Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  Chapter 3

  “They are all here?” The Draegoran handed the reins to Riam and strode toward the children without waiting for the magistrate’s answer.

  Fourteen children stood lined up in the town square with family members close behind. The sun blazed above them, the season just turning into high summer, and mothers and sisters fanned themselves to keep the afternoon heat at bay. No more than ten or twelve faded buildings surrounded them, forming a rough square around a communal well, but a crowd of over a hundred gathered around the edges. The yearly testing brought in all the outlying farmers and landowners, even those who didn’t have children. No one wanted to miss the chance of something new to talk about. Riam, however, was bored.

  “They are all here, sir. Same as every year. All the children in Steading Rock and the outlying homesteads who turned twelve during the past year.” The magistrate spoke in a rush while hurrying to keep up. Unlike Ferrick back home, the magistrate was a thin, hairless man with a narrow nose like a sparrow’s beak. Sweat beaded on the man’s bald head.

  Riam drew lines in the dirt with his foot while he waited. This was the third town in the last tenday, and he still didn’t know what the Draegoran wanted with him or why he’d been taken. It felt like he was the only one who didn’t know by the way people stared at him. He’d tried talking to the Draegoran, to ask him, but the man who’d killed his father didn’t speak much. He gave commands mostly, telling him when to eat, when to sleep, and what to do. About the only things Riam had learned were that the Draegoran was not, in fact, a demon and that he had a name—Gairen.

  The days with Gairen were far different than the company of his father and brother. While they’d never been a happy, cozy family, they’d still spoken to each other throughout the day. Gairen issued his commands and kept to himself.

  It hurt when he thought of Father, and he both worried about and missed his brother Lemual terribly, but in some ways, he was getting used to it. All he’d known his whole life was his father’s anger, even when he’d done what he was told. He’d spent his childhood learning to avoid Father’s wrath and the back of his hand. So far, Gairen never threatened or struck him.

  The only emotion the man had shown, besides that first day in the farmhouse, was when Riam had reached for a sword one night at camp. He wasn’t going to take it or anything. He’d merely wanted to touch it to try and puzzle out the unusual crystal. It pulled at him all the time, and he wanted to know why. He’d thought Gairen was sleeping, but before he could get close to the sword, Gairen seized him firmly by the wrist.

  “Don’t ever touch a Draegoran’s blade. That’s a fast way to a bad death. Besides, you’ll be tired of blades soon enough.”

  There was no anger in the words, but his face had been cold and dark in the dim light of the campfire. Riam didn’t understand what he meant, but he’d kept quiet. That was another lesson he’d learned from his father, how to hold his tongue and not ask questions.

  Gairen drew one of his swords and stepped up to the first child. Around the square, the crowd stirred and pointed. He held the blade reversed, like a knife, with the blade pointed down and the pommel above his thumb and forefinger. As usual, he said nothing to calm the children or reassure the nervous parents behind them. There were only the controlled, purposeful movements with which he did everything. It was as if he wore a mask. He could have been dressing a rabbit for the skewer for all the emotion on his face. The children were simply items that needed to be checked and discarded. The one he tested now had sandy brown hair that was cut unevenly, like Lemual’s.

  Riam groaned. Why does everything have to remind me of Lemual?

  He went back to drawing on the ground to distract himself, but it didn’t help. Where is Lemual, and what has he been doing for the last tenday? He couldn’t picture his brother remaining to work the farm, especially if there was a choice in it. Farm work wasn’t something Lemual liked very much.

  With no one to pay the rent, the landowner would take the land back. That meant another family would come. It was like the farm would be replanted, just like one of the fields, only with people. Riam liked that thought. Maybe it would become a nice place with a real family.

  From there, Riam’s thoughts turned darker. What if Lemual is dead? He’d heard his brother return from town before Gairen and the magistrate arrived, so he’d assumed Lemual had remained hidden in the barn. What if he hadn’t? What if Gairen had seen him first? Would Gairen have hurt him? Gairen didn’t do anything without a purpose, and Riam could see no reason for hurting Lemual. But he did kill Father. . . . Stop it! Riam told himself. Lemual was fine, and he was old enough to take care of himself. But what had he done after finding Father dead? Is he following us from town to town, trying to get me back? He should have caught up to them by now. So, then, where is he? What if he’d been injured or robbed?

  “This one has the blood.”

  Riam’s head snapped up to see Gairen standing in front of a girl with bobbed hair and dark-colored skin. The crystal in the sword glowed yellow, nearly as bright as the afternoon sunlight, and it created long shadows behind the other children in line. The girl slumped backward, and a big, bearded man caught hold of her. The girl’s mother, a dark Arillian woman in an expensive dress, grabbed the arm of the bearded man, and the people on either side moved as far away as they could without getting out of line, distancing themselves from the family.

  Riam felt bad for the girl. If it was anything like his experience, he knew she felt like emptying her stomach.

  The glow from the sword faded. “The girl goes with me in the morning. You have until then to say your farewells.” Gairen withdrew two coins from inside his shirt. “Your payment.” He held two gold dregs out to the bearded man—a small fortune, even to a landowner. Neither the man nor the woman moved toward the money.

  “I don’t want the money,” the woman said in a thick accent, her voice rising as she spoke. “I want to keep my daughter.”

  The husband stared at the ground between his feet. His face was red above his beard. Riam knew anger when he saw it. The man wasn’t angry. It was something else.

  “We have no choice,” he said. He kept his head down to avoid looking at either his wife or Gairen.

  “I don’t care what your Covenant says.” The woman waved her hands in the air frantically.

  “Woman, this isn’t the place—”

  “But he’s going to take her—”

  The man’s head came up. “I said, not here. Look around. You’ll only make it worse.”

  The woman slowly took in the crowd and the hushed conversations that surrounded them. “But, Dar!” she pleaded.

  “No!”

  She searched the onlookers for support. When no one stepped forward, she pulled herself up tall and lifted her chin, salvaging what dignity she could. She wiped the tears from her face. “I should never have come to this forsaken place. My family will hear of this.”

  The bearded man flinched, but he pulled his shoulders back and faced Gairen. He took the dregs from the outstretched hand as if they were far heavier than only two small coins.

  The girl rubbed at her forehead. “I saw myself as a baby, and you and Mother were so young. We were riding across the desert to escape something.” She saw the coins in her father’s hands. “What is happening? Why is he paying you?”

  “Have her back here a sandglass after sunrise tomorrow and no later. Make sure she eats first and has on suitable clothes for traveling—trousers or breeches, not a dress. No more than a small pack she can carry to hold anything you want to send with her. She’ll receive new clothing in Hath, so don’t waste space for a spare set.”

  “What does he mean? Where am I going?” The girl looked back and forth between her parents. “You can’t let him take me away!”

  “Hush, Kit. We’ll talk on the way home.”

  “I’m not going with hi
m! Why aren’t you telling him no?”

  “Yes, tell her why you cower and do nothing,” the mother said.

  “Stop it! Both of you!” the bearded man’s voice boomed out across the square.

  The girl flinched away and slid under her mother’s protective arm.

  “Not more than a glass after sunrise,” Gairen repeated. “Do not seek to flee or make me come for her.” Gairen moved to the next child in line.

  Just like that, the exchange was over, and the bearded man hustled his family down the street.

  Gairen touched the hilt to the remaining children one by one. He said nothing more, and after he finished, he and the magistrate returned to the horses where Riam waited.

  “They can all go. I’ll take the boy to an inn and meet you at the hall for our remaining business.” He took the reins from Riam.

  The magistrate pointed down the wide dirt track that served as the town’s main street. “The Bull is a good place. Stay away from the other inn.”

  “I saw it when we arrived. It’ll do.” Gairen paused to look at the drawing in the dirt—it was obviously a sword—and frowned before leading the horses away.

  Embarrassed, Riam rubbed his foot across the drawing to erase it. He hadn’t even thought about what he was making.

  “Arrogant bastard,” the magistrate mumbled, then remembered Riam. “You didn’t hear that.” He gave Riam a hard stare to make sure he understood before addressing the people on the street. “You may all go. The testing is complete,” he yelled out. The crowd largely ignored him, and knots formed to gossip.

  “Poor Darrel. I hope he knew this might happen,” a nearby woman said.

  “There’ll be problems in that house tonight for sure if he didn’t,” a man with a pointed beard and a thin mustache said and chuckled.

  “Serves him right for marrying an Arillian. They’re notoriously unfaithful,” the woman replied. “And with him away so much . . .”

  “Could have been passed down. Skips a generation sometimes.”

  “Bah, never had one in his family before, and I’ve never seen a dark-skinned Draegoran. Done it for the coin. I’m sure of it,” said an elderly man with white hair. “An Arillian will sell anything if the price is right. Can’t ever trust ’em.”

  Riam finished scratching out the drawing and ran to catch up with Gairen.

  * * *

  —

  If the Bull was the better of the two inns, Riam hated to see what the other looked like. From the outside, the inn was past its prime, with a washed-out, dingy appearance that came from too many seasons and too little care. Several boards were cracked and split, and the roof of the porch bowed down in more than one place. Few could afford paint on the plains, even if it saved money in the long run. The owner of the inn was no different, with the exception of a faded, life-size image of the inn’s namesake painted on the wall of the second floor. At one time the mural might have been black, but the years had faded the powerful-looking bull to a dull brown. Yet even with the neglect, the inn had to be better than another night on the ground.

  Gairen handed the horses off to the inn’s stable boy, a lad no older than Riam with bright red hair that was unlike any color Riam had ever seen. Riam tried not to stare as Gairen flipped the redhead a copper dreg and led the way through the open double doors.

  Inside, the main room of the inn was well lit by open-framed windows. Benches and chairs sat around the room’s eight or nine tables, and a small stairway climbed to rooms on the second floor. Like the outside, the walls of the room were unpainted, but at least there was oil rubbed into the furniture and the floors were clean. Riam had scrubbed the wooden floor and the table back home enough to know that someone cared a great deal for at least the inside of the inn.

  Even with the windows open, the room was warmer than was comfortable, and the smoke of burning torgana leaves made Riam’s nose itch. The sweet odor almost hid the smell of old food and sweat that permeated the room. Father had smoked torgana leaves when he could afford them. Ferrick had asked his father why he smoked the things when they caused your gums to rot and your teeth to fall out. His father had told the magistrate where he could shove his teeth and his advice.

  The other inns they’d stayed at while traveling had been empty. Not this one. Men and women sat and talked or gambled with small tiles. Riam had never been in a room with more than four or five people in his life. This one was crowded and loud. Between the town center and the inn, it seemed nobody had anything to do.

  “Doesn’t anyone work in this town?” Riam asked.

  “Today is Tenth Day. Most shops are closed, so the tradesmen and workers have the day to themselves.” Gairen approached a small man wearing a grease-stained apron. A jagged scar ran down the man’s cheek, and his jaw sat at a crooked angle. The man’s beady, close-set eyes narrowed when he caught sight of them.

  “I need a room for a night and food.”

  “Ye’sir.” The words ran together. “Up stairs, lath’ on the right’s open. Comes with a meal for one and clean water. I’ll throw in food for the boy since I’ve plenty prepared for the crowd, but the mornin’ meal’ll cost you extra.” He pointed at a small empty table. “Sit, I’ll bring food and the key. Stewed lamb today.” He turned away.

  “Wait,” Gairen said. The word wasn’t spoken loudly, but it was clearly a command.

  The man was obviously busy with the crowd, but he stopped. His eyebrows scrunched together in impatience.

  “I’ll return in a sandglass or so. Until then, keep an eye on the boy.”

  “This isn’t—”

  “A glass. Maybe two. Make sure he eats. I’ll take my food in the room when I return.”

  The man clearly didn’t agree, but before he could argue, Gairen disappeared out the door. He stood, mouth open, as if considering whether he should yell after the Draegoran. He decided against it.

  “No trouble, boy.” He gestured to the small empty table. “Sit.”

  “He can sit with me. I’ll take care of him,” a well-tanned man with foam in his beard called out. The customers nearby laughed.

  “Hey, Jeba, I didn’t know you took care of children. Could I bring my two little ones over?” another man called. “Haven’t been able get the wife’s skirts up in daylight since they were old enough to walk.” This brought more laughter.

  Jeba’s face puckered around the scar and reddened. “You’re both real funny. How ’bout I call your tabs due ’fore I serve you another drink?”

  Both men opened their eyes and mouths wide, feigning shock.

  “And what are you grinnin’ at?” Jeba asked Riam.

  Riam sat down quickly and turned his eyes to studying the four men who sat gambling at the next table. They wore baggy colored shirts that laced at the sleeves and hung loose on the arms, brown or black trousers, and plain leather shoes with leather laces. Riam knew farmhands. He’d seen plenty back home. While these men were not richly dressed, they were too well dressed to be seasonal farmhands.

  Father always complained of the large farmsteads that were wealthy enough to hire the seasonal labor that came up from the Free Cities of Thae at the end of winter. He’d always said that if he had the dregs to hire a few Thaens, then he’d be able to raise enough crops to make a profit. But Father had never wanted to work harder than he had to, and he’d never planted more than enough to get by and pay the landowner. It didn’t matter now in any case.

  The last thought slipped in and punched him in the stomach. His eyes watered. He gritted his teeth and held the tears back. He hadn’t cried yet, and he wasn’t going to let himself do it here in front of these people. Father never allowed me to cry over anything while he was alive, so why should I cry over him now?

  Clenching his teeth, he concentrated on the tiles the men gambled with. With matching pictures, dots, and dashes, they built houses that weren’t really ho
uses and wheels that were actually spokes. Puzzling out how it worked slowly pushed thoughts of his father to the back of Riam’s mind, and the tightness in his chest eased.

  Aside from the bearded man who’d made the joke about Jeba watching his children, there was a man with a dangling silver earring who didn’t say a word. The third was thin and puffed on a rolled torgana leaf. When he opened his mouth to speak, sure enough, there were gaps from missing teeth. The last was an ox-size man who had a wide face and big, meaty hands. He continually frowned and tapped at the table, counting in his head. Only a few copper dregs remained in front of him. In fact, most of the money on the table was in front of the man who’d made the joke, and the others looked to be enjoying the game about as much as Riam enjoyed shoveling pig shit back home.

  “Bah! Fillo, you’re an idiot and smoke too much. It’s rotting your brain. When was the last time we needed the Covenant? Forty . . . fifty years ago? Not in my lifetime.” The wide-faced man paused long enough to lean over and spit on the floor. “It’s high time we followed the example of those up in Mirlond. Heard they got a new high landowner at the beginning of summer when the old one fell out of his chair dead. The Lion of West, they call him. First thing he did was break with the Covenant and exile all the Draegorans.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “A peddler came by my shop a few days ago to replace a broken strap on a harness. Told me all about it while I made a new one.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” the man with all the money said.

  “He was only passing through and in a hurry for some reason or other. Something to do with his family in Chalt. He didn’t stay to sell anything.”

  “What else he have to say?”

  “Not much. Only that they were hiring anyone with a sword or bow they could find and that Mirlond’s army was already double what Draegoran law allows.”