The Winter Road

by Adrian Selby

  He was right about them not being guards. The horses are thick with mud and saddlebags and the men’s cloaks just as dirty. They’d just come in and looked road heavy, as we used to say back on campaign.

  “We should speak to Leb, Amondsen,” says Gressop. “Sooner we can work this out the better. It’ll rain shortly.”

  I shiver, a reflex that’s my body’s way of slapping me awake. I barely heard him, and he’s waiting for me to answer, seeing sleep crowding at my eyes. I want to argue with him about charity, but I have no idea if the Bethessens and Kelssens are close or not. His family’s honour does not move him, at least as much as I can see. I look up and see the black clouds building from the west. There’s nowhere for the children to shelter except we’d have to beg people for a corner of their pavilion or covered wagon.

  “Amondsen, he’s waiting,” says Ydka. And Gressop’s now behind me, waiting for me on the edge of the main run.

  “We need to talk later, Ydka. A slave is a slave.”

  She doesn’t answer. If anything I’m hardening her in favour of Gressop’s offer of slavery, not the opposite.

  “I’ll be back later, Brek. Dottke, can you look after him?”

  “Yes, Captain Blackeye.” She’s pleased with herself for saying it and I’m warmed by it.

  Gressop leads me to the longhouse. Two men who paid colour are standing at the door to it, both been at the gruet and must be from further south, darker hair, shaved faces. They do their best to look at me like I’m dirt. Then the one speaks, and it’s Common.

  “Belt.” I don’t like it, any of it. I managed to get a lick of amony while Gressop walked in front of me moments ago, so if there’s trouble I might only have the advantage in the next half an hour or less.

  It’s small enough inside, even humble. A fine but plain high-backed chair is at the far end of the room. Must be Leb sitting on the chair, from the old cook’s description. Lad has lost most of his hair already, just a band around the sides he keeps razored and a sad little moustache in need of a good dinner. The more interesting face by far is on the man to his left, standing in leathers, belt and blade. He’s scarred worse than me, an expression that’s calm, that weary expectant look in the eyes that a long day won’t end quietly. No spears about the room, that’s something in my favour. He must be Westal.

  Leb stands, adds a few inches to his height. He puts on a frown to make himself appear more serious.

  “Gressop?” he says.

  “This is Teyr Amondsen, Quarterman. She’s arrived this morning from the Kelssen theit upriver. Burned to the ground, she tells us. She, along with a delightful young mother and some orphans, are all that survived.”

  Leb looks to Westal and back at Gressop. Westal subtly shifts his feet, maybe doesn’t know he’s doing it, his back straightens. It feels like me or my name is getting this reaction. I’m glad of the amony, it’s taken me away out of the exhaustion I was feeling, though I’ll likely drop where I’m standing when it wears off. For now the world is as sharp as needles to my eyes and ears.

  “Well, we have a friend down at port looking for a fine young wet nurse, so I offered a fair sum to this girl and Amondsen here that would more than help her see the children safe somewhere. Food enough to get them there too. She thought, however, that I should just give her and these Kelssens alms for the honour of it.”

  Westal looks me over carefully. He’s not amused like Leb is. He’ll be the most trouble.

  “Teyr Amondsen,” says Leb. “There’s a name to rattle the old scabbard, eh?”

  “You heard it before?” I says.

  “Well …”

  But he’s said enough, for he can’t know me. I had an agreement with Tarrigsen in Hillfast about leaving trade with this clan to him, for a price, so I’d not dealt directly with any at Port Carl. I’m about to make a move on them when Sillindar chooses to smile on me. A woman walks through from a doorway behind Leb’s chair. I see a desk and scrolls, but I don’t see ink on her fingers, which are as white as the babs she’s got only half covered by a dress of more use down in sunny Jua than here. Her glance at Westal the moment before she reaches Leb’s side is enough to seal it.

  “Fladdie, can you leave us for a while. I’ll send Hekkl for you later.”

  “Yes, Quarterman.” There’s little formality in her speaking.

  “Best not send Westal, eh Leb,” I says, “it’ll take him a few minutes longer to fetch her, from what I’ve heard.”

  There’s a delightful moment as Leb turns to look at Westal, Fladdie’s mouth drops open and Westal looks over at both of them.

  This moment’s all I need.

  I run at Westal, Gressop yells but I’m at him. The world narrows itself into only balls, eyes and throat. He’s good enough close in, sadly. He leans as my fist comes in. I catch his neck and it’s enough to give me another moment to kick his knee back. But he’s as calm as me, our learning done in alleys and battlefields, so he shifts balance to the other knee. He won’t have time for his sword and wastes none trying to free it. Leb shouts for the men out front. I have to press Westal again because right now he’s the only one has a weapon. He grabs my leg as I kick again and I use it as an anchor to launch a kick to his head with my other foot. I don’t land well enough from that however. The other two have come in and I hear steel drawing from scabbards. Westal has staggered backwards, stunned for a moment, but in righting myself I can take no more advantage of it. Still I have to rush him, give him or the men with swords behind me no time. He sets himself and throws a punch as I come in, uppercut. My guts are ready and I’m too close for it to go near my head. His punch rattles my ribs and I gasp but manage to jab a knuckle in his eye, pull his head up with his beard and punch his throat. Footsteps behind me. I push Westal to my side so I can fall forward to my belly, winded, fighting for my breath. A grunt accompanies the thrust of the sword, inches above where I fell. I turn my head to see him ready for another thrust, but I’m on the ground, he has to close. As he stands over my legs, thinking the winding I’ve got’s done me, I shift my weight so I can kick his balls. As he goes down I yell out, desperate and hoping someone outside might hear and interrupt them. I go for the man’s sword, get close into him, risk a stabbing as he hits his knees. His sword’s up but the kick’s emptied him. I grab and twist his wrist, a disarm. Just as the sword leaves his helpless fingers and drops into mine I feel something hit the side of my head, a fragment of nausea and everything’s gone.

  Flickering torchlight squirms its way into my eyes. Left eye won’t open, swollen and as solid as an iron slingshot. My black eye needs almost no light to see. Some time has passed. I keep still: two I can make out in front of me. I’m sitting on a chair in Leb’s longhouse still, my arms tied behind my back and legs bound to it.

  “She’s still alive, thank Sillindar. You’re a fucking idiot, Westal. Kill her and I’ll make sure it’s you stood in front of Othbutter.” This was Gressop.

  “Suck me, Gress, think I give a shit?” The words are whispered—dry, forced out. Good. Tells me my punch still hurt him, tells me not long has passed. “I’m bored. Bored of us yessing and noing that lamb of a boy. When we going to make some real coin?”

  “Easy to forget the frostbite and starving, hiding from the militia and posses trying to string us up by our gizzies. Yet you’re always forgetting.”

  Westal spits. I hear some talking at the door then.

  “Who’s there, Hekkl?” says Gressop.

  A new voice from the doorway, letting in the sounds and smells of evening fires.

  “I’ve scrolls for Leb. I’m to see they’re given to one of you as he’s not here.”

  “On the table in the back room there. You have a seal?”

  “Scrolls are waxed. For Leb only.”

  A woman. The voice has given me pause. Why do I think I know it? I open my eye a sliver and see colours flashing with her movement as she nears and passes me to the room at the back of the longhouse. I’ve worked out that these
colours come with the smells, like the eye can see what I smell. She’s wearing a fieldbelt, and she’s taken something, it’s on her breath.

  “Who’s that?” she says.

  “None of your fucking business,” says Westal.

  “Excuse me, I didn’t hear you?”

  I smile.

  “He said fuck off,” says Gressop.

  “I don’t think we will,” she says.

  “What?”

  She draws her sword, the slick sound giving away that it’s pasted. Someone opens the door and comes in.

  “Where’s Leb?” they say, but muffled, must be masked. A man, another voice that dances about my memory.

  Westal’s drawn his sword. “You’re not taking her, if that’s your plan.”

  “Sporebag says we are,” says the man.

  “You won’t make it out of Carlessen land alive.”

  “Amondsen, I’m cutting you free,” says the woman. She’s near now. I hear the leather of her belt and armour cracking, smell the dayer on her breath. Then I feel a sack go over my head. Westal, seeing what this means, moves towards us, but Gressop screams and I know the sporebag’s been thrown, a splash of blues and purples is all my eye sees. The woman’s got me by the arm and I’m being stood up, my legs trembling, knees in pain. Gressop and Westal start choking, there’s a brief smack of swords and then repeated stabbing.

  “Take this,” she says. I feel the hilt of a sword against my fingers.

  “I can hardly fucking see,” I says, but I take it. “Where’s the guard, Hekkl?”

  “Leyden’s told him Leb’s wanted here. That man he just killed was right: we won’t make it out of Carlessen land if we leave this lot alive.”

  “For me?”

  “Master Amondsen, I’m one of your vanners working Ablitch—everyone calls me Cherry. I put the bag on your head because anyone finds out it’s you, it’ll be a death sentence for Cleark Thornsen as well as you if he’s found to be hiding your whereabouts.”

  “Cherry? Oh Sillindar, is that you, Jairu? I haven’t seen you in near a year.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s me. Leyden told me it was you, on the boat earlier. Your whole guild had orders from Thornsen to keep a lookout for you on our runs, stop at every stagepost and riverdock and theit to ask after you. Here, hold your head still.” I hear her at her belt, then she takes the hood off and presses something wet and cool over my eyes, river moss in it, burdock. It’s tingling, and I feel the water and blood leak out.

  “Good mix,” I says.

  “One of Thad’s.”

  I see him the moment she says his name, singing on a ship, filling his pipe with bacca, holding me as we leave Marola, betrayed by our own.

  “Master Amondsen, I know yer got questions, as many as we have for you,” says Leyden, “but first we have to do this Leb Carlessen.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a bounty on you. Othbutter.”

  “What?”

  “Othbutter’s got you down for killing his brother. Got sent his hoop and sword from the Seikkersons. How did you not know?”

  My mind’s spinning. There’s no time to catch up. They’ve been reckless, they haven’t thought it through, too young. I’m moved, how they just acted as they did from the moment they saw me, but killing Leb was making trouble for these two and Thornsen, who’s given them the order to find me.

  “Right,” I says, “we can’t go over this now. You’ve been seen, word’ll spread if you kill Leb. He’s the only one with any clout in Hillfast and these two was running him. I was told they was gangers got their claws in. Might be we did him a favour in killing them. Cherry, tie my hands back up, sword on me, when he comes in say you found me killing them. Say you’ll take his seal and me downriver to his uncle. I bet Thornsen didn’t give you the Amondsen seal, did he?”

  Leyden smiles. “Nope, gave us Carlessen’s.” I send a wish up to Sillindar for Thornsen’s savvy.

  Cherry’d just got my hands tied when Leb walks in. Hekkl’s with him and he straight away levels his spear at us all.

  “Get out!” shouts Hekkl.

  “Wait,” says Cherry. “We’re Carlessen vanners. Stopped this one trying to leave as we were putting our scrolls in. She says she got loose and killed these two.”

  “She did?” He puts up a hand to relax Hekkl. “Check she’s tied, Hekkl. You two, back up against the door.” They do as they’re told.

  He’s rougher than he needs to be of course. He’s scared as he comes in close.

  “No touching my arse,” I says, which gets me a punch in the side and doubles me over, being near the rib Westal got a heavy fist into earlier.

  “Knot’s good, Quarterman.” He shoves me down into a chair and levels his spear.

  “And you, you have our seal?” Which they then hold up before them.

  “Excellent. You’ll understand my caution, seeing my two advisers dead. Well, it is our good fortune you arrived when you did.” He looks over at Gressop and Westal, their blood pooling out from their backs. He can barely hide his relief; his brow softens, and he takes a deep breath.

  “She won’t have told you she’s got a splendid bounty on her head from Chief Othbutter. Murdered Crogan and been on the run ever since. I’ll bet she was the one killed all those poor Kelssens in their theit not two days ago and is selling those children.”

  “We’ll run her into the port and your uncle, Chief Carlessen. It’s where we’re headed back to,” says Leyden.

  Leb’s in a fine mood as he realises his freedom from the gangers. “Do you need Hekkl or another of the dock guards to go with you?”

  “No need. We’ll get her on the droop until we reach port,” says Cherry.

  I can see the room better now with the mix clearing out my eye. Leyden’s still got that look of a beaten dog which has served him well in many scraps, while Cherry’s red hair is still thick and proud as sedge.

  “The duts, well, Gressop didn’t get to selling them on,” says Leb. “Ydka left on a barge a few hours past though. I’d guess whatever fee was agreed is on his body somewhere. You two, find those children and take them to my uncle, he’ll get some good coin for them and you’ll get a cut in return.”

  “Where are the children? How could Ydka fucking leave them?” I stand sharply, get the point of Hekkl’s spear in my chest. “Sit back down, old girl,” he says.

  I’m sure they find it strange my seeming so attached, and it eats at me why I’m so suddenly desperate that they aren’t lost or hurt, why I’m cut so deep about it. It don’t stop me being angry at the thing in me thinking I’ll somehow be making a difference to them, or making up for what happened to Mosa.

  Hekkl keeps to his duty while Cherry and Leyden head off, and Leb goes and fetches some of the other dock guards to drag out Gressop and Westal’s bodies. There’s some noise as that happens, I even hear a cheer.

  “You do it? You kill Crogan?” asks Hekkl.

  “No. Don’t matter, does it? Samma Khiese’s coming for all of you, and Othbutter.”

  “We’ve heard things, few barges come from up north now.”

  “I got no problem with you, so when I tell you you’d better get anyone you love out of here south, think on it.”

  He’s about to say something when Cherry comes back with the duts.

  “Blackeye!” shouts Dottke, who starts to run over to me with Litten and Aggie but then sees Hekkl’s spear at my chest.

  “Don’t kill her,” she says, “she’s my friend.”

  “Where’s Brek and Jorno then, Dott?”

  “Brek’s gone with that man to look for him. Ydka left us, and Jorno was shouting and crying and ran off after them. Brek couldn’t run because of his shoulder.”

  “You’re tied up,” says Litten.

  “She is,” says Hekkl “She killed Chief Othbutter’s brother.”

  “Who?” says Litten.

  “She killed lots of men, I saw her,” says Dottke. “They were whiteboys and they killed my ma and d
a so she killed them back.”

  “I’m hungry,” says Aggie. Cherry bids Hekkl go get some of Leb’s stores to feed the children. The three duts come over then, each one putting their arms around my neck, Aggie finding her way onto my knees to sit against me. I look up at Cherry, hoping somehow to tip the tears back into my eyes. Mosa would sit on my lap and I’d pick pieces of cheese off a wheel to drop into his mouth or I’d hold the jar while he dipped his fingers into our lingonberry jam and push them at my mouth to try and feed me back, catching my gums and lips with his fingernails, which Aude always promised to cut and never did.

  Leyden comes back a while later. “The two boys are in the boat; Jorno won’t come in. I’ll get a sheet for us and I’ll stay with him rest of the night. We leave first light.”

  I’m untied from the chair and tied instead to one of the stone posts that hold up the roof, even given a mat so I can better sleep. I sleep like the dead and grateful for it.

  The following morning Cherry comes in the boat with us, Leyden takes their horses and follows along the bank, Hekkl seeing us off. Soon enough, when she takes off the ropes binding me, the children realise the two vanners have come to help me escape and they’re pleased. It gives me a chance to sit with Jorno. He won’t look at us, or he shouts at us, but he doesn’t say anything when I sit next to him or fuss when I chance smoothing the hair back on his head. The only way of getting him to rest is lying to him about seeing his ma again.

  Cherry looks at my rib, there’s a bruise there and I’m having trouble breathing so I take a pipe with her, which helps a bit. She puts some more of her mix on my knees and legs where Westal must’ve kicked me as I was out cold after our scrap. Honestly, I’m bruised all over and cheek’s swollen again from the whack I took. Lucky there’s hardly any teeth in that side of my mouth anyway, but at least my attempts to talk keep Dottke and Aggie laughing. Mercifully it stays dry, just an icy breeze as we pass through trees or steep hills. We pass some boats and barges coming from the south, only a few, and it’s for appearances and what gossip they’d otherwise pass to Leb that Leyden and Cherry come this far. As it gets dark we bank the boat and Leyden gets a fire going. Once the children are sleeping around it we go to the riverbank for a smoke. I need some bacca to give me some sleep. I can hardly move for the kicking I took. Cherry put some ointment on my eye that got blackened, easing it.