by Bill Fawcett
Shortly the two Companions were surrounded by what seemed to be every ambulatory person in the entire village. The anxiety in the air was as thick as the smoke from the fires where great racks of fish were being smoked and preserved. Alain hung back, sensing that someone a great deal senior to him was who was called for at this moment, but he needn't have bothered with such diffidence. It was clear that the villagers knew the senior Herald here, and two of the more prosperous-looking men fastened themselves to Companion Lovell's reins and began babbling a confused tale of raiders. . . .
Alain couldn't make head or tail of it, but Sted seemed to have no trouble. Then again, this was his circuit, and he knew these people. To Alain's ears, their accent, thick enough at the best of times, rendered excited speech incomprehensible.
Then Vedalia came to the rescue.
:Some sort of bandits or raiders have destroyed the next village up the coast,: Vedalia supplied. :The indications are that the bandits came in by water rather than overland, which is something new, and did so while the men were out fishing. The men returned to find their houses burned out, their women and children gone, and anyone older than forty or younger than four dead in the ashes.:
Alain felt the blood drain from his face. This was over and above a mere raid. This was an atrocity. And why kill anyone they didn't take? Unless it was to prevent the survivors from telling something?
:The folk here just got warning from the men, who took their boats up and down the coast to warn everyone else. They're afraid to go out fishing now.:
But if they didn't, it wouldn't be long before they were all starving. Without fish, there was nothing to eat and nothing to trade to the farmers farther inland.
:Exactly so—: Vedalia shut up, as Stedrel began speaking calmly, confidently, and his manner soothed some of the agitation. Alain paid close attention; this was a master at work.
"This happened yesterday? Is there any attempt at pursuit?" he asked.
"Half the men—but it's a big lake—" said one of the men at Lovell's reins, waving at the water.
Big lake? That was an understatement. Even from the top of the cliff it had been impossible to see the other side, and the curve of the shore was imperceptible.
"Defenses first, then," Sted said firmly—turning attention to that without making it obvious that he felt the captives were beyond help.
:They are. There's nothing we can do for them,: Vedalia said glumly. Alain bit his lip; his heart wanted to launch some sort of rescue, but how? With no troops, and no ships—out on a trackless expanse of water—
:The only way to track them might be to FarSee—neither of you have that Gift.:
So they would have to wait until a Herald with that Gift could reach them.
"I wouldn't think that this village is very defensible," Sted began, giving orders—cleverly phrased as suggestions—to safeguard the people of this place.
:Solenbay,: Vedalia supplied.
"Have you anywhere that people can go to hide if raiders appear?" he wanted to know. "These raiders won't know the lay of the land, they won't know where to look, and I doubt if they would linger very long to search."
The babbling died to whispers, and anxious eyes were locked on Sted's face.
"The water-caves," suggested one girl promptly, from the back of the crowd, and blushed.
"Good. If there are any that are particularly hard to find?" Stedrel prompted.
The girl giggled nervously, and Alain had a shrewd notion that she knew the location of every water-cave within walking distance of the village. "Reckon I know some that no one else does," she offered, turning such a deep crimson that she looked sunburnt.
"That be why we can't find you, half nights, Savvy?" asked an older woman—not unkindly, but knowingly.
"Perhaps if you moved all your valuables and stores there now, you'd have only yourselves to get into hiding," Sted suggested, and got nods, some reluctant, all around. "Obviously the main thing is to save you, but I doubt these raiders are going to appear over the horizon within the next day or two, and we should save as much as we can from them."
"I can't see us fighting them off," said one of the other men (who seemed to be one of the village leaders) with a defeated air. "We're fisherfolk, not fighters."
"So save everything that you can in the caves," Sted agreed.
"The ones farthest from here?" Alain ventured. "That way the ones nearest wouldn't be crammed so full people wouldn't fit."
"Good thought," Sted seconded. "Now, I suppose there's no reason why you couldn't spare the young women and children with the swiftest feet and keenest sight to keep watch along the coast?"
"With a horn for each—or something to build a signal fire?" added Alain, and got another approving glance from Sted.
"But the chores—" objected one of the men. "The cleaning, the cooking—"
But the ones who were at risk here were nodding vigorously. "No reason why we can't eat common out of the big fish-kettle 'till this is over," pointed out one old man. "Only takes one set of hands for fish-stew, cooking all day." "And if the choice is dirty floors and unmade beds or being carried off, dirty floors we'll have, Matt Runyan," said another woman sharply. "As for the rest—well, we'll barrel up the fish as it's finished smoking and move it into hiding. Let 'em have a few racks of fish, I say. Better fish than our children."
"And when they come, find no one, and burn the place out?" the same man objected.
"They'd do that anyway!" shouted a haggard-looking fellow who Alain realized must be one of the now-bereft fisherfolk from the village that had been destroyed. "What's more important, your things or your people? You can rebuild housen. You tell me how to bring back your wives and kiddies!"
"I'll be sending word of this to Haven anyway," Stedrel pointed out. "As soon as I've got a moment of quiet."
That quieted some of the agitation, as they all recalled that Stedrel was so powerful a Mindspeaker he could send directly to Haven itself, and every receptive mind along the way. Help would not be far off—two or three fortnights at most.
"The King will send troops, and when they get here, you'll be able to go back to life as usual. And we'll be able to scour the coast for the missing." That last as a sop to the men from the destroyed village. They surely knew it was an offer unlikely to bear fruit, but they looked hopeful anyway.
"Soonest begun's soonest done," one of the women said briskly. "We've only got two wagons for the whole village. Let's get our traps moved before sunset!" Within moments, the women, young and old, were heading purposefully towards their family longhouses, followed a little reluctantly by the men.
"Savvy!" Sted called after the girl who had confessed to knowing where most of the water-caves were. She turned back abruptly.
"Sir?" she responded.
"Go to that longhouse over there—" Sted pointed at one where a bevy of women were already moving bundles, barrels, and boxes out briskly to be piled beside the door. "When they're ready to take a load out, guide them to the farthest cave you know of—"
"I'll take her up behind, pillion," Alain offered quickly. "That way we can come back for the next load while the first is still unloading."
"Good. I want you to keep each longhouse's goods in a separate cave, that way when this is over there won't be any quarrels over what belongs to who." Sted smiled encouragingly at her, and the girl returned his smile shyly.
There was some objection to the choice of cave as the wagon-load set off: "We're ready first," grumbled the oldest dame, "Don't see why we should be goin' the farthest."
"But milady, the farther away the cave is, the less likely it will be that it will be discovered," Alain pointed out, thinking quickly. "You're getting the choice spot, not the worst one." The old woman gave him a quick look, but nodded with reluctant satisfaction, and made no further complaints.
He would never have believed it, but the longhouses were stripped of every portable object—and some he wouldn't have considered portable—by twil
ight. The two village mules were ready to drop before it was over, but they were made much of and given an extra ration. The village was substantially deserted now, with only a handful of the very old and the very young remaining behind. In order to get everything moved, the wagons had simply been unloaded at the flat spot nearest to each family's cave before returning for another load. Now all of the able-bodied were lowering their goods down the cliff walls to be stored; they would work all night, if necessary.
As darkness fell, Sted looked around the empty street down the middle of the village. "I'm going to go somewhere quiet and contact Haven," he told Alain. "See what you can do to make yourself useful."
Sted and his Companion drifted off in the twilight. As gloom descended on the street, it occurred to Alain that the most immediately useful thing he could do would be to light the village lamps, so that the returning villagers would have lights beckoning them homeward. There were lamps outside the door of each longhouse, lamps with fat wicks and large reservoirs of oil that by the smell could only come from fish. He got a spill and ventured into the first of the longhouses.
He had never seen anything like it; there was a central hearth with a cone-shaped metal hood over it, and a metal chimney reaching up to the roof. For the rest, it seemed to be one enormous room with cupboards lining all four walls. There were no windows, only slits covered with something that wasn't glass just under the eaves, like clerestory windows, but smaller.
It must be very dark in here during the day.
He knew why there weren't any windows, and why, as much as possible, the Evendim folk spent their time out-of-doors. When winter storms closed in, the coast was hellish; storms swept in over the water with fangs of ice and claws of snow. During the five Winter Moons it was hardly possible to set foot outside these houses, and it would have been folly to give the wind that the fisherfolk called "the Ice-Drake" any way to tear into the shelter of their homes.
But winter was moons away, and the present danger was not from nature but from man. Alain lit the spill at the remains of the fire, and went out to light the lanterns.
When he had done the last of them, he found a couple of old men, limbs knotted with age, slowly stacking wood in a firepit at the center of the village and he ran to help.
From that moment until late that night he worked, as hard as he had ever worked in his life, and despite being a Prince, he was no stranger to physical labor. He carried wood and water, the enormous iron kettle, and all the ingredients for the great pot of fish-stew that would be cooking night and day for as long as this crisis lasted. He took a torch out to the drying racks for an old woman, rolled up empty barrels and brought a keg of salt and a bag of herbs, and helped her stack smoked fish in layers with salt and herbs. There were no fresh fish to spread upon the racks, but he helped her layer the fires for the next day, when the men would go out. With aching muscles and sore feet he put babies and toddlers to bed, persuaded them to stay there, then helped their grandmothers and grandfathers to their beds when old bodies could do no more. Then he waited, getting off his feet at last, with Vedalia beside him, watching the stew to see that it didn't burn. He'd taken Vedalia's tack and packs off him, but had no idea where he should be stabled or where the two Heralds should stay. So he heaped tack and packs beside the fire and used them as props for his back. As full as that kettle was, it would be a long time cooking, and he needn't actually watch it, just stir it from time to time to keep what was on the bottom from sticking and burning. He wished he could have a bath; even his hair felt full of smoke, and his eyes gritty.
Slowly, slowly, the folk of the village began trickling back in, weary, too weary to think past the next footstep. They didn't seem to notice him sitting by the fire; they trudged into their houses to seek what they'd left of their beds, leaving him standing guard beside tomorrow's dinner.
And he could hardly keep his eyes open.
:You sleep,: Vedalia said. :I'll wake you if it needs stirring—or anything comes.:
"No—I'm still on duty," Alain protested.
:Just close your eyes then to rest them,: Vedalia suggested. It seemed a sensible suggestion; they were sore, irritated by all the smoke he'd been standing in. He let his lids fall for just a moment.
When he opened them again, it was because there was a rooster crowing in his ear. He jerked awake and startled it and the two chickens scratching around his feet into flight.
It was dawn, and there was a young girl stirring the pot with a great wooden paddle. Someone had draped a cloak over him, and he had curled up with Vedalia's saddle as a pillow. His packs were nowhere to be seen, but Vedalia dozed hip-shot beside him.
The Companion snorted and stirred as Alain sat up, opening his brilliant blue eyes. :Stedrel was here and took our packs, but he didn't see any reason to wake you. There's a Waystation just outside of the village. If you'll just drape my saddle on me, we'll go wake him.:
They didn't have to; they hadn't gotten past the last longhouse when he and his Companion appeared on the road before them. "You might as well turn back around," Sted called cheerfully. "We have to organize the coast-watch now, and we'll both be a part of it."
Wishing mightily for more sleep, and trying not to feel disgruntled at Sted's announcement, Alain sighed and did as he was told. At least there was food waiting—a communal kitchen set up by all the grannies to dole out cold smoked fish and bread to anyone who stuck out a hand. The men, trusting blindly that Sted would see to the protection of their families and village, took to the boats with their breakfasts in their pockets and more of the same for eating later.
Before a candlemark was out, the village resembled a ghosttown. One set of elderly women minded children and babies—but Sted had cunningly assigned every child too small to run to someone big enough to pick it up and carry it. Several of the adult women were to carry babies—and were put to fashioning slings that let them have one slung on the back, one on the front, and one on each hip. That left the older children and some of the adult women—and a few of the grannies and granthers that were still spry enough to sprint—on coast-watch.
And now came the shock for Alain. This was not the only village at risk—
Which, when the men returned, Sted made very plain.
"We've done what we can for you," he told the villagers, once the men returned with holds full of fish and the catch was distributed on the smoking racks. "Help is coming, and it will come here first, in three days' time. I reached a Herald riding with a troop of the Guard no farther away than that. Now Alain and I have to do the same for the rest of the villages."
He'd chosen his moment well; in the first flush of success, or perhaps because of exhaustion, no one objected.
"I will go north along the coast; Alain will go south and west," Sted announced. "We'll do for them what we've done for you. If you can hold out for three days, all will be well."
Alain had gone quite still with shock. He would be going out alone? He looked at Sted in silent appeal, but the older Herald was already mounting and preparing to ride to the next village. "Herald Stedrel?" he faltered.
The Herald just gave him a sobering look, and he shut his mouth on any objections.
:Let's go,: Vedalia said. :If we push, we can make the next village by sundown.:
They pushed—and found that place in as much of an uproar as the first, and having had a full day to stew over the warnings, people were ready to greet anything that looked like help with full cooperation. Either they were not necessarily expecting Stedrel, or they were so grateful to see the uniform that they were willing to overlook the youthful face. In either case, no one objected to a single aspect of the plan.
The water-caves here were nearer and larger; evacuation of goods and stores took place by torch- and moonlight, and this village had a leader in the form of one indomitable old woman. Once given a plan, she was perfectly prepared to see it carried out. Conscious of the passing of time, Alain decided to move on that very night. He'd always understood tha
t it was possible for a Herald to sleep in the saddle; now he found out the truth of it. It wasn't exactly sleep, but it was no worse than his night beside the kettle. He reached the third village at dawn, finding it in as desperate a state as the previous two.
And in coming closer to hysteria. So much so that he decided to organize the coast-watchers first. And it was a good thing that he did.
For it was no more than a candlemark after the youngsters had set off than wild horn-calls sounded in the middle distance, and all the careful plans fell to pieces.
After the first moment of blank incomprehension, while people, interrupted in mid-task, stared silently at the west, someone screamed.
Then all hell broke loose. No one seemed to know where to go, or what to do, despite Alain's instructions only two candlemarks ago. They dashed in all directions, some to their homes, some to the woods, some to snatch up belongings, and some dropping them. Five people managed to keep their heads: Alain, Vedalia, and three of the village elders.
"Get them to the caves!" Alain shouted over the screaming, the weeping, as people milled in panic around him. "We have to get them to the caves!"
The elders began picking up children, shoving them into random arms, shouting at those who had frozen with fear to rouse them, and shoving them in the right direction. Once little groups were moving towards safety, Vedalia encouraged them by charging at them with lashing hooves and bared teeth, looking utterly demonic.
Alain headed off those going in the opposite direction, screaming at them, even going so far as to swat a couple of those lagging behind with the flat of his blade until they disappeared into the trees in the direction of the caves—
Then he returned to chivvy another group into safety.
He had not a moment to spare to look for the enemy—as they sailed swiftly into the harbor he got nothing more than a glimpse of ships, long, lean, fast-looking to his land-accustomed eyes. He sensed, more than heard or saw, the moment when the raiders came ashore. Vedalia was hot on the heels of another group of stragglers; he went back to chase a few more away from a chest they were trying to haul off.