Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  Being a woman of action, she instantly began making plans. “This Ranulf sounds like a big problem. Are you sure you can deal with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because of what happened at Caern?”

  “Partly.”

  “You had an army with you then. This time it’s just you.”

  “I’ve got Kennard and his men.”

  “They’re unreliable.”

  “They’re pros. They’ll follow orders.”

  Lind twitched a bit. “Look, don’t get me wrong, but what am I missing? You’re a dangerous bugger, even for a Llanfaes man, but you’re not an army.”

  That was a bit much. “Lind, how about you try for a little respect?”

  Of course it had no effect at all. “Oh get off your high horse and be reasonable! Why did Eward think you can take out a bandit king and his tower practically single-handed?”

  “Because I’ve done it before.” I told her about the Serif of Flamestead. “He was going to blind me, so I killed him and burned his castle down.”

  “Well now, I said you were dangerous.” Lind was smiling, though. “So taking Kennard is kind of insurance?”

  “Hardly. But they’ve tried sending in troops, and it didn’t work, so I’m thinking we need different tactics.”

  “Sneaking in the side door sounds reasonable,” Lind said, “but I’ve never heard of a glass tower before.”

  “In the east they surround stone with brush and fire it. The stone surface melts and sets like glass when it cools.”

  “It will be slippery then,” Lind said thoughtfully. “I’ll need a pair of soft leather boots. Gloves might help, too.”

  “We’ll buy whatever you want in Tanweld.”

  “How tall is it?”

  “I’m not certain, but from what I hear, it’s as high as a duke’s tower.”

  “I’ll need rope, too, to throw down to you. That’s a problem, because it’ll weigh a tonne.”

  “Carry a long, thin line. We’ll tie one end to the coiled rope on the ground. When you’re up I’ll feed you the rope.”

  “That is clever,” Lind sighed. “I’ve never been in a battle before, you know. You’ll have to teach me tactics.”

  “You climb up, let me in, and then you sit and wait while I fix Ranulf. Kennard will deal with his men.”

  Oh, the arrogance of it! The gods must have been laughing when they heard me. But I didn’t know, so I was happy.

  “Maybe, but I’d like to learn anyway,” Lind mused. “Tell me your battle stories, Ware. We’ve got plenty of time between here and Tanweld.”

  I stroked Lind’s hair, drinking in the straight brows, large eyes and sharp bones. “I’ll do whatever you want,” I told her. “Anything. Just name it.”

  “A bath would be good. And lunch? With wine!”

  Lind was in a mood to celebrate, and I couldn’t say no to her. We spent a glorious day living it up, and when we went back on the road the following morning, I was filled with hope. I was back on track.

  Chapter Twenty: Lind

  So there I was, thinking Ware was a pretty cold fish when he’s really filled with all kinds of raging emotion. When he told me he’d lost his family, I was hugging him before I even thought about it.

  Funny, that. As a general rule, I’ve never cared a jot for people. Well, I care for thralls because we’re all in the same boat, but I’ve never felt a thing for anyone else. I’ve seen merchants lose their business to fire and citizens lament being robbed, but I’ve always felt a sense of satisfaction. Seeing them weep and wail is seeing them suffering just a little bit like us; it’s like there is a bit of justice in the world.

  But when Ware told me about the burned-down temple, the destroyed farm and that funeral pyre in the field, I just felt for him. Saying I’d help him surprised me as much as it did him. If I had any sense, I would have taken his money and left. But I didn’t, so there you go.

  Maybe it’s because he’s been good to me. Ware’s a pain in the arse in many ways because he really believes that he is superior, but unlike the pompous, lazy, thieving Guild, Ware sees himself as someone who should guide and lead by example. That’s rare, that is.

  Ever since that ambush when I’d mouthed off, and he’d realised what it really means to be a thrall, Ware had been different. After Torre’s Halt he changed again.

  We were gearing up in the village square, putting all the carts in their proper order, when one of the drivers came by. “Hey you! Girl! Tell your master I need to see him.”

  Pretty standard stuff when you’re a thrall, right? But Ware popped up out of nowhere, snarling, “Have some manners, man. Her name is Lind.”

  The driver just stared at him. “She’s just a thrall. Why would I even know her name?”

  Ware was fuming. His eyes went all hard, and then he was speaking in that silky, nasty way he has. “What a refreshing point of view.” He turned to me, “Lind, I appreciate it when you pass on messages left for me. It’s only courtesy to help our friends. However, do feel free to ignore the ramblings of rude strangers.”

  Then he smiled at me and went off, leaving me and the driver open-mouthed.

  The driver recovered fast, squawking, “Hey! I still need to talk to him!”

  “You’d better run, then,” I told him.

  Everyone saw what happened, and although there was lots of quiet bitching and outrage, I stopped being “girl” and “wench”, which was nice. With Kennard being more helpful, Ware also spent more time riding next to the cart and talking to me.

  Like before, he was teaching me, but now he was explaining how I’d build a future for myself.

  “You’ll have to bypass being Apprentice Lind,” Ware pointed out, “but when you learn your craft, you’ll be Mistress Lind.”

  “But only citizens have titles. I’m not sure I’ll ever be a citizen.”

  “There are merchants who aren’t citizens, either. The law restricts citizenship, but titles are a matter of custom.”

  I was totally dazzled. “So one day I’ll really be Mistress Lind?”

  “Yes, once you’ve earned it.” Of course Ware never ignores an opportunity. “But Lind, you have to give respect to earn it.”

  “Freyja’s purse! You mean I have to go about sirring and mistressing, or I’ll never get my share?”

  “Exactly. Less swearing would be nice, too. You’re a fletcher not a drunken mercenary working his way around a brothel.”

  “Bugger! Well, while we’re on the subject, tell me about tactics. How do soldiers get into fortified towers?”

  “A strength can be a weakness,” Ware told me. “Shahr Sha-eer depended on its huge walls to fight off its enemies, but when we sent in two thousand Flamethrowers, they were trapped by those walls and burned to death.”

  “Awesome.”

  “But now that’s standard, defenders soak their roofs in water when they see an attack coming,” Ware said calmly, “and they build in stone rather than timber.”

  “Bugger!”

  “Lind!”

  But Ware was laughing. He was doing that a lot more, and as we travelled along the road, I got to know him better and better. I actually began liking him, and he started talking to me—really talking.

  Like after we were attacked again, five days out of Torre’s Halt, and once more a week out of Tanweld, Ware was all over it. But even though we made it through, he was still upset.

  “I know taking out two bands of bandits and losing just three men is good odds,” Ware sighed privately, “but I keep thinking of their families.”

  “They’re paid to fight. It’s not like they were drafted.”

  “Like Duggard’s man thrall, you mean?”

  He’d been wounded, you see. Just a scratch from a sword, but even so, it infuriated me. “He should have been armed.”

  “It’s illegal.” But he said it absently, and I knew he didn’t believe it anymore.

  I made a move to my hip where I was wearing his second best
knife. “Want me to give back this back to you?”

  He gave me a nasty look that told me I wasn’t playing fair. “You need it for work.”

  “Right. And the bow?” I was carrying that every time I left the cart.

  His lips were pressed firmly together. “I might need it.”

  “Well done, Ware. I’m carrying it for you? I never thought of that.”

  “Minx!”

  He was laughing, though, and so was I. “So you observe all the laws, except the ones you don’t like?”

  “Not at all. I’m a master craftsman, and I always follow the law.” Ware informed me. “But as the law can have many interpretations, I obey the way I see fit.”

  So I went about my days carrying my knife and bow, and nobody could say a word about it. Ware was on my side, working to help me in every way, and I was loving it.

  We were becoming closer, too. As we talked and got to know each other better, I kidded him often. Ware pretended to disapprove, but actually he quite liked it. We were becoming friends.

  We were a day away from Tanweld when Ware turned a little quiet. I thought at first he was thinking about his family, but after a good supper of salted pork with nuts and fresh spinach, he took me into our cart and put an arm around me.

  Ware’s not a touchy-feely type, so I knew something was up. He was talking softly, gently. “When we get to Tanweld tomorrow, would you like to see your family?”

  Sweet, right? “No, thanks.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes!” I snapped at him because I was shutting down. If he’d pushed, I would’ve shoved back, but he was quiet. We sat in the dark, with him saying nothing, so I talked into the night. “I ran away from the baker.”

  “They sent you back?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s the law,” he sighed.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “They had no choice.”

  He pulled me down onto our mattress, curling me into him. He smelled good, of wood and smoke, and a little bit of Wolf, too. Holding on to that firm, lithe body calmed me, and I found myself telling him the rest of it.

  “I went back again when I was with the jongleur.” It still hurt. “They’d sold my sisters. They’d no use for us, they said.” Back then I’d not cried, but now the tears were running down my face. “Poor people expose unwanted babies, right? They kept us because we were investments. But as it turned out, not good ones. They weren’t happy to see me at all. They said they’d spent more feeding me than they got from selling me.”

  I was crushed to him, his arms tight around me. “They’re damn fools. They don’t deserve you.”

  He was so furious for my hurt that I wept. I mean, I really wept. It’s not like me at all. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Well, you’re incredibly disrespectful, you swear far too much and you have a terrible temper.”

  “Hey!” But I had to laugh. “Not fair!”

  I got a hug. “You’re also brave, honest, clever and hardworking.”

  That took me aback. “Really?”

  “Yes, and if it helps, you’re also the sexiest woman in Prydain.”

  “Oh.”

  I was thinking about those eastern girls, and bloody Ware knew it. “They did call me lord,” he reminded me.

  “Oh, shut up!”

  He rolled me on to my back, leaning over me and laughing. “Go on, Lind. Just this once, spoil me.”

  “Oh my lord!”

  That night we disturbed the whole convoy. Well, I did, because Ware’s kind of quiet, but I’m a squealer. We got some sniggers the next day, but we didn’t care. We drove into the city, all the carts intact, and Duggard appeared for the first time since Ware had put him down.

  The Tanweld Guild steward, a little fat bloke called Hans Schnyder was there to greet us. “You made it. And with all the cargo intact. Tyr bless us all! It’s a miracle!”

  “It’s been a long and dangerous journey, Master Schnyder.”

  Incredibly Duggard was trying to take credit. Ware didn’t say a word, but the drivers were there, all loud in their support.

  “Master Ware led us here safely.”

  “Thanks to Master Fletcher, we lost just a handful of men. The attacks were brutal.”

  Schnyder bowed to Ware. “Master Ware Fletcher. Welcome and thanks. The Tanweld Guild is grateful to you.”

  Ware just smiled and bowed back, but he was proud as a peacock. I almost laughed to see him, but it was nice, too. After all, he’d had plenty of trouble on the road, so he deserved a bit of flattery.

  The drivers were keen to make sure Duggard couldn’t get away with a thing.

  “There’s a thief, too. Quartermaster Jarvis was raiding the supply carts.”

  “Master Ware exposed him. Without him, we would’ve starved.”

  “Yes! We demand justice!”

  Schnyder gazed at Jarvis, who was looking a right mess by then. “The justiciar will deal with this. Let’s inventory the delivery.”

  Typical Guild: money above all else.

  I thought I’d be stuck for hours, but Ware bowed to Schnyder. “Steward, it is an honour to meet you again.” He would know him! “The Guild steward of Caern has all the paperwork. However, if you need me, I’ll be completely at your disposal.” And then he quietly dumped the whole convoy on the man and took me to an inn.

  “Uhm, Ware, shouldn’t you be there?”

  “My job was to lead the rangers. I’ve done that.”

  That’s so typical of the man. He always keeps his word, does his duty or follows the contract to the letter, and then he just stops. It’s cold, and he probably makes a lot of enemies, but as he’s totally focused and completely dedicated, he’s the best. Infuriating, but also kind of comforting.

  “You’re really going to let Duggard take the credit?”

  “Considering taking the credit means double and triple counting of wares in fifty carts, yes.”

  Thinking about it that way, I could see he had a point. “Let’s go have some fun!”

  “That was my plan, too.”

  Ware took me to a plush inn on the main square that was filled with carved wooden furniture, velvet hangings, wool carpets and dozens of thralls, all dressed in blue smocks.

  They knew Ware, so while they ran around dealing with his luggage, we went about important business. “Come on. We’ll settle Wolf and the girls, and then we go to the smith.”

  An hour later I was sitting on a stool, with the smith holding my collar in his hands. “Pure silver. It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, but we’re tired of it,” Ware said diplomatically. “I was wondering, Master Smith…” They whispered a while, and then Ware took me to a tavern for a drink.

  I was in a daze. Walking around without a collar for the first time since I was eight made me feel like I was flying. I kept touching my neck, not quite believing it was gone.

  I don’t remember seeing the lawyer. I have an impression of an office with red velvet chairs and lots of books and scrolls, but what was said or done was a blank. The next thing that registered was going back to the smith. He’d turned my collar into three silver bracelets.

  “They’re yours,” Ware said as he put them on my wrist.

  “But—”

  “Shhh.” He was smiling. “Insurance, tender beauty. For a comfortable old age.”

  I was still reeling when we were called to Jarvis’ trial. Tanweld believes in public justice, so the justiciar’s court is in the square where everyone can come and listen. We were summoned as witnesses, well, Ware was, and when we got there, some of the guards and drivers had already given their testimony.

  “We’ve heard evidence from fifteen cart drivers and ten of the Duke’s guards that quartermaster Jarvis, appointed personally by his cousin, the Guild steward of Caern, stole and sold the duke’s supplies,” the justiciar, a thin bloke with a huge black beard announced. “This is an extremely serious charge. The court is concerned but notes that none
of these witnesses are citizens.”

  Anyone can testify, even thralls, but in practice a citizen’s word is needed for prosecuting serious crimes. Maybe it’s because dukes think that poor people are untrustworthy, or maybe it’s because the biggest thieves are nobles.

  “We would put the quartermaster to question,” the justiciar was looking at Jarvis who was looking thin, tired and scared, “but he has chosen to confess.”

  That didn’t surprise me. Faced with hot coals, pincers and the rack, most people choose to confess. It’s quicker and less painful.

  “Will anyone speak in his defence?”

  Duggard was up on his hind legs, tight-lipped and furious at being named as the idiot who put the thief in charge. “I didn’t know what he was doing. He betrayed my trust.”

  “But he is your cousin?” the justiciar asked.

  “An extremely remote connection.”

  Kennard was disgusted by this. “The migrants may have stolen supplies,” he lied.

  The justiciar was having none of it. “You have evidence?”

  “No, but it might have happened.”

  “You are his cousin?”

  “A second cousin by marriage, yes.”

  Ware was questioned, too.

  “Master Ware Fletcher of Llanfaes. You are a citizen and Guild member?”

  “I am.”

  “You saw Jarvis sell supplies?”

  “No, or I would have reported it. I suspected it when I saw flour and eggs being eaten by convoy followers.”

  “Who?” The justiciar sharpened with evil intent. “Give me names and we’ll have them charged, too. As conspirators.”

  For a moment my heart stopped, but then Ware shrugged and drawled, “Which ones? They’re migrants. Who knows what names they go under?”

  The justiciar backtracked quickly. “Absolutely. I beg pardon, Master Fletcher!”

  Ware just looked down his nose, as arrogant a master craftsman as anyone might imagine. Nobody would guess that Ware knew every name of every man, woman and child in that convoy because he’d seen caring for them as part of his duty.