Owen’s journal snapped shut. “We can get a full day’s travel in today, be halfway to Grand Falls.”
“I cannot go.”
The two Mystrians looked at Kamiskwa. Nathaniel frowned. “All this coming from you will carry more weight.”
“Agreed, but what I saw is not for the Prince.” Kamiskwa knitted his fingers together. “The Shedashee need to be reminded of the Noragah. They must remember a time when we united to fight them. My father will already have sent runners to the other nations in the Confederation. They will confer and I must be here to tell them what I have seen…”
He held out his left forearm and poked a jagged claw wound with a thumb. “They will all inspect the wound. Scars will not do. And when they believe, they will send runners. The Shedashee will gather and fight the Noragah.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Well, then, I’ll be there with you to fight ’em.”
Kamiskwa shook his head. “You say that, my friend, but you will have other responsibilities.”
“You’re forgetting that your niece and nephews is my children.”
“And they are of the tribe, too; so we shall take care of them.” Kamiskwa smiled. “I do not say this to hurt you, nor because I doubt that Magehawk would be welcome at my side. It is because I fear that without your people to fight as our allies, we cannot turn the Noragah. And if there are no more dragons in the west, all of the world will be as was Piety.”
Reluctant though they were to leave Kamiskwa behind, Owen, Fire, and Nathaniel headed south from Saint Luke, making for the Benjamin River right below Grand Falls. They traveled relatively lightly, having abandoned all but two of the dire wolf pelts to the Altashee. Each man wore new clothing, his tattered and tainted clothes having been given to the women to be washed and repaired or burned.
Ezekiel Fire, because he had not been bitten or scratched by the demons, had not been forced through any cleansing ritual. He’d been treated as a guest and honored by Msitazi on the second night. He’d told the Altashee his favorite stories from the Scriptures, and had reported that the audience was more attentive and appreciative than most he had preached to.
By and large they were not given to much conversation as they made the trip back toward Temperance. Below the falls they found a large canoe and started down river. Owen, in the bow, had an unobstructed view of the countryside. The days had grown longer as they traveled, the green grasses tall, and the tree canopy shaded much of the river the first two days. The utter lack of destruction along the Benjamin contrasted with the devastation along the Snake.
Try as he might, Owen could not help but add details from the visions to the landscape. A soft rolling hill became a mound upon which had once stood a Norghaest outpost. He could imagine tunnels running beneath the landscape everywhere. Though he and Nathaniel did not talk about it, when they made camp, they chose to sleep atop large, flat rocks so Rufus couldn’t come up from the earth and, to further frustrate him, they did not stop at camping sites that he might know about.
It was, therefore, with great pleasure that they came around the curve of the river and saw the Prince’s dock. Owen picked up his paddle and pointed, then waved it high.
A little girl stopped and waved back.
Nathaniel laughed from the aft. “Your little one done sprung up some, hain’t she?”
“Three months we’ve been gone.” Owen dug in with his paddle. “Almost home.”
Nathaniel started paddling too. Miranda ran from the dock, then returned with the Prince. He, in turn, managed to catch hold of Prince Richard before the toddler ran off the end. With the boy in one arm, the Prince waved.
As they came to the dock Owen caught sight of his wife, Becca Green, and Princess Gisella sitting in the great house’s shade, sipping tea. Ian Rathfield, wearing Norillian clothes, save for a cast on his left leg, sat a bit apart from them in conversation with Bishop Bumble. Count von Metternin came to the dock to help secure the canoe. Both he and the Prince wore pants and shirts of Mystrian manufacture, and could have easily been taken for hired help in the employ of those up by the house.
Once the canoe had been tied off, Owen bounded out and scooped his daughter up. Miranda squealed. Tipping his hat back, Owen kissed her, then she pushed his face away.
“Papa, you have whiskers.”
“I do, child, but not for long.” He shifted her weight to his left arm, then offered the Prince his right hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Highness. You remember Ezekiel Fire.”
Vlad nodded. “I do.” He nodded to the Steward and Nathaniel, then looked at Owen again. “You’re missing two companions.”
“Makepeace elected to stay in Plentiful to help after the flood.” Owen lowered his voice as he saw Bishop Bumble marching down the lawn. “And Kamiskwa remained in Saint Luke to speak with the Shedashee. We can explain…”
“Please forgive me, gentlemen, Highness, but I do believe I spy my old friend, Ephraim Fox.”
Fire’s smiled died, and he seemed to shrink a bit. “Othniel Bumble, the years have been kind.”
“They have.” The fat man clasped his hands over his belly. “And now a sad duty, my friend. As bishop of the Archdiocese of Temperance Bay, I place you under arrest. You will, forthwith, be placed on trial for heresy. When convicted, you will burn.”
Prince Vlad fought to keep fury from his face. He turned and handed his son to Ezekiel Fire. “If you would be so kind, Steward, to hold my son.”
“Honored, Highness.” Fire accepted the boy into his arms and moved away from the edge of the dock.
Vlad turned to Bishop Bumble. “You will want to attend me. Now.”
“Highness, I think this is so lovely a day, it would be a shame to spoil this party by taking the host away from his guests.”
“That is a consideration that you might have made before inviting yourself, Bishop, or before you arrested a man.” Vlad turned on his heel and stalked off toward his laboratory. He did not wait for Bumble to follow, and did not turn around to see if the man was coming with him or not. The man’s huffing and puffing told him all he needed to know.
Vlad threw open the door and did not invite Bumble in, per se. The Bishop had seen the inside of the laboratory before the new structure had been built, and had barely dared to get more than a step or two from the door. Vlad had the impression he’d sooner march through the gates of Hell than enter a building filled with animals, specimens in jars, a variety of unidentifiable items, and one of the largest libraries in Mystria.
The Prince stopped at his desk and turned. Bumble remained in the threshold. Vlad was about to demand that he come in all the way, but there, hidden behind the door, was the thaumagraph station that connected Prince Haven to Count von Metternin’s River House. There was no way imaginable that Bumble could discern what the device was, but Prince Vlad doubted that ignorance was going to be any impediment to the man’s ability to cause trouble.
Vlad pointed back toward the dock. “What you did out there was rude and unforgivable.”
“I do not need to be forgiven, Highness, for doing the job appointed to me.” Bumble kept his voice even, but his ears burned red, revealing a hint of shame. “That man is a heretic. He blasphemes and traffics in diabolical magicks. He imperils the souls of everyone present. I daresay, were I not here, he would work his foul ways with you and the doom which visited Piety and Happy Valley would destroy Prince Haven.”
Vlad turned to his desk and flipped open a journal. That Bumble knew of Piety and Happy Valley didn’t surprise him. Catherine had reported that Bumble had visited Rathfield. Exactly what Bumble knew, and what he would make of it was important. While Vlad would have loved to have questioned him closely, to do so would reveal his knowledge of Fire’s discoveries, and that would leave him open to the same charges the Bishop was leveling against Fire.
“You have exceeded yourself here, Bishop.”
“I think not. I am well within my duty to arrest Fire. I have long since told you that he would be tried.”
Vlad nodded. “You did, so I did some research. We’ve not burned someone for heresy in the colonies in the last century, and in Temperance Bay we’ve not done it in over one hundred thirty years. In fact, while you can try him, convict him, excommunicate and defrock him, to have him killed requires the approval of civil authority.”
The cleric’s jowls rippled with a low chuckle. “I believe you will find, Highness, that there is not a local
