Deep Water

by Pamela Freeman

  “My lord does not send to say that he thinks of me?” she said, laughter in her voice. “I did not expect that he would, my lord. When a warlord goes to war, he thinks of nothing else.”

  He smiled back, relieved to find her so reasonable. Other women, he reflected, might well have taken offense. His mother, for one, would have had his father’s ears pinned to the black rock altar if he’d slighted her so. Thank the gods Sorn was different. Later, though, he wondered why a great lady expected so little attention to be paid to her.

  The oath men — farmers, laborers, tax bondsmen — came straggling in reluctantly the next day. Alston, the sergeant Thegan had detached for training duty, was younger than most sergeants and less annoyed than most would have been to miss the fighting, due to him being body and soul in love with the Lady Sorn’s maid, Faina. Being around her made him cheerful and energetic, both qualities that were needed in turning the raggle-taggle mass of men into a fighting force. A force that could hew off arms and legs.

  Alston was one of those sensible, stalwart men that every officer dreamed of having as a sergeant. He was tall and had light brown hair, a physique big enough to impress young recruits and a hand hard enough to impress the old campaigners. He brooked no nonsense, but he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t seek out power. He just did his job.

  Fortunately, none of the oath men had given service before, so they didn’t question the training methods Leof and Alston had devised, which were certainly not standard. They taught the men to work in pairs — one to engage the enemy and keep him at a distance, the other to come in from the side and hack off the arm. It occurred to Leof that outnumbering the enemy wasn’t a bad approach to normal opponents, either. That cheered him somewhat, although he worried a lot about what would happen if the ghosts outnumbered them.

  More and more, Leof blessed his experience in fortification and long defensive campaigns in the Cliff Domain. The Centralites had no real idea what war could be like. Moreover, since the rumors about why the men had marched to Carlion were even more unlikely than the truth, no one took the preparations all that seriously, no matter how hard Leof drove them. They were the strongest Domain of the Eleven; they had Lord Thegan leading them; why should they worry about attack? Only a fool would attack Sendat.

  That was the general belief, and it made getting masons and carpenters to work all the hours of daylight difficult. They grumbled, they moaned, and they frequently slipped away to do some “little job” in the town. The blacksmiths were even worse. In the end, Leof decided that he had to confide something — not everything — to Affo and the head mason, Gris.

  He took them and Alston into the tack room of the stables, where he had some strong brown ale ready, and served them himself. That alone put them on the alert. He chuckled as he saw their faces.

  “No, no, lads, I’m not going to ask you to work through the night, don’t worry.” They smiled back and relaxed a little, but remained wary. “But I do need your help,” he continued, growing serious. “I can’t tell you everything… my lord has given strict instructions. But I can tell you that we were attacked by the Lake.”

  They nodded. Old news. The list of the dead had gone around; the families had been personally informed by the Lady Sorn, who had been generous — astonishingly generous — for those left without support.

  “What you do not know,” Leof paused, milking the moment for all the suspense he could. They leaned forward. “What you do not know, is that my lord believes it was not the Lake who attacked us.”

  They sat up at that, the two of them. He had their full attention now.

  “My lord has found out that there is an enchanter working against the people of the Domains. That is what we prepare against.”

  “Swith the Strong!” Gris exclaimed. “He’s good enough to control the Lake?”

  “So it seems,” Leof said, hoping the gods would forgive the lie, not sure if it were a lie. “This information is secret,” he cautioned. “Only those in this room know it. If it comes to be talked about abroad, I will know who to blame, and I will dispense my lord’s justice swiftly.”

  Affo and Gris nodded in unison, like twins, and he fought down a smile. One day his sense of humor would get him into trouble. His mother had always said so.

  “You see why I need you to push your men. We don’t know when this enchanter may strike again.”

  “He’s attacked Carlion?” Affo asked. “That’s where the troops have gone, isn’t it?”

  Leof assumed an air of great solemnity. “I can tell you no more,” he said, “without betraying my lord.” That was the simple truth. “Will you help us?”

  They nodded again, and this time he let himself smile, a friendly smile that had them smiling back.

  “Good. Drink up, then, and back to work.”

  He and Alston watched them go, talking animatedly to each other.

  “They’ll tell their wives,” Alston said gloomily, “and then it’ll be all over town.”

  “Have you told Faina?” Leof asked.

  Alston blushed and shook his head. “She’d never ask,” he said simply. “She belongs to the gods, that one, and can’t do a dishonorable thing.”

  Leof clapped him on the back and sent him back to the muster yard, where the last batch of oath men were laboring to swing the weighted poles they practiced with. Affo’s men were working to make spears and axes for them in time. But in time for what? Leof wondered. They were expecting word from Carlion any moment; the messenger horses were fast and surely there had been time by now to get a message back?

  He went into supper as the sun dipped below the western hills, and found Lady Sorn and the two junior officers Thegan had left at the fort already eating at the glass table. It was called that because those who sat there had their wine served to them in clear glass goblets instead of pottery ones, and it was a pretty sight, the flames of the candles reflecting in the curved glass. He had always enjoyed it at Cliff Domain, watching Thegan and his father and the other lords draining their glasses so that the fire winked from the bases like stars. Now he was nominal lord here. He felt a poor substitute for his father, and wondered what Cliff Domain was doing to prepare. Thegan would have sent word there and to the other warlords.

  Sorn and the officers rose and bowed as he approached. He bowed back, apologizing as he did so. “I seem to be always tardy these days, my lady,” he said. Sorn smiled and sat again, gesturing for her maid, Faina, to serve him. He watched Faina curiously. Not all that pretty, but with big blue eyes that looked on the world as cleanly as a child, yet with a woman’s intelligence. He could see why Alston, a man of clear thoughts and absolute loyalty, would be attracted. But then, he thought ruefully, I can always see why a woman is attractive. He wondered how long it had been since he had lain with anyone. It felt like months since that waitress in Connay, when he went there for the chases, but surely it couldn’t be that long? After Bramble, he had pursued women obsessively for almost a year, trying to prove that she had been nothing special, and when that hadn’t worked he’d let the women pursue him, when they chose, which was often enough to keep him satisfied. But it had been a while.

  He smiled his thanks at Faina for the roast kid and vegetables she served, then poured more wine for the Lady Sorn.

  “How goes it, Lord Leof?” she asked, the question she asked every evening.

  He outlined the day’s work and she listened and nodded and gave compliments, as she always did. He was never sure how much she understood of the technical aspects of what he told her, but he suspected it was more than she showed. He suspected that Sorn always knew and felt much more than she showed.

  He was deep in an outline of the need to requisition more stone from the blue stone quarry in Springhill, a nearby town, when there was a disturbance at the door and Hodge entered the hall. Sorn and Leof both rose and moved to meet him.

  He was dusty from the road and tired, but he bowed formally to them both and then looked from one to the other, not sure to
whom he should report.

  “If your news is private, sergeant, the Lord Leof can take you to my setting room.”

  Leof nodded, but motioned her to join them. “My lord said to keep you informed,” he told her, and saw her flush, delicately, as though she had not expected that. Fortune came prancing up to Sorn as they went into the setting room, but Sorn shushed him and he went back to his accustomed place by the fire, head up, watching the flames and Sorn alternately.

  As soon as the door closed, Hodge came to the point. “The ghosts were gone when we arrived, but the town was a shambles. They’d killed, we think, about half of the townsfolk. We’re not sure, because some of them jumped off the cliffs to get away and we couldn’t get all the bodies back, and others simply ran and haven’t returned. I don’t blame them.”

  “My lord is occupying the town?” Sorn asked.

  Hodge nodded. “The town clerk and most of the council are dead. The townsfolk are terrified that the ghosts will come back. They welcomed us with open arms. The lads are living high — there’s plenty of room for them.” He spoke grimly, and Leof caught a sense of what the town had been like when he had arrived.

  “Lord Thegan is organizing what’s left of the townsfolk to fortify the town; taking stone from the empty buildings to make walls and so forth.”

  Leof nodded. “What does he need from us?”

  Hodge handed over a list. “Supplies; armor; weapons, mostly. And to recruit some stonemasons from other towns to go to Carlion to help fortify it. But he says on no account deplete the workers from Sendat.”

  “Anything else?” Leof asked, studying the list. Hodge hesitated. “For your ears only, my lord.” He looked at Sorn. “And I suppose yours, too, my lady… we found, out beyond the town, a great burial uncovered. Bones everywhere. Old bones. Very, very old.”

  Sorn went quiet, and then began pacing around the room, as though she could not contain her anger. “He is using the bones to raise the ghosts,” she said. “The bones of the slain. Angry bones. Oh, this is a great blasphemy against the gods!”

  Leof had never seen her show such emotion.

  “Then let us hope they will aid us,” he said seriously.

  Sorn nodded. “I will pray for it,” she said simply, then turned to Hodge.

  “Sergeant, come and I will arrange food and rest for you.”

  Hodge smiled. “Thank you, my lady, but I have a home of my own to go to in the town. With my lord’s permission?”

  Leof motioned for him to go. “But be back here early. Does my lord want you back?”

  Hodge shook his head. “I’m to help Alston train the oath men. We know more about how these ghosts fight, now.” He paused, as though wondering if he should launch into a description now.

  “In the morning,” Sorn said, with mock severity. “Go to your home now.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Hodge said and left with more energy than he had when he arrived.

  Sorn and Leof looked at each other. He wondered if Sorn had understood the implications of what Hodge had said.

  “So,” she said carefully, “my lord is now the warlord of a free town, with a nice, deep harbor.”

  He drew in a deep breath. She understood, that was certain. “Aye,” he said. “Without a single protest.”

  Their eyes met and they nodded, very slightly, aware of Thegan’s ambitions and, surprising to learn of each other, uncomfortable with them.

  “I wonder,” Sorn said, “if anyone has asked the local gods of Carlion what they think should be done?”

  “Thegan doesn’t consult the gods,” Leof said without thinking. But it was true. Thegan never prayed at the altar except on festival days, in front of everyone.

  “I know,” Sorn said. That was all. But Leof suddenly saw a deep fissure between Sorn and Thegan, this matter of belief. She was devout, as everyone in Sendat knew, and he… Leof wasn’t sure Thegan even believed in the gods, although how someone could not was beyond Leof’s understanding. But it was obvious in Thegan’s attitude to the Lake — as though he could not bear anything to be more powerful than he was.

  Pity this enchanter, Leof thought, if Thegan gets hold of him. If he can’t bear the gods to be powerful, he will do more than destroy a man who had such power.

  Sorn stood, her earlier energy contained again. “Your meal is unfinished, and you should announce that all our people are safe and have come to the aid of Carlion after an attack by an unknown aggressor.”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “That is exactly what I should do.”

  She flushed, as though caught out in something dishonorable. “My lord, I did not mean to instruct you —”

  He laughed. His reaction startled her, but she smiled tentatively back. Fortune sprang gladly up from the hearthrug, ready for a game. He sidled up to Leof and Leof pulled gently on his ears, grinning at Sorn.

  “My lady, I find myself in unknown country without a map, and I am grateful for any instruction.”

  She smiled more widely at that, a true smile with a hint of humor in it. “We are all walking unknown paths, my lord, and some of them are very rough.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to help each other not to fall smack on our behinds,” he said cheerfully, offering her his arm to go back into the hall.

  She began to laugh. It was the first time he had heard her laugh, and it was a very pleasant sound. He had missed the sound of women’s laughter. They walked back into the hall together still laughing, Fortune dancing behind them, and he saw that it was the best thing they could have done, because the tension in the room reduced immediately and was banished altogether by Leof’s announcement. Banished by gossip and speculation about the “unknown aggressor.”

  Speculate all you like, Leof thought. None of us can tell you who he is. He handed Sorn into her chair and sat back down to a fresh plate of kid, conjured from somewhere at Sorn’s signal. He ate it gratefully, and smiled at her as he swallowed. A woman who fed you was worth just as much as a woman who bed you, he thought. Sorn smiled calmly at him, the lady in her hall back in full force. What a warlord she’d make! Leof thought idly, then laughed at himself. Calm, serene ladylike Sorn! He was more tired than he’d realized. At least tonight he could sleep without wondering what was happening in Carlion.

  Bramble

  “YOU CAN GO now,” Dotta had said, as though she were a warlord’s wife dismissing a servant. Bramble found it amusing rather than annoying, but knew she was using the laughter as a distraction to hide her uncertainty. What did it mean, that Dotta had seen her? Was she really present, then, truly experiencing these times and events? Half of her had thought it was like a story being played out in front of her, a message from the gods put into her mind. Part of her had thought she was, in truth, back at Oakmere, and these were just illusions — true illusions, perhaps, faithful to history, but still just a glamour the gods had cast.

  If she was really here… Could she change things?

  She’d thought it before, but not seriously. The gods had showed their disapproval even of the thought. But as the waters floated her away, the thought came back stronger than ever. If it were possible to change things, to communicate with Baluch, say, or Gris… If she could shift events so that the peoples of the Domains didn’t die… The best way would be to make an avalanche in Death Pass as Acton and his men were coming through that first spring morning.

  Change history. Kill Acton and Baluch and the rest, the invaders.

  She remembered Dotta saying, “Did you think the Destiny stone meant nothing?”

  She remembered Acton saying, “I have seen the Ice King and we cannot survive him!”

  She remembered Sebbi’s blood, sprayed across the ice.

  If she changed history, Acton’s people would die.

  Her people. Her ancestors.

  She understood, bitterly, why Safred had needed someone of mixed blood for this task. Someone with divided loyalties, who could not, in the end, be on anyone’s side.

  If she did
not change history, her people would die. If she did, her people would die. There was no good outcome. She was under no illusion that she could change things enough so that the invasion would be peacefully negotiated. Even if she could take over Acton’s mind, that wouldn’t happen. There were too many men too used to fighting to let it happen. Men who liked fighting, who enjoyed the intensity, the vividness of life on the edge of death, as she had liked the intensity of chasing.

  If she let the invasion go ahead, she was as guilty as Acton.

  She let that thought settle into her as the waters buoyed her up and landed her on another shore.

  At least it was warmer, but the yoke she carried on her back was so heavy that when her sight cleared all she could see was the earth in front of her. Stony earth, the kind you got near mountains, full of sharp stones and hidden rocks. She was pulling. Gods, she was pulling a plough! No wonder it was shagging hard work. Hadn’t these people learned how to use oxen for this? Or horses, even? They had horses!

  “Get moving, thrall!” a voice shouted. “We need to get the seed in before the rains come!”

  A thrall. Not quite a slave, not in the way the Wind Cities kept slaves. They weren’t locked up at night or sold off. They were perhaps more like bond-servants. At least, some of the old stories Bramble had heard said so. But there were no thralls in the Domains. She wasn’t sure why. The stories said Acton had forbidden it… that only free men could cross the mountains. No doubt she’d find out the truth of it, sooner or later . . .

  The thrall paused and wiped sweat from his face — definitely his; a woman couldn’t have pulled this plough through the stony ground. Not far away, Acton and a group of young men were building a house from wood and stone. An older man, the stone-layer, probably, was directing them, choosing the stones for each course, making sure they fitted together and sloped gradually inward from the wide base. There was no mortar. At intervals, strong posts were held up by younger boys until the stones reached high enough to support them. The posts, Bramble thought, would form the basis for the wattle sections that were being woven by a group of women sitting under a tree. Asa was there, and the mother of the girl Friede who had been lost in the storm.