Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  “And have my poor master come home to a cold cottage and no supper?”

  The hot bath eased my aching muscles instantly. “Mock if you like. This is heaven.”

  Lind smiled, a real one that softened her eyes. “Thanks for not interfering.”

  I was so tired, that I didn’t get what she meant.

  “Peony’s sweet, and I didn’t want Eward beating her.”

  “Stop calling him Eward.” I lay back in the bath, luxuriating. “And you’re welcome.”

  Maybe I should have considered that having Lind reward me for my behaviour was a bad thing, but I was too soaked in comfort to stir myself.

  My wicked revolutionary was cheerful as she put away my clothes. “The ponies are fed, in good health, and Wolf gets along well with them.”

  “Good.”

  “They’re called Rose and Daisy. Peony’s friend in the stables will help me harness them in the morning.”

  That would save me an hour’s work. “Thank you, Lind.” I forgot I was angry with her. All I noticed was her care for me.

  “I’m making sure my education continues. The way you’re going, you’ll burn out.”

  Her concern was rooted in her own needs, but I was too beat to care. I just luxuriated in the results. The chicken was tender, the tea sweetened with honey, and the sheets scented with lavender.

  I was out like a light, woke an hour before dawn, ate the bowl of porridge Lind pushed into my hands, and plunged straight back into chaos.

  I’ve been part of dozens of convoys, but this one was a disaster from the start, and it was made more difficult by being in charge of the rangers. With Kennard sulking and Duggard issuing contradictory orders, I had to be on my toes continuously.

  We had the usual troubles, from sick horses to equipment going missing, and when we finally began to move, it was almost noon. The only thing that went well was Lind’s organisation. She was up, packed and ready to go without fuss, and she had Wolf waiting for me, too.

  “Our cart is the first after the Guild and supply wagons,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, well away from the steward.”

  I’d thought it best when I’d arranged it, but being last, after the supply wagons, when as master craftsman I should have been right behind the steward, second in the convoy, now irked me.

  I gave her the official line. “A centre position is best, seeing I’m leading the rangers. It allows me easy access to all parts of the convoy.”

  “In the middle, so we’re safe from ambush, and not too far behind to get caught up in an ocean of mud,” Lind said cheerfully.

  She was the only one who was happy. Apart from my sulky guards, the Guild drivers didn’t like being away from home and worried equally about road conditions and ambushes. Each one demanded special treatment, including extra guards for his vehicle.

  Duggard should have dealt with them as he was the leader as well as steward, and Kennard might have dealt with the security issue, but we were still in sight of the city when Kennard brought a gaggle of drivers to me at the end of the first day. “Feedback you should hear about, Master Fletcher.” Then he stepped back as the storm broke.

  “My swords are the most valuable and deserve more protection! I demand you give me one of your rangers!”

  “Those migrants will be after my wine! I need a ranger, too!”

  “I hear there’s a rockslide a day’s walk from here. How big is it? If we have to go round, my pottery will be bashed to bits!”

  I was astonished. Nobody has ever spoken to me that disrespectfully before.

  “What are you gaping at, man? You are the ranger, aren’t you?” a driver snapped.

  That’s when it dawned on me that volunteering was different from being formally contracted. I wasn’t Ware Fletcher, or even Ware Esyllt from Llanfaes. I was the ranger for this convoy, as low as a driver—maybe less so. Yelling was going to be the least of it.

  I’d taken on the contract, so I sucked it up.

  I tried sense first. “This was all discussed back in Caern, and the agreements we made there are fixed. The guards are there to secure all the Guild carts, and the rangers will collect information that will make our journey a safe one.”

  “I want reports three times a day.”

  “Me, too!”

  “And me!”

  I tried reason. “The rangers report twice daily on local conditions and every two days on the long patrol. I inform Sergeant Kennard and the Guild steward of conditions twice a day. Anytime you have questions, ask them, or me.”

  “While the rangers are out in the field, let them pick up some venison.”

  “Or wild boar.”

  I was ready for that. “The rangers can’t hunt, but they’ll help with supplying information on where animals are foraging. We can’t remove men from duty; it’s too dangerous.”

  When they kept moaning, I got fed up. “Get back to your carts, do your damn jobs, and shut up!”

  “We can bring charges if we’re robbed!”

  “Or for theft!”

  “Security is our right!”

  That’s the Guild for you. When all else fails, threaten a lawsuit. The guild’s good at winning, too, so it’s an excellent strategy. Especially if you’re dealing with a sergeant who’s a lion in battle but afraid of legal eagles.

  These were drivers, not Guild members, but they knew their bosses, and they were clearly planning to blame any problems on us. The drivers were hardcore bullies: if one of them tripped and stubbed his toe, he was going to get his master to bring a lawsuit.

  “Maybe there’s a compromise,” Kennard started.

  With horror, I realised he was going to give in, remove my rangers from their duties, and endanger everyone’s safety.

  “And maybe you’ll be cashiered for questioning orders!” I snapped. “In case you’ve forgotten, convoy duties and rosters are approved in advance by the duke’s constable. As he represents his liege, they are the duke’s personal orders and may not be changed.”

  It wasn’t the best response, but I was tired. Kennard saluted and disappeared without a word, but I was aware that losing my cool and humiliating him in public had been a bad move. I had to handle him better. For that I needed more time to myself, to consider and plan, but I wasn’t getting any of that.

  I had thought that once we were on our way, I’d get some peace with people focusing on the daily rigours of the journey. I was quickly educated out of that comfortable delusion.

  My ranger duties were time-consuming but simple enough to discharge. I hated the way people spoke to me, but that I could have lived with. What really fucked me up was that Duggard and Kennard refused to deal with any issues unless I attended them, on the basis of “We need ranger input.”

  Duggard hardly left his cart, sitting inside all day long, but he had Jarvis harass me with endless requests to double- and triple-check information that always began with, “Chief Ranger, the Guild steward requests the rangers confirm—”

  It was infuriating not to be given my proper title, Master Fletcher, but I couldn’t argue, as I had taken on the role. Even so, it hit my pride, and every time I reported, I left myself open for more insults.

  “Sergeant Kennard, the rangers report a rock slide twenty miles ahead. It will take half a day to clear it. Alternatively, we can go round if we take the next path south, but it will add a day to the journey.”

  “Are you certain? Ask them to see if maybe someone else has cleared it.”

  “I can, but we’ll have to stop and wait for the answer because the alternate path is coming up in three miles.”

  “Wotan’s spear, man! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “The rock slide happened a few hours ago. I’m not an oracle.”

  Kennard swore and the drivers swore, too. “That bloody ranger says we have to go round or wait.”

  “What? More bad news? It’s intolerable!”

  As if I had caused the slide instead of merely reporting it.

>   Hunting was a constant fight, too.

  “Steward, the rangers have spotted a herd of deer, but they’re across the river. A distance of five miles and moving parallel to us.”

  Duggard’s pasty, sulky face peeped out from the closed cart. “It’s a bit late for crossing the river. Sundown is in two hours.”

  “Yes. We can hope for a better opportunity tomorrow, but fresh meat is low.”

  “Tell them to spot deer nearer to us.”

  As if I could direct nature.

  The rangers were frustrated, too.

  “My horse has strained a fetlock. Sergeant Kennard says I can’t borrow a replacement until tomorrow.”

  “The steward has demanded I hunt for him. I can’t refuse him, but it means I can’t scout the land south of the river as you asked. Can you take over my duty?”

  It was endless, and it was exhausting. Also, while helping the civilians wasn’t part of my duty, as they were merely tagging along, seeking shelter in our tail, it didn’t stop them plaguing me with their demands, too.

  “We’re short of water. Can we borrow a barrel?”

  “We’re going too fast. My wife can’t keep up. Can you ask the steward to slow down?”

  “We’re going too slowly. I have work waiting in Tanweld. Please beg the steward to speed up!”

  “We’re hungry! Can your rangers hunt for my family?”

  The steward and the sergeant stayed at the front of the convoy, avoiding the migrants, but as leader of the rangers, I had to travel the length of it constantly.

  I could ignore the requests to change the pace of travel, but I couldn’t refuse to help with accidents like broken water barrels. Also, while the women were mostly all right, the children were too young for rough travel. They were exhausted by the first day and falling ill by the second. I couldn’t turn a cold shoulder to them, so I arranged for rides.

  The drivers were furious.

  “Those pesky kids will steal our cargo!”

  “They’re too small and the cart is sealed. Just let one sit beside you.”

  “They can walk! They’re just lazy!”

  “You have little ones at home. Surely you’d not want them to suffer?”

  “My kids know better than to join a convoy.”

  “Your family are bloody lucky their home wasn’t razed. Now give that child a seat, and bloody well shut up!”

  The mountain roads of Sha’ean and the cliffs of Bah’reen didn’t faze me, but the endless demands of this journey wore me down. I had never had my judgement questioned at every turn, been humiliated ten times in an hour or been utterly consumed by endless meaningless tasks.

  Although I’d put myself into the situation, I felt completely helpless and alone. At the end of the first day I was tired; at the end of the second, I was exhausted; and by the third evening, I was just numb.

  It was Lind who saved me. In Caern she’d caused trouble just by breathing; on the road she was practical, sensible and organised. She looked after the ponies, made sure our cart was secure and found time to groom and feed Wolf, too. She did it so well that I didn’t bother checking on her after the second day. Lind’s care was superb.

  Military convoys have plenty of thralls; soldiers are awarded them as part of their prize money, so the men relax while the women do all the work

  Our convoy was different. Duggard had Violet, his sexy blonde thrall, with him as well as two others, strong men both of them, and Kennard had one, another sturdy man, but the guards and Guild drivers had left theirs at home with their families. Unlike Lind, the city thralls would never weather the trip, so the men had to look out for themselves. Of course the migrants were too poor to afford them.

  Although Lind eased my burden, her efforts were limited. In between settling disputes, okay, yelling at people, I realised her silver collar meant she was stuck in our cart. At night she could cook and wash because it meant staying in public view, but hunting and foraging was out, as it would be too tempting a target for the migrants in our train—and robbers lurking in the woods.

  I made sure we camped near the river at night, paid two migrants to guard Wolf for me, and paid another to collect and deliver a bundle of firewood to Lind every evening. For the rest, though, I was too busy to do much more.

  After a few days we were running out of fresh food, and the knowledge that it had been my own cleverness that had compromised my comfort was just one more damn thing that had gone wrong.

  On the fifth day, when once again I was stuck in a verbal battle with the steward and couldn’t get away, I knew she must be running into trouble filling the pot. I reminded myself I’d packed plenty of dried beans and salted bacon. It wasn’t appetizing, but it would do.

  However, when I arrived at the cart, an hour after dark, Lind was stirring a stew of fresh meat and spinach.

  “Leftovers?” I was so tired that I was actually cheered by the thought.

  “No. I did some laundry in return for greens. Lending out the little bow and three arrows got us the meat.”

  It shamed me, that. A man of my stature should be able to provide for his people, especially if it’s just a single thrall. “I’m so sorry, Lind.”

  She looked totally taken aback. “Why?”

  “I’m neglecting my duties. A master provides for his people. I should be out there, hunting.”

  “Wolf is having a roll and then he’s off to sleep with Rose and Daisy in the corral,” Lind said astringently, “which is just what you should be doing. You’re exhausted, Ware.”

  It took me aback, having her care for me like that.

  “And what’s more,” Lind grumbled, “I’ve no idea why you took on this job. You don’t need it, and it’s driving you insane.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Rubbish. You haven’t scolded or lectured me since we left the city.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “It’s unnatural,” Lind grinned. “Look Ware, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. This is not your kind of work. Do you really have to do it?”

  You know, I must’ve been feeling pretty low, because for a moment I considered telling her everything. But then I remembered that staff hitting the pillow, missing my head by inches. Lind had no love for me. If she knew too much, she might sabotage my revenge.

  As before, the memory of the burned shrine and destroyed farm tore at my gut, but I smiled lightly and spoke mockingly, “Are you worried about me, tender beauty?”

  Lind hesitated and then shrugged. “I’m missing your classes.”

  I’d been right. Lind was focused purely on our deal. I was surprised that this disappointed me. I decided I must be more tired than I thought.

  Then I forced myself to look on the bright side. I might not have made much of an impression on her, but at least her wish to become a fletcher tied her to me. I’d better keep it that way, too. “I’ll make time to teach you.”

  “Good.”

  I looked at the large smoky eyes, the fine hair curling around the angular bones and the sweet lips. Suddenly, the fatigue washed away. “In the meantime, let’s follow Wolf’s example and go for a roll.”

  Chapter Sixteen: Lind

  I’ve never had time for citizens, never mind smug, entitled Guildsmen, but going on the road with Ware showed me a whole new side of him.

  I’d dismissed his lectures on the importance of work and dedication because every lazy fat-gut owner I’ve known has banged on about it—and then sat on his arse while I did all the heavy lifting.

  I thought Ware was just full of it like the others, but I changed my mind very quickly. Ware worked like a dog.

  He was up before dawn, meeting with the rangers, making reports, poring over maps and ensuring our safe passage. Then he fixed problems all day long, from broken stirrups to slipping gear that hadn’t been secured properly.

  Although the migrants were just followers, he didn’t turn them away, either. He forced the Guild drivers to share their water barrels and he very quietly
arranged for the littlest kids and the pregnant women to hitch rides.

  I expected that selfish bugger Duggard the steward to focus purely on his own needs, but Kennard should have been helping. Instead, the poxy bastard just made Ware’s life as hard as he could. He did nothing all day long, except for say, “Ask the ranger.”

  That pig Jarvis was even worse. When he wasn’t snoring in a Guild cart somewhere, he was lining his pockets. I saw him steal eggs, flour and dried fruit from the supply carts and sell it to the migrants.

  And when Ware was at his most tired, Duggard, Kennard and Jarvis would ooze up and bother him with stupid questions, just to annoy him and waste his time.

  The bullying was insidious. Even the way they spoke was nasty. It was “Chief Ranger, can you confirm” and “Chief Ranger, can you check again” all the time. They didn’t even bother calling him Master Fletcher or even Master Ware, and I could see it was getting to Ware.

  It was so obvious that I tackled him about it. “Look, Ware, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. This is not your kind of work. Do you really have to do it?”

  He brushed it off with a cool, sarcastic comment, “Are you worried about me, tender beauty?”

  For a moment I was going to tell him about Jarvis stealing supplies, but I decided not to. If a citizen reports theft, everyone is all, “Oh, how wonderful that you’re reporting it” but when you’re a thrall, you’re more likely to be accused of lying—or somehow being responsible.

  So I let it go and kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t like it. You see, for the first time in my life I was enjoying being in a convoy.

  Being on the road isn’t an adventure when you’ve crossed the continent as often as I have. I’ve seen all seven cities at least twice, and there’s not a lot of excitement that comes from tramping all day in the mud and then roughing it at night.

  But thanks to Ware, I was as spoilt as a Guild princess. I could ride all day if I wanted to, and when I walked, my new boots kept my feet warm as well as bruise- and mud-free. Ware’s cart was huge, big enough to leave some space for us to sleep inside, so we were sheltered from rain and the cold as we slept on a soft mattress with warm blankets. We even had pillows, for Tyr’s sake!