Kordas realized that these were not solely the games they were presented as, as much as they were personality tests. Senior students, who had played the games for a considerable time, wound up divided into different educational tracks, and matched against tougher and tougher opponents. Kordas connected the types of bullying and maneuvering his early classmates engaged in as corresponding to the three games. He deduced that the three games trained specific rigors of thought; that meant that if Kordas knew what game the students were best at, he could predict their behavior as people.
He resolved to come across as good at none of the three games, and instead spend his time watching the players. He had embraced the Fourth Game, and nobody was the wiser.
If I appear weak enough, I can lead aggressors wherever I want them to be. If I am assertive but strange, others will have pause. If I seem stable but harmless, I am put in the “safe” category, and barely thought of again. If I seem motionless, I am only the background that action-seekers exert themselves in front of, and will be ignored. And, if I bore everyone, I become invisible.
The future Duke of Valdemar left the Imperial school with a deeper awareness of how Imperial Doctrine slithered and struck on the board of the Empire than many of the Empire’s senior nobles had after years in office.
Nobody in the high ranks sees anyone as a person—instead, as they have been taught, they are game pieces to be moved around, traded, and expended against each other. Martial, economic, and psychological domination are their only three games. I learned the three games as well as the school’s brightest—but I only ever played as below average for them.
The Fourth Game is the show.
His horse knew the way, so he simply closed his eyes for a while. He took in the scents—elderflower, purpleroot pine, the buttery undertone of sweet-hay, the sour-sweet tang of lemontail—as the wind picked up. He leaned back in his saddle, letting the reins rest upon the saddlehorn, and let his arms hang away from his torso until he felt the first light droplets of rain.
I will miss this place. I have so many big speeches planned about how we the people are Valdemar, but just the same—this place. These flavors, these scents, the sound of these birds, and the wind in these trees. I will miss this so very much.
Kordas let the light, warm rain wash his face, which was just as well. With those thoughts, the Duke of Valdemar’s face would have been wet anyway.
* * *
—
His ramblings “just happened” to coincide with visits to the people in his Duchy he trusted most. These were the Duchy’s eight Counts and their worthiest subordinates, people who had already been brought into confidence by his father, so the only actual secret they learned was that the Plan’s candles were lit, and it was a vital step closer to fruition. Each of them had entrusted children or other relatives, as well as trained experts, with their own specialized duties in the Plan’s execution. They would be sent across as soon as the Foothold Gate was built, to scout for dangers—and hopefully eliminate them—and prepare the settlement base for what was to come.
One of them, Count Endicrag of Endicrag Manor, had two things they were going to need desperately. One was a cousin, a Healer named Alberdina, who was willing to go in the first wave. The other was of even more immediate help. Lord Endicrag’s sixth out of ten sons was everything Kordas could have wanted for his explorer-through-the-Gate: tough, strong, smart, and with a seriously itchy foot, just a little older than Kordas, an able fighter, and a trained woodsman. He was actually back from a foray into the mysterious North. Not for anyone; he’d gone on his own, to see what was there. When Kordas explained the situation to him, the man immediately wanted to be the first person to go through the Foothold Gate, explore, and find a suitable place for a water-Gate.
“I’ve longed my entire life for a chance like this,” said Ivar Endicrag, actually rubbing his hands together with glee. “I’ve dreamed of it, actually. I’ve made lists of what to stock for each foray I make. I want one of your Chargers, a trained one that can handle rough terrain. A Charger is a force-multiplier, turning me into a squad of people without actually having to have a squad of people, and if my understanding is correct, they ‘stand watch’ at night?”
“More or less. A horse’s senses are keener than a human’s, and Chargers rarely sleep deeply,” Kordas replied slowly. “If I were you, I’d take—”
“A dog, too? I have one. Got him before that last trip. He’s a good boy.” Ivar chuckled. “When can I start training with the horse?”
“Now,” Kordas told him, hardly able to believe his luck; he didn’t expect Ivar to be so prepared. “In fact, pack your things, come back with me, and move into the manor. It’s not as if we don’t have room! And since you and your dog will be training with one of my Chargers, it won’t seem out of place.”
Ivar didn’t wait for a second invitation; he sprinted out of the room like it was on fire.
His father sighed. “Truth to tell, I’m glad you’re taking him off my hands,” the graying patriarch said. “He’s not very restful to have around. I’m not looking forward to packing up and haring off into the wilderness, Valdemar, but given some of the rumors I’m hearing out of the Capital, I’m not eager to stick around here, either.”
“Barges will make that journey less uncomfortable,” Kordas pointed out.
“And more practical,” his Lordship nodded.
Kordas made small talk about Endicrag’s family until Ivar appeared, carrying a huge rucksack and a second bag, loaded with weapons, and accompanied by an intelligent-looking mastiff. “I’ve ordered my riding horse prepared,” Ivar said, before Kordas could ask. “I’m ready. Whenever you and Father are done.”
Lord Endicrag shook his head. “And this is why you are the despair of your mother,” he said, sounding more amused than anything else. “You haven’t been back a fortnight!”
Ivar shrugged. “And look how useful I am now!” he countered. “I’m perfect for what’s ahead of us!”
“You can’t argue with that,” Kordas pointed out.
Endicrag sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I can’t. Off you go with the Duke, lad,” he added. “If you get eaten by something, at least make sure it’s memorable.” His Lordship had made a joke out of it, but Kordas could tell this was causing him anxiety. Ivar could tell, too.
“Father, I’m far from your only child. I can do this—you and I both know that to be true. Wherever I go, you, all my family, and all of Valdemar is carried with me. That’s what gives spring to my stride through the deepest snow or stinging gales. I can be my best because you raised me.”
Kordas waited by the exit while Endicrag and Ivar tearfully embraced and murmured to each other.