Venzene Duchy of Kovalun
Baronial City of Zlaté Pole
٤٢ Gerstesykli: ١٤ Days after the Red Storm at Westsong
Geroslaw and his band spent the morning truly at their ease for the first time in weeks. Even in the Bluemark encampment, as familiar as it had become for them, there was a sense of rigor and focus that made relaxation an act measured in minutes, not hours. Perhaps it was due to the obvious difference between sleeping raw and sitting indoors, but he didn’t think so. No, it likely had more to do with the sense of warmth and, well, joy his mother cultivated in this place. Looking at the men, he could see that they were growing drunk not on the deliberately weak breakfast ale but on the rather more heady taste of not-quite-rustic luxury the inn provided. Each of them—even dour Borgus—seemed to take every opportunity to smile or laugh, no matter how minor the cause.
Well, let them laugh. We take our joy where we can find it. He looked to his right, where his mother sat, smiling as she watched their collective antics. Watched? Hardly. She was doing everything in her power to encourage those antics. Mari was a charming hostess, to be sure, pouring as many healths of laughter as she did of ale or mead.
As he looked at her, she turned to him, her face softening into a smile… a smile that could make a miser sign over his fortune without so much as a hint of regret.
He heard the distant sound of a bell tolling the hour.
“Is that noon already?” She glanced around, then got to her feet. “Rrright…” Turning to his men, fists planted against her hips, she was suddenly all business. “Barneb, I can have one of the boys show you where you and the lack-beards are sleeping, or you can wait. So, say it swift. Now or after?”
Barneb, shocked by the sudden shift, struggled for a moment to find his mental footing. Looking at the others, seeing no clear desire on any of their faces, he turned back and answered in a half-questioning tone. “… After, Mistress.”
Mari nodded, then turned to walk toward the kitchen, but not before swatting her son on his arm. “Geroslaw? Collect your thoughts. I’ll be back in a beat or two. Then you can tell me your drift.” Her voice wasn’t angry, but there was a sternness in it nobody seemed to much be at ease with. Each of them bore a transported expression, displaying clearly the inescapable feeling that they were children again, chastened for inappropriate behavior none of them had actually engaged in.
They sat together in silence for perhaps ten minutes, each man to his own thoughts. Fillip tried his hand at telling what he’d no doubt intended to be a funny story about a drunken Sheshik monk, an Eodenth brigand, and a horse, but it garnered little more than courtesy laughter.
When Mari reappeared, at last, walking toward their table, Geroslaw marked the anxious looks in the eyes of his men. They were still children before her, anticipating her wrath. He would have laughed—hells, most folk would laugh at such a strange comedy—right up until she turned her dreamer’s lamps on them. Those eyes could be the warm gleam of a candle in the window or the killing light of the hells reaching out to devour you from beyond Skolf’s own seam.
She carried two large pitchers in her bright hand and a plate of fruits and cheeses in her dim one.
Setting the plate down with a flourish, she transferred one pitcher to her dim hand and refilled a mug from each simultaneously. She did this with an expression of mingled boredom and distraction that only served to make the strength, balance, and coordination this act required all the more impressive… which was, Geroslaw knew, the very reason she did so. He’d seen the trick before, of course. Still, he saw no need to spoil its effect by making comment or offering sign that he was surprised or impressed.
…And is that a tiny tremor I see in your bright hand, Mother? He drained his mug and slid it over with a forefinger and a nod of thanks. Better to lighten her load and accept her hospitality than start that discussion in front of others.
Once all drinks had been poured and the pitchers had been set at table’s center, she sat down with a soft sigh.
“All right, Geri, tell me. You’ve made me wait in suspense for long enough.” Her smile was back again. It lightened her voice as well as the mood of those around her.
The men descended on the offered food (once she’d gestured them toward it) as if they’d never seen such before.
“There isn’t much to tell, Mother.” He took a short pull from his mug before continuing. “I joined the Bluemark after running their back trail for half a year. The captain—Jastrab of Červená Päsť—accepted me into the company as a Sergeant.”
“Thank you, Uncle Borys,” said she.
“Partially? I think Krwawa Zima had nearly as much to do with it, honestly.” He grinned. “There’s a kind of magic that happens when people lay eyes on him. When I’m in the saddle, some of it rubs off.” He saluted toward the door with his mug as if toasting the steed’s health.
She grinned at that. “Well, then it’s your father you must thank.” She leaned forward to pluck the second-to-last pear slice from the plate, popping it into her mouth.
“He was a mighty gift, to be sure.”
She reached for her mug but spoke before drinking from it. “Stay for the tournament, and you might get to see him.”
“Might?”
“Well… there’s rumor of trouble along the Eoalun borders. I’ve kept rooms available, of course. They’re bought and paid for just as any other year. I don’t know if he’ll be caught up in the troubles or not—if they’re even true.”
Geroslaw nodded, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he met the eyes of each of his men in turn, then continued the conversation with his mother.
“I’ll find out for you. I’m headed there, come morning.”
The men looked at one another, then at him. His mother nodded acceptance. She wasn’t surprised, he saw.
“My men will stay here. They’ll be needed. The Bluemark has been contracted to guard and fight beside Lord Aetanis of Haluzfeld to, during, and home again from the War of Counties. He’ll be carrying the county banner into battle, as well. So…”
Mari laughed, a low, bemused giggle. “So, you thought I might provide, and you’d simply ride up and gain my goodwill on the matter? Is that it?”
Geroslaw allowed a slow grin to play across his face as he nodded.
“How many do I need to feed and house?”
“As many as fifty when we’re done, though likely less.”
She nodded. “The count’s banner, aye? Well, I suppose that makes sense. And…” She looked up, calculating, then turned to face him again. “If your father comes, I should have enough to cover it all.”
Fillip spoke up. “Forgive me… Where? How?”
Geroslaw exchanged a look with his mother, then turned back to the men. “You mean to ask about where to house us all?” When Fillip nodded, he pressed on. “The entire block is Mother’s. There are very few rooms in the inn itself. The houses serve as guest quarters.”
Geroslaw was pleased to see the looks of dawning comprehension on their faces. Turning back to his mother, he forced himself to choke down his delight at what was to come next. “I can help with the cost, Mother.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “No, Geri. It’s fine. It’ll be tight, but I can manage it.”
He dipped his hand beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling out his money pouch. As his mother protested anew, albeit with more zeal this time, he reached in again and removed a second pouch. This he opened before gently grabbing her dim side wrist and depositing the pouch in her hand.
She frowned at him but looked inside… and gasped. It was a momentary slip, and she recovered almost instantly. For a single, shining moment, however, he had delighted and surprised her. It made him glad.
She closed her mouth, and the bag with its wealth of rubies and Blackstar sapphires, then placed its cord around her neck. “I’d better get things started, then.” She began to stand but stopped as Geroslaw caught her eye.
“I’m headed back to see Gurin. I mean to recruit him and some of the others into the Bluemark, under my command.”
She cocked her head to the side, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, clearly debating on whether to speak. After a moment, she sighed and opted to say what was on her mind.
“Geri, Gurin’s gone—no, not dead. I didn’t say that. He’s gone.”
Geroslaw blinked, feeling the blood first drain from, then rush into his face.
“A recruiter came through—a hedge blade for some baron or other far to the east. The fellow was looking for people to work the baron’s land, set up freeholds on it, and defend it. Our Gurin was here when the man came through and didn’t feel he could pass up the chance at something better… I’m sorry.”
Geroslaw bowed his head for a long moment. When he looked up, he caught the eyes of his men. They were on fire with curiosity but unwilling to pry. He put them out of their misery … and his.
“Gurin Vek grew up with me, and would have been one of my sergeants, had I ascended to my father’s high seat. I was nearly four years his senior, but still. We were fast friends. In my last few years there, I taught him—practiced each lesson my uncle gave me with him. When my brother was recognized as the heir, and we moved, I made him a promise. When I could—when I’d made a place for myself, I would find him and bring him along.”
The men bore looks of mingled surprise and respect. A moment later, they looked to Mari as she spoke up.
“His mother passed more than a year a’gone, now. There wasn’t anything left to hold him. I suspect he felt like he had to take the chance for a better life.”
Geroslaw bowed his head again, this time in memory of the woman who’d passed. After a moment, he asked a final question. “Do you know the name?”
“The place he went?” She leaned back, thinking. “It wasn’t Venzene, I can say that for certain. Dairy something.” She shook her head. “Sounded… sounded almost Sheshik. The Dairy of… oooh, what do they call their horsemen?” She sounded more than a touch frustrated as she sifted through the untidy storehouse of her memory.
“Karns?” Barneb’s voice was uncertain both of his answer and his right to offer it.
Aethel shook his head. “Nah, Coins! Like money coins, I think…”
Geroslaw grinned at them both. To the room, at large, however, he gave the necessary correction. “Khans… such are called Khans.”
Mari slammed her bright hand down on the tabletop, making a loud, reverberant slap. “That was it!” She beamed at him. “The Dairy of Khans, somewhere off toward the Mroźne Kły.” Seeing the nearly identical looks of nonrecognition on the men’s faces, she exchanged a grin with her son, then translated. “The Frost Fangs, boys—the spine of mountains to the east, along the Singing Sea.”
They made a collective sigh of understanding and nodded almost in unison.
Geroslaw sat back, thinking. “The Dairy of Khans out east is looking for defenders and steaders. Good to know. Thank you, Mother.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, causing her to blush delightedly. “I’ll head out, come morning. Barneb and the lads will stay behind and man the gate each day. Take it in shifts until they arrive. I should be no more than a day or two behind them unless they’re very early, or I’m very late.”
They all nodded at that.
“If you know anyone here who might be a fit, Mother, send them to these men, and no other. I don’t care who rides in with the Lord Aetanis. I don’t care if they’re Bluemark or blue-skinned. I don’t want to find they’ve been given orders by anyone else. I’ll vet them personally when I get back. Clear?”
They all nodded.
Mari looked dubious, but she said nothing.
He was pleased she’d kept silent. He didn’t want to delve into Steffan just now.
“Lads, I’ll want you doing what you can to get the other Bluemark on side. Do it softly, and away from prying eyes or ears, but do what you can.”
He would need coin. The gemstones had belonged to the count, and it wouldn’t do to use any of it for his own gain. But he would need to outfit those who called themselves his men. The others needed to see that loyalty had its rewards. He didn’t believe in outright purchasing loyalty, but removing the obstacle of Aetanis’ wealth—at least on a practical level—when it came to the men would have to be a priority.
He didn’t relish the idea of arriving home with his hand out, but he thought it might be his best course of action. Hells, it might be his only course of action. He’d think on it more. With five days in the saddle, he’d have nothing but time on his hands.
He smiled at the others. “Mother, before I forget, there’s one more thing.” He met her eyes, reading the question within them. “Thank you.”
There was that smile again. She leaned in and kissed his bearded cheek.
“You might owe me extra for the quiet one.” She lifted her chin toward ’Gus. “He doesn’t say much, which gives him more time to eat and drink.” She leaned over and patted Borgus’s belly, making him jump and laugh.
“I’ll consider it,” Geroslaw said. “Barneb might have a little something to trade in exchange for your goodwill, though. He’s a brewer.”
Barneb both flushed and grinned, looking down.
Mari looked the man over as if seeing him for the first time. “Is he now…”