They rode into a prepared camp where tents were pitched and supper fires tended under spits of venison and pots of hot broth. There were four small wagons there, the sturdy narrow kind that looked easy to pull through the narrow ways and paths, and from these came all the supplies of the camp. The preparations were being made by several women of various ages, along with a couple of older men, and many others who were armed as well as any soldier. Upon seeing Makeig, they all came swarming over to ask about the "job," as they called it, and Makeig explained as he dismounted that it had all gone south. Lantin consoled them somewhat with the news of the purse as Makeig ushered Ashlord and Robby to a tent. He called out orders about the horses as he went, and more about getting food up, and posting watches. He stopped a girl as she passed by, and then motioned to Robby to come near.
"This here's Robby Ribbon, of Passdale, me sweet," he said to her. "An' this here, Mr. Ribbon, is our dearie, Sally Bodwin."
"Pleased to meet you," Robby said, bowing slightly to the girl. She was about fifteen or sixteen, Robby guessed, and dressed in a country skirt and bodice. Her hair might have been blond, but her head was covered with a kerchief and what little hair showed was sweaty from her toils.
"Happy to know ye," she said with a very graceful curtsey.
"Sally's me adopted daughter, after the death of her folks a while back," Makeig said. "Purty soon she'll be runnin' this outfit. Won't ye, sweetness?"
"What d'ye want, Martin? I've gotta fetch more firewood," she said, shoving Makeig back in embarrassment.
"What I want is for ye to round up a big pot of water, preferably hot, an' some scrubbin' cloth so as Mr. Ribbon can clean up some. An' I want ye to rummage through all the men's things we got, an' see if there's some coat or cloak or shirt or anything he can get into. An', if it can be done, see that his own things get washed out."
"Oh, all that's not necessary," Robby protested. "Just some water to wash my face and hands."
"Nonsense!" said Sally. "Yer a mess! Do ye see any other feller here as dirty?"
Robby looked around. He had to admit they were a fine looking bunch of thieves and rogues, almost unnaturally clean and tidy, and not at all how one would expect desperate men to look.
"I suppose I am a little off," he said.
"I'll say!" Sally wrinkled her nose. "Come along, an' I'll get some soap."
While Robby was cleaning up, Ashlord was invited into Makeig's large tent where there was a cot, a small table, and stools.
"We ain't all savages an' cutthroats, ye know," Makeig said. "An' not without some learnin', either. There's not a soul amongst us over six years of age what can't read an' write in the Common Speech, an' many who speak more languages than I can name. Besides Lantin Rose, who was once a great factor with businesses galore, there's Mrs. Peak over yonder who was a school marm, an' one time taught princes an' kings-to-be. An' back over there, that big oafish-lookin' feller what rode in with us, he's a jeweler by trade, an' though looks as if his big hands would crush anything softer than steel, ye should see the delicate things he makes for the ladies. Here comes Jimmy Dyersly, the old gent with the limp. Ye'd never know he was once a mighty scholar of history an' advisor to lords. That feller comin' along there with them scrolls, he's the son of our cobbler. See the feller over by the horses there, in the gray coat? Once, not too long ago, he was lord an' master over a whole province."
The young one came up and handed the scrolls to Makeig.
"I hope these are the ones ye wanted," he said.
"Looks like it! Thankye kindly, Tommy boy," Makeig replied taking the scrolls.
"If ye don't be needin' me, I'll go tend to the horses."
Makeig nodded as the boy turned away.
"Well, let's see," Makeig said as he tumbled the scrolls onto the table and looked at one then the next until he seemed to find the one he wanted.
"This is it."
He unrolled the parchment, revealing it to be a map of the region.
"I never go anywhere more than a day from home without me charts, if I can help it," Makeig said.
"This is a very keen map, too," Ashlord commented bending over it. "And it looks much like one I've seen in Passdale."
"Well, I bought this off a feller over that way not four years ago," Makeig said. "He copied it from one that he had, one made by a Kingsman a few years earlier. Now, look at that! I thought Robby's name sounded familiar!"
Makeig put his finger on a corner of the map where the copyist had signed it.
" 'Copied in the Year 865 of the Second Age by Robigor Ribbon,' " read Ashlord. "That's Robby's father; they share the same name, and I know the Kingsman who made the original of this map, cousin of young Robby on his mother's side."
Robby, now clean and dressed in a well-fitting dark brown jacket, rejoined them. Together, the three looked at the map while Ashlord related the events of the previous day and night to them.
"They must have worked secretly for months in the Boggy Wood, clearing a path, and taking care to do so without being seen by the hunters who venture there. I now think they must have built up their forces carefully, so as not to alert the men of the lake. It may have been their stirrings from the south that drove the wolves northward. I expect they had planned to cross the Saerdulin farther down, but the rising waters prevented that, forcing them to push farther north. I was at the fortress when they came streaming across the old bridge there. I barely made it to Boskland ahead of them. Bosk summoned his men to fight, and he sent riders to Passdale, but the Redvest horsemen cut most of them down. Mrs. Bosk got away, as well as most of the women, while the men fought behind them. Bosk pleaded with me to lead a party behind their families, to protect their flight, and at last, when I saw we were overwhelmed, I did so. The last I saw of him, he was on the roof of Bosk Manor directing his archers at the Redvests. There were only a dozen or so Boskmen, and the soldiers quickly had the house on fire. I don't see how any of them could have escaped the blaze and the collapse of Bosk Manor."
Makeig dragged up another stool and the three sat as he uncorked a clay jug and poured whiskey into three small tin cups.
"Drink the first one all at once," he suggested aside to Robby. Robby did so and the stuff burned as it went down, causing him to cough once or twice. Almost instantly he felt better. "That's right," Makeig nodded, pouring another portion into each cup. "We'll be eatin' soon. Sip on this one 'til then."
"We fled," said Ashlord sliding his finger on the map from Boskland to Passdale. "About thirty or forty of us, and soon we came up on the women and hurried them along. Somehow the horsemen missed us in the dark and went on past. I think they were just gathering their forces to march on Passdale, and maybe expected more resistance in the open fields. Anyway, the alarm had been raised by the time we got to Passdale. Ullin—he's the man who made this map, a Kingsman—he was there at the bridge, ordering defenses and making ready to burn the bridge by placing kegs of oil about it in preparation. He put men up on the tops of the bridge pillars to act as lookouts and archers. About a thousand townsmen and Barleymen, plus a few Bosklanders were there. Many had been at the festival, otherwise they would have been cut off from Passdale. More men were pouring in from both sides of the Bentwide. Anyway, the town was in a panic. Your father was trying to organize wagons, Robby, and did a fair job, considering, and many folk were fleeing without regard to neighbor or even possessions. When the sun came up, we could see the Redvests, lined row upon row across the ridge, their banners and their pennants flying, their shadows long with the sun at their backs, and their war drums throbbing. I think there were at least two thousand on the ridge, with mounted lancers and many more footmen arriving behind them. Maybe four thousand, all told."
Ashlord took a sip of the whiskey and went on.
"Shortly after dawn, your father, Ullin, and I, rode out to parley, along with four Passdale Militiamen whom we deemed looked the fiercest, including your friend Ibin. We told him to frown the whole time and to not speak a word,
and he did as he was told. I think his presence impressed the general we rode out to meet."
Ashlord spoke without embellishment, gazing back and forth from Robby to Makeig, and his listeners heard not only his words, but also, it seemed, the noise of hoofs in his voice, the desperate ring of iron in his pauses, and the faint cadence of drums coming from his throat. And Robby, who knew better than Makeig the lay of the land and the people concerned, could almost see the encounter with the Redvest general. The general and several officers rode out a few yards from the ranks to await the Passdale delegation. They all remained mounted as they met.
"I am Collandoth, servant of Duinnor. This is Commander Tallin, Kingsman of the House of Fairoak. And this is Robigor Ribbon, Mayor of Passdale," Ashlord said to the general.
"I am Branthis Vidican, Legion General of Tracia. What is your purpose under truce?"
"We bid you leave these lands. They are under the protection of Duinnor, and sovereign under Prince Carbane of Glareth Realm, who is Regent over the Eastlands. The damage and ruin your army has visited upon us is unprovoked and without just cause. Leave these lands."
"I have no wish to lay waste and ruin," said the general. "But my orders I will follow, and, if opposed, I will do what is necessary to that end. I entreat you to lay down your arms and give over to the rule of Tracia. You are clearly in no position to gain victory, and your resistance will be paid in blood and sorrow."
"Then what terms have ye for the surrender of our town an' lands?" asked Mr. Ribbon.
"Lay down your arms, man by man, on the field before us. Make an account of all the goods, grain, fruit, and other harvests, as well as cattle and livestock, including horses, mules, and oxen. Open all stores, shops, and warehouses of textiles, iron goods, leather, and all other sundries. Submit yourselves to the law of my judgment, by right of Tracia. Billet our soldiers as we assign. Deliver all men over the age of twelve into our hands under oath to work and to aid in the delivery of these accounts to Tracia. In exchange, we will not destroy your town, and I will do the utmost to keep my men from your women and to lay aside enough winter store for your people. As well, I have written scripts to exchange for all goods and property taken, so that anyone loyal to Tracia may plead for compensation before the Lord Judge of Tracia. What say you?"
"I say we must put this afore our people an' have 'em freely decide," replied Mr. Ribbon readily. "Good day, sir!"
"Decide quickly!" said the general.
"Clearly the Redvest general wanted to save all that he could from destruction," Ashlord continued. "Otherwise his terms would not have been so generous."
"Generous!" cried Robby.
"Not a single man was inclined to give over the products of their hard work and labor," Ashlord said, "and so, foolishly, they made a stand. Your mother, Robby, would not leave, at first, and stayed until early this morning with the last of those who fled. She departed shortly before the battle. Ah, the battle! It was hopeless, of course, and in less than an hour the Redvests were pouring onto the bridge and crossing the Bentwide in various places. It was a great useless slaughter of men on both sides. I don't know the names of many of the Barley and Passdale men who fought. Many were killed, many more were wounded, and several hundred were captured. I never knew the people in this region could fight so fiercely! Many had only farm implements. Sheila stood atop the bridge and laid down twenty men before it was outflanked. Your father set fire to it himself, swearing it would not be used by the despoilers. Ullin fought on the south road and I on the north, but soon it became a rout. Of the men we started with, a few hundred of us made it away, following the women and children toward Janhaven."
"What happened to my father?" Robby asked.
"When it became apparent that we could not hold back the Redvests, he took a horse and rode through the ranks of the attackers. Northward, he went. Toward the lake. They marked him for capture, probably because he knows the land and stores all around and is the Mayor to boot. Anyway, they took care not to harm him. I saw riders break out after your father as he cleared the bend in the north road."
"Where was he going?"
"North, to try to reach Glareth, carrying word of the invasion to Prince Carbane."
"Why couldn't someone else go?"
"There was no one else, Robby," Ashlord said, trying to console him. "He foresaw the outcome and beforehand insisted that Ullin and I stay with the people and organize protection and resistance. He, not being a man of arms to help much with that, knew the way well enough to elude the Redvests and their trackers."
"The Prince'll be furious," Makeig said.
"But what is it all about? What do they want with our land?" Robby asked.
"The rulers of Tracia long ago broke with Duinnor, and, I believe, they are now allied with the Dragonkind. This is the opening move of their plan for conquest. Their plan is not to attack Duinnor directly, but to gather such an army so as to overrun the southern realms first, with Redvests moving from the east and the Dragonkind moving from the west. Between the two are the small weak realms of Altoria and Masurthia. When those are taken, the way across the central plains to Duinnor will be open. This strike, into the Eastlands, is aimed at capturing the harvests and fall accountings, to help supply their main armies that are no doubt already massing in the south. The storm that struck Barley this past summer were nothing compared to that which laid waste to Tracia's farmlands. What we experienced was the mere edge of a great typhoon, but the brunt was borne by the southeast. With little reserves of food and fodder, Tracia's intent is to despoil all of the nearby lands of goods and men for its war against Altoria and Masurthia. I am certain the army now at Passdale plans to winter there and to establish a station for sending goods down river to Kalbrith. From there they will supply the gathering forces that will move westward in the spring. This is as far north as they will go, I think, and they will no doubt be fiercely opposed by Glareth and the Connassan Lakemen, once they learn of the situation. However, the Tracian Redvests need only to hold out until the spoils are on their way southward. I think they will then be removed to join the main forces in battle against the western realms, taking their captives with them as slaves. I imagine they will leave behind only a garrison force in Passdale. Or, if they are cruel, ashes."
"But why? What is the disagreement between Duinnor and Tracia?"
"Ancient wounds, me lad," Makeig said, "long festerin'. How do ye come to know all these things, Ashlord?"
"I have contacts in Tracia and in many far-flung parts. Suffice it to say that my information is reliable. Long have they been irked by the heavy tribute of Duinnor, even before the overthrow of their Prince Lewtrah. And Tracia has disputed its borders with the old Eastlands Realm for many years, and resents Glareth's regency over the Eastlands. Duinnor has always taken the firstborn into service, as elsewhere. But the new rulers of Tracia recalled all those serving Duinnor and forbade any others from going. Since then, Tracia has been cut off from trade with the other realms and has been festering, as Captain Makeig says, for revenge and for greater power. That Tracia has made its move now is a sign that their strength is gathering. Little do they care that they are mere pawns in a bigger game. I have no doubt that their union with the Dragonkind will bode ill for all of the Tracian people. And I fear that great harm will be done in the world before they are undone by their own greed."
"Won't they be opposed?"
"The west is weak, after years of squabbling. Duinnor has squandered the goodwill toward it by alienating the other realms that it rules and by unreasonable treatment of the Elifaen. Vanara, once its closest ally, has been on the brink of collapse these many years. And Duinnor is far away, too. Between here and there, from the slopes of the Thunder Mountains, down into the plains and beyond, many warlords have sprung up, setting up their own rule with little or no allegiance to Duinnor or to any realm. Some places have sunken into the grips of despotic cults ruled by thugs and murderers in the guise of priests. Many other lands are completely wi
thout law. All this is due as much to the inattention of Duinnor to its responsibilities as to the machinations of its enemies. The ultimate question is: Will Duinnor stand?"
"Will Duinnor stand? Ye don't think it's that bad, do ye? Surely the King will stir to action, don't ye think?" Makeig asked, stunned.
"The King of Duinnor rules in isolation from his subjects, mysterious and unseen. He is Unknown in more ways than one. How unlike the King of the Dragon People, who stands among his people openly and without fear! The King of Duinnor cannot be touched or even looked on by his people, while the Emperor of the Sun walks freely as his people bow and throw flower petals on his path and sing praises as he passes."
"Yer words're nigh to treasonous, good feller," Makeig stated. "But yer not the only one who's wondered at such. Just such stirrin's an' discontent led to the fall of Tracia into the present band of rascals an' slippery characters."
Makeig was about to tell how he came to be in the mountains when word came that supper was ready. But, just as they sat down at the supper table, he was called away by one of his men. He shoved his plate over to another man at the table.
"Eat this 'fore it gets cold," he said with a sigh. "I forgot I'm to check one of the nearby watches. I'll be back in just a little bit."
Lantin Rose sat down as Makeig jumped on his horse and rode off quickly.
"Nearby watch?" Robby asked.
"Yes, we have many watches posted all around these hills where we station men as we move," said Lantin. "It's the Captain's habit of lookouts."
"I hope there's no alarm," Ashlord said. "Requiring him to leave, that is."
"Oh, no! It is our way to send men to check on the watches from the camp. We've got five such posts nearby. Since we're a bit short-handed, Martin always takes one to check on. The one he rides to ain't far off, only about a furlong, so he'll not be gone long. We always send a man to check each post about halfway through the watch, if we can."
The Bellringer Page 55