Malledd didn't answer. He was thinking about Anva, her soft hair and dark eyes, wondering whether he could bear to leave her to go fight. The idea was almost painful. If he were just an ordinary blacksmith he would never even think of leaving her side – but he had been told all his life that he was something more.
“Listen,” Hmar said, abandoning any pretense that he didn't understand why Malledd hesitated, “if you were needed, wouldn't the priests have summoned you? In the old stories there's almost always a priest or an imperial messenger who brings word to the champion that he's needed, isn't there?”
“Usually,” Malledd admitted. “Not always. But this isn't a story.”
Hmar glowered. “Look, Malledd,” he said, “is there anything you want to ask those men?”
Malledd hesitated, glanced at the recruiter, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “If they have a message for me, they can find me the way the priest did.” He turned away at last, and together the two smiths ambled back down the lane, while Neyil ran wildly back and forth, dodging the puddles and swinging an imaginary sword at the flowers by the roadside.
Chapter Fifteen
About a dozen men from Grozerodz announced that they would be volunteering; that was more than Malledd had expected. Each afternoon the would-be soldiers gathered in Bardetta's tavern and drank and roistered while they waited for Lieutenant Grudar to return.
Onnell was one of them. Malledd was not really surprised; Onnell had seemed to be looking for something new to do with himself lately, and had never lacked for courage. He had had several brief romances but had never married; his parents were dead, and his surviving family was not particularly close. There was little to hold him in Grozerodz.
If Onnell went, though, Malledd realized he would miss him. The two had been friends ever since that incident in the tavern, years ago, when Malledd had threatened to beat Onnell and Onnell had backed down. The two of them had sought each other out to apologize the following day, and matters had progressed to the point that Onnell had been the loudest celebrant at Malledd's wedding to Anva, and the most frequent visitor to their home ever since. Neyil sometimes called him “Uncle Onnell.”
But he had been restless for years, dissatisfied with farming; a term in the army would give him a chance to get away from the village and see more of the world. Malledd could scarcely object to that.
Other friends – sardonic Bousian and little Timuan – had also announced their intention to sign up, but Malledd found himself much less concerned with those two than with Onnell. But he could hardly object to Onnell's plans.
Malledd's own Uncle Sparrak was another matter, though; he was family, and not a young man. Despite his age he was wavering, genuinely considering enlistment. Hmar was doing his best to talk his brother out of it, telling him he was too old for any such nonsense.
Malledd left that to Hmar, and half-seriously tried to convince that miserable old grouch Nedduel to go. It kept his mind off his own doubts about both Onnell for going, and himself for staying.
On the first day of Rabib's Triad, which was the second day after Grudar's first visit, the volunteers were all laughing and joking as they gathered at Bardetta's. Some had brought their belongings in old sacks or bundles; others had nothing but what they wore.
“Let the Empress buy my clothes from now on!” one man called, to general laughter and applause.
Malledd, his mood sour just at the moment, remarked quietly, “The soldier said to bring a day's food and drink.”
“I'll worry about that when he shows his face again,” a volunteer replied. “I wouldn't want the beer to go flat before we leave.”
Malledd smiled thinly, and said no more.
On the third day, the second of Rabib's Triad, the mood was somewhat more somber. No one had expected Grudar to return on the second day, not if he was actually going all the way to Yildau, but now, if he had hurried, he might show up at any time. The reality was beginning to sink in. The men who went with him would be leaving their homes and families for days, for triads, many triads, maybe for a season or more. Oh, it would be a grand adventure, certainly, going all the way to Seidabar and seeing the famous city walls, the Great Temple, the Imperial Palace, and all the rest, and the fighting in the east would probably be long over before they could march all the way out to Govya... but still, they would be away from home, away from everyone and everything they knew. The joking and laughter had not ceased entirely, but it was far more subdued.
Malledd sat at a table in the back, apart from the others – after all, he wasn't going anywhere. He sat silently, drinking ale and minding his own business. Or rather, not minding his business, since he was here at the tavern instead of down at the forge where he belonged, but keeping his own counsel, listening to the volunteers without saying anything.
“Onnell,” said Timuan, staring into his empty mug after refusing a round of ale, “you and I, we'll stay together, right? I mean, if the lot of us get sent to different places or something, you and I, we'll stay together?”
Onnell shrugged. “We'll do as we're told, lad,” he said mildly – Timuan wasn't much more than a boy, and Onnell had no desire to frighten him. “That's a soldier's job.”
“I'd always heard that they try to keep the men of a given village together,” Malledd offered, trying to cheer the lad past his nervousness.
Onnell turned and smiled crookedly at the smith. “Aha, the corpse in the corner speaks! Perhaps some spark of life still lingers after all!”
Malledd ignored this and smiled encouragingly at Timuan.
“Ho, Malledd,” said Bousian. He was slender man, a landless younger son who'd been working as a laborer since falling out with his older brother. “Why aren't you volunteering? Or is that why you're here? You're coming with us, maybe, but keeping it quiet so Anva won't find out?” He turned his chair to face the smith, carefully holding his mug well out from his body as he did – he was wearing the green velvet vest that was his most prized possession and didn't want to risk spilling anything on it.
“Ha!” Malledd put down his own ale. “You think I'd leave Anva's bed to go sleep in a tent in the mud somewhere with the lot of you? Assuming I'd even get a tent? Do I look as big a fool as that?”
“You certainly look big,” Zenisha called loudly from the kitchen door.
The men laughed at her sally as she vanished through the doorway. When she had gone, Bousian added, “I don't know about Anva's bed, but I, for one, wouldn't blame you for wanting to escape her tongue. She just about made my ears bleed the other day when I let Neyil help me plow Nedduel's upper field.”
“Oh, is that how Neyil got so dirty?” Malledd asked, smiling.
The smile was a bit forced, though.
Bousian didn't realize how close Malledd had come to actually volunteering, or that his own words had just now convinced Malledd not to. None of the recruits had children; only two had wives, and both were well known to be less than delighted with their marriages.
Malledd had Anva, and he couldn't imagine a better woman. He knew that the neighbors thought she had a sharp tongue, but he had never been its target. She was warmth and comfort to him, the center of his life.
Malledd had Neyil and Poria and little Arshui, too, and he loved them all. Neyil could find a thousand ways to get dirty – helping Bousian plow was nothing. Poria was always eager to help her mother with everything, and determined to take care of Arshui. And Arshui was perhaps the most beautiful little boy Malledd had ever seen, no more than a baby, not yet speaking in complete sentences. To even think of leaving them for a soldier's life was madness.
So what was he doing, he asked himself, sitting here watching these fools instead of staying home with his family?
Wasting time, clearly, he answered. He gulped the rest of his ale and made a hasty departure, slapping Onnell heartily on the back as he found his way to the tavern's door.
On the fourth day, the last of Rabib's Triad, Malledd did not go to the tavern, but
Neyil told him at supper that there had been a fight, and one of the men had decided not to be a soldier after all.
On the fifth day, first of Mivai's Triad, around mid-afternoon, Lieutenant Grudar and his two companions came slogging back through pouring rain, leading a company of forty or fifty well-soaked recruits into town just as the clouds finally broke and the sun reappeared. None of them were in uniform yet; instead they wore ordinary clothing, mostly under an assortment of dripping cloaks and jackets – blouses and breeches for the most part, and ranging from finery such as no one in Grozerodz could boast to outfits that were little more than rags. A few men carried old swords, heirlooms passed down from long-dead ancestors, hung on their belts or slung over their shoulders.
Thanks in part to the weather the company wasn't marching so much as trudging when it arrived. That was hardly a surprise; it was a long way from Yildau through Uamor and Duvrenarodz, and the recruits were undoubtedly tired.
Word spread quickly, carried largely by the village children. Virtually the entire town turned out to see their local heroes depart; Malledd, Anva, and their children were all in the crowd that collected in the square. Hmar had been busy with something at the forge and had not wanted to leave it for fear of losing the metal's temper, but Malledd's mother, Madeya, was there, and so were Uncle Sparrak and his wife and daughter. Vlaia and her man stood together at one side of the square, and Malledd was sure his other sisters were present, as well. He glimpsed one or another of them occasionally as everyone milled about, chattering excitedly.
Sparrak had made his final decision the night before, and chosen not to go; in fact, none of the men who had been wavering had decided to go. Of the original dozen volunteers, only nine actually showed up with their supplies when Grudar called for them.
Onnell was one of them; Malledd had hoped he might change his mind at the last moment, but he was there, a knapsack in his hand. Bousian and Timuan were there, as well, and the twin brothers Orzin and Ozerga from down the hill, and Nesalas, Vorif, Gaur, and Delazin.
Nedduel was not going, nor three or four others who had said they would.
The lieutenant seemed satisfied with nine, though – as well he might be, Malledd thought. If the army took nine or ten men from every village in the world they would add up very quickly to an inconceivable number. Just looking at the horde of recruits from Yildau and the other villages was mind-boggling; Malledd thought that the gathering in the square might include more strangers than Grozerodz ordinarily saw in half a year.
An army so huge as the one the Empire seemed to be raising surely didn't need him, Malledd told himself. That was a relief; he breathed more freely than he had since Lieutenant Grudar's first appearance.
The company took a rest in the village square, sitting down wherever space permitted, before moving on; this gave the Grozerodz contingent time to gather up their belongings and say goodbye, and let the men from Yildau and Uamor and Duvrenarodz take a break in their march and get something to eat.
Most had presumably brought a day's provisions, as Grudar had instructed them, but Bardetta wasn't one to miss such a business opportunity, and most of the recruits were not eager to eat what they had brought; when she called out that the inn would be serving, a cheer went up.
Bardetta didn't try to fit Grudar's entire company in her tiny inn; instead she and Zenisha brought trays of bread, cheese, and ale out into the square and carried them around to the would-be soldiers. Most of the men were honest enough to toss a coin or two on the tray, but some simply snatched the food and drink, and neither Bardetta nor Zenisha pressed the issue.
Malledd supposed some of them might not have any coins; certainly, plenty of the local farmers never had cash money. Bardetta let such farmers have credit, and pay off in whatever goods they could spare – but these people would not be staying around to pay their bills.
Still, it was Bardetta's problem, not his – and it probably wasn't much of a problem, as both women had to go back to dump the money and refill the trays, and as they did Malledd could see that there were coins aplenty, at least two, probably three vierts in all – maybe even more.
It was a good thing the weather had turned sunny and bright; continued rain would have watered the ale and soaked the bread and made people less eager to dig hands into purses.
Grudar seemed in no great hurry to move on. Instead he sat on the doorstep of Daiwish's house chewing on a stick of dried spiced meat, watching as his men ate and drank, and as the newest recruits said their farewells to friends and family. Vanuir the tax collector, and the other soldier whose name Malledd had never heard, were mingling with the townspeople, but Grudar remained somewhat apart.
Malledd noticed him there. The children were busily running back and forth through the mud puddles with Anva keeping a watchful eye on them, leaving Malledd on his own for a moment, and he took the opportunity to slip past the crowd to approach the soldier.
“Ho, there,” he said, “might I join you for a moment?”
Grudar looked up. “Certainly, sir,” he said, moving over to make room.
“I am Malledd,” Malledd said, as he settled onto the step. “I'm a smith.”
Grudar nodded an acknowledgment. “Lieutenant Grudar,” he said.
Malledd sat politely silent for a moment, then asked, “This war in the east – is it serious? Have many been killed?”
“So they tell me,” Grudar said.
“You have not seen it for yourself?”
Grudar turned a hand in a negative gesture. “No,” he said. “Zorha and I are from the garrison at Biekedau. We get our reports through the priests, the same as everyone else. I suppose the army in Govya can't spare anyone to act as messengers, let alone recruiters – or they can't spare the time for anyone to come this far. It's a long, long road to Govya; why send a messenger when the priests can tell us overnight?”
Malledd nodded. “You said you'd be taking these men to Seidabar?” he asked.
“That's right. We've been reassigned, along with a dozen others who are out recruiting. Raising an army at the capital is more important than keeping the Biekedau garrison at full strength.”
“Will you be going east, then?”
“If it comes to that. I'm a soldier, sir; I go where I'm told.”
Malledd nodded. “Let me buy you an ale,” he said, beckoning to Zenisha.
Grudar hesitated, then looked up at the sun. Malledd glanced up, as well; he thought he could see two small moons in front of the sun, but it was still hot and bright. Steam was rising from the rooftops across the square as the sun dried the wet thatch.
“I'm not really supposed to drink anything stronger than fruit juice when I'm on duty, but it's still ten miles to Biekedau, and I'll undoubtedly sweat it off,” Grudar said. “Thank you, sir.”
He accepted a mug; Malledd took one as well, and tossed a small coin on Zenisha's tray.
A moment later Grudar's ale was gone, though Malledd's was hardly begun, and the lieutenant stood up and shouted, “Soldiers of the Empire! Finish up, please! Then it's on to Biekedau, and Seidabar!”
A murmur ran through the crowd, and Malledd imagined he could hear a score of throats gulping ale. He rose and began looking for his wife.
It was actually a good quarter hour before the newly-enlarged company of recruits marched on out of Grozerodz, bound for Biekedau. Once he and Anva had said a brief farewell to Onnell and Bousian, Malledd stood by the tavern door and watched them go with a sort of uncertain relief, while Anva collected Poria and Neyil. Arshui had fallen asleep curled up at Malledd's feet, oblivious to the noise and excitement.
When the last of the recruits was out of sight around the bend in the Biekedau road at the foot of the village Malledd let out a sigh and turned away.
It was over; Grozerodz had done its duty for the Empire. The war in the east would surely not last long, or do any serious harm. When the mad wizard Nazakri saw the Imperial Army he would certainly have to surrender or flee.
; Malledd was not involved. No one had called on him. He could go home with his wife and children and stay there, in peace. The champion, if that was what he really was, was not needed.
He put an arm around Anva's shoulders and embraced her as they walked.
Chapter Sixteen
Lord Duzon stood looking about the quietly busy hall with his hat dangling gracefully from one hand, and wondered if he were really needed here. This was not what he had had in mind three years before, when he had offered Lord Graush his assistance in identifying the divine champion.
He had been thinking more of trial by combat – contests between the various claimants to the title, open to all comers, with the winner declared champion. He had intended to enter the competition himself, and had been guardedly optimistic that he would win.
He hadn't realized that gruff old Lord Graush, that man of action and direct speech, put such faith in scholarship.
Graush had turned the great hall of his own palace over to the task of finding the champion. The couches and tables had been pushed aside and were gathering dust along the walls, and now Duzon looked over three rows of desks and worktables where some two dozen priests and scholars were studying. Several of them were bent over ancient, crumbling documents – letters, chronicles, legends, reports, anything that described the previous champions, from Urzuan the Great right up to Faial the Redeemer – looking for clues, for similarities or differences between past champions that might prove useful in knowing what to look for.
Others were reviewing the histories and descriptions of candidates – people who had presented themselves as perhaps being the champion, and people who had been suggested by others.
The whole room smelled of dust and parchment, and Duzon found it depressing. For two years they had been poring over the records, comparing notes, while Rebiri Nazakri gathered an army and began fighting his way westward across Govya.
Touched by the Gods Page 13