Of Limited Loyalty: The Second Book of the Crown Colonies Read online

  Count Joachim von Metternin of Kesse-Saxeburg had attired himself most ostentatiously. He wore bleached buckskins as close to white as possible. The tunic had been beaded in the Shedashee style by Ishikis, one of Kamiskwa’s sisters, but the image was of lion rampant in coral—the von Metternin family crest. Perched on his head, hiding all but a few errant locks of brown hair, was a white foxskin cap with the ears still upthrust and the tail dangling at the back of the neck. The Count had shot the fox himself and was inordinately proud of that fact, so he wore the cap at every suitable opportunity.

  Though von Metternin was not a small man, Makepeace Bone dwarfed him. Tall and powerfully built, the first thing anyone noticed was a trio of scars raking forward from his crown to his left eyebrow. They were a memento of an encounter with an angry bear that Makepeace managed to kill with his bare hands. Born of a family professing the Virtuan faith, Makepeace, along with two of his brothers—Tribulation and Justice—had helped win the battle at Anvil Lake. Makepeace wore buckskins with no decoration and, save for the smile splitting a thick brown beard, one might have thought he would be given to considerable melancholy.

  Owen and Hodge Dunsby had also donned skins for traveling. Owen chose to wear the leggings, loincloth, and tunic given to him by Msitazi. His tunic featured a beaded bear paw. Hodge’s clothes were more modest but he’d killed the deer himself, tanned the hides, cut and sewed them together with minimal help. Though his inexperience showed, his pride in self-sufficiency lit his face brightly.

  Owen found Rathfield’s outfit distressing. When Owen had headed out for the first time, he’d insisted on wearing his uniform. Beginning with his boots, it had begun to deteriorate almost immediately. Nathaniel and Kamiskwa managed to convince him to adopt more practical attire. I was a complete fool, and had they not coerced me into sensible clothes, I should have been naked and humiliated three weeks out of Temperance. Owen had been hoping that Rathfield would be as foolish and arrogant as he’d been—a petty desire, he acknowledged, but he’d revel in the man’s ignorance.

  Rathfield, however, had arrived in Mystria prepared for his journey. He wore buckskins and moccasins similar to those the others wore, save that these had been tailored in Launston, based on a drawing of Mystrian native garb. Rathfield had also specified that the leather be dyed such that two broad black stripes ran from shoulder to waist in the front, and two red stripes angled up from his breastbone toward the shoulders, mirroring the pattern on the Fifth Northlands Cavalry uniform.

  Prince Vlad stepped forward to make the final introductions. “Colonel, I believe you have yet to meet Mr. Nathaniel Woods, Mr. Makepeace Bone, and Prince Kamiskwa.”

  Rathfield offered Nathaniel and Makepeace both his hand, but after they shook, he clasped both hands behind his back and bowed his head toward Kamiskwa, in the Shedashee style of greeting. Since magick works at a touch, the Shedashee see a handshake as a potential attack. Owen wasn’t certain how Rathfield had learned that much about the Shedashee, but was getting a sinking feeling that it was through having read Owen’s book.

  That didn’t please Owen, but nothing about Rathfield had. Having housed Rathfield for over a week had not improved the situation. Owen knew he’d been arrogant when he came to Mystria, but he hadn’t been that arrogant. That Rathfield would be learning from mistakes that had cost Owen dearly hardly seemed fair. And though Rathfield’s very presence had lightened Catherine’s mood substantially, Owen still didn’t like him.

  Nathaniel looked Rathfield up and down. “I’m wondering, Colonel, iffen all your clothes got them stripes on them.”

  Rathfield smiled proudly. “Horse Guards issued a special order adopting this as an official uniform. Why do you ask?”

  The scout stepped forward and poked the man in the chest, right where the red stripes would have converged. “I’m just thinking this draws the eye to a mighty good spot for shooting.”

  “Indeed.” Rathfield looked down at Nathaniel. “Then I would suggest, Mr. Woods, that it is your job to alert me if anyone is close enough to make that shot.”

  “I reckon it is, Colonel.”

  The Prince clapped his hands. “I want you to know that I dearly wish I was going with you. Please, Colonel Rathfield and Captain Strake, promise you’ll let me make copies of your expedition journals.”

  “A pleasure, Highness.”

  “As Horse Guards allow, Highness, yes, of course.”

  “Thank you. I won’t keep you.” The Prince waved them toward the three canoes tied to the dock. “Owen, a quick word, if I might?”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  They withdrew up the lawn a bit and the Prince pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I have a list for you. Wouldn’t be an expedition if I didn’t, would it?”

  Owen unfolded it and read quickly. “I’ll bring samples back if possible, Highness, and let hunters know you’re looking for some of these things. A dwarf mastodon?”

  “A correspondent in Auropa suggests that high mountain valleys might create the same effect as isolated islands—which is to encourage dwarfism in larger creatures. Think of the valleys as islands in the sky, if you will.” Vlad smiled encouragingly. “I know bringing one back would be difficult, but were you to describe one in the detail you’ve put into previous reports, it would enrich the world of science. We could, in fact, name the species after your daughter.”

  That brought a smile to Owen’s face. “If it is possible, Highness, it will be done.”

  The Prince’s smile shrank. “Did you happen to pack a copy of A Continent’s Calling?”

  “No, Highness, I brought Haste’s new book. I thought Caleb gave you a copy.”

  “He did. He did. Very good. We shall use The Blood of Liberty. As needed.”

  “Yes, Highness.” Owen shivered. Prince Vlad had instructed Owen on how to use a book to encode messages. Establishing a protocol for doing so on this trip meant the Prince did not wholly trust Rathfield. If he saw anything odd, Owen would send word to the Prince.

  Prince Vlad slipped an arm over the man’s shoulder and led him further up the lawn to where Catherine and Miranda stood with Princess Gisella. “I was just saying to Captain Strake, Mrs. Strake, that I am very pleased you’ve consented to join our household here while your husband is away in service to the Crown.”

  Catherine curtsied. “Your invitation was an honor I could not refuse.”

  Gisella took her arm. “Catherine, you are doing me the biggest favor. My husband, when he sends men off and would rather be with them, can be a frightful bore. Our children shall play together and we shall have good companionship for the summer.”

  Owen crouched and held his hands out. “Miranda, come give your father a hug.”

  The little girl flew into his arms and hugged his neck tightly. He embraced her and could feel her little body throbbing with unvoiced sobs. “It will be fine, Miranda. I love you and I will be back very soon.”

  “Don’t go, Papa.”

  “Shhhh. Miranda, you’re three and a half years old. Do you know what that means?”

  Her hair brushed his hands as she shook her head.

  “It means you’re a big girl now. You’re almost four. So, I need you to do big girl things. Can you do that for me?”

  The girl pulled back and looked up at him with big eyes brimming with tears. “What?”

  “I need you to help Agnes and Madeline to take care of Prince Richard and Princess Rowena. And I need you to be quiet and good in case your mother gets a headache. Can you do that?”

  Miranda’s face scrunched up. “Richard plays like a boy.”

  “That’s because he is a boy, darling.” Owen kissed her on the top of her head. “You do the best you can.”

  “When will you be back?”

  Owen held a hand up, fingers splayed. “Five full moons. You can count them. It won’t be long at all.”

  The little girl looked at his hand, then touched each of his fingers in turn. “Okay. I will count.”r />
  “I love you, Miranda.”

  “I love you, Papa.”

  Owen slipped from her embrace and took her hand, walking her over to Catherine. “Five months at the most. Back sooner, I hope.”

  Catherine folded her arms over her chest. “As quickly as you can.”

  “Of course.”

  “Owen, this is another grand adventure for you. You’ve wanted to be off with your friends again since the last time you returned. You have responsibilities.”

  “To the Crown, as well as my family. I know that, Catherine.”

  “There are times, Owen, when you need to get those responsibilities properly ordered.” She smiled. “Miranda, be a good girl and find Agnes, please.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  As the girl departed, Catherine’s eyes narrowed and ice entered her voice. “You may think this is all grand good fun, but I do not appreciate being abandoned. Not in the least. Don’t be surprised if Miranda and I are in Norisle when you return.”

  He reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned her face away. “Catherine, do not do anything rash. When I return, I promise you, we will go to Norisle together. As a family.”

  “For good?”

  “Catherine, let’s not make decisions until we know what is best for us.”

  “That’s how it always is with you, Owen. You know what is best for you. You never consider what might be best for me.” She poked a finger against his chest. “Whatever you do, Owen, see to it that no harm comes to Colonel Rathfield.”

  “I think he’s quite capable of taking care of himself.”

  Her nostrils flared. “You know that is not true, not in this savage land. I shall hold you personally responsible for anything untoward which befalls him. I will not have his death or injury besmirching our name, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Catherine.” Owen forced his right hand open, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “No matter what you think, Catherine, I love you and I love Miranda, and I would do neither of you any harm. I go because I must, but I return because I wish to be no place else than with my family.”

  He turned, and Catherine reached for his hand. She brought it to her cheek and he felt a warm tear against his flesh. “Owen, I am sorry. I worry so.”

  “Hush, my dear. See to our daughter and I shall be home soon.” He drew her hands to his and kissed them, then headed down the lawn to the canoes. He listened to the delighted shrieking of children, but didn’t turn to see them at play. He would have lingered and watched them for far too long.

  The expedition had been fitted out with three fifteen-foot-long birch-bark canoes of Altashee manufacture. Nathaniel and Kamiskwa had the first one, and filled the middle with cargo. Likewise the third would carry cargo and had Count von Metternin and Hodge crewing it. That left Owen and Makepeace to handle the second one, with Rathfield reduced to the role of self-loading cargo. He helped Makepeace steady the canoe as Rathfield got in, then Owen took up his position in the bow, and Makepeace sat in the stern.

  As they moved out onto the water, Owen looked back and waved. The watchers waved back, though his wife less enthusiastically than the others. Quickly riverbank brush stole them from sight. Owen bent to paddling and slid in behind the lead canoe. His muscles protested at first—it had been a while since he’d been out in a canoe—but as he warmed up, the tightness eased.

  They left in mid-morning, so only the last tenuous threads of mist clung to the shadows along the riverbanks. The Benjamin River flowed slowly and serenely to the sea, but as broad as it was, the current did not flow fast enough to make them work terribly hard to go upstream. Cattails lined the banks, and tall grasses filled the fields. Yellow, red, and orange wildflowers bloomed here and there. Dragonflies zigzagged above the water and bald eagles perched high in trees surveyed their party as they rowed past.

  Owen glanced over his shoulder. “What do you think, Colonel?”

  “It is a vast land, Strake, no doubt about it. A farm here and there, but untrammeled otherwise.” He shrugged. “I’m certain poets would be given to excess in describing it, the bucolic beauty, the unspoiled, virginal nature of things. That’s not quite how I see it, I am afraid.”

  Makepeace spat over the side. “How would you be seeing it, Colonel?”

  “What others see as unspoiled, I see as untamed. As the Good Book tells us, man was given dominion over the world. It is up to us to impose order on the world. The natural order.”

  The larger man grunted. “And this natural order is…?”

  “Man over animals, greater men over lesser, noble over peasant.” Rathfield smiled in a way that made Owen think it would be a frighteningly long journey. “To bring that order over those who defy the Crown is the soul of my mission. It is one from which I shall not shrink nor surrender.”

  Chapter Eight

  10 April 1767

  Prince Haven,

  Temperance Bay, Mystria

  “Are you certain, Highness, that this is wise?”

  Prince Vlad scratched the side of his head, then righted his floppy-brimmed hat again. “I’m more convinced it isn’t entirely stupid. If it works, it will be wise.”

  Mugwump, the Prince’s dragon, blinked a golden eye. When Mugwump had arrived in Mystria with Prince Vlad’s father, he’d been a thickly constructed, dull black beast. The wurm’s official portrait confirmed his appearance. As with all wurms, he’d been largely seen as a giant gecko, save for claws, horns, and a mouth full of ivory teeth. As wurms went, he had been unremarkable.

  Since living in Mystria he had changed. His skin had become very shiny. Gold and scarlet stripes and spots had risen to make him appear festive. And then, in 1764, he’d undergone a molt and chrysalis which, instead of killing him as the Prince had expected, had transformed him into a dragon. His head had narrowed and his neck grew longer. His tail had similarly slimmed down and lengthened as a counter-balance. He grew ears, which swiveled about freely, suggesting great auditory acuity. Mugwump, while being leaner and lighter than before, had become far more supple and strong.

  And then there was the matter of his wings. When he first emerged from the cocoon, the wings appeared underdeveloped and clearly never meant to sustain flight. But stories of old had told of dragons cruising high through the clouds. Over the next three years, the wings had become stronger. Using a long lead, the Prince had tried to encourage Mugwump to hop about or glide—efforts the dragon took with seeming equal parts amusement and disdain.

  Before he’d gotten his wings, Mugwump had been an avid swimmer. As his wings developed, he took to the water less and less. Though he had not spun another cocoon, he did regularly shed scales bilaterally—much as a bird sheds feathers—leaving Vlad with little doubt that the dragon was meant to fly.

  Unable to come up with any other way to convince the dragon to test out his wings, Prince Vlad reconfigured the saddle he’d used for swimming with Mugwump and cinched it into place. He added a bridle with no bit to provide a suggestion of direction—the Prince never could have wrestled the beast’s head around. He attached a second set of reins to Mugwump’s horns hoping again that tugging on them might convince the dragon to climb.

  Prince Vlad hauled himself into the saddle. “Now, Mr. Baker, I want you to pay close attention to what happens.”

  “So I’ll know where to find you when you fall off?”

  “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” Vlad forced himself to smile. “I want you to note how much Mugwump spreads his wings when we go over the jumps.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  The Prince started the dragon off at a slow pace, heading up the drive, past Peregrine’s enclosure, then toward the west to a five-acre lot he’d decided to leave fallow. With the help of Baker and Owen’s man, James, they’d harvested wood and created four log walls roughly six feet high. They placed them at the cardinal points around an imaginary circle. The Prince intended to ride Mugwump toward one and encourage him to jump over it. The walls would prove littl
e obstacle as the dragon’s playful pouncing upon game had previously showed. Primarily Vlad hoped that Mugwump would associate a tug on his horns with leaping.

  Vlad settled goggles over his eyes. Mid-April and it was already warm. Trees had budded and farmers were predicting a good harvest if they got some rain at the right time. Only a few clouds threaded themselves through the blue sky, drifting slowly with warm breezes. Prince Vlad closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the warmth and doing his best to relax.

  Mugwump’s transformation from wingless wurm to dragon was the most closely held secret in Mystria. Fewer than a dozen people knew it had happened and all of them had been sworn to secrecy. To further obscure things, Vlad caused to be circulated a number of very fanciful stories about fantastic creatures to be found in Mystria. Within these were absurd stories about dragon colonies living in caverns dug into mountains in the far west. While a few inquiries came back from Norisle and elsewhere asking him what he knew, he promised to check, then later declared all of them lies. Were someone to learn the truth about Mugwump and report it back to Norisle, it would be assumed to be another fantasy and dismissed out of hand.

  Wurms were not common back across the ocean. Every nation had a regiment or two of wurmriders to play off against each other. Since the advent of brimstone, the nature of warfare had shifted away from a basis where wurms could completely dominate battle. While cannon and muskets couldn’t easily kill a wurm, they could kill riders and hurt the beasts, so wurm regiments paraded more than they fought. But when they did fight, they could still be terribly effective.