Kren of the Mitchegai by Leo Frankowski and Dave Grossman

Only the red and lavender uniform cloaks of the soldiers on guard duty looked crisp and new, though made of a rough, sturdy and warm cloth. Drab, camouflaged military clothing is only useful if your enemy has long range-weapons. Otherwise, bright colors are better for morale and unit identification.

The guards’ weapons, while undecorated, were all of the finest quality.

In Sala’s large but well-worn office, she said, “First, we have to make sure that this credit card still works. I mean, I trust you, Bronki, but anything could have happened in the eight days since you got this thing.”

Bronki said, “But of course. I’ve been worried about it myself. And withdrawing the money now keeps the duke from seeing the name on the card.”

“Quite right.” Sala inserted the card into a machine on her desk. “It seems to be all right. Yes, the full amount has been transferred to the duke’s private account.”

Kren was about to be outraged about having spent his money without having anything in writing, but Bronki told him to relax. Everything would be just fine.

“This card is now empty?” Bronki asked.

“There’s less than a gross Ke left in it,” Sala said.

“Then we’d best dispose of it,” Bronki said, lighting the plastic card on fire and watching it burn in a ceramic waste container. The odor would have been offensive to a human, but the Mitchegai have almost no sense of smell.

“Now then,” Sala said. “There was a certain sum due to me?”

“But of course,” Bronki said. “Right after the papers are signed and filed with the Bonding Authority. Surely you understand.”

“I suppose that I do. Well, shall we go see Duke Dennon?”

It was perhaps the last fine day of autumn, and the duke elected to meet his guests on the fighting top of his personal tower.

Kren thought that Duke Dennon looked very tired, or that perhaps that he had been under extreme stress for a long time.

While the duke had a more elaborate helmet than his guards, he wore the same rough military cloak and the same practical but high-quality sword that his soldiers did. Kren was glad to be wearing a different sword of slightly lesser quality, if better outward appearance.

Sala greeted the duke in the aristocratic language of Beno, which Kren understood somewhat, but in which he did not feel confident speaking. The duke was informed that the money, a gross billion Ke, had been transferred to his personal account, and that the transaction had been verified.

The lines of tension drained off of Duke Dennon’s face, and he took a more relaxed stance.

“Thank you, Sala,” Duke Dennon said. “And these are our honored guests?”

Sala introduced Bronki and Kren, who bowed in the manner that they had rehearsed on the train.

“Kren, I have looked forward to meeting you since I saw you win the fencing competition at your first meet. Oh, how I wish I had bet on that one! I immediately phoned in a wager on the accuracy throw, to my considerable profit!” Because of their academic garb, the duke said it in Keno, the academic language, which he was not truly fluent in.

“I am glad to have been the instrument of your good fortune, but I never dreamed that I would have the honor of meeting you personally, Your Grace,” Kren answered in Meno, the military language.

The duke smiled and answered in fluent Meno, “So, you have a military background! Excellent! It’s always pleasant to talk with a former soldier. You always know exactly where you stand. Who did you serve under?”

Among the Mitchegai, loyalty, when it existed at all, was always on a personal basis, and never to a territory, or to a group, or to a philosophy. And certainly not to a religion, because the Mitchegai had no such thing.

“I was in the army of Duke Mo.”

Duke Mo’s estates were on the opposite side of the planet. Since the upper nobility rarely felt safe away from their estates, Kren hoped that the two hadn’t met.

“Duke Mo is said to have an excellent army. Is that where you learned to use the javelin and the épée?”

“I learned how to handle the spear and the sword there, Your Grace. I learned the ways of the javelin and the épée at the university. Duke Mo’s army was equipped much like your own, but I think perhaps with weapons of slightly lesser quality,” Kren said.

“You have a good eye for weapons, then. I thought that I saw you admiring my own sword. It takes a master to recognize a true Kanto blade when it is still in the sheath!” The duke drew his sword to show off the watering on the blade. “It’s not fancy, but the blade is the finest quality available anywhere, with twelve foldings in the forging process. Every one of my soldiers has one just like it. Here, take it. It’s a gift to honor this great occasion, to mark the beginning of a long-lasting association. Perhaps eventually, even a friendship.”

“I’m deeply honored, Your Grace,” Kren said, going down on one knee to accept the sword, as Bronki had schooled him. “I only wish that I could give you an equal gift in return.”

“First, save the knee bending for the throne room, if you don’t mind. And second, now that I have your money, the only thing that you could have for me might be some information,” Duke Dennon said.

“If it is possible that I know something that you do not, then certainly,” Kren said, standing and slipping his new sword under his white outer belt, in the proper, edge-up fashion. Concealing a sword under your cloak required carrying it vertically.

“I believe that you know which event you are going to win at, next Saturday. I have been studying the patterns of your wins. After your first meet, at each event, you have won at one and only one of the events that you are outstanding at. The reasons why a perfect athlete would do such a thing are obvious. I want to know which one you will win at next.”

“Your Grace, I am not the perfect athlete that you claim me to be. I can make no prediction with absolute certainty. But with that understood, well, I’m putting my money on the fencing competition, or at least such money that I have left, after today’s purchase.”

“Thank you. It is possible that I will make a small wager as well. Next, I want to see you throw a spear in person. You know, on television, your throwing form bears an uncanny resemblance to a very fine young officer and athlete that I used to have in my army.”

“Used to, Your Grace?”

“Yes, Droko went missing while on guard duty, a year or two ago. Nobody could ever figure out what happened to her. But anyway, Lorka, lend him your spear,” he said to one of his guards.

“I’m not used to throwing from such a height, Your Grace . . .”

“Two ‘Your Graces’ per conversation are sufficient, Kren. Just take the spear and see how close you can come to that large juvenal down there,” Dennon said, pointing with his sword.

The juvenal was so far away that the only possibility of hitting her was with a running throw. Kren doffed his academic cloak along with his well-filled pouch and both of his swords. He hefted the borrowed spear, took the three standard running steps, and let fly from the top of the tower. The problem was that the battlements kept him from seeing his target as he was throwing. Standing at them, he watched the spear fly, and he saw that he would miss. The spear caught the juvenal in the tail, pinned the tail to the ground, and caused her to run around in circles in a most comical fashion.

Everyone but Kren laughed.

“Ha ha ha! Oh! That was funny!” The duke laughed, “But Kren, it was also a perfect throw. I was watching from the battlements here. The juvenal moved just as you started your run, but you couldn’t see her from where you were. You hit exactly where she had been standing! Had she remained where she was, I think your spear would have gone straight through her neck. That was truly amazing! Your style is much like Droko’s, but she could never have made that throw!”

“Thank you. I feel less mortified, now.”

“Lorka, go down, and have the mess attendants take that juvenal for distribution to the soldiers. Then bring back your spear and present it to Kren, here, in honor of that throw. You can draw another one for yourself from stores. And get me another sword while you’re down there.”

The duke picked up the decorated sword that Kren had brought with him. He drew the blade from the richly engraved scabbard and studied the watering. He judged it to be acceptable, for a civilian.

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