The Shamer's War

by Lene Kaaberbøl

  “I suppose you think we have plenty of time?” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked away. “Nothing.”

  “Nico—”

  “Wasn’t it your idea anyway? That we should train, I mean?”

  He had a point. It had been me, a long time ago, before Valdracu, before the Educators and the Hall of the Whisperers.

  “Yes, but there’s no need to half kill yourself. What’s your hurry?”

  “Weren’t you listening? That letter. Your mother read it out to us. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

  “The one from the Widow?”

  “Yes, that.” He said it in a what-else tone of voice, and it wasn’t as if we had letters coming in every week, I had to admit. And of course I remembered what the letter said. Arkmeira had fallen, by treason it was said. It had been the only city in the coastlands not under Drakan’s fist, and now he had Arkmeira too. But there had been resistance, and Drakan did not let resistance go unpunished. He had had every fifth man in the city executed, wrote the Widow. Not necessarily those who had resisted the most, just every fifth. One, two, three, four, you die. There was a sickening lurch inside me every time I thought of it, as if it was somehow worse for being so calculated.

  “People die,” Nico said in a strange voice I couldn’t remember having heard him use before. “People die every day.”

  I didn’t like the new voice. I didn’t like the look on Nico’s face—his eyes so unnaturally dark they hardly looked blue anymore, and his skin so pale under the sweat.

  “And what exactly are you planning to do about it?” I asked.

  “There is one obvious and sensible solution, isn’t there? Logically speaking.”

  “Which is?”

  But he was suddenly done talking.

  “Forget it,” he said. “Just the rain getting to me, I suppose. You can’t really go out, and yet sitting indoors drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

  “Nico—”

  “No, forget it. I’ll be along in a minute. You go on ahead.”

  I went. But I didn’t forget. He had some plan, I thought, some plan he didn’t want me to know about. But I knew Nico very well by now. You can’t spend several days and nights together in the Hall of the Whisperers without learning a thing or two about each other. And when someone who hated swords suddenly began to practice fencing with such dogged persistence, it had to be because he figured he would need a weapon soon. And all that talk of an obvious solution… I suddenly halted. Killing Drakan. That was the obvious solution, simple and logical if one didn’t consider the fact that Drakan was surrounded by thousands of Dragon soldiers and anyway was no slouch with a blade himself.

  It would have been easy for Nico to gather a rebel army around himself. The Weapons Master and the Widow had often talked to him about it, and Master Maunus, who had once been Nico’s tutor, missed no opportunity to point out to Nico that it was his duty as the rightful heir to Dunark. But Nico kept refusing. Just the other day, the day the letter came, they had had a row about it. It offended Master Maunus’s sense of proprieties horribly, but Nico said only that he was no warlord, and that he had no intention of asking hundreds of people to die in his name.

  I knew what he didn’t want. But what was it he wanted?

  I had to keep an eye on him. Because if Nico had some plan to get close to Drakan, I wasn’t about to let him do it without me.

  The rain had almost stopped, but my trousers were soaked to the knee from walking through the wet heather. Dina and Rose were picking juniper berries on the hillside between our cottage and Maudi’s farm, and both of them had kilted up their skirts to avoid the mud. Rose had very nice legs, I noticed. A pity they were rarely on show. And then I suddenly felt embarrassed. Rose was… Rose was a sort of foster sister, wasn’t she, and it wasn’t right to look at your foster sister’s legs in that way. Was it?

  “Where have you been?” asked Dina.

  “Training with Nico.”

  “You do that all the time now.”

  I was beginning to think so too, but I didn’t say so.

  “Dina, you sometimes talk to Nico, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes. So do you.”

  “Couldn’t you keep an eye on him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just keep an eye on what he’s doing. And then tell me.”

  Dina gave me a look that was close to being the old Shamer’s look, very straight and with the punch of a mule kick. “Spy on him, you mean?”

  “Not spy, exactly. I just… if he behaves any differently from the way he usually does, I’d like to know.”

  “Why?”

  I squirmed. I hadn’t intended to say even as much as I had, but I had forgotten Dina’s gift for prying the truth from people. “Only so that he doesn’t do something stupid.”

  “Stupid? Nico is one of the most sensible people I know.”

  I thought of the things Nico had said about “an obvious and sensible solution.” I was pretty sure that that wasn’t what my sister meant by sensible.

  “If you see him packing stuff. Or something,” I finally said. “Tell me. Please.”

  Now I had her worried too, I could tell.

  “Davin. Tell me what it is you think he’ll do.”

  I didn’t mean to. But I suddenly found myself telling her the whole thing, about the too-hard training, about Drakan and the sensible solution, about the plans I was almost certain Nico had. Plans for murder.

  Both of them were staring at me now.

  “Alone?” said Rose finally. “You think he’ll go alone?”

  “I’m afraid he might.”

  “But we won’t let him!” Rose’s eyes were glittering with a very familiar stubbornness, and I remembered how hard it could be to get rid of her when she had her mind set on something. It might not be such a bad idea to sic the girls on Nico. Let’s see you get away from them, I thought with some satisfaction.

  Mama called from the cottage door. Dinner was ready, and the same could certainly be said for my growling belly.

  I took two of the baskets from the girls, and we walked down the hill together.

  “Should we tell Mama?” asked Dina.

  I shook my head. “Not yet,” I said. “She has enough to worry about.”

  DAVIN

  A Knife in the Dark

  It wasn’t long before Nico made his first move. It probably began with Katlin the Peddler’s visit. She came by with her handcart, complaining to anyone who would listen that trade was bad these days, people had nothing to sell or buy. And it was certainly true that her store had shrunk to a bit of woolen yarn and some badly crafted pots. We had no need for any of that—it was no better than what we could make ourselves. But she must have had something for Nico, after all, because I saw him give her a coin before she traveled on.

  “Keep an eye on him,” I told Dina. “He’s up to something.”

  And lo and behold. The very next day, Nico suddenly wanted to go on a shopping trip, or so he said. To Farness.

  “Farness?” said Mama. “Why Farness?”

  “It’s about the only place left where you can get proper goods,” said Nico. “And we’re short of about a hundred things.”

  True. Iron nails were hard to come by now, and there seemed to be a shortage of rope as well. And the salted herring that Maudi usually bought by the barrel for winter stores had been impossible to get. Worst of all, though, was the lack of decent flour. It had been months since we had seen a proper trader’s cart, and the Highlanders were beginning to realize that this was no coincidence.

  “It can’t go on like this,” said Mama. “Drakan can’t decide who is allowed to trade with us on both sides of the mountains!”

  Nico grimaced. “Apparently, he has succeeded in scaring Sagisloc and Loclain into cutting off our trade.”

  Drakan had tightened his fist so hard that barely a jar of preserves got through, let alone a herring barrel. It hadn’t been a huge probl
em as long as we could still get goods from Loclain, but if Nico was right, it could mean a very hungry winter in the Highlands.

  It made good sense to go to Farness to get herring and nails and suchlike while it was still possible. Farness was a seaport, one of the few the Highlanders had, and some of the ships that put in there came from afar, from Belsognia or Colmonte or places even farther away. Towns that had not yet felt the pinch of Drakan’s long fingers and did not know that they were supposed to be afraid of him. It made sense, yes, but I didn’t think it was a coincidence that Nico was so keen to go himself.

  I caught Dina’s eye across the table. She nodded almost imperceptibly—she was on to Nico too.

  “Maybe we should all go,” she said. “We need the cart anyway, for the herring barrels and the rest, and if we brought some herbs and things to trade, it might not be so expensive.”

  Mama’s eyes went to Dina briefly, and then to me. She had a sense that something was going on, I think, but she wasn’t certain what it was. And she was being extremely careful not to look at Dina for too long, I had noticed. Something was wrong between my mother and my sister, I needed no magic to see that. And I was almost certain it had something to do with Sezuan Puff-Adder. Dina hadn’t been the same since she found out about her father and what he could do.

  “It would be nice to get away for a bit,” I said. “Have something to do.”

  Mama’s glance softened. She was probably thinking of all the nights I went running because I couldn’t stand lying still, listening to the Whisperers.

  “Go, then,” she said. “I’ll stay here with Melli. That’s best, I think.”

  Melli still wasn’t quite her old self after our headlong flight from Sezuan that summer. She clung to Mama more, and often seemed younger than her six years.

  “But Callan will go with you!” Mama added.

  I frowned. “Who would look after you, then?” I asked, because Callan Kensie had been my mother’s bodyguard during all the time we had been with the Kensie clan.

  “Killian or one of the others. You can choose, Davin. You can go with Callan, or you can all stay home.”

  I sighed, but I knew that was the end of it.

  “We’ll go with Callan,” I said.

  A cold and stubborn rain poured steadily onto our heads and was slowly but surely soaking through my thick woolen cloak. It had been a wet autumn altogether, wet and dreary and anxious because we didn’t quite know how we would manage through the winter. This trip to Farness might be mostly an excuse to Nico, but we really did need the things we hoped to buy there. And if no ships had come in that were willing to trade with us… if things got bad enough, we might end up having to raid Drakan’s caravans and coastland fortresses in order not to starve.

  “How far is it now?” asked Rose, blowing a raindrop off the tip of her nose. “This is no fun at all!”

  I nearly told her that she could have stayed at home, but actually I was pleased that there were three of us keeping an eye on Nico. Besides, she was right—it really wasn’t much fun to ride here with every bit of clothing you wore sticking to you like some second clammy layer of numb skin.

  “Fair bit yet to go,” said Callan.

  Falk snorted, shaking his head so that the wet reins slid through my fingers. He didn’t like the rain any more than I did.

  “Come on, horse,” I muttered at him. “We’re all wet, and it’s not that far.”

  Finally we struggled up the last steep rise. It was a good thing we had two horses pulling the cart—a gray and a black gelding, both of them on loan from Maudi. She wanted her herring barrels home safe.

  We could see the sea, now—gray-black like the heavy sky above us. And there, at the end of a long narrow firth, lay Farness. Two hundred houses, perhaps, give or take a couple. I don’t know why they made me think of mussels—perhaps because the tarred walls had the same bluish-black color, or perhaps because the houses clung to the rocks much like mussels did. In the harbor were plenty of ships, more ships than houses, almost, or so it seemed at first glance.

  We didn’t stop to admire the view. Now that we no longer had the mountain between us and the sea, a stiff, briny wind whipped into us, making the rain feel even colder. Rose clucked her tongue encouragingly at the two carthorses, and they began the climb down the long, steep stone slope.

  “Remember the brake,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, thank you soooo much, I nearly forgot,” said Rose acidly, and it was probably stupid of me to remind her of something that was more or less the first lesson when one learned to drive a cart in the Highlands. But if she had forgotten, the heavy cart might plow right into the horses that were supposed to be pulling it, and that could be lethally dangerous. I was really just trying to watch out for her. But… I didn’t know how it happened, but we always ended up snarling at each other like a couple of grumpy old watchdogs. In spite of the fact that I actually liked Rose a lot.

  Considering that she hadn’t been much used to horses at home—she had grown up in Swill Town, the lowest and meanest part of Dunark, where such conveniences were rarely affordable—it was quite an achievement that she had driven a team of horses all the way from Baur Kensie to Farness without missing a turn. The horses were a fairly placid pair, but still, not much of a city brat anymore, was our Rose.

  “Take the North Road,” said Callan. “To the Harbormaster’s yard. I know the Harbormaster, and if he has no room for us, he’ll know who has.”

  The Harbormaster’s place proved to be one of the biggest in the town, four whole wings with a cobbled yard in the middle, with a proper pump and a stone trough for the horses to drink from. Three of the wings were tarred wood, but the fourth was a fine stone house in two stories. The Harbormaster himself came to greet us. He had a broad weather-beaten face and long gray hair held together in a tidy queue at the back of his neck.

  “Welcome, Kensie,” he said, holding out a hand that was nearly as big as Callan’s wide fist. “What takes ye to Farness?”

  “Herring,” said Callan, shaking his hand warmly. “And nails. And flour. And a couple of other odds and ends. How is trade?”

  The Harbormaster made a sound in his throat. “Aye, well, those with goods to sell are happy. Those who need to buy, less so. But herring I can get ye for sure, we catch those ourselves. Come in out of the wet, and we’ll sit us down and talk.”

  The big room the Harbormaster led us into was an odd mixture of office, store, and ale room. There was a constant flow of people, who came to learn news of ships or goods, or to pay their harbor fees—anyone who anchored at Farness had to pay a sort of tax to the Harbormaster, ranging from a few pennies for a small boat up to ten or twelve copper marks for the big trading vessels.

  The Harbormaster’s wife served something she called toddy, hot and sweet and strong all at once. I’d never had it before, but it was really nice and warmed my chilled body. I wasn’t the only one with a taste for it either—most of the Harbormaster’s customers stuck around for a drink or two before heading back into the rain.

  Callan chatted with the Harbormaster about the goods we needed—what were our chances of getting them, what would we have to pay, would anyone be willing to take Mama’s herbs and salves in exchange? Considering that the whole thing was Nico’s idea, he didn’t participate all that much in the conversation. His gaze wandered around the big room, and every time the door opened, he looked to see who had entered. And while Nico was watching the door, I was watching him. I had no doubts at all—Nico had a plan, and it required him to meet somebody here in Farness.

  Suddenly Nico froze. He was no longer looking at the door. Instead, he was staring rigidly at his toddy as if he was afraid that somebody might steal it. I glanced around quickly. Had he finally come, the man Nico was waiting for? Who had been the last person to enter? That had to be the one over there, in the long black cloak and the broad-brimmed felt hat, which he hadn’t taken off even though he was now indoors.

  I nudged Dina and po
inted behind my toddy glass at the man so that no one else would see the gesture. She nodded faintly. She had also noticed how Nico was suddenly so intensely interested in his own toddy.

  After a while, Nico got up, accidental-like.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Just wanted to stretch my legs.”

  Oh sure, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I pretended to be interested in what the Harbormaster and Callan were saying to each other instead.

  Nico didn’t just march over to the table where the man in the felt hat was sitting. He wandered around for a bit, following a card game for a little while, then moving on to listen, apparently, to two men bargaining over the price of some bales of wool. If I hadn’t known that he was up to something, I might not have noticed what happened when he passed the man with the hat and the black cloak.

  But I did see.

  As Nico walked by, something passed from one hand to the other. I wasn’t even sure if Nico had passed the man a note, or if it was the other way around. I only knew that something had been given, and something received.

  I wondered what.

  The man in the cloak and hat got to his feet and went out into the rain. I got up as well.

  “Where are you going?” asked Nico sharply.

  “Just stretching my legs,” I said in much the same voice he had used earlier. And before he had time to do or say anything else, I had made my way through the crowd to the door. It was raining so strongly now that the raindrops spattered off the pavement, spraying you from below as well as from above. The man in the black cloak seemed to be in a hurry. I barely got a glimpse of him before he darted through the gate and into the streets of Farness.

  I followed. At least the evening dark and the heavy rain would make it harder for him to see me, and if I could discover who he was and where he came from, we would know that much more about Nico’s plans.

  At first it looked as if the man was headed for the harbor. But then he suddenly changed direction and began to make his way uphill, through one of the narrowest and steepest of Farness’s alleys. Rainwater ran in small muddy streams between the houses, and a chorus of barks followed us. I hoped he wouldn’t notice that the barking continued for quite a while after he himself had passed by.