Elizabeth of Starland (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Book 1 of the Colplatschki Chronicles

  Elizabeth of Starland

  Book 1 of the Colplatschki Chronicles

  Kindle edition 2013

  Alma T.C. Boykin

  Published by

  IndieBookLauncher.com

  EPUB edition ISBN: 978-1-927967-02-7

  Kindle edition ISBN: 978-1-927967-03-4

  Copyright 2013 Alma T.C. Boykin, all rights reserved.

  Prelude

  “My Lady General, we need to call back the cavalry!”

  Elizabeth von Sarmas shook her head. “No, not yet. We’ve pushed them almost to the river. That’s when they’ll panic and we will have the day. Trust Prince Imre’s judgment for once, Major Destefani.” She lowered her binoculars and studied the sprawl of carnage and chaos lapping against the walls of the city, and almost smiled. You are a fool, Lauri. I trust you realize that? No, His Gracious Majesty Laurence the Fifth, by Grace of Godown King of Frankonia, monarch of the western empire, would never allow himself to admit he had made an error in judgment.

  She heard a horse puffing and blowing, and turned to see her second in command riding up the back of the hill. Maj. Lazlo Destefani shifted his mount sideways, allowing the other officer to stop even with Countess Sarmas. “Well, Elizabeth, I do believe that, barring the unforeseen, King Laurence is going to regret shipping all that gold overland,” Matthew Lord Starland observed before taking a long drink from his saddle flask. He slapped his gelding’s crest with his free hand.

  “Indeed, Matthew, indeed.” Elizabeth raised the binoculars to her eyes again, studying the scene with her usual methodical pattern. “The Poloki and the Magvi certainly compliment His Imperial majesty’s troops.”

  Leather creaked as Matthew shifted, rising in the stirrups to get a better look at something. “They do. In fact—” A dull, rippling boom rolled towards the watchers as a dirty cloud boiled up from the last intact bridge over the Donau Novi River. “Was that planned?”

  Elizabeth smiled, not lowering her binoculars. “Yes. King Laurence is going to be very unhappy. The Grand Priest of Selkow may be even unhappier, unless something truly bizarre happens in the next hour. Tayyip the Invincible could well share their disappointment.”

  As the battle turned into a rout, Elizabeth stowed her binoculars and kneed Ricardo, her small stallion, turning him to the north. “Matthew, stay here until you are certain that the Grand Priest has not pulled a miracle out from under his veil. Lazlo, come with me. His Imperial Majesty needs to hear the news.” And if I do not see the looting, then I do not know about it, she laughed inside her mind. Her men and the residents of Vindobona had earned the right to “liberate” the Selkowaki portable treasury. Lauri, you truly are a fool. I’ve been waiting ten years for this day. Condemn me to death by convent, would you? Godown be praised for your stubbornness.

  Chapter 1: Great Escape

  On a rural estate well to the south of the Frankonian royal capitol, Elizabeth von Sarmas set aside the precious book and puffed on the damp ink of her latest set of notes. Lord Anthony Armstrong’s generosity in allowing her access to his library of ancient books still made her shake her head in wonder. Especially since he had the only surviving copy of Von Clausewitz outside a royal or imperial library! She handled the fragile tome with all the reverence she never gave the religious pamphlets that she was supposed to be studying. Godown be praised, she could spot memorize fast enough to keep Sister Amalthea satisfied with her charge’s progress. Elizabeth checked the page, tipping it in the waning light from the window to see if the ink had finished drying. It had, and she added the page to her growing stack of geography and military history notes.

  Elizabeth stood up and stretched, then bent as far forward as her stiff bodice and heavy headdress permitted. She hated the wimple with a ferocious passion and dreamed of burning the complicated, uncomfortable, and unsanitary contraption. But it let her conceal her immodestly short hair. The headdress also concealed the young woman’s improper thoughts and ambitions. Despite the red-brown wimple and plain black gown, Elizabeth’s heart held no trace of a religious vocation. She did not know precisely what she wanted to do, other than get married, but she knew that the life of a religious was not for her. Especially now that King Laurence had begun making noises about funding religious houses on the frontiers!

  “Godown’s Peace does not extend to the worshippers of Selkow, in case you had not noticed,” she whispered to the omnipresent royal portrait. At least, the goddess Selkow’s followers never chose to recognize the Peace. For that matter, if the rumors were true, King Laurence himself planned on breaking the Peace as soon as he dared. Elizabeth twisted left and right, loosening up her stiff back. She paced across the room a few times, trying to get the blood moving again. Her fingers automatically dropped to the chain hanging from her cord belt, fingering the pieces of polished metal. Instead of prayer beads, she carried her late father’s collection of gears and crystals, bits of the technology that had failed in the Great Fires. He’d died on the frontier, leaving a very merry widow with an unwanted daughter. Elizabeth sighed, stretched again, and returned to her task.

  The young woman had barely finished taking notes from another chapter when the heavy door behind her opened. “Lady Elizabeth,” Anthony Armstrong’s valet hissed.

  “Yes?” She got to her feet, skirts in hand.

  Her heart plunged as he warned, “The king is sending orders for your confinement. St. Verna of the Marshes.”

  She felt the blood rushing from her face and for a moment she thought she might faint. It was a death sentence, or might as well have been. The only sisters who lived more than a few years were those native to the region, who’d had malaria as children and who carried the protections in their blood. She took a deep breath and told her hands to stop shaking.

  “I see. Thank you for informing me.”

  He nodded and turned to go, adding, “Lady Orrosco will receive official word with the sunrise messages.” Elizabeth almost missed his next words, as he whispered, “If you wish to visit a shrine tomorrow, be careful, in case your mule gets loose again tonight.”

  After he left she began pacing, calming her nerves and forcing herself to think instead of panic. As she walked back and forth across the worn wooden floor, determination replaced fear. She would not go to the convent without at least trying to escape. The weather looked clear at the moment, but this time of year nocturnal storms often rolled over the land. Rain would wash away scent and tracks. Elizabeth knew the land around Lord Armstrong’s holdings, and had memorized the locations of royal way stations and alert posts on the main roads. If she could avoid those long enough to cross the eastern border and reach the Freistaadter…

  Elizabeth collected her notes, slipped them into the watertight bag that Sister Amalthea assumed held the Disciplines of Godown and other proper, devotional literature. She returned the copy of Von Clausewitz to its place on the shelf, and then schooled herself into a calm, meditative demeanor. She could not reveal that anything had upset her, lest Lady Orrosco or Sister Amalthea decide that she needed additional supervised meditation time. Elizabeth walked neither fast nor slow, her head bent in a modest fashion so that she could just see enough to avoid crashing into people and walls but not be distracted by “worldly” matters. It was the proper attitude of a woman religious. It also concealed a great deal, as Elizabeth had learned over the years. As she returned to her chamber, she thought about what she could take with her.

  Elizabeth needed provisions and funds, but not enough of either to arouse unwanted interest. She had a stash of silver and copper, a
nd two gold pieces that her mother had tossed at her during a fit of temper some years ago. Lord Armstrong kept journey food in the larder because of the ever-present risk of military deployment or, Godown forefend, flight or siege. King Laurence’s agreements with Selkow’s Own supposedly kept them from raiding this far inland, but from what she’d read Elizabeth doubted that the agreement meant much when a priest called for a ferengrazia. She felt her lip curling and stopped the expression. One never knew who might come in or what bit of the old technology might be working somewhere. After food and funds, what next?

  Clothing she had in plenty, most of which was utterly unsuited for hard night riding across country. Mother, you have the strangest ideas about proper garments, Elizabeth thought once again, half-closing the door to her room. Well, given that her mother depended on her “charms” for her subsistence and income, Lady Sarmas-to’s gifts to her daughter made a sort of sense. Elizabeth sat at the small desk in her chamber, pretending to read an evening devotional. Instead she took mental inventory of her clothes and decided on her heaviest linen and wools, plus her fur-lined mitts. She’d have to cross the mountains and spring storms came up without warning. The heavy clothes also let her pass as a commoner.

  A quiet bell chimed, interrupting her plans and marking the arrival of the evening meal. Elizabeth ate with Sister Amalthea. This let the good sister both tutor and monitor her charge without requiring time away from her own devotions. Elizabeth took her seat in silence, as befitted a pre-novice in the company of a professed sister. After blessing the food, Sister Amalthea began, “What is the Rule of the Second?”

  “The Rule of the Second is that all are creations of Godown. Male and female, human and animal He created them, all for His service in their differing abilities and gifts.”

  “Correct.” The nun sipped her vegetable broth as her charge ate a piece of bread. “What gifts are given to the female?”

  “In His gracious generosity, Godown gave to the female obedience and patience, strength of spirit and of faith, quietness of heart and mildness of temper.” Once again Elizabeth wondered if Godown really divided people up like that, or if His followers had misinterpreted His will.

  “Does this make the female inferior to the male?”

  “This does not make the female inferior to the male, for Godown makes nothing inferior.”

  “And blessed is He for that wisdom,” the old nun agreed. She let her charge finish more of her meal before asking, “Who is today’s patron?”

  It took Elizabeth a moment to remember. “Today is the feast of St. Gerald of the Bridge. On this day Godown took him to His rest, after years of dedicated service following the Great Fires. St. Gerald is the patron of travelers, of those who seek to bridge differences between peoples, of the Eastern Empire and the Babenburg—”

  “That is enough!” It took the nun a few breaths to recover her composure after her charge’s gross political error. “Godown loves all, and we are to pray for those who live in error unknowingly, just as we pray for his gracious Majesty’s efforts to bring their leaders back to the proper way,” Sister Amalthea reminded Elizabeth.

  “Yes Sister, your pardon. I learned from a pre-reform Lives of the Saints,” Elizabeth murmured, sounding properly penitent. But as she spoke, something stirred inside her. Was this the sign from Godown? She’d planned to travel east, to try and find sanctuary in the Freistaadter, but maybe Godown wanted her to go to the Empire. The idea felt right in her heart.

  “It would be good for you to reread the life of St. François. The sins of the Eastern Empire inspired some of his greatest homilies,” the gray-habited sister murmured, only the glint in her pale eyes revealing her lingering anger.

  “Thank you for the correction, Sister. Again, your disciplines guide me to Godown’s path.”

  “As it should be. Godown’s grace this night.”

  “And His blessing on the rising,” Elizabeth recited. She waited until her superior left before returning to her room. She had perhaps three hours before she could make her escape. Just in case someone looked in on her, she found her copy of the homilies of St. François and read the first two. His later writings, after he’d joined the Frankonian court as Queen Leona’s confessor, never appealed to her. Elizabeth harbored a suspicion that his complaints against the Eastern Empire had stemmed as much from King Peter the Strong’s foreign policies as they had from the Easterners actual sins. She also dug out a tract about the evils of the Landers and the sins that led to the Great Fires. Strange, she thought for the hundredth time at least, reading about massacres, rapes, and warfare is improper and unsuitable for a woman’s delicate mind. But reading about the murders, rapes, and torments of the Great Fires is educational and fit for a sheltered sister. I do not understand this world.

  Elizabeth told herself to wake up at an hour before midnight, depending on her internal clock to work as it usually did. She took off her wimple for what she hoped would be the last time and napped. At the time she’d set, she fought off the cobwebs and yawned, battling the desire to go back to sleep. Not if you want to live more than a year, she reminded herself. Not unless you want King Laurence to win. That was enough to propel her out of bed. She stripped off her habit and stuffed it under the covers, adding other garments and tucking the blanket around the pillow just like she usually pulled the blanket around her head. Elizabeth found the note that she’d written earlier and left it on the desk, another bit of misdirection. She pulled her heaviest clothes out of the chest, layering petticoats, skirts, two blouses, and a riding coat. Her heavy hat stayed down in the stables with her tack. Elizabeth divided her coins and a few pieces of jewelry into three pouches. She grabbed the small portrait of her father that she’d saved from her mother’s wrath and added it to her sack of notes, along with his relic chain, and after tucking a spare pair of heavy socks into the sack, she eased out the door, carrying her boots in one hand and the sack in another.

  Once clear of the private wing of Lord Armstrong’s manor, she pulled on her boots. She eased down to the kitchen and tried the larder door. It slid open and she loaded one of the waiting saddlebags with jerky, road bread, and three dried fruit bars. She could always use them as bait to try and catch something, or trade them for more bread. Elizabeth crept out of the kitchen through the servants’ door and trotted to the tack shed. There she grabbed her sidesaddle and largest panniers, along with her hat and oiled-leather cape. A compass, saddle knife, small packet of horse liniment, and bandages always stayed in the panniers, so she had everything she thought she could carry. Should she grab a bedroll as well? No, proper women did not carry bedrolls. Plus it would be one more thing someone might want to steal. Elizabeth assumed that common bandits and thieves found their prey the same way that noble bandits did. I doubt that Mama’s romances were anything close to the truth. The men Elizabeth had seen hanged for theft and murder did not look like the dashing, noble brigands of the tales.

  Elizabeth waited several minutes until she heard the night watch’s steps come and go. She had a quarter hour before he’d be back. This was it. If she ran now, there would be no return. Had she lost her mind? She was a woman on her own, no family, no skills, and hated by King Laurence. She’d be prey for every predator. She could stop now, accept her fate, and at least she’d have regular meals, shelter, and die in a state of grace. No. I will not die of overwork and fever just because King Laurence has tired of playing games with my cousin and because my mother thought that King Laurence the Fourth was immortal. I am Elizabeth von Sarmas and I have a different calling. Her hands shook and it took her two tries to hoist the heavy saddle, bridle, and loaded panniers onto her shoulder. The young woman staggered under the load and almost dropped it. Once balanced, she walked as quietly as she could to the far pasture. A pale shape snorted and scooted away as Elizabeth opened the gate.

  She’d planned for this. Snowy never did like being caught unless bribed. Elizabeth clucked, her hand out, holding two of the dried-up apples that the cook h
ad given to the hostlers for the animals. Snowy snorted again, then walked up to his rider. She kept her fingers flat as the mule chomped down on the treat. Homage paid, the riding mule permitted himself to be saddled and bridled. She led him to the mounting block and found a surprise waiting.

  A coil of rope, a fire-striker and tinder, a note, and what looked very much like a small book in a leather travel case sat on top of the block. Elizabeth blushed. Tom, the Armstrong riding master, was forever berating her for forgetting to carry a length of rope with her. “You never know when you will need it.” She tucked the items away into her panniers, mounted, and rode out. She closed the pasture gate and turned south, riding along the track through the woods. Once the misdirection in her note wore off, pursuers would assume that she’d go along the road, hiding her tracks and trying to reach her uncle and cousin, the Dukes of Sarmas. Instead she walked Snowy through the woods. Once they reached the open fields by the river, she urged him into a long trot. The mule snorted but complied without trying to shed his rider, for once. Like his rider, the mule was a failure: nice to look at, compact like a lady’s riding mule should be, but with an extra helping of mulish temper and too smart for anyone’s good. Because of that temper, no one but Elizabeth and Tom had ever discovered Snowy’s secret: he had a fifth gait, a glassy-smooth and mile-eating running walk.

  For now, however, Elizabeth rode the trot. Dark clouds hid the stars and she and Snowy both kept close watch for obstacles. She needed to reach cover by dawn, at least until she crossed the frontier. She had an idea of where she and the mule could hide, assuming they made it that far, and assuming that no large animals had moved into the caves, and that the caves remained open, and… At least she did not have to worry about humans there. Sane, normal people shunned the relics of the Landers, including their ruined buildings. Elizabeth ducked a branch, then scolded herself for not paying attention to the path.