by Amanda Fleet
I sighed. These could be a difficult couple of days, not helped by Valgan being exactly the kind of Guardian who’d make waves in the provinces, just to curry favour with Lord Eredan. But maybe it was better he was with me and Faran than with others who’d also see these missions as ways to demonstrate power they didn’t really have. If Valgan stepped even a hair’s breadth out of line, Faran would wallop him.
When I’d asked over breakfast, Faran said we’d both been out to the provinces in our youth, but I couldn’t remember much about them. I was looking forward to getting out of the city, despite Valgan’s presence. I wouldn’t even care if it rained – the enclosed nature of most of the city was an anathema to me. Faran had been spectacularly unexcited about it all, mumping his way through his porridge and rolling his eyes at my enthusiasm. He’d happily stay in the city and never leave for the whole of his life.
The armoury lay near the Great Hall. The large, square room was staffed by a couple of middle-aged Guardians who’d been injured too badly for the healers to remedy completely, and so were invalided out of the main Guardian corps. They smiled widely at Faran; less widely at me, though stopped short of actual disrespect. Probably a good job, given Faran’s current mood.
The elder of the two men had no front teeth and a jagged scar down his face; the other was missing three fingers on his left hand. Cupboards holding swords and daggers lined the walls of the armoury. It was the armourers’ job to log the weapons in and out and also to maintain them. The special daggers needed to kill demons were kept in a wooden-doored cupboard towards the back of the room. The vessels we needed were next to them.
Faran and I armed ourselves with daggers and a vessel each. We both took a sword each, though with my maimed right hand, I doubted I could use one with any dexterity. Fully equipped, we made our way to the Great Hall to meet Valgan and Lord Sondan. They stood towards the edge of the hall, near the exit we’d be taking to go to the provinces. Lord Sondan smiled, looking smart in a dark brown leather jacket and matching trousers. Valgan seemed dishevelled, which was a neat trick since the housekeepers tended to keep all of our clothes in tip-top condition. Valgan wore a paler brown jacket and trousers and must have put weight on after they’d been made since a distinct bulge around his midriff made the buttons of his jacket pucker. His hair, though trimmed, managed to look unkempt. He was about the same age as me, maybe a shade older, and the same height – six foot tall. He had a cruel smile and smallish eyes and didn’t even try to hide how much he loathed me.
Lord Sondan handed me an armband – a wide strip of red leather with a rune denoting I was the captain. I turned it around. I was no captain, even if technically I was the most senior. I didn’t have a choice, though. Valgan scowled and Faran looked resigned as I slipped it on over my biceps and fastened it. Lord Sondan checked that we knew where we were going and who our contacts were, gave me a pass for the gate and sent us on our way.
As soon as we were out of earshot, Valgan protested. “There’s only one convicted traitor in this group, and she’s the one who gets to lead?”
“Sorry, did you think you should be leading?” I said, not in the humour. “I’m the most senior member of this team, and if I’m not leading it, Faran, who could beat you into the dust with one hand tied behind his back, would be. I suggest you shut up, do as you’re told and remember who’s filing the field reports.”
Faran smirked. I sighed. We hadn’t even left the city yet.
Storvik lay about four miles beyond the city gates. Even getting to the edge of the city was a significant walk. I relied on Faran to navigate because my mental map of The Realm barely stretched a few hundred metres in any direction from the Great Hall. To me, the halls we marched down all looked the same – stone or wooden floors, panelled walls to waist-height with plastered walls above and glass ceilings to let in the light. Although runes in the panelling denoted the different sectors, I was too slow at reading them to know exactly where we were.
A myriad of doors led off from the halls – mostly residential apartments for the Guardians and guards, but also for the Seers and staff who worked in the city – the cleaners, housekeepers, cooks, technicians, serving staff and so on. For the few hundred Guardian families, at least five or six times that number of others lived permanently in the city.
Finally, we reached a large gateway with solid wooden barriers – at least twice Faran’s height – held open on substantial metal hooks. Heavily armed Guardians patrolled the space. Beyond the gateway, I glimpsed a track and the green of foliage. A light breeze washed over my skin. I handed over the pass that allowed us to leave, and we walked out into fresh air – a rarity in this mostly sealed city. Only the gardens within the city afforded any fresh air or green spaces, and they were limited.
The dirt road beyond the gates led down a slope with green fields lined by trees and hedges on either side. I drew in a deep lungful of cool air, making Faran laugh. I wanted to ask him if I’d been a city-lass before I’d been banished, but would ask him later, not in front of Valgan.
Transport to the village was via a horse and cart. We clambered into the back, along with a patrol group going to a village farther away. I didn’t know who any of the other three were, but they nodded and chatted to Faran. Valgan scowled at the passing scenery.
Some of the fields we passed contained livestock – cows, sheep, pigs – others held crops. There was no sign of any machinery to help with tending to the crops. Instead, men and women worked using hand-tools. It looked like hard work, and I could understand why the farmers had been asking for more favourable treatment. But everyone in The Realm had their role, and in exchange for doing it, they got fed, clothed and sheltered. That didn’t stop some roles having a more physical toll than others, though.
At the outskirts of Storvik, we hopped off the cart and made our way through the village to the leader’s house. The simple buildings – mostly of wood, though some of stone, lining a dirt track in the middle – reminded me of the depictions of life in medieval villages Outside. The clothing was exclusively leather or wool, with the women attired in long wool skirts rather than the ubiquitous trousers for female Guardians. The men wore leather trousers and jackets, but of duller colours and a different design to those we wore. Children and chickens ran around the paths between houses, and laundry was pegged out on cords strung from house to house. The sound of manual looms filtered out from some of the buildings.
We reached the village leader’s house, and I knocked. A middle-aged man, a good six inches shorter than me and more than a foot shorter than Faran, came out, and I introduced us.
“Lady Aeron. Faran. Valgan. I’m Tarn.” The man bowed to each of us in turn and ushered us in.
We ducked under the lintel and followed him to a dark but cosy room. It had a sanded wooden floor, but the fireplace to one side indicated there was no underfloor heating here. Perhaps the geothermals that kept the city warm didn’t stretch this far. The furniture was simple – a sideboard against one wall, a table in the centre of the room and wooden seating with well-stuffed cushions. The dimensions weren’t designed around Guardians, and we filled the space, making it feel cramped. Once we were all seated, I asked Tarn who had been killed and what support or provision there was for their families.
“Lady Aeron, the Guardians need not worry about such things,” he said, wide-eyed. “Each family will get what it needs, as they did before the men died.”
I smiled softly. “Of course we must worry about such things. Everyone is important. Do the wives and families have friends and neighbours who can comfort them? Yes, their food and shelter are provided, but comfort is more than food and shelter. The loss of a husband or son or father isn’t easy.”
Faran watched me closely. Valgan stared around the room, bored. My charm-bracelet – the one from Lilja – glowed a light blue, indicating the presence of demons, and I tensed. Were we going to be lucky enough to capture a demon immediately? Valgan was low-ranked and low-skilled. Would he be a
good enough third in the triad if it was Aegyir?
I drew my sleeve over the charm. Not before Faran had noticed, though. He caught my eye, straightening in his seat, and I shook my head almost imperceptibly. We had to avoid dissent as much as we needed to capture demons.
“Thank you, Lady Aeron.” Tarn beamed. “I can assure you their families will have comfort and friendship from the village.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. May we move to other business? Could you tell me where and when the men were killed?”
“Close to the village,” Tarn said. “All three were woodsmen who’d been cutting logs at the time. No one saw anything – the men failed to return when expected, and the search party found their bodies next to their tools. There was nothing to indicate what happened to them.”
Despite the glow from my charm-bracelet urging me to action, I was desperate to try to keep the village’s opinion of the Guardians high, in case we failed to capture the demon. “Tarn, does this leave the village short of woodsmen?”
“We’ll manage, Lady Aeron, though it’s kind of you to ask. They all had sons who’ll take their place.”
I nodded. “Please let me know if your village ends up with any shortage. The sons may not be as strong or skilled as their fathers.”
Again, I could feel warm admiration flowing from Faran and boredom from Valgan.
“Tarn,” I went on. It was time for action. “I need you to call the whole village to order. Could you get them all into the street, standing no closer than an arm’s length apart. I believe the demons who killed the men may be imitating a villager. If they are, we’ll be able to tell and can deal with it. But please, no closer than an arm’s length apart. Thank you.”
Tarn stepped out and Valgan stared at me, his lip curling. “And how exactly will we spot which one is a demon?”
I held my wrist up and showed him the charm. “With this.”
We followed Tarn into the street outside. As we passed a series of food carts being prepared, ready to go to the city, Valgan scrutinised them.
“These don’t look as if they have enough food on them,” he said, loudly, as the village lined up. “You know the penalty for not obeying the regulations.”
“Stand down, Valgan,” I said, sauntering to his side. “Our priority is finding and trapping the demons.”
He faced me, an insolent sneer on his face. “Are you going to turn a blind eye to the fact that the food wagons are not fully loaded?”
“Valgan, I just gave you an order. If I need to tell you again, your insubordination will be in my report. Understood?” I set my jaw as he scowled at me. “Understood?”
He stepped back, his fists clenching.
Faran stooped to mutter to him. “I wouldn’t even think about hitting her. One, she’ll beat you into the mud without compunction. Two, she’ll report you for insubordination. Also without compunction.”
Valgan glowered and took a step away from me. His fists didn’t unfurl.
The villagers stood in a long line down the middle of the street, and I walked over to Tarn. “Is everyone present?”
“Yes, Lady Aeron.”
“Thank you.”
I inched my sleeve back and walked along the line of villagers, smiling as much as I could. The charm on my bracelet glowed brightly as I stood in front of one particular man – a farm labourer, judging from the mud on his clothes and hands. I walked on, and the charm faded. I walked back, and it brightened.
I drew a breath, steadying myself. If the demon could mimic a villager, that villager was probably dead, though I wasn’t sure the people here would realise that. We couldn’t deal with the demon while it still looked like someone they knew and loved.
I looked over my shoulder. “Faran, can you cuff this man and take him somewhere away from everyone else, please? A barn or outbuilding?”
Faran cuffed the man, and a woman shot forward, her face contorting. “He’s my husband! You can’t take him! He’s not a demon! Look at him! He’s a man!”
I swallowed. Before the day was out, she would probably realise she was a widow.
I pressed my hand against her shoulder. “Please. We’re just taking him away as a precaution. I assure you no further action will be taken without talking to you.”
I propelled her backwards to re-join the line, slowly, but firmly, and finished my walk through the villagers. My charm stayed resolutely dull throughout. I thanked them all and dismissed them.
“Why is that man in the barn?” demanded Valgan. “If he’s a demon, we should be trapping him.”
I sighed. “If he’s a demon, that’s exactly what we will do. I need to be sure he is.”
He shrugged. “Your charm was glowing, wasn’t it?”
I screwed my irritation down. “No one else is missing. There have been three deaths. Four, if we consider this woman’s husband is probably also a victim. Even if only one demon is responsible for the deaths, he’ll not have the strength to shape-shift for long – it uses up vitality. He’s being isolated in the barn until he’s hungry enough to reveal himself for what he is. If we watch him and he shape-shifts back to a demon, we have him. If we watch him and he doesn’t, he’s just a man. If we kill him now and he’s just a man, we’ll cause civil unrest. Learn some statesmanship. And some patience.”
I brushed past him to see where Faran had taken the man. I found them in a nearby barn where Faran had secured the potential demon to a ring in the wall.
Faran turned as I entered. “What are we going to do with him?”
I crouched down in front of the man and stared him full in the face. “We’re going to wait until he’s hungry.”
The man-possibly-demon glared but said nothing, reinforcing my feeling that he was no man. I straightened. “I’m going to find out where we’re staying tonight. Watch him. Let me know if he changes form?”
I returned to Valgan and sent him to the barn to watch with Faran while I organised our digs. Tarn’s wife, Leta, showed me to two rooms upstairs in an empty house. Each room was sparsely furnished with a single bed and a small cupboard. In the room Faran and I would take, a narrow desk had been pushed under the window, making the space feel even smaller. The floors were sanded wood and there was no form of heating. I hoped we would get some thick quilts in case it was cold.
Leta twisted her apron in her fingers as she showed me the rooms. “This is the only empty house in the village, Lady Aeron. Perhaps the men will be able to share? I might be able to find a pallet-bed for one of them.”
“It’s okay, I’ll share with Faran.” She looked shocked, and I smiled. “He’s my husband, Leta. Thank you. The rooms will be fine.”
“I’ll send someone to make the beds up for you.”
I didn’t think there were housekeepers in the provinces, so any help Leta found would be someone who already had a role here.
“Please, just put bedding in each room,” I said. “We can make the beds. Thank you. I’m sorry if we’re putting any strain on the village by our presence.”
She stared at me, and I couldn’t work out if I’d offended her or she was just surprised that I was being helpful.
“Lady Aeron, it’s nothing. We just want to be rid of the demons. Has Ammet really become a demon? Is he the one who killed the woodsmen?”
“We’re waiting to see.”
I followed Leta out of the house and strolled around the village encountering only hostile silences or pointed mutterings. My feet found their way to Tarn’s house again, and I knocked and entered. Time to discuss the short consignments of food to the city.
We sat in the same room as before, my knees uncomfortably higher than my hips on the low chair. The provinces were supposed to send a certain amount of produce to the city, and exchange other items with adjacent villages at a set exchange rate. Anything not available in the immediate area was distributed from stores controlled by the city. It took a deal of patience and a lot of reassurance that no one would get flogged before Tarn explained what
was actually happening.
Various crops had failed or had low yields. The statutes set out the amount of food to be sent to the city, not the proportion of the total. Sending the full amount left the villagers short, hence the short loads. But, there’d been a glut of some things, and the full amount of these items had been sent to the city, even an excess at times to compensate for the missing food. The exchange rates between the villages reflected what was happening on the ground.
Tarn wrung his hands. “Lady Aeron, we don’t send short loads in rebellion. Only because the grain is scarce.”
I smiled soothingly. I believed him. If the farmers were stealing or lying about yields and Tarn didn’t tell me, as village leader, he’d be the one on trial. “I understand, Tarn. I’ll speak to the Council about it on my return.”
“The man with you, Valgan. He seems to want to flog us all.”
I huffed. “He can want all he likes. I’m the one wearing the captain’s band, and if he disobeys me, he’ll be flogged. Tarn, I will speak to the Council, I promise, but I can’t promise they’ll listen.”
Tarn’s shoulders softened. I’d keep my word and bring it up at the next Council meeting, but I didn’t think that many of the Council members would have left the city and seen for themselves the difficulties faced by the provinces.
“Now, I’d better go and check on Ammet,” I said.
Was it better or worse if Ammet was a demon? If he was, we’d trap him; show that the Guardians earned their keep. I wasn’t deaf, and some of the villagers hadn’t been all that circumspect in their comments as I’d walked around. As long as the demon stopped shape-shifting. Otherwise, the villagers might think we’d stabbed and decapitated one of their own.