Her head swam with all of that, and she was just glad she wasn’t the one who had to try to make all of this work.
“Drop by drop, Lady Fidelia. To the best of my knowledge, all of us landholders in the Duchy implemented roving teams of specialists to look after our lands; unknown to them, that was to prepare them for the fast work needed at the Foothold. Everyone will know his part, and if each of us faithfully does his part, it’ll work.” He patted her on the shoulder, a level of familiarity that could have been a crime in other regions of the Empire. “Have faith. Now, we’ve probably lingered here long enough. Do you have another message to deliver?”
She nodded.
“Then if you’re to get back safe by nightfall, we’d better move on.”
They walked back to the manor; the gatekeeper had tied Sundrop up in the shade near the gatehouse and given her water. The Squire gave Delia a kind farewell, sketched a salute, and went back into his home. She mounted into the saddle without aid and took out her map.
Count Endicrag’s manor was much further from here than this place had been from the Valdemar manor. Lesley was right. She had a long way to go.
* * *
—
Lord Gerther Endicrag was the opposite of the Squire: lean, wiry, and very like a much older version of his son Ivar. Delia was in no position to tell if his garments were in the current fashion or not, but they were certainly as stylish as Kordas’s were, and at least as new.
The manor was like her old home, but in a different style. Newer, perhaps. It was not one of those sugar-sculpture creations.
She was met at his gatehouse and escorted to his door. There was already a footman at the door, who escorted her to the Count as Sundrop was taken away to the stable. When the footman led her inside, she discovered that unlike her old home and the Squire’s place, this manor was modeled on the same pattern as the mage-built edifices, in that it had corridors and hallways that led to rooms, not rooms opening into other rooms, which opened into still more rooms. While the latter might be a more efficient use of space, there was no doubt that it was more maze-like, and gave one very little privacy.
She was taken to a small corner room lined with curio shelves and looking out over a pleasant ornamental garden. Not only were there windows open to the garden, there was a door as well. This was clearly not an office. And the Count was not alone.
With him was a lady who was about the same age, with short-cropped graying hair, whose features were so like his that she immediately revised her idea that this was his wife. He confirmed this by introducing her to “my cousin Alberdina, a Healer with as wandering a foot as my son Ivar.”
They all settled down into three chairs beside the cold hearth; the Count ordered wine and invited Delia to explain why she was there.
Keeping to her script, she told him how Kordas had been summoned to the Imperial Capital with no notice and for an indefinite length of time, and that she was to be the messenger between him and Lady Isla.
He pursed his lips, but said nothing immediately. Alberdina, however, was not shy about giving her opinion.
“How tiresome,” she said. “I wanted permission to test his people for Healing ability. I don’t suppose Lady Isla will cooperate?”
“I don’t see any reason why she shouldn’t,” Delia hastened to tell her.
“Well, not every Lady is pleased when her favorite gardener or some other useful servant turns out to be able to Heal, and I snatch them up from under her nose to train them,” Alberdina said.
“You can do that?” Delia looked at her, perplexed.
“Imperial Law. Goes back to when the Wolf King was a pup.” She laughed heartily. “Old bastard fancied the idea of having a Healer at hand to tend even his hangnails. Not a bad law, either.”
“I don’t think Lady Isla will object,” Delia replied firmly.
The Count nodded. “Told you so, cousin. Our Duchess is very much on the practical side.”
Then the Count asked a lot of very trite and boring questions, until Delia wondered if she’d been sent to the right place. It went on for so long she was about to find some excuse to leave, when a little mage-light that had been burning on a small table between the Count and his cousin turned from red to white. She might not even have noticed it, had the Count not suddenly relaxed and held out his hand.
“It’s safe to speak now,” he said. “And I assume you have a message for me?”
With relief, she handed over her bit of parchment. The Count read it, then handed it to Alberdina, who in turn read it and handed it back to Delia.
“Give that back to Lady Isla. She’ll know what to do with it,” the Count said. “I’m not a mage myself. I don’t know how to destroy it in such a way that another mage can’t find out what was on it.”
“Squire Lesley fed his to his pig,” she offered, and the Count and his cousin laughed.
“Practical as ever, is Lesley. All right, we’re ready. Ivar is yours now, and I’ll start readying others to follow. Supplies as well, of course.”
“I’ll be coming back with you, on the excuse that I’m testing Healers. In fact, I’ll go over as soon as you get the permanent Gate up. You’ll need a Healer over there, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing a new land.” She rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. Delia was fascinated. “Oh, you’re surprised? I’m all packed up with everything I can’t live without. We’ve taught just about everybody in our lands to have a jump-bag or two, stuffed with everything vital to them, in case of fire. Without them knowing it, we were training them for the Plan. All I need to do at the moment is steal a couple of Gerther’s mules, and we’re off.”
“Gerther is happy to give them to you. Shall we go do that, while the light is still clear?” the Count suggested. Since by this time Delia was eager to get back and find out if Isla had heard anything from Kordas, she all but leapt to her feet.
The ride back was rather more fun, if a bit slower, than the ride out. The mules set their own pace, and there was absolutely no point in trying to make them go faster. They were mules, after all.
Alberdina had been almost as many places as Ivar, though never outside of Imperial lands, and was full of stories. Stories that were much different than Ivar’s, of course; she was a Healer, not an explorer. Her stories were about people, rather than places.
“But I’ve never been near the Capital and I never wanted to be,” she finished, as they came within sight of the Valdemar manor. “That place eats up Healers and spits them out sick and exhausted, and it takes them a year or more to recover, during which they are useless.”
Delia cast her a warning glance, but it was clear that Alberdina was not concerned with hiding her opinion of the Capital in any way. “The place is unhealthy, and we all think it has to do with the magic. Whether it’s just too many spells tangling up with one another, or the wrong kind of magic, who can say? Only another mage, and they aren’t talking. Or maybe it’s all the bad temper there. Everyone silently at everyone else’s throat. We’re sensitive to that; can’t be a Healer without also being an Empath. Fortunately for me, no one there wants a loud-mouthed female Healer who won’t keep her opinions to herself.”