The Marcher Lord (Over Guard) Page 13

  “It seems strange how cool it gets after such a hot day,” Lieutenant Taylor commented after talk of the food had run its course.

  The lord and his daughter had quietly agreed that it was very good, though it was no doubt much less opulent than what they were accustomed to. Still, Ian felt the fact that they were agreeable about it helped to reinforce the respectable attitude the company was able to maintain toward the margrave.

  “Not much out here to keep it all in,” Captain Marsden said as he finished a bit from his stew. “Marvelous out here, makes you feel like you could walk for days without seeing any hint that civilization exists anywhere at all.”

  “Quite so,” Lieutenant Taylor nodded.

  “But,” the captain paused for a moment, holding a finger to his lips as he swallowed thoughtfully, “we shall have it even better the further out we get. There are still a good deal of other hunters and trappers out along this stretch of plains, even though the Empire has cut the local trade down for the time being. The Dervish hunters are certainly out of sorts about that.”

  “Will we be able to begin by tomorrow then?” Lord Wester asked.

  Captain Marsden briefly glanced back at the Chax. “I greatly believe so. This first day was more for establishing some room than anything. But now that we’re out and about, we can spend the next few days going along to see if we can run across any long buffalo. From what I gather, they move in lines across these areas. At any rate, we should see some soon.”

  “I haven’t spoken at great length with the Chax,” Lord Wester said, “what do they plan in the next few days?”

  “I couldn’t confer about that, My Lord,” the captain said, pausing for a moment before being taken aback. “I don’t know, My Lord. All of our arrangements are wholly up to your whims, but it might be good to speak of that to the Chax guides.”

  “Yes,” Lord Wester said, staring at the captain.

  “Right,” the captain said brusquely. “Ah, Corporal Hanley, fetch us one of the leaders so that we may decide this immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Corporal Hanley said, putting down his food and blankly making his way over to the Chax group.

  Ian made sure to turn his head back after allowing himself a moment to watch, but many of the others weren’t quite as disciplined. And to his surprise he caught the girl’s—Elizabeth’s—eyes, and for a moment they held his, a small smile forming beneath hers, a slightly less restrained one beneath his. His heart rate responded a little in turn and he looked away first, grateful that there were so many other comparatively bland places to look. He managed to notice, upon sneaking another quick glance to see how she reacted, that when she looked away, she looked off to the side, at Captain Marsden in fact, instead of down as most ladies did in what Ian realized he associated with false coyness.

  No, Ian thought as he tried to fill his mouth full enough to cover his grin. The margrave’s daughter didn’t seem to be like so many of the prim and flitty daughters of nobility that so many fashionable novels were gleaned from. This Elizabeth Wester, by all accounts apparent to him, at least thus far, seemed to be very intelligent.

  Corporal Hanley returned, leading one of the slighter Chax behind him. Upon reaching the circle of people there was some confusion, but Ellis remained courteous and waved the guide to the spot he’d vacated, which was appropriately near both the captain and the margrave.

  “Uh, yes,” the captain started, “good evening. We were just conferring among ourselves what sort of immediate plans we have for the next few days of this expedition, and we thought that it would be best to inquire after the terrain and game that we should hope to encounter.”

  “Thank you,” the Chax nodded slightly, “we have expressed our gratitude for your invitation to guide this expedition to Lord Wester and his lovely daughter. However, we haven’t done it officially to all of you good men.”

  Ian started a bit. His curiosity was already well piqued by the very formal manner the Chax was conducting himself, but even more so at the guide’s seemingly flawless Bevish. He tried hard to think if this was the Chax he had spoken to this morning while memorizing some of his defining characteristics.

  “As to the next few days,” the Chax went on, “these Hovoloko Plains are at their peak for the various animals that migrate through this region. The long buffalo in particular are very plentiful in their migrating lines, and I expect we shall run into at least one large line tomorrow. The four horn herds aren’t as numerous this far south, but we should be able to find some, especially near the water holes. We have most of those mapped. There should also be opportunity to see leeta and suplins with much luck. And a few days from now, at a slow pace, taking some time for hunting, we will reach the rock gardens and the Mombosso River. That will be a good place to camp and hunt for some time.” The Chax paused, looking at Lord Wester cautiously. “That is, if My Lord would like.”

  “Yes,” Lord Wester said, “that will all be well. Where are the red lions most prevalent in this region?”

  The Chax gave a pronounced hesitation, and Ian imagined he could nearly see the Chax mentally weighing out the safest sentence. “The red lion, My Lord, isn’t especially common. They also have very little tendency to stay in one area or to stay to any predictable migration plan.”

  “But they favor certain circumstances,” Lord Wester said lowly.

  “Yes,” the Chax said, “anywhere there are herds of their prey, especially the long buffalo. It also seems more likely to encounter them in the higher hills, along the Quacu Mountains to the west. But we must always warn of the dangers they carry. They are extremely hard to kill, and often are found in prides. They are always a threat, whether or not they are provoked.”

  “It is all just a matter of being prepared, I would think,” Captain Marsden said.

  “It’s very rare for no deaths to occur in a party that is attacked,” the Chax stressed. “Very rare.”

  “Your warning is necessary, and appreciated,” Lord Wester answered, not having stirred, “but if it was not worth pursuing, I should have never gone out of bed, much less here. With good fortune, we’ll encounter at least one.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the Chax said.

  “To the lion then,” Lord Wester raised his cup not quite lazily, “and all that killing him entails.”

  “To the lion,” Lieutenant Taylor and Captain Marsden said just a moment before everyone else joined in.

  Elizabeth also raised her glass but didn’t say anything, her eyes pleased in a way that wasn’t excited, but Ian categorized the sentiment as very similar as he chorused with the others.

  While he didn’t necessarily think that the margrave’s amount of respect quite matched the peril that the red lions posed, famed as they were throughout the Empire for precisely the reason why the margrave was here, Ian promised that he would make an opportunity to shoot at one. He glanced over at Rory, who was looking off at the burgeoning night pattern above them.

  “Tell me more about the lion, then,” Lord Wester said as he settled back on his elbows and made preparations for his pipe.

  “My people know him as nar,” the Chax said, also settling somewhat, “as he is associated with death, always hungry, always watchful. They are even more feared than the ash dragons, and once were numerous throughout the continent.”

  * * * *

  The talk of lions and game and firearms and the Empire went on for some time, Ian alternately engaged and restless at the lack of permission for the enlisted men to be involved in the conversation. It was primarily Captain Marsden talking anyway, and though Ian begrudged it, the man was very well versed in many sorts of facts, though his opinion often fell to debatable conclusions.

  After the margrave had finished listening to what interested him from the Chax, the guide sat and politely listened for a long time before excusing himself. Ian watched and waited a minute or so before also asking permission to leave. This wasn’t much cause for attention, as Anglas and Brodie had already done so i
n conjunction with their taking the first night watch. Ian’s departure for bed was also highly expected, as he’d volunteered for the last watch. He didn’t really mind and had done so mostly because no one else wanted to take it. Prudence dictated that he also probably should have been to sleep by this time.

  “Hello,” Ian said quietly as he approached the Chax guide, who was getting something from one of the brisa’s side packs, “good evening.”

  “Good evening,” the Chax turned toward him, his features difficult to make out in the darkness.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your name,” Ian said, unsure whether he should extend his hand, but deciding that it was safer to do so and not misplace a moment of required civility. “I’m Private Ian Kanters. I’m very glad you spoke to us, it was very informative.”

  “Thank you,” the Chax said, hesitantly take his hand and raising it once before letting go, “that is very kind of you. My birth name is Pawajisosomo, but my adopted parents called me William.”

  “I see,” Ian said, frowning and smiling a bit, “how did all that come about?”

  “Yes, I suppose it always sounds strange to others,” the Chax said, perhaps also smiling. It was hard to tell. “I was born in the Ullomaya Province, but my parents died of a lanphoid outbreak when I was very young.”

  “Oh,” Ian said, shifting to his other foot. Lanphoid, while generally controllable within the bounds of civilization, was one of the worst diseases that periodically ravaged Ellosia and required constant inoculation. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” the Chax said, sounding awkward. “Fortunately, a Bevish missionary couple adopted and raised me in the Chiaktak village. They raised me very well. Not very many other orphans are so fortunate.”

  “No,” Ian said, thinking back to the boys he’d met in Carciti, and wondered how many parentless children were on Orinoco because of Ellosian contact. “They must have educated you especially well, your Bevish is excellent.”

  “Thank you,” the Chax said, “I have been given many advantages because of my parents. I have been richly blessed by God. Though I do not know why.”

  “Who can know?” Ian shrugged, trying to figure out if that meant the Chax did in fact believe in the Christian God, and just how unusual that was. “I imagine it’s been especially useful to know Bevish since Derfi ceded Orinoco.”

  “Yes,” the Chax laughed a little, “a lot of change has been happening here, and while some have been hurt by it and are very angry, it seems mostly a good thing that Baldave is in control now.”

  “And it will get even better, I bet,” Ian said. “So what do you normally prefer people to call you? Do the other Chax call you William?”

  “Oh, no,” the Chax shook his head, his demeanor visibly dropping. “I have them know me as Will, which is good enough. It doesn’t insult my parents, and in our language, Will sounds similar to a name of authority, so it serves me well.”

  “You’re in charge of all the guides?” Ian asked, impressed.

  “Yes,” the Chax nodded, “this is a crew that I have contracted. Though the favor would be mine, um, to ask very deeply that you don’t tell anyone what my Christian name is.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Ian said, taken aback. “I promise I won’t.”

  “You may call me pawamous, which means guide in our language, or chero, which means head guide,” the Chax said.

  “All right,” Ian said, pausing, “but would you mind if I just called you Will?”

  The Chax tilted and dropped his head in a strange way that Ian had noticed before. “No, I would not mind. That would be very nice, if it doesn’t cause you inconvenience.”

  Yes, Ian thought, I suppose that would seem strange in front of the others. “No, it’s no inconvenience to call someone by the name they prefer. It’s a deal then, and you can call me Ian if you’d like.”

  “Yes,” the Chax said, “that would be most agreeable. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ian said, looking back over his shoulder at the other Chax, who were still tightly grouped around their fire, “and I guess I should let you get going. I just wanted to thank you for telling us so much, I’m glad you’ll be our guide for this expedition.”

  “I am very glad as well,” the Chax said.

  “And if some time else,” Ian went on quickly, “I’d like to hear anything more you’d like to say about your planet or your people, if it wouldn’t be a bother.”

  “No, no bother at all.”

  “Excellent,” Ian grinned as he started back a bit, “and I’d be happy to tell you anything that you might want to know as well.”

  Will stopped for a moment and smiled back. “Thank you, I would like that.”

  * * * *

  Getting up at three o’clock in the morning wasn’t as easy as he would’ve liked to admit. It had grown cool enough that he’d reversed his regulator to heat. The camp was still—the circle of rangers, the two tents and the guides and even the brisa stood silent, their heads resting against each other near the ground.

  Rory had an even less pleasant time with it. He was in such an irritable mood that Ian didn’t know whether he should be nice and volunteer to take the first turn of walking around the perimeter or to be afraid that Rory would fall asleep if left to watch up on the outcropping rock.

  “You do the walking,” Rory mumbled when the decision came up, and Ian obliged.

  And it actually turned out to be the better of the two choices, as it was a pleasant way to wake up. By army regulations, he was supposed to walk a perimeter one hundred feet from any of the camp’s edges, but he pushed it out a little further to give himself some room. It was a fairly easy chore to begin with, given such open terrain. He kept the light on his yeoman ready but never used it, and clicked an all clear on his yeoman to Rory every five minutes.

  Ian felt like he did a decent job of remaining alert, but he also found it especially easy to drift off on mental tangents, mostly involving what had happened throughout the previous day and what might happen today. This was somewhat detrimental, as he did want to do the best job he could, and he started stopping every couple minutes to peer into the shadows and listen.

  While many of the sounds they’d heard throughout the day were quiet now, a different, more peaceful bed of sounds had risen in their place. There were the chirps and rising hums of insects in the grass, distant squalls of small animals intermittently calling to each other, and all manner of other unique animal noises that were heard only once or twice through his watch. And while Orinoco’s daytime sky was periodically pretty under the clouds that moved beneath the sun, the night sky produced an even greater tapestry of wonders. It was startling, after being so accustomed to the bland hues of Baldave’s night atmosphere above all the city lights, to look up and see a strip of iridescent greens fighting their way across the planet’s canopy, being slowly broken down into other colors as they changed a little with every star they crossed. Pushing, giving, changing until they reached the other horizon as a dusty scarlet, and the sky continued on with another half dozen small struggles as if it had never happened and would never again. And it wouldn’t, each second that Ian could ever hope to see was forever unique from all the rest as Orinoco played the tumultuous game of survival against its own sun.

  Ian waited until a bit after the midpoint in their watch before walking back to the outcropping at the center of the camp and climbing up the handholds that had long ago been hewn out of it. Ian was relieved to find Rory still awake—groggy and looking disgruntled with existence in general—but awake, even though Ian knew he must have been conscious at least every five minutes of their watch to confirm Ian’s jump-clicks.

  Watching from up on the rock wasn’t nearly as interesting as walking the perimeter, but it gave a great deal more freedom to think and look up at the sky. The prime hours for observing it were mostly past, however, and the eastern horizon began to grow a lighter gray that slowly stretched itself up and across the atmosphere. As Ian lay o
n the cold rock, his hands behind his head and one leg on his other knee, he once again expressed his gratitude for being here. He renewed his promise to work harder to overcome the bad impressions he’d engendered, and keep improving on the ones that were in better shape.

  Closing his eyes and quizzing himself, he started to go through all the possible jump-click commands that their company might send over their yeomans. Every ranger had to memorize the core commands, but the other 294 weren’t mandatory, and indeed, Ian didn’t know anyone who knew even a significant fraction of them by memory. It wasn’t so cumbersome to look down at the text on his yeoman when a command he didn’t know came through, but it would be far better if he could identify the jump-clicks that the yeoman sent into his arm without having to look down. Ian imagined that would be particularly useful in any sort of combat situation. He figured if he learned ten of them every day, he’d have them all memorized a safe while before the end of the expedition. So for the next hour he drilled himself until he had ten of the core variants that he deemed would be most useful.

  There were some subtle changes in the camp that gained momentum the more the grays on the eastern horizon turned to golden arcs. The first and most obvious was the captain rising and setting his things in order, starting a small cube fire and pot of coffee. Perhaps twenty minutes after this, Lord Wester also began moving about inside his tent and soon after made his way out to the remotest corner of the camp and stared off across the plains that were quickly divulging into their morning phase.

  All this Ian noted with only passing interest, personal habits that were nice to have seen, but didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t have guessed at. His efforts to keep the last two jump-clicks he was memorizing separate were far more distracting, at least until he heard movement from within the other tent.