Rumor had it that bonuses only went to those who’d made conspicuous displays of their loyalty to the Crown.
“Best. If I spoke to Their Majesties, would they think it was best?”
“It was Queen Camellia’s suggestion.”
“Then do you think it is best?”
“Of course. It is Her Majesty’s wish.”
“No. Not what you think as an officer. Do you, as your own man, think that it is best to stop me from giving alms, and have all food distribution going through one man’s hands?”
“Yes, I do. I trust Her Majesty’s wisdom in all things.”
My God, he believes that. What the hell is going on with him? “Very well. My Queen’s ladies in waiting will deliver the excess as needed.”
King Ironhelm left the tent. Duke Stonefist had a story of Master Sharpquill telling then-King Stonefist to back off on exercising his royal prerogatives when he became rude. He needed to talk to Stonefist and find out what changed.
***
“No, we’re not going to have a meeting,” declared Mistress Seamchecker.
Sweetbread was too surprised to reply at once. The head of the Crafters Order had always loved excuses to gather the members before. “There’s things we need to talk about.”
“We don’t need to talk. We need to work. Everyone’s busting their asses to help us survive. This is no time to be gabbing in a nice shady tent.”
Council meetings were under a seal of secrecy. Standing in the lane as others walked by was an invitation to eavesdropping. Sweetbread tried to pick words that wouldn’t disrespect the Crown.
“Allocating resources and making decisions is part of that.”
Seamchecker said, “The Autocrat is doing a good job of that.”
“It’s not the Autocrat I’m worried about.”
Mistress Seamchecker shifted from impatient to stern. “Well, Master Sweetbread, I suggest you find better things to worry about. Their Royal Majesties told me not to waste time with meetings. So you should work on cooking those new plants people are finding. Good day, sir.”
She walked off.
One Week After Arrival
“What the hell have you been doing now?” cried Redinkle as her husband came around the neighboring tent.
Newman grabbed the first aid kit. When he realized Pernach and Pinecone were walking normally he put it back down. He eyed them warily. Both looked like they’d been pulled from a burning Humvee.
“New jobs!” announced Pernach. “No more dirty privy detail for us. We’re Master Forge’s newest apprentices.”
“I’ve seen boys pump the bellows all day without getting that sooty,” she said.
“Well, we’re not on the bellows. He’s running low on fuel so we’re making charcoal. It’s a smoky job.”
Both young men had patches of black all over them. Even the palest spots were gray with soot, except where sweat had washed a line through it.
“Well, you smell better. Kinda like a grilled chicken.”
“Thanks. Can we have the soap?”
Tightseam broke into the conversation. “No. We don’t have enough soap for you to use it every day. Just go rinse yourself.”
“That’s what I did,” said Newman. “When we butchered the near-deer today we stripped down to keep our clothes clean.”
Pinecone quipped, “Wow. When the soap runs out we’ll have a bunch of suicides.”
Shellbutton had leaned toward him to get a kiss without smudging herself. Now she slapped him. “That’s not funny!” She burst into tears and ran into the tent.
“What?” Pinecone looked stunned.
“You didn’t hear Lady Purplebow killed herself yesterday?” snarled Tightseam.
“Oh. No. How’d that happen?”
Purplebow had taught Shellbutton how to make the notions which gave the young woman her name.
“Opened her medicine chest and swallowed it all. Shellbutton’s taking it hard, so have some kindness. Now go rinse!”
***
The birds were coughing again. They were used to humans blundering through their woods now. Or Newman had taught Deadeye and Beargut to walk quietly enough to not frighten them.
The trio of hunters were walking down one of the wide paths. That was a poor way to find game but the fastest way to travel. Newman wanted to hunt farther out from the Kingdom’s camp. Once they’d covered about three miles he’d take them off the path to look for near-deer.
A flurry of wings told of birds taking off over the path ahead. Then a branch snapped.
Newman pivoted left, waving for the others to follow him.
“What’s going on?” asked Deadeye.
Newman whispered, “Something’s coming. Get into cover.”
Twenty yards into the woods he found a thick stand of brambles. He circled around and took a knee.
Deadeye kneeled next to him. Beargut scuffed some dead branches aside with his boot, making Newman flinch at the noise. The chubby hunter flopped down on his back.
More branches were breaking. A low rumble resolved into a mix of thumps. A “huff” had to be a breath from some big animal. All the noises kept getting louder.
Deadeye let out a low whistle.
“Shhh.” Newman raised his head enough to peek through the brambles. He nearly let out a sound himself.
He’d seen rhinos in zoos. This beast had a rhino shape but had to be twice the mass of any Newman had seen before. The stiff hide was covered with long red-brown hair. There were two horns on its nose, but side-by-side in a V-shape.
When Deadeye started to say something Newman put a finger across his lips. The hunter jerked his head away with a silent glare.
As the first rhino moved past they could see it was male. Three smaller females followed it. The middle one had a hornless calf with her.
Once the rhinos were out of sight and the birds returned Newman stood up. “Okay, we can relax now.”
“Why are you so afraid of them?” demanded Deadeye.
“Rhinos are nasty. I don’t want one of those horns up my ass.”
Beargut laughed. “I’m with you.”
“Seriously,” said Deadeye. “We’re out here to hunt. That’s an herbivore. We should have taken one down and seen if it’s edible.”
“Take one down?” Newman pulled an arrow from his quiver. “Do you really think this would go through the hide of one of those monsters?”
“I bet it would hurt the baby.”
“Maybe it would. And then its momma and daddy would trample everything in sight. Do me a favor. If you shoot a rhino wait until I’m a couple miles away.”
“And don’t ask me to carry it back to camp,” said Beargut. “The deer are heavy enough.”
Newman said, “Yes, they are. Let’s go get one.”
***
Autocrat Sharpquill stepped into the common pavilion. His staff would bring him meals at his desk every day if he let them. He’d decided to have at least two meals a week in the commons. It kept him from working until he fell over. It gave the populace a chance to talk to him outside Court. And it was a quality control check on the cooking.
The dinner rush was over. The tables were half full. No Peers were in sight. The commons served those with no household or groups not able to gather any food of their own.
The line for the serving tables was short. Though several people were standing around holding empty plates and mugs.
Sharpquill walked toward the line. Halfway there he stopped.
The last person in line was Belladonna.
The one in front of her was facing forward, back stiff, not acknowledging anyone was behind her.
Anyone getting into line could have Belladonna turn and speak to him. Hence the scattering of people waiting for someone else to join the line first.
Doing unpleasant things for the common good was the Autocrat’s job. He walked to the end of the line. But left two empty spots between himself and Belladonna, lest she feel an invitation.
> She didn’t turn around.
Sharpquill studied her back. He’d heard all the rumors. Most took it as given that their arrival here was her fault. He’d confronted her in her tent, chasing out the rest of the household for privacy, but she’d refused to say anything to him. Nor had she admitted anything about causing it to any of the other people who’d asked. Most only received cold silence. Possibly just as well.
What would he do if she said, “Yes, I did it”?
There was no Kingdom law against practicing magic. Kidnapping would be a stretch. And how would they punish her? Hard labor was everyone’s lot now.
He could have her burnt at the stake. Some people muttered about that already. But Sharpquill didn’t want the precedent.
Establishing her guilt and not punishing her would be worst. A mob would extract its own idea of justice. God only knew if he could regain control afterwards.
Better to leave the doubt.
Belladonna reached the serving table. The server placed a pinch of wild greens on her plate. The previous customers had received smiles and a bit of chatter. For Belladonna the server acted as if the plate was floating in the air by itself.
A spoonful of mashed vineroot was delivered in equal silence.
Lady Buttercup was the last server, holding a set of tongs over a platter of fried fish. When Belladonna arrived Buttercup tucked the tongs into her armpit to free her hands. She pivoted her chair and rolled a few yards back to the cooking tables.
There she found a piece of fish overcooked to nearly burnt. She picked it up with the tongs, held the tongs firmly in her armpit, and wheeled back to the serving table.
The scorched fish landed on Belladonna’s plate without a word.
She left the tent to eat alone elsewhere.
Autocrat Sharpquill stepped up to the serving table once she’d left.
“Some greens, my lord?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The next server said, “They’re mashed today. Tastier that way, I think.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Here’s a nice juicy piece of fish for you, my lord.”
“Thank you, Lady Buttercup.”
Sharpquill looked for a table with some people he hadn’t talked to recently. He found some of the best information in those casual chats.
He wondered if burning at the stake might have been kinder than ostracism.
***
Whatever it was, it was too loud to be a near-deer.
Newman nocked an arrow and shifted left, seeking an open patch in the woods to give a clear line of fire.
The other hunters followed him, not wanting to be left behind. The rustling and snapping made them nervous.
He found a view from fifteen yards away. There was a near-deer, a dead one. Five wolves—more or less—clustered around the kill, bolting chunks of meat. One snarled as a second one stuck his nose under the ribcage.
Newman yelled, “Haroo!” and kicked a branch toward them with a rattle of wood and dead leaves.
The wolves whirled to face him. Growls filled the air.
Newman strode forward, kicking the branch again. “Haroo! Haroo!”
Each wolf ripped a gobbet from the carcass and trotted off.
As the last grey tail vanished among the trees the other hunters crept up.
“So that’s what’s been leaving those bones we’ve seen,” said Bodkin.
Newman shook his head. “Not all of them. Probably not most of them.”
“But they’re predators.”
“Not the apex predator. They’re used to being driven off a kill.”
Beargut asked, “The dragon?”
“No. Prey’s too small and it can’t fit through the trees. There’s something else out there.”
***
Redinkle pulled open the tent flap. “Hey, come see the rhinos!”
The members of House Applesmile surged out. Newman was last. He’d grabbed his bow and quiver.
“This way.” She led them to the bluff. More people of the Kingdom were lining the edge, pointing across the river. “See them?”
A red-furred bull rhino led four cows and a couple of calves through the flood plain on the other side of the river. They were spread out, selecting specific bushes and devouring them in one or two bites.
Newman slung his weapons. “Oh, you worried me. I thought we might have some walking through the camp.”
Master Sweetbread laughed. “Don't say such things. The Autocrat will make us rebuild the wall even stronger.”
“I don't think we can make a wall that holds up to that,” said Pinecone.
Strongarm slid over from the Wolfhead group. “Stone walls can stop anything, man. We need a castle.”
Something streaked through the air, too fast to make out. Then the black dragon snapped out its wings wide as it slammed into the spine of a cow rhino in the middle of the group. The stricken beast let out a deep moan, loud even across the river. The rest of the herbivores scattered.
Newman threw himself flat.
The bull didn’t bother with pawing the ground or other posturing. It charged at the dragon. The winged lizard flapped its wings, rising up to let the rhino pass harmlessly under it.
Goldenrod looked down at Newman in concern.
“Get down!” he snarled. “Do you want that thing to see us? We'd be like popcorn for it. Get down!” The last was shouted for everyone on the bluff to hear.
Goldenrod laid down next to him. The other members of House Applesmile followed more slowly. Sweetbread was stiffest.
The bull rhino slowed and turned about. The dragon landed on the cow and bit at her neck, releasing a spray of blood. The bull bellowed, putting the other cows and calves into motion, and charged again.
“Sir?” called Strongarm.
“Wolves, hit the deck!” ordered Wolfhead Alpha. His warband went prone. Others on the bluff followed their example.
The dragon lifted into the air again. As the bull rhino passed under it, the monster let out a stream of fire. His fur turned black as it burned. The bull continued until clear of the dragon. He rolled twice across the ground then stood, some smoke still trailing from his fur.
The dragon landed on its kill. Teeth and claws pulled up a piece of hide. Once a corner was loose the dragon bit down hard and peeled the whole section away. It breathed flame onto the exposed meat and began to eat.
All the rhino cows and calves were on the downstream side of the dragon now with their bull. They’d gathered together while the bull kept the predator distracted. Now they trotted away, the bull at the end of the line.
“Put out the fires!” someone called. Several people dashed into the camp to obey.
After a few bites the dragon flamed its meal again.
More of the audience drifted away. Newman and Strongarm kept watching. In whispers they debated what the weaknesses of the dragon might be.
Another Wolfhead crawled up to Strongarm. The fighter introduced him as Borzhoi.
“We have Master Chisel’s permission to use his raft to go scavenge after the dragon leaves. Are you in?”
“Scavenge what?” asked Newman.
“It’s not eating the hide. There’s probably going to be some meat left. And we can use the bones. We just need to move fast before it spoils.” Borzhoi sounded cheerful at the prospect.
Newman wasn’t, but he agreed to join them.
The dragon spent less than an hour feeding before flying off. Wolfhead Alpha ordered his scavengers to wait another hour before letting them cross the river.
Newman’s archery fame earned him a spot on the first raft over. Borzhoi posted him as a guard while the rest applied their knives to the dead rhino.
There wasn’t much to guard against. Even the birds and river creatures seemed to have fled the dragon. Newman walked over to one of the pieces of hide. The dragon had tossed it forty feet from the rest of the carcass. A bush let him prop it upright. He nocked an arrow, drew back to full extension,
and loosed it into the hide. The “thock” sound drew the attention of the scavengers.
“Problem?” called Borzhoi.
“No, just checking something,” Newman answered. Half the arrowhead was sticking out the other side. He drew his knife to try to work it out without breaking it. “This stuff would make good armor.”
***
With the second vineroot she found Goldenrod started saving the bits with roots and sprouts. Just foraging for food would pick this region clean. She wanted agriculture.
No one objected when she claimed a plot of land at the bottom of the bluff a bit upstream from camp. A vineroot had been found there, so the soil was the right type. Clearing it for planting was the hard part.
She used a digging stick Strongarm had carved from his memory of one he’d seen in a museum. A shallow serving spoon was now a trowel. Redinkle used that when she came to help.
The two women would trade off. One broke the ground with the digging stick while the other smashed lumps with the ladle and tossed unwanted plants onto the compost pile.
“How’s Pernach holding up?” asked Goldenrod.
“Oh, he loves it,” answered Redinkle. “He was always a fantasy novel junkie so someplace with a real dragon is paradise for him. I worry he’s going to run off to search for elves and halflings. How’s your boyfriend taking it?”
“He’s not exactly my boyfriend. I’ll say it, he’s not denying it, but he’s not saying it.”
“I thought you two were dating for a while. You were vague on Facebook.”
Goldenrod snapped a plant in half before adding it to the compost. “This is our . . . mmm . . fifth date. I figured if he didn’t break up with me after a weekend in the Kingdom we’d be official.”
“It’s been more than a weekend and he hasn’t dumped you.”
“I know. But he wouldn’t walk out in the middle of a date. Not that kind of guy. So we’re stuck in this eternal fifth date and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
Redinkle smirked as she leaned hard on the digging stick. “How was the third date?”
The Lost War Page 6
