Lora of Two Worlds

Something's happened?

They left the jewelry house doorway, skirted the foot traffic, and ducked into an empty corner. Lyle looked both ways. No suspicious faces. Then:

"I tailed Cedric Salt to the South Quarter. He went into a mansion, the same one Leon and I visited yesterday. Sheffield's house.

I got onto the roof and listened. Cedric Salt was shouting at Sheffield, calling him useless, telling him not to dream. Then they lowered their voices and I couldn't hear. I left.

On my way back, I passed our guest house. Just as I reached the door, von Klein, Alvin, Leon, and the whole company came out.

I thought they were heading back to the boats. They weren't. Leon saw me, stopped me with a look. I followed them. They all went into the governor's palace."

"The governor's palace? What happened?"

Lora's instincts confirmed it. The lord warden, who'd been "ill", was suddenly well. And he'd forced them into the governor's palace.

Otherwise, even with household guards present, they could have found an excuse to slam a table and walk out.

"I need to go back to the guest house. I've changed clothes, no one knows we're together.

Shawn, get to the docks. See the situation. If it's quiet, have everyone arm up and come ashore. Remember: stay alive. If we're scattered, rally point is the Ten-Mile Pavilion outside the city.

If things have already gone wrong... rendezvous at the Shrine of the Two Lords. Lyle, you go back to the governor's palace area. Gather what you can. And remember, don't any of you act rashly. Only if we're alive do they've a chance.

Linnie, stay with me. If your godfather's alive, we're all fine. If he's gone, none of us leaves Yorvik alive."

Linnie's face was white with terror. A moment ago she'd been happy. Now this?

Shawn and Lyle were about to leave. Lora stopped them. From her pouch she pulled two purses of copper, three hundred pennies each, change from the gold ingot:

"Take these. Find a shop and change your clothes. Central army uniforms are too conspicuous. Get steppe-style robes, like the nomads wear. Hide your swords."

The two men steadied themselves. This young woman, she arranged things as methodically as any commander. They took the coins and left, one ahead, one behind.

Lora took Linnie's hand: "Don't be afraid. Two women, we're invisible. This is just the worst-case plan. Maybe your godfather delivered the warrant and is already back."

Linnie clutched the brocade box of gold jewelry to her chest. She nodded hard: "I'm not afraid. I'll follow you."

They returned to the guest house. The lobby was quiet. The innkeeper recognized them, new arrivals, and beamed:

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"Back already, ladies?"

"Innkeeper, when we got to the door, we saw a column of soldiers leaving. It frightened us off. Your guest house has too much military traffic. We want to change inns." Lora put on a wronged face.

The innkeeper set down his quill, flipped through the register, found their room number. He laughed:

"No bother, no bother. The gentlemen across the hall, they'll be checking out soon."

"They came in before us. Checking out in less than a day? You're not fooling me. We'd rather move."

"No, no, I'm not lying." The innkeeper leaned in, conspiratorial: "Just now, the household guards came and searched their room. Took all their baggage. The guests didn't come to check out, I'm guessing... they won't be back."

"They looked like court officials... did they break the law?"

"I wouldn't know. The crown's never done anything for us. No reason to trouble myself with their business, right? You ladies stay, won't bother you a bit."

He grabbed a handful of dried honey-dates from the counter and pressed them into Linnie's hands:

"You're guests, anything you need, just ask. Two pretty ladies, be careful out there. If you run into hooligans, if they're steppe nomads, say you're under the protection of Lord Horn of Yarnford. If it's household guards, keep your distance. My name won't help there. Ha!"

They thanked Lord Horn and walked into the courtyard.

Just as Leon had said, the people here cared less about court officials than about the neighbor's cat.

"Lora, what do we do now?"

On the stairs, Linnie pressed close. Guardian gone. The deputy commander gone. How would she get back to Jaxham?

"In Yelford, we bought northern-style veiled skirts. Put yours on. Cover your face. No one will know us. Carry everything valuable on your person. We'll go to the Shrine of the Two Lords and meet the others. Find out what happened, then decide."

Inside the room, door shut. Their baggage was untouched. Lora went to the bed, reached into her bundle, and drew out the bird-headed dagger:

I haven't returned your dagger yet. None of you're allowed to die.

At the governor's palace, Leon stood in the forecourt. His hand, resting on his sword hilt, brushed the paired dagger at his belt. But his mind couldn't dwell on that.

Because the man he'd never met, the rebel, was walking out of the great hall.

"Lord Envoy, my apologies!"

The lord warden wasn't tall, but stocky. Powerful. His face was dominated by two slashing brows that ran into his temples. A faded scar on his left cheek, half-hidden by his beard. And his eyes, dark, predatory, no beard could hide those.

He tugged at the belt below his paunch. He sneered:

"Lord Envoy, what has the King sent you a thousand miles to deliver?"

Alvin didn't wait for von Klein. He stepped forward, expressionless: "Garrison Commander of Yorvik, receive the King's warrant."

Von Klein unrolled the yellow silk warrant and read:

"By the King's hand: in times of peace, governance by letters; in times of trouble, governance by arms. The military commander is the pillar of the realm. Let the garrison commander of Yorvik be appointed lord warden, vested with this warrant, to awe the barbarians."

"Acting governor? Why not marcher duke? Why only acting?" The rebel clasped his hands behind his back. He didn't take the warrant. His voice oozed:

"Besides a symbolic seal, what has the crown ever given Yorvik? Does the King think frontier defense rests on the crown's prestige? Then... what use is the blade at my waist?"

On the hall porch, a line of household guards drew their swords with a single hiss.

The forecourt had held forty or fifty. Now, from behind the hall, from outside the gate, two or three hundred poured in. The envoy and his escort were surrounded.

Roland drew his men into a ring around von Klein and Alvin.

Just as in his former life. The rebel, stung by the King's failure to grant him full title, meant to provoke.

Two years ago, the neighboring domain's household guards had driven out the crown-appointed duke and installed their own man.

The crown had ordered three domains to march, only one had obeyed. The campaign went nowhere. The King had acknowledged the new duke and sent gifts to calm the troops.

So these marcher lords knew the crown's pattern perfectly: make noise, get what you want.

Alvin, calm and steady, spoke:

"Lord Warden, is this rebellion?"

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