Vassal of El

by Gloria Oliver

  “That sounds very hot and uncomfortable.”

  “Their fabric is a lot lighter than what you’re used to. They use thread spun by insects instead of wool.” He could tell by her expression she’d never heard of such a thing. “The Eastern States are very humid, covered with jungles and full of strange creatures. The people there are deeply into the mysteries, and feel that every breeze, every animal, can be used to interpret the wishes of the gods.

  “To the west, the land is harsh and difficult to live on. The men there are hard and the women harder. The empire’s mines are there, and many go hoping to find their fortunes, though often what they meet are bandits or worse.”

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  The question caught Torren off-guard. “Merris, one of the Northern States. As long as we don’t invade and take over Galt, that is.”

  “I see.”

  As they walked, the trees gave way to open, tilled fields. Not much farther, the low wall of a small town could be seen. An inn stood just inside the wall, a paddock big enough to handle the wagons and horses of caravans in the back. A small imperial garrison was across from the inn, their facilities almost as large.

  Beyond the inn and the garrison were a general store, a blacksmith shop and a farmers’ market. A number of houses dotted the area, most sited away from the road.

  “Will we be staying at the inn?” Larana asked hopefully.

  Torren glanced into the filled yard. “There won’t be room. The caravan beat us here.”

  He didn’t tell her merchants meant wares, selling and questions. He still had no idea who had attacked her family or why, and associating with a bunch of nosy men wasn’t his idea of keeping a low profile.

  He came to a sudden stop, Larana almost bumping into him. Wait a minute, why wasn’t he thinking? His gaze riveted on the garrison—the place was exactly what he’d been hoping for. He would drop the girl off here, let her tell them what had happened; and they would become responsible for her instead of him. If he asked her to, he was sure she’d keep his involvement out of the story. He would be free to go on his way.

  As the idea grew in appeal an unwanted question sprang up. Once the report was investigated, and they found out she possessed no living relatives, what would they do with her? She had no money. She was too young to rebuild her home or even care for the farm. He glanced back at her. What was she—fifteen? Certainly, no more than sixteen. He doubted she had much education or experience, nothing she could use to earn an honest living.

  The gangly girl smiled shyly at him, not understanding what they were doing standing in the middle of the road but waiting for his lead.

  He looked away from her and stared at the garrison again. It wasn’t his problem. He’d done more than could have been expected of him by bringing her this far. But…

  “Torren?”

  “Come on.” He faced the road and went on, leaving the garrison behind.

  On the right, a few stalls in the farmers’ market were in use, but most were empty. He knew during the harvest season and the ensuing festivals farmers from all around would come here to celebrate and sell their produce and wares. If one had been going on now, he might have possibly been able to find a family willing to take Larana, after some monetary incentive, of course. The fact she knew her way around a farm would have been a plus, or at least he would have said as much. He actually possessed no idea what she could or couldn’t do.

  The offerings at the manned stalls weren’t much—a few fruits still in season and some vegetables—but he looked through them as if interested. The bored farmer brightened.

  “Ah, care for some luscious fruits and vegetables, sir?”

  “Perhaps,” Torren replied. Larana stepped up beside him and started going through the stock with a practiced eye.

  “And there might be something else as well.”

  The farmer stared at him, suddenly intrigued. “You don’t say.”

  “How much for these?”

  He sent her an annoyed scowl as the farmer’s attention was diverted.

  “Why, those beauties are two for a five-piece,” he said. “You won’t find any better.”

  Larana stared critically at the tomatoes in her hand then glared defiantly back at the vendor. “A five-piece for two? No self-respecting person would pay that for these. Look, they’re still a little green, and they’re so small. Three for a copper is more like it.”

  The farmer cringed. Torren stared at the girl as if he’d never seen her before.

  “You wound me, miss,” the farmer said. “Surely, you can appreciate the expense for quality. Three for a five-piece.”

  She snorted. “You’re a thief and a scoundrel!”

  Torren took a step back as the girl put her hands on her hips and stared the old farmer down. What was this? Where was the shy waif he’d rescued a few days before?

  “A pup would know these aren’t worth more than a half-copper each,” she asserted.

  Instead of getting angry, as Torren was sure he would, the old farmer cackled for a moment, his eyes bright. He then gave back as good as he’d been given. In a flurry of words bouncing back and forth, the two of them got down to a serious session of haggling.

  After a few more minutes, Larana turned and gave a startled Torren a triumphant smile as they settled the price to three for two coppers. Shaking his head, he reached into the side of his pack for the necessary coinage.

  “Thank you, sir,” the farmer said as he took the money. “Might there be anything else you’d be wanting?”

  Torren nodded, taking a moment to remember why it was he’d really approached the vendor in the first place. “Yes, actually, there is something else. Might you know if one of the locals would be willing to lend us some space in a loft or a stall for the night? The inn appears to be full at the moment.”

  “Well, I might be able to help you there, sir.” A twinkle returned to the old man’s eyes. “I might just have room for you, I might. But I couldn’t let the precious space go for less than a gold.”

  His gaze slid from Torren to Larana, his expression expectant. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Are you mad? Even during a festival no one would ever think of charging such outrageous prices!”

  Torren watched the ensuing battle with mounting amusement. He’d not realized haggling could be so lively, or its participants so happy. He, personally, didn’t have the patience for it. These two gave the impression they lived for nothing else.

  After several minutes, the farmer and Larana finally settled on a price. Smiling, the older man gave a nod to Torren. “I guess since the two of you will be staying at my place, it’d only be hospitable to invite you to dinner.”

  “That would be very welcome,” Torren replied as he fished out the agreed-on fee.

  Larana looked smug.

  “Let me get my wagon, and after you help me close up, we’ll go.” The old man winked at Larana then left them to watch over his goods.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Torren asked once the farmer went out of sight.

  Larana looked suddenly embarrassed. “From my uncle, at the spring and harvest festivals. It’s a tradition. Competition is fierce, and it’s fun. I did most of it last time.” Her eyes lost a little of their light. “I’d been looking forward to showing him how much better I was going to do this year.”

  “You’re very good.”

  The girl nodded at the compliment but said nothing else.

  Once the farmer returned, they helped him load his wares into a small mule-drawn cart and walked on either side of it as he took them to his home. The farmer, who’d informed them his name was Gimmel, took a narrow dirt road at the back of the market area and headed for one of the houses Torren and Larana had spied from the highway. Gimmel’s was a whitewashed two-story with a large barn sitting beside a neat spread of fields.

  “If you wouldn’t mind taking Cully here on to the barn, I’ll go tell the missus we have guests for dinner.” He gave th
em a big smile.

  “Leave it to us.” Larana gave him a smile back, taking the mule’s bridle. Tugging on it to get him going, she led the animal in the direction of the barn. Torren followed.

  By the time he entered, Larana had already figured out how to unhitch the cart. She scratched the mule affectionately behind the ear, whispering softly to him as if sharing a secret. The animal brayed and sedately clumped over to his stall without giving her any trouble. After taking off his bit and bridle, she found a brush and, still talking to Cully, brushed him down.

  Torren watched her from the corner of his eye as he set his pack down in an empty stall then unloaded the cart. In his experience, mules were stubborn, cantankerous creatures, yet this one seemed to be no trouble at all. Looked as if she might just have a few more skills than he’d given her credit for.

  The two of them were just about finished with their chosen tasks when Gimmel entered the barn with a young man in tow.

  “I’ve told the missus we have company, and after I showed her your coins, she was more than happy to hear you’d be joining us for supper.” He gave them both a grin. “This here is my son, Acer.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Acer bowed his head in their direction, his square face as open as his father’s.

  “Why, you’ve already taken care of everything,” Gimmel exclaimed with some surprise. “Cully gave you no trouble?”

  Larana shook her head. “No trouble. He’s great!”

  Torren saw startled glances pass between father and son. After a moment, Gimmel shrugged and went on.

  “Well, I may not have gotten as suckered as I thought, then.” He openly smiled at them both. “Come on inside, and I’ll introduce you to the others.” He led the way over to the house.

  The front door opened into a large common room. In the center was a broad table surrounded by wide chairs. A long bench sat to one side, and a loom resided in the back. An open fireplace took up much of the left wall, and the small fire currently lit in it kept the room warm. Curios and knickknacks decorated the mantel, welcoming inspection.

  In a deep chair beside the fireplace, a young woman was softly cooing to a sleepy baby. She looked up and smiled easily as they entered, and an older woman emerged from a doorway on the right carrying a large tray.

  Larana suddenly turned shy and hung back. Torren stood impassively, as was his usual wont, leaving Gimmel to make the introductions.

  “Macah, Ulla, these are our guests—ahem.” The old farmer took off his hat as his face suddenly colored. He held it in his hands, crinkling it. “Heh, I guess I never did get as far as asking your names, did I?”

  The older woman, Macah, set the tray on the table and raised a thick brow.

  “Gimmel, I swear if it wasn’t attached…” She left the rest unsaid. Ulla tried to hide a smile.

  “I’m Style, and this is my cousin, Leila.” Torren sent a warning look at Larana as she stared at him in astonishment.

  Macah motioned them to come into the room. “Well, Style, Leila, it’s good to have you. From what Gimmel tells me, Leila forced a good deal out of him.” She gave them a conservative yet warm smile. “He does so miss the verbal contests outside of festival season. Please take a seat.”

  Torren took a chair at the table, Larana quickly sitting beside him.

  “What happened to your clothes, dear?” Macah asked as she got a good look at what Larana was wearing.

  “Uhm.” She hesitated, glancing to Torren for guidance.

  “She chased a rabbit into a field and fell into an old fire pit that hadn’t been covered over very well,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “She tried to clean it with some water, but…”

  “Oh, that won’t do.” Macah stared at the clothes critically. “I’m sure I can get it out. That vest is too pretty to leave like this. If you don’t have a spare set of clothes with you, I think Ulla and I can come up with something to hold you while we clean it up.”

  Larana blushed. “Thank you, that would be very nice.”

  Macah clucked the thanks away and started serving everyone. The portions of roast were stretched a little, but Macah had enough extra vegetables, bread and cheese to provide for the unexpected number of people at supper.

  Gimmel and his son discussed the day’s business while they ate, and the fact a new caravan had come to town.

  “Sales might be good tomorrow, then,” Macah commented. “You’d best get there early in case they wish to buy supplies before they move out.”

  “Sure, but I don’t know if they’ll be buying,” Gimmel said. “This lot, just like the last, seems to have an awful lot of guards with ’em. The merchants have been pretty prickly of late, looking at everyone as if they’d all become murderers or something.”

  For the first time, Torren became interested in the discussions. “Might you know why?”

  Gimmel flashed him a smile then leaned back to stare momentarily at the ceiling, as if gathering his thoughts. His wife rolled her eyes.

  “Well, I reckon it has something to do with the rumors.” He paused, glancing at Torren with bright eyes.

  Torren took his cue and asked, as expected, “What rumors?”

  “Ah, well,” Gimmel said, warming up to the subject. “The way I hear it—the rumors, that is—there’s some kind of build-up going on a ways past Caeldanage. Some say it’s an army of some sort, though others say it’s a big con to make people panic and drive up prices. All I know is an awful lot of people seem to be suddenly interested in the goings on up there. Heck, even the garrison here has had extra men come up in case of trouble.”

  Torren leaned forward. “What do you think is going on?”

  The older man’s smile turned suddenly sly. “Well, now, that’s a mighty interesting question.”

  “Gimmel, don’t go telling these nice people that foolishness,” Macah cut in. She stared at her husband, her look partially indignant and partially annoyed.

  “Now, wife, you don’t know it’s any such thing! Isn’t that so, son?” He turned to Acer for support. Gimmel’s son just threw up his hands and kept chewing on the large piece of cheese he’d hastily thrown into his mouth.

  Torren wondered how farfetched the old man’s theory could be that they so obviously didn’t want him repeating it.

  “You all just take the fun out of life,” Gimmel grumbled. He sat back and pulled out a small pipe from his breast pocket, pouting.

  Macah sent her husband a satisfied look and started picking up the dishes. Not quite hiding a smile, Ulla handed the baby over to her husband and got up to help her mother-in-law.

  “I’ll make sure to have plenty for breakfast, so be sure to join us in the morning,” Macah told them.

  Torren stared at her, surprised. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Most farmers he’d ever boarded with had rarely invited him to supper, let alone breakfast—not for free, anyway. He saw Macah send a small smile Larana’s way as she thanked them as well, getting up to help with the dishes. He suddenly understood why the invitation had come.

  He was left with his thoughts as the women departed. Gimmel was chewing on the end of his pipe rather than smoking it, and Acer was busy rocking the baby.

  Gazing about him, he recalled many nights resembling this one—good food, quiet company, a warm fire. How long had it taken before these things became comforting rather than painful or strange? He shook his head, not wanting the thoughts, for they always brought such a varied mixture of emotions with them.

  Larana returned after a short while wearing a shirt and skirt just a little too big on her. Macah was behind her.

  “Dear, why don’t you show these good people where the well is so they can wash up—and get me some water, while you’re at it?”

  Gimmel’s face lit up a moment, but it went back to normal before he answered her with a half-put-out “Sure.” Grabbing a lamp from beside the fireplace, and lighting it with a taper, he grabbed the pails his wife handed him and headed for the door as i
f unhappy to have to do the chore.

  When he stepped outside, however, he straightened considerably and stared off in the direction the sun had set. Now that it was just the three of them alone, Torren expected the old man to pick up the conversation where it had left off. Instead, Gimmel kept silent as he took them to the back of the house and pulled up some water to fill both containers.

  “This one you can take back to the barn with you.”

  He escorted them there, dropping his pail off on the way. They entered the barn, and Larana tried not to trip over her long skirt as she hurried off to the stall they’d be spending the night in. She quickly tried to smooth out the hay and set out the blankets while they still had the light from Gimmel’s lamp.

  As Larana worked, Gimmel sidled up to Torren, his eyes bright. “It’s my belief, though, as you can tell, my family doesn’t agree, the goings-on up north have to do with the Flyers.”

  Torren felt himself stiffen. “Flyers?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I think.” His voice grew even softer. “I also think it might have something to do with the Vassal of El.” The old man watched for his reaction, nodding his head knowingly.

  Torren stared at the old man, numb. The Vassal? After a moment, he shook himself out of his surprise. Could what Gimmel said be true? His family obviously didn’t think so. The man offered no proof; it was foolish talk. Still, the uneasy feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. A quiet voice in his mind reminded him the dream had returned. Maybe it wasn’t just coincidence.

  Seemingly having gotten the reaction he was looking for, Gimmel went on. “I, for one, don’t believe the stories told of the Flyers. Do you?”

  “Not exactly.” He had heard many different stories told about them. Eaters of lost children, bringers of bad weather. How they’d supposedly stolen the favors of the gods for themselves.

  “And you shouldn’t, either, though I’m in the minority around these parts.” He lowered his voice. “I actually saw one once, at the capital, a long time ago. They didn’t look evil to me. If anything, the ancient stories told there said they were once caregivers to all who had need of them. That if you lived life like them, you could actually become one of them.”