The council of blades, p.5
The Council of Blades, page 5
Fraudulent company rosters were as old as the mercenary’s trade. To assure fellow captains of the value of one another’s troops, Sumbria organized inspection parades. Each Blade Captain could settle for themselves any questions of troop strengths, training and equipment by putting their colleagues’ units through their paces. Cappa Mannicci stood his horse in the shade of an olive tree and let his peers ride forth to have their fun.
The Mannicci troops formed a tiny army all their own. There were battle mages with their protective squads of apprentices and pavisiers, pikemen, hippogriffs, and crossbowmen in their droves. Billmen with their wickedly hooked blades, perfectly designed for unhorsing cavalry and deflecting pikes, marched to the fore. Prince Mannicci, returned a salute from the golden, prancing lines of his own cavalry, then idly turned to watch his counsellors at play.
Fuming white with rage from some unimaginable wrong, Blade Captain Toporello watched the infantry march by and wrung his reins between his fists like a pair of chicken necks.
Prince Mannicci frowned; for parades, Toporello usually decked his horse out in a harness of star sapphires. The prince blinked at the older man’s shabby leather horse trappings, scratched his beard, and decided to let the topic slide.
Passing behind a clean, gleaming squadron of hippogriff cuirassiers, Gilberto Ilégo swung his mount about to slide in beside the prince. Ilégo’s horse curvetted prettily, allowing the bright morning sun to strike sparks along its copper mane.
“An impressive inspection, sire. Most enlightening.”
Ilégo had hardly even spared the assembled troops a glance. He matched his horse’s pace to that of his prince and posed himself in thought; an artful display designed to convey both elegance and surprise.
Mannicci ignored him, covering his hate by turning his face toward the lines of marching men. Ilégo smiled at the slight, taking perverse pleasure in swapping idle talk.
“Sire, I do believe that is your daughter on the balcony.”
“Like enough.” Mannicci scarcely cared enough to confirm it with a glance. “Her room is just above.”
“Aaaaaah.” Ilégo swiveled snake-bright eyes toward his prince. “A pretty girl, by all accounts.”
“I’d like to see whose accounts. I’d like to hire him.” Prince Mannicci stirred laggards from his baggage train with a prod of his mace. “He’d be inexpensive to keep; such a man would like his meat very plain.”
“But surely, my lord, she has spirit?”
“In a sense,” said Mannicci. In truth, he rarely bothered to think about his sole offspring’s character. Spirit in a daughter was considered about as desirable as dorsal guidance feathers on a prize-winning merino ram. “I believe she is a quiet girl—though much troubled by rats.”
“Rats, my lord?”
“So I am told.”
Prince Mannicci had neither the time nor inclination to bother himself about his daughter. His first spouse had died young; Mannicci’s choice of a second wife had done much to line his own coffers, but very little to increase his domestic bliss. He knew he really ought to beget himself a son; unfortunately, Ulia Mannicci was the finest contraceptive device known to the Blade Kingdoms.
At his side, Gilberto Ilégo turned his horse to face the palace balconies.
“You are hard on the girl. There are tales, my lord, of princesses whose beauty launched a thousand ships.” Ilégo faced his monarch with a bow. “Perhaps your own daughter might aspire to such a thing in her own small way. “A thousand troops, perhaps?”
Prince Mannicci dug his heels down and halted his mighty horse, creasing the corners of his eyes as he let his mind explore the flavor of Ilégo’s schemes.
A welcome diversion came in the form of a skinny youth dressed in the velvet finery of the royal court. The young man hovered nearby, wide eyed as a blushing beholder; he kept a leather portfolio clamped tight against his heart, as though he were using it to keep his internal organs from erupting out through his chest.
Prince Mannicci regarded the boy with a heavy frown; eye contact apparently won him a friend for life, and the youth instantly lunged forward and performed something that might possibly be mistaken for a bow.
“My lord! M-my lord prince.” The boy almost choked himself on his own tongue as he hopelessly addled a carefully prepared speech. “Sir—I merely wished to say how … how invigorating your kingdom seems. How fresh, how inviting, how active!”
Insanity in a man so young seemed such a pitiable thing; Prince Mannicci leaned back in his saddle, cocking an ear toward Ilégo, who duly leaned forward to whisper quiet words.
“It is one of the young gentlemen from Lomatra, my lord.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” Aha—the prospective groom! Mannicci felt a sudden surge of interest. “Lorenzo Utrelli, I presume?”
The boy took the prince’s smile as instant encouragement.
“My lord? My lord, I wondered if I might speak with you awhile? That is—I wonder if I can show you …”
At this point, the leather portfolio flipped open; cramming the wad of papers into the bole of a tree, Lorenzo inserted himself between the two older men and proudly spread out a parchment smothered in designs.
“My lords—I have ideas! Concepts, theories and designs the likes of which the world has never seen. Designs that will thrill you, my lords. Thrill you to the core!”
Prince Mannicci, ever the diplomat, wearily prepared himself to be bored. In contrast, Blade Captain Ilégo stroked his mustache and cast an amused eye across the boy’s diagrams.
“Say on, lad. Say on. It cannot be any less entertaining than the parade.”
Finding himself with an audience at long last, Lorenzo seated himself in the crutch of an olive tree and used a green twig to point out the salient points of his inventions.
“Look you, sirs. I have been studying basic natural phenomena with an eye to making these phenomena work with us—for us.” Paper fluttered as the boy avidly flicked through page after page of incomprehensible scrawls. “Ah! For instance … here—do you see? I have been experimenting with the forces that make solid objects fall.”
A drawing appeared; a drawing showing a very badly rendered stick figure dropping objects from a tower. Lorenzo unleashed his excitement in measured little chunks, marking each point with a sharp wave of his olive twig.
“Now, consider the downward path of a falling object. Let us take two items identical in weight. A pound of feathers, and a pound of lead. Which of them will fall more slowly?”
“A pound of feathers.” Mannicci suddenly found that he approved of the boy’s logical mind—a reasonably desirable trait in a potential son-in-law. “What is your point?”
“Aaaah—but why do the feathers fall more slowly? The answer is, simply, air resistance! The feathers present a broad face to the air, thus slowing their descent due to the viscous qualities of the air itself.”
Sitting cross-legged in his tree, Lorenzo made his points stab forward one by one.
“So, how is this phenomena useful to us? Well firstly, we have discovered that narrow objects fall more swiftly. I feel this may be useful for making some sort of aerial dart, or what I call a ‘bomb.’ But, certainly more valuable than that, I believe I can now create a fall-breaking machine! A device made from cloth that will slow the speed of a man’s descent through the air, allowing him to alight as safe as if he were a pixie.”
This declaration was met by a confused silence from the two armored noblemen. Loath to break the lad’s enthusiasm, Prince Mannicci nevertheless felt it behooved him to give the boy unkind news.
“But my dear—um …”
“Lorenzo, my lord. Lorenzo Utrelli Da Lomatra!”
“Yes, quite …” The boy had the innocent, doelike eyes of a pet fawn unaware that it was being massaged with marinade. Prince Mannicci heaved an unhappy little sigh. “Yet, you must ask yourself, Lorenzo, just why you feel such a device to be useful?”
“Think of it, my lord. We could use my fall-breakers as a safety device … say, for the riders of hippogriffs.”
“But our hippogriff riders are already provided with magical protection for such a case.” The prince indicated an overflying squadron with a pained wave of his mace. “A one-use ring of feather falling, in point of fact …”
“But at massive cost, my lord! Think of the savings offered by a mechanical device.”
The lad’s mechanical device seemed to require a huge amount of silk, a fact which rather negated any claims to cheap production. Lorenzo felt his audience’s interest waver, and desperately flicked on to other plans.
“Wait, my lord! If the sciences of the air don’t interest you, then perhaps the study of heat? Surely a man of your education will be interested in this.” Lorenzo turned a gaze so powerful and full of fire upon the older men that they involuntarily fell back. “I have here a design for a drill that uses heat to bore a hole through steel!”
Gilberto Ilégo leaned forward with a look of cold concentration on his face. Lorenzo immediately stumbled onward with his inept sales technique.
“You see, my lords, the combination of these two chemicals creates an intense blaze of light. This light, I intend to focus using lenses like … like …” The boy’s thoughts instantly conjured up an image of a short, freckled girl. “… like the lenses used in eye spectacles! This produces a beam of light—of heat—which can melt even the toughest steel.
“Imagine the benefits to industry, my lords! Handgun production would cheapen; we could use fire beams to drill holes into pure steel bar-stock! Smoke powder weapons would surely come into their own. We can use the beams to scribe delicate engravings … perhaps even to cut the finest mechanical parts …”
Captain Ilégo viewed the drawings with a frown.
“And does this chemical combination reliably work?”
“Um … essentially. Essentially, yes!” The boy cleared his throat. “The problem of explosion is a minor fault at best. Given enough funding, I am sure I can overcome the obstacles.”
A logical mind in a potential son-in-law may have been an advantage. An addled mind might be even more so; Prince Mannicci narrowed his eyes, measuring the possibilities.
As Mannicci sank into thought, Ilégo flicked a calculating glance between his prince and the Lomatran boy. Blade Captain Ilégo handed back the boy’s drawings with a cool, predatory smile.
“Since Lorenzo is here with an ambassadorial mission, my lord prince, I’m sure his experiments can be encouraged for the duration of his stay. We can find him a workshop, perhaps. A place outside the city walls …”
“No. I believe we shall house him well within our palace. We might have business with him yet.…”
“Oh! Oh, thank you, my lord!” Lorenzo flicked a glance toward the palace balcony, drawing in an inspired, dizzy breath as he helplessly searched for words. “I shall not disappoint you.”
“Do as you like, boy. But no chemicals, and no jumping off any towers.” Not until he had safely married Miliana. “We’d never explain it to your ambassador.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord! Thank you!” Lorenzo bobbed up and down like a toy spider on a string. “M—my gratitude is … it’s …”
Unable to think of proper superlatives, the boy could only open out his hands, finding out too late that Prince Mannicci had taken his chance and ridden fast away. Lorenzo scarcely noticed; looking over the troops, he saw a scrawny figure leaning over a distant balcony; a figure with a bored expression half hidden behind gleaming glass and a towering, pointed hat.
Lorenzo’s thoughts were jarred by a cool hand descending upon his arm. Gilberto Ilégo looked down at the boy with a reassuring, though somewhat crocodilian smile.
“Five hundred, I think.”
“My lord?” Lorenzo’s mind wrenched itself from a dizzy flight through a vague and rosy fairy land. “Five hundred?”
“Five hundred gold ducats. It should keep you supplied with experimental equipment during your stay.” Ilégo drew a scented handkerchief from his belt and passed it under his nose. “My bursar will honor any notes that you may write.”
Stunned, Lorenzo could only stare up at Ilégo in utter awe. The Blade Captain turned his horse about and saluted with a wave.
“May your experiments prove to be a profit and a delight! Do avail me of your progress from time to time. After all, we are brothers, you and I. Intellectually speaking …”
The horse reared back in a splendid caracole, pumped the air with its hooves, and then was gone. Standing alone beneath the dusty olive tree, Lorenzo threw out his arms, shook his drawings in delight and felt his spirits soar.
Finally, a patron who knew the value of true science! No longer would Lorenzo be hounded out of house and home by angry relatives and enraged cleaning staff. Sumbria would be his launching place. After this, the whole world would remember the name Lorenzo Utrelli Da Lomatra!
In the Valley of Umbricci, in a sighing stand of grape vines beside a mountain stream, war-horses pawed the soil while armored riders sipped lightly at the local wines.
The Blade Council of Colletro prided itself on its sophistication and elegance. Twenty-one Blade Captains had come to coolly supervise the handing over of the campaign spoils. The gentlemen made a gay pretense of absolute disinterest, commenting on the savor of the local vintages, while behind them the fruits of two years hard campaigning were casually tossed away.
Sumbrian heralds came to take formal acceptance of signed articles of peace. The cheese platter came out in perfect timing to interest the Colletran nobility. Hardly sparing a glance toward their enemies, the Colletrans complimented one another on their armorers and tailors, or stared up at the clouds and languidly predicted rain.
From the black shadows of the mountains, another figure came: a man mounted on a sour, high-stepping hippogriff with feathers of charcoal-bronze. The hippogriff hissed at a noble’s horse, baring its serrated beak in spite. The horse instantly retreated like a whipped cur, spilling its rider’s wine across an immaculate silk tabard.
The hippogriff’s rider wore a light armor of black, velvet-covered steel. While his hostile mount spread its wings and kept the other animals at bay, the rider slipped off his barbute helmet and savaged the assembled nobles with his gaze.
Almost ignoring the man’s entrance, Colletro’s Blade Council continued with its wine and cheese. Curbing nervous mounts, the riders refreshed their glasses and finally bid their colleague a good day.
“Ugo Svarézi, why how good of you to come.” A young, slim Blade Captain let his words drip with practiced irony. “We have so missed your refreshingly innovative conversation.”
Faces quirked up into wry, venomous little smiles. For his part, Svarézi ignored the voices all around him as he would scorn the prattle of brainless little birds. Coldly leaning forward in his saddle, the man turned dark eyes toward the valley floor.
“Three villages, a salt mine—and now the Sun Gem, too. The pride of Colletro, tossed into the dust. For fear of a few sword cuts, Colletran honor is pawned.”
Svarézi’s speech was met with looks of amused, defensive scorn; his voice rang harsh from shouting across endless parade grounds—a voice more fit for a fishmonger than a courtier. Prince Ricardo, dark, lean, and polished by a lifetime of diplomatic maneuvers, laid an armored hand upon the arm of an angry colleague and turned patient eyes to his rebellious captain.
“The laws of war, Blade Captain Svarézi, work for all of us. This year, Colletro has lost; next year, our armies shall triumph again. You must learn to see these minor setbacks as merely part of a larger game.”
“A game.” Ugo Svarézi turned to reveal a battered, savage face with skin as pale as carrion bone. “A game has an end. This—this yearly posturing has no purpose except its own continuance. To preserve the game, you have lost sight of its final goal!”
“Ah.” The prince held out a hand and felt it filled with a chilled glass of wine. “And what, pray tell, is our unremembered goal?”
“To win the game, my lord. To destroy the other kingdoms and seize the board as our own.”
Nobles drew in weary breaths and exchanged glances of bored despair. Prince Ricardo sipped at his wine, paused in thought, then swiveled calculating eyes toward Svarézi.
“We are aware, Captain, of the imperatives of our game. Pray allow us to pursue our victory in the way that suits u—”
“Through accountants? Through unfought battles and untried swords? Through pretty maneuvers—like lead soldiers across a playroom floor!” Svarézi’s sudden violence struck at the assembly like a storm. The man crashed a hand against his saddle as he roared his words in rage. “We could have taken them! We could have destroyed their army if any of you had been man enough to charge!”
Young Blade Captains slapped hands to sword hilts and surged forward to defend their honor—only to be halted by an easy motion of the prince’s hand. Duels resulted in deaths, and deaths resulted in the realignment of voting blocks. The prince preferred to keep the peace with deterrents made of words.
“It is a pity, Svarézi, that you fail to see the true genius of our war. A true gamesman commits to dangerous moves only when the advantage is on his side.” Ricardo, Prince-elect of Colletro, speared a piece of cheese with the point of his poniard. “Why risk all on a single throw, when proper patience will bring us to our prize?”
Svarézi’s hippogriff gave a sour, trilling call. Atop the creature’s back, Svarézi quieted the beast with his riding crop.
“And what of my bride, my lord? What of my Mannicci bride?”
Courtiers stifled smiles behind gauntlets and pomanders as they thought of the dreadful Ugo Svarézi falling in love. Prince Ricardo simply ordered himself more wine.
