Lora of Two Worlds

Alvin met them outside the city gate with his men.

They’d barely exchanged a few words when Lora and Leon’s horse appeared. Seeing that Alvin had brought a carriage, Leon dismounted with Lora and walked to Alvin and Roland.

”Leon, sister, you’ve had a hard ride. I was worried you wouldn’t keep up...” Alvin’s face was calm. Looking at his sister, a smile broke through: ”Sister, get in the carriage and rest. There’re things I need to say before you enter the governor’s palace.”

He addressed Leon and Roland, but Lora stopped too.

”Greyhollow March launched a surprise attack on Deepford. They want to reclaim the Yarrow and Deep provinces that the crown split away from them. The timing, it may have been coordinated with the rebel’s killing of the envoy in Yorvik.

They bet that the crown won’t send troops, and that neighboring domains won’t truly fight. If Greyhollow March reabsorbs those provinces and grows stronger, Yorvik’s position becomes more important. He can demand more from the crown.”

”But Yorvik didn’t kill the envoy...” Alvin picked up Roland’s thread:

”Right. The interval was too short. Greyhollow March didn’t know Yorvik had changed hands, they attacked anyway. The problem now: Sheffield refuses to march. He wants to sit it out. Northern chaos serves his interests. We had you rush back to win one day. Otherwise, if Deepford falls, it’s too late.”

”Let’s go to the guest house. I’ll write two letters and send them at once.” Leon headed for his horse.

Lora climbed into the carriage. Something was nagging at her.

Yes, there it was! She lifted the curtain: ”Roland! Roland!”

But Roland was talking with Chester Horn and Faye. He didn’t hear.

”You thought of something? Wait for me.”

Leon spoke and was in the carriage before she could blink.

”Alvin said the timing matches the envoy’s killing. But, the one who killed the envoy was the rebel. Not Sheffield.”

”Right, what’s the problem?”

Lora’s gaze went past Leon’s face. She was grasping at something they’d all missed: Cedric Salt had blocked Sheffield from cooperating with Alvin. That was why von Klein and the others had been imprisoned.

”On the day of Sheffield’s coup, Cedric Salt left Yorvik in a hurry. Could that be connected to Greyhollow March’s attack on Deepford?”

”He’s a merchant. What does he gain from meddling in this?”

That was what Lora couldn’t figure out. Merchants don’t rise early without profit. Was he selling weapons and grain to the marcher lords?

The carriage slowed. Leon nodded to Lora, crouched to step out, then turned back, whispering:

”You didn’t sleep last night. If you’re tired, close your eyes. I think... Alvin means to use force. Tonight, troops will move.”

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That was why Alvin had demanded they ride through the night.

Their return gave a perfect excuse to gather all three Yorvik household generals in one room: splitting the coal profits. With Alvin’s men few, getting the leaders together was the only way to play them against each other.

Lora stepped down. Leon was already gone. The courtyard held only the Turkic boys. She beckoned Jian:

”You three, go check on your clansmen. Back by mid-afternoon at the latest. But only you three. The rest, wait at the south gate for us.”

She pulled three silver ingots from her satchel:

”Exchange these for copper. Your earning men are leaving. The house going to Highgarden needs travel money. And the crops won’t harvest that fast.”

Jian hesitated, then took the ingots, bowed, and ran to his people. The other Turkic boys bowed from afar and left.

Tonight, troops move. The money-splitting would be at the noon banquet.

After they left, Lora stood in the courtyard, still puzzling over Cedric Salt and Sheffield.

Then she heard a clinking sound. She turned, Lyle. He was bolting an extra pair of stirrups to a saddle.

Corin, just arriving, was baffled: ”Lyle, what are you doing?”

”Adding a second set of stirrups. So the lord’s foot doesn’t bruise.”

Corin couldn’t fathom how extra stirrups related to foot bruises: ”Does your lord have four legs?”

”You’re good at making something from nothing. Go ask your lady.”

Something from nothing? Lora’s mind sparked. She bounced on her toes: ”Lyle, you’re a genius! Thank you for that! Corin, Shawn, come with me.”

What did I say? Ask your lady?

”Hey, what are you up to? Take me!”

Before long, a shaman and his apprentice appeared on the street outside the governor’s palace. As they passed Lora and Shawn, the apprentice winked at her.

Lora laughed, whispering: ”I told him to play a shaman, but he went and fetched a real one. May the spirits forgive me.”

The shaman walked, then paused, then walked. At last, Sheffield appeared.

Why a shaman and not a wandering herbalist?

Yorvik had many Turkic peoples and those of Turkic descent. Though cultures had blended, faith didn’t change. They believed in animism, in spirits in all things.

The Sheffield surname itself was of Turkic origin. Lora decided to try.

The Askar shaman leaned on his staff. They walked toward Sheffield, murmuring: ”Alas, a pity, a pity.”

Sheffield had already passed them. He looked back, suspicious. To his guard captain:

”Bring that shaman. Ask him, what’s the pity?”

The shaman was led over. He looked up at Sheffield on his horse and said: ”Alas, ink black, paper white, gold comes unbidden, the grafted branch buries all that’s ahead.”

Then he walked away without looking back.

What did that mean? Sheffield walked on, turning the four phrases over and over.

He was heading to the Sheffield residence. Yannic Xavier was back, good news. The coal sample was a success. He’d found buyers. Coal above ground, gold and silver immediately.

”Gold comes unbid ” Wait!

”Sheffield Lei, go stop that shaman. Bring him back.”

Ink black, paper white, could it mean...? Sheffield’s suspicion flared. Of course Sheffield Lei returned empty-handed. The shaman and his apprentice had vanished.

His kinsman had real ability. With his salt-trade monopoly license, he controlled the Empire’s entire salt industry... And so I should come when he calls, go when he waves?

Sheffield was mediocre, and he knew it. The thing he feared most was having his competence questioned. That street-corner prophecy was a thorn in his heart.

Inside the Sheffield residence, Claude Baldwin and the others were chatting:

”I just heard, the Duke of Greyhollow March has someone supplying him grain and weapons for free. Otherwise, with Eastmarch’s poor harvest, where would he get the nerve to attack Yarrow and Deep?”

”True. But we’re at peace. No need for history to repeat itself.”

Cedric Hugo meant the Eastmarch uprising of twenty years ago, when the three northern domains had slipped back into semi-independence.

You want to support Greyhollow March? I’ll oppose. I’m the lord warden of Yorvik now. I’ve got ”gold from the ground.” I’ll be my own little king. Why help you against the crown?

”Ah! The lord warden! The moment you called, I came. I hear Yannic Xavier brought good news?”

Sheffield had made up his mind. He smiled:

”Indeed. When has your brother steered you wrong? But before that, let’s discuss that warrant for suppressing the rebel.”

The suppression warrant?

Claude Baldwin and Cedric Hugo exchanged looks: Are we going to war?