Their flock of sheep had grown significantly in the last month thanks to their dowser. When the villages in the area had been abandoned they must have turned all of their animals loose. They’d been living wild ever since and the survivors were hardy beasts that were still docile enough to be rounded up.
Although some found it unpleasant, Wren understood the necessity of having a butcher in their midst. They needed the meat and she made sure her unease didn’t show on her face when she visited the abattoir.
After discussing it with Danoph she’d finally relented and allowed one of the scavenger parties to retrieve a wagon. Two of their older residents, who had once been farmers, were then able to pose as tinkers and sell charcoal, wool and other assorted items they salvaged to nearby settlements. At her insistence at least two students with a solid control of their magic accompanied the wagon at all times. As well as providing protection for the wagon, it gave her a constant picture of the surrounding area and the concerns of other communities. The most pressing of which seemed to be the roving bands of raiders.
Villagers said that a couple of months before the fall of the Red Tower one or two groups of robbers had started attacking caravans travelling from Yerskania into Shael. For an unknown reason these groups had started working together and since then the problem had grown significantly worse. Wren suspected someone with a bit of insight and a sharper mind had seen the potential of uniting them. More ground to cover and less infighting meant greater profit for everyone. If she were a robber baron that’s what she would have done.
So far her people had not come into direct contact with any of them, but it was only a matter of time. Wren had seen first-hand what they did to innocent people without provocation. The girl and her mother had physically recovered from their ordeal, thanks to the skills of Master Yettle, but they were both severely traumatised. Everyone they knew had been slaughtered in front of them, including the girl’s father. It was their wagon the scavenger party retrieved, including many of their belongings, but even they had provided little in the way of comfort.
Taking the initiative Wren had started sending out small patrols of her people to watch the surrounding area for the raiders. Several wagon trains passed through the western province every week, taking goods further east into Shael to the capital city and then back out again. All of them were now heavily guarded, either by groups of mercenaries or Drassi warriors, but that didn’t stop them from being attacked with varying success. For the time being the raiders seemed content with remote villages in the region which had far less in the way of protection.
Between discreet patrols, groups going out to scavenge from deserted villages and her roaming tinker wagon, Wren could keep an eye on most of the area.
Today it was her turn to ride with one of the patrols. The area was unfamiliar to Wren but with each trip she began to piece together a map of the landscape in her mind. She, Danoph and one other student, named Rue, passed close to a village south of their community called Sour Crown. There were nearly two hundred people living there and none of them were warriors. They had a few retired soldiers who had made an attempt at building defences, but they seemed crude to her. The wall wouldn’t keep out an angry goat, never mind a murderous band of raiders. At least they had people keeping watch which was why she was lying on the ground, looking at the village from a distance.
For once there was a minor technique that she had been able to master. Embracing the Source naturally enhanced all of the senses, but, with a little bit of focus and direction, she could amplify her voice or even sharpen her eyesight.
“What can you see?” asked Danoph, who hadn’t yet managed to master long-sight, as they were calling it.
With the Source pulsing in her veins it was difficult for Wren to lay still and not run around to expend the energy, but she forced herself to ignore the impulse.
“A knee-high wall. A woman dozing at her guard post and people working in the fields.”
“Then they’re safe.”
“They’re complacent,” said Wren. “Perhaps they think the raiders won’t come here.”
“It’s been a couple of weeks since an attack,” said Danoph.
“That’s what worries me. They should be more concerned, not less.” Wren was convinced this lull was merely the calm before the storm. Perhaps the raiders were gathering their forces to attack a merchant train as most of their recent assaults had been repelled. Or they were going to target a larger settlement like Sour Crown.
“Do you want to stay a while longer, or move on?” asked Danoph.
Before she had a chance to reply Rue answered with a wheezy snore from where she lay asleep on the ground.
“We could stay a while and talk,” said Wren.
An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them with Wren fidgeting and Danoph utterly still.
“If you want to ask me something you don’t need to dance around it,” said Danoph.
“Thank the Blessed Mother. I find myself struggling to talk to people. When did it become so difficult?”
Danoph grinned. “It’s different, now that you’re the leader.”
“I’m not the leader,” said Wren. “There was no election. I left and people followed. Then they just kept asking me questions and I try my best to answer. I’d be happy to let someone else take over.”
In a rare display of affection Danoph laid a hand on her arm, halting her babble. “We followed you because the Grey Council offered us three choices, none of which we found appealing. You created a fourth choice because your path lay elsewhere. It’s your community, Wren, and people see you differently now.”
“Well, I wish they didn’t,” she said, lowering her voice. She didn’t want Rue to wake up and hear her complaining. “I’m still the same person I was before.”
“I know that and they will, too. Just give them time.”
“How is it you’re so wise for someone so young?” asked Wren with a smile. “Sometimes, in the echo of your words, I hear my grandfather.”
Before Danoph had a chance to answer she heard riders approaching fast. A group of five or six horses were moving up the road and they didn’t sound very far away. The three of them weren’t visible from the village but Wren didn’t want to take any chances. She elbowed Rue awake and together the three of them moved further back from the road, hiding in a copse of trees.
They’d barely settled, lying face down on the ground, when six rough-looking armed men and women thundered past, heading straight for Sour Crown. The village guard continued to doze at her post until the raiders were nearly on top of her. Something finally woke her up and at the sight of the riders she yanked on a heavy rope connected to a bell overhead.
The dull clanging seemed to slow everything down. The people in the nearby fields started running for home, picking up tools as they came, but it was clear the raiders would beat them to the village. Others came flooding out of their homes wielding a mix of kitchen knives, spears and several curved Yerskani cleavers.
Wren drew power from the Source and channelled it into her senses, focusing on her eyes and ears until she could see and hear clearly from their hiding place.
The raiders seemed content to wait until everyone had assembled, saying nothing until those from the fields had joined the swelling crowd.
“You’re not welcome here,” said a stocky man at the front of the crowd. Wren thought he had the build of a blacksmith and might be their Speaker, or whatever it was called here in Shael. The crowd cheered at their leader’s words, hefting weapons and waving them in what was supposed to be a threatening manner.
“What’s happening?” asked Danoph, squinting at the scene. Wren described what she could see.
One of the raiders, a tall man from Seveldrom with a narrow face and carrot-red hair, raised a hand and slowly the noise from the crowd subsided. “Are you in charge?” he said, directing his question at the blacksmith.
“I’m the Warden,” he said, and Wren assumed that meant the
leader of a community in Shael. “This is our village.”
“It was,” said the raider. “Your homes, your fields, your food and all of your lives now belong to Boros. You’re alive only because Boros allows it.”
The Warden rolled up his sleeves and spat on the ground. “You might be good at using that,” he said, gesturing at the raider’s sword, “but there’s only six of you and more than a hundred of us. Sour Crown doesn’t belong to you.”
Carrot-top grinned down at the blacksmith and nonchalantly raised one hand. There was a faint whistling sound and then the woman to the left of the Warden toppled over, a dagger buried in her throat. Blood gushed from the wound, quickly staining the front of her dress while those around her vainly tried to stem the bleeding. The raiders watched dispassionately as the woman gasped her last breath and then fell silent. The mood of the crowd began to change. Instead of anger Wren saw fear sweeping through the villagers. They weren’t warriors. Death wasn’t something they were trained to cope with or used to seeing up close. With a simple wave of his hand, and lacking any compassion, the raider had killed one of their neighbours. Someone chosen at random they had probably known for years. Dead. Just like that. And any one of them could be next if they resisted.
“We need to leave,” said Rue, whispering in Wren’s ear. “They’re going to kill each other.”
“No, they’re not,” said Wren, scrambling to her feet. “Stay here, out of sight.” Before the others had a chance to protest she started jogging towards the village.
Growing up in Drassia she’d heard many stories about this sort of encounter and power play. Those who wore the mask of service often spoke about their work when they retired. Wren had heard countless tales of war, mercenaries, raiders and robber barons. Their ilk had existed for a long time and they were often people unwilling to work hard for anything. In their mind it was far easier to take from others because they were seen as weak.
“You’re all dead,” said the Warden. “We’re not afraid of you.” The crowd behind him started to surge forward. There was a brief surge of bravado but none of the villagers actually attacked. None of them wanted to be the next to die.
The raider was still unusually calm. “You said you’re in charge. That means you get to convince everyone to do as you say. You see, if I don’t return with all of my limbs attached, Boros will come here in person.”
“That name doesn’t scare me.”
“It should,” said the raider. “Boros won’t come back here alone. Every single one of us will come here and burn this village to the ground. We’ll slaughter you all. Every man, woman and child. Then we’ll salt the fields as an example to others who don’t listen.”
More of the bravado dribbled out of the crowd as the words sank in. There were no children in the gathered crowd, but Wren saw parents glance towards their houses where little faces watched in the windows.
A burning pain began to build up in Wren’s side from her prolonged run, but she persisted, keeping the raiders between her and the villagers so they didn’t see her coming. So far it seemed as if no one in the crowd had noticed her approach. All their attention was focused on the raiders.
“You’re bluffing,” said the Warden. “I bet there are only a dozen of you at most.”
The raider shrugged his shoulders. “Ask your neighbours.”
Wren knew he wasn’t bluffing and so did the Warden. Several remote communities in the area had been abandoned in the last few months because of an increased number of attacks. The Queen of Shael and her small army couldn’t help this far out. The war had decimated the country and its population, leaving a shattered ruin in its wake. Progress had been made but it was slow.
The communities this far west were on their own and had believed there was strength in numbers. As she came closer to Sour Crown, Wren could see the skeletons of several new houses being built at the far end of the main street. It still wasn’t enough.
“What do you want?” asked the Warden, biting off each word.
“A tithe of food and drink every month.”
The haggling would soon begin as the villagers tried to pretend this was merely another merchant driving a hard bargain and not a robbery. The pain in her side had increased but Wren pressed on, taking deep breaths to try and dispel it.
A few villagers had noticed her now but they probably didn’t know what to make of her. One Drassi girl, running up behind the raiders. They probably thought she was lost or confused in the head.
The Warden and the raider were arguing over terms but even their conversation trailed off when they noticed more and more people staring. One of the raiders turned in his saddle and stared at Wren. She stopped in the middle of the road which had been churned up into a sludgy field of mud. There were no paved roads out here. It was another reminder that she was a long way from home. A long way from anywhere.
“Are you lost, girl?” asked one of the raiders. When Wren didn’t respond and barely seemed to blink he turned his back on her. “I think she’s a bit soft in the head,” he called out to the others who ignored her. Their leader, however, was still looking at her, which is when she raised one hand and made a flicking gesture as if brushing dirt off her sleeve.
Five of the six raiders were flung sideways out of their saddles into the muddy road. They had all moved in unison and Wren hadn’t broken eye contact with their leader. Despite what he’d just witnessed the raider tried to draw his sword. Wren just shook her head, ever so slightly, and balled her hand up into a tight fist. The raider gave out a yell of surprise as his sword shattered into half a dozen pieces. The five raiders on the ground tried to get up but she focused more power and kept them pinned down, preventing them from reaching for their weapons or standing up.
“What do you want?” asked the raider.
“Leave and never return. This village is not for you.”
Much to Wren’s surprise the raider laughed and shook his head. “If I go back without a tithe, Boros will kill me.”
“Then don’t go back,” said Wren. “Whether there’s six, or a hundred like you, it won’t make a difference. You can’t win.” To drive her point home, she increased the pressure on the five raiders on the ground. Two were lying face down and she pressed them deeper into the mud until they began to choke. Wren had to work hard to keep her face impassive as images of what had happened to Brunwal flashed through her mind. She eased up a little, allowing them to gulp fresh air into their lungs.
“This isn’t the only village that we’re visiting. You can’t be everywhere at once,” said the raider. This time it was Wren’s turn to smile.
“Who said I was alone?” she asked, glancing at the uneven land around her which was dotted with lots of hiding places. The raider suddenly sat up straight in his saddle, alert to danger. The day was perfectly still and yet a gentle wind suddenly sprang up. Most peculiar of all was that it seemed to be completely focused on the raider. It buffeted his hair and then just as quickly it was gone. Wren sensed a delicate rush as Rue channelled power from the Source.
She took a few steps back and released the other raiders who slowly climbed to their feet. They glared at her and she saw a few touching their weapons but none of them tried to attack.
“Let’s go,” said their leader, still looking around for her friends. “This isn’t over,” he promised Wren, turning his horse and riding away. The others pulled themselves into their saddles and followed after him. The village and the tithe were completely forgotten, for now at least. She waited until they were out of sight before turning back to the gathered crowd.
As she’d expected they were still hostile and holding their weapons with intent. To them, she was potentially more dangerous than the raiders. She hoped for a little gratitude but even that seemed to be too much to ask.
“We don’t want your kind around here,” said the Warden, making a shooing gesture.
Any thoughts about trying to reason with them evaporated and Wren simply turned and walked away.
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She’d saved their lives, for the time being at least, but to them that didn’t matter.
The raiders might not return to this village but she knew it wasn’t over. At least she had a name. Boros. He would be angry and perhaps take it out on the raiders for returning empty-handed, but she wasn’t responsible for their actions. Wren knew she could have killed all six of them, but after what had happened with Brunwal she never wanted to kill again. As Master Yettle had instructed she’d let herself feel all of it. Dwelling on what she had done still brought tears to her eyes, but she forced herself to relive it.
By the time she’d walked back to the others her face was dry and she felt composed.
“It’s not over,” said Danoph, and she wondered if he’d seen something in a dream about this village.
“I know. We need to find out more about their leader, Boros.”
“Can’t we just leave him alone?” asked Rue. “He doesn’t know where we live.”
“We can’t just leave these people to his mercy.”
“Why not?” asked Rue. “They hate us and would kill us if they had a chance.”
Wren couldn’t argue with that but she also knew their fear came from ignorance. Despite all that had been done to her and the others at the Red Tower, she couldn’t stand idle while innocents were attacked and murdered. She would have to show them through her actions that not all mages were evil or destructive. Not every mage was like Garvey and his followers.
“So far we’ve not run into the raiders, but it’s only a matter of time. We can’t just ignore them,” said Wren, knowing that a conflict was inevitable.
All she’d wanted to do was build a safe community for people like her, whereas Boros wanted his own kingdom. Perhaps it had been naïve to think she could achieve that without a fight. So be it.
Wren turned her mind towards what she needed to do next. The first step was to know her enemy. Once she understood him she could drive him and the other raiders out of the area for ever.
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