The front doors were mammoth things that looked like they’d require a team of dozens to open. Marcus reined up in front of them, not sure exactly what to do, but a smaller door around the side creaked open. A young man stepped out, holding the leash of a large, jowly dog that was sniffing the air entirely. To Marcus’ surprise, the man smiled and transferred the leash to his left hand to make a proper salute.
“Saints and martyrs!” The voice, with its harsh accent, brought a spark of recognition, but it wasn’t until the man came closer that Marcus placed the face. “Marcus d’Ivoire. And risen so high I don’t even recognize the stars on your shoulder.”
“You’re Lieutenant... Uhlan, wasn’t it?” It had been only a year since they’d worked together in Vordan City, thwarting Maurisk’s attempted coup, but it felt more like a century. Uhlan had been one of the Mierantai volunteers who’d served as Janus’ bodyguards and trusted aides.
“Yes, sir. Though not a lieutenant anymore, glad to say. Resigned my commission. Just Medio bet Uhlan, at your service.”
“It’s good to see you,” Marcus said. “This is Colonel Cytomandiclea, of the Second Division. She’s serving as my aide at present.”
“He’s got a knack for finding pretty girls to be his aides,” Uhlan said to Cyte. To Marcus, he said, “What happened to Andy? She finally get tired of you?”
“She died,” Marcus said, feeling a twist in his guts. “In Murnsk. She saved all our lives.”
“Ah, shit.” Uhlan shook his head. “Sorry. And here I am keeping you in the yard. Hyllia!” When a girl’s head popped out of a window, he shouted, “Get someone out here to take care of the officers’ horses, and fetch drinks.” He looked back at Marcus. “You’ll stay for dinner, I hope?”
“I’d love to,” Marcus said.
*
It turned out that Mieran County was one of those places that took their hospitality seriously. No sooner had Marcus and Cyte knocked the dust from their boots and come inside than they were whisked to a comfortable sitting room and provided with mugs of hot apple cider, plates of cheese and bread, and some kind of dried meat so doused in hot pepper it made Marcus’ eyes water.
Uhlan sat with them, chatting amiably as servant girls brought the food and drink. Marcus remembered the Mierantai volunteers as being a taciturn lot, but Uhlan was much friendlier here, on his home ground.
“My family has been in service to the counts for generations,” he said, when Cyte quizzed him about his history. “Since the lance-?and-?shield days, if you believe the stories my grandfather told me. His father formed the first Mierantai Volunteers to fight with Farus IV. Since then it’s been sort of a tradition.”
“You went home after the coup,” Marcus said. “When Janus became First Consul.”
“He said he didn’t need us anymore.” Uhlan sipped at his cider. “He always felt guilty about calling us out, I think. He takes his responsibility toward the county seriously, and he knows we’ve all got families waiting for us. We’re not professional soldiers.”
The Mierantai had seemed professional enough when Marcus had fought beside them, deadly accurate with their long rifles and admirably disciplined. Marcus reached for more bread and surreptitiously checked to see if the servants had left the room. When he was satisfied they were alone, he said, “I assume the news has reached you here.”
Uhlan smiled dryly. “We’re not that isolated, General d’Ivoire.”
Marcus glanced at Cyte. “You haven’t had any contact with him, have you?”
“No.” Uhlan shook his head. “Some of the boys wanted to go and find him, but we talked them out of it.”
“Would you go, if he called?” Cyte said.
“Don’t imagine I haven’t thought hard about it,” Uhlan said. “He’s been a good master to everyone in Mieran, but we swear an oath to keep the county safe. This emperor business...” He shrugged. “He ought to know better.” After a pause, he cocked his head. “Did you come out here just to ask me that? You’re not the first officer to come around, you know.”
“Someone else was here?”
“A pair of them,” Uhlan said. “One came in uniform and asked around. The other tried to do a bit of spying, but that gets hard in a place like Mieran, where everyone knows everyone. We told ’em both the same I’m telling you.”
Probably Alek Giforte’s men. The former Armsman was trying to put Vordan’s intelligence service back together, and it made sense he’d send someone here.
“That’s not really why I came,” Marcus said. “I was hoping to find out a little more about Janus.”
“Why?” Uhlan’s face was still friendly, but there was a sharp edge to his tone. “He’s your enemy now, isn’t he?”
“I’m... not sure.” Marcus looked at Cyte again. “You’re right. He ought to know better. And some of the things he’s said to me make me wonder...” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it well. But I’m trying to understand why he would turn on all of us the way he has. I wouldn’t have said it was possible.”
“What’re you hoping to find?” Uhlan said.
Marcus shook his head helplessly. “A reason, maybe. Just... something.”
The Mierantai looked at him for a long time, hard eyes unreadable. Then his face split in a grin again, and he shrugged.
“Can’t see the harm,” he said. “And I know you, General d’Ivoire. You would never betray a friend.”
I already have. Marcus felt a stab of guilt, remembering Janus imprisoned in the barn outside Polkhaiz. It had been the right decision, backing Raesinia and peace instead of helping Janus continue the war, but Janus’ face at that moment would always be etched in his memory. Is that why he’s doing this? Is it my fault?
But his instinct said no. It doesn’t make sense.
“Thank you,” Marcus said.
“Hyllia?” Uhlan raised his voice. After a few moments, a servant girl opened the door and poked her head in. “Take General d’Ivoire and his friend up to see Gravya, would you? Tell her I said she can trust them.”
Hyllia bobbed politely. Marcus finished his cider and set it aside, then followed her back into the hall and on a winding path through the house. They passed under a stone arch and into one of the older sections, where warped, cloudy glass in the windows cast strange patterns of light on the walls and the floorboards were polished smooth and almost black. A faint dusty smell hung in the air.
The girl rapped at a wooden door with flaking blue paint, knocking a few chips to the floor. “Mistress Gravya?”
“Yes?” The response was an old woman’s. “Hyllia, dear, is that you?”
“There’s visitors, Mistress Gravya,” Hyllia said. “Master Uhlan asked if you’d speak with them. He says you can trust them.”
“Visitors?” The door opened, revealing a tall, iron-?haired woman in her sixties. She wore a practical brown dress and thick spectacles, and a white cap was pinned to her neat bun. She took in Marcus’ and Cyte’s uniforms, and her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Soldiers? What would soldiers want with me?”
“My name is Marcus d’Ivoire,” Marcus said. “This is Colonel Cytomandiclea.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Gravya said, looking critically at Cyte. “You’re a woman.”
“Yes, mistress,” Cyte said. “And you can call me Cyte, if you like.”