Berrol closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped. Here it was, the moment he had long feared. “You mean the witchfire.”
“Witchfire?” The duke asked innocently. “I saw no witchfire, and I watched the entire battle. Bishop Ellishelle, did you see any witchfire?”
The bishop shook his head sagely. “Witchfire would be against the law.” Then he pursed his lips and looked a long moment at Berrol. “What I saw was flaming oil being cast from a large siege engine of some kind. I am no expert in such matters, but certainly there is nothing uncanny or unlawful about what I saw.”
“I agree.” Said the duke. “Nothing uncanny at all. What we wanted to know was where you got it, and how can we get more of it?”
“I purchased it from an apothecary on Torth Island.” Berrol replied, surprised at the tack the conversation was taking. Here he’d been ready to be put to the question, but these men seemed uninterested in that. Unfortunately, the apothecary was in East Torth, not the Mortentian side, and he had no good explanation for having been there at all.
“It would help us a lot here.” The duke replied. “I’m afraid you’ve sailed into a bit of a trap. You can get into the port, but you may not be able to get back out.”
“It seemed easy enough, and those ships not much to stop me.” Berrol answered.
“Yes, captain.” Tharin said. “But that is how they’ve planned it. They are letting ships come into Northcraven, for they know it adds to the number of mouths we’ve to feed here. It’s getting out that’s difficult. When you came in you passed by the Harborville Isle, do you recall?”
“The island covered in pine trees on the west side of the main channel?”
“Yes. The Auligs keep a fleet of no less than fifty of their large war canoes on the west side of that island, hidden in a large cove that is impossible to see from upriver because of the trees. They watch the harbor. If they see a ship coming in, they allow it to pass, or at most offer it token resistance. If they see a ship of ours leaving, they run the canoes into the channel and prevent it with flaming arrows. No less than six ships have tried it, and all have either been sunk or forced back.”
“But what of the three ships we saw who were turned back at the harbor? They said they turned back when the chain would not be lowered. Why didn’t the Auligs stop them?”
“They turned about too quickly, I think. They never came all the way into Northcraven, so the Auligs did not have time to send out their canoes. The ships that have been sunk were all coming from the city itself. Those are the ones that have been intercepted.”
“You mean I’m trapped here?” Berrol’s voice was shocked, thinking of his crew being forced to winter in besieged Northcraven.
“I think so. Unless you have enough of your … your flaming oil … to sink fifty of their war canoes.” Berrol knew he did not. He had no more than thirty of the pots of witchfire left.
“Or unless someone breaks the siege, Lio willing.” The bishop added.
Chapter 58: Jecha in the Whitewood, Walcox, points north
Two boxy wagons set high above the tall wheels of their suspensions made their patient way along the king’s road through the Whitewood Forest, the same road that the mercenary bands from the Silver Run muster had travelled only a month earlier. The wagons were garishly painted things, the lead wagon bright red and the second one an eye-jarring yellow. A team of six heavy draft horses pulled the lead wagon, while four pulled the second. Behind the wagon trailed five lighter ponies on lead lines, saddled and always ready to ride, for the Entreddi were a careful people. Three decrepit and shifty mongrel dogs scouted ahead, and with them was Reallto Verone on his bay pony, his eyes ever watchful.
It was a small family, Jecha mused, sitting in her place on the seat of the lead wagon. Beside her Fat Farthya held the reins, the perpetually gloomy storyteller having surprisingly volunteered to join her once she’d expressed her desire to leave the family Verone. Mama Perpeta and her two young boys rode inside of her wagon to give the appearance of a normal Entreddi family.
The Kaleeth twins Yeg and Derry drove the second wagon, a goods wagon with half a hundred fine porcelain dolls in boxes within, and half a hundred concealed weapons and needful things hidden under the boxes in secret places.
Signs of the passage of a large military company were everywhere on the road, from hastily dug and half-filled latrines to discarded and broken equipment and many blackened and cold campfires. Everywhere they encountered refugees, starving beggars for the most part, although a few dangerous looking men approached them as well, only leaving when Yeg brandished his scimitar or Derry nocked arrow to his bow.
Midway along the forest road they camped for two days in an out of the way place reached by a narrow road, but those they had hoped to meet did not appear. Something had driven them from the forest, and Jecha wondered at this.
Their food would not last forever, so they returned to the road and carried on northward. Occasionally they came across the dead. Most were refugees who simply starved to death on the Whitewood Forest road, for it was long, and there was no food. Some had been killed by others, murdered for the things they possessed or perhaps simply murdered in the hopes that they possessed something. Jecha wondered why they hadn’t seen any dead in the southernmost reaches of the forest until they came across a campfire and Yeg drew her attention to what had been cooking on a large stake over it. It was a logical progression, from desperation to starvation to cannibalism, Jecha supposed, but that didn’t make it any easier to look at the half-roasted body of a woman from the waist down. Shadowy forms skulked in the cavernous woods around that place, and the Entreddi did not linger.
A horrifying smell of decay marked the last part of their journey, for they were come to the place where much of the battle of Walcox had been fought, and many dead lay still unburied in the forest, the heat of Dire causing them to rot swiftly and noisomely. Jecha sat and knitted a scarf as the wagon rolled on, and Fat Farya had a scarf over his nose already, despite the heat.
They broke from the forest all at once, the line of the trees running sharply east and west, and so came to the town of Walcox. The town was mostly destroyed, with only a few brave new buildings going up near its center, far from the newly repaired town walls. The town’s tower was still blackened by fire. The sun was shining and it was a fine day, despite the gloomy presence of the ruined town. Men in rust red or ugly purple uniforms were walking here and there, and every man looked busy at something or another.
They stopped the wagons a hundred paces from the nearest structure, a wooden shack that seemed to be the center of activity for a number of stonemasons who were building what looked like a small castle. Jecha and the twins approached the nearest man, a fat and balding man drenched in sweat, wearing a leather tunic, hose and boots.
“Can I help you?” He asked, looking the three over in their obvious gypsy garb. “You’re not likely to find any trade around here, folks. What the Auligs ain’t took the Privy Lord done requisitioned.”
“Nothing to steal, neither.” A smirking man in a broad straw hat added.
“We’ve come to speak to your commander.” Jecha said, ignoring the insult. Derry and Yeg likewise ignored the comment, their discipline allowing them to ignore most such things.
“Well, I don’t have no commander.” The sweaty man replied. “I reckon I’m my own commander when it comes to that. I reckon you mean Lord Privy.”
“It’s Lord Aelfric.” Said another worker, this man younger and fitter looking than either of the others. “You will find him in the Red Tiger tent, Madam Entreddi. He’s there most all the time. Over by the south wall of the city.”
“Nothing to steal over there, either.” Said straw hat.
Aelfric was sitting at his desk, and two men sat in chairs across from him. One was Jander Keen, the fyrdman for the twelfth spears, and the other was Barkim O’Dunwater, one of his men. Jander was speaking.
“He’s a poof, Lord Privy. He done admitted as muc
h to one of the other men. When I asked him about it this morning, he didn’t admit but he didn’t deny, neither.” Barkim looked away uncomfortably. The Bishop of Dunwater was looking on disapprovingly.
Aelfric turned and looked at the Bishop. “Something to say, Bishop Weymort?”
“The law is clear. If this man is indeed a homosexual, he is to be flogged and removed from the township.”
Barkim started to speak, but Aelfric raised his hand, stopping him before he could. “You look familiar, Barkim. How long have you been with the Red Tigers?”
“Since Silver Run, milord.” The man replied. Aelfric noticed he had a slight lisp that reminded him of no one so much as Celdemer the Godsknight. Little wonder they’d singled him out. The accusation was based on his supposed admission and lack of denial when confronted, and little else.
“And you were in the Whitewood?”
“Yes sir.” Aelfric turned to Jander Keen, the man’s fyrdman and his accuser.
“Did he stand?”
“What do you mean, Lord Privy? I mean, Lord Aelfric.”
“When the hedgehogs moved through the Whitewood, my reports tell me that ten men didn’t stand, and dropped out of their shield walls. Five of them caused no harm, because they were merely rushing forward into enemies that had already broken, three of them killed only themselves because the men beside them filled the gaps, and the other two broke ranks together. When those two broke ranks, they killed themselves and they killed the six men behind them. That was the seventh fyrde, the only one we lost completely. So what I am asking is this. Did this man stand?”
“I stood, milord.” Barkim’s chin was up and his face was resolute, with just a spark of pride. Keen nodded his agreement reluctantly.
“Aye, he stood. We all stood.”
“That’s it, then. You are both dismissed. Go back to what you were doing and don’t bring this to me again.”
“Ahem. Lord Aelfric, what do you intend to do about the allegation that the man is a homosexual?”
Aelfric turned to the bishop. “There’s only one test here, and he passed it in the Whitewood. I don’t care if he likes to bugger goats on his own time, in the Red Tigers he’s a spearman, and when he was in the shield wall he didn’t break. That’s his job.”
“As the representative of the church, I would most strenuously disagree.”
“Does this look like a church?” Aelfric waved a hand around the inside of the tent, which was starting to stifle in the Dire heat. “Last time I looked, which was yesterday, the town of Walcox didn’t even have a church, and the nearest one that hasn’t been burned to the ground is half a day’s march from here. Next time spearman Barkim goes to church you can hold an ecclesiastical court for him there. In the meantime I have walls to put up, a moat to dig, a battle to plan and an order from the king I can’t quite understand the meaning of. Until I can get on top of the big jobs, chasing poofs is going to have to wait.”
“What about the morale of the men he’s with?”
“He stood, Bishop. When the men beside him needed him to stand, he stood. That’s the end of it. If it’s not the end of it, I will deal with it.”
The two men stared at each other, the one determined and the other outraged. They were interrupted when Haim opened the tent flap and peered in. “You’re not going to believe this, Aelfric.”
He opened the tent door all the way, and in walked Jecha the Entreddi, along with two young men who looked like twins. He wondered idly what Barkim would make of them, for they were both very pretty.
“Madame Jecha?” He looked into her good eye. The milky one was hard to stomach. “What in seven hells are you doing here?”
“I see you’ve picked up the bad habit of swearing, Aelfric.” She scolded blithely, then she looked at him for a long moment. “Not the only thing you’ve picked up. You’ve grown harder since I saw you last.”
“I suppose.” Aelfric replied. Then he turned to the bishop. “If you will excuse us, Your Grace.” The bishop looked at the newcomers and sniffed.
“First the homosexuals, now the godless.” He muttered as he left. Which was fine, so long as he left.
“What are you doing here?” He asked her again.
“I understand you are the commander here. I need your permission to travel to Redwater Town?” She looked at him keenly. Haim interjected.
“Redwater Town? The Aulig are out in force near there. It won’t be safe, Jecha.”
“Why do you need to go to Redwater, Jecha? Surely there’s no trade there you can’t do elsewhere.” Aelfric’s tone was courteous, and he tried to keep it professional.
“Is it not enough that I say I must go?” She challenged him.
He looked at her for a long moment, remembering the circumstances under which he’d seen her last. Finally, he nodded. “It’s enough.”
Haim was having none of it. “The Auligs, Aelfric! I wouldn’t send five fyrdes together to Redwater, and we don’t have men to throw away in an escort.”
“I don’t need an escort, Haim.” She said calmly. “It will be just me and the twins here.”
“Madness.” Haim replied. “You won’t last ten leagues.”
“You can have my permission, Jecha. I will write you out a pass. I don’t know that my withholding it would prevent you going anyway. But I agree with Haim. If the Auligs don’t kill you, there are a lot of renegades and bandits about, taking advantage of the war. You might get robbed or killed.”
“I will be fine, Aelfric, although I appreciate your concern. I don’t want you to be worried about me.”
“You might talk to Tuchek … Eskeriel is what they call him here. Maybe he can help you.”
“It is not my time to talk to him yet.” Jecha replied in her usual enigmatic way. “But please give him my regards when you see him. I would stay to pass the time with you boys, but I must go now if I am to make it to our next camp by nightfall.”
“Don’t build a fire, Jecha. If they see a campfire they will most definitely kill all three of you.” Jecha nodded to let him know she had heard his advice, but Aelfric knew she would probably build a fire anyway, and if an Aulig could kill her, Aelfric hadn’t met him yet. She was as tough as an old boot. After she left Haim turned to him angrily.
“She’s crazy, Aelfric. You could have stopped her.”
“My father said you cannot change the minds of dreamers, Gypsies and fools, Haim. How is the digging going on the new moat?”
They left Fat Farthya and Mama Perpeta and the boys, and saddled up the four horses. One for each of them, and one for supplies and in case they lost one. The Kaleeths rode in front, side by side, and Jecha rode between and behind them. The sentries on the Redwater Road challenged them, but the written pass from Aelfric was all they needed to leave town.
Through the day they rode quickly west, until the Redwater River appeared ahead of them. They made camp along its banks that night. The next morning they began traveling north, with the river constantly coming in and out of sight beside them, sometimes hidden by brush and trees, and sometimes just a few paces to the left of the road. Only rarely could they see the tall trees on the far bank, for late summer mist hovered over the river most of the day. The farmsteads and homes to their right had been largely ignored by the Auligs, but they were deserted, the families to whom they belonged having gathered up all of their possessions on the strongly worded advice of the Privy Lord’s men and fled south or east. They saw the occasional campfire in the distance, and horsemen once or twice on the road, men who grabbed rein at the sight of them and fled without speaking.
“They’ve yielded all of this to the Cthochi.” Yeg said in disapproval.
“The land isn’t going anywhere, and you can always rebuild a house.” Jecha replied. “Better to flee and return than to stand and get burned out. I know Lord Aelfric, or the Privy Lord as they call him, and if anyone can return this land to them, he will.”
“He was just sitting there.” Derry replied.
> “He’s not just sitting, he’s building. I’ve been through Walcox many times, for it was on the Family Haila path. Already he has made it a stronger place than it was, and he was putting in the foundation for a strong fort with a moat on the creek where it should have been before.”
“Why was it not strong before? It seems an important place.” Derry asked.
“It was an important place.” Jecha replied. “It was the seat of one of the most powerful of the Hundred Kingdoms, and it was called Valkaz. Did you see the large hill behind the town with the burned windmill on it? That mill was built on the ruins of one of the great keeps of the north. The Tolrissans tore it down so that the kings of Valkaz would never try to come back to challenge them.”
“I bet they regret tearing it down now.” Yeg commented.
“They did it to all of the great castles in the north, and almost all of the ones south of the Whitewood, too. There were once castles even in the Whitewood itself, and now only a few stones remain of them. They did not mean to leave any place from which the people of the Hundred Kingdoms could defy their rule.”
“Almost all?” Yeg asked.
“I know of one they could never break, in a place called the Green Hills. There were many in what is now western Zoric that were never torn down, merely abandoned when the plague years came. They will need all such strong places in the days to come, I fear.”
When the light began fading from the sky, Jecha chose a campsite for them, close by the river in a place that was sheltered from the wind and the night by a dense belt of tall reeds and grasses. They built a fire and the smoke kept the small biting insects from plaguing them overmuch. Jecha sat by the fire, but did not stare into it, for she did not want to lose her night vision. When the sun had long set and the half moon was nearing its zenith, she looked into the wall of reeds that surrounded the campsite. “Come on out here.” She said in clear and fluent Cthochi. “Don’t think I need two eyes to see you.”
Yeg and Darry came awake instantly, sitting up at her words. Two men flowed from the shadows, and they were only distinguishable as men once they were close to the fire, for they had coated themselves with mud and straw. They were nearly invisible, even from close by. “I am Jecha the Entreddi.” She offered. “I wish to go and trade with Ghaill Earthspeaker.”
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 68