by Maggie Furey
‘It’s not just a lack of resources, Valior,’ Galgan said. ‘These strangers are a light-fingered bunch, and I won’t tolerate that. Even in the short time it took to speak to their leader, the others were pilfering stuff all over the place. Even though people were willing to take in the women with small children, and were coming out of their houses with food for the rest, it didn’t make any difference. I don’t care what they’ve been through; we don’t have room for thieves in our community, and that’s the end of it.’
Shaena frowned. ‘I agree with you both, as a matter of fact, but we haven’t even mentioned the most important concern of all.’ She took a sip from her glass and looked around the assembled faces. ‘It took us a long time and endless hard work and sacrifice to reach our unique arrangement with the Wizards. As far as I know we’re the only community of free humans, and we’re still tied to them by trade agreements. But if we start taking in others – especially escaped slaves – the Archwizard will have us back in bondage before you even blink. I’m telling you, these newcomers are a deadly threat to all the fisherfolk of Independence. Though it goes against the grain, the only possible thing we can do, and the sooner the better, is to take this to Sharalind.’
Valior sighed. ‘You’re right, Shaena, and though we’re mostly men at this table, only you had the balls to say it. For the survival of our own families we’ve got to turn those poor bastards over to the Wizards – and somehow find a way to live with ourselves afterwards.’
‘Though it goes against my grain to involve the Wizards in this, when you get right down to it, that’s the only thing we can do,’ Galgan said. ‘Does everyone agree?’
One by one, the Captains nodded.
‘Then we’ll all go across together and see Sharalind.’ Galgan got to his feet. ‘We’ll do it right now. The sooner we get this over with, the better.’
It felt wonderful to be under a roof again. Kelon, footsore, aching and exhausted after walking all the way from the forest, was just so glad to have food and shelter once more that he didn’t particularly care, at this point, that he couldn’t go any further whether he wanted to or not. The fisherfolk seemed to be decent people. Though their welcome had been constrained, to say the least, with more grumbling and consternation than pleasure, surely that was only to be expected. Kelon had seen the size of their community. A group such as the ferals, ragged mendicants with nothing to their name, was bound to put a strain on local resources. But they had worked hard at concealing their dismay and had done their best to provide food and shelter for their unexpected guests, even sending their Herbwife to treat the sick and injured.
Even if the accommodation in this boatshed was spartan, the ferals had warmth, shelter and food in their bellies, and to Kelon’s mind the indignation of Danel and the others was premature at best, and downright unreasonable at worst. So what if the door was guarded, to prevent the strangers from wandering around at will? The ferals had brought that upon themselves. His face burned as he recalled the spate of petty thefts and pilfering that had taken place within the first half-hour of the ferals’ arrival, and his own embarrassment and shame when the missing items were discovered. To have stolen from people who’d been nothing but kind and hospitable! Not for the first time, Kelon looked on his companions with a jaundiced eye. Instead of giving them shelter, the fisherfolk had every reason to drive them away with sticks and stones.
The interior of the boatshed was a great, echoing space with sturdy wooden walls; its roof beams almost lost in the shadows high above. It was big enough to construct one of the large ocean-going fishing boats, yet since the ferals had moved in its dimensions seemed reduced by the thronging crowd of mortals, and the echoes rang with the din of crying babies, people arguing, people laughing or weeping, people in conversation. There was the clatter of spoon against plate as the ferals stuffed themselves with the fish stew so generously provided by the fisherfolk, and the resounding snores of someone who was so exhausted that they could sleep through all the racket.
A stove in the corner provided welcome warmth and a reason for any number of squabbles, as individuals juggled for position, vying for who could get closest. Danel had finally been forced to step in and give the prime territory closest to the heat source to the sick, the infirm, and the handful of families with small children. Oil lamps hung on brackets along the walls, providing a soft golden glow and lending a cosy air to the scene.
Kelon looked around appreciatively. This was infinitely better than camping out in the forest, at the mercy of weather, wild beasts and, worst of all, the Wild Hunt of the Phaerie. Though the fisherfolk had not been overjoyed to see the refugees they seemed like a decent, kind community. Despite the thefts, he hoped they would do their best for their unwelcome guests. Why some people had to complain about the situation . . .
His eyes tracked across the chamber to Danel, who was prowling around the shed like a trapped animal, with a thunderous scowl on her face. The refugees kept distracting her with a complaint here, a question there, a quarrel to be settled further on, but he knew that she was looking for him and spoiling for a fight because it had been his idea to come here. Well, as far as he was concerned, she could stuff it. It was the ferals’ own fault that they’d been locked up and he was damned if he was going to take the blame.
Kelon’s eye fell on the cluster of long, straight planks, no doubt used in boat construction, that had been propped upright against the wall in the far corner, away from the stove. Taking his blanket – another fisherfolk gift – he made his way across to them while Danel was preoccupied with handling a dispute over sleeping space, and wormed his way behind them, where he found a pile of sawdust and curled, fresh wood shavings that must have been swept hastily out of sight when the shed was cleared for the visitors. He scooped out a nest, wrapped the blanket around himself and settled down, breathing in the fragrance of the freshly planed wood with delight.
Peace settled around him, more warming than the blanket, as gentle and comforting as an embrace. A wave of relaxation spread through him as the tension drained from his muscles, and he simply let himself drift in the flow. This was the first time since his escape from Eliorand that he’d had a chance to be alone, and he’d had no idea until this moment what a strain that had been.
For once Kelon wasn’t thinking about Aelwen, or Danel, or the future. For a brief, charmed interlude he simply lived in the present, accepted its gifts with gratitude, and fell asleep, happier than he’d been in many a long day.
24
~
LIE DOWN WITH DOGS . . .
Sharalind was surprised by how much she enjoyed the short journey on Captain Galgan’s boat from Tyrineld port to Freedom Cove. It seemed like for ever since she’d been out in the fresh air, and though the bright sunlight could not lighten her grief for her son, at least it bolstered her spirits enough to give her the strength to carry on.
She would need that strength, for there were so many burdens on her at present. Her days were all filled with plans and meetings, closeted in her chambers with the Luen Heads and others, ironing out the thousands of tedious logistical details involved in putting an army together. She had to keep constant vigilance against dissenters who might ruin her plans, and now the fisherfolk had dumped this mess into her hands.
If she had been surprised when the Captains had visited her in a deputation the previous evening, she had been absolutely stunned to hear what they had to tell her. She had been aware, of course, of the bands of feral humans who dwelt in the forest, but the Wizards had tended to leave it to the Wild Hunt to keep their numbers under control, and it was generally agreed in Tyrineld that at least the accursed Phaerie were good for something.
She had never expected to find a bunch of them turning up on her own doorstep, and with the utter temerity to ask for sanctuary and protection.
Her first impulse had been to round up the lot of them and have the Luen of Warriors dispose of them quietly, but there was no rush. The fisherfolk had them
contained and surely the morning would do. Besides, she couldn’t pretend not to be curious. Why had the mortals come here? True, they had not thrown themselves on her mercy but had gone to the independent fishers – but did they expect that they could simply become absorbed into the little seaside community without anyone noticing?
Sharalind needed answers. If these ferals were slaves who had escaped from Eliorand, she might be able to gain information that would be of benefit when she moved against the Phaerie. But what could she offer them? Captain Galgan had already warned her that they were a pack of thieves with no idea how to behave in a civilised community. They could never be permitted to roam at large in the Wizard realm. Well, she would just have to talk to them, and take things from there. Perhaps there was a way of involving the fisherfolk . . .
‘We’ll soon be there, Lady Sharalind.’ Galgan came up beside her and broke into her thoughts. ‘On behalf of the community of Independence, I would like to thank you for taking this problem off our hands.’
Plague take it! The fishers have no intention of being involved.
However, Sharalind hid her chagrin behind a smile. ‘I’m grateful to you for bringing the matter to my attention. I understand that it may have been difficult for you to report your fellow mortals to the authorities.’
‘Because we’re the same species?’ Galgan’s friendly mien darkened. ‘These are no people of mine, Lady. To the Wizards we humans may all seem as alike as a flock of sheep, but just like you Wizards, we’re all different.’ He spat over the side. ‘And some of us are more different than others.’
Really, talking to these free mortals was like trying to pick a way through a forest filled with bear traps! ‘I had no intention of offending you,’ Sharalind said stiffly. If he wanted an expression of regret from her, that was all he’d get. She, soulmate to the Archwizard, was certainly not going to lower herself to apologise to one of these creatures. Still, the fisherfolk were helping to feed her army. She needed them at present. Maybe pretending to ask the Captain’s advice would smooth things over – and in truth she had no idea what she was going to do with those wretched ferals. She had a feeling that they would make very bad slaves, and she wasn’t for a single moment going to allow them into the city to carry intelligence of Tyrineld back to their former masters. The Phaerie were notorious for being cunning and devious, and it had just struck her that these so-called escapees might not be what they seemed.
She turned to Galgan. ‘Captain, would you and the other fisherfolk be prepared to help these people and teach them to support themselves from the sea as you have done?’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
The abruptness of the flat refusal shocked her, but before she could ask him why, he anticipated her. ‘Why should we teach this bunch of foreigners to take the bread out of our own families’ mouths? That – and I don’t apologise for saying it – would be a downright stupid idea.’
Undaunted by the shocked gasps and ominous mutterings from the Warrior escort she had brought with her, he continued. ‘Lady, I’m going to be frank with you. If you give this lot precedence over your own humans who’ve been born and bred in Tyrineld and have served the Wizards all their lives, you’ll have an uprising on your hands – and deservedly so. If you’re handing out freedom then they should have it, not a crowd of filthy, thieving outsiders who’ve done nothing to deserve it.’
He faced her eye to eye, without a trace of deference or fear. ‘Why don’t you send these ferals out with your army? Of all people they should want to get their own back on the bastard Phaerie.’
Why, the man is brilliant!
Sharalind was too delighted with Galgan’s suggestion to be annoyed at his temerity – but she didn’t have to tell him so. ‘Thank you, Captain, for your frankness, and for your most interesting suggestion,’ she said frigidly. ‘I will certainly take it under consideration.’
He shrugged. ‘Better consider fast, because we’re here. I’ll need to go and bring us into the dock now.’ With that he walked away.
Sharalind felt uneasy in the fisherfolk village. This was the first time she’d ever been here, and the cluster of neat little houses that snuggled into the curve of the bay surprised her with their cleanliness and the skill with which they had been constructed. Who would have thought that mere humans could accomplish so much, without being instructed and supervised by a Wizard master? Though in principle she had been in favour of Cyran’s plan to grant the fishers their autonomy, she had never really thought that the former slaves would amount to much, but seeing this place, its neat gardens with their colourful flowers, thriving rows of vegetables and washing flapping on the lines, she was forced to make some rapid readjustments to her thinking.
The trouble was, she really had no idea how to treat these fishers. What she could see here was a community filled with people, just like Tyrineld but on a much smaller scale. She simply wasn’t accustomed to viewing mortals as people. Until now, she’d considered them to be little more than animals – but these were certainly more than that, as was so clearly demonstrated by the forthright Galgan.
Is it the same for the entire human species, I wonder? Or is there something special about the fisherfolk that makes them different? But I’ve no time for that sort of conjecture at the moment. Right now I have a sizeable problem on my hands.
‘Here we are, Lady Sharalind.’ Captain Galgan drew her attention away from her thoughts. ‘As I told you, we shut them safely in the boatshed for the present.’
Sharalind nodded. ‘Very well, Captain. Let us go and deal with your unwelcome guests.’
Kelon’s interlude of peace couldn’t last, of course. When he awoke, stiff and hungry, he saw narrow strips of daylight glimmering through the gaps between the stacked planks. Another day had dawned – and by the sound of the raised voices that had awakened him, it had already brought trouble. As soon as he emerged from his den behind the timber, Danel was ready to pounce. ‘There you are.’ She seized his arm. To his dismay, she didn’t look any more friendly than she had done the previous night. ‘While you’ve been skulking in your hiding place, I don’t suppose you’ve thought of a way to get us out of this mess you’ve put us in?’
‘Maybe if your people hadn’t started out by stealing from the fisherfolk, they might have received us more kindly,’ Kelon retorted, ‘and if you had taken my advice about sending in a small deputation to speak to their leaders and explain the situation, instead of turning up in one great mass, then we wouldn’t be in this situation. It might make you feel better to shift all the blame onto me, but if you were any sort of leader you’d—’ He broke off and shrugged. ‘We’ve already had this argument over and over, and I’ve better things to do with my time than dig up the same old grievances again. Just leave me out of it, Danel, and deal with your own problems. I’m done with it all.’
He started to turn away from her, but suddenly her fist slammed into his gut. Kelon doubled over, gasping for breath, pain exploding through him.
‘I should have killed you at the start,’ Danel snarled. ‘I should have sliced you open and splattered that Phaerie blood of yours all over the forest. I’d do it now, save that it would ruin the one slim chance we have of these smug, arrogant pricks ever taking us in. But I am the leader here, and I’ll get my people out of this somehow, even if it means we have to fight our way out with our bare hands. And when we do escape you’d better run, Kelon. Run fast and far, because if I ever see you again I promise you that I’ll take you apart piece by piece.’
Wheezing, Kelon straightened up to find himself surrounded by a hostile ring of ferals, all with murder in their eyes. Even as his mind raced to find something – anything – he could say to diffuse the situation, he was saved by the tortured squeal of the great door sliding back on its runners. The ferals blinked, their eyes watering in the bright daylight, and Kelon was no longer the focus of attention as everyone looked towards the entrance of the shed.
A knot of people stood there. Kelon rec
ognised the fisherfolk Captains – and with them, flanked by a half-dozen warriors who were grim of countenance and armed to the teeth, was a tall, stately woman with silver-threaded dark hair braided into a coronet on top of her head.
Wizards. Kelon felt his heart thump hard against his ribs. The fisherfolk had betrayed the ferals, and sold them back into slavery to a different set of masters. He closed his eyes, as if by erasing the sight of the ancient foes of the Phaerie he could also blot out all the implications. Danel had been right after all, and he’d been wrong. By bringing them here, he, Kelon, had betrayed her people. For a moment his mind went utterly blank, and when he got hold of himself again the tall woman was speaking.
‘I am Sharalind, soulmate of the Archwizard Cyran. As you may be aware, your former masters are no friends of my people, which is why you still have your lives, at least for the present.’ Her eyes swept across the crowd of mortals, cool and calculating, then she surprised them with a smile. ‘It may be, however, that you will find us more reasonable and compassionate than your previous owners, and you will have the chance of making a good future for yourselves and your families, even as these good fisherfolk have done.’
Again, there was that sweeping look, as though she were trying to search out their very thoughts. ‘Of course, there are conditions. But if you earn that precious freedom, I promise that it will be yours. I need everything you can tell me about the Phaerie; information about Eliorand, its defences, the Phaerie numbers and weapons, the speed and scope and secrets of their renowned flying steeds. Have any of you been in Eliorand recently? Can any of you tell me what I need to know?’
Almost light-headed with relief, barely able to believe his good fortune, Kelon took a deep breath and shouldered his way through the enclosing ring of ferals. ‘I can help you, Lady. Not only have I recently escaped from Eliorand, but I was formerly the head stableman to the Forest Lord’s fabled steeds.’
