Klöss slammed his fist down on the table, shaking the tankards and slopping ale. “Damn it, Tristan! I’ve done nothing but think. My uncle is dead. My wife, in all but name, is missing with my son. My men have been taken from me. What do I have here for me?
Tristan watched the ale run across the table top and trickle down to the floor. “What is it you plan?”
“Just to leave. Head for their lines as quickly as possible,” Klöss said. “I need to know there’s someone here that I can still trust though. Someone with half an ounce of common sense.”
“Ha!” Tristan snorted. “You would need to look hard to find one like this, I think.”
“Not so hard as you would think,” Klöss said as he smiled.
“No,” Tristan said, standing to fetch the rag from the bar. “I see what it is you dance around and, no, I will not do this.”
Klöss frowned and the chair creaked as he sat back. “Why not?”
“You will need people at your back on this journey.”
“He won’t be going alone, Tristan,” Gavin said, ignoring Klöss’s startled look. “The reason I came here in the first place was to try and help Ylsriss.”
“And you will be a good help to him,” Tristan replied. “But he will need another sword arm I think.”
Klöss looked back and forth between them. “I’m right here, you know?”
“So you are.” Gavin grinned.
Tristan shook his head as he mopped up the ale. “No, I think I will be coming with you. He will only foul things up if he is not watched.”
Klöss threw his hands in the air. “Do I have any say in this?”
“Not really,” Tristan said, with a shrug. “No.”
PART TWO
Chapter Eight
Erinn swept. The room was dark and there was barely enough light to properly see the dirt. What little light there was came in from the small windows and the open door behind her and most of that was blocked by her own body. The room was always a mess. Ten women and girls sleeping in one room would make mess at the best of times but it seemed the floor was always dirty. The building opened onto the packed earth of the camp and mud was always being walked in. She couldn’t often see it, even with all the lamps and candles lit, but every time she stood in bare feet she felt the grains of dirt shifting under her feet.
They’d been lumped together when they first arrived, with families and friends sharing tents. That hadn’t lasted long though. Some busybody complaining about it being indecent with strangers and young women in the same tents soon put pay to it. Never mind the fact there were four or five to a tent. It was a shame really. It had been cramped but at least it had been family and friends. Now they slept in these bunkhouses, crammed together until something better could be arranged.
Feet clumped on the two wooden steps leading up into the bunkhouse and she turned her head as she bent to sweep under the edge of a bunk. The broom reached under as the boots thumped into the short hallway leading in.
“Don’t walk in here, I’m sweeping!” she snapped as she turned to the door, pulling the broom out behind her. The head caught the chamberpot as she pulled, sending it spinning across the floor to crash into the stone slab set under the woodstove.
“Damn it!” she swore as the pot smashed and the contents pooled out over the wooden floor she’d just swept.
“Erinn, are you?” Rhia stopped as it hit her. “Gah! What is that stink?”
Erinn pointed wordlessly and sank down on the edge of the nearest bunk. Just like that she was crying. It was just all too much. The tears fell as Rhia looked at her, stricken.
“I’m sorry Erinn,” Rhia said, sitting down beside her. “Look, I’ll clean it up. It’s not that bad.”
Erinn stiffened as the girl put her arms around her, attempting to pull her into a hug. “It’s not the mess, Rhia,” she managed. “It’s this place… It’s everything!”
“This place?” Rhia asked, looking around the hut. “It’s not so bad. It’s a bit crowded I know but it’s cosy. We’ve got this nice room and we’re warm.” She shrugged. “It’s a chance for a new home.”
Erinn pulled away from her, incredulous. “It’s not a home, Rhia,” she snapped. “It’s a hut. And before we lived in a hut we shivered in a tent.”
Rhia gave her a long look. “You’ve been in here too long. Why don’t you get some air. I can finish the rest of this for you.”
“It’s my turn,” Erinn protested, though not too strenuously.
Rhia gave her a knowing look. “It’s fine. You were almost done anyway until I interrupted you.” Erinn didn’t need to be told again and, mouthing her thanks, she left.
Carik’s Fort was a sprawling mess. It was a fairly new structure to begin with and this had brought its own advantages and challenges. The fort was, almost entirely, a military complex. It hadn’t been around long enough for a large village to spring up around it. This gave it some flexibility when the mass of refugees from Widdengate, and farther east, flooded in. There weren’t streets full of buildings in the way, there was space to pitch tents and then, later on, build shelters. The walls, though built of good, strong stone, could be supplemented with a wooden palisade encircling the camp farther out from the centre of the fort.
The disadvantages were almost entirely due to the fact that it was purely a military camp. There were had been few women in Carik’s Fort, a handful of wives, and certainly no children. Now the place groaned.
Rhenkin had stayed barely long enough to order the fort expanded before he left. Sarenson seemed to be a capable enough man to Erinn but he was slow. He was very clearly one of those men who needed to plan everything meticulously, examining every issue that might arise before beginning a project. As such, the refugees had huddled in tents, squeezed inside the walls for the best part of a month before any work began on more permanent shelters.
The village of refugees, that had once been a sea of tents, had begun as a well ordered construction. As more refugees flocked to Carik’s Fort the plans had suffered, and now the original fort was dwarfed many times over by the village that surrounded it.
Noise assaulted her from every direction as she made her way away from the hut she shared. The ever present sounds of sawing and hammering were overlaid with the cries of babies and small children, mingled with the laughter of yet others. Buried beneath all of this, almost overwhelmed, was the barely noticeable bark of command as Sarenson’s men drilled and did whatever it was that soldiers do when they aren’t fighting.
Sarenson had refused to move on that one point. Carik’s Fort was a fort, a military camp, and it would remain so. Though he’d had no issue setting men to work on building shelters, and then encircling these within the palisade that had become the outer wall, he would allow nothing that might have encroached on the fort itself. None of the wooden shelters stood within the original walls and the tents had been moved out as soon as the palisade was erected.
Erinn picked her way through the throng, lifting her skirts high to avoid the mud. It had been three days since it had rained with any real effort but the constant tread of feet had churned the mud into an oozing muck. She walked as close to the edge of the buildings as she could to avoid the worst of the mess but she’d have wet feet no matter what she did.
She didn’t really have any destination in mind, letting her feet pick their own direction more than anything else. Before long she found herself climbing the steps to the stone walls of the fort. Once constantly manned it was now largely deserted as men guarded the palisade instead. She leaned back against the stone wall, her eyes drifting over the camp, unconsciously seeking out the smoke and sparks of her father’s forge.
“Can help you, miss?”
She jerked around to face the solider, and then blushed at her own reaction. How had he moved so quietly in all that armour? “Sorry, I was just…I mean…no. Thank you, I’m fine.”
He frowned at her slightly, reminding her of Kainen for some reason, though he had to
be at least ten years older. “You shouldn’t really be up here, you know?”
She smiled. “It’s not all that important is it? Just for a few minutes?”
He grunted as the hint of a smile flitted over his lips. “I suppose not. You’re the smith’s girl aren’t you?”
“I do have a name,” she grated.
If her temper bothered him he didn’t show it. Instead he nodded calmly. “You probably do, I don’t know it yet though.”
She flushed. “Erinn,” she supplied, feeling stupid.
He grunted. “Thought I recognized you. That hair. You’re like a spark from your da’s forge.”
That brought a smile from her. “Aren’t you quite the poet?”
“Just because I carry a sword doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain.” He turned away from her, looking out into the distance.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words tripping out in an awkward mess as she tried to cover her embarrassment. “I didn’t mean…” She stopped as she caught his smile. “You’re making fun of me!”
“Just a little,” he admitted with a shrug.
“You haven’t even introduced yourself and you’re making fun of me, how outrageously rude,” she said, smiling despite herself.
He grinned back. “Mayden,” he said.
“Maiden?”
“Mayden. With a Y,” he said again, in a tone which made it clear he’d already heard all the jokes he was willing to about this.
She looked out between the merlons, suddenly at a loss for words.
“What was it like?” he asked her.
She didn’t turn. “What was what like?”
“Widdengate.”
“Oh, it was lovely, peaceful.” She smiled at him. “I’d never known anywhere else until they came and burned us out.”
“The Bjornmen?” he asked.
She nodded, her smile a memory.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, giving her a look he probably thought was comforting. “It won’t happen here. Widdengate was a village. No matter what they did it was never built to be defended. This is a fort. They’d have a shock if they tried anything here. I can’t turn back the past but me and the boys can make sure it doesn’t happen to you again.”
She looked at him, nodding again, but she couldn’t make herself believe him. “Have you always been here then? This place?”
“No,” he told her. “Just this last year. Soldiering’s a funny job. You tend to move about a lot.”
“Where are you from then?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her manners. “Originally, I mean.”
“Reylan,” he replied. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”
She shook her head and reached to brush her hair from her face, tucking it behind an ear. “No, where is it?”
“West of here.” He shrugged, pulling his cloak tighter against a sudden chill from the wind. “Far west of Savarel… West, of anywhere really.”
He was actually quite good looking, she decided. In a gruff sort of way. Not that she was interested, of course. It was just interesting the way that it wasn’t immediately apparent. Some people wear their beauty on the surface, clouding what lurks beneath. Artor had been like that. She bit her lip at the thought. Artor, she’d barely spared him a thought since they’d fled Widdengate.
“Well,” she said, pulling her own cloak around her in a businesslike fashion, “I suppose I should get on. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk to some silly girl.”
He looked confused at that, sensing the shift in her mood but unsure what had happened to cause it. “Hardly silly, but you’re probably right. Maybe we can talk again?”
She lowered her chin, looking up at him artfully. “You never know your luck,” she teased.
His laugh was bigger than both of them. “You’re a dangerous one. Lords and Ladies, with a father as big as yours a man needs to be careful around you.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, all wide-eyed and faux innocence. She couldn’t hold it in and laughed at herself and his reaction. “Besides, he’s all talk really.”
“Well if he doesn’t get me the captain will if I stand around here much longer.” He gave a mocking little bow. “I’ll look for you.”
“Maybe you’ll find me.” She threw a grin over one shoulder and skipped past him and made her way down the steps. Maybe Carik’s Fort wasn’t so bad after all.
***
Her arms ached from working the bellows. The pain ran up her shoulders and down to the small of her back. She’d stopped hearing the rush of air and the roar of the coals. Even the ringing of metal on metal had dulled in her ears as Harlen worked the swords, forcing the iron into shape with deft blows of the hammer.
She looked over at him as he set the hammer down. “Are we nearly done?”
He paused to wipe he grime from his forehead with the back of one thick arm. “Nowhere close to it, girl. You take a break for a few minutes, get a drink, and shake those arms out.”
She looked out of the newly converted building that now housed the forge, at the people passing by on the newly formed street. “I don’t see why Domant couldn’t have stayed on as your apprentice.”
Harlen pressed his lips tight as he took a deep breath and let it out, sighing through his nose. “You know full well they chose to go on to Kavtrin with the Taplock’s. Can’t hold a lad to an apprenticeship in times like this.”
“Why don’t you just take a new one then?” she asked, rubbing the backs of her arms.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady,” he shot back at her. His voice softened as he went on, “I don’t have the time to train someone, Erinn. It’d take me the best part of a month to teach them how to tend the fire right and work the bellows without me having to stop every two minutes.”
She gave him a look that said clearly she believed none of it.
“I’m behind as it is, child,” he said with a sigh. “It won’t hurt you to help out now and then.”
“I don’t see why you need to be the one to produce all this anyway,” she said, waving at the stacks of swords and crates of arrowheads.
Harlen gave her a penetrating look. “What’s this really about, Erinn? You’re too smart to be objecting. You know full well why I’m making iron weapons, just as you know why I can’t take an apprentice right now.”
“I was supposed to meet Mayden,” she admitted.
“That sergeant who’s been chasing you around?” Harlen grunted. “I don’t know I like the amount of time you’ve been spending together.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” she laughed. “It’s my life though, Father. I’m a grown woman after all. I can’t spend it all pumping bellows.”
“You’re not as grown as all that,” Harlen muttered and bent to examine the blade he’d been shaping. “Besides, I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“Oh?” She folded her arms and looked at him pointedly. “And how exactly is he looking at me?”
Harlen glanced at her and flushed behind his spark-singed beard. “You know what I mean. He’s too old for you anyways. He must have fifteen summers on you.”
“He’s nowhere near as old as all that!” Erinn protested. “And how much older than mother were you?” Erinn threw back. “For that matter, how old was she at the time? Fourteen when you first started walking out wasn’t it?”
He ignored that, going to the other side of the forge and busying himself with a polishing cloth set on the bench. “You were a lot more pleasant before you developed this clever mouth, Erinn.”
She grinned at his back. “You didn’t really answer the question though, father.”
“Which one was that?” He glanced back at her.
“How much longer will you need me for today?”
“That’s because you never really came out and asked it, Erinn.” He went to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. His hands engulfed her. He always made her feel like a child’s toy when he did this. “I sup
pose I can manage for now. You be careful with him though, Erinn. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She swallowed hard and turned her face away, blinking back the pricking in her eyes. He always did this. One moment he was overprotective and completely unreasonable, the next he was like this. She buried herself in his chest, pressing her face the thick leather apron and hugging him tight for a moment.
“You just make sure you’re home when it’s still light,” he told her as she left. She smiled back at him. A smile was as good as an answer sometimes.
The day was dull and wet but warm enough, and she barely shivered from coming out of the forge. Normally it took her a good few minutes to get used to the fresh air. She rushed back to the bunkhouse, nodding at Mira who was sweeping it out, and quickly changed into the yellow dress she’d been saving for a day worthy of it. She was lucky. Harlen had packed properly before they’d fled and she had a selection. Some of the men had only the clothes on their backs.
Though she was in no real hurry she moved swiftly through the fort. Shops, after a fashion, were springing up already. Some of the refugees sheltering in the fort had little in the way of money and even less of a way of earning more. A life spent farming or making barrels is not something that lends itself well to doing nothing though, and those that could work were doing what they could.
Mayden had said he’d meet her by the stream. It wasn’t far from the front gates of the palisade and she passed through the stone wall and the streets of the refugee village to the palisade’s open gates with a small smile on her lips. She ignored the knowing grin on the faces of the men standing guard there. Word had clearly got around and they’d been doing it for weeks now. It was funny, once she’d moved beyond the ditches and spiked stakes, the country was truly beautiful here. She made her way through the long grasses, heading for the edge of the woods and the stream that lay just inside.
“I didn’t think you were coming?”
His voice made her jump and she spun around in a shock that ended in a girlish squeal as he caught her up in his arms. She turned her head, allowing his kiss to find her cheek but not what he’d sought.
The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set Page 89