Book 3, Chapter 4: Brin, Tread, Smithies
I was healing and had to face Tread and Brin again, as they were running my castle. It was also time to put my plans into action. To introduce technologies ancient for me, but revolutionary here. Time to build my war machine.
I effectively found myself in the Macedonian era, roughly 300 BC. What technologies could I introduce to the world? What changes to make? Would these be for the betterment of people or to cement my own power?
These questions I now faced, I’d been mulling over for most of my convalescence. Whenever I wasn’t having nightmares.
Protection and security were the answers to my questions. Despite the relative safety of Bechalle’s castle without Bechalle in it, I still had many enemies. The Laemacians. Ketzillians. The dowager and Seclazrin religious order at the Barclay Duchy. They wanted my kingdom. And those enemies had armies. Come spring, they were marching on me.
I wasn’t going to wait here, passive. I was coming for them.
“Tread, I’m going to need meetings with the smithies.” Late September, early autumn, the armies had quit the river crossing and were returning. Tread had work crews non-stop putting up new housing, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. Fortunately, we had plenty of manpower in our soldiers for that.
“They’ll be glad to speak to you, I’m sure. We’re having minor quarrels with where to house the extra smithies. Now that we have two of each.” At the time we met when I’d first come into this world, he’d been the same height as me. Then, we could wear each other’s armor. Now he was growing. A little taller than me, sure to get taller still, but just as skinny and a touch gangly. Typical awkward teenage boy, except for his oddly keen and humble mind. And he’d lost his accent, spoke like a lord now.
“They’re integral to my plans. If you can, find them the largest, easiest to access locations possible.”
“Perhaps, my lady, you misunderstand. A little.”
“Oh?”
Tread leaned forward, “Too many roosters, not enough hens.”
“Sorry, what? Can’t the farmers deal with that?”
Tread coughed back a laugh, his brown eyes full of mirth. “No, I mean, you got to put one in charge. One of the master smiths.”
“Oh! Bechalle’s smithy here is being territorial? Alright, designate our master smith the lead master smith, in charge, backed by our military.”
He looked relieved, “That will work.”
“I’m also going to need to talk to someone who can . . . Tread, are there chemists here?”
“You mean alchemists?”
“Huh, ok. That might work. I’ll need glassblowers to make some equipment for me, then this alchemist to, well, I’ll have to explain to him what I mean.”
“The only alchemist in the village was kicked out of the castle by General Morrentz. He worked for Bechalle. You want him back?”
“I don’t think I have any other choice.” I wanted to make whiskey, which required distilling ale, then storing it in wooden barrels. That would be the best approximation of whiskey, anyways. I don’t know why I wanted to do this, except to best Bechalle’s terrible alejack. Unlike the alejack, which basically involved freezing the water out of the solution and thereby concentrating all the alcohols, good and bad, distillation, done properly, could remove the dangerous alcohols, creating a product less migraine inducing, less organ damaging. Also, I was considering taking up alcoholism to pass the time.
“Alchemists,” Tread explained, “are not safe individuals to . . . trust.”
I couldn’t tell him that I’d do it myself, only I’d risk blowing the whole place up with magic shooting off my hands. If the alchemist was the closest thing to a chemist, he was probably the only one who could learn how to use the equipment, understand some of the concepts. “Well, we’ll try him out, see how it works.”
“You’re not going to ask him to make gold, are you? That’s a fool’s errand.”
“No, Tread, I am not.” Not unless the alchemist comes with a nuclear fusion reactor. “Gold is mined, not made.”
He visibly relaxed. “Great.”
“I think that’s it then. When will the army be returning?”
“Probably by the end of the week. It takes a lot to move that many troops.”
“I mean, we did it. We moved that many troops in a week.”
“They’re going through farmland and villages. Ah, uhm,” he looked embarrassed, “expect some delays.”
“Are you suggesting they won’t maintain discipline on the way here?”
“They’re not fleeing for their lives and, I mean, my lady, and probably they won’t want to damage the existing roads or farms.”
I blinked and leaned forward, not quite getting what he was telling me but getting it all the same. “Ok, so they’ll be here in a week.”
“About a week.”
“Sure, that works.” I stood, thinking to go and practice manipulating the magical energy. “Alright. I’ll see you later.”
He hadn’t moved. “Uhm . . .”
“Yes?”
“One last matter.”
“Alright?”
“Lady Brin would like to see you. She said to remind you that it has been nearly a month since she’d seen to her charge. I, uh, memorized that.” Tread fiddled with his teacup.
A confrontation with Brin. I guess it had to happen, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. Because her parents appeared, if not complicit, then knowledgeable about Bechalle’s crimes, it complicated our relationship. And made it easy to have removed myself from her administrations. But it was never easy to thwart Brin’s plans. I just had to try.
“Can you let Lady Brin know that I’m busy?”
“She’s waiting outside the door right now.”
I sighed, “Tread . . .”
“Yup, I’ll just go show her in.” He rose and quickly went to the door while I did nothing more than watch. I had to pay the price of not being upfront with her myself, I guess.
Brin walked in wearing a blue dress, blond hair straightened and running down her shoulders, “Cayce! I’m so happy you are up and about – are you feeling better? How are you coping without me and the girls around?”
“Uh, good. Do you want to sit?”
She quickly walked over to my side and embraced me in a hug, “How awful, what my uncle did! I can’t believe that I told you to marry the beast!”
I gave in, standing, and hugged her back. “It’s ok, Brin, I’m fine now.”
“Nonsense. You need me around, the ladies in waiting, to cheer you up. Surrounded by men and healers, you’re probably bored out of your mind. And look! They have you in chainmail? No one around to help you dress – how dreadful!”
“Uh, no, really, I’m fine. I put the chain on myself.”
“Oh, Cayce, you poor thing.” She hugged me tighter.
“Brin, Brin!” I couldn’t push her away and found my arms tightening around her body. A slight tear in my eye that I quickly wiped away. “Brin, I’m ok. Really. This is the image I want to project.”
“You think you need the armor now to protect you. I can understand that. It’s the soldiers who protect you. On the outside. Inside, it’s your ladies and your councilors. You have to let us back in.”
“Right now, I only have war councilors.”
She pulled back to look me in the eyes, “Cayce.”
“No. No, not right now.” I pulled myself together, pushed my hand gently against her chest, then backed up a bit and sat down, gesturing toward the chair opposite me, “Tell me about your new role as the quartermaster.”
Brin tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, pushing forward her dress to sit, “Alright. You know that Morry booted everyone out of the castle while you were recovering? Well . . . I hired some of them back,” Brin said with a slight twist in her smile. “The nice ones. The waitress who made sure you never got lead sugar in your wine. And others who were kind to me as a child. Those I remembered fondly. Morry went too far.”
“I’m glad to know the soldiers aren’t doing the cooking.”
“No kidding! It was awful for that week until I got them back! Nothing but potato and carrot soup, chunks of meat. They seriously depleted our livestock. Some of the ranch hands were so angry, but I calmed them down.”
“I can see you’re taking to the job well.”
“Of course.”
“But if you’re doing the hiring, then-”
“Tread and I are working together. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but I’m straightening him out. You know, he should really be the quartermaster, he grew up doing this stuff on the farm.”
“Wait, what? What kinds of quartermaster stuff do you have to do on a farm?”
“Oh, the inputs and outputs.”
I gave her a blank stare.
“Feed, seed, sugar, salt in, produce and manure out. Come on, even as a princess you can’t be this daft.”
“Uh, I, yeah, that makes sense. So, a castle is just sort of bigger. Anyways, I need someone to handle my schedule and Tread’s good at that. You guys keep working together if that’s best.”
“You look uncomfortable in that armor.”
“I’m fine.”
“How are you sleeping?”
“Well. I’m sleeping well.”
“The big man said you had nightmares after . . . afterward.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I don’t think you should be alone.”
“Brin, we already moved past this topic.”
“You may have, but I didn’t.”
“Alright, dismissed. Thank you for coming. I’ll take everything you said under consideration.”
“I’m not one of your officers! You can’t just dismiss me.”
“Brin, you have lots to take care of. Getting food to the castle, ensuring that our army is fed – when they return from the field. They’ll be here soon. Don’t worry about me.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about you! If I don’t, who will? You’re my charge.”
“Ok, ok, thank you. I’m tired now and am going to rest.” I stood up, made my way to my chambers.
Brin also stood, watching me go, “Just don’t take too long to heal. You’re all that’s left of your family.”
As I walked down the stone hallway to my rooms, I couldn’t help but think that the family was already dead and an imposter was living the life of the princess.
***
I shut and barred the door. Couldn’t take the chance on someone walking in. When the chainmail came off, blue and purple fires quickly lit up along my arms. They were thicker, with little flares popping off as the streams snaked around and around. It was as if the energy had been building up under that armor.
When my palms were facing each other, the streams jumped back and forth between them. But as I drew them nearer, the energy started forming a ball. Panicking, I turned my hand away, energy lanced out and blew up a sofa chair, splinters shooting everywhere, pieces of wood bouncing off other chairs, the ceiling and walls, feather stuffing floating down in the aftermath. The smell of burnt dust and hair hung in the air.
Slightly less energy streaming around my arms and hands.
I stared at the mess, wondering what to do. Would they believe I broke a chair in a fit of rage? ‘Yeah, sorry, just so angry that I placed a grenade and a touch, just a touch, of C-4 on it. Hence, uh, the bits and pieces.’ Yeah. It would be hard to believe a person could create this mess.
After searching a while, I found a broom off in one of the far rooms, but as I moved to pick it up, my palm facing it, the broom moved away. Huh. I pushed my palm toward it again. Energy shot out and the broom disintegrated into splinters. Damnit.
I have to say, Bechalle, this doesn’t feel godly.
I moved as if to pick up the splinters and some of them moved away again. I tried moving them in a circle and little by little, they did. Until one of them shot against the wall. The rest dropped. I sighed, wondering how to clean this mess up. Probably the easiest was to put on my armor and start sweeping.
It looked like I had lots and lots of practice ahead of me before I could figure this out. Fortunately, in the absence of TV, the Internet, and games, I had the time. And a fireplace with which to dispose of all this evidence of magic. The problem was, I only had so much furniture.
Raising my hand, I tried to move the pieces together.
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