Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  Thralls are lazy, right? I would have thought that I could take it easy forever, but after a few days, I actually got bored. I managed to pick up a few boughs by the roadside so I could practice stripping bark and papering shafts, but a bouncing cart isn’t the place to dry wood, and you can’t do subtle stuff like glue on feathers and such. At least, I couldn’t.

  So I did as I could when we stopped. It wasn’t much, because I had to cook before sundown, but it meant I could keep practicing.

  Being alone was odd, too, and in a way, enjoyable. In the past I always had other thralls to talk to, but on this trip there was just Violet, Duggard’s blonde, and a couple of men, captured from Haven’s slave ships by the looks of them. I might have made friends, but from the way they kept their eyes down whenever they hurried past, I could see they’d been told not to speak to me.

  Violet looked my way a few times and smiled, but with Jarvis and Kennard watching her, I didn’t speak to her. I didn’t want them snitching and getting her into trouble.

  I did think the migrant women might be chatty, but they were a pain in the bum. On the first few days they kept to the back of the convoy, looking after their kids and getting used to being on the road. But when they got settled, three of the women came walking by our cart, nudging and gossiping.

  “That’s the thrall they’re all talking about.”

  “Yeah, look at that collar.”

  “Worth a fortune, that thing.”

  “Ullr forgive my wicked thoughts, but what I wouldn’t give to have that!”

  They talked like I wasn’t there. Rude, right? But I held my peace. After all, they’d come from Brighthelme. When the Beasts looted and razed the city, these people had lost everything. So I was kind and didn’t yell.

  Like all migrants, these women looked down-at-heel. Their clothes were well worn but you could see that they’d originally been made from good material—if somewhat sober and high cut.

  That’s pretty typical. Brighthelme people are very religious, and the women tend to dress like they’re Freyjan nuns, with their blouses tucked high and tight around the neck and skirts down to the ground.

  This lot acted proud, but they looked like they needed a good wash, and their minds weren’t exactly clean, either.

  “I heard she was the Duke of Caern’s. You know what his reputation is like, the old goat.”

  “Oh, I thought seeing that the fletcher had come from the eastern continent, he’d bought her there.”

  “Nah, she’s not exotic. She’s just a shameless hussy.”

  “Think she’s a sex thrall?”

  “Bound to be. Bet she’s kinkier than a Haven serpent!”

  That was too much. “Hey! I’m not flipping deaf!”

  The women stared at me, thoroughly annoyed.

  “How dare you address us like that, girl?”

  “Mind your tongue, insolent slut!”

  “Oh go suck Tyr’s cock!”

  Instant outrage, of course.

  “Wicked, wanton wretch!”

  “May Ullr, the Glorious One, hear and punish you!”

  “Seeing he let your city burn, do you really think he’s listening?” I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Slut!”

  “Whore!”

  “And from the looks of you, you’d have to pay a man to bed you!”

  As you can imagine, they weren’t pleased. But I do think I was right to kick back. I mean, it wasn’t like they were citizens, even. And as only citizens can own land, they had to depend on jobs to get an income.

  From their conversation, these migrants had been servants and field workers. They’d been forced out when the Beasts destroyed their city because their employers had run out of homes and cash.

  But even though the migrants had nothing to be proud of, they still thought they were better than me. Maybe they were, too. I mean, I’m nothing special.

  “That cheeky thrall should be whipped!”

  “I’m from the Vale. Our Patriarch would know how to deal with her.”

  I was on that before my brain could still my tongue. “Your Patriarch is a foul-smelling, bearded fat-gut who likes nothing better than to stick it to young boys.”

  The screams should have brought all the gods down on me, but as they didn’t, and Ware was too busy to be found, the women could do nothing.

  They buggered off, and I was happy because I prefer peace and quiet to bitching.

  I would have gone foraging, one of my favourite things when I’m on the road, but with the collar I had to stay with the cart. The migrants were too lean and hungry for me to go waltzing off looking for mushrooms and nuts. They’d have my head, or rather my collar, in a jiffy. Jarvis had a nasty look in his eye whenever he passed me, and the guards weren’t too reliable, either, not with Kennard in charge.

  Ware had stocked up on dried peas and salted pork, so it wasn’t a problem, but a couple of days into the trip, I was running low on supplies. It was galling, because there were mushrooms, nuts and greens for the taking within a mile of the road. Well, two miles considering the giant tail of migrants who were stripping everything bare.

  I was sitting by the river, finishing some arrows and wondering what to do when a solution appeared.

  “Hey, you, girl.” One of the migrants, a lean, dark-looking bloke with a strong Brighthelme accent, came loping over. I thought he was going to yell at me, the way everyone else had when they’d seen me do my work, but this one had a proposition in mind. “How about you give me that bow for an hour?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  It wasn’t mine to lend, and I knew Ware might not like it, but there was this kid tagging along. He was just a little thing, starved-looking, and it wrung my heart.

  “I need food for my family,” the migrant said.

  “How do I know you’re not going to fuck up the bow?”

  He gave me a sardonic look. “That’s a cheeky thing to ask, considering the way your arrows look.”

  The kid really was looking gaunt. “I’ll lend it to you until sunset,” I said, “I’ll give you my arrows, too—but I want a share of the meat.”

  “A quarter is yours.”

  “Half. And if you bring back the arrow-heads I’ll make more arrows tomorrow.”

  It was a good deal because he didn’t have the means to make them, not with having to walk all day. “Done!”

  And so we got a good deal going. The migrant had been a fowler back in Brighthelme, so he knew all about birds. He was a good hunter, and so over the next few days I cobbled together arrows from old parts by day, and he got us meat. I shared that with another family with three kids, and they brought me greens, mushrooms and nuts.

  When Ware found out, I thought he might yell at me for lending out his stuff, but instead he looked devastated. “I should be looking after you.” He was a bit quiet, and the next day he was fussing again. “This isn’t right, Lind. It’s my duty to care for you. I’ll arrange for the guards to go hunting.”

  It would make no difference to me, but I knew the change would hurt the fowler and his family. The Caern soldiers thought themselves superior and would positively enjoy lording it over the poor people sheltering in their train. There was no way those buggers would share their meat, not even with the kids.

  “It’s okay, Ware. I’ve got a nice set-up going. The fowler is hunting for several families, and I can keep him in arrows because all I’m doing is sitting on my bum all day long while Rose and Daisy do all the work.”

  Ware looked out over the people, and I think he was looking at the skinny children, too. “Well, it’s not what I like, but okay.”

  You’d think the migrants would be grateful, but of course they weren’t.

  “That fletcher is working as a ranger because he had a fight with the steward,” one cow said loudly as I was washing Ware’s tunic by the river. “It’s punishment, I hear.”

  “They said the most dreadful things about him in Caern,” anoth
er gossiped. “The way he treats that thrall is weird, too. I think he’s not quite right in the head.”

  “That kinky slut’s after Fowler,” a third went on, “She’s making arrows for him because she wants to snare him.”

  “She’s insatiable.” Another one was rolling her eyes and practically frothing at the mouth. “One man isn’t enough for her. She’s like a bitch on heat.”

  “Yeah, I bet she spreads faster than melting butter.”

  Nice, huh? I’m telling you, if it hadn’t been for the kids, I would have asked Ware to get the soldiers to hunt for us out of sheer spite. But I didn’t. I told myself the women could bitch about me all they liked, but they couldn’t touch me.

  But then they went too far.

  “Did you hear her wailing? Like a she-wolf in heat.”

  “My husband calls her a sex toy. Ullr knows what ungodly practices they get up to.”

  “It’s disgusting. I worry about my kids.”

  After all Ware had done for them! “Go kiss Ullr’s hairy arse, you poxy bitch!”

  There was more yelling, with my winning due to some inventive cursing and then they pissed off again.

  This time Ware heard, someone snitched, and he was at me the second he got back for supper. He was actually moaning at me while he was chowing down dinner—mushrooms, greens and pheasant. “You told the Brighthelme women to kiss Ullr’s hairy arse? And that their god hates them?”

  I was totally prepared to defend myself. “I got mad because they said you were a pervert and I was your sex toy.”

  Ware was red with rage. “Who? Who dared say that?”

  Yup, the fletcher was working his arse off, but the pride was still there, loud and sensitive.

  “Probably all of them, but just a handful who were talking to me.” I grinned at him. “What did you expect? Everyone knows all posh folk are twisted. You should hear what they say about the steward and his hot thrall. They’ve got him doing those two hairy men and using Violet for cover.”

  “Shut up, Lind.” Ware was looking appalled. “Someone will hear you.”

  “Okayokayokay! Sheesh, relax, Ware.”

  He sighed. “Try for some respect, Lind.”

  “Chief Ranger?” Pig Jarvis ambled up, bent on causing trouble. “Compliments of the steward, but can you come for a quick consultation?”

  Ware got up and went, but when he came back an hour later, he was quietly fuming. It had been another senseless meeting, aimed purely at wasting his time. Duggard thought it was fun to torture Ware this way.

  As I pulled off his boots, Ware stroked my hair. “Thanks, Lind. Now tell me: what do they say about the steward?”

  I admit I laughed because it had just taken a few days of hard unappreciated labour to reduce the master craftsman to the level of a gossiping thrall.

  “You know how some men are women inside? Well, they say he’s wife to both those hunky man thralls of his, and every night he...”

  Ware was laughing, and that night he fell asleep smiling. Pity, though, that it didn’t last. They had him up before dawn, and all thoughts of the steward in an apron had gone by daybreak.

  You know, I would have thought that seeing Ware being treated like a thrall would be savage satisfaction, but after a week on the road, with me lazing about and Ware working hard, I started to feel differently.

  Ware really put his heart and soul into his work. He never slacked, never blew anything off, and always checked and rechecked the smallest detail. I watched and then it came to me: he hadn’t been lecturing me: he’d been sharing his life philosophy.

  No matter how hard Ware worked, Duggard slept and lazed, Kennard shrugged and pouted, Jarvis sneered and cheated, and the Guild drivers and migrants just whined more and more.

  But it made no difference. Ware had revelled in recognition and flattery in the city, but now the lack of even basic acknowledgement didn’t affect his work at all. He didn’t do his work well; he did it superbly.

  “Why do you do it?” We were deep in the Caern forest, struggling over rutted tracks laced with stones, and I was exasperated because Ware was exhausted.

  He came back three hours after dark, hungry and frozen to the bone to boot. I pulled him inside the cart, warmed by two oil lamps and a metal bucket of hot coals. “You don’t have to check the spare horses and equipment every night. It’s Kennard’s job.”

  “If there’s a problem, it helps to know as soon as possible.” Ware was so knackered that he just sat there as I took off his boots. “Thanks, Lind.”

  Even shattered, Ware remained polite. I’ve never had any respect for anyone, but that really got to me. “Ware, why do you do this? It’s killing you.”

  “Worried, tender beauty?”

  “Don’t give me that. Kick that lazy fat-gut in the balls! Make them all pull their weight!”

  Ware smiled, a real smile this time. “It’s okay, Lind. I said I’d do the job, and I like to do things well.”

  “But Kennard is deliberately sabotaging you.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re letting him walk all over you.”

  “He’s in charge.”

  “That pig Jarvis is baiting you, too.”

  “He works for the steward, so technically it’s Duggard walking all over me.”

  I put the boot in. “Did you know Jarvis is stealing supplies?”

  For a moment I braced myself, ready for Ware to curse me or tell me to shut up and mind my own business. But he just nodded.

  Like an idiot, I thought he didn’t understand. “There won’t be enough food for everyone, and with Kennard favouring the guards and Duggard the Guild drivers, it’s your rangers who’ll suffer when we run out.”

  “Yes, I thought that might be the case.” He said it awfully quietly, but I was watching his eyes. They were hard as steel. I examined the long lashes, the sleek frame and remembered this man was ruthless. Ware had a plan.

  “Are you going to fuck them over?” I whispered.

  Ware simply nodded.

  I pushed a bowl of warm stew into his hands. “Good,” I told him. “I won’t interfere.”

  “Thanks. I meant to show you a better way to deal with forked wood today. Let’s do it now.”

  “You’re too tired.”

  “I promised.”

  Typical! “Yes, your word is your bond. I’m totally impressed. Now eat and then I’ll rub your back.”

  “I should lecture you about the importance of respect and obedience, but the prospect of a massage is too tempting.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got the lecture down pat. It’s the stuff that holds the threads of society together, a cloth of complex weave, blah, blah, blah.”

  “And yet, it hasn’t registered.”

  I put out fresh, thick socks and a clean tunic. It’s not sexy but cold-sensitive Ware needed the layers. “I heard, but I don’t give a fuck about society. If it fell apart, I’d be dancing.”

  “Lind!”

  “Well, what did you expect? Society doesn’t do a thing for me. Now strip off those hose and lie down.”

  Ware just groaned and lay down. “Don’t ever say that in public. That kind of revolutionary talk would cause riots.”

  “Of course not. It’s just you and me.”

  That’s when I knew I was changing. I was treating him as a fellow thrall. It was the weirdest feeling. It’s dangerous to talk openly. I’d also rushed around to take care of him. I was rubbing his feet, for Tyr’s sake!

  “This is heaven.” Ware was stretching happily. “You’re wonderful.”

  “I know. I’m the perfect thrall.”

  It wasn’t giving me a thrill at all. It’s stupid to like your owner. I’ve seen it a thousand times: when a spot of trouble pulls people together, the thrall falls for her master, gives him her all, and when it all sorts itself out she’s devastated when he casts her aside.

  Thralls just can’t trust citizens. They’ve got all the power, and we have none. We hate to think we’
re helpless, and so we want to believe there’s something there. There is, but it’s not love or trust, it’s exploitation. It’s all that can exist between us. Anything else is just illusion created by desperate hope.

  “Lind, I want you.” Ware was reaching for me, his cock standing straight up in the air. “Tender beauty.” He pulled me beneath him, lying on my back as his warm body covered mine. His lips were in my hair, his hands reaching underneath, cupping my breasts before reaching between my legs.

  Maybe I should have switched off and not let him get to me, but I guess I’m weak. His sweetly knowing touch set off creamy ripples of tightening anticipation. I sank into it, letting the delight envelop me. He was all over me, the long lean muscles hard against my skin.

  “Lind.” He was on top of me, his lips in my neck as his cock rubbed against my arse. “Mine!”

  Alarm bells cut through the rosy haze of burgeoning passion. “Ware, no, please!”

  “What?” He stilled, his breath gasping in my ear. “What is it?”

  “That way always hurts.” I could feel the huge hardness press against me. “Don’t. Please.”

  “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be careful.” But he paused and then lifted himself off me. “Okay, roll over, sweetheart.”

  I was on my back, arms snaking around him faster than thought. Gratitude fought wonder. It was another miracle.

  I don’t remember him fucking me. I clung to him, moving with him instinctively.

  Afterwards, he blew out the lamps and curled around me. “Goodnight, tender beauty.”

  He was asleep in an instant. That’s Ware for you. He gets his head down and he’s out.

  I lay in the dark, warm, comfortable and well-fed and went over it again and again in my mind. That was twice I’d said no, and both times Ware had listened. For the first time in my life I was with a man who respected my body.

  It stunned me, it really did, but my sense kicked in, reminding me of the truth. It suited Ware to indulge me, but nothing had changed. He had all the power. I’d take advantage, but I would keep my eye on the prize: freedom.

  The sensible me was properly cautious, but that changed when we were attacked.