Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  “The Yentif are responsible for it all?” I asked.

  Haton answered, “Proximately, though to be precise, the entire nobility feasts upon us.”

  “You took your case to the Sten after the attack?”

  “Yes, seeking compensation from the Council of Lords and those who own the wharfs responsible for the militia that attacked us. We should have known better. The court found in their favor, and now every noble is using the ruling as an excuse to move more aggressively against us. The Kaaryon means to turn its craftsmen into churls.”

  I had two more questions. “Are your fortunes intact?”

  “You bloodsucker,” one man spat. “You ask about our wealth while the city still smolders?”

  “Leave your haggler’s words aside, friend. You misunderstand my position. We can offer you a new home but Enhedu cannot afford to subsidize any of your enterprises. I will need an answer to my question.”

  The man sat back. The one who had so pointedly demanded to know about Barok’s pledge leaned forward. Haton took soft hold of his arm. The man relented.

  The barkeep said to me, “If you need to know, yes, our fortunes are intact.”

  “Does the chancellor hold any warrant on your members?”

  “No. Property has been seized but, as of yet, no persons.”

  “Then why come to Enhedu?”

  His sadness was plain. “If we abandon the city, we surrender the right to practice our trades. Some of us think ourselves wealthy enough to retire but where to? Enhedu has the lure of being far away, safer by a tall mountain, and willing to allow us our livelihoods.”

  “Then,” I said, folding my arms, “I have one request, and if you are the men I think you to be, all of your questions will be answered by it.”

  Several of them scoffed. One set his weight dangerously back into his chair and folded his arms. “My questions answered by your request? If you can manage that, I will sign whatever your prince promises.”

  The room waited, and I said one word. “Dockwrights.”

  The men all went wide-eyed, and Haton waved down their rising voices. “Enhedu has never boasted a harbor, alsman. What exactly are you saying?”

  “The mountain road is unfriendly. You wonder where your goods could possibly be sold. Find me a team of dockwrights, and you have your answer.”

  The room looked to one of their fellows. The man pulled at his beard. “You figure it will take the two years of the pledges to get a harbor and market established?”

  Barok and I had not dared dream it would happen so fast, but the man’s calculation had such resonance, I nodded with confidence. The men shifted, bit their lips, and wrung their hands.

  The bearded man sat back and said, “I know men who would crawl to Enhedu for the opportunity to be the masters of a new harbor. You will have the wrights you need. The finest in the Kaaryon. I pledge it.”

  The man who liked to point leaned forward again, but I cut him off with an answer to his question. “Prince Barok’s original offer was meant for men without the means to see their trade established, the contract an extended pledge of service. In exchange for two years loyalty and labor, the prince gave each a plot of land, built a shop for them to practice their trade, and is paying them a laborer’s wage. His contract with the carriagemaker differs only in that master Sevat will pay to Enhedu a market tax of fifty weights each spring and autumn instead of surrendering the output of his trade to the prince. The market entry tax for lesser craftsmen ranges from 140 to 900 silver.”

  The room sat stunned. The bearded man managed eventually to ask, “This promise of labor you speak of, it entails what, exactly?”

  I considered several answers before saying, “There is no privileged class in Enhedu nor are there any slaves. We are all free men expected each day to do whatever work is required.”

  “Sounds like a bit of a stretch, alsman,” another man chuckled. “What sort of work do you do?”

  “I chop a cord of wood each morning for the fires,” I replied flatly, and their expressions changed. They were convinced.

  Haton looked slowly around at his fellows before he asked, “How many is your prince willing to take on?”

  “How many in your association would be willing to sign his pledge without reservation and bring with them all that is required to reestablish their trade?”

  “Most.”

  “Give it a number, Haton. Barok can offer no more than land and opportunity. If charity is needed for some of your fellows, you may give it, but know that your association will be expected to sustain any who fail before the pledge expires.”

  He crinkled his brow and then scratched at it. Another man produced a document that must have been the association’s rolls. They counted their way slowly through the names.

  “Seventy-two master craftsmen,” he eventually replied with a confident tone but looked around the room. They nodded their agreement.

  I did not have to guess at his degree of charity. The number included every surviving member of their organization. They were leaving no one behind, and their fidelity made my decision easy.

  “Then I promise you that number.”

  “You have the authority to say it?”

  “If you are talking to me, you are talking to the prince,” I said, and the words straightened everyone’s backs.

  The man closest to me said, “We have already been persuaded that you are rogue to the Exaltier and not agent against our cause, but your words are very tall. What proof do you bring?”

  Rogue to the Exaltier. I felt sick and elated at the pronouncement, but knew it was true. To be in that room made it true. I stood straighter.

  “Give me your hand,” I told him.

  The man looked hesitantly around the room, but then stood and extended it. I pulled Barok’s seal from my pocket and stamped his palm.

  The man made benedictions as he examined the red mark. His fellows grabbed at him to get a look for themselves.

  “Bayen has nothing to do with this.”

  The table looked confused but began to smile.

  “Good to know,” Haton said.

  Someone suggested a toast and everyone agreed. Before I could object, wine filled the cups on the table, and one was handed to me.

  Haton raised his. “To the Yentif.”

  “To the Yentif,” they replied in unison and drank while I stared into my cup. The red liquid was black in the dim light, and its thick scent enthralled me. I lifted the cup toward my mouth and tasted the dust on its rim. My heart began to pound from dreams of wine in my guts.

  The noise and the smells of the musty room were so comfortable, so familiar—too familiar. For a moment, I was back at a broken-down tavern in Smargnoid. But then the laughter and bang of cups became the calls and clashing of steel, the blow of snow, and the spill and stink of emptied bodies. It all came back to me, hard and so very clear.

  * * *

  I ordered them down, my company of 300, to ambush mountain men of Heneur, men loyal to the royal family Pqrista. We were on foot, the steep slopes of the mountain forcing us to leave our Akal stabled far below. But the twenty we ambushed became the swarm of thousands. Screams and death—we were trapped and forced back and up against the side of the mountain. Death and death, shoulders and shields, charge after charge against us.

  “Hold. Hold the line. Give it to them men. Show them their guts. Quick order, front and switch by fives. On your feet there. You can die when I tell you to. Shields up. Let them blunt their spears. Hemari. Hemari.”

  On and on it went until the frozen ground was warmed from the pouring of blood and became a bog that slowed them. They tired of their dead and retreated. Then came the long march back through the frozen dark of night, thirty of my 300, all of us carved upon and red. Such terror in the darkness. Each step in blood-filled boots an agony, convinced by each tiny sound that they had come for us again.

  * * *

  I felt the liquid upon my lips.

  No. Curse you,
Leger. You coward. You fecal sump. Have at it. Stand and fight. Fight or die.

  I pushed the cup away from my hungry mouth while my tongue and jaw trembled from want. I had to use both hands to set the cup down.

  The room wore huge smiles, and I forced one as well. No one seemed to have noticed my struggle. My belly gnashed at me like a hungry bear while the room drank down the wine and filled the space with subdued exuberance.

  “Leger should go with me tonight,” someone said, and the room quieted to a gambler’s hush.

  “Yes,” Haton nodded and stepped aside so that I might shake the stranger’s hand. “Leger, this is Onmar. He’s a merchant, not a craftsman.”

  I felt dim and drawn. My words were slow as I asked them. “You’re going somewhere?”

  The room chuckled. Haton said, “We’re all going somewhere tonight. You go with Onmar. He can tell you about apples. We will meet you in Alsonvale.”

  Everyone rose to leave, and the urgent movement woke me—the details of the day a sharp slap.

  I moved close and took Haton’s arm. “What news of Darmia?” I demanded.

  He pulled me aside. “When they seized the Creedal, it was on a charge of subversion.”

  “Subversion? Let me guess, they finally took issue with the name of the place.”

  “They did, and I owe my ass to my customers. A Hemari colonel drew his sword when one of the priests took Evela by the hair, and you would have died to see it. He tossed the priest all the way into the street from halfway down the bar. Then he and the red hat in charge called each other names for a while until the commotion rallied more blue. The priest surrendered the subversion charge, content to shut me down and seize my property.”

  “The bluecoats always outnumber the red hats in your part of town,” I chuckled.

  “Not anymore.”

  “The flames caught the garrison sleeping as well? How many?”

  “Last I heard, a few more than 900.”

  “What? Rot all. Why so many?”

  “No one could keep them from trying to get the horses out of the stables. The screams of the Akal … you could hear it clear across the city. Men from the garrison in Alsonvale were even found inside.”

  “Speak no more of such things,” I said with a shake and nearly vomited. I asked quickly, “What of Darmia?”

  “Safe. She and her sister.”

  “How? Where is she?”

  “Never sleep beneath the Sten’s window, as they say. The same night they chained my doors closed, the association started getting its people out of the city. One of the best decisions we ever made, considering what happened on the Deyalu the next night. The girls are on their way back to their family farm in Abodeen.”

  The solid punch of relief struck me as sudden as a falling stone. I shook off the last of the dread and tried to focus on things that could kill me.

  “Any ideas yet who is behind the fire?”

  “We have a notion, but I would not even trust these walls with a telling.”

  I heard the squeak of the heavy door, and the merchant Onmar poked his head in. “This ride will not wait, alsman.”

  “Farewell then, friend,” I said and shook Haton’s hand.

  And just like that I was back down the alley, following a man I had just met to an unknown place for an unknown purpose. We retrieved my horse and took quick leave of Bessradi.

  I suspected I would not see her again for some time.

  57

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  “My lord?” Gern said with a tone that begged forgiveness for interrupting, but still insistent enough to let me know he was not going to leave until I acknowledged him.

  I stared at him for a long moment and then back at the ink stone that had been drying up on me for two days and the wreckage of vellum strewn across the table.

  “My lord, is everything alright? Fana tells me a letter arrived with a Yentif seal and a messenger waits to take back your response.”

  “No ... yes. Everything is fine.”

  “I am sorry I have not been here to help you more. The second group of greencoats has finished their fifty days, and I have hired on some more men to take care of my horses. I will be at the keep each day now.”

  “That is good. Was there something you needed?”

  “My lord?”

  “You came to see me. Did you need something?”

  “My lord, you are due at the river. Much needs doing.”

  I looked up at the gallery alcove where Fana and Dia worked. Both were looking down at me.

  “This is their doing?”

  “They are worried, yes. The Dame also tells me you have not been eating.”

  “I am fine. Send the miller my apologies.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me? Who are you to say no to me?”

  “I am a greencoat, not a Deyalu footstool. You will eat the meal the Dame brings up, and you will attend the ceremony. We are all very sorry we have not helped you more this summer, but the garrison is established now, and we will suffer nothing that keeps you from your duties.”

  I chuckled with Kyoden’s voice. The Chaukai had returned, and their service to the Vesteal would put any alsman to shame.

  I said to him, “There is still no one here who can save me from you is there?”

  “Not a soul,” he tried to say sternly, but could not help a smile. “I am sorry for being harsh. Blame Leger for making me this way but please do not refuse our aid. We have sworn ourselves to it.”

  “You were always this way, my friend. Leger just put a heavy edge on you. You have convinced me, Lieutenant. Send up the Dame and find out from Fana what else I have let slip.”

  “As you will, my lord. I will see you when you return from the ceremony.”

  “And one more thing,” I said and handed to him the letter. “I should have shown you this when it arrived. Plan accordingly. It is not to be shared beyond those in your command.”

  He saluted me and turned, called up the Dame with her ready tray, and disappeared. She sat with me and talked about clouds and crops until she was satisfied that I was eating.

  Upon the practice field outside, three speckled ponies and the brothers from the garrison waited for me, and they were no more than two paces from me the rest of the night. I understood why Gern had assigned them to me. There was no end to their focus, and both had the same quiet, unmovable quality as Geart.

  I regretted the comparison instantly. I was unsettled enough as it was. I could not take the wondering what had happened to Geart, but once started, I could not stop. His life had been consumed in my service, and if he still lived, it was as a churl beating on rocks or digging in the dirt far beyond my knowledge or reach.

  When we arrived at the mill, our frowns unsettled the mayor. I put on the best smile I could, made excuses for our manners, and fled my conflictions to the welcome distraction of the crowd.

  The event at the river’s edge was an important one. Our mason-mayor had finished a pair of massive stones for the miller, and like the well he had built for us that spring, the completion of the millstones would save Enhedu an enormous labor. Half a barn of various light grains already waited, and it would not be long before Enhedu began to harvest the heavy wheat it had planted that spring.

  I watched happily with my town as the stops were pulled, water turned the wheel, and the millstones ground in quick order their first two sixty-weight sacks of rye meal. The event instantly became a celebration, and the wide stone space at the base of the bridge became a great imaginary hall. When the light left the sky, half the town was still dancing upon the bridge. My bodyguards liked neither the crowd nor the darkness. I offered my congratulations to the miller, said a few good-byes, and was hurried back to the keep.

  I woke to the rap of Gern’s knuckles and dreams of Rahan’s letter. My lieutenant was not as pretty as Fana, and his voice had gotten as rough as Leger’s, but someone was better than no one. Dia had risen early again.

  I expec
ted questions from the lieutenant about the letter over breakfast. He let me eat in peace, instead. A stack of letters and proposals from my town and villages waited patiently at the far end of the table—more of the work I had been ignoring. Gern’s idea of priority turned me properly to them.

  Some were of minor import. An unnecessary letter from one of the swineherds, for instance, sought permission to build a fence on his own plot of land, and a letter from a woman in one of the villages inquired of the health of her son who had come to work in the quarry. Both should have gone to Erom.

  Others were far more interesting: Madam Sedauer and that clothier friend of Dia’s had written with hopes of starting a dye-making business; Gern’s cousin asked for a plot of land to build a smokehouse; and most surprisingly, Sahin’s beekeeping cousin reported that he and his family had successfully moved thirty-nine hives, had found sixty-eight more in the forest around the apple orchard, and would need carpenter’s time to build more hives, potter’s time to make vessels for honey and wax, a place to store it all, and somewhere else to sell it. The desire to ride out and visit each petitioner was strong. But with Gern at my shoulder, I shook off the urge and summoned my surveyor-carpenter, instead.

  “Good day, my lord,” Merit greeted me enthusiastically as he arrived. “How can I help?”

  I could hardly recognize the man. His clothes were fresh and well-fit, his hair and boots clean. The slump in his shoulders and the droop of his chin had been replaced with a swagger and a smile for the world. I regretted the story behind his transformation but could not begrudge what seemed a happy result for one of Urnedi’s most valuable men.

  “I want you to investigate these for me,” I said and handed him all nine of the proposals that interested me. “Return with recommendations.”

  “A pleasure to serve,” he bowed while examining the pages. “Is there a name for this kind of work?”