Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  Eward inhaled sharply, his eyes lighting up.

  I gave him what he hoped for. “Of course, Lind. I told you: I’ll train you.”

  The steward actually shrieked. “You CANNOT be serious!”

  “My thrall. My business.”

  If he’d had brains, he would have walked away, considered his options and then come back fighting. But the man was an idiot. He was a dead bore, too. It was “You’re a disgrace to the guild!” and “Arrogant! Proud! Inviting disaster!” and of course “This will end badly!”

  I listened courteously, mostly because it annoyed him, but then he crossed the line.

  “It’s always the same. Jumped-up peasants can never understand the obligations that come with Guild membership.”

  I’d heard that before. It’s unusual for farmers to join the Guild but not unknown, especially when the farmers can trace their ancestors as far as lords can, and when they’re rich enough to buy a duke and his keep. My family is ancient, and we Esyllt from Llanfaes do whatever we please, so usually I don’t care what people say.

  But then Duggard went too far. “Curse you and the she-wolf who whelped you!”

  I was at his throat before he could finish. “My family have farmed in Llanfaes since the gods lifted Prydain from the seas, whereas we need go back just two generations to find pirates in yours.”

  He couldn’t answer, probably because I had my hand wrapped around his neck. I’m not tall, but I’m strong. Extremely strong, actually. When you rope bulls for branding and catch sheep for dipping during your childhood, you develop muscles that stay with you.

  The steward gargled and went purple. My head was telling me to let go, but the rage that flowed through me tightened my grip. Images of the burnt shrine and the funeral pyre flashed across my mind. The fury I’d controlled and hidden burst to the surface. I wanted to kill.

  Someone hammered on my back. A kick solved that problem. There was yelling, too. I ignored it.

  “Ware?” Grey eyes were looking into mine. I felt a gentle hand on my cheek. “Shall we go and see Wolf?”

  “Wolf?” The thought of my horse brought me back from my waking nightmare. The steward’s face was purple, his eyes bulging. Small fingers, calloused and rough, moved between mine, loosened my grip. He was gasping, too terrified to whimper even.

  “Drop him, Ware.” I could smell her scent: apples and wood. It soothed me. “We have to go.”

  I dropped the man. He fell to the ground, retching.

  “Come on, Ware.” The sweet voice was insistent. “We’re going to groom Wolf.”

  Loss, anger, grief and despair coursed through me. I almost staggered with the battering of my senses.

  “Come on. We need to move along.”

  I came crashing back to earth. Lind was standing in front of me, holding my hands, smiling but with concern in her eyes. Behind her I could see four of the duke’s guards, all with drawn weapons. A fifth was on the ground, clutching himself.

  “You’re back. Good.” The relief was pouring off her. “You went nuts, you know.”

  “Oh.” I could barely focus.

  “I’ll have you whipped for this.” Duggard was getting his breath back, but he sounded like death. “You crazy bastard!”

  “Serves you right.” Lind was uncompromising. “You insulted his family.”

  “Shut up! You wicked girl! You should be whipped, too!”

  “Oh fu—”

  “She’s right.” Eward stepped in hastily before Lind could blast him. “You asked for it, Steward. No man will stomach an insult to his family, never mind his mother. Be thankful you’re alive. In fact, thank the thrall. It’s her doing you’re still breathing.”

  “You’re surely not backing him?”

  “Damn right I am.”

  I was still standing there, lost in emotion, when Lind took my hand and began tugging me along. “Leave them to it,” she said quietly. “Come on, you need to be home.”

  The next thing I knew I was at Wolf’s stable door being head-butted. Putting my arms around his neck, breathing in the rich equine scent, I suddenly realised my wicked girl had come through for me. Killing the Guild steward is a crime, even if the poxy whoreson asked for it.

  “Here, have some tea.” Lind pitched up, thrusting something in my hand.

  I stood there, the hot mug in my hand, seeing the striking eyes and fine cheekbones come sharply into focus. “Thanks, Lind.”

  She knew it wasn’t the tea. “I didn’t want them to kill my ticket to a profession.”

  Typical. “Even so, thanks.”

  I didn’t think they’d have taken me out, they were more likely to simply bash me on the head, but from Lind’s perspective, they’d seemed lethal. Maybe she was right. After all, I wasn’t popular.

  To my surprise, I was also a little disappointed. It took me a while to understand that I’d hoped she’d done it because she liked me. I put it down to being rocked by that moronic steward. It’s crazy to even consider being liked by a thrall. Yes, I know. Total arsehole.

  Eward was round before I finished the tea. “Duggard is hopping mad. He’s bringing round a delegation, a tribunal from what he said. He’s going to demand compensation.”

  The damn fool was advertising his strategy again. I could see Lind’s worried eyes and smiled at her. I knew what the fucker would want too: my thrall. He’d see that as clever. Never mind, I knew he’d never get her, not with Eward witnessing I’d been provoked. I could deal with this easily.

  Of course, I was reckoning without Lind. If I’d known, I’d have locked her in Wolf’s stable, or maybe explained so she’d know to keep quiet. But I didn’t, so once again I headed for trouble.

  “Shall we talk business?” I said to Eward. “The Annihilator takes some delicate work, but I think I can make you four dozen.”

  “I’ll get you some assistants.”

  “No thanks. Lind is all I need.”

  “Meaning you don’t want anyone sharing your secrets.”

  “Churlish of me, I know.”

  “How much will it cost me?”

  We negotiated briefly, with Lind listening in with wide eyes. I don’t think she realised how much money master craftsmen earn. It was all good as it ensured she was motivated. Lind was banking on a happy future.

  At this point, the steward pitched up, and from his smug face, he was feeling powerful now he had three men to back him up. I recognized the smith, the tanner, and the baker. None of them looked happy. I guess they’d rather be home, making money. Good, they’d be pissed off at this and prejudiced to my side.

  The steward ground to a halt. “I demand compensation.” He still sounded hoarse.

  “You deserved it.”

  “You admit attacking him?” The smith was openly worried. “Master Fletcher, do consider. This breaks all our laws.”

  “It does!” Duggard was panting for revenge. “I want compensation! I’ll take the thrall!”

  Eward sucked in his breath and was about to speak for me as I knew he would. He didn’t get to say his piece.

  “You creep!” Lind’s eyes were wide and frightened. Never far away from explosive rage, I saw her go red and then white with anger. “You fucking creep!”

  She launched herself at the steward who actually screamed in terror. Like I said, staying in Caern was troublesome.

  Chapter Twelve: Lind

  “I’ll take the thrall,” the fucker said, and that’s when I lost it—and almost got myself killed, too. Ironically, I did it because I was beginning to think that life with Ware was paradise. Yeah, grasping at that almost made me lose it.

  From the moment we moved into that cottage, Ware began teaching me. It was total heaven. The jongleur had beaten my craft into me, and everyone else I’d come across had taught me with beatings, too, but Ware demonstrated, explained and then let me practice.

  All my life I’d dragged my feet, skipped tasks and taken every shortcut I could devise. With Ware, I was dying to do it right a
nd perfectly. That turned out to be tougher than I thought.

  “Look at this arrow!” I wailed. “It’s bent!”

  “Craftsmanship takes time to develop,” Ware told me. “If it were easy, everyone would be a master craftsman.”

  Ware made stripping bark look like peeling apples. He put a blunt bladed knife into the wood, pushed, and the bark came away in long, clean peels. When I did it, it came off in chunks and the wood underneath was chipped, scratched and gouged.

  “Never mind,” Ware was leaning over me, showing me again how to place the blade. “Mistakes feed the fire, so it’s not wasted. Try to use less force but more angle.”

  So I worked until my fingers were sore and my wrists ached, but I loved it. Oh, Ware was constantly trying to improve me, too, trying to turn me into a posh Guild thrall. It was “Lind, less of Tyr’s warty cock, please,” ten times a day.

  But he never yelled, and the idea of raising his hand never even occurred to him, so I could happily ignore it.

  I did keep him sweet by throwing in a sir every now and again, but he soon decided it wasn’t enough. “Respect is part of the training,” and he said it with steel in his eyes.

  “I swore an oath.” I hadn’t really, but I thought it might move him. It didn’t, but he did end up laughing.

  It was weird, really. Ware is a typical Llanfaes man: dark, cold and hard as rock. But when he laughed, I got a glimpse of something else. Underneath all that hardness was a warm, loving man.

  I never thought I’d say this, but Ware made me feel good. Not just in bed or in the workshop but all the time. The fletcher was proud as a peacock, but he was surprisingly fair. He shared food, not just giving me leftovers but actually dividing whatever we had, and he thanked me when I brushed the floor, washed his shirt and cooked dinner. For the first time in my life I learned what ‘gentleman’ really meant.

  Wolf was fun, too. The horse had a roll in the garden every morning, and then he’d lean into the cottage, whickering good morning. He was so clever that if the door were shut, he’d lift the latch and nose it open. He had his apples, but we shared carrot-tops, well, carrots, too. As Ware was very generous with shopping, Wolf and I pigged out.

  So I was enjoying myself, and when Ware demonstrated his new Thunderclap and the constable himself was begging to give him money, I knew that my decision to stay had been right. Then when the steward said he’d take me, threatening my future, I just saw red.

  “You fucking creep!” I yelled at him, and then I went for him.

  If they’d left me to it, I would’ve killed Duggard. He was screaming like a little Guild princess confronted by a Beast’s rampant cock and hairy balls. Also, he didn’t even know how to punch. I had my fist in his fat gut and my knee in his balls, no problem at all.

  I was pulled off him by a hand wrapped around my collar.

  “Lind, stop.” Ware. Looking like thunder, too.

  “But—!”

  He shook me like a wolfhound shaking a rat. “Stop it. Right now.”

  The black fury was running freely and this time it was directed at me. I stopped. “Sorry,” and added a “sir” as quickly as possible.

  “I want her whipped!” The steward, of course. “Ten lashes! Sentence to be carried out immediately!”

  And that’s when it dawned on me that I was right back where I started. Well, not quite, as the seneschal had ordered fifty, but still! I was in dead trouble.

  Nobody lets a thrall get away with a punch; they can’t, because there are too many of us. If we rose up as one, we’d cream the citizens easily. It’s forbidden by law for a thrall to carry a weapon, even in wartime, and they come down hard on any little sign of rebellion, too.

  An eye roll will get you a clip around the ear, and talking back is a caning. I bet nobody had ever punched the steward, but ten with the whip sounded right. It wouldn’t kill me—probably.

  I wanted to pee myself with fear, but I didn’t show it. “Go ahead!” I screamed at the steward. “Coward!”

  “Lind. Shut up.” Ware was white with anger, his eyes slate with rage. He marched me over to Wolf’s stall, threw me in, and when I bounced back up on my feet, he yelled, “Lind, SIT!”

  It was ridiculous, yelling at me as if I were a dog, but I sat. I think it was instinctive. Maybe.

  Anyway, Ware bolted the stable door, so I was out of it. Of course I was up on my feet in an instant and plastered up against it, peering through a crack in the wood, but all I got was a view and the odd phrase.

  At first it was mostly yelling. “Uppity thrall” and “whipped at dawn” was the steward talking about me. The smith was all over it, too. “Spoilt” and “must make an example” was his refrain.

  What scared me most was the tanner, a man who was clearly a fan of the justiciar and whose booming voice came through the stable door clearly. “The penalty for a thrall attacking a citizen is clear: death by torture. However, with the Llanfaes fletcher attacking our steward, we have some options: we can go to trial or hold our own tribunal.”

  “Our concern,” the smith said, and then, “power” and “serve our own justice”. From his look, he was worried that once they handed Ware over to the justiciar, they would lose their right to police and punish each other.

  That’s how it is, you see. Citizens and ordinary folk have to obey the law, but Guild people have their own justice system.

  Ware just listened, lean and dangerous, and I was praying he was remembering I’d stopped him from killing the steward just an hour earlier.

  I was also cursing myself because I was remembering that Ware is extremely devious. He’d probably had a plan all along, and I was thinking I might have mucked it up.

  I don’t know if he was remembering how good I’d been, but the constable was on Ware’s side. He listened in and then boomed, “Steward, you provoked Master Fletcher with an insult no man could bear.”

  Then there was general chatting, and the smith was prodding the steward, and the tanner chimed in with, “Provocation is not an excuse but must be taken into account.”

  The steward wasn’t letting up, though, and I thought they’d go on forever talking about laws and practices, but then Ware finally spoke. His voice was clear and forceful, so I heard it all.

  “Steward, I’ve no time for your nonsense. Let’s settle this like men.” Ware took out his dagger. “May the gods favour the righteous man.”

  “What?” The steward was totally taken aback. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Sure I am.” Ware held out the dagger. “Use this. I’ll fight as I am.”

  There was a dead silence.

  “Well, it seems unfair,” the tanner was hesitant. “You should be armed equally.”

  “If I’m fine with it, why shouldn’t you be?” Ware stood in front of the steward. “Come on, man. I don’t have all day.”

  “I won’t fight! It’s ridiculous!”

  “Because you know you’re wrong, and the gods will ensure you lose.”

  That ended it. Ware had said the one thing that could clear him: he’d brought the gods into it.

  Knights do it all the time, letting the gods decide who has the right of a fight, but I’d never seen a commoner do it. I didn’t even know that ordinary people could settle fights that way. I mean, they go to court or ask the duke or another noble to decide.

  Having two Guildsmen fight for justice was outrageous, and yet it was happening right in front of me. Typical, right? Trust Ware to come up with that. He really was a sneaky thinker. Yes, I really had fucked up.

  So the fletcher challenged, and as the steward wouldn’t fight, his friends wouldn’t back him up. He raved, he ranted and finally, even his pal the tanner was looking embarrassed.

  “Look, Duggard,” the legal-loving fat-gut said. “Clearly you lost your temper. We understand. But if you don’t want to fight, you have to let it go.”

  I was dancing around the stable, crowing quietly. “Ware got them! Ware got them!” But I’d forgotten somet
hing.

  “So the thrall goes in front of the justiciar,” the booming tanner said. “We’re all witnesses.”

  Fuck. Ware was clear, but not I. My heart was banging so hard, that my ribs were aching. In my imagination, I could feel the whip, flaying me alive.

  There was nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide. Even so, I ran around the stall, trying the walls, looking up at the timber. It was solid, but maybe if I climbed to the rafters, I could break out. They’d catch me, but at least I’d go down fighting.

  I was clambering up the wooden door, when I heard Ware making a speech. “There is law, and there is justice, but when those who are supposed to be examples to the lowly behave like beasts, there is inevitably a breakdown.”

  Ware was speaking up for me. I didn’t care if I was lowly; if he got me out of this fix, he could slap me if he wanted to, and I’d take it. Gladly.

  “The law is the law,” the tanner exclaimed. “The thrall must be punished.”

  “She must be flogged,” the steward was screaming again. “The she-wolf attacked me!”

  “You do have an unfortunate way about you,” Ware was at his nastiest again. “Or perhaps you’re still holding a grudge? I did burn down your Guild House.”

  Talk about oil and flames! The steward was yelling, the baker was red-faced and the tanner actually took a swing. The smith was holding the tanner back, but he was yelling, too. It was bedlam, so much so, that Wolf went and stood by Ware, whinnying warningly at the tanner who looked ready to have a second go.

  “Enough!” Eward drew his sword. “By order of the duke, I order you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

  It worked. Everyone stood back, in awe of the furious constable. He chewed them out, quietly but savagely. I heard bits and pieces, “a pathetic vendetta” and “childish name-calling” which had to be the steward, and “arrogant, insufferable and heedless” which was definitely Ware.

  Chastened, they listened, talked and then Ware took off his hat and bowed low to the steward. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Ware, smooth as silk, sneakier than a snake and super snooty always, humbled himself in front of the red-bearded fuckwit.