“No one is perfect, Rowle. Least of all, us. Whether she has any fondness for humans doesn’t concern me. She has given the Wanderers a noble mission–”
Rowle cut me off again. “Noble? Please, she just wants you to take care of the things she wants taken care of. Wanderers could solve many more problems if she would just let them know about them ahead of time. She’s Fate, Raphael, she’s knows much more than she lets on and only sics you on the problems she cares about.”
“That may be,” I acknowledged. “But our job is to aid her. She gave us all this power for a reason and it’s our obligation–”
“You feel obligated to be her lackey?” Rowle asked with a snarl of scorn.
“I don’t like that word, but yes, lackey or vassal or trouble-shooter, they all mean that I serve Fate, just as you once did.”
I took a breath and studied the man who’d been my enemy for so long. “Rowle, what changed in you? You served her just as we do now. What happened that made you decide that you couldn’t do that anymore?”
“I have my reasons,” Rowle said.
“Care to discuss them? I’m trying to see your side of this and it’d help if I knew what caused this rift between you two.”
“Haven’t you asked Verðandi?”
“Yes, I did. She didn’t answer me.”
“Of course not, the old hag wouldn’t be willing to admit anything that would lower your faith in her.”
“So then, you tell me.”
Rowle downed the rest of his wine and motioned toward another bottle. It rose from the tray, its cap peeling back as it did. The cork slid silently from the bottle’s neck and flew into the fire. Rowle held out his glass and the bottle tilted enough to fill his glass half full. He looked at the rest of us, but we still had enough wine in our glasses that he didn’t see the need to top them off.
“Well, if you want the story, I’ll give it to you. Back before I ever came to this country, I was married. We lived in a part of Germany referred to as Prussia back then. Many of the young men in our country hired themselves out as mercenaries in the many wars that were sweeping Europe in the seventeen hundreds. I was the captain of just such a platoon. I was assigned to help the British with their rebellious colonies and we came over shortly after Washington made his famous Christmas attack on Trenton against some of my fellow countrymen.
“We served our paymasters well, trying to make up for the disgrace of those colleagues. In their defense, I should mention that in that time, it was considered un-Christian to make war on Christmas day. My countrymen made the mistake of thinking Washington was a God-fearing Christian and they let their guard down.”
I shrugged. It wasn’t for me to make apologies for Washington’s bad form, as the British would say.
“I led my men for the next six months before I was killed by a musket ball from someone I never saw. You know what comes next. Verðandi sent a Wanderer to train me. I was told not to go home to my family. I had a son and daughter, twins, who were ten years old when I left for the Americas, but I was used to taking orders. It was the way Prussian soldiers were raised. My Prince, a second cousin on my mother’s side, took care of my family and saw to it that my wife was remarried to a man with prospects.
“I managed to check on my family from time to time, even though I disguised myself when I was in the area. Eventually, my wife’s new husband moved them all to the newly created United States of America. They settled in the Carolinas, south of Charleston.”
Rowle paused and noticed my glass was empty. He made the bottle tip more wine into it and into the other’s glasses, emptying that bottle. Alex got up without speaking and carried both empties into the kitchen. He was back with a third bottle when Rowle started up his story again.
“My son prospered in the new country and my daughter was married to a wealthy landowner in Virginia. I watched from afar and as my descendants grew in number and wealth. Then came the second war with the British. My family remembered the traditions and two of my grandsons joined the small American army. They were both young men of high birth and training and were given commissions and the command of platoons of men.
“I worried about those two. One had been given my name, Rowle, and his cousin, Frederick were both in the 1st Regiment of U.S. Light Dragoons in 1814. They served under a Frenchman who had migrated to this country after fighting with the French during the battle of Yorktown. Laval’s men were not probably outfitted, hell; they were not even given mounts until a week before the infamous Battle of Bladensburg. The battle was an embarrassment for the Americans. A smaller British force made them turn tail and run. It wasn’t so much the men’s fault as it was of their leaders.
“During the battle, both of my grandsons were killed. I know because I was there. I had asked Verðandi to take one or both of my grandsons as Wanderers if they were killed in battle. I still hadn’t received an apprentice by then and both would have made excellent Wanderers. Verðandi ordered me not to interfere in the battle in anyway and promised she would consider taking both of them as my apprentices.”
Rowle stopped and drained his second glass of wine. He summoned the third bottle and refilled it. Taking another healthy swig and making no pretense of actually enjoying the drink, he went back to his tale.
“When my grandsons
