“When—if—we actually cross the river, then they might start taking us seriously. But meanwhile we ought to go through those militias like corn through a goose.” Or will we? Suppose they turn out to be like the Ozian militias! “The imperial garrisons might give us a bad time, but they’re isolated cohorts, one here and one there. The emperor would probably get the Throne Army moving pretty quickly, but even they’d have a long way to come, unless he’d already moved them south.”
His finger moved across the Inner Marches. “We ought to get this far, anyway,” he added, pointing to a town labelled Ternass, on the main route between the Big River and Duinarog. North of Ternass was a zone well marked with symbols for marshes or swamps. A major road was shown crossing it, but God knew what it was like. “Far enough to shake things up in the empire, not to mention the Marches. Far enough they might negotiate in good faith to get rid of us, but not far enough to get caught with those swamps at our back.”
Wollerda sat with his chin in one hand, lips pursed. “Possibly. Or the dukes might be right. It’s hard to imagine getting allied forces to operate as an army.”
“In that case,” Macurdy answered, “we wouldn’t invade.” He changed tack then. “How solid is the empire? Sarkia says the dukes fight each other sometimes.”
“They have in the past. But I don’t think there’s been any fighting between dukes during the fifteen years of Paedhrig’s rule. Or before it for quite a while.”
“But some pretty serious political fighting?”
“I don’t really know. Historically there’ve been rivalries, bickering, political factions, and grudges between dukedoms. And the factions have internal squabbles. But I have no doubt at all they’d unite solidly against invasion.
“Furthermore, it could result in a counter-invasion that could ruin us here: the Quaie Incursion five-fold. It might even result in conquest, with the Marches expanded south to the Middle Mountains.”
Macurdy frowned thoughtfully. “Suppose we say our strike northward is a punishment for—what did you call it?—the Quaie Incursion. Especially for Ferny Cove. That seems to be something the ylver have strong disagreements about. It got Quaie fired from the army and kicked off the Imperial Council.”
Wollerda stared. “How do you know? Is that something Sarkia told you?”
Macurdy shook his head. “I made a trip, awhile back. To the headwaters of the Tuliptree River, to check out a story the Dynast’s ambassadrix told me, and another one told me by a tomttu she had with her. I couldn’t be sure what was lies and what was truth, so I went to look. That’s where I found out about Quaie, whom I’d never heard of before. And what happened to him for what he did.”
Wollerda’s frown was back. “How could you learn things like that on the headwaters of the Tuliptree?”
Again Macurdy sat briefly silent. “I guess I’d better start from the beginning,” he said, then told Wollerda what the tomttu had said about Varia’s capture, and what Liiset claimed had happened afterward. And about his trip to the Tuliptree and what had happened there, to him and to the tracker who’d been bringing Varia back to the Sisterhood. And finally what he’d heard the ylvin commander, Kincaid, say.
“And there’s no way I could have imagined it. I didn’t know enough.”
Wollerda wasn’t just frowning now. He frowned thoughtfully. “Cyncaidh. There is a Cyncaidh, an important noble. That’s all I know about him. But it’s hard to imagine an ylvin aristocrat in buckskins, scouting through the Granite Range.”
He paused. “And you want this invasion just to get your wife back, right? Have you thought of the blood it’ll cost?”
Macurdy nodded soberly. “But if there weren’t any Varia, and never had been—if I’d been born in these hills and was in this rebellion for only the reasons you are—it would still look like something to think about seriously. Knowing what I know now. It’s all of a piece with an alliance that could make the southern lands stronger. And richer.
“Look at it like this. If you were king of Tekalos . . .”