factories – but this kingdom was definitely behind the times. It boded ill for their future. The kingdoms that refused to innovate would be crushed by those that embraced the future, or be overthrown by rebels dreaming of a better world. The days of treating warfare as a game played between aristocrats, in which no one got hurt – at least, no one who mattered – were over. I had seen to that, although it would be a long time before the effects were felt everywhere.
Violet cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”
I glanced at her. She was still too skinny for her age, her blonde hair cut short and hidden under a cap to give her a distinctly mannish appearance. She’d never liked feminine outfits and who could blame her, after growing up on the streets? I had taught her how to read and write, and put her skills to a better use than a life of crime, but there was a part of her that would always be the girl on the streets, one who regarded a stroke of good fortune as inherently suspicious. I didn’t really blame her. Too many girls like her were lured into a life of prostitution, by pimps and whoremongers who promised them the world, only to discover – too late – that it had all been a lie. She had chosen to stay with me, when I left, even though she’d been covered by my agreement with Helen too. I didn’t blame her for that either. She had no reason to trust anyone would give much of a damn about a street-girl.
“Good question,” I said, tiredly. The truth was, I didn’t know. My reputation was a burden as well as an asset, leaving me unsure if there was anywhere we could go. The prospect of travelling all the way to Heart’s Eye, and meeting the mysterious Emily, was temping, but getting there would be tricky. We’d have to travel thousands of miles on horseback, through countries that bore no love for me, or Helen, or travellers in general. “We need to put some distance between ourselves and Helen first.”
Violet looked unconvinced. She’d always been very good at reading people, something that had kept her alive on the unforgiving streets, and she had no trouble telling that I honestly didn’t know where we could go. She wasn’t the only one. The others felt the same way too. I had a feeling it was just a matter of time before my small band grew even smaller, as my companions asked permission to leave – or just left. I had nothing to keep them with me, except words and words weren’t enough.
The door opened. Hamish stepped out, followed by a hard-faced man in hard-worn clothing. My instincts tingled, warning me of a potential threat. The newcomer carried no visible weapons, but that was meaningless. He was muscular, moving with a vigour that suggested he knew full well how to fight with his bare fists. His exposed skin bore the signs of a farming life, scars and injuries that had never quite healed. Medicine was a joke in this world, unless you used healing magic. And most peasants simply couldn’t afford it.
“Captain,” Hamish said. I wasn’t clear how many of my titles I still had, after going into exile, and I’d insisted on them using Captain if they felt the need to use honorifics. I’d earned that rank and it was common enough that anyone who heard it wouldn’t automatically think of me. “This is Ivan. He wants to talk to you.”
I studied Ivan thoughtfully, all too aware he was doing the same to me. He had the gruff no-nonsense poise I recalled from the farmers on my lands, the farmers who had been utterly uninterested in me until I’d redistributed the land and set them up for life. Farming was like soldiering in at least one respect, you could never afford to lose track of what was important or your life would come to an end very quickly. Farmers were conservative by nature, unwilling to risk getting entangled in newfangled ways until they were sure they wouldn’t be a colossal and lethal waste of time. I wondered, idly, if the farmers I’d left behind had kept their lands. I’d done what I could to safeguard the land redistribution program, but there were limits.
“Word has spread of your exploits,” Ivan said. His voice was oddly accented, in a manner that reminded me of Russia, but I could understand him. There was only one language on the continent, I’d been told, although there were quite a few regional dialects that were difficult to understand at first. “Why did you give away so many patches of land?”
I kept my face under tight control. He hadn’t doubted I had redistributed the land, which was interesting. I’d heard the farmers shared information, and most communities along the border didn’t bother to pretend to believe it actually existed, but still … it wasn’t uncommon for tales to grow in the telling, until the seed of truth was buried under a mountain of bullshit. I hadn’t fought a dragon, or befriended one by pulling a thorn out of its paw, and I certainly hadn’t been Helen’s lover. I’d nearly murdered the bard who’d written a song insisting I had. If that rumour got traction, Helen would be in some trouble.
“The farmers worked the land,” I said, finally. “They deserved to own it.”
It wasn’t that simple. My predecessor hadn’t just owned the land, he’d owned the farmers too. The only real difference between serfdom, and the slavery my ancestors had endured, was the spelling. The bastard had treated the farmers as his property, forcing them to work and defiling their wives and daughters; they’d responded by doing the bare minimum, never bothering to develop the land to the point they could turn it into the kingdom’s breadbasket. They’d known how, but why bother when they wouldn’t be allowed to keep or sell their produce? There was no profit in working hard when someone else would reap the rewards.
“I see,” Ivan said. His eyes met mine, judging me. I looked back at him. “You have no friends in this kingdom, do you not?”
“No,” I said. That wasn’t a secret, although I was mildly surprised he knew it. Perhaps he was more than just a farmer. It wasn’t uncommon for younger sons to set out on their own, if they couldn’t find a wife in a neighbouring village, and some did rise in the world. There was a small network of merchants moving around the kingdom and they might well have heard of me. “What can I do for you?”
Ivan hesitated, visibly. I had a sudden flashback to life in the Sunni Triangle, when Sunni leaders had found themselves unsure if they should reach out to us or continue to put up with Al Qaida, who had thoroughly outworn their welcome. Their thinking had been all too clear. If they trusted us, and we let them down, they’d be brutally slaughtered by Al Qaida. I hadn’t understood it at the time, until a cultural liaison officer had pointed out the brutal reality of life in post-Saddam’s Iraq. We could go home at the end of our tours. The Iraqis were struck. If they made the wrong choice, or the right choice at the wrong time, they’d be dead. Or worse.
“My community would like to hire you,” Ivan said. “We need allies.”
I blinked. Mercenaries were incredibly unpopular in this world. I’d been called a mercenary more than once, the warlords trying to smear me as we geared up for the war, but I’d never actually been one. I doubted they wanted a mercenary, either. The locals regarded mercenaries as little better than child molesters, and feared them more than regular troops. I understood, all too well. A regular soldier in an army would be commanded by someone who had a vested interest in keeping the kingdom intact, but mercenaries rarely cared about a future few would live to see and had no qualms about looting, raping, or any other atrocities that would make most soldiers blanch.
Ivan took a rock out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. “Gold.”
I picked it up, turning it over and over in my hand. Gold? It wasn’t impossible, although unlikely. Was it really gold? Or fool’s gold? The weight was about right, but that was meaningless. I was no alchemist, with the spells they used here to determine the true content of a gold-seeming coin. If it wasn’t real gold, did Ivan know? Or was he trying to con me? He had a very honest face, but that was meaningless too. Most con artists cultivated an air of honesty. No one would buy a timeshare in a condo west of California if the seller looked about as trustworthy as a rickety bridge over a roaring gorge.
“We found gold, a few months ago,” Ivan said. “If we report it to our overlords, they’ll take it. They’re already pressing against us and now …”
I could fill in the blanks. The aristocracy had been forced to grant the freemen some rights, but like most people too foolish to think in the long term they tended to push back, eroding those rights as much as possible while daring the freemen to do something about it. I had no doubt they’d come up with a bunch of arguments that would impress Big Brother’s Party, verbose opinions that would be fundamentally wrong and yet incredibly difficult to refute. If they knew the freemen had struck gold, they’d invoke some half-forgotten law to lay claim to the mine or simply walk in and take over, without bothering with the legalities. It wouldn’t be easy in Tarsier – I’d gone to some trouble to ensure all the old laws were purged, to make sure the lands I’d redistributed couldn’t be reclaimed through legal trickery – but here it would be simplicity itself.
One sniff of the gold and they’ll turn into Mr Burns, when Springfield Elementary struck oil, I reflected. The whole idea of the school owning an oil well was just horrific to him …
I supposed it explained why they’d approached me. They needed someone to teach them how to fight, someone who wouldn’t betray them. I’d given away land and wealth when I could easily have kept it, and besides – as he’d said – I had no friends in this kingdom. If I betrayed them, I’d wind up getting betrayed myself afterwards. And they probably considered me preferable to a genuine mercenary. They would betray their masters the moment the cause seemed hopeless or someone made them a better offer. I honestly didn’t know why anyone trusted them.
“I’ll give the matter some thought,” I said, finally. “Let me ask you …”
I bounced a handful of questions off him, satisfying myself it wasn’t some elaborate and largely pointless trap. Ivan talked and acted like the person he was, a village dignity who was one step away from the headman’s post. I hadn’t met many headmen who were dictators, not amongst the poor farmers and villagers, and most decisions were made by consensus. It wasn’t that surprising. Any headman who threw his weight around could expect to suffer an unfortunate accident that was nothing of the sort, if he got too big for his boots. Ivan definitely had the right mentality, the bitter resentment of his overlords mingled with the grim awareness that outright revolt could easily end badly. I hoped that was a good sign. Properly channelled, resentment could be very useful.
“If you can help us, we’ll give you a share in the gold,” Ivan said. “If not …”
I had to admit his composure. He’d been open and honest and yet he’d been careful not to reveal his true hometown. Ivan was a very common name, and I had a feeling that trying to track him down afterwards would be worse than useless. The odds were good he was a master woodsman – I’d met some who could give stealth lessons to Navy SEALS – and he would know if we were trying to follow him, if he went through the forest. It impressed me. If you think people who grow up in the country are ignorant idiots, it is clear proof that you are an ignorant idiot.
“I have to speak to my friends,” I said. “Can you give us a few moments?”
Ivan nodded and left, leaving the rock on the table. I wasn’t sure what to make of that as Hamish fetched the rest of my team, the few who wanted to stay with me or had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t help thinking of us as a team of adventurers, not exactly uncommon in this world, although the idea of going from place to place, righting wrongs and chasing lovers, no longer appealed to me. I was too old not to want someplace to call my own, somewhere I could lay my head. Perhaps this could produce a base, or get us all killed. I had no way to know.
“The gold appears to be real,” Stuart said. He was a semi-alchemist, someone who had studied under a genuine alchemist and then become a gunsmith when the New Learning had swept across the world. I wasn’t sure why he’d stuck with me. He could have made one hell of a life for himself, as he devised better and better guns. “If they’re really sitting on top of a gold mine, odds are there’ll be a lot of other rare ores too.”
“If they can keep it,” Fitz pointed out. His father had been an aristocrat, his mother a serving maid; his upbringing had been harsh, his stepmother coming very close to murdering him in cold blood. He’d been one of my earliest supporters, once it became clear I promoted by merit rather than bloodline. “The moment word gets out, there’ll be a rush.”
“We can help them,” Leonard said. “If they listen.”
I nodded. The hell of it was that we could make the village a far tougher target, if they listened to us. It didn’t take months to master modern firearms – or what passed for modern in this world – and a child with a pistol could easily kill a knight in shining armour. The crossbows we could show them how to make would be just as dangerous, if fired in vast numbers. And yet, would they listen? Most bullies are cowards at heart, and most aristocrats are bullies, but the trick is to hit them hard enough to tear away the veneer of invincibility and reveal the coward beneath.
“He was telling the truth,” Violet said, quietly.
“Or what he thought to be truth,” Hamish pointed out. “If he’s wrong …”
“It’s genuine gold,” Stuart said. “It could set us up for life.”
I tried not to wince. I’d been wealthy and powerful and I’d made the choice to let it all go, putting avenging my partner and child ahead of keeping the lands and titles I’d earned. It wasn’t that easy for the others, particularly Fitz. Or Violet. And besides, I had no love for the aristocracy. They needed to be slapped down hard.
“I intend to go,” I said. In truth, I’d decided to go the moment I heard the story. “If any of you want to leave, now is your chance.”
“No, Captain,” Hamish said. “You don’t get rid of us that easily.”
