“You alright, Tamar?”
“Who’s this man, elf?”
The villagers seemed intent on helping the elf. They hauled him to his feet and took him inside. Two men remained, sizing Tanis with disdain.
“You smell like trouble, stranger,” said a tall man wearing a hide jerkin. “By my reckoning you should leave now.”
Rain dribbling off his nose, Tanis gaped stupidly at the outlanders. After everything he’d been through, he couldn’t quite believe he was being turned away by his own kind. For mistreating an elf. But then, he knew nothing about this place. Border Village wasn’t Guill - for starters, elves probably traded here fairly regularly. Humans and elves clearly sat side by side in that tavern. These people knew about the sacking of Guill, perhaps even sympathized, but from the middle of the forest the world Tanis represented was meaningless. He felt achingly cold all of a sudden as the soft patter of horses drifted in from the west. Dahal Rane and his company were approaching. Tanis’s heart felt like it had stopped beating. Was he protected here? For all he knew, the elves had safe passage. Knowing it made him look suspicious, he took a few steps backwards, his tattered shoes driving through fresh rain puddles.
“Where’s he going …?”
“Watch him.”
Tanis wouldn’t survive long here, that was certain. His disheveled appearance, his wounds, the elvish pursuit and the gathering gloom all conspired against him. And yet the forest also represented death. Barked elvish commands could be heard through the western palisades. It was all too much. Tanis’s wounded ankle gave way and he fell face first in the mud. Frightened, exhausted and humiliated in equal measure, he hauled himself to his feet and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A firm hand took him by the elbow and steered him into an alley. By the time he collected his ragged wits he was being guided through the eastern palisades and into the cold night.
“Gird yourself, boy,” said his escort. “We have quite a trek ahead.”
Tanis threw a quizzical glance at his would-be savior. Hard to see in the dying light but the hooded man was dressed in brown leather and moved with feline grace.
“Who are you?” Tanis managed to squeak.
“Been tracking you from the Ebbe,” came the reply. “Name’s Jader.”
“You’re a ranger,” Tanis blurted.
“I was, until your village was torched,” Jader agreed. “I’m not so sure now.”
6 - Hadley
Hadley woke to the creak of the barge as it slapped against the recalcitrant southward current. An occasional peal of laughter drifted down from the deck. The bargemen were letting off steam after weeks of hard toil. Spicks, the captain, cut through the salty banter with effortless authority. Yawning to distract herself from the immense grief that sat on her shoulder like a predatory vulture, Hadley checked on her leather breeches - almost dry. They were hanging by a port vent and benefited from the northerly breeze, even if the vessel itself did not. Dressed only in her cotton shift, she stretched out under the startlingly warm wolf pelt Spicks had provided her. To his credit, he hadn’t yet mentioned payment, allowing her time to recover herself below decks.
At first, sleep had been difficult to come by, but in the end her physical exhaustion won out. Judging from the harsh light filtering through the vent, it was now mid-afternoon. Though she’d successfully eluded the elves, the night boat’s progress was painfully slow. She would forever be thankful for the bargemen's’ timely arrival, but no one could ever accuse them of being fast. To be fair, northbound progress up the mighty Ebbe was only possible through sweat and grit. The bargemen had been ‘poling’ their way upriver for weeks. Hadley couldn’t conceive the stamina required to travel this way, yet these bronzed fishermen did it without complaint or discomfort. Their bodies were so top-heavy she marveled at their ability to stay upright.
Just nine hours ago she’d lost Tanis at the barge landing. The last she’d seen of him were pale, grasping hands flailing in the near-black water as they disappeared into the mist. Dahal Rane and his men had pursued him without stopping. Before she could decide what to do, the barge was hailing her from downstream. Spicks had hauled her aboard without hesitation. Even in her panicked state, Hadley suspected it wasn’t an act of gallantry - the man looked like he knew lucrative contraband when he saw it. Even so, she didn’t appear to be in any real danger. Sure, Hadley’s liberty would come at a price, but it was a business transaction like any other. From what she could gather, the bargemen certainly had no love for elves. They had also been suitably alarmed at the smoke rising from Guill. Swaddled in an oil-cloth, her meager possessions had survived intact. The bronze brooch Adner had given her would be needed as collateral. She also carried twelve crowns in a velvet coin bag. The lead-lined box was an unknown proposition, but perhaps she could pawn it in Andra.
Fully awake and sitting upright now, Hadley toyed with the notion of letting her grief in. There was every chance she was the only survivor in her family. Even Tanis’s prospects were black. In a strange way, taking a few moments to absorb the sounds and smells of the barge enabled her to find a kernel of comfort under her pain. She knew deep down she would find a way to survive - she always did. But in the fetid darkness of her cabin, Hadley realized that mere survival wouldn’t be enough. No - she would flourish. She didn’t know any other way to live. And it was by far the best way to honor the memory of her loved ones. Now that she was secreted away on a northbound night boat, her plan was to reach Andra and hit the ground running. She would need to conceal her name to begin with, but in time she intended to fly the la Berne flag with pride. Of course, without knowledge of local politics or mechanisms of power, establishing herself would take time, but Hadley was nothing if not resourceful and resilient.
Hadley stayed below decks until the day’s light began to fade. Fully in control of her emotions, she nodded to the various crewmen she passed and stood at the bow. The sun had sunk the tree line to the west, setting alight the tiny seed heads drifting in from the croplands. Shrouded in the shadow cast by a never-ending parade of weeping willows, the water was dark and glassy. At length she noticed a presence by her side. Spicks was a man who only spoke when there was something to say, but his admirable reserve couldn’t conceal his obvious surprise. A bedraggled, frightened young woman had gone below deck. A composed, determined scrapper had emerged within the same day. For her part, Hadley was proud of her recovery. She had always detested “victims” and wasn’t about to play that role now.
“I know farmers in Guill,” the foreman said softly as they watched the black water slide past. “Good, dependable men. It’s still difficult to believe what’s happened.”
The only sound was the rhythmic pop of the barge poles entering the water. The banks showed no sign of human activity, although the occasional dust plume spoke of the spring harvest in the fields beyond.
“No elves?” Hadley asked, deftly changing the subject.
Spicks shook his head. “Probably headed south to Feyd Bridge.”
Hadley nodded. That much, at least, was expected. Rahal Dane’s elves could either flee or face lynching.
“I’m not going back,” she said, more for herself than for Spicks. It was a decision that had crept up on her over the course of the day. Now that it had been spoken it felt right. No matter what happened now, her life could not continue in the sacked village. Of course, she needed to find out if any of her family was alive, but she could do that from Andra. Besides, she thought she knew the grisly answer. She would send an urchin, one of the street boys she’d heard about, to make the necessary inquires. The la Berne family was no longer the “light on the hill” in Guill. The village had been devastated and the petty locals would need someone to blame.
Spicks let a gob of chewing tobacco drop to the water. Hadley was a well-bred woman, probably one of the few he’d met over the course of his rough life, yet he refused to act any differently around her. It somehow made him more trustworthy.
“Comely woman
like you won’t last five minutes on the southern dock,” he said. “Not without connections or muscle.”
Hadley stifled a surge of anger, but the foreman was right. She might have been filled with renewed purpose but she was still vulnerable. If there was anything she truly, deeply loathed, it was vulnerability. Sure, most Ardennian women were at risk by default, but Hadley had never accepted that as a reason to cower and simper like many of the beaten-down women of Guill. As far she was concerned, life was about the steady and systematic accumulation of power and security. If she couldn’t claim those things herself, no one was going to serve it to her on a silver platter. As she watched the prow slice through the inky water in fits and spurts, she promised herself that she would never be this vulnerable again. She was Hadley la Berne, architect of her own destiny.
“You honor me with your advice,” she said formally. “I’ll gladly provide a finder’s fee for a name. Who would be a good friend in Andra?”
She slid the bronze brooch from her back pocket. A soft-cut gem was inlaid in its center. A merchant sailor in his youth, it was perhaps no surprise that Adner should acquire such exotic items. Spicks took the brooch with incredibly light fingers and gauged its weight. Apparently satisfied, he stowed it away without a second glance. Of course, Hadley had grossly overpaid, but her bargaining position was extremely poor and her first steps in Andra were of critical importance.
“Grell,” the foreman said, withdrawing to the foredeck without further ado.
Bursting with mixed emotions, Hadley lost herself in the silky water. The brooch was gone, but she had a name. A name with the potential to circumvent an embarrassing and potentially dangerous landing at Andra. On the other hand, that jewelry was the only leverage she had. The prospect of stepping onto that dock with nothing but her fraying clothes filled her with terror. Of course, she still had the box. And the strange sphere it contained. Why had Adner given her that? The odd sphere might yet carry value on the Andra black market, but it was an unknown quantity. Certainly nothing she could rely on.
Hadley let her mind drift as the boat inched its way through the dusk. The only visible terrain on the banks were opposing walls of greater sedge weed. Occasionally a crewman would haul in a drag net stuffed with silver trout. She considered bunkering down for the night, but already knew that sleep would be hard to come by. Especially on an empty stomach. As if on cue, a burly crewman handed her a bowl of steaming rice and fresh fish.
“My thanks,” Hadley murmured, but the beast-like man was already resuming his position as a starboard poleman.
Hadley ate as demurely as possible whilst addressing her ferocious hunger. A simple repast, but the fish was a same-day catch and utterly delicious. As night descended over the Ebbe with a graceful touch, she tried to enjoy the moment and restrict her thoughts to practical matters. Where was Tanis right now? Hopefully he’d had the good sense to try and cross the river. The elves were horse-bound and could not easily follow him. There was little utility in filling in the absence of fact with idle speculation, so Hadley finished her fish stew and ventured to the galley to thank the sweaty crewman on apron duty. After visiting the head, it was time to retire. She was disappointed to find that night damp had already invaded her aft berth but she curled up under her pelt and allowed the boat’s gentle motion to rock her to sleep.
Shouts from the deck sliced through her troubled dreams. She sat upright, noting from the light that it was at least dawn, perhaps slightly later. Fearing the worst, she pulled on her breeches and headed above. She needn’t have worried - the men were just horsing around, tossing fish guts at each other. Some were in the river, stroking powerfully against the current and easily keeping up with the barge. Though the water looked inviting, Hadley declined to join them. It wouldn’t do for these men to get strange ideas. She could just picture Catelyn’s look of ridicule - no doubt she would already be in the water. Not knowing where to look, Hadley stood at the prow, eager for the emergent sun. The crisp morning air carried a trace of harvested chaff. Dew-laden crop fields undulated from both banks. Realizing she’d never seen this stretch of the river, she studied the farms with a stranger’s interest.
“Seven hours, give or take,” Spicks said at her shoulder. He passed her another bowl of fish stew, which she accepted gratefully.
“Not quite tavern standard but it’s nourishing,” he said with a smile.
“Looking forward to lunch, too,” she said, testing the extent of her credit. Spicks nodded in agreement.
“Fortune favors you,” he said. “We had a nice haul overnight and can make directly for Andra.”
Hadley wasn’t aware they’d been moving at less than full speed. But then, she couldn’t exactly expect Spicks to rush her to Andra at the expense of his quota.
The morning passed pleasantly enough. Hadley remained at the prow as she watched the impressively large-scale farms roll past. The crewmen didn’t seem too enamored of the landowners, grumbling about soil compaction and poor water quality. Hadley let their colorful banter wash over her as the barge tacked past a river tavern and boathouse. A Merchant Guild warehouse hove into view, eliciting rude noises and cat calls. The anti-establishment vibe confirmed that Spicks’ barge operated outside the usual, accredited channels. Hadley’s smile faded when a turd splattered against the cargo doors, triggering an explosion of rowdy mirth. She didn’t want these men to feel awkward around her, but that brand of vulgarity was crossing the line.
Her discomfort faded as the day wore on. The river banks were now shaped by sophisticated earthworks. The surrounding farmland was irrigated and maintained using methods unfamiliar to her. The crewmen positively bounced with energy, knowing the comforts of hot food and willing whores lay just a few turns upstream. As noon rolled by, the river took on a hazy, dreamy quality. The orange-yellow of the springtime harvest reflected off the glassy surface. Content to wedge herself in the narrow prow, Hadley delighted in the shimmering chirp of insects, the darting dragonflies, a playful family of otters. Andra. The riverland town had always eluded her as a child. Devon often claimed to be open to a visit, but with so many children, the logistics were problematic to say the least. Being responsible for so many vulnerable daughters wouldn’t have helped. Everyone knew that large towns were dangerous for innocent girls.
Cybil had once run away to Andra and was gone for several days. Incredibly, an honest merchantman delivered her safely back to Guill. Once she’d emerged from her bedroom banishment, her world-hungry siblings were the beneficiaries of a thousand fanciful stories. Hadley would’ve chuckled at the memory if her current situation wasn’t so grim. In any case, snatches of second hand information were never going to be enough. In a few short hours she would be thrust into a threatening world and needed to act decisively if she was going to survive.
Spicks called for all hands to the poles so the craft could advance at top speed. Hadley’s pulse quickened as her mind turned to a plan of attack. At a bare minimum her docks contact might be able to protect her, if only for a few hours. There was also the option of going directly to the Governor and appealing to his sense of natural justice. The la Berne family wasn’t exactly royalty, but Devon was a respected ex-representative. There was no doubting that the massacre at Guill qualified as an outrage. And yet, apart from his ‘most sincere condolences’, there wasn’t much the man could offer. For starters, he would already know what had happened. Governor Ballist probably knew more than she did. No doubt there were a battery of advisers compiling a suite of possible responses at that very moment. Guill barely amounted to a pimple on the face of Ardennia, but the sacking of a village of the realm could not go unchecked. The problem for Hadley was that whatever political ramifications were in play had nothing to do with her.
Unless she made it so. As the night boat rounded a bend and the excitable bargemen began belting out bawdy songs, Hadley’s heart stirred with the ambitious scheme taking shape there. Her black and tender grief subsided a little, making way for the fierces
t of desires. It was difficult to put a name to, but she suspected it had something to do with influence. She wondered for a moment whether it would be possible to breathe the heady air at the pinnacle of Andrian society. On the one hand, the idea of sticking to the shadows had obvious appeal, but there was also a compelling, steadily-building need to bring a hammer down on the individuals who had butchered her loved ones. Those who had besmirched her family name. A name that meant something. If she didn’t take it seriously, no one else would. Yes, she would reach the governor. But only with leverage. Power. She wouldn’t crawl through Ballist’s doors like a miserable wretch. Even if it resulted in death, Hadley would shape her own future.
“May I join you?”
It was Spicks, looking a little sheepish by the foremast.
“Of course,” Hadley said. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”
He nodded. “Your gaze were hard. Not so doe-eyed after all.”
Hadley smiled at the foreman’s clumsy effort at flirtation. It was invariably easier to simply give a dog a bone. She laughed, standing aside to give Spicks room at the prow. He had the look of a man with something to say. For the moment, though, they watched in silence as the stately ramparts of a keep appeared in the distance.
“Overlook,” Spicks murmured. “The Governor’s residence.”
Hadley found herself holding her breath as Overlook revealed itself. She knew that Andra was separated into two spheres. Sanctum was the walled area containing Overlook, the cathedral and a few other venerable institutions. The majority of the town was nestled in a kink of the Ebbe called The Bend.
“Are people able to move freely in and out of the Sanctum?” Hadley asked.
“Only during the day,” Spicks said. “At night the common folk are herded back down where they belong.”
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