Deep Water

by Pamela Freeman

  There was anxiety in his voice and Leof remembered that he was a local man, with family in the town below the fort. Leof shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “Would I be here if there was?”

  He handed Arrow over to Bandy and left him to organize their quarters. No doubt there would be plenty of choice.

  Thegan’s office — once the Town Clerk’s, Leof had no doubt — was opulent in a way that sat oddly with Thegan’s disciplined style. It was furnished in walnut and rosewood, and every piece of seating was cushioned in yellow velvet. There were golden curtains at the windows and the frieze that ran around the room was of sunflowers and green leaves. Leof remembered that the last Town Clerk of Carlion had been a woman. Dead, now, he presumed. Thegan looked slightly out of place in the office, but it was clear that he was unaware of his surroundings.

  “Leof!” he exclaimed, waving away a Carlionite, a small man with a merchant’s potbelly and huge mustaches. “Trouble?”

  The small man raised worried eyes to Leof and visibly braced himself for bad news.

  “No, no, no problems,” Leof said, smiling at the man. He was so tired of smiling reassuringly. “But I needed to speak to you privately, my lord.”

  The man immediately packed up his papers and bowed himself out. “Tomorrow, Sirin,” Thegan said. “In the morning.”

  Leof waited until the door was closed and then bowed.

  “Well?” Thegan demanded. “I hope you have a good reason for this.”

  “I think so, my lord, or I would not have come.”

  Thegan nodded and gestured to Leof to sit down. He lowered himself onto the velvet cushion with some relief. The ride had been a long one. He couldn’t resist a quick glance around the room and a smile at Thegan. Thegan smiled back, the real smile.

  “I feel like I’m in a bordello,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But it reassures the Carlionites if I keep changes to a minimum.”

  Leof nodded, and hesitated. He wasn’t quite sure how to proceed, although he had practiced this scene in his head on the way. “The Lake sent an ambassador,” he said finally. He described what had happened by the pool.

  Thegan sat upright. “So . . .” he said. “Our enchanter shows himself.”

  “Or the Lake —”

  An impatient wave cut him off. “The Lake! It’s just water, for Swith’s sake! It can’t think! This man, this old man, yes, he’s the one we have to search for. Did you send out search parties?”

  Leof gaped. It had not even occurred to him to look. The old man’s disappearance had been so… final.

  “I… I searched myself, around the site, my lord,” he said carefully, “but there was no sign. Not even a footprint of him leaving.”

  “Where did he arrive from, then?”

  Reluctantly, Leof said, “The pool.”

  “So he came from the Lake by boat —”

  “No, my lord,” Leof said firmly. “That pool does not connect with the Lake. It flows to the Simple River and thence to the sea.”

  Thegan paused. “So he is very powerful, then. Well, you did right to come to tell me. I will consider it. Go and have your meal.”

  He turned away to look out the window, but Leof lingered. “My lord, I hoped… I hoped I might be able to stay here and help you. Perhaps Eddil could take over at Sendat . . .”

  Thegan stared at him, frowning. “Bored already? Defending my fort is not unimportant, Leof.”

  “My lord, I know that. But the defenses are proceeding, the smiths know their tasks… I could be of more use to you here. Eddil has more experience than I do at fortifications.”

  Thegan’s mouth relaxed. “True. But I wouldn’t leave my wife alone with that tomcat for more than an hour.”

  “He would never betray you!”

  Thegan grinned. “Some men can’t help themselves. At the least, he’d make a play for that holy little thing who waits on Sorn, and then there’d be a real problem! Officers are one thing, but a good sergeant like Alston is hard to find.”

  He came around the desk and laid his hand on Leof’s shoulders. “I know it doesn’t seem too exciting, Leof, but you are where I need you.”

  Leof nodded. What could he say? “You shouldn’t trust me around your wife, either?” A death warrant for both of them.

  “Do you have a report of your progress?” Thegan asked, all business again.

  Leof handed over the detailed report which he had spent his last night in Sendat compiling. Unless the ghosts attacked again, he thought, I’m doomed to go back. He had a dreadful double impulse, to run as far as he could from Sendat — to take ship for the Wind Cities, perhaps, and leave everything he knew behind — and to ride immediately for Sendat and throw himself at Sorn’s feet, declaring his love.

  What shocked him most about the thought was that he really didn’t know which he wanted more.

  Bramble

  THERE WAS WATER moving nearby. Bramble could hear the slap and hiss of small waves on shingle, a sound that took her back to a day spent with Maryrose in Carlion before the wedding, when they had wandered over the town and the harbor, down to the small beach, and looked out over the waves. They had talked about their parents moving in to Carlion to live with Maryrose and Merrick in the new house after it was built.

  “They’ll be safer here than in Wooding, so near the fort,” Maryrose had said, and Bramble had nodded agreement. Yes, Carlion was much safer. So they had thought. But now there were no safe places anywhere, and the dead could rise with axes in their hands and kill, and nothing could stop them. Except Acton, maybe. She forced down the choke of grief and concentrated as her sight cleared. If she had to live every second of Acton’s life, she would.

  They were down at the beach, sure enough, in Turvite, on a cold still day. Late autumn, maybe. But where before fishing boats had been drawn up on the shingle, now there were boat cradles reaching high ribs that seemed to mimic the cliffs around the harbor. Three of them. They were holding the skeletons of larger versions of the boats Acton had rowed down the river. But these, it was clear, would have masts as well as oars. They were long, flat-bottomed boats with high prows and sterns, a shape much like the reed boats of the Lake People, but bigger. Ships.

  She was inhabiting a man, and she was so inured to it by now that when he hitched his trousers to get a more comfortable position for his privates, she didn’t even wince. She thought at first that it was a stranger, but then the man reached out a hand past the cradle rib to touch the side of the ship and she recognized the hand. Baluch, but a Baluch so enraptured by the ships that he had not a single part of his mind to give to music.

  “You’ve done well while I’ve been away,” a voice said. Baluch turned and there was Asgarn, wiry hair bristling with energy, blue eyes bright with admiration. He, too, was entranced by the ships.

  Acton’s voice replied from behind Baluch. “We’ll be ready by summer.” Baluch turned as Acton slapped the side of the ship as Bramble would give a friendly slap to a horse. “We’re collecting cargo now. I’m sending trappers out during winter for pelts and I’ve got a lumber crew in the forest picking out fine hardwood. That’s scarce in the Wind Cities, the old men say.”

  Asgarn nodded. “Next year we might have grain as well. Bone carvings, too, when our men have more time.”

  Baluch added, “Metalwork, once the forges are set up. I’m sending out a message inviting charcoal burners to come to T’vit.”

  Asgarn looked skeptical. “Why would they leave their steadings to join you?”

  Baluch traded glances with Acton, and abruptly the music was back, a low horn note. Bramble was good enough at deciphering his thoughts now to know that the note — and the look — meant warning. But Acton grinned at him. Not reassuring, just shagging cheeky. Acton knew that whatever he was about to say would cause a stir.

  “Because here they’ll be living in a free town.”

  Asgarn frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that T’vit is governed by
a town council. Like the Moot, but permanent. It decides how the town is run. The council is elected by the people who live here.” With an air of getting it all out, even the worst, he added, “Including women.”

  Bramble thought Asgarn might have an apoplexy, he turned so red. “Are you insane? And what do you mean, ‘is’? Have you set this up already?”

  Acton nodded. “It’s going well. I’m the head of the council at the moment, of course, but in time I may be able to hand it over altogether.”

  “Did you consult the Moot about this?”

  For a moment, Acton looked very much like his grandfather. The same stubbornness. “They gave me T’vit. I can do what I like with it.”

  “Give away your power? What kind of fool does that?”

  “One who doesn’t want it,” Baluch said.

  “Then hand it over to someone who’ll use it properly! Not a bunch of traders and… and charcoal burners!” Asgarn took a step closer to Acton and reached out a hand in supplication. Bramble thought that he really did want Acton’s understanding. That he respected him enough to want his support. “Can’t you see the opportunity we have here? This country is empty. We needed the Moot before because we were all crowded up ham by haunch and we had to have a way of resolving disputes. But there’s so much land here that each chief could rule a vast territory, rule without concerns about how his decisions would be greeted by others. There could be real power, not negotiations and bargains and paying compensation because a cow cropped another man’s pasture! Can’t you see what we could have?”

  Acton was staring at him with a frown. Bramble tensed. This was the moment, then. This was the time when Acton helped establish the warlords. No wonder she’d never liked Asgarn. Baluch, however, didn’t seem to pay much attention. He looked back at the ship instead of at Acton, smoothing his hand over the planks of the keel. Bramble could have hit him. Look at them! she thought. Look!

  “The Moot has served us very well,” Acton said. Baluch looked up and nodded agreement.

  Asgarn set his mouth. “One man ruling a large territory would be better. A clear line of command, a clear area of responsibility, each chieftain able to work for his own good and secure his own power.”

  So there it was, spelled out. The warlord’s creed. Bramble was sickened by it, and yet felt curiously exalted, because Acton was shaking his head. “Have you discussed this with the Moot council?”

  Asgarn hesitated, and Bramble knew what that meant. He’d been sounding out the members of the council, doing deals, finding out what each man most wanted. Acton waited.

  “Not in full council, no,” Asgarn said. “But I am sure they will see the truth of what I say.”

  “That may be. But I think I will have a few words to say as well.”

  In Baluch’s head, the warning music rose sharply at the look on Asgarn’s face.

  “Perhaps we should go together,” Asgarn said slowly. Baluch put a cautioning hand on Acton’s arm. Acton grinned at him.

  “Baluch reminds me that we have much more to do here if we want to take the dragon’s road in Spring. I will follow you to Wili’s steading for the Mid-Winter Moot.”

  Asgarn nodded sharply, turned on his heel and headed up the shore toward the houses of T’vit. Acton and Baluch watched him go.

  “Don’t trust him,” Baluch said.

  “I don’t,” Acton replied. “But I didn’t think he was mad enough to destroy the Moot.”

  “He’s never forgiven you for Sebbi’s death.”

  Acton’s eyes clouded. “I’ve never forgiven myself.”

  “What will you do at the Moot?”

  Acton grinned, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “It’s a different kind of battle. I’ve watched Harald fight that fight enough times to know how it’s done. Don’t worry. The Moot will survive.”

  Bramble was astonished and elated that Acton had refused Asgarn’s arguments, but she was also confused. What had happened to change things? To make Acton a warlord, to have him help set up the warlord system? What had they offered him that had won him over?

  She didn’t have time to speculate further, because the waves on the beach rose suddenly and crashed over her, tumbling her into darkness.

  There was warmth on her shoulder: warm lips, moving, kissing, a tongue touching. Her side was pressed up against something warm, all down her naked flank there was warmth. For one long moment, Bramble simply felt it; heat, comfort, teasing pleasure. Something loosened inside her and relaxed. Then a hand stroked down from her shoulder to her breast and she realized: Acton! That’s Acton’s hand!

  At the same moment sight came back and she saw him, gold head bent to kiss the soft flesh above her breast, hand cradling the breast itself. Get me out of here! she shouted in her mind to the gods, but they did nothing.

  Then the woman pushed him away. Bramble felt a combination of emotions from her — affection, unease, a lingering pleasure mixed with revulsion. It was so much like her own emotions that she couldn’t quite tell where the woman’s feelings stopped and her own began. Acton sat up and looked at her ruefully, as though he were aware how she felt. He had shaved off his beard. She wondered why. It made him look younger.

  “Oh, Wili,” he said regretfully, “was it that bad?”

  Wili smiled carefully. Her eyes pricked with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. Bramble could sense that she didn’t want to hurt his feelings; but that she wanted to be out of that bed and dressed, securely, with trousers and belt and a good strong knife at her waist.

  “Not bad,” she said. “Well, I had to do it, but I don’t think I’ll be doing it again.”

  A light broke on Bramble and she thought, they just made his son. The son of the woman who would have nothing to do with men, except that she tried it once with Acton . . .

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I did the best I could.”

  She reached out and tousled his hair, making him look like a five-year-old. “It was a good try. But —”

  “It’d be different if you loved me.”

  “Or if you loved me? I don’t think so.”

  His face clouded. Wili drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She felt safer that way. Calmer. The feeling of wanting to cry faded from Bramble’s mind.

  Wili risked letting go with one hand and touched the back of his arm.

  “If I loved you the way I loved Friede,” he said, “it would have to make a difference.”

  Wili made a noise of disbelief. “I doubt it.”

  He was offended, but she smiled grimly. “You didn’t love her,” she said simply. “She knew it.”

  He sat up straight in indignation, the blanket falling away to show his muscled chest. “I did!”

  “Ha!” Wili seemed to take some satisfaction in cutting him down to size. “You liked her. Maybe you were fond of her. Maybe you wanted her. But you didn’t love her.”

  He looked worried, perhaps sad. “Did she tell you that?”

  “She did. Not that she had to. I could tell. If she’d gone to your bed like the rest of them you’d never have given her another thought!”

  “That’s not true! Friede was… different.”

  “Because you thought she needed to be protected. She hated that, you know. She didn’t want to be protected. That’s why she loved Baluch. He never protected her. Didn’t think she needed protection.”

  Acton looked down at the bed and stayed silent for a while. “I don’t understand love,” he admitted finally. “All women are beautiful, even the ugly ones. All of you are delicious.”

  “We’re not honeycakes,” Wili said quietly, but not to interrupt him.

  “Friede was my friend, and that felt different from all the others.”

  “So maybe you just called it love, when it was friendship all the time.” Wili patted his hand. “Friendship’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He looked up and smiled, mischief gleaming. “Do you think I’ll ever love?”

  “Not while you go around be
dding every woman you meet!”

  He grinned, mischief growing, and was clearly ready to tease Wili about being one of those women. Time to change the subject, girl, Bramble thought, and Wili did think a lot like her, because immediately she said, “What is the Moot saying?”

  His face became serious. “I have ratification for the free towns, to be set up like Turvite, with town councils elected by the people. I have agreement that there will be no thralls.”

  “How did you get that?” she asked, astonished.

  “Fear. I used that traitor Uen as an example. We are too vulnerable, here in a new land, to have men with us who are not oath-sworn, who do not have a stake in our future here.” He smiled slowly. “It took some time, but they agreed. Now we just have to re-establish the All Moot and I can go back to actually getting some work done!”

  So, Bramble thought, it was his idea to get rid of thralls. That was well done. But was fear his real reason, or was it something else? Free towns, no thralls — how could that come from the man who established warlords? Did he simply get voted down? She was tired of being confused about him. She wanted some solid sense of what he was really like. Something beyond fighting and politicking and taking revenge. Or was that all there was to him? She didn’t believe that. Mainly because of Baluch and Wili. They didn’t think that, and they were not fools.

  Wili laughed at him and asked, as she had asked once before, “How are the boats coming along?”

  The gods were not interested in his answer because the waters rolled over her and dumped her down a cascade. Bramble was falling, and falling, with nothing solid to hold on to.

  As soon as she came to herself, she knew that she was not with Baluch. This was a much taller man who moved heavily, shifting from foot to foot with a perceptible thump. For the first time she became aware of how lightly Baluch moved, how easily his body obeyed him. She hadn’t noticed before because it was how her own body moved, and so she had just accepted it. But this body was clumsy, lumbering. A big man, with big muscles, she thought, and weighed down somehow, not just by the heavy winter clothes he wore against the biting cold.