Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  He tried to blame Ware. “I said we couldn’t trust a Llanfaes man.” Duggard’s whine was piercing.

  “I agree, cousin.” Jarvis was acting cool, but I could see he was shaken. I thought it was because of the fight—he’s a pro, but he’s nowhere near Ware’s class—but pretty soon I realised he was frightened of the fletcher. “I can take over as lead ranger.”

  That’s when Ware kicked ass again. Surrounded by drivers and guards, all of whom were flattering him shamelessly, telling him how wonderful he was, Ware neatly exposed Jarvis as a thief, and he was clever enough to dump Duggard and Kennard in it, too.

  Me, I would have had the lot lynched, but Ware is all about being proper. He took over, calmed everyone down, bored on about rules and laws, and suddenly he was in charge with the three cousins totally routed.

  I didn’t say a word because Ware’s already proud as a damn rooster, but between you and me, I was impressed. It would never have occurred to me that you can win without killing the enemy, but Ware did it. He did it easily, too.

  I reckon the battle took fifteen minutes, and taking down the steward, the sergeant and their pig cousin took another fifteen. After that, Ware was convoy leader.

  We were burying the baby when it hit me how suddenly everything was different. People were staring at Ware with respect, begging him to help instead of yelling at him. He was boss, and he got there by sheer force of mind.

  That’s when it really hit me why the nobles and Guild keep their place in the sun. It’s not strength of arms, although that helps, it’s the way they think. They have a way of making people do what they want, of getting into their heads.

  I saw the migrants, thin, needy and desperate, and realised that the drivers and guards who looked prosperous and tough were actually just a step away from being in the same position. If their homes were burned down, they’d have nothing. They’d be migrants.

  I said so to Ware, “Freedom without money and skills is just like being a thrall.” I thought he’d be pleased, and maybe rub it in that I had to work hard, be a good girl and the usual, but instead he was quiet.

  At first I thought it was reaction. After all, he’d been run ragged, and then there’d been the battle and the fight after, so it wouldn’t have been surprising if he were tired. Also, it was freezing cold.

  He’d come for me and saved my life, so I ignored the fact that it was all his fault and looked after him. “Come on,” I took his hand and it was a block of ice. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  We got out of there, and it took just minutes to see the new order had kicked in.

  “Master Ware, your orders?” Kennard was looking super efficient and keen, but I could see a pulse ticking in his jaw. The sergeant wasn’t happy.

  “We’re clear the next five miles, but let’s keep tight formation, in case of counter-attack.” Ware sounded like a general. “We also need mounted guards. Post two at the front, two in the middle and three in the rear.”

  The annoyed glint in Kennard’s eyes told me that Ware’s strategy was perfect. “Yessir!”

  A minute later, the fowler was over. “Master Ware, sir, there’s going to be trouble with Jarvis. Some of the men are a bit upset. Can you come?”

  We all knew what “a bit upset” meant, and although Ware might have left the thief to his fate, the noble bugger rushed off to save his skin. I was right behind him, not to help save my former pig but to enjoy seeing him get a bit of what he deserved.

  The tail part of the convoy was a mile long, so it was a smart run to get to the end of it. By the time I arrived, hot and panting, Ware had dragged Jarvis out of the circle of migrant men.

  “I know it’s tempting,” he was totally cool, seemingly oblivious that he was surrounded by big bruisers, most of them twice as broad as himself, “but I can’t allow you to kill him.”

  “Do you know what that fucker did?” One of the men was yelling, shaking his fist in Ware’s face. “My wife didn’t have a ring! Do you know what that sick bastard made her do?”

  Wolf was instantly whickering warningly at him, sensing trouble, but the fletcher just shook his head. “You can add your complaint to mine. I’ll make sure the duke hears of it.”

  They all yelled, but Ware was unflinching, talking nicely but firmly. I wasn’t really listening because I was noting Jarvis’ broken nose, split lip and rapidly swelling eyes. The pig was finally suffering a proper beating, just like the ones he’d given me.

  “You don’t care,” one of the migrant men grumped.

  Then Ware pointed at me. “Do you see my Lind?” he asked quietly. “This whoreson beat her for months. He treated her like dirt.” He took Jarvis by the neck and shook him. Seeing Jarvis was limp and carrying heavy manacles, that was no mean feat. The casual strength of him made the migrant men stand back respectfully.

  “If I could, I’d gut this man.” Ware was speaking very quietly, that dark Llanfaes menace spilling out for everyone to see. “I’d make your duke’s slow hanging seem like a picnic.”

  There was absolute silence. Nobody doubted he meant it, and I was suddenly remembering the three tortured thugs. Ware was fully capable of carrying out his threat, I had no doubt of it. None.

  “This man will be taken to the justiciar at Tanweld, and he will be put to the question.” Ware spoke as if it were a conversation, but being put to the question means being tortured for a confession. The bits of Jarvis that weren’t bruised and bleeding went white. “I will witness, and those of you who want to can add your testimony.”

  “It’s twenty lashes for stealing supplies,” the fowler said, “but what do you get for buying them?”

  There was a pregnant silence as the migrants realised they were also tempting fate. Those who buy stolen goods are punished along with the thief, that’s the law.

  “You’ll witness, Master Ware?” the fowler asked.

  “I will.”

  “Then we’ll make sure that this pig keeps his appointment with the Tanweld justiciar,” the fowler promised.

  “Thank you.” Ware is always polite. He reached out a hand to me. “Come Lind, this is no place for you.”

  He was grave and quiet as we walked back, Wolf trotting along behind us. I was practically dancing, delighted that Jarvis would have to walk to Tanweld, but not convinced that he’d get the twenty lashes.

  “Duggard will pull strings,” I said. “Kennard, too, and no doubt the poxy prat will get a reduced sentence.”

  “He’ll die under the lash.”

  When I looked at him, I realised that black anger was still there but it was ice-cold rage. I thought I was talking to the noble Guildsman, the proud one who thought honour was better than blood. “Yeah, stealing supplies is pretty bad.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about that. He’ll die for what he did to you.”

  You could have knocked me down with a feather. I just stopped and gazed at him, totally speechless.

  Ware took my hand. “Come on, Lind, we have to move on. It’s going to rain later, and I want to reach the southern clearing before the road floods. Our carts are too heavily laden to travel through mud.”

  Dutiful Ware was back, so we didn’t talk. The drivers patched up the burnt carts as best they could, and then we were off. I was thinking that Ware was developing a soft spot for me and wondering what it meant, when it slowly dawned on me that with him being leader, people were looking at me differently, too.

  First it was the fowler, pitching up and handing me a knotted handkerchief. “Some greens and mushrooms for your pot. Chestnuts are coming.”

  “Why? What do you want?”

  “Nothing. It’s a thank-you for your master.”

  The women had gone foraging, and this was a return for the wedding rings. Stupid, really, because it meant they would go hungry, but it was nice. I don’t care about stuck up Brighthelme bitches, but I didn’t want to take food from their kids’ mouths. Luckily the drivers sent over salted fish cakes, so I handed those out, and that ev
ened it up.

  By this time I wasn’t worried whether Ware would mind; he’d be the first to feed kids. Funny that, he’s the only rich man I’ve ever known to be generous. Dukes and knights don’t part with a copper if they can possibly avoid it, but money doesn’t interest Ware at all, except as a tool. It’s reputation that’s his coin.

  As everyone was all over him, he was getting plenty of the stuff he valued.

  “Master Ware saved my husband.” That was the cry from the fowler’s wife, talking to her friends. “He’s the bravest man I’ve ever seen.”

  “And a master bowman! Did you see the speed he drew at?”

  “And he never missed once!”

  “He’s so brave!”

  “He’s handsome, too!”

  Not a word about his perverted ways now!

  When we pulled up at the end of the afternoon, soaked from on-and-off rain, but thankfully without losing any wheels or having carts flounder, Ware was running around as before, but now everyone was begging for advice, thanking him fulsomely and hanging on his every word.

  It was “Begging your pardon, sir. If I might have a moment of your time” and “Thank you, Master Ware. Bless you, Master Ware” every second of the day.

  It was revolting, but I could see he was loving it. Ware had his pride back.

  I was cooking greens, nuts and pheasant over a very small fire I’d coaxed out of some discarded bark and twigs when Violet went by. She was looking pretty tired. The steward had stayed in his cart, sulking.

  On impulse I called to her. “Hey, want some stew?”

  She looked petrified. “No. Thank you.”

  Yes, Duggard had told her to stay away from me. I looked around and saw we were shielded from public view. “He can’t see you,” I hissed.

  Quick as a flash, Violet was over. “I can’t stay,” she whispered. “He’ll beat me.” She looked thin and sickly.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked her.

  Violet gave a little laugh. “Pray to the gods my pig drops dead of apoplexy.”

  “He’s difficult?”

  “Not when we’re in Caern, but this trip is driving him insane.”

  We both spotted feet at the same time. Violet stood up hastily. “I have to go.”

  I passed her some mushrooms. “For you. Eat them when the fat-gut can’t see you.”

  I’d spoken too loudly. The feet belonged to two guards, and they’d heard me.

  “Insolent girl!” One of them snarled at me as Violet scuttled away. “How dare you speak of your betters that way?”

  “You mind your own business.” Ware was right behind me, a hand on my shoulder, and Wolf looking over his. “If you have a problem with Lind, discuss it with me.”

  By the steel eyes and pinched lips, the discussion was definitely going to involve fisticuffs, so the guard backed off. “Sorry, sir. No offence meant.”

  Violet had vanished with the mushrooms. I braced myself for a lecture, but to my amazement, all Ware said was, “We lost men today, Lind, and I need everyone for long patrols. Could you look after Wolf?”

  “His oats are ready and I’ve got an apple right here.”

  “Thank you. He’ll need rubbing down.”

  “No problem. Rose and Daisy have had their suppers and rubdowns. They’re already partying in the corral with the other horses.”

  “Right. I’m sorry, Lind. This isn’t your work.”

  I’d never heard of work that wasn’t part of a thrall’s lot, but I went with it. “I love Wolf. We’ll have a blast.”

  Then he was off without a single word about my calling the steward a fat-gut. When he eventually pitched up for supper, exhausted and cold, I thought he’d forget because he was bushed.

  But he hadn’t. “Don’t call Duggard a fat-gut in public.”

  That was new. “It’s okay in private?”

  “You can say whatever you like to me.” Ware was lecturing again, but in a quiet calm way. “Be polite, Lind. Getting along with people is important.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t take any shit, though. If anyone gives you trouble, refer them to me.”

  “Okay.” If Ware was going to be on my side, I wasn’t going to protest.

  He was staring at my neck. “That bloody thing almost got you killed today.” He reached out a hand, stroking my hair. “We don’t have the tools to take it off, and even if we did, people would still know it’s here. You’d be a target anyway.”

  The mystery was solved. Ware was feeling guilty.

  I rubbed it in, straight away. “I was awfully scared.”

  It didn’t work. “I could tell by the way you were swearing and swinging my knife. Which, by the way, is ruined.”

  “It did a good job, cutting through the traces.”

  Ware laughed, looking like himself again. “You did well, Lind. You saved the horse.”

  “Master Ware,” it was Kennard, looking tired, too. “All’s secure. The night watch has been posted.”

  “Good. Get some sleep. I’ll see you at dawn.”

  “Sir!”

  As Kennard saluted and vanished, a stream of people turned up, all wanting “just a moment, please,” and then jawing on about security, their goods and, of course, money.

  I could see Ware was tired, but that duty bugbear was at work again. He was patient, attentive and fair, and when the last one disappeared, he was white with strain. The wind was whipping up wickedly, too.

  “Come on, Ware. Get inside and warm up.”

  “Go sleep, Lind. I’ll patrol.”

  “Don’t be daft. Let the night guards do their job. You need to rest.”

  You know, he was so knackered that I had to force him inside? And even then he was difficult about me undressing him and getting him some supper and hot tea.

  “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Stop fussing. You’ve had a long day, you won, and now you need to sleep.”

  He ate and lay down, and when I wrapped myself around him, he was totally tense. I could tell straight away that he was too edgy for a nice celebratory fuck. Battle affects some men like that, so I just curled up beside him till he nodded off.

  I thought a good night’s sleep would settle him, but he was uptight the next day, too, and the day after that. Frankly, it worried me, but as we were deep in the forest, and it was bloody miserable with rain almost all day and a freezing winds, I thought it might just be the pressure of the job.

  Duggard was hiding, not even coming out for breakfast or supper, and so Ware was leading without interference. He did it well, and there was no more bullying, but there was no doubt that it was exhausting.

  Again, it was me who got the cushy job. Being Ware’s silver-collared thrall suddenly meant influence. People who’d sneered and yelled at me were very keen to get on my good side.

  “Girl, give your master a message” became “Please, will you tell Master Ware I’d like a word?” and lots of those requests came with presents: bunches of herbs, wild onions and nuts.

  I passed on all the messages and spread the gifts about, which boosted Ware’s reputation. Now people were calling him generous. He seemed to like that, because he stopped lecturing me about manners and began lecturing the convoy. A Brighthelme woman who called me “wench” was snarled at, and a guard who tried the same had the sense to back off rapidly rather than be thumped.

  I decided the fletcher was feeling guilty about my collar almost getting me killed, and I took complete advantage, calling him Ware again in public instead of sir. To my amazement, he took it. Yup, uppity, class-conscious Ware who always called his friend the constable, Sir, took it on the chin. So I stopped. After all, it’s no fun if they can’t fight back.

  We ambled along the woodland road, the trees getting taller and darker as we went deeper and deeper into the forest. The rangers were flitting in and out because the woods are always filled with robbers, but with Ware in charge I wasn’t too worried.

  W
e were at Little Creek, a day from Torre’s Halt, the village in the centre of the Caern forest, when we got hit again.

  Like before, there was a green streak of fire in the air. “Attack!” Ware called. I was under our cart, knife in hand, before he was ordering, “Positions, everyone!”

  This time we had several injured guards and no losses, whereas the bandits lost about a dozen men. In fact, only three of them came close enough to fight one-on-one. The robbers didn’t get near the carts, either.

  We limped into Torre’s Halt, cargo intact but so tired that the prospect of getting water from a decent well and warmth from a huge fire built by the villagers was just heaven.

  The migrants were putting up in huge sheds. Torre’s Halt survives on convoy business, but the village has a couple of inns, too. In the past I’d slept in the sheds, but of course Ware had booked us a huge private room in the plushest inn, and Wolf, Rose and Daisy had the best in stable accommodation.

  What had everyone cheering was that Ware had ordered enough food to make up for Jarvis’ theft and to treat us all to a huge feast.

  “There’s vegetable soup and roast boar for everyone,” he announced. “Kids and women eat first, then the men.”

  I was hanging back—thralls don’t count, not ever—when he was pushing me forward. “Women first, Lind. And make sure Violet gets some.”

  Sweet, huh? And there was a flask of wine for me, too. In fact, Ware was being super nice.

  “You’ve worked hard, Lind. Time to relax.”

  “Actually, I’ve been sitting on my arse while you’ve been doing all the work.” Wine always loosens my tongue. “I should shut up now, in case I screw it up.”

  To my surprise, he didn’t mind that, either. He just laughed, and all that hard cold Llanfaes look melted away, revealing the warm man underneath. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was a normal bloke, not a walking killing machine.

  “I have to talk to the steward and Kennard.” Of course, those two were holed up in the inn, far too proud to be eating in the square with everyone else. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Ware’s minute is like an hour, but I was happy because one of the drivers, the one with the cart of swords, gave me a second jug of wine.