Kingshold

by D P Woolliscroft

  Jyuth left, patting Alana gently on the arm on the way out of the door, leaving her alone with Mareth and Dolph, who hugged her in greeting. She looked at them both, dust and dirt on their trousers and jerkins, but the rest of them surprisingly clean.

  “We’ve got a lot to discuss as we walk, Mareth,” said Alana. “It’s the ward rally tonight, and this afternoon we’re meeting with the guilds. I’m glad you’re back. But first, we need to get you cleaned up. And I need to talk to you about these merchant agreements…”

  The door to the modest office opened a crack, and Master Gonal put his head in, the smile of an excited child on his face. “There are a lot of people out there!” he exclaimed.

  “How many is a lot, Master Gonal?” Mareth sat in the only chair left in the room, the desk and other furniture having been moved to an adjoining storeroom. He’d been sitting there for the past half an hour while Petra applied makeup to his face like a traveling actor on a feast day. She had left five minutes ago, wanting to take care of a few last-minute tasks to ensure everything ran smoothly. That left Alana in the room with Folstencroft, Mareth, and Dolph, his ever-present shadow.

  “Imagine how busy the market is on Fifthday. It’s that busy, but without any stalls, just people pushed in against each other. It’s amazing.” Gonal was enjoying being at the center of the action. Alana had probably heard him say how he wanted to do something better for the city of his birth at least five times over the past week, and now he could feel something special was happening. They all could. Gonal ducked his head out of the room without waiting for a response.

  “Sounds like a lot of people…” said Mareth, trailing off and staring into space. For the first time she could remember, he looked apprehensive. Alana saw they needed to get his mind thinking about something else. There was still half an hour before the rally began.

  “I’ll go and investigate, Mareth,” said Dolph. “We’ll need safe passage to the market square. We may need a bigger escort.” And the bodyguard disappeared, too.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mareth; you’ll be fine. It’s just a slightly larger crowd than you would usually have. More importantly, what are we going to do about winning over the guild masters?” she asked.

  The meeting with the guild masters had taken place in the stonemasons’ guild house. Master Ballard had decided not to run for the role of protector after he’d heard about Mareth’s candidacy. Alana thought there was a high likelihood Lady Grey had visited him and that might have had some bearing on his decision. In any instance, his support had been extremely valuable, gathering all of the lesser guild masters along with the textiles’ and merchants’ guild masters of the grand houses.

  In the magnificent surrounding of the circular stone chamber, guild masters seated in banks around the circumference, the meeting had been challenging.

  Mareth had stood in the center of the room and tried to appeal to the attendees’ desires to be involved in running their country. He painted a picture of a more just and open society and how they could be a beacon to other nations and states around the Jeweled Continent. He was always such a great orator, it seemed uncanny, able to hook people’s attention as if he was telling an epic tale to a group of children around the fireside, and the quiet at the end of his speech showed he had done it again.

  At least until the guild masters had snapped out of it and began to complain.

  “What is it with them? All they did was whine,” exclaimed Mareth. “I didn’t know what they were talking about most of the time! What’s the problem with Redsmoke bacon? We’re going to run out of cedar in ten years’ time? Why is that a problem now? I don’t think I handled the questioning well.”

  “My lord, you should not feel bad about this. No one expects you to know the specifics of each of these situations.” Folstencroft insisted on being formal with Mareth, even in private, which she could tell the bard was having some trouble getting used to. “I think there was er…a lot of pent-up frustration in the group.”

  That was an understatement. After the first few guild masters had politely waited their turn to speak, the bacon issue was raised by the Butchers’ Guild, which caused the Merchants’ Guild to take offense and shout over Master Lean, the butchers’ guild master. It had unfortunately caused others to raise grievances with one another, all at the same time.

  While this happened, Mareth, Alana, and Folstencroft had stood open-mouthed in the center of the guildhall, unsure how to regain control, while the arguing continued unabated. Alana realized this had been a mistake. Folstencroft had thought they could work with all of the guilds at once, as they had Master Ballard on-side, but that was wishful thinking. She had realized they needed to get out of there.

  “Yes, I think that’s pretty obvious!” said Mareth. “I’m just happy you were thinking on your toes, Alana. Suggesting I plead ignorance of their specific situations, but asking them to help educate me about what they thought I should do, at least got them all to ignore each other again and write their side of the story.”

  “And now we need to follow up with each guild individually,” she said. “I’d suggest sending Petra tomorrow. She has a way of winning people over.”

  “Yes, I agree,” said Mareth. “Folstencroft, can you go and see to it you have a plan for this?” The secretary gave a little bow and walked from the room, anxious to not be there for further discussion of how poorly his meeting had gone.

  Alana looked out of the window; she felt a lump in her throat, and her eyes teared up as she contemplated what she was going to say.

  “Mareth. I wanted to talk to you. Now might not be the best time, but it’s so difficult to get a quiet moment with you.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “What is it, Alana?” Mareth asked, getting to his feet and approaching her.

  “I-I don’t think you need me anymore,” she blurted out. “You have Neenahwi now, and Lady Grey. They’re both real ladies who know what they’re doing. I’m just a silly girl, playing at games of nobility. So, after tonight, I’ll just go back to the palace. I’ll wish you all the luck in the world, of course.” In her nervousness, she had once again said all of this to the floor; now she looked up to see a quizzical look on the bard’s face.

  “Hah! As if I’d let you leave,” said Mareth, regarding her with brotherly affection. “I haven’t forgotten you got me into this mess. You and your sister. You think I’m going to let you walk away while I’m still up to my neck?” He smiled as he continued. “And remember you’re here because you know what you’re doing. You saved the meeting today, and you planned all of this tonight. Which, now that I come to think about it, is an even bigger mess you’ve dropped me in. Maybe you should go back to the palace.”

  Alana’s mood had been starting to lighten, and then it crashed back into the dark pit.

  “Sorry, sorry. Too soon for jokes, I see.” Mareth held her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Serious now. You’re in this with me; we’re all in this together, win or lose. Alright?”

  “Alright.” She sniffed again, hands moving to wipe tears and snot from her face.

  “That’s good,” he said, giving her a brief hug. “Earlier you said we’ve got to talk about those merchant agreements. We have a few minutes now. Think you can explain it so a five-year-old can understand?”

  “Yes. I’ll go and fetch my notes. They’re back there,” she said, gesturing to the adjoining storeroom. She gave a weak smile to Mareth, feelings of relief but also embarrassment creating havoc with her stomach.

  Threading her way through the storeroom, squeezing past the stacked chairs, desk, and cabinet, she reached where her leather satchel was hidden. The bag had been given to her by Jules in a quiet moment, a thing of shiny brown leather that gave off the unmistakable aroma of quality hide. It was the dearest thing in the whole world to her.

  From this end of the storeroom, she could hear the crowd on the streets outside. They were still a few minutes’ walk from the mark
etplace, but the crowds spilled out this far. They’d chosen to use Gonal’s building to prep for the rally because it was closer to the marketplace than the Royal Oak, but if the crowds were shoulder-to-shoulder here, then it was really going to take Mareth some time to fight his way through to the makeshift stage they had erected.

  She found the satchel and tucked it under her arm. She was about to call out to Mareth to tell him he’d better leave early when she heard him and another voice talking.

  “…awfully large crowd out there. That’s the kind of crowd where, if they don’t like the show, they can tear you limb from limb.” Mareth’s voice. But who was he talking to?

  “You don’t need to worry. They’ll love you, and they’ll be chanting your name. And just think how those nobles will feel afterward. They’re going to be scared, Mareth, scared of you with a city at your back.” It took a moment for Alana to work out who was talking, as it was little more than a heavy whisper. Then it came to her. It was Lady Grey. Alana quietly crept past the furniture to the doorway of the office.

  “That’s a big ask, my lady. Two things most of the people in this city know for good or ill: don’t get ideas above your station, and don’t trust anyone when it comes to coin. I’ve got to convince them to forget both of those pearls of wisdom they learnt from their granny.”

  Alana peaked around the door and saw Mareth take a deep breath and exhale, tension evident in his stance. Lady Grey, dressed head to foot in black, took a half-step closer to Mareth and rested her hand on his arm. They were only inches apart.

  “You will be fabulous. You look like a hero. Your words will win them over,” she breathed. Her hand moved up from his arm to touch his face with the backs of her fingers. “Your smile will entrance them.” Alana could see their eyes locked together. Mareth didn’t move as her face moved closer to his. “I think I know how to help you relax…” His mouth opened, to receive hers or to protest, Alana did not know, but it woke her into action.

  Why hadn’t she announced herself before? Alana cleared her throat and stepped into the office, Mareth and Lady Grey instantly both taking a step away from each other, Mareth echoing Alana’s coughing.

  “Alana, I didn’t see you there,” said Lady Grey, not appearing in the least bit flustered. Far from it. Alana sensed a look of challenge in her eyes.

  “Oh, good evening, my lady. Yes, I was just working in there,” said Alana, gesturing to the storeroom. “Mareth, I think it’s going to take you longer to get to the stage because of the crowd. We should probably leave.”

  “Aye,” said Mareth, looking a little flushed and slightly relieved at the interruption. He retrieved his mandolin from the corner of the room and fastened his rapier around his waist. “Let’s get this over with.”

  It was past midnight, but the atmosphere in the Royal Oak was congratulatory. Alana floated around the common room with a cup of wine in her hand, disbelieving what had transpired.

  It had taken so long for Mareth to reach the stage that the district supervisors had decided to warm up the crowd and attract their attention as they got restless. Minstrels had taken to the stage as well, to sing songs, many of them Mareth’s creations, and so, by the time he’d reached the platform, hundreds, if not thousands, of people were singing Tin Man.

  That had been Petra’s doing. Thinking on their toes must run in the family. In fact, growing up in the Narrows, if people couldn’t think on their toes, then they were likely to end up in a box. Her sister had surprised her with what she’d been capable of these past few weeks.

  Mareth had climbed the stage, and the crowd had become so quiet one could hear the inquiring questions of young children to their parents of, “Who is he?” Alana couldn’t remember how long Mareth spoke, but it was mesmerizing, watching the people of Kingshold lap it up like the cat that got the cream.

  And when he sang Edlander’s Choice, she saw the tears in the eyes of the people at the front, and then like a wave moving to the back of the throng the chant of, “We choose you. We choose you,” rose into the warm summer night.

  She looked over at Mareth, an arm around her sister’s waist, and a mug of ale in the other hand, the silliest grin she’d ever seen plastered on his face. She supposed that’s how she looked, too.

  The inn was closed to the paying public now, except for some longer-term tenants, and some of Lady Grey’s house guard was now stationed there. But she knew all of the volunteers and district supervisors who’d come back to celebrate, and they all seemed caught by the events of the evening.

  By the bar, she could see Jules and Lady Grey deep in conversation, the owner of the inn nodding before the noblewoman left her and walked to the door to the back room. Alana watched Jules move around the room, exchanging a few words with Mareth and Petra, Dolph and Folstencroft before walking over to her.

  “Alana, let’s meet before everyone celebrates too hard. Backroom,” said Jules. Alana nodded and followed her. The select few filed into the room and sat at the table where Lady Grey was waiting at the head. Dolph remained standing at the doorway, which he closed behind them.

  Lady Grey looked at everyone around the table in turn before she, too, smiled a broad smile. “Well done, everyone. I think we can say that was a marvelous success. Mareth, you were inspiring; everyone in the city will have taken note now.” Lady Grey bowed her head to the bard, who was holding hands with Petra under the table. “And Folstencroft, well planned. Excellent work.”

  “Actually, my lady,” interjected Jules, “It was Alana who was responsible for tonight. It was her idea, her plan. We all did the jobs she assigned.” Petra and Mareth nodded their agreement, and even Folstencroft, looking sheepish, signaled his concurrence.

  Lady Grey looked at Alana. She could feel the gaze assessing her, which brought on a hard-to-contain need to squirm. It took all of her will to match her gaze and ignore the years of conditioning of avoiding looking one of her betters in the eye.

  “Well, Alana, you’re a constant source of surprises,” said Lady Grey. “Nicely done. I assume the wizard is fully aware you’re wasted at the palace?”

  “I can’t answer that, my lady,” she said.

  “Or you choose not to. Very smart.” The others around the table looked at the two of them as they spoke; Mareth, though still smiling, was considering the situation closely. “Well, as I said, nicely done to all. I’m sure there’s much to do tomorrow, so celebrate, but not too much. I will return home now.”

  “Lady Grey,” said Mareth, “before you leave. I wonder, can we find time to talk tomorrow?” Mareth’s eyes flickered to Alana, and she saw Lady Grey notice it. “I have been reviewing the agreements with the merchants and I have some concerns.”

  Lady Grey looked at Alana as she spoke. “Oh? And what kind of concerns are those?”

  “Some of the agreements seem to be quite outrageous concerning what’s promised,” continued Mareth, “and others contradict each other. The same thing pledged more than once. I’d like your counsel as to how it would work in practice.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Lady Grey, her attention returning to Mareth. “These are significant details we need to work through. Let’s talk tomorrow.” She slid back her chair and stood. “For now, you should celebrate what you’ve achieved so far. But remember, we haven’t won anything yet. In fact, things only start to get interesting from here.”

  Chapter 30

  Juggernaut

  The morning had been spent trying to work out a plan for how to stop the child of the forger and his gang of troublemakers. Of course, the trouble was doing so without killing them. That would have made life much easier, but then, the dwarves would probably have been able to handle that pretty well themselves.

  Motega couldn’t fault the hospitality of the deep people. He and his friends had slept well on comfortable beds (even if they were a little on the short side) in guest quarters at the Smelter, usually reserved for visiting dignitaries. Breakfast had been hearty, if a bit different from what they w
ere used to, but he could go to his grave knowing giant centipede bacon was actually quite tasty.

  Now, the priority was to obtain as much information as they could. Motega loved the adrenaline thrill of being in a fast-moving situation, but not having a well-researched plan was likely to leave him dead or waiting in line for the gallows, and so, he’d learnt to value the preparation.

  They’d spent a considerable amount of time talking to the forger over dinner the previous evening and now Captain Karken of the guard had been made available to them. The captain was a woman, slightly taller than the forger, and her brown hair was devoid of grey. She had a plain, broad face and, contrary to myths, she didn’t have any facial hair. But she did have a sparkle in her eyes as she engaged in the planning discussions with her new comrades.

  Captain Karken explained how the raids tended to follow the same approach. Without warning, the Juggernaut would charge into the city, sending guards and civilians alike scattering, upending carts, clearing barricades, and even damaging buildings with its immense strength as it moved through the city to the storage depots. Its purpose was always to create a diversion and engage any defense so a second wave of young dwarves could gather supplies into sacks.

  Of course, the guards were trying not to hurt any of the youngsters, so they didn’t use their highly effective crossbows. A fact which also allowed the third element of the raids to be mainly untroubled. Half of the Graks would hold the tunnel from where they came, using rocks and sometimes even crossbows to keep any city defenders at bay. The raids typically were quick—half an hour for them to come in and get out—so there wouldn’t be a lot of time to respond.

  The germ of a plan had come to Motega a little earlier, and he’d just finished explaining it to Captain Karken. Neenahwi, Florian, and Trypp followed along, though they’d already been through it. The captain nodded as she listened.