by Mindy Klasky
But Alana Woodsinger meant to kill him? She meant to give his blood to the Guardians? That made no sense at all!
“We haven’t lost children, m’lord, but I’ve had two newborn lambs taken in the past fortnight!” a shepherd shouted from the back of the room, and there was a low rumble of agreement. Other men cried out, too—four more lambs had been taken. Reade wiggled his fingers—four lambs and two lambs—six had been taken altogether.
Six lambs. That was a lot. Even Reade knew that didn’t happen by accident.
Maybe Duke Coren wasn’t making up stories. Maybe he had just misunderstood everything. The People did not want to give the Guardians the blood of children. They wanted to give the blood of lambs. It was easy to see how the duke could be confused. After all, Mum had called Reade a poor little lamb, the day that Da disappeared fishing. She had said often enough that Reade and Maida were her poor lost lambs, her poor fatherless lambs.
The People would sing their Song of Sacrifice, like they did every year, because they were grateful for the spring. The spring Song included lambs. Maybe Duke Coren thought that the Song of Sacrifice was real! Maybe he thought that the lambs in the song were real children!
Even now, the duke was nodding slowly, as if he had expected to hear about the inlanders’ missing livestock. His lips were thin with a grim smile. “It is as I feared then. The cursed outland raiders have come this far.”
Maida cried out, “My people don’t have any raiders!”
Reade saw the look that Maida cast at him across the room, saw her demand that he stand up for the People. He swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say. It was all so confusing! Duke Coren was saying one thing, and Maida understood another thing. The people in the tavern room would not know whom to believe, and Reade could not begin to figure out how he would make them all understand.
Before Reade could speak, though, Duke Coren tightened the pincers of his fingers even more. This was clearly not the time for Reade to speak, to clarify things for Maida and the men and the fat, red-faced woman.
After all, what did it really matter? Six lambs had been stolen. The inlanders had no reason to lie about that. And Mum had been talking just the other day about how she looked forward to the spring, to making stews with something other than salt fish. Who knew what had happened to those lambs?
In any case, Reade could not doubt the message that Duke Coren was sending through his fingers. It was exactly like when the bigger boys told Reade not to tattle, when they glared at him just before the elders came to see what was happening. The older boys were always threatening the little children. Only the other day, Reade had been forced to lie and say that he had trampled the new plants in the communal field. He took the blame because that bully Winder had threatened him, threatened to twist his arm behind his back and break it. Goody Glenna herself had punished Reade, but even her ear-boxing wasn’t as bad as Winder’s punishment would have been.
Reade understood what Duke Coren’s fingers meant. Even if the People didn’t have raiders, even if they hadn’t stolen the lambs, Reade must stay quiet.
“You see,” Duke Coren was saying to the red-faced woman, “that poor girl denies her people’s raiders because she is terrified by what she has seen. She’s been frightened to the point that she will lie outright. You can imagine how shocking it must have been for her, for both these poor children, to learn that the parents they had trusted, the People they had loved”—the duke lowered his voice, whispering his last words as if he meant for Maida not to hear him—“the People they had loved intended to slit their throats like newborn lambs.”
No! That wasn’t it at all! The inlanders were missing six lambs. Mum had said that she wanted to cook something other than fish. Mum loved lamb. The People might have come to take the inlanders’ meat. But hurt Maida and Reade? Slit their throats?
Reade would have to explain to Duke Coren. Reade would have to let him know that the woodsinger did not really collect children’s blood for the Guardians. She threatened a lot of things, but most of them she never followed through on.
Reade would tell the duke the truth. But he would wait until later, until the people in the tavern were no longer listening. After all, Reade wouldn’t want them to laugh at Duke Coren, to think that the duke had been foolish. Not when he had been so kind to Reade and Maida. Not when he had saved Reade and Maida from Crusher.
Duke Coren continued talking to the people in the tavern. “My men and I longed to carry all the children away, for we feared their fate if the outlanders could not find enough innocent lambs to slaughter. Alas, these were the only two we could save.”
Only two? Now Reade was more confused than ever. He was the Sun-lord, Duke Coren had said, and Maida was the Sun-lady. Had the duke’s men tried to take other children from the seashore? Had they tried to bring other children with them, to the inland? Were there other lords and ladies among the People’s children?
“These were the only two,” Duke Coren repeated and his voice shook. Reade looked up and saw tears in the man’s eyes—tears! Then the duke pulled Reade close, putting his strong arms around the boy’s shoulders. For just a moment, Reade held back, certain that he should wait, that he should explain, that he should make everything clear. Before he could speak, though, he realized that Duke Coren’s embrace felt familiar. It felt safe.
For just an instant, Reade thought that he was back in Da’s arms. Without thinking, he threw his own arms around Duke Coren’s waist and buried his face against the soldier’s hip. The man smelled different than Da—he smelled of leather and horse, not of sea and fish. But all the same, when the duke pulled him close, Reade thought he would burst into tears.
The fat woman’s voice trembled, and she clucked like one of the goodwives back home, like a woman fussing over Reade’s skinned knees after one of his countless accidents. “Sit down, you poor souls! Let me bring you something hot from the kitchen.”
She hesitated only a moment, clearly wondering what to do with the still-sobbing Maida, but Donal stepped forward at a nod from Coren. As the soldier awkwardly gathered up the little girl, Reade saw that his sister was red-faced and exhausted, as if she had run a footrace or climbed the cliff to the Tree a dozen times. Her sobbing faded away as the soldier drew her to a bench, and she collapsed in her crumpled golden finery as if she were ready to fall asleep immediately.
The aproned woman was only gone for a few moments, and she was still shaking her head as the duke and his men tucked into great bowls of lamb stew. The men tossed back ale as if they were at a feast.
Reade did not enjoy the meat nearly as much as he had anticipated. With every bite, he thought of the stories the duke had told. Stories? Or truth? After all, Duke Coren had cried. Reade had never seen a grown man cry before, not even when Sartain Fisherman came to tell Mum that Da had gone.
Were there bad things happening back home, back at the Headland of Slaughter? Was Alana Woodsinger evil? Were Mum and the other People in danger—even more danger than he and Maida? Reade swallowed his stew and tried to believe that everything would be right in the end.
4
The next morning, Reade’s shoulder still hurt where the duke had pinched him. It wasn’t fair. He had only wanted to help, to explain that Duke Coren did not understand the People. Reade rubbed his arm through his golden robe and sulked as he drank from Duke Coren’s cup.
They left the inn just after sunrise. All the villagers gathered to see them on their way, and more than one person muttered about riding west to “root out” the People’s threat. As the village disappeared behind them, Duke Coren looked down at Reade and said, “You were wise not to speak out last night, Sun-lord. It would have been wicked to lie to your people.”
“I wasn’t going to lie!” Reade was grumpy. Mum would have said that he needed to go back to bed, that he needed more sleep until the honey in his dreams had sweetened the day. Reade knew that he didn’t need more sleep. He just needed his shoulder to stop hurting.
“My people weren’t in that smoky room. My people are at the Headland!”
“Some of your people are at Land’s End.” Duke Coren nodded. “But the better part of your people are inland, spread between here and Smithcourt, Sun-lord.”
The duke’s words were scary. How could Reade’s people be inland? How could anyone know him between here and Smithcourt? Reade did not want to think about all those strangers, people like the fat woman and the whiskered men in the tavern. They weren’t fishermen. They didn’t even grow herbs outside their own homes. They were different from the People. Worried about what Duke Coren might say regarding the strange inland people, Reade asked a different question, one that he’d wanted to ask since the duke first spoke to him. “Why do you call me that? Why do you call me Sun-lord?”
“Because that is who you are. That is who I came to find and free—the Sun-lord and the Sun-lady.”
“But I’m just Reade. I’m just one of the People. I don’t know anything about your lords and ladies!”
“As you grow closer to your home, you’ll learn the true stories.”
“My home is behind us! My home is with Mum!” There. That was what Reade had wanted to say all morning, for days, even.
“That was your home of exile, Sun-lord. Your mum was a good woman. She kept you safe until it was time for you to come to your true home. You’ve grown, now, though. You don’t need your mum anymore. You’re a big boy, and I’ve come to take you away from your home of exile, to Smithcourt. To your home of truth.”
Reade’s voice was very small. “Home of truth?”
“Aye, Sun-lord.”
“Then I’ll never see Mum again?”
“You’ll see many things, Sun-lord. Many, many things.”
“But I want to see Mum!”
“Maybe you will, Sun-lord. Maybe you’ll see her after we arrive in Smithcourt, after you do your work in the Service.”
“The Service? What’s that?”
“That’s another story, for another day. Sit back now, Sun-lord. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”
Reade had been fighting the darkness that spread inside him, the fuzzy feeling that always came over his body after he drank from the duke’s golden cup. His arms and legs were heavy. He didn’t really care what the Service was. It didn’t matter that he had to wait to see Mum. He didn’t mind that he might be away from the Headland for a long, long time.
He even forgot about the confusing lies and truths and half-truths. He forgot that he meant to explain things to Duke Coren, to tell the lord about the mistakes he had told the people back in the tavern. With the sweet water inside him, Reade stopped caring about lambs and the Song of Sacrifice. Instead, he leaned back against Duke Coren’s chilled armor, shifting a little to ease his bruised shoulder.
The duke’s gauntleted hands gripped tighter on the horse’s reins, and Reade grew sleepy as Duke Coren’s arms closed around him. He let his head slump against the nobleman’s chest. They rode on for league after league, leading the troop of loyal men over the hills.
That night, they stayed at another inn. Duke Coren asked about lambs again, and told the villagers about the People needing blood. This time, Maida was held tight at Donal’s side so that she couldn’t run to any of the people in the common room. Donal’s hand looked heavy on her shoulder, and Reade suspected that Maida was being pinched as he had been the night before. Even so, she glared at Reade across the smoky room, daring him to speak up as she had at the King’s Horse.
Reade remembered that he shouldn’t lie, shouldn’t tell a story with half-truths. He remembered that the men drinking in the tavern were somehow his people, and he owed them true stories.
But Reade also knew that he didn’t want Maida to be angry with him, and he didn’t want her to think he was a coward. After all, she was his twin. She was his only sister, as Mum always reminded him, the only sister he was ever going to have.
And so, Reade interrupted Duke Coren to say that the nobleman was wrong. He said that Alana Woodsinger had tried to be nice to Reade and Maida. He even pointed out that the woodsinger had honored him, that she had given him his furze branch when he was the huer. She could never have planned to kill him, not after she had let him cry hevva.
Duke Coren tightened his fingers into a fist as Reade spoke. His jaw got hard, like he was going to spit something onto the tavern floor. All of a sudden, Reade remembered how the duke had looked back on the Headland, how he had held a knife and glared at Reade when he came riding through the harvest festival. Reade remembered how Duke Coren had upset the first harvest, on top of his roan stallion, leading his dogs. Dogs like Crusher.
Reade’s heart pounded, and his face flushed. He didn’t want Duke Coren angry with him. He didn’t want to be in trouble. He tried to be good, really he did! Sometimes he just forgot! Sometimes Maida made him forget!
After a moment, Duke Coren got a sad look in his eyes, just like he had at the King’s Horse. He shook his head and said that Reade was only a child. A child could not truly understand anything about the outlanders. Reade was really just a very little boy.
And then, before Reade had a chance to say anything more, before he even got to finish his supper, Duke Coren had him carried upstairs, to the sleeping room. For good measure, he sent Maida upstairs as well. The soldier who guarded them did not let them speak to each other.
Reade was still awake when Donal came in to make his last report of the night. Most of the soldiers were sleeping in a long hall beneath the eaves of the roadhouse, but the duke and the children shared a small room. Maida had already fallen asleep, and she was breathing heavily through her mouth. Reade lay beside her, his eyes closed, but his ears open.
“Your Grace, may I speak freely?”
“Of course, man.” Duke Coren’s voice was cold, like Mum’s when Reade made excuses. Reade did not think he would have had the courage to go on, the way that Donal did.
“You let the boy say too much. Song of Sacrifice? Lamb stew? These villagers won’t know what to make of the boy’s tale. If an outlander walked into the common room tonight, he’d be welcomed with a full tankard.”
“You exaggerate, Donal. These backwoods fools might not treat the outlanders as child-killers, but they’ll still rise up against thieves. Don’t forget that they live by their flocks. Lost lambs are lost gold.”
“You need to unite your people, Your Grace. You need to show that you can keep them safe, even against bloodthirsty ravagers who would murder their own children, murder stolen children for a tree!”
“I know what I need, man.” Coren’s voice sounded like his jaw was hard again. Reade lay as still as he could, terrified that either man would notice he was still awake.
Donal continued, as if he didn’t hear that the duke was angry. “That boy is going to cause problems—mark my words. He should respect his elders, not contradict them. The girl was bad enough, at the first tavern, but at least those countrymen just thought she was hysterical. That boy is going to cause us a lot more trouble, if you let him go on and on.”
“The boy is no fool. He knew I was displeased, and he went to bed hungry. He’ll hold his tongue now.” The duke’s voice softened a bit, and Reade could tell that he was smiling. “Don’t worry, Donal. They’ll both be fine. We’ll train them properly, once we’re back at Smithcourt. They’ll be ready to play the Sun-lord and Sun-lady in time for the Service.”
“The Service is not my concern, Your Grace. It’s the journey to Smithcourt that worries me. You’re supposed to be raising the countryside on this trip. You’re supposed to be gathering support.”
“We haven’t lost that support, Donal. People saw the Sun-lord in that room tonight.”
“They saw a child in golden robes, a child who
contradicted you.”
“Are we going to have that argument again, about the robes?” The smile was gone from Duke Coren’s words.
Donal answered quickly. “No, Your Grace. I understand why you want them in their finery. You want your duchy to remember the Sun-lord and the Sun-lady, and for the legend to spread, even after you’ve gained Smithcourt. It’s just that if they say the wrong things when they’re wearing those golden robes, we could have an entire village rise up against us. Your claim to the throne will hardly be advanced if you have to burn one of your own villages.”
“You worry too much, Donal. The boy will hold his tongue. If he doesn’t, we’ll teach him a sharper lesson than an empty belly.” Duke Coren sighed. “This is the hardest time for us, Donal. This is when we need to take the gravest risks. You and I both know that my claim to the Iron Throne will die altogether, if I can’t produce the Sun-lord and the Sun-lady in Smith court, alive and ready for the Service.”
Donal was silent for so long that Reade thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he finally said, “I’m just saying that you should watch him, Your Grace. Watch him closely.”
“I do, Donal. With every step we take closer to Smithcourt, I do just that.”
Donal bowed then and left the tiny room. It took Reade a long time to fall asleep, even with the sound of Maida breathing on his right, and Duke Coren snoring in the great bed above.
The next morning, Reade thought about the men’s argument. He decided he would let Duke Coren say whatever he wanted, even if he was wrong about the lambs and the Song of Sacrifice. That way, Duke Coren wouldn’t be angry with him. He wouldn’t be angry, and Reade would get to eat his supper. He’d get to share a bench with the nobleman, sitting in the tavern common room like a big boy.
After all, what did it really matter if Duke Coren told some stories about the People? Lambs were sacrificed in the Song of Sacrifice. Was that so different from pouring lambs’ blood on the Tree? And no one could really believe that the People would pour a child’s blood on the Tree.