“This says Silas Sotherby,” said the guard after scrutinizing the document.
“Arla is his wife. She came in his place, as I explained when I delivered her.”
The guard licked his lips. “That’s right. The human. Don’t get many human girls here. Hard to forget them when we do. But how is it that old buzzard Chancellor Prost has already signed off on her contract? Ain’t she supposed to be here at least half a year?”
Brommel stabbed the contract with his finger. “Debt’s been paid. Her contract is over. I’m here to collect her—now.”
The guard raised his hand in a defensive gesture. “No need to be impatient. I’ll get her. Wait here.”
The following half hour was one of the longest of Brommel’s life. But in time, the door to the office opened and the guard stepped in followed by a woman Brommel hardly recognized. Arla was drenched from the rain and shivering. She wore nothing but the same tunic Brommel had delivered her in, only now it was little more than rags. Her bare arms were wrapped tightly around her body as if the thin limbs might contribute a bit of warmth. Her hair hung in thick, water-logged ropes. And her eyes were completely devoid of emotion. Except for her lips and chin, which trembled from the cold, her expression was unreadable.
For a moment, Brommel feared that she didn’t recognize him. Or worse, that his appearance here and now was unwelcome. But when her eyes met his, her face brightened and her lips curved into a relieved smile. She closed the gap between them and leaned in for an embrace.
“Brommel, thank the Gods it’s you.”
Brommel held her tightly against him. “You’re frozen through,” he said, rubbing her arms. “Don’t you have a blanket? A cloak?”
“I have what I came with,” she said, holding up her now soggy book. “Those contracts really ought to include a packing list.”
Brommel glowered at the guard. “You allow your workers to suffer exposure to the elements? Surely you keep them in their tents on days like this.”
The guard folded his arms and shot a derisive glance at Arla. The look sent a spasm of anger through Brommel.
“They’re only slaves,” the man said.
Only slaves.
The Agorans were slaves, yes, but the people Brommel had delivered were temporary workers with families and property and rights. They were citizens of Imaness. They were humans.
He let go of Arla and pushed past the guard out the door and back through the rain. He strode to the edge of the mine and looked down into the pit. What he saw made him ill.
The workers were just as active in their tasks as they had been in good weather, only now they were digging in mud. Most were nearly naked, their clothes in rags. They all looked beaten down, some appeared to be on the verge of collapsing. How had he never noticed their condition before? How could he have been so blind?
Brommel observed that a good many of them were coughing. Others were hunched over, their arms protectively around them like Arla’s had been. One man, a human splatted from head to toe with mud, was draped over his empty wheelbarrow, his chest swelling and deflating with great effort. A guard, clad in a hooded leather coat caught sight of him, unfurled his whip, and let it snap against the man’s back. The man reared and howled. Then he dropped to his knees.
Brommel marched back into the office. “Those people are sick. There’s a man near death, and your guards are beating him.”
“We always lose a few in winter,” said the guard. “But come spring, we’ll get a new batch, thanks to collectors like you.”
“I demand you give those people shelter during the storm.”
The guard stepped closer to Brommel and scowled. “Who do you think you are? You’re nothing. You have one job, to collect and deliver. Only Lord Fredric himself has the authority to tell us how to run the mine. So, if you don’t mind, take your charge and go before I call my men in here and tell them you’re both to go to work. No one would know the difference, would they? A few days down there, even if your friends came looking for you, they probably couldn’t tell you apart from all the other trash.”
As much as Brommel hated to admit it, the guard was right. He had no authority except to take Arla. At least he would do that. He would take her out of here, and later, when she was safe, he would speak to Chancellor Prost about making changes in the mine.
Brommel unfolded his blanket and wrapped it around Arla. “Let’s go,” he said.
Arla hesitated. “But I can’t go back to Quendel,” she said with a determined tone. “You know what I need to do, Brommel.”
Brommel laced his arm around Arla’s shivering shoulders. “There’ll be plenty of time to do that,” he told her. “I couldn’t take you back to Quendel now even if you wanted me to. The mountains and Vrystal pass are packed with snow. It’ll be two, maybe three months before it’s passable.”
“Then where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you home, Arla. Home, with me.”
As they rode away from the mine, neither Brommel nor Arla looked back.
23
Jayson awoke to the sounds of birds chirping in the tree outside his window. He never tired of their calls, the heralds of spring. Of course, the last of the snows had melted weeks earlier, long after he’d come to Teak’s farm.
On a day like today, Jayson would have preferred to stay in bed until the sun had risen, but since his arrival, he had been determined to be the first up each morning to get the fire going. It was his way of thanking his hosts for their kindness toward him these past few months.
The first day at the farm had felt awkward. The journey from Agnora’s had taken longer than he had anticipated, even on horseback, and it had awakened pain that had long been dormant. After that, he had slept for nearly three days, waking only to accept the food Dianis offered him. But later, he had felt strong again and was determined to finish his recovery and be of use.
Now, with spring in full bloom, the tremors in his hands were mostly gone with only a slight quiver from time to time when he let his focus slip. His skin had healed, remarkably with no scarring, thanks to the Agoran in him. His back and shoulder, too, bore little evidence of the injuries they had sustained. Only his mind remained broken. No matter how hard he tried to coax his memories of Ashlin into his consciousness, all that came to him were the same shards of images. After a while, he came to accept this one reminder of the tragedy that had befallen his friends, and no longer strained to remember. He was alive, and for that he was grateful.
Jayson gathered an armful of split logs from the wood pile stacked against the side of the house and carried them inside where he arranged them in the fireplace. Then he lit a piece of tinder at the kitchen lantern to start the morning fire.
By the time Dianis emerged from her and Teak’s room, wrapped snuggly in a thick robe, the main room of the house was warm and inviting. “Sleep well?” she asked, setting a kettle of water over the flames to heat.
“As well as usual,” said Jayson.
Dianis placed a hand on his shoulder, her chosen gesture of support. Jayson patted her hand. “It’s fine,” he added with a smile. “I sleep better here than I ever did at the cabin.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She moved across the room to the kitchen area where many years earlier, Teak’s uncle had built a basin with a pump, allowing for water to run directly into the house. There were cabinets crafted of the finest wood and shelves filled with dry goods and preserved fruits and vegetables. Dianis took down a ceramic pot from a shelf and removed the cloth that covered it.
“This cheese I bought in town yesterday will be perfect for breakfast, though I know Teak will be asking for eggs. Would you mind going to the coop, Jayson, and fetching them?”
Sometimes Dianis insisted on gathering the eggs herself, but on occasion she asked him to do it, he was sure, to make him feel useful. And he appreciated it. He also sometimes milked their goat in the barn, though he didn’t care much for the taste of it. Teak often talked of investing in a cow
, but that would have to wait until after the farm’s first harvest in the fall, when they would have some money to spend on such extravagances.
The coop stood between the house and the barn. Jayson hated leaving the warmth of the house, but wearing his cloak made the short excursion outside bearable. He was about finished with the eggs when a voice startled him.
“These chickens have it made.”
Jayson glanced through the open door of the coop and saw Teak leaning against the fence surrounding the chicken yard. “All winter long they roosted there like lazy balls of feathers. They’d come out for a bit, peck at the ground, and go back to sleep. Lazy buggers. Next year, once our flock has doubled, we will have plenty of meat. This year, though, we have to be selective.” He pointed a finger at a particularly plump red hen. “I think that one for supper tonight.”
Jayson laughed. “I doubt Dianis will allow it,” he said. “She’s the best layer.”
“Then I guess it’ll be potato soup again.”
Jayson picked up his basket of half a dozen eggs and stepped into the yard, shutting the coop door behind him. “Are you going to town again today?” he asked as the two men walked back to the house together.
Teak nodded. “You know I am, and I wish you’d come with me.”
“I’m not ready.”
Teak sighed. Over the past couple of weeks, his trips to the nearby village of Bendby had become more and more frequent as news of Vatéz attacks increased.
“Four villages have been burned in as many months,” said Teak, all humor gone from his voice. “It’s not going to stop. The Vatéz claim they’re punishing them for harboring escaped Guardians. Of course, they have no idea where the Guardians actually are.”
“They’re hoping the violence will frighten people into betraying them,” said Jayson.
“Exactly. But you see, all it’s doing is making the Hestorians hate the Vatéz even more. There’s talk of revolution, Jayson. People want to fight back.”
Teak lowered his voice as if anyone outside the farm might hear him. “The men of Bendby have been meeting each night in the tavern. They’re discussing plans.”
“Plans for what?”
“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out. Last week, they sent two spies to the capital to see if they could learn anything about the Vatéz’s plans. We’re expecting them back tonight. Won’t you come with me to hear what they have to say?”
They reached the porch, and Jayson set his foot on the bottom step. “I’m not a Hestorian. Whatever the men of Bendby are planning, it doesn’t concern me.”
“Doesn’t concern you? Jayson, you were the Guilde’s protector. You are also the husband of the Seer and the keeper of the crystal.”
“Not anymore. The crystal is gone.”
Jayson had come to that realization while still at Agnora’s, the memory that he’d been entrusted with his wife’s stone, and that before his accident he’d had it, and now he didn’t. Had one of the soldiers taken it from him? Had he hidden it somewhere? Try as he might, he just couldn’t remember.
“Word has spread about you,” continued Teak, “that you survived—”
“I don’t want people talking about me.” Jayson clutched the porch rail, digging his claws into the wood. “I especially don’t want anyone knowing that I survived the attack on Ashlin. Arik thinks I’m dead. Let him keep thinking it, and maybe he will leave me alone.”
“But he won’t leave the Guilde alone.” Teak scratched at the back of his neck. “They know about the ones who escaped. Arik won’t stop until he finds them.”
Jayson hated talking about the Vatéz, about Arik. Why couldn’t Teak put the past behind him? “The Vatéz are not interested in the Guilde,” said Jayson. “They came to Ashlin for the Seer’s crystal.”
“Do you have it, Jayson? Do you know where it is?”
Jayson shook his head.
“Then the soldiers must have found it, given it to Arik.”
“I don’t think so. If Arik had it, there would be no cleansings. No, Arik is still searching for the crystal, and he won’t stop until he finds it.”
“All the more reason to join us,” said Teak. “Eventually, Arik will figure out you’re alive. You can’t hide forever.”
Teak took the basket of eggs from Jayson. “Dianis is waiting for these. I’ll be leaving for town this afternoon. I hope you’ll change your mind.”
Teak made his way up the porch steps and through the front door, leaving Jayson standing alone with his thoughts, which he wished would vanish like his memories of Ashlin.
Jayson had no intention of going to Bendby with Teak, not tonight, not ever. Let the Hestorians knock their heads against the Vatéz’s swords. Let them play their futile game of revenge. All it meant was more death, more violence. And Jayson had had enough of it. Maybe Teak believed Jayson couldn’t hide forever, but that is exactly what he intended to do.
24
Bendby was a rural village a few miles inland from the west sea. Teak’s farm was situated half way between the two. The journey to the village hadn’t taken as long as Jayson had hoped, but the sun had long since set when they finally arrived at the tavern aglow with lamplight and echoing with the boisterous laughter of drinking men.
“Are you sure about my coming here?” asked Jayson as he and Teak climbed down from their horses and handed the reins to the tavern’s stable keeper. “You know how Hestorians hate half-breeds.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Teak, slapping Jayson’s shoulder.
Jayson’s instincts told him he should have stayed at the farm. But Teak would not accept his decision and had cajoled him until he had finally, reluctantly, come along.
“I’m just here for a drink,” said Jayson as they approached the door. “I’m not interested in the Vatéz, the Guardians, or anything else.”
“Fine, fine,” Teak replied, but he was only half listening. A moment later, they were both through the door.
The first thing Jayson noted as they entered the room was how large it was. The exterior was deceptive. The place could easily fit a hundred men, though there were only a third that many tonight. But those who were present were loud enough to have been an army. One by one, sets of eyes turned toward the newcomers, and one by one the men fell silent. Soon the whole room was focused on Jayson, who didn’t wonder if he’d made a mistake in coming. He knew it.
“I’m leaving,” he hissed at Teak, but Teak grabbed his arm and held it tight. Jayson could easily have broken his friend’s grip, but there was something urgent about it, pleading. Jayson hesitated.
From the middle of the room, a red-haired man rose to his feet. He was a hardened farmer type, tall and broad with biceps and pectorals like bricks. He looked older than Jayson imagined he must be, his face weathered from many years working in the sun. He wore a shabby linen tunic and trousers with a faded blue scarf tied about his thick neck.
“You the Agoran?” His consonants were deep and clipped, his expression severe.
Teak stepped forward, though his hand was still tightened like a vise around Jayson’s wrist, as if he expected him to dart away. “His name is Jayson. It took me a week to convince him to come. He doesn’t want any trouble.”
The man drew in a breath and pushed it out through his nose. He picked up a bottle from the table by the neck and took a swig. Then he started toward Teak and Jayson, making his way through the clusters of tables and chairs and men who slid their seats aside to let him pass. When the man reached them, Jayson half expected him to clobber him with the bottle. Jayson’s right hand, which he kept tucked behind him out of sight, released its claws, preparing to fight if need be.
But to Jayson’s surprise, the man held the bottle out to him. His face remained stern. “You are welcome here, Jayson. Any friend of the Guilde is a friend of ours.”
Jayson retracted his claws and accepted the bottle. As he took a drink, another voice in the room shouted, “And any enemy of the Vatéz is most d
efinitely a friend of ours!”
That broke the tension in the room. The men burst into raucous laughter and went back to their drinking. Jayson handed back the bottle to the man who had given it to him. The man nodded, but remained serious.
“Name’s Flint,” he said. “Some call me the leader of this bunch of bastards. But I’m a man like any of them. We’ve all reached the end of our patience with the Vatéz and their bloodthirsty self-appointed leader, Arik. After what they done to the Guardians on your land, we couldn’t take no more of it.”
Teak finally released Jayson’s wrist. Jayson rubbed the feeling back into his hand. Teak really wanted to make sure he didn’t run off.
Jayson wasn’t sure how to respond to Flint, how to tell him that he wanted nothing to do with Arik or the Vatéz, and that meant not getting involved in any plans for revenge these men might be plotting. From the looks of them, he doubted any had ever held a sword let alone wielded one. Should they ever meet the Vatéz face to face, they didn’t stand a chance.
Flint led Teak and Jayson to the bar and ordered frothing mugs of ale. He wasted no time calling the rest of the men to attention. When he beckoned to them, the men all quieted and turned their attention to him.
“As you know, we sent two men into Nauvet-Carum a few days back to see if they could get any information on the Vatéz’s plans. Their soldiers are just men like us, wanting to feed their families, keep them safe. Their leaders, though, are ruthless, have the men living on the edge of fear. As a result, they tend to talk.”
The men laughed.
“We have word that they’ve planned another cleansing in two days, in Darville, twenty or so miles from here.”
A hushed murmur spread through the room. Flint held up his hands for silence.
“Darville is a poor village, as you know. We’ve already sent word for them to get their women and children to safety. Our own wives have agreed to take in any who want to come here. In the meantime, we’ve got to decide what to do.”
The Crystal Keeper BoxSet Page 29