Olinia remembered the food in her bag. She kept the apple, but gave the rest to Melios. “Here, cook these if you’ve a pot. Make them into a soup,” she said.
Melios nodded. From a small cupboard, he took out a pot. A waterskin hung over his shoulder, and he poured its contents into the pot. After cutting up the onion and potatoes with a little knife, he added them to the mix. Then he stoked up a small fire in the hearth.
“I’ll take that,” Agare said. “You undercook everything.”
Agare gave Olinia a little smile as she hung the pot over the fire. An old wooden spoon hung from a crooked nail, and she stirred the soup with it.
They ate from a mismatched set of clay and wooden bowls. Afterward, Olinia was beginning to wonder if the other children could speak when Capo said in a small, thin voice, “thank you for the soup.”
“Thank you,” Thevon added.
“You are welcome,” Olinia answered.
“This is our house,” Agare said. “Our parents left it to us. You are welcome here.” For a moment, a prideful fire blazed up in the girl’s eyes, but it soon faded, and she stared at the orange flames, silent again.
For a time, no one spoke. The two younger children moved to a small bed in the corner. Melios followed them. He draped the cloak over them, tucking it beneath their chins.
“How long have you four been down here?” Olinia asked. She couldn’t imagine staying in the dank basement for long.
“Three years now,” Agare said. “Since Krona built the Line.”
“Krona. Is Krona in charge of the city?” Olinia asked.
Melios nodded, flashing her a look that clearly said he still didn’t quite trust her story, but he continued all the same, staring into the hearth’s thin flames. “He arrived here from the south a long time ago. He joined the army and quickly rose up through the ranks. They say he’s invincible with a sword. The nobles ordered him to build the Line, and once it was done he betrayed them and murdered anyone who opposed him. Some say he’s an avenging angel here to save Washougle from the gangs. I think he’s demonspawn. Once he took control of the city, he kept the Line in place and wrote us all off as fodder for the gangs.”
With a long stick, Melios stabbed at the flames. “We keep the fire low during the daytime. The gangs might see or smell the smoke.”
Agare yawned and laid down by her brothers. She dropped off to sleep soon after.
“Are you related to the others?” Olinia asked Melios. His features, the blond hair and light eyes, didn’t match Agare and her brothers.
“My father worked for theirs. Lived in the little cottage out back, taking care of the house and gardens. He was a craftsman. After he passed I promised to care for them.” Melios looked at the three sleeping in the little bed.
“And their parents?”
“Gone as well. After looting the house, the gangs found and murdered them. Agare brought the boys to our house and father hid them until the gangs went away. They knew we had nothing to spare.”
“What happened to this place? The city, I mean?” Olinia asked.
“I don’t know,” Melios said. “One day, everything just stopped working. My father said we were like one of those grand old clocks you see with all the gears that move.” He looked at her for comprehension and she nodded. Such things weren’t common in the lowlands, but she’d seen one in a fancy villa in LaBrogue once. It had clicked and whirred delicately, and the owner had beamed with pride whenever it sounded a gong at the top of each hour. Olinia hadn’t seen the point of it. Any lowland child could tell the time by the sun or stars or a hundred other signs. “Father said one of the gears, the main gear, broke, and now the cities were dying without it,” Melios continued.
Cagle’s information is right, then. After the Iridin capital fell, the outlying cities must have split apart. Olinia wondered if any one city would have the supplies they needed to save the lowlands. Not if they’ve been busy fighting each other.
“Did he say what broke the gear?”
“The Karoon. Demons from the underworld. They rose up from below Irid and killed everyone in the capital. The line of kings, the great houses, the knights, the army, everyone,” Melios said. His voice was flat, as if he weren’t discussing the deaths of over a million people; Olinia had overheard the number from her brother’s meetings.
Neither spoke for a time. Together, they sat and watched the dying candles.
“I shouldn’t waste them,” Melios said. He pinched out the wicks. “There are only a few left. Light is precious.”
“How do I get across the Line?” Olinia asked. “There has to be a crossing.”
“Only one. Off to the west, and the toll is expensive,” Melios said. He eyed her carefully. “Though the guards might let you though in exchange for…some of your time.”
Had she been his age Olinia would have blushed, but in the last few years she’d seen more of the world. She knew its secret workings. Spying for her father, fighting the Fleure—she had seen cruelty and malice aplenty.
“The guard at the outer gate charged nothing.”
Melios gave her a mischievous grin. “That wasn’t a guard. He’s a Mauler. He marks the targets for his gang. You got the food from the merchant?”
“I did.”
“He marked you, too, after seeing whatever you had to trade. He sent you into a trap?”
“Yes,” Olinia nodded. “He told me there were inns across the park, but I ran into some thugs first.”
“But they didn’t catch you. You must be lucky. Or very skilled with that,” he said, glancing at the daggerhilt on her belt.
“Maybe a bit of both,” Olinia said with a little shrug.
“What did they look like?”
“One was big. His name was Thad or Toad or something. The second man was thin, and the third silent. I don’t think he said a single word.”
“Tad and his group,” Melios said. “Urdane, Tad’s father, runs the Maulers. He’s a big bear of a man, tough like the sole of an old boot. He smells just as bad. You must have run, then?”
“I did.” Olinia doubted he would believe she’d killed all three.
Melios moved nearer to the hearth and laid down then, putting himself between her and the children. He kept the knife he’d used to chop the onion and potatoes close enough to snatch up.
Olinia moved a stool into one corner and leaned back against the wall, yawning. She laid one of her daggers in her lap, wrapping her fingers around the hilt, and then closed her eyes to ease off into sleep.
CHAPTER 9
The Other Half Lives
“What do you think they’ll do now?” Zethul asked.
He and Cagle stood among the shadows in a forest of ancient pines on the edge of an open field. Less than a half-mile distant, the enemy army peeked out from a ring of wooden spikes and earthen fortifications they’d raised. The day was clear and crisp and bright, and Cagle thought he could almost hear them shuffling nervously inside.
“I’m not sure.” Cagle regarded the enemy. All along the hasty defenses, their helmets bobbed up and down like ground squirrels checking for danger from the safety of their holes. But their holes aren’t really safe, are they? Snakes and badgers and even the owls always find a way in. “I expect they’ll retreat ahead of us again.”
“This is the third time you’ve circled around them. Think they’ll ever take a hint?” the dwarf said.
“Maybe,” Cagle dodged.
“Are you going to do it again?”
“Maybe,” Cagle said again. His horse stomped impatiently, Zethul huffed. “Have Reeve and his hunters returned?”
“Yes. He brought in a good haul this morning. A few head of beef, even. Found an old abandoned farm.”
“He’s done well so far.” The army had gone deeper in
to Iridia over the last three weeks, farther from the coast and Crow’s Bay, toward Washougle. He’d gone slow on purpose, setting out late in the morning and stopping early. He needed to give Olinia time to find out all she could about the Man of Iron and, more importantly, how much food was stored at Washougle.
The last thing we need is to attack another city only to come up empty.
Cagle turned his horse and started after his army. The men marched three abreast along an old hardpacked road through the tall trees. Layers of browned pine needles covered the path like a rug. The trail moved in a straight line—north and east—curving around a hill or mirrored pond on occasion.
The men’s spirits were high. They waved and cheered as Cagle and Zethul passed by. Soon the pair caught up with Felnasen near the front. Riding loose but tall in the saddle, the man looked dapper as ever in the morning light.
“Fine morning for a march,” his second-in-command said by way of greeting.
“Indeed. How are our friends today?”
“That fellow leading the men from Crow’s Bay, Huir, was grumbling about running from a fight instead of toward it.”
“Was he?” Cagle smiled. “And how many years did he and his men hide within their walls?”
“You’d not hear them speak of it,” Felnasen said. “They complain endlessly of sore feet and tired legs. I can’t fathom why you brought them along.”
“We’ll need allies if we are to secure food for home. Our army is strong, but if the maps in Crow’s Bay are to be believed, some of these cities could field one as large.”
“We’d wipe them out in short order,” Felnasen snorted. “These people are weak. They don’t have the will to fight.”
“We would win, but winning isn’t enough. We have to have enough soldiers afterward to take what we need, defend it, and then get it back to Kartha. All without resupply. No easy task. We’ll need allies to pull it off.” Felnasen didn’t reply, merely regarded Cagle thoughtfully.
“Is that why you haven’t attacked them yet?” Vlan asked in his rumbling baritone. He and Meagera had joined them. Even walking, the Yoghen kept an easy pace with the horses.
“I haven’t attacked them because there’s no need to. Not yet. It’s easy enough to go around.”
“How close are we to the city?” Zethul asked.
“Sansaba says it’s another week’s ride at this pace,” Cagle said. He’d been spending a lot of time with the trader, trying to learn as much as he could about Iridia and its people.
“I do not trust that woman,” Meagera said. The mage looked over her shoulder at the small caravan of wagons Sansaba had gathered. “All she cares about is profit.”
“I think we can trust her to tell us where the next city is,” Cagle said. He knew Sansaba and the mage hadn’t yet managed to see eye to eye. Oil and water would have mixed better. Meagera was ever the suspicious type.
Perhaps that’s true of all mages. Suspicious of anyone who might have knowledge they don’t, even each other—especially each other.
“Any ideas on why we haven’t seen any of their spellcasters?” Cagle asked. The subject of Crow’s Bay’s lack of mages wasn’t new.
“No,” Meagera said. “Spellcasters are rare enough at home, almost unheard of in northern Kartha, as you know, but here it’s as if they’ve never even seen one. I found a letter along with the maps saying something about the Emperor’s wizards.”
“Nothing more than that, though?”
“Nothing.”
Cagle suspected she knew more, or at least had some ideas about why the Iridin were without casters, but he didn’t press her further. Either she’d tell him in time or she wouldn’t.
The others slowly drifted away, each with their own thoughts. Meagera rode off to check on her mages. Zethul joined the dwarves to sing a bawdy song about taverns and ore and women. Cagle couldn’t imagine what connected the three, but the dwarves seemed to enjoy it. Vlan and his brethren stayed near their mages, silently watching over them like little children.
But which are the children? The frail-looking human mages who can kill entire Fists with no more than a thought, or the magic-addicted giants who can crush armies with their axes and swords?
Cagle dismounted to walk. It felt good to stretch his legs for a time.
“May I join you?” Sansaba’s voice called out from behind him. She’d ridden over to join him; Cagle could smell her perfume.
“Of course,” Cagle said. “How are you faring?”
“Faring?”
“With the travel.”
Sansaba smiled. Gracefully, she swung down and walked beside him. “In my life I have traveled much and endured many hardships. I am my father’s daughter. This life is all I know. It is in my blood.”
She didn’t look like she’d endured hardships. She wore leather leggings, tight around her hips and thighs, and a blue blouse cut low and loose. Her dark hair was piled on her head and held in place with shining pins.
“Did you find success trading?”
“Very much so,” she said. “I will do well this trip. You will make me a very wealthy woman, and then I will return to my father.”
“Not to your husband?”
“No.” She shot him a venomous look. “Him I am going to destroy.”
“Why?”
“He was cruel. After my father left me with him...he treated me badly.” She looked toward the wagons. Her brother, Bothar, was watching them. “Daughters are currency among traders. Sons carry on with the caravans.”
Cagle couldn’t imagine anyone treating a woman like that, especially a woman like her. Suddenly, he wanted very much to meet her husband. His hand tightened around his sword. He forced himself to release it. More and more, he found himself holding the sword without even thinking of it. The realization unsettled him.
If Sansaba noticed, she gave no sign. She smiled at him once more. “Maybe you could help me face him. With your help, I could put that dog in his place.”
Cagle laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think you’d need my help.”
“Oh, but I might want it.” She arched her graceful brows at him and Cagle felt his chest tighten. She sighed. “Well, this has been enjoyable, but I must return to my duties. Bothar will ruin me yet if I let him wander too far. Will you help me up?”
Cagle held her horse’s halter as she climbed up into the saddle.
“Keep me close, Cagle of Kartha, and we will go farther together than you ever dreamed,” she said. “I will help you save your people. You will return a hero…or perhaps you will stay. I saw your bravery in the taking of Crow’s Bay. I have heard how you survived the fire. You could be a mighty ruler in any land.”
“I’ve no wish to be a king.”
“Every man wishes to be the king of something. Even if it’s only to rule his own home.” With that, she started off toward the caravan. She paused a few yards away, turned, and studied him for a long moment before continuing on.
Cagle watched her go. He found it hard to tear his thoughts free of her.
What kind of man would mistreat a woman like that? Only a great fool.
Nuren would not have tolerated it; he’d seen her gut a Fleuran officer one night. She’d been sick afterwards, but she hadn’t hesitated when it counted. She would kill any man who mishandled her.
I wish she were here with me. Soon enough, I’ll finish all this, and we can be together again.
In a way, he liked Iridia. He admired its haunted forests and rolling hills. The land was silent—sleeping—like it lay dreaming of better times and days gone by. It had a primal feel to it, and he’d be sad to see it behind.
When all this was over he’d return home, marry Nuren, and settle down into a quiet life in the lowlands. He didn’t want more than that. He’d seen his sh
are of war and glory. He didn’t know what he would do. Not exactly. He knew almost nothing of farming, and certainly didn’t have any trade to speak of. But his father had ties to several merchants on Kartha’s southern coast, and with Nuren’s help he could set up shop. From her father she knew much of trading.
Someday, I’ll be expected to follow in father’s footsteps, of course.
There was talk of sending an expedition to strike back at the Fleure. If he returned victorious, he’d likely be expected to lead it. But there had been talk of striking back for generations now. In the end, nothing would come of it. Kartha couldn’t afford to finance an invasion.
At midday, the army stopped beside a twisting little stream. The water was cold but clear, and the wind sang soft in the swaying treetops. Cagle and the rest of the army’s leaders sat down to a meal of hardtack and cured ham. Reeve joined them.
“Are they breaking camp?” Cagle asked. Two of the hunter’s scouts had remained behind to spy on the men from Washougle.
“They are, and just as before, they are running hard to get ahead of us,” Reeve said.
“Are you going to let them reinforce the city?” Zethul asked pointedly.
“I don’t think we’ll let them get quite that far. In fact, I think next time we’ll spring a little...” Cagle’s voice trailed off. He peered out into the forest. Dark pines dwarfed his army, tops swinging in rhythm with the steady breeze. Sunlight filtered down in an endless patchwork of shadows and clear light. He could smell the pines’ waxy needles. He could hear the wind whispering. The clarity of it all overwhelmed him. Time seemed to slow. A pinecone fell, and his eyes tracked its spiraling descent as it dropped for an eternity.
Something isn’t right here.
“Are you feeling all right?” Meagera asked.
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