by Jane Glatt
“You can’t do that.” Avery had turned to face him, her face red with fury.
Calmly, Thorold passed the scroll to her. “It’s all here, signed by the King and witnessed by three of his council.”
He watched the blood drain from Avery’s face as she read through the edict twice. She studied the four signatures at the bottom, looking up at the king and then around the room, her gaze resting on himself, the High Bishop and Captain Barton before she nodded to herself.
“I will not submit to this, neither will Aruntun.” She tossed the scroll back onto the table and looked directly into his eyes.
Thorold smiled and he saw a flicker of doubt cross her face. “I never thought you would, my dear Duchess. Captain Barton, please arrest the Duchess. She has directly opposed the king’s edict.”
“You may have me, but you will never take Aruntun, you know.” Avery stood as the guards approached her. “You can’t even cross the border can you?” She looked directly at Barton when she said it and to Thorold’s fury, the man flinched. As the duchess being led away Thorold became aware of the High Bishop trembling beside him.
“Not yet, my friend,” he leaned over and placed a hand on the High Bishop’s quivering shoulder. “You must be patient.” He removed his hand in disgust and rose to leave the room. The man was practically salivating over the chance to convert Duchess Avery.
“Report, Captain.” Thorold reclined in the chair in his office at his estate. Barton had come through one of the secret tunnels. Soon they would be able to dispense with any subterfuge, soon there would be no need to try to hide who was really ruling Soule - the king would not live much longer, he’d see to it.
“Duchess Avery and her captain, Neal Ravershaw, have both been imprisoned, my Lord.” Barton stood at attention still. Thorold had not given him permission to sit, a small price for flinching in front of the duchess.
“And they both publicly denounced the edict?”
“Yes my Lord. Although Ravershaw nearly drew his sword before the duchess told him to stand down,” Barton said.
“A pity for them,” said Thorold absently. They would never have gotten past the Kingsguard but one or both may have secured a cleaner death than the one they would get from the High Bishop.
“And they’ve had no chance to send any communication?” he asked.
“No my Lord. They were escorted directly to the prison. Not even the servants were aware they’d been arrested.”
“Good. You’re dismissed.” Thorold waved a hand and Barton headed towards the secret panel.
“One more thing, Captain.” Thorold glanced at the man as he stood halfway through the door. “Today, when I wanted her beaten down, you allowed the Duchess a small satisfaction. Do not give away yourself away like that in the future. Do you understand?”
Barton nodded and entered the passage, quickly closing the panel behind him. Thorold sat in his study a few minutes longer. Aruntun was under control - next would be Fallad. The Brotherhood had a stronghold in there - he needed to find and destroy it. Too bad Lord Stobert had proven so ineffectual.
Kane – astride Runner - was scouting about half an hour ahead of Brenna and Yowan. The trail they’d been following was well used - the dirt was hard-packed despite the spongy turf to either side. In the days since they’d landed on the coast they had passed the remains of two camps, both more than a week old. This morning the trail had widened and another path from the east had joined it - the tracks of narrow wagons visible among multiple hoof prints. At the fork in the road Kane had decided to range ahead, on the look-out for bandits or Comackian guards.
Years before Thorold had become duke, Kingsguardsmen had patrolled these mountains, keeping the trade routes free. That was before Kane was a guard but Dasid had spent time up here - he’d loved it almost as much as the Western Forest he’d grown up in. Once Thorold became Duke he’d insisted on having his Comackian guards patrol his land.
Kane stopped Runner at the crest of a hill. A large valley spread below him - the silver ribbon of a river cutting it in half. The trail wound its way down and through dense trees to the valley floor, crossing the river at a bridge. At the far end of the valley, with its back hard against the mountain it was named for, stood what must be the town of Blackwall. Kane spotted stone walls perched high up the dark mountain. That was their final destination, Blackwall mine, where Eryl’s information said an indentured servant named Madelay Trewen lived. An indentured servant who had been born Madelay Kerrich and was sister to the Duchess of Aruntun.
With a snap of the reins Kane turned Runner and retraced his steps to meet up with Brenna and Yowan.
They made camp early, a two hour ride from the town. None of them wanted to ride into Blackwall after dark - better to send one or two of them in daylight to do some scouting. Kane had finally convinced Brenna to stay behind. He and Yowan would go - two soldiers looking for work. Brenna would watch from a safe distance and track them by their old steel - he’d signal her when it was safe to join them.
He woke to find Brenna struggling against him in the bedroll, thrashing from side to side and mumbling. He tightened his arms around her.
“Brenna, wake up,” he whispered. She stopped struggling but continued to mumble. The light from the fire was blocked as Yowan loomed over them.
“Anything wrong?” the older man asked.
“Just a nightmare,” Kane replied. Brenna settled beside him, quiet now.
“Wake her up.” Yowan said. “Now.”
Kane looked up. In the flickering light from the fire Yowan’s expression was serious.
“If we don’t wake her, she might forget what she’s Seen,” Yowan said.
Kane nodded and pushed at Brenna’s shoulder. Eventually, she blinked her eyes open.
“Brenna, tell us what you Saw.” Yowan crouched down in front of her. “Try to concentrate.”
Brenna ran a hand through her hair and Kane sat up, drawing her with him, his arms still wrapped around her.
“It was Avery, I think.” She turned to him, her face pale. “And the High Bishop. Like with your uncle.” Kane drew in a sharp breath as he felt her shudder. He pulled her even tighter as she shivered.
“What is it, what does that mean?” Yowan asked. “What does the High Bishop have to do with your uncle?” Yowan peered at them.
“He killed him,” Kane said sharply. “It means that Duchess Avery is in danger.”
twelve
He and Yowan left Brenna about an hour’s ride from Blackwall. She had led both Blaze and Patches up a small slope and hidden in a grove of fir trees, promising to use her invisibility spell if needed. With a last backward glance and a short prayer to Jik, Kane had turned toward Blackwall.
As they got closer to town they passed wagon trains of carts pulled by thick-necked teams of oxen, rolling heavily along the hard, dirt track. The drivers sullenly watched them from beneath battered hats and threadbare coats while hired swords fingered their weapons until Kane and Yowan were past.
The trail had become a wide road a mile after they’d left Brenna. A new road, wider and looking more traveled, had joined from the west. The wagons they met would be heading for that western road - the path they had taken from the south would not support the heavy carts and oxen and Kane was thankful that this traffic would not go past Brenna.
Unlike most towns, there were no farms scattered around Blackwall. The few tillable fields he saw lay fallow even though planting would have to be done soon, even this high in the mountains. Neither did they see sheep or goats dotting the slopes that surrounded the town and Kane found the lack of farmers disturbing. All food would need to be carted in, which would let merchants wield a lot of power over the town.
A rough stone wall stretched around the town but again, unlike most walled towns Kane had seen, there were no beggars or poor folk living in shacks built against the outside wall.
He and Yowan had to wait until two long caravans of carts had passed through the wide gate
before they were allowed to pick their way through the piles of oxen dung. They dodged children who carried shovels and buckets who nimbly scooped up the dung and dumped it into a nearby cart. For the furnaces, Kane was told by one child when he asked. The dung was dried and then burned to fuel the mine furnaces that allowed the ore to be freed from the rock. Kane’s eyes followed a dirty finger pointing high above the city to a black smudge of smoke that clung to the mountain.
The guards on the gate barely looked at them as Kane and Yowan rode past them and into a large square. They had entered from the south and across the broad expanse of stone there was another road that left the square heading north. The opposite sides were filled with stables, most of which looked empty, although more children with shovels were busy inside and out. Wooden posts ringed the square and about ten carts were being hitched to teams of oxen. Kane rode up to a man who was directing the work.
“Lookin’ fer work?” The man barely glanced up.
“Yes, we’re hoping someone needs some caravan or inn guards.” Kane waited until the other man looked up, his gaze calculating as he looked first at Kane and then at Yowan, taking in the quality of their swords as well as their mounts.
“Ye picked the wrong day to show up. No, put ‘em with the last wagon.” He yelled at a lad who was struggling with a team of oxen. “Caravans go out every two weeks.” He turned back to them. “This is the last one goin’ out and we got enough to watch out fer us today. Come back in ten days, that’s when I’ll be signing on fer the next load.” He surveyed the square as the last team of oxen was being backed into place. “If it’s an inn yer lookin’ fer, try the Iron Demon, over near the west wall. It’s a good place and they always like t’have guards.”
“Thank you,” Kane said. “We’ll be back in ten days.” He clucked to Runner and he and Yowan headed across the square. They would take a look at the inn and decide if it would suit them.
“Looks like our luck is in,” Yowan said quietly. “Now we have two full weeks before anyone expects us to be hired out. Should give us plenty of time.”
Kane nodded. He hoped their luck continued.
The Iron Demon looked exactly as he’d expected. The walls were made of stone blocks fitted together with mud or clay dabbed into the spaces between the stones. The second story, a wood frame structure, sat crookedly atop the stone walls and overhung the street below. The plastering had likely once been almost white but now it was a dull gray and the beams between them were a dark, chalky black. The heavy door moved easily when he pushed it back to enter.
They sat at a table in a corner and ordered a meal of cheese, bread and ale.
“This looks likely.” Kane looked around the room. The furniture and floor were battered, but spotless. “It looks like the owner has some pride in it.” He gestured to a young girl who was cleaning out the hearth.
Yowan grunted. “The table’s clean.” He ran hand lightly across the tabletop, which was clear of any spills.
“Cleanest tables in Blackwall.” The serving girl was back and set mugs of ale down in front of them. “It’s a rough town but that don’t mean we’re pigs. Though some inns don’t keep high standards like we do.”
“Then I’m glad we were sent here.” Kane smiled up at her. “By the caravan master in the square.”
She nodded and pushed back a few stray blond hairs that were escaping her cap. “That would be Jackson. He’s like to be a bit short on caravan days. He’s a good customer of ours except when he’s takin’ our guards.” She eyed them more closely. “You two lookin’ for work?”
“And a place to stay.” Kane nodded. “But I’ll be honest, we’re hoping to head out with the next caravan. The coin is better.”
The serving girl sighed. “I like that ye’re honest. I’ll talk to my da, see if that’ll do.”
“One more thing,” Kane said. “There’s three of us, but the third one’s a woman. Will that be a problem?”
“Not if she can take care of herself,” she said. “We don’t allow no rough talk or rough hands here. If she wants to work we can always use more help to carry mugs or in the kitchen. I’ll talk to Da.”
Before they had finished their meal they had been hired as inn guards. The owner, Master Colley, was happy to have Arlott and Yowan, as they introduced themselves, since his last guards had left with the caravans just that morning. Both Mistress Colley and their daughter Leila were interested in seeing where Brenna would fit but neither one of them seemed to hold out much hope.
Master Colley, who insisted they call him Ox, showed them to a plain but clean room that, along with meals for three, was part of their payment.
The room was simple, with two small cots shoved up under low eaves and a wash stand by the door. Kane had to stoop in order to get to the cots but the room was for their use only, and the door had a solid bar that he dropped into place as soon as Ox left them.
Kane drew his sword and sat on one of the cots, concentrating on Brenna. He felt her answer him immediately.
“Straight through the gate, then take the west road,” he said. “The inn is called the Iron Demon and the innkeep is master Colley. We’ll be waiting in the tavern.” He heard her reply in his head while she repeated the instructions, then she was gone.
“She should be here by midafternoon.” Kane said to Yowan. “I told her we’d meet in the tavern.”
“That gives me some time to wander around then.” Yowan headed for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” Yowan left and Kane headed down to tavern soon after.
“I’m cooking?” Brenna asked. She and Kane were seated at a corner table in the tavern of the Iron Demon. Yowan had met her outside and taken the horses to the inn’s stables.
“You could serve if you’d rather,” Kane said.
A young woman with blond hair tucked up under a white cap set two ales down in front of them.
“Leila, this is Jemma,” Kane said. “I’ve just been telling her about your offer.”
“Well, ye look tough enough, though ye’re a bit smallish,” Leila said.
Brenna smiled as the other woman eyed her critically. She tucked her arm under the table when she thought Leila would feel it for muscle. Next she’d want to look at her teeth.
“Yes, but Arlott wasn’t clear on the details,” Brenna said. “He can be slow like that at times.” She smiled sweetly at Leila. “Too many blows to the head, if you know what I mean.” Her smile widened when the other woman nodded her head in serious agreement.
“We gets’ lots like that in here. Simple,” Leila said. “The mines does it to ‘em. They just need a strong hand, is all.”
Brenna reached for her mug, covering up her laugh with a sip of ale. Kane raised his eyebrows at her from across the table but she ignored him and turned back to Leila.
“If you want me in the kitchen I know my way around herbs and such,” Brenna said. “I’ve never served in a tavern before. Which would you prefer?”
“Let’s get you started with Ma in the kitchen tonight then,” Leila said. “The caravans left today so’s it’ll be a quiet night.” Leila nodded to a door that led off the room, past the bar. “You can take a try at serving come tomorrow, if ye want.”
That settled, Leila left them and headed through the door she’d indicated. A moment later an older woman peered out and Brenna raised a hand in acknowledgement.
“Now I’m supposed to act like I’m dim witted?” Kane asked. He sipped his ale as he scanned the tavern.
“Better than thinking you’re smart,” Brenna replied. “They’ll be more likely to talk around you if they think you’re slow.” Kane looked at her for a moment before he smiled and nodded in agreement. “Besides,” she continued, “this tavern is run by its women. They’ll trust me more if they think I’m like them.”
Kane looked up at her in surprise. “But when Yowan and I were here earlier Leila made a great show about talking things over with her da.”
“A great show, yes, to make sure yo
u understood there was a hulking male watching over the place.” Brenna sipped her ale and peered over at Kane. “You don’t really think he has a chance against her, do you?”
Kane’s gaze travelled over to where Leila stood with her father. It looked like she was giving him instructions.
“I guess not,” Kane said at last. “His nickname is Ox.”
“An animal that’s not known for being clever,” Brenna said.
“But is known for working well in a harness,” Kane said.
Brenna grinned. “When there’s a strong hand, yes. Leila didn’t come up with that saying on her own.”
Mistress Colley - or Ma Colley, as she insisted Brenna call her - was almost as large as her husband. Wearing the most enormous apron Brenna had ever seen she moved through her kitchen the same way the Sea Sprite moved through the sea - her huge bulk parting the chaos and leaving calmness in her wake.
“Come over here, lass,” Ma Colley said walking over to the hearth where a huge pot of stew simmered. “I’ll put ye to ladlin’ the stew.”
Brenna edged around the woman’s bulk and stood beside her.
“Mind ye, not too much in each bowl, we don’t want to give ‘em more than their coins worth.” Ma Colley took a bowl from a stack on a table and grabbed a ladle that hung over the stew. She dipped the ladle into the thick liquid, gave a giant stir, then lifted it out. The contents of the full ladle went into the bowl and a Ma Colley glided over to another table that was stacked with thick slices of dark bread. She picked up a slice and shoved a corner of it deep into the stew.
