'Greetings, William.'
'Thank you, Highness.'
The Prince pointed back in the direction of his estate. 'May I offer you hospitality? Unless, of course, you mean to make Temperance before nightfall.'
'We have come to see you, Great Prince.' Msitazi smiled broadly. 'I bring you a message from Aodaga.'
'Who?'
'The great killer of the Ungarakii.' Msitazi straightened the jacket. 'Captain Owen Strake.'
Prince Vlad sped Mugwump back to the estate and let Baker return him to the wurmrest. He took the towel from the servant, then sent him off to gather food. Then he helped William drag the canoe into his back lawn. The trio of men moved up to where just two months before the Prince had entertained Kamiskwa, Nathaniel, and Owen. He waited for his guests to seat themselves, then he sat as they did, cross-legged.
Though he desperately wished to see Captain Strake's message, he prepared himself to observe Shedashee convention and allow the chief to get to the message in his own time. Though frustrating, the Prince had come to realize that the native Mystrians did not view time as Norillians did. For them time was measured as sufficient or not. While the need for urgency did not go unrecognized, haste was considered closer to a sin than a mere vice and often the height of foolishness. To suggest otherwise was to forfeit Shedashee respect, and this was a thing not easily regained.
Msitazi handed the Prince a gorgeously beaded belt four inches wide and a yard and a half long. 'This my daughter Ishikis has made for you, Great Prince. I should consider it a great honor if you would take her for your wife.'
Vlad accepted it. The shell and turquoise, coral, onyx, and malachite had all been worked into a beautiful mosaic that featured bears at either end and a creature much like Mugwump through the rest of the design. The colorful stones had come from afar and were of incalculable value to the Altashee. The gift was as much an honor as the offer of his daughter.
'I regret that I must refuse your daughter's hand, Great Msitazi. I sent notice of your previous offer to my aunt. She has not yet given me leave to marry. I shall write her again.'
The elder Altashee smiled. 'You men of Norisle, you mistake the true treasures of this land.'
'I know you speak the truth.' Vlad stroked the belt with a hand. 'Captain Strake also refused a similar offer?'
'You shall write your aunt and ask her to send brave officers who do not have wives, please.'
'I shall, indeed, do that. How is it that you wear Captain Strake's coat?'
'He gave it to me, and I gave him robes of great medicine. He has gone off on the great mission you have given him. He will need such medicine.'
Msitazi opened a pouch and produced a sealed note. 'Aodaga sent this for you. We brought it as directly as we could. We had a little adventure on the way.'
Vlad accepted the note and broke the seal. He glanced at the date on the top of the first sheet. He traced a finger along through the numbers and did some figuring. His having committed A Continent's Calling to memory made swift translation possible. Strake modestly described their trip so far and informed the Prince of details about a man who might no longer be dead.
He read it over twice, just to make sure he was translating correctly, then looked up. 'What did they say of this man who may have returned from the grave?'
Msitazi's face darkened. 'Pierre Ilsavont. Magehawk did not like him. Shot him. They burned his head. He was supposed to have died during the bad winter. He was wendigo.'
'Did they say anything of a man named Guy du Malphias?'
'No. The wendigo kept company with Ungarakii. My son said they were off to hunt great prey. They were bound for Hattersburg.'
Vlad nodded slowly. 'The note mentions a journal and a ring.'
William glanced at his grandfather, then opened his pouch and produced both of them. 'I would not have let anyone have them, Highness.'
'They were entrusted to you wisely, William. Your duty has been nobly and well accomplished.' The ring was, as noted in the message, unremarkable other than being of Tharyngian manufacture and very far from home. While it might excite some interest in Launston, likely it would be dismissed as indicating little or nothing.
The journal, on the other hand, greatly excited the Prince. He began leafing through and found the missive addressed to Bethany Frost. He set it aside and continued to study the writing. What he noticed first, aside from the dreadful spelling and questionable grammar, was that the entries deteriorated over time. Sentences became shorter. Punctuation disappeared. The hand itself became larger and sloppier, with lines sloping across pages. The phases of the moon remained obvious, but the orb's shape suffered mightily.
Vlad looked up. 'I beg your pardon. I am being rude.'
Msitazi held a hand up. 'Your face is mine when I study a track. Watch him, William, for he is wise and can concentrate. A warrior who strikes fast is valued, but one who is wise enough to know where to strike, he will be the victor.'
The Prince smiled. 'And, William, you are fortunate enough to have a man who is both fast and wise in your grandfather. Study him.'
The boy beamed.
The Prince stood and waved to his wurmwright. 'Baker, come here.'
The hefty man ran over, clearly afraid that the Shedashee might be somehow threatening the Prince. 'Yes, Highness.'
Vlad handed him the note to Bethany Frost. 'Take my fastest horse and deliver this to the Frosts. Ask Doctor Frost, his wife, his daughter, and his son, Caleb, to be my guests this evening for dinner. They will return home in the morning. You will have Colonel Langford prepare a coach for them and an honor guard of his cavalry company. He'll tell you that you are an idiot. You will tell him I said he was not to lead the cavalry, which is how he will know the order comes from me. The cavalry carry something of value back tomorrow. Their escort duty shall be a ruse should the enemy be watching. Have the guards bring a small strong box with them, including all keys for it.'
'Yes, Highness. Should I be going now, Highness, or in a bit since your wurm needs feeding.'
'Go now. I think Great Chief Msitazi and his grandson would help me feed the wurm. And on your way, tell the kitchen we shall have seven for dinner. It should be memorable.'
'Highness, it's a bit late in the day…'
'Tell them that if I have to cook, they will have to feed the wurm.'
'I think they will understand, Highness.'
Throughout the discussion Msitazi's face remained an emotionless onyx mask, but as Baker ran off, he smiled. 'It is not power that enables one to rule, but the wisdom to know how much to employ and when.'
'One always hopes for circumstances that allow for the deliberation that makes both power and wisdom possible.' The Prince waved his guests toward the wurmrest. 'You will, of course, dine with me this evening as my guests. But first, shall we see to Mugwump's comfort?'
The boy clearly enjoyed feeding the wurm at least after he got past his initial fear. Mugwump appeared to enjoy his presence even more, gently nudging him and bringing his tail around to corral him. The boy shrieked delightedly and jabbered away at his grandfather. Prince Vlad was certain some great tales were going to be heard in Saint Luke upon their return.
The Prince left the two of them to their own devices and retired to his laboratory to study the journal and ring. On closer examination, the only odd details he noted about the ring were some engraving and that a small sliver of brass had been carved from the band. It was possible the latter had happened by accident, but unlikely. The engraving inside the band was comprised, in part, of several symbols of arcane import. Compared with the crest on the outer face, these letters, like the sliver cut from the band, had been made very recently. The Prince accepted that both had been done deliberately and, therefore, had significance.
The journal itself presented the Prince with clues both tantalizing and frustrating. Inside the back cover he found the symbols from the ring repeated. That confirmed their use as some sort of indexing scheme. Still, simple numbers would have sufficed to please an accountant or quartermaster. The symbols themselves had their roots in magick, and Owen's suggestion in the letter that there was a magickal link to the ring suggested something rather sinister.
