He still believed she would have, but it would do no one any good to let Firekeeper know how easily she could terrify even those closest to her. Such a way of sorting out power might work in wolf society, but it would not work among humans.
At least, Derian thought a trace sardonically, not among humans who possess less power than do kings and queens.
"Why we not go?" Firekeeper argued. "Is much hours in the day yet, much light in the sky."
"There may well be," Derian agreed, "but there won't be after we've packed all our gear, topped off our supplies, and all the rest. We'd barely make it a few feet down the turnpike."
"Good! Even a small way is better than no," Firekeeper said. "I hate this place."
"You shouldn't," Derian countered. "It's probably the only place in New Kelvin where Blind Seer is perfectly safe."
Derian left Firekeeper to chew over that, and went to dicker with the stable manager for oats. It was familiar work and he was comforted by the odors of hay, manure, and horse sweat.
Derian needed comforting. Not only was Firekeeper agitating to leave, Edlin was in a funk over the planned destruction of the fighting dogs. He would have tried to buy them and take them with him if Firekeeper had not flatly promised to kill them herself. Edlin might be infatuated with his adopted sister, but he wasn't fool enough not to believe the sincerity of her threat.
Inside the Mushroom Stanza, Derian knew there would be the chaos associated with hurried packing. Doubtless Citrine would be whining, for it had been decided that lest she give the secrets away she spend much of the last several days "in bed" with a summer ague. At first the girl had enjoyed being pampered, but now that the danger was assumed to be ended she wanted to be up and about.
Thank the ancestors for Wendee! Derian thought. None of us would have the least idea how to deal with a cranky child.
After a long and leisurely haggle with the stable manager, Derian went back to the inn. Edlin and Doc were seated at a corner table in the public room near the door. Even as they waved Derian over, Elise descended from the stairway and came to join them.
"Wendee is with Citrine," she reported. "Jalarios is lying low. Any idea where Firekeeper is?"
"Probably somewhere with Blind Seer," Derian said. "She's miffed that we aren't moving on already."
"Well, if she hadn't been so impulsive," Elise said with a supreme lack of sympathy, "we wouldn't have been delayed at all."
A serving maid came over with tankards of ale for Edlin and Doc. Elise ordered some of the local wine. Derian vacillated, then went with the ale.
"I seem to recall that Dragon's Breath favors wine over ale," he said by way of explanation.
"It does indeed," a new voice commented, "though beer and ale can be found if one knows where to shop. Shall I give you an address of a reputable brewer?"
Derian looked over his shoulder to find that the mysterious judge from earlier that day had just entered the public room. He rose and gestured the man toward a seat. The judge accepted readily enough.
"Certainly we'd enjoy knowing about a reputable brewer," Derian said, "but we're already in your debt. Your arrival was fortuitous to say the least."
The man smiled.
"I am Xarxius," he said, "an official involved with trade. When I heard that there were foreigners staying at the Mushroom Stanza and that they had come into difficulty with the local law, I decided to interrupt my journey to Zodara. As you say, my arrival was fortuitous for us all."
Derian decided to leave that last hanging, wondering if Xarxius was referring to Firekeeper's potential for violence or hinting that he hoped for some trade concessions.
"Whatever," he said, "the least we can do is buy you a drink."
Xarxius ordered a goblet of the same wine Elise was drinking, and for a time the conversation centered on the local grape harvest and the promising earlier vintages that were just now being sampled.
"Are you planning to trade in wine?" Xarxius asked. "I perceive that Lady Archer has good taste and that Sir Jared is quite knowledgeable in such matters."
"Perhaps," Elise replied evasively, "in the future. Our immediate interest is in the more exotic goods for which New Kelvin is famous."
"The bane and the blessing of our trade," Xarxius said with a laugh. "Everyone wants silk, rare herbs, and colored glass. A few are interested in our art and cosmetics. Fewer, however, look to our other riches. I was hoping that you young people would have a wider view."
Elise raised her brows.
"Edlin and I are only agents for our parents' interests," she informed him. "However, if you can convince us to look into some of these other assets, perhaps we can influence the ones with the money."
Derian was tickled to see this evidence of practical manipulation on Elise's part. He wondered if it was an old skill or one she had acquired more recently.
Xarxius took Elise's words as a challenge and began what was obviously a practiced spiel. Derian listened attentively, but given his role as an advisor rather than a actual purchaser he restricted his contributions to questions about transportation and how it might add to cost.
Eventually, Xarxius thanked them for the pleasure of their time and for the wine. He invited them to look him up in Dragon's Breath, saying that the Hawk Haven ambassador could direct them to his offices. He departed, leaving Derian with a comfortable, relaxed feeling that was not entirely due to the ale he had consumed.
"Nice fellow," he said. Then he caught the guarded expression on Elise's face, so unlike her enthusiasm of a moment before.
"Maybe," she said. Then she explained what Peace had told her at the end of the trial.
"Therefore, I'm not surprised," Elise went on, "that Xarxius stopped to talk. What I wonder at is that he didn't let us know exactly who he is. After all, his importance couldn't help but influence our decisions, especially when we were talking possible price concessions and such."
"Xarxius told us his name, what?" said Edlin, obviously trying to calm his own uneasiness. "I mean, King Tedric doesn't need to say 'I'm the king, don't you know.' Maybe this Xarxius thought we did know who he is."
"Maybe," Elise said. "Maybe. Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to asking Peace a few questions."
HART BROUGHT THE WORD to New Bardenville, running through the gates as if all the wild wolves of the wild wood were at his soft-booted heels.
Ewen Brooks, standing guard at that gate, swung open the heavy iron-bound wooden structure to let the youth through, slamming the gate shut and swinging home the heavy wooden bolt in one practiced motion. Only then did Ewen look out through one of the many spy holes in the wall, expecting to see nothing.
They never saw anything of their enemies. This was one of the terrifying things about the not quite siege under which they had been living since Bear Moon was a slim sliver against the night.
The trouble had started soon afterùthough Ewen didn't like to think on itùthat fellow Derian Carter and his Lady Blysse had left for back east.
Ewen didn't like to think about the possible connection between the two events, because he was one of those men who throve on being in control of his environment. It was bad enough that his settlement was under attack. It was worse that they were slowly losing the war to those unseen forces. Worse yet to believe that someoneùLady Blysse, perhapsùhad such control over what Ewen thought of as his land that she could turn it against him.
So Ewen looked out through the spy hole, expecting to see nothing, and nearly shouted aloud at what he did see. He looked again for good measure, all the while listening to what Hart was saying.
"I was checkin' my snares, Ewen," Hart babbled, transformed into a scared green boy from the solid young man he'd been when he left the settlement that morning. "I was checkin' them just like always, and what do I see but a file of soldiers, soldiers on horses with bows and swords, armor and everything!"
Ewen turned. He had himself under control now. Control was important. Control was everything. Without control he migh
t think. He might remember.
"I have two good eyes, Hart," Ewen said coolly. "Tell me something I can't see. Did these men come through the gap?"
Hart nodded, then he whitened. Ewen had forbidden any of his people to go near the gap. Too easy to slip away to the safer civilized lands. So tempting, too, with the gap only a day's travel away.
"The squirrel I was hunting darted that way," Hart said lamely, "and then it scared up a bunch of ducks. I thought to myself…"
Ewen made an impatient silencing gesture. The file of men on horseback was close enough now that he could make out the device on the shield of the man in the lead.
Yellow field with a black border that was squared off and indented, like castle battlements. In the middle of the yellow field there was a hand, palm outward, also painted in black.
Before he'd become Ewen Brooks, Ewen had been a miller, a country miller at that. He'd been to Eagle's Nest once and his family holdings were in Kite lands. Still, he wasn't ignorant. After a moment, he placed the device. Shield.
That meant that the man bearing that device was in service of House Gyrfalcon. It wasn't likely the duke himself, but judging from the cost of the man's gear he was probably a ranking member of the House.
All this went through Ewen's mind in the time it took for him to decide not to wallop Hart across the side of his face for disobeying orders. If trouble was comingùand that line of armed soldiers sure looked like troubleùthen Ewen Brooks needed all the members of the Bardenville settlement on his side.
It'd be easier to get them to cooperate with whatever trouble those soldiers represented if Dawn were still here. Dawn was good at getting people to work together. But Dawn wasn't here. Wouldn't ever be here again. Another way of looking at it, though Ewen didn't like that way of thinking at all, was that Dawn was here, for now and for ever.
In a misery of loss, Ewen thrust away from him that thought and the attendant image of the grave marker in the little yard, searching for something that would make him strong to balance what threatened to melt him into tears.
Hadn't he founded this settlement? Hadn't the men and women followed him across the Iron Mountains and built this village from nothing? That was truth, a truth that no one could take from him, not even armed soldiers on horseback.
Ewen concentrated on his achievements, putting from him the gradual dissolution of that unity of purpose since the siege had begun. Then indeed had Dawn's gentler way of leading become important, and then indeed had Ewen begun to resent his wife's influence.
How he regretted that resentment now. If he hadn't resented her, she might still be alive.
The sound of the approaching troop brought Ewen from his reverie. Abruptly, Ewen realized that he and Hart were no longer alone at the gate. The settlers were emerging from the houses and workshops, crossing from the small gardens they so carefully tended within the palisade.
Nearly all the residents of New Bardenville now stayed inside those sturdy log walls. Only a few brave youths like Hart ventured abroad by daylight to see what they could garner from hunting and fishing.
Going outside the palisade had become too chancy. Bad things had a way of happening if you went very far in any direction at all but east. Branches fell from the green tangle above. Strange howls and yelps echoed and reverberated in the thick green tangle.
Just a few days ago, Garrik the carpenter had gone abroad seeking some green wood he needed to bend into shape before letting it season. Once he was out of sight of the settlement a flock of crows had descended on him, driving him hither and yon until he abandoned his search and ran back through the palisade gates.
The crows had been as thick as swarming bees and Ewen could have sworn the crowsùwho carefully stayed just out of bow shotùlaughed at the humans before wheeling back into the forest.
Such attacks had been worse earlier. Several of those who had gone out hunting and trapping had never returned. Based on the few mangled bodies that had been found, all were presumed dead.
Those losses had hit the community hard, but even worse from the standpoint of long-term survival had been the morning the settlers had awakened to find that overnight the lovingly plowed fields outside the walls had been stripped of their young greenery. Deer and elk prints dimpled the soft earth in such numbers that entire herds must have descended to feast.
However, when the bravest hunters ventured out that very day, hoping to make up the community's losses in meat and hides, they saw not so much as a fleeing hind or hart. Nor had they since. Squirrels and rabbits didn't go very far when split among so many. With supplies of feed running thin and no grazing available, the settlers had been forced to slaughter some of the livestockùincluding those two new mules Ewen had been so happy to acquire just a short time before.
Even the fish traps set in the nearby streams were repeatedly found broken and emptied. Raccoons were the likely culprits, but some whispered that the tiny foot- and handprints were those of ghost babiesùthe returned spirits of the dead children of the first Bardenville, unhappy to have their birthplace taken over by others.
Dawn Brooks had been good at stopping such talk, pointing out that the newcomers had adopted the first settlers as ancestors, that their ghosts were more likely to defend the settlers than to bring harm. Even her reasonableness hadn't mattered, though, when weird hoots and yowls jolted the settlers from their already restless sleep.
But Ewen didn't want to think about Dawn and what she might have achieved. Without waiting to take opinions from the loosely gathered settlers, Ewen went out to meet the soldiers.
"Be ready to open the gate for me," he said to Hart as he reached for the latch, "but keep it closed until then."
The youth, eager to make amends for his not quite confessed infraction, nodded. Ewen thought he could trust Hart even to hold the gate against those who might have different ideas.
He strode out, holding his head high. Immediately, he noticed the guarded look the man riding in the lead gave him. What was his problem? Didn't he like having to deal with someone not of noble birth?
"Welcome to New Bardenville," Ewen declaimed, as if this mob of armed soldiers were no different from any of the other visitors the settlers had entertained thus far.
They were different, of course. Except for Derian Carter and Firekeeper, all the others had been coming to join the settlement or had been bringing welcome supplies. Then his greeting had truly been a welcome. Today he was aware of a certain ring of defiance to it.
Indeed, he realized that on some level he felt much as he had when his father had stumbled on the fort he and his buddies had built at the edge of some scrubland upstream from the mill. Then as now, what he had thought of as so grand suddenly looked rather shabby and makeshift.
"I'm Ewen Brooks," he went on. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
The leader of the riders straightened slightly in his saddle.
"I am Lord Polr Shield. I have come here from the king."
"King Tedric?"
Ewen kept his expression as innocent as possible.
"Of course!" Lord Polr didn't look at all pleased. "Who else?"
"My companions and I have been out of touch with Hawk Haven for some time now. It was possible that old King Tedric no longer sat his throne. When we departed the king was elderly and reported ill."
Actually, Ewen was fairly certain that the king had not gone to explain himself to his ancestors. Two groups of settlers had come to join New Bardenville since Derian Carter's departure and both had reported the royal situation unchanged. What Ewen had intended was to move Lord Polr away from whatever prepared speech he had readyùand to emphasize that the settlement had been in place for some time.
Lord Polr regained his poise with regrettable ease.
"I am happy to report that King Tedric is alive and well. My officers and I received our orders from him personally."
Ewen stood and stared rather blankly, doing his best impression of a simple yokel. He wasn't going to
help Lord Polr along by asking "And just what were those orders?" or anything like that, though he was itching to know.
During the longish pause that ensued, Ewen made some estimates as to the disposition of Lord Polr's command. Only ten soldiers. That meant his group outnumbered them three or four to one. Of course, that was only if you counted the children and the malcontents.
Lord Polr's group was well armed, too. Every soldier wore a sword and most also carried bows. They were lightly armored in leather with metal reinforcements, good armor for the summer weather, when heavier mail might lead to problems with the heat.
The thing that really impressed Ewen was that the upper right-hand corner of every shield bore a small insigniaùa wavy line flanked by two squares. It wasn't much, wouldn't even show from a distance, but it indicated that the bearer had fought in King Allister's War. Fought, not just served. Ewen felt chilled. Veterans, then. He reestimated his odds.
Lord Polr grew tired of waiting.
"I bring an announcement for all of those who dwell west of the Iron Mountains. Is this the only community here?"
"Only one I know of," Ewen said laconically. As if he'd rat on someone else! He was genuinely insulted.
"It would be easier to be certain the announcement was heard," Lord Polr pressed, "if you would let me come into your settlement. What was it you called it? New Bardenville. And read it in your public square."
"If you read it from where you are it should be just fine," Ewen said. "Out here to the west of the Iron Mountains we hear with our ears, not our eyes."
There were a few smothered chuckles at this sally, but Ewen didn't dare look around to see if they were from Lord Polr's troops or from inside his palisade. It was important he seem unmoved by such considerations.
"Very well," Lord Polr replied stiffly.
He reached into his saddlebags, pulled out a stiff roll of parchment, and read from it without further preamble.
"Let it be known," he read, his voice ringing out with practiced ease, "that by order of King Tedric, monarch of Bright Bay, and with the full support of his heirs and nobles, the lands west of the Iron Mountains have been closed to any settlement or colonization.
The Dragon of Despair Page 36