The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  The woman pinched her lips together as if she were trying to find something wrong with the statement. “Marjoie,” she said, the word clipped and harsh. “This here’s Tern and the pretty one is Silla.” The girl pulled her face from the old woman’s skirt long enough for a smile to flash over her face, then she met Erinn’s eyes and turned her head away again.

  “Shhh girl,” Marjoie said, stroking Silla’s hair. “They don’t mean you no harm. You’re safe with Old Marjoie.”

  “That’s one of the reasons we’re going to Druel,” Erinn said in a softer voice. “We’ll be safe there,” she explained.

  “To Druel?” the boy burst in. “What’s Druel?”

  “It’s the home of the Duke. It’s miles away,” Marjoie replied, though she looked at Erinn as she spoke. “Too far for old bones, or young ones.”

  “We have wagons and supplies,” Erinn said. Why was she being forced to sell this idea?

  “Hmmph.” Clearly it would take more than supplies and carts to convince the woman.

  “Can we, Marjoie?” Tern asked, eyes eager as he looked up at her. “I bet it has a castle and soldiers too!”

  “Foolish boy,” she muttered but there was no force to the words and her eyes had narrowed in thought. “We’re not traipsing across hill and dale just so you can see a pile of stones. We’re perfectly fine as we are.”

  Erinn pinched at the bridge of her nose and held in a sigh. The woman was making her wish she’d listened to Samen. “I wish you would come along,” she said, struck by inspiration. “I’d feel better with another woman around. Samen looks over me but it’s not right, two young girls alone with just these men.”

  Marjoie looked at Jerrik and Fornn like they’d just confessed to murder. “I see,” she muttered.

  It took an hour to get the three of them onto the carts. Finding clothes for the children and settling them in was accomplished in minutes but the old woman was another matter. She spent the best part of half an hour directing the men to fetch this and that, and then another half hour going from cart to cart until she found a suitable place.

  As they set off Erinn found herself wondering if Samen hadn’t been right.

  ***

  Tern and Silla took to Kel almost immediately. Though Samen shot them looks when they giggled and spoke too loudly, even from where Erinn was she could see he was pleased at the change in Kel. Despite all the effort Erinn had made trying to bring the girl back to herself five minutes with the children had done more than she’d ever achieved.

  The carts moved slowly under the weight of the supplies and, with the extra people, they took to taking turns walking beside them as the carts creaked along. Even with dry roads and easy terrain they would be lucky to make more than thirty miles a day. Marjoie decided her cart was the most comfortable and had hollowed out a space in the sacks and crates of supplies for herself.

  “Had you lived there long?” Erinn asked, shifting so she was sat almost sideways to be able see the woman.

  “Where, Lunsford?” Marjoie replied. “All my life, girl. I pulled babes from birthing women and put some of them in the ground, too, when the pox hit us.” There was a quiet dignity in her words. The thorns and rough bark had slipped aside for the moment, letting the person hiding beneath show her face.

  “You’re a healer then?” Erinn asked, trying to hide her pleasure at their good fortune.

  “No,” Marjoie laughed. “Nothing so grand. I know a trick or two is all. That’s all healing is really. The right herbs and a bit of common sense.” She rummaged around underneath her and produced a long-stemmed pipe and a small pouch, speaking as she thumbed stourweed into the bowl and scratched sparks into the tiny square of charcloth she set on top. “Hedge-witch is what they called the one who taught me.”

  “They call them hedge doctors where I’m from,” Erinn said, catching the growl in the old woman's voice.

  Marjoie grunted around the pipe as she puffed it into life. “No one was going to call me a witch, stuff and nonsense. Not that there wasn’t a fair amount of nonsense in what Liska taught me anyway. Putting herbs out in the moonlight and using only fresh rainwater in her remedies. Foolishness!”

  “So you looked after everyone in Lunsford?” Erinn asked, trying to move on.

  “And Roarke’s farm,” Marjoie told her, nodding. “And all the little places on the way down to Erisbrook. It’s not been the easiest life, but once old Liska was gone someone had to do it. I never found a man I wanted, not that I didn’t have a few offers.” She flashed a wistful smile. “I never had my own babes, Lunsford and all the farms around here were my children. Every man, woman, and child in them. Like most children they didn’t listen when I warned them. I told them the Lord would punish them if they kept on with their foolish midwinter festivals and spring-turn dances. They laughed at me, told me the Lord of New Days was just stuffy priests spoiling their fun.”

  “And then the fae came,” Erinn said quietly.

  “Then the scourge came,” Marjoie corrected. “Fae are just a silly superstition. That’s the type of talk that brought down the Lord’s wrath in the first place.”

  Erinn bit her lip and let the conversation die where it lay. Marjoie was like Trallen had been in many ways. The unquestioning faith, the certainty of being right. Many in Widdengate had accepted the faith wholesale but it never really taken hold with Erinn. There was something about it that was a little too convenient, and a faith built on stamping out old traditions didn’t seem to offer much. Religion aside, Marjoie was wrong about the fae.

  The days passed slowly. The way the carts were loaded down meant they couldn’t go much faster than a walking pace unless they really pushed the horses. Survivors had begun to find them within five days of leaving Lunsford. Most were refugees from the scattered farmsteads. Some hid until the caravan of wagons had almost passed them. Others simply waited for the carts to catch up with them, and then joined those walking behind.

  Erinn looked back. The line of carts and people stretched back until a curve in the road took it from her sight. The survivors of two more villages had joined them in the past few days. Any cart moving with supplies was a beacon of hope to these people. The fae had struck here like a winter storm, pushing past their defences and killing all they could find. Those that survived had fled, running from the mere possibility that the fae might return.

  The first two villages they’d passed through had held only a handful of survivors. They’d still been huddled close to the forge, clutching horseshoes in their fists. The third had fared better and Erinn’s group had swelled past fifty. More carts and wagons had come with them but the walkers far outnumbered those who rode.

  Marjoie, naturally, did not walk, and her blunt refusal seemed to spur Samen into always being one of the first to volunteer to take a turn. There was something about her that seemed to grate at the man. Erinn would be the first to admit Marjoie could be hard work but to Samen she seemed to be an endless source of annoyance. She was the itch he couldn’t reach, the mosquito he couldn’t swat. Yet he never seemed to be able to resist trying.

  They’d been bickering since the first day. It usually began over some minor slight and escalated until either Samen stalked away or Erinn was forced to step in. It was like dealing with small children and Erinn was growing tired of it.

  They stopped early each night, making sure there was plenty of time to set up the camp. Though full moon was over a week away she found herself watching every time it rose and grew that little bit fuller.

  She shook her head at the sound of a squealing pig and turned around in her seat to face the road ahead. “I’m sick of trees.” She sighed.

  “How’s that?” Samen cocked an eyebrow at her.

  I don’t know.” She gave a lopsided shrug. “I feel penned in, trapped. Is it too much to be able to see for more than half a mile at a time?”

  “Maybe not,” he replied. “Right now though, these trees and the hunting we get from them are just about all that�
��s feeding your collection of needy mouths. Our supplies are all but gone and we’d get through that little piggy back there in short order.”

  She frowned at him, trying to look disapproving but the smile slipped through anyway. He’d been complaining about the squeals of the piglet for two weeks now, ever since it had joined them in the arms of the young girl who refused to leave it. He was exaggerating though. The supplies were dwindling but at a manageable rate. The fae had no interest in the contents of the villages they devastated and they’d been able to replenish their stocks at each village they’d passed.

  Most of the men carried bows now, though some would be more likely to sink the iron-headed arrow into a tree than anything else. She’d insisted on taking the iron weapons when they left Carik's Fort. It was more on a whim than anything else and Samen had argued against the weight, but in the end he agreed they were too valuable to leave behind. She glanced at the old man as the thought occurred to her and so didn’t see the figures as they stepped out from the trees.

  Samen reined in gently, raising his arm to warn those behind. She followed his gaze to the small group of men that stepped out onto the road. They were dressed as hunters. Perhaps they were something more than that, she thought as she caught sight of the short sword belted at the lead man’s waist.

  He raised a hand in greeting as he approached. “What is this? Where have you all come from?”

  “Carik’s Fort,” Erinn called back.

  He paused, digesting that as his gaze passed back along the line of carts and wagons drawing to a halt behind them. “You’ve quite a collection of folk with you, what is this? What's happened?”

  Samen put a hand on her arm, stopping her as she started to speak. “You ask a lot of questions for a stranger.”

  The man smiled then, an easy smile that bled the tension from the situation. “You’ve good sense, old man. My name’s Riddal, I’m a scout attached to Major Rhenkin’s men out of Druel. Now, what’s happened to the fort? Bjornmen?”

  Erinn shook her head, trying to think how to handle this, but Samen didn’t wait. “No, not Bjornmen. We could have handled them better, I think. This was something different. The fae.”

  The reaction wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d braced herself for the scoffing and ridicule but the man nodded with a grimace before he spoke again.

  “How bad?”

  “It’s gone, lad,” Samen told him.

  That shocked him. “The entire fort?” the scout breathed.

  “Oh, the buildings are all still there,” Samen said with a bitter twist to his mouth. “They didn’t hardly touch those, unless it was to force their way through. No, the folks that were there is what I meant. They killed `em all. Us two, an' three others, are all I know managed to make it to morning.”

  “Blood-swilling Droos,” Riddal whispered. “What about these others?” He nodded at the line of carts behind them.

  “There’s a dozen small farms and a handful of villages between here and the fort,” Samen told the scout. “These are all that’s left of `em.” He seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure in the impact of the news, Erinn noticed.

  “We were heading back to the fort with dispatches,” Riddal told them. “I suppose there’s not much point now. You’ll travel back with us to Druel. The major will want a first-hand report.”

  “Now just a minute!” Samen bristled, sitting up in the seat. “What makes you think we were heading for Rhenkin? His record stands for itself when it comes to keeping folks safe.”

  “Samen,” Erinn touched his arm. “Let me handle this.” She turned back to Riddal. “Don’t you think these people have been through enough without being dragged across the country?”

  If her tone bothered him he didn’t show it. “Druel’s the only place close enough that’s of any real size, outside of Kavtrin anyway. What were you planning on doing with this lot?”

  That silenced her. She’d been running mostly on instinct since Carik’s Fort and hadn’t made a plan beyond reaching the closest town. She glanced back at the line of carts and people.

  “Fine,” she gave in. “We’ll head for Druel.”

  He gave her a look that was wandering somewhere between him being slightly amused and downright patronising. “Why don’t you let me and this fellow sort this out, all right, darling?” He ignored her expression, nodding at Samen. “I’m guessing you’re leading this group?”

  Samen shook his head with a smile and pointed at Erinn.

  “You can’t be serious?” Riddal scoffed as the men behind him grinned.

  Erinn bristled for a moment. She wouldn’t rise to it, that would just play into what they were already painting her as, an indulged child.

  “We’ve managed well enough so far,” she replied. “You and your men are welcome to join us. We could use both the extra bows and men who are skilled at hunting. We’ve supplies but they’ll only go so far.”

  Riddal smirked as he gave a mocking bow. “At your service, my lady.” His words were almost lost in the poorly muffled snickers from behind him.

  ***

  “You can’t be stopping again!” Riddal didn’t bother to speak softly or hide his frustration.

  Erinn closed her eyes as she turned her head away with a sigh. “Look, Riddal, we’ve been through this. The children can only walk for so long before they need a break. The horses too.”

  He glanced at the horse leading the cart behind her. “They look fine to me. It’s going to take all month to get to Druel if you keep stopping every five minutes.”

  “It’ll take even longer if we have animals go down lame because we’re pushing them too hard,” she replied just as loudly but he was already turning away. He did this. It was infuriating. He wasn’t a stupid man, not by any means, but he couldn’t see past the fact she was a woman. As if her not having something swinging between her legs made her incapable of making decisions.

  They’d been butting heads since the day he and his scouts had joined them. Little things and nothing that was of any consequence. He’d made it clear he wasn’t about to take command himself yet he managed to find fault with her at least twice a day.

  Erinn shook her head and glanced up at the sky, the light was already fading. She’d have pushed on for another couple of hours normally but the full moon had come around quicker than she’d have liked.

  “Get them watered quickly,” she told Samen. “I want to find somewhere better than this to stop for the night.”

  His face soured. “You want me to hold the buckets for them myself, your worship?” it was more a bad habit than anything else, she knew, but he couldn’t resist being difficult.

  “Just do what you can to speed things along, Samen.” Her voice was weary and she knew it. His face softened and he nodded before stumping away.

  She went ahead of the line, passing the first wagon and walking until the voices began to fade. The woods seemed endless, though she knew they’d soon pass out onto the plains. Would that be any better than here? If they had to face the fae it would be better to be able to see farther than the closest trees, that was something. It would mean they’d be unable to hide though. The campfires would be seen for miles. There were just too many little things that could make all the difference and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing at least some of them. She turned back to the carts. It was time to get people moving again.

  The campsite wasn’t much but it was the best she’d seen. The treeline had moved back away from the edges of the road until it seemed they were passing through a clearing. Riddal had rolled his eyes as she called a stop for the night but moved fast enough when she started giving directions.

  Four large fires were set, two in what would become the camp, and then two more, further down the road to either side of them. If the fae were to come at them there would be little chance of hiding her people anyway. Better that they could see them coming.

  The carts and wagons formed a rough circle around them. It would provide no
protection from the fae but it would create the illusion of safety, and the longer she could keep people from panic the better.

  She set them to getting the camp ready before she went to find Riddal. He sat on a wagon, looking out at the trees as he puffed on a pipe.

  “Can we talk?” she asked.

  He looked her way and shrugged before patting the wooden bed of the cart beside him. She chose to stand instead and thought how to begin as she pulled the shawl tighter around her. “You saw the fae at Widdengate?”

  He nodded, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking away again. That was fine by her. She’d rather not see his eyes when she said this.

  “You know what we’ll face if they come then.” She spoke to the ground, voice low for fear of it carrying. “If they’re like the few that attacked Widdengate they’ll cut through us before we really even know they’re there. Unless it’s a smaller group. We have a slight advantage there.”

  He looked at her then, appraising, weighing. “How so?”

  “Well we don’t have so much area to defend for one,” she said, waving an arm at the camp. “There’s far less chance of them getting close before we see them.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “But when they get close…”

  “When they get close,” she agreed. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

  She led him across the camp and climbed up into the back of a wagon, pulling aside a well-oiled tarpaulin. “I haven’t let anyone use these until now, we don’t have enough to waste on pigeons or rabbits.”

  Curiosity won and he climbed up beside her.

  “I couldn’t just leave them there,” she said, waving a hand vaguely at the crates of swords and arrows.

  “Where?” Riddal breathed, still taking in the sight.

  “Carik’s Fort. Rhenkin set my father to making them.” She spat over the side of the cart. “Sarenson never even sent a man to collect them. I think he thought Rhenkin cracked or something.”