The reason he hated the things was because although they were supposed to be used only for duels, they were most often used in acts of casual cruelty by the nobility. He’d seen that in play far too often when he’d been in fosterage. Servant annoy you? Put a bolt through a shoulder or a calf to teach him a lesson. Someone’s pet in your way? Kill it with the Spitter. Want to show off? Put some hapless servant against a wall and outline them with bolts.
But you also resent what that weapon means to you, because of what you have done with it. The things you did with it, thinking, “I am the Duke, and the Duke must serve executions personally,” except you knew all along you could just order it done, without even your presence required. It says a lot about what you really are, Duke or not. You wanted to feel deadly, yourself. Not deadly by proxy, but you. Executing. You wanted to know how it felt to kill, with your own hands.
“Ceri Foresaw you are going to be ‘invited’ to stay,” Isla said tensely. “Strip and change.”
Beltran had already dismounted, and was pulling on his formal tabard with the winged white horse device that marked him as the Valdemar Herald on it. Kordas gritted his teeth, stripped to his trews, and donned his own Court garments, right there in the stable-yard, ending by buckling on his Court Saber and baldric and shoving his Spitter into his belt. The trews didn’t matter; they were hard-wearing leather suitable for a long ride. And his riding boots had just been polished. Anyone who went on a long ride with shoes and linen trews, in his opinion, was an idiot. But gods! The fancy shirt with a ruff, no less, the long waistcoat, and the overly-elaborate two-colored greatcoat, made him angry just to look at, much less be forced to wear. And if this journey stretched for a full day, they’d be unbearable by lunchtime and look terrible when he finally arrived at the Imperial Palace.
“One more thing. From the Circle. You’ll be among strong telepaths, and maybe worse. Take this stone amulet and fix it in place behind your Ducal crest. They said, picture this as the skies over Valdemar, and then think into it—they said you knew how—of what you love about Valdemar. ‘Springs to sunsets’ and the more, the better. Just nothing about the Plan, including them. Especially them. Then they laughed. It’s supposed to play your emotional memories about Valdemar instead of what you’re actually thinking at the time. But recharge it daily. Add new bits. They said that Imperial telepaths would dismiss you as a homesick hick.” Isla half-smiled. “Which you will be.”
“That obvious, is it?” Kordas asked sardonically. “This amulet is just what I need. This could save me from exhaustion, trying to stay veiled-shielded the whole time I’m there. But I do have to say—it won’t be entirely deceptive. I’ll be thinking of Valdemar the whole time I’m away.” He spent a while picking at the Crest of Valdemar. It had many layers behind the escutcheon’s leather foundation, made up of almost an embarrassment of wards, locks, and memory enhancers, to which the stone amulet was pinned in place. Kordas traced fingers across the amulet and murmured, “I’ll try not to lose too much of myself there,” He held his breath a moment, then returned the Crest to its place on his baldric and sighed.
“You look splendid,” Isla soothed.
“I feel like a fop,” he grumbled.
“You’ll be fine,” she promised. “And just think what would have happened if you’d turned up looking—”
“Like an ordinary fellow with actual work to do?” he almost spat.
She raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”
He sighed, and mounted the horse again. “I just hope they don’t invite me to stay for too long.”
“Be boring,” she advised him. “The novelty of laughing at the country bumpkin will soon wear off, as long as you don’t make yourself into entertainment. Blank looks instead of reactions, and asking ‘Pardon, could you explain?’ They’ll soon get weary of making the explanations. And go into the fine details of horse breeding as often as possible.”
He leaned down from the saddle and kissed her forehead. “My wise counselor,” he said. “Hakkon would advise me to break heads.”
“I wouldn’t do that . . .” She pursed her lips. “However, if you’re given the opportunity, it wouldn’t come amiss if you could demonstrate, harmlessly, what a good shot you are.”
That pulled him up short for a moment, but he certainly saw the wisdom of the advice. He was a good shot with the Spitter; he was a good shot with anything, just due to practice, but being known as a good shot with the Spitter might keep him out of duels. “I’ll do that,” he agreed. “And I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”
It was at moments like this that he was glad that his relationship with Isla was not a romantic one. She was able to see him off with equanimity; he was able to leave without desperately wondering if she would be all right. They trusted each other’s competence, and at this moment, that was more important than all the love-letters in the world.
As the cavalcade rode off, he checked the inside-pocket of his coat to make sure he had transferred the sealed orders to it when he had changed. The crackle of parchment reassured him.
If this was not an auspicious start, at least it was not an inauspicious one.
The Land-Gate at the manor village was usually not much in use, since most traffic went by canal, so he was surprised to see that there was a small group waiting at it as they rode up. He was even more surprised to see that the group was headed by Lord Merrin. His already sour mood was further soured by seeing that obsequious toady’s face beneath a plumed hat.
“Ah, Valdemar, I thought you would probably be embarking at some extremely unfashionable hour!” Merrin brayed at him, laughing at his own feeble attempts at humor. “And here you are! We’ll be coming with you at the Emperor’s request.”
“The more, the merrier!” Kordas said, with hearty good humor he most certainly did not feel. Well if he’s been invited along, I might as well start the play-acting right now. He eased the False Gold, which towered over Merrin’s Sweetfoot palfrey, right up to Merrin’s stirrup. Alarm awoke in Merrin’s eyes, but before the man could move his gelding away, Kordas had given him a hearty back-slap as good as anything Grim could have delivered. Merrin half doubled over with an oof! as Kordas laughed. “Always good to have you along, Merrin, old man! We can show those prissy City lads what a good country fellow looks like!”
Merrin forced a smile and a nod, but his eyes flashed with annoyance. “That’s quite a bit of baggage, Valdemar,” he said, eyes narrowing.
Kordas shrugged. “Never know if his Imperial Highness will decide he has need of me. His stableman may need some schooling on these two Golds. Might as well come prepared. It’s not as if it’ll be hard to chuck the baggage back through the Gate if His Magnificence tells me to head back home.”