by Susan Forest
Janat lifted her face. “Yes, sieur. That’s it.”
“So are you village magiels, or aren’t you?” Colm pressed.
Janat stopped chewing. Rennika couldn’t understand why they talked as if being magiels was a bad thing, but she ate a dumpling and got ready to bolt.
“Where are you from?” Sulwyn asked Meg, and his voice was nice.
“Up valley,” Meg replied. She looked at him as though she thought he was familiar but couldn’t remember.
“Where, up valley?”
She hesitated.
“Archwood?“
“Archwood’s under siege,” Finn said, nudging Sulwyn’s arm, filling the wagon man’s cup. “No one’s getting out of Archwood.”
“Where are you going?” Sulwyn persisted, still scrutinizing Meg.
She shrugged. “Down valley.”
“Just what we need,” Colm said, but his voice wasn’t as nice. “Hey, Sulwyn. Couldn’t we avoid the king’s men better with a little magiel magic?”
Sulwyn drank deep and pulled a stump closer to the fire. “Leave them be, Colm. Let them eat a little and go.” He eyed the man with the pigs. “You want to take these girls to the reeve? Hmm? I wouldn’t want to anger a magiel.”
The man’s eyes darted from Meg to Janat and back. “No. By the Many Gods, no.” He bowed to them uncertainly and backed away, picking up his pace as he left. Rennika stared. How odd, the way the house owner listened, even though he looked old enough to be Sulwyn’s father.
Sulwyn found a second cup and poured a splash of water into it as they watched the farmer go. “So,” he said to the others. “Business?”
Colm shot Sulwyn a look of shock.
“They’re only refugee magiels.” Sulwyn turned back to them. “You’re not going to tell King Artem what we say.” He gave Janat the water. “Are you?”
Janat shook her head sharply.
“There.” Sulwyn smiled at Janat.
“So?” Finn asked Sulwyn under his breath, his voice eager. “Rumors are that everyone in the valley is ready to fight. Is it true?”
“Aye. Most.” Sulwyn refilled his own mug. “Some are afraid, keeping out of trouble, and some...it’s hard to tell. But most.” His voice, too, was quiet, almost masked by the crackle of the fire. “The men of my village, and those in Larch Meadow and Storm River and Fisk support King Ean of Orumon. We have some wealthy and influential traders and guildsmen, and we look to band with others. Send a delegation to King Artem. Get our country back. Get our capital out of siege.”
“A delegation?” Finn spluttered. “Traders and guildsmen? Artem came here with an army.”
“We don’t want war,” Sulwyn said.
War...
“We’ve got war,” Finn shot back.
Colm glanced at Meg and spoke so quietly Rennika could barely hear him. “As near as we can see, King Artem, with all respect, is mad. Madmen don’t listen to argument. We’re with the men who sent you, Sulwyn, but we can’t be naive. Even our reeve is on board, though he makes a show of cooperating with the king’s men.” He shook his head. “He has no choice.”
“If it comes to fighting, it comes to fighting,” Sulwyn whispered. “But if we can make the king listen without bloodshed, we will. Send one of your number to Black Earth Creek by midwinter. There’ll be a council of commoners.”
Rennika squinted at Janat. What’s a council of commoners? She shrugged. But Janat frowned in annoyance, not understanding.
Finn whistled. “Commoners.”
“Yes.” Sulwyn nodded significantly. “No matter how strong or respected a king might be, he can’t just take away his allies’ freedoms. Trample their fields, steal their food, hunt their rightful king.”
“A king can do as he pleases,” Colm said. “He’s appointed by the Gods.”
“He can’t,” Sulwyn repeated. “It’s wrong.”
“Well, make your delegation,” Finn said. “But men will rise up. The people will overthrow him.”
“Yes, but how?” Colm argued. “How do we organize? Where do we get weapons? How can we possibly succeed if we oppose the will of the Gods? Men won’t rise up for that.” He shook his head. “People won’t risk their lives and their families. They’ll grumble and live with what Artem Delarcan gives them.”
“Then we need to find men willing to fight.” Finn’s words were soft, but they rang with conviction. “I’m a smith. I’ll make swords. Armor. Arrow tips. Whatever we need.”
“In secret,” Colm finished for him. “With no money and no iron. When your master’s looking the other way.”
“We don’t have answers yet,” Sulwyn reminded him, draining his mug. “That’s why we’re having a council.”
“All right, fight. Fine. And then what?” Colm said. “Taking this matter—the governance of a country, for the sake of the Gods!—into the hands of men?” He scoffed. “Men? It’s blasphemy, and we’ll pay for it.” He looked at Meg, as if to invite her opinion. But Rennika didn’t think he believed what he said so much as he wanted Sulwyn to correct him.
Meg said nothing.
“Our cause is moral and right, and the Gods are on our side,” Sulwyn said quietly. “The Gods will right this wrong. But they’ll do it through the actions of men.”
Janat’s fingers tightened in Rennika’s.
“I’m going to Coldridge to see if we can find allies there,” Sulwyn said.
Coldridge—where Uncle Chirles lived.
“Coldridge? In Teshe? You’re leaving the country?” Finn leaned forward and whistled with appreciation.
Rennika looked at Janat’s face, stiff with tension in the firelight. Ready to run? Or ready to vomit again, more like.
Footsteps crunched in the snow behind them.
“Cover their faces.” Sulwyn’s voice, and a hand pushed Rennika’s hood down.
“Colm Cordal.” A man spoke.
Janat kept her head bowed. The man sounded annoyed, though not, she noted hopefully, angry.
“I told you before, there’s too many of you here. Go to your homes.”
“Sorry, Sieur.” Colm Cordal. Sulwyn’s cousin.
From beneath her hood, Janat saw the feet of the men around the fire shuffle as they rose to comply. She nudged Rennika.
“There’s more here now than there were before.” The man’s legs appeared before them, barring the way. “Here. Show yourself, woman.”
Janat raised her eyes in question but said nothing. None of the men in the ring spoke.
“Yes, you,” he barked. “And the little one.”
These were King Artem’s men. She’d met King Artem. He was a kind man. He would never hurt them. All she needed was a bed. But once they saw who she was—Meg was wrong—they’d take the three of them to safety.
One of the soldiers came forward and took Janat’s chin and held it up in the firelight.
She froze, shocked at the unwanted touch. Men did not touch women this way. And certainly not magiels.
“Pretty.” Then the man’s hand dropped as if he had contacted something hot. “Your face has some blur to it.” He blustered. “Did your mother lie with a magiel, girl?”
Janat felt herself blush, but she didn’t speak.
“Get away, you.” The lieutenant slapped his man’s hand. “Stand back there, girl, until I tell you different.” The leader nodded at Meg. “And this one?”
“Lieutenant.” Finn interposed himself between Meg and the soldier, his voice sweet as honey. He pushed a cup into the captain’s hand. “This is the third time today you’ve inspected us.”
“I know. Listen, I have orders.” The one who spoke, the one with the metal pin on his neckband and the mug in his hand, looked doubtfully at Finn. Three men stood behind him, all wearing cloaks of green. He scrutinized Meg, still seated and clutching her stomach as if she were ill, her head bowed beneath her hood.
Finn produced a wineskin, adjusting his posture to direct the soldier toward the fire. “Sieur, these young girls just b
rought us food and drink,” he soothed. “Come, eat something with us, and we’ll be finding our beds.”
Colm Cordal pulled the last spit from the fire and cut meat for the soldiers. “These men harm no one. The winter stores in their villages have gone to support the king’s troops and they’ve been displaced, looking for charity. The butcher gave us a goose.” He held a savory chunk of meat on the point of his knife for the lieutenant.
Janat backed toward Meg, clutching Rennika. They hadn’t recognized her. Hadn’t offered them help. But the lieutanant had seen she was a magiel, and it made him afraid.
If only she could lie down. Sleep.
“There’s a new decree,” the lieutenant said. “Magiels aren’t to mix with worldlings. You shouldn’t be eating from the same stew pot.” But he took the hot meat and juggled it between his fingers.
Finn poured mead into the lieutenant’s cup. “Sulwyn, why don’t you take your cousins home?”
“Your...‘cousins.’” The lieutenant shook his head at the deception. “Listen, if it were up to me, we wouldn’t be here. I’ve a wife and three daughters in Arcan.”
“So, why are you?” The young man, Sulwyn, put an arm around Janat’s shoulder. His sudden closeness was unnerving and somehow pleasing at the same time, though she didn’t have the energy to resist. By Ranuat’s murderers, what role was she to play in this charade? Nothing made sense.
“Common knowledge soon enough. I may as well tell you.” The lieutenant tore a chunk of meat with his teeth. “Worship of the Many Gods has been outlawed.”
What?
There was an audible gasp among the men.
“Outlawed?” Finn blurted.
The lieutenant drank his mead. “All but the One God.”
The men stared at him. Finn stiffened as if he held himself back from striking out.
Rennika hugged Janat’s arm to her chest.
The world had turned into a mad house. Janat tried to glance at Meg, but Meg sat, unmoving, her head down, feigning illness. Too dangerous to run, even if they wanted to, with all these soldiers, and her stomach roiling. And Sulwyn’s arm still draped across her shoulders.
“Don’t blame me.” The lieutenant shoved the last of his meat into his mouth. “But the prayer stones have been destroyed, so there’s no way for a magiel to deliver your prayers to any God but the One. All the prayer stones, but the Ruby, of course. Well, and the Amber, but it’ll be captured when Archwood falls. Maybe ten days, at most.”
Mama’s Amber.
“That’s—that’s—” Finn sputtered. “Outrageous! The king—”
“By the Gods, why?” Colm asked.
The soldier who’d touched Janat took a threatening step forward. “We don’t question King Artem Delarcan.”
Sulwyn Cordal released her, and interposed himself between Colm and the soldier.
They had to leave. Oh, Gods, they had to get home.
“Sergeant!” the lieutenant snapped.
The soldier stepped back insolently.
The lieutenant washed his meat down with wine. “Just let the others know,” he said to Finn. “Times have changed. Don’t look to King Ean for help. Or the Gods.”
“But the king’s authority comes from the Gods!” Finn purpled. “Artem can’t—”
“It comes from the One God.” The lieutenant shoved his cup into Finn’s hand. “King Artem can. And he has.”
Colm glowered at the ground, his fists balled.
Janat looked to Meg, but Meg’s face was covered by her hood. Gods, why wouldn’t she look at her? They had to do something. Step across the circle and align themselves with King Artem’s men, perhaps?
“Men can only pray to the One God.” The lieutenant’s gaze swept over each man in the circle. “And only through the Ruby. The sooner everyone understands that, the better off we’ll all be.”
King Artem Delarcan had the Ruby.
The lieutenant stepped away from the fire. “Oh.” He turned back, looking at Janat curiously. “By the way. There’s a rumor in the valley. That a magiel escaped from Archwood. We have orders to bring him to Holder’s Crossing.”
It was all she could do not to lock eyes with the lieutenant, signal, show him again her likeness.
“Him?” Sulwyn asked.
“Or her.” The lieutenant wiped his fingers on his pants, his gaze lingering on Janat for a moment before dismissing her.
He thought she had only half blood. Thought she wasn’t the magiel from Archwood. Nausea rose up again in her stomach.
The lieutenant stepped away from the fire. “When I return, you’d all best be gone.”
CHAPTER 9
“Blasphemy,” Colm said in a low voice. “The prayer stones. Smashed.”
Meg listened for all she was worth.
“And bloody dangerous. Hunting magiels. Destroying prayer stones.” Sulwyn Cordal poured the last of the wine into his mug and kicked snow into the fire. It sizzled and smoked.
The others gathered their things and began to disperse. Snow began to fall again.
The Amber. The lieutenant said King Artem would have it in a few days. That meant he expected the walls of Archwood to fail.
“By the Many, where will our death tokens come from now?” Finn asked. “Does the king want his people cursed to wander as homeless spirits once they die? Deny them access to Heaven?”
“Merchants and petty lords have become too rich,” Colm said. “Too powerful. The people have come to expect certain rights.” He eyed Sulwyn. “They think they can force their will on a king. This is punishment.”
“The king would say he’s protecting royal authority,” Finn said. “But he’s grabbing power.”
And Mama. When—if—the city fell, the castle fell...
For some unfathomable reason, Janat was looking daggers at her. She frowned back. What?
Colm pulled Meg’s hood back and eyed her like King Ean’s Master of Horse sizing up a colt for sale. “So. Are you the magiel the lieutenant spoke of, from Archwood?” he asked. “Or are you just a village magiel with high-born speech?”
Meg’s throat constricted. He knew. They all knew. But what would they do?
Keep her and her sisters. Mama had said, Be careful. Of those would use you for their political advantage.
Coldridge, capital of Teshe. They had to survive until they could get to Coldridge. Mama had a brother there, a magiel, Uncle Chirles. Meg had met him last summer when Mama took them on the endless journey across Shangril’s seven countries. And—King Larin of Teshe would surely help them.
“Speak, girl!”
“I’m no one, Sieur.” Meg mumbled, trying her best to copy the vulgar accent. She lowered her gaze.
“Lying, to save yourself.” Colm fastened his fingers around Meg’s wrist. “Bargaining advantage,” he said to the others.
Meg jerked back, but Colm’s hold was solid.
“What are you doing?” Sulwyn Cordal asked.
“Why not?” Colm replied. “She’s valuable. We could get this valley back.”
We. Who were these men, who talked about councils of commoners and bargaining with King Artem, and fighting?
She and her sisters could not outrun these men.
“You think we’re in a position to bargain with a king?” Finn asked. “He’d just send a dozen men to take what he wants. We need to raise a fighting force first.”
We.
“Save her, then,” Colm shot back. But the others eyed him with doubt, and his voice became less certain. “Bargain when we’re ready.”
“Let her go.”
Colm eyed Sulwyn and dropped Meg’s arm.
Finn picked up the mugs and skewers, and then emptied the wine skin’s remains into Sulwyn’s outstretched mug. “Listen, we have to get out of here before the lieutenant comes back,” he said. “Talk about this later.” He took off at a jog, following the others through thickening flakes of snow.
“So? What do we do with the magiel?” Colm asked. “We have
to put her somewhere. Until we decide.”
These men...they were organizing. Creating a force outside the armies of the kings.
Sulwyn Cordal shook his head in disgust. “They’re free to go.”
“But—”
“We think, first. Then act.” This man. Not tall or broad. Not wise with age. But people did what he said.
Colm shrugged. “All right.” He snorted a rueful laugh. “I guess we’re not quite ready to keep prisoners. No place to keep them.”
Sulwyn smiled at the quip, and Colm shrugged off down a lane leading deeper into the village. Sulwyn turned to look at them—Meg and her sisters huddled together in the snow next to the remains of the fire. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“No,” Janat said sullenly. Meg could not fathom why she was angry. But this man had nothing to offer them.
Rennika lifted her head. The little thing. She was faint with cold and exhaustion. They all were.
“I have a shanty. It’s not much, but if you want to share it, I’ll sleep in my wagon.”
There was no longer any use disguising her accent. “We’ve no reason to trust you, either.”
“You’re free to go.” Sulwyn opened his hands wide, indicating the road from town. “It’s late. It’s cold.” He nodded at Janat. “She’s ill.”
Meg chewed her lip. He was right.
Sulwyn held a hand out, indicating the way they’d go.
“And tomorrow?” Janat asked. But they were already moving down the lane toward the shanty.
“I don’t know,” he said. “If you want...” He shrugged. “Leave before dawn. I shan’t help anyone, king or commoner, to stop you.”
King or commoner. These men were...different. More than just gossiping farmers. Becoming something more than just gossiping farmers.
They turned the corner and Meg peered through the swirling ice crystals at the half-constructed shelter. She had to keep her sisters alive. If they fled, would King Artem’s men come for them in the middle of the night? Or would they die of cold in the woods? By the Gods, she wished these decisions didn’t fall on her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, finally giving in. “We’ll use the shanty.” She eyed him dubiously. “Will you have enough...blankets?”