by Jon Wilson
“Seems incredible.”
“And now, this awful suggestion that Belfayne is responsible.”
Again, the trapper shifted uneasily. He had his own theories about that. However, he wasn’t quite sure if he was drunk enough to share them. “What’ll you do?”
“What can I do?” Colmaire had expressive hands; he utilized them constantly to emphasize his words. He might have been a conductor facing his orchestra, his brandy glass a baton. “The governor has sent me nearly two hundred men. We post troops at all the settlements. We burn G’nash. The trolls will move elsewhere and then we can do the whole thing over again.”
“Won’t the rangers handle the trolls?”
“They would. And in a manner far more befitting a lasting peace. But Darnouth, it was an outrage! His majesty says the trolls must be taught a lesson.”
“With war coming? Is it smart to aggravate the trolls? Mightn’t it drive them right into making some sort of deal with Belfayne?”
The soldier laughed again, more loudly and with no small trace of disdain. “They are little better than beasts. You know this. Even if the Belfaynese help them organize raiding parties, the outcome of the war will be little altered.” Colmaire dropped his boots back to the carpet, coming forward onto his elbows. “You share the misconception, common among our people, that this war will be waged mostly here on the frontier.”
“Isn’t that what we’ll be fighting for?”
“It is a mere symbol. We jockey for world ranking. And the war will be fought on the seas and in Wyrnet. Our foothold here is too strong. The Belfaynese can not hope to rout us this way. And, of course, the Danann roam the frontier.”
“But the Danann, they won’t never join in a war.”
Colmaire seemed intrigued. “You think not?”
“They’ve said as much, right out plain.”
The colonel shook his head. “Where is the VaSaad? It is in the heart of DuLyn-Au. The city has spread to enclose them completely. They can declare their independence, call themselves a free state, but they know and we know that if the need ever arises, we can simply starve them out.”
“Now it’s you talking about fighting the Danann.”
“Not fighting. Simply showing them that they are, in fact, citizens of Macadre. If not in spirit, then in mundane practicality. Of course, I would never say any such thing with a ranger closer than a day distant. Who knows what their ears hear.”
The old man sat forward, mounting the hard edge of his chair. “That’s my point. Sometimes its like they ain’t human.”
Colmaire shrugged, reclining once more. His eyes went back to studying his glass. “But —in reality—they are.”
Chapter 2
“So,” Sihr said, “even with your voice,
you aren’t much of a conversationalist.” Holt shrugged. He and Sihr were making
their way slowly across the yard behind the
inn. Loud voices and faint music came to them
from a window to the public room, splashing
out across the trampled grass with the
pulsating firelight. To their left and right stood
wooden fences, higher than Holt’s head.
Behind them wound an alley and, beside it,
the storage shed where they would pass the
night. It was Holt’s first time in a town other
than Darnouth, and he felt the press of the
gathered populace all about him.
“My point exactly,” Sihr said, responding
to his shrug. “Did you say three words as we
walked today?”
He started to shake his head, but
decided to say, “No,” instead.
“Yes. I think that is one for the entire day. And a rather dubious choice with which
to begin if you ask me.”
“Sorry.”
“Not much better, I’m afraid.”
They reached a door standing open
near the corner of the building. Through it,
several people could be seen bustling about
preparing food. Holt and Sihr mounted the
stairs, but neither knocked nor called out to
get the cooks’ attention; the girl simply
continued talking. “Fortunately, I am known as
a rather verbose personage by those willing
to admit the acquaintance. I have to be, if I
am ever to get a word in edgewise with Onee
as my paradigm. Oh, I know, he seems a tad
reticent, but that’s simply because he’s shy.
Get him started, and there’s no peace. When
we get back, ask him about the two-pennycoin tax. I dare you.”
Holt had never heard of the two-pennycoin tax. With the scent of food so near, he
knew only that he was quite hungry. He kept darting glances into the kitchen, wondering why Sihr didn’t direct her conversation to
those inside.
“That will get him talking. Taxes and
tithing. Second only to assimilation as the key
to unlocking Onee’s tongue.”
Holt wasn’t sure what assimilation was
either, but it sounded uncomfortable. He
shuffled his feet and looked down at them.
They seemed the only body part willing to
convey his annoyance.
“He and Faer often sit up until the early
hours discussing politics. Mostly
commiserating, as the war does seem to be
imminent.”
Holt looked up. “What war?”
Sihr’s eyebrows jumped ever so slightly.
Holt wondered if it was the question that
surprised her, or simply his asking it. “The
war between Belfayne and Macadre.” She
was about to continue, but a huge shadow
blocked the doorway.
The man had apparently emerged just
for some fresh air, and didn’t even see the
two children on his stairs until he was almost
on top of them. Holt thought the fellow’s
glance rather strange. Wiping his hands on an
apron folded about his oversized middle, the
cook grunted and abruptly turned and ducked
back into the fray.
Holt craned his neck trying to see if the
rude man would at least tell someone they
were waiting. Sihr, watching him, certainly
seemed unconcerned. She said, “This will
almost certainly heat things up. Of course, the
Belfaynese parliament can simply claim the
demon was acting on its own. Like the pirates
around Feathersbone. Everyone knows
they’re subsidized by the government, but
how can it be proved?”
Holt tried to turn his thoughts back
toward the discussion. Rather than rambling
now, Sihr had at least brought up a topic that
spurred his interest.Belfayne. The awful monster responsible for Kawika’s death had been from Belfayne.A demon.Then Belfayne had been responsible for destroying his village—not simply monstrous trolls and imps
rampaging.But why?“Why are they fighting?” “They aren’t fighting yet. At least not
openly.” She folded her arms across her
chest. “You know where Belfayne is?” He started to reply curtly; the question
seemed to imply he was nothing but an
ignorant yokel. But he had possessed no
knowledge of antagonism between Macadre
and Belfayne. “It’s in the old world,” he said—
that, too, making him feel stupid.Dolt! Dolt!
“Wyrnet.”
“Yes. And you know they have colonies
all along the YulnocktSea?”
He nodded. He wasn’t sure he was
being honest
, but it seemed he had heard
something about villages far to the south—
villages that were not a part of Macadre. “Well, now they have established a port at the mouth of the River Jir-Theesa. That’s
—”
“East,” he said quickly. No reason she
should think him utterly witless.
“Correct. They have managed to beat
Macadre in colonizing the east coast.
Although there has been no formal
pronouncement, they are certainly poised to
claim a hefty portion of the continent.” Holt tried to imagine this. He had once
seen a map of the world, in Fitts’ house, the
house he himself had burned to the ground.
The east coast seemed impossibly distant,
farther even than Wyrnet, which lay across
the WyringOcean. Why should Macadre even
care what happened so far away? Let the
Belfaynese take the east coast. Holt, who
had grown up on the eastern frontier, felt it
would be impossible for the borders of his
own country to expand so far.
Before he could voice any of his
musings, the cook reappeared in the doorway. The huge man bore an equally huge platter, heavily ladened with various types of food. Holt’s mouth immediately began to water. When the man wordlessly offered him
the platter, he stepped forward.
Somehow, Sihr managed to maneuver
into his path, claiming the burden herself.
“Thank you,” she told the man, and promptly
turned to descend the stairs. Holt followed
her, feeling the strange man’s gaze upon his
back. The cook certainly seemed to feel great
trepidation in dealing with them. As if she
could read his thoughts, Sihr said, “I thought
you were Wika’s ward. I know ThistleTown is
no longer a real frontier village, but even in
the wilderness, do the people treat the
Danann so differently?”
The lie trapped words in his throat. He
had decided they must have known he had
never actually traveled with Kawika, but
clearly he was mistaken. Sihr, at least, was
unaware of just how brief his wardship had been. Surprise led to confusion, which led to anger, and rather than answering her question, he snapped, “At least I wasn’t his
slave. Doesn’t he ever get his own food?” Holt had not expected her to laugh, but
neither was he particularly startled when she
did. “He never cooks, if that’s what you’re
asking. People tend to complain about the
smoke.” Again she might have expounded
further but they were interrupted. Two men
emerged from the shadows at the end of the
fence to their left. Both staggered slightly,
and Holt recognized the strong stench of
spirits.
“Well, here’s our food now,” one of them
said. He slapped his companion’s chest with
the back of his hand. “Didn’t I tell you we’d be
all right?”
Holt heard Sihr sigh, but she did not
slow. The first man had to leap into her path
to stop her. Closer, Holt discovered both men
appeared to be quite young. The first was dressed in the leathers common with trappers and scouts. The other was in a military uniform. Neither seemed to have bothered with shaving or bathing in the preceding few
days.
“Where you hurrying to, sweetie?” “By you,” Sihr told the man without a hint
of fear.
The two men laughed, and the one
closest reached out to snare a piece of roast
meat. “We was just saying how we drank up
all our pay and then how was we gonna eat?”
Sihr pivoted gracefully, angling the tray away
from the man. He looked wounded. “Now,
don’t be greedy.”
“There are enough of us sharing this
already.”
“Yeah?” The soldier stepped closer,
gesturing at Holt. “You and the kid? Looks
like plenty for all of us. Ain’t no call for you to
be so unfriendly.”
The scout closed upon her. “As a matter of fact, it might be nice if you was right friendly. We’re here from Kyrni Keep. Out to
protect you from the trolls.”
“Thank you, I’m sure,” Sihr said. “Now,
let us be on our way.”
“She sure talks pretty,” the scout told
his friend.
“Yeah.” The soldier moved closer still.
“If I’d’ve known the girls out here was so
goodlooking I’d’ve come a long time ago.” “My, you two are just full of
compliments.” Sihr moved to step around the
scout. “Now, if you’ll let us be on our way?
Our food’s getting cold.”
The soldier lurched in front of Holt,
coming at Sihr from behind. “You mean you
won’t take pity on two poor soldiers?” He
reached out to take hold of her arm.
Without a thought, Holt acted. His left
foot slipped behind the soldier’s heel and he
nudged the man forcefully with his shoulder.
The soldier went down.
“Holt! Don’t!”
The scout moved more ably than his
friend. He had a tight grip on Holt’s elbow,
and a knife to Holt’s throat in an instant. His
reeking breath hissed in Holt’s ear. “You best
listen to your sister, boy.”
The soldier clamored back up. “That boy
knocked me down!”
“Yeah, but now he’s gonna make up for
it by telling his pretty sister to give us some of
their food. Ain’t you?”
Holt said nothing, not because he was
afraid, but because he saw Keone standing in
the open doorway of the shed.
“What in blazes is going on out here?”
another voice demanded.
The knife slipped back into its sheath
and the hold on Holt’s elbow vanished. He
turned to see the cook and another man
bearing down on them from the direction of
the kitchen.
“Who’re you?” the scout demanded. “What do you mean, who am I? This is
my inn! What are you doing back here?” “We was just paying our compliments to
this little lady when her brother got to acting
rude.” He straightened his shoulders. “We’re
from the Keep.”
“I know.” The large man was clearly
overwrought. “You fools. These two are
Danann!”
The scout took a step back, his eyes
wide, his hands going up. “We didn’t know!” “You didn’t know!” The cook was
mangling his apron between his hands. “Are
you trying to get us all into trouble? Get out of
here.”
The scout turned, grabbing his friend by
the arm. The soldier protested. “That kid
knocked me down!”
“Never mind,” the scout advised,
dragging the other man off, back into the
shadows of the alley.
The cook watched the two men go, and then looked down at the ground. He dropped his apron, but his hands continued to flex convulsively. Finally he looked up at Holt and Sihr. After the tirade leveled against the two military men, Holt expected an apology at least, but the cook just stared at them in terror a moment and t
hen turned and hurried
with his companion back toward the kitchen. Staring after them, Holt heard Sihr begin
to move. He turned to start after her and saw
that Keone was no longer in the doorway up
ahead. The girl slowed to allow him to catch
up, and then whispered, “He’ll be angry. Say
you didn’t know any better.”
Holt slowed too. Keone would be angry
with him? For what? Holt had not invited the
two drunken men over to molest them. He
nearly stopped, resolved that if Keone so
much as frowned at him he would run away
during the night.
The stonediver was sitting on the floor,
his back to the wall. His legs were folded, knees outward, resting over his ankles. Sihr placed the tray down in front of him, and sat
in an identical fashion at his left.
Holt stood watching them with a defiant
glint in his eye, ready for any rebuke. But the
man was smiling at the platter. “Smells
delicious.”
“Yes.” Sihr laughed. “Of course,
anything would be better than my awful
attempt at rabbit last night.” They began
eating.
“Oh, that wasn’t so bad.” Keone shoved
a slice of meat into his mouth, juices dribbling
down his chin. Both ate with their fingers and
from the same dish.
And, Holt thought,we frontierspeople
are said to be uncivilized.
“You joining us?”
Holt found Keone looking up at him
without a trace of recrimination. So, not only
was he not to be reprimanded, but apparently
the incident would not be discussed. That made him even angrier. What type of people were these Danann stonedivers—suffering the rudeness of the innkeeper and the outright hostility of the soldiers without so much as a word? He tried to imagine Ardee or Kawika in the same situation. Surely, either would have thrashed the ignorant offenders, demanding respect. He remembered how Kawika had reacted to the milliner’s angry tirade. For the man’s own safety, Holt had felt the need to pull Cyn away. He had seen the hatred in the
ranger’s eyes.
“Sit down, Holt,” Sihr said. “This bird is
fantastic.” She had just refilled her mouth and
licked her fingers ravenously. She said to
Keone, “We were discussing the possibility of
a war with Belfayne. It seems the rumors
have not spread as widely among the
pioneers as back home.”