Jon Wilson - The Obsidian Man

by Jon Wilson

  “Seems incredible.”

  “And now, this awful suggestion that Belfayne is responsible.”

  Again, the trapper shifted uneasily. He had his own theories about that. However, he wasn’t quite sure if he was drunk enough to share them. “What’ll you do?”

  “What can I do?” Colmaire had expressive hands; he utilized them constantly to emphasize his words. He might have been a conductor facing his orchestra, his brandy glass a baton. “The governor has sent me nearly two hundred men. We post troops at all the settlements. We burn G’nash. The trolls will move elsewhere and then we can do the whole thing over again.”

  “Won’t the rangers handle the trolls?”

  “They would. And in a manner far more befitting a lasting peace. But Darnouth, it was an outrage! His majesty says the trolls must be taught a lesson.”

  “With war coming? Is it smart to aggravate the trolls? Mightn’t it drive them right into making some sort of deal with Belfayne?”

  The soldier laughed again, more loudly and with no small trace of disdain. “They are little better than beasts. You know this. Even if the Belfaynese help them organize raiding parties, the outcome of the war will be little altered.” Colmaire dropped his boots back to the carpet, coming forward onto his elbows. “You share the misconception, common among our people, that this war will be waged mostly here on the frontier.”

  “Isn’t that what we’ll be fighting for?”

  “It is a mere symbol. We jockey for world ranking. And the war will be fought on the seas and in Wyrnet. Our foothold here is too strong. The Belfaynese can not hope to rout us this way. And, of course, the Danann roam the frontier.”

  “But the Danann, they won’t never join in a war.”

  Colmaire seemed intrigued. “You think not?”

  “They’ve said as much, right out plain.”

  The colonel shook his head. “Where is the VaSaad? It is in the heart of DuLyn-Au. The city has spread to enclose them completely. They can declare their independence, call themselves a free state, but they know and we know that if the need ever arises, we can simply starve them out.”

  “Now it’s you talking about fighting the Danann.”

  “Not fighting. Simply showing them that they are, in fact, citizens of Macadre. If not in spirit, then in mundane practicality. Of course, I would never say any such thing with a ranger closer than a day distant. Who knows what their ears hear.”

  The old man sat forward, mounting the hard edge of his chair. “That’s my point. Sometimes its like they ain’t human.”

  Colmaire shrugged, reclining once more. His eyes went back to studying his glass. “But —in reality—they are.”

  Chapter 2

  “So,” Sihr said, “even with your voice,

  you aren’t much of a conversationalist.” Holt shrugged. He and Sihr were making

  their way slowly across the yard behind the

  inn. Loud voices and faint music came to them

  from a window to the public room, splashing

  out across the trampled grass with the

  pulsating firelight. To their left and right stood

  wooden fences, higher than Holt’s head.

  Behind them wound an alley and, beside it,

  the storage shed where they would pass the

  night. It was Holt’s first time in a town other

  than Darnouth, and he felt the press of the

  gathered populace all about him.

  “My point exactly,” Sihr said, responding

  to his shrug. “Did you say three words as we

  walked today?”

  He started to shake his head, but

  decided to say, “No,” instead.

  “Yes. I think that is one for the entire day. And a rather dubious choice with which

  to begin if you ask me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not much better, I’m afraid.”

  They reached a door standing open

  near the corner of the building. Through it,

  several people could be seen bustling about

  preparing food. Holt and Sihr mounted the

  stairs, but neither knocked nor called out to

  get the cooks’ attention; the girl simply

  continued talking. “Fortunately, I am known as

  a rather verbose personage by those willing

  to admit the acquaintance. I have to be, if I

  am ever to get a word in edgewise with Onee

  as my paradigm. Oh, I know, he seems a tad

  reticent, but that’s simply because he’s shy.

  Get him started, and there’s no peace. When

  we get back, ask him about the two-pennycoin tax. I dare you.”

  Holt had never heard of the two-pennycoin tax. With the scent of food so near, he

  knew only that he was quite hungry. He kept darting glances into the kitchen, wondering why Sihr didn’t direct her conversation to

  those inside.

  “That will get him talking. Taxes and

  tithing. Second only to assimilation as the key

  to unlocking Onee’s tongue.”

  Holt wasn’t sure what assimilation was

  either, but it sounded uncomfortable. He

  shuffled his feet and looked down at them.

  They seemed the only body part willing to

  convey his annoyance.

  “He and Faer often sit up until the early

  hours discussing politics. Mostly

  commiserating, as the war does seem to be

  imminent.”

  Holt looked up. “What war?”

  Sihr’s eyebrows jumped ever so slightly.

  Holt wondered if it was the question that

  surprised her, or simply his asking it. “The

  war between Belfayne and Macadre.” She

  was about to continue, but a huge shadow

  blocked the doorway.

  The man had apparently emerged just

  for some fresh air, and didn’t even see the

  two children on his stairs until he was almost

  on top of them. Holt thought the fellow’s

  glance rather strange. Wiping his hands on an

  apron folded about his oversized middle, the

  cook grunted and abruptly turned and ducked

  back into the fray.

  Holt craned his neck trying to see if the

  rude man would at least tell someone they

  were waiting. Sihr, watching him, certainly

  seemed unconcerned. She said, “This will

  almost certainly heat things up. Of course, the

  Belfaynese parliament can simply claim the

  demon was acting on its own. Like the pirates

  around Feathersbone. Everyone knows

  they’re subsidized by the government, but

  how can it be proved?”

  Holt tried to turn his thoughts back

  toward the discussion. Rather than rambling

  now, Sihr had at least brought up a topic that

  spurred his interest.Belfayne. The awful monster responsible for Kawika’s death had been from Belfayne.A demon.Then Belfayne had been responsible for destroying his village—not simply monstrous trolls and imps

  rampaging.But why?“Why are they fighting?” “They aren’t fighting yet. At least not

  openly.” She folded her arms across her

  chest. “You know where Belfayne is?” He started to reply curtly; the question

  seemed to imply he was nothing but an

  ignorant yokel. But he had possessed no

  knowledge of antagonism between Macadre

  and Belfayne. “It’s in the old world,” he said—

  that, too, making him feel stupid.Dolt! Dolt!

  “Wyrnet.”

  “Yes. And you know they have colonies

  all along the YulnocktSea?”

  He nodded. He wasn’t sure he was

  being honest
, but it seemed he had heard

  something about villages far to the south—

  villages that were not a part of Macadre. “Well, now they have established a port at the mouth of the River Jir-Theesa. That’s

  —”

  “East,” he said quickly. No reason she

  should think him utterly witless.

  “Correct. They have managed to beat

  Macadre in colonizing the east coast.

  Although there has been no formal

  pronouncement, they are certainly poised to

  claim a hefty portion of the continent.” Holt tried to imagine this. He had once

  seen a map of the world, in Fitts’ house, the

  house he himself had burned to the ground.

  The east coast seemed impossibly distant,

  farther even than Wyrnet, which lay across

  the WyringOcean. Why should Macadre even

  care what happened so far away? Let the

  Belfaynese take the east coast. Holt, who

  had grown up on the eastern frontier, felt it

  would be impossible for the borders of his

  own country to expand so far.

  Before he could voice any of his

  musings, the cook reappeared in the doorway. The huge man bore an equally huge platter, heavily ladened with various types of food. Holt’s mouth immediately began to water. When the man wordlessly offered him

  the platter, he stepped forward.

  Somehow, Sihr managed to maneuver

  into his path, claiming the burden herself.

  “Thank you,” she told the man, and promptly

  turned to descend the stairs. Holt followed

  her, feeling the strange man’s gaze upon his

  back. The cook certainly seemed to feel great

  trepidation in dealing with them. As if she

  could read his thoughts, Sihr said, “I thought

  you were Wika’s ward. I know ThistleTown is

  no longer a real frontier village, but even in

  the wilderness, do the people treat the

  Danann so differently?”

  The lie trapped words in his throat. He

  had decided they must have known he had

  never actually traveled with Kawika, but

  clearly he was mistaken. Sihr, at least, was

  unaware of just how brief his wardship had been. Surprise led to confusion, which led to anger, and rather than answering her question, he snapped, “At least I wasn’t his

  slave. Doesn’t he ever get his own food?” Holt had not expected her to laugh, but

  neither was he particularly startled when she

  did. “He never cooks, if that’s what you’re

  asking. People tend to complain about the

  smoke.” Again she might have expounded

  further but they were interrupted. Two men

  emerged from the shadows at the end of the

  fence to their left. Both staggered slightly,

  and Holt recognized the strong stench of

  spirits.

  “Well, here’s our food now,” one of them

  said. He slapped his companion’s chest with

  the back of his hand. “Didn’t I tell you we’d be

  all right?”

  Holt heard Sihr sigh, but she did not

  slow. The first man had to leap into her path

  to stop her. Closer, Holt discovered both men

  appeared to be quite young. The first was dressed in the leathers common with trappers and scouts. The other was in a military uniform. Neither seemed to have bothered with shaving or bathing in the preceding few

  days.

  “Where you hurrying to, sweetie?” “By you,” Sihr told the man without a hint

  of fear.

  The two men laughed, and the one

  closest reached out to snare a piece of roast

  meat. “We was just saying how we drank up

  all our pay and then how was we gonna eat?”

  Sihr pivoted gracefully, angling the tray away

  from the man. He looked wounded. “Now,

  don’t be greedy.”

  “There are enough of us sharing this

  already.”

  “Yeah?” The soldier stepped closer,

  gesturing at Holt. “You and the kid? Looks

  like plenty for all of us. Ain’t no call for you to

  be so unfriendly.”

  The scout closed upon her. “As a matter of fact, it might be nice if you was right friendly. We’re here from Kyrni Keep. Out to

  protect you from the trolls.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure,” Sihr said. “Now,

  let us be on our way.”

  “She sure talks pretty,” the scout told

  his friend.

  “Yeah.” The soldier moved closer still.

  “If I’d’ve known the girls out here was so

  goodlooking I’d’ve come a long time ago.” “My, you two are just full of

  compliments.” Sihr moved to step around the

  scout. “Now, if you’ll let us be on our way?

  Our food’s getting cold.”

  The soldier lurched in front of Holt,

  coming at Sihr from behind. “You mean you

  won’t take pity on two poor soldiers?” He

  reached out to take hold of her arm.

  Without a thought, Holt acted. His left

  foot slipped behind the soldier’s heel and he

  nudged the man forcefully with his shoulder.

  The soldier went down.

  “Holt! Don’t!”

  The scout moved more ably than his

  friend. He had a tight grip on Holt’s elbow,

  and a knife to Holt’s throat in an instant. His

  reeking breath hissed in Holt’s ear. “You best

  listen to your sister, boy.”

  The soldier clamored back up. “That boy

  knocked me down!”

  “Yeah, but now he’s gonna make up for

  it by telling his pretty sister to give us some of

  their food. Ain’t you?”

  Holt said nothing, not because he was

  afraid, but because he saw Keone standing in

  the open doorway of the shed.

  “What in blazes is going on out here?”

  another voice demanded.

  The knife slipped back into its sheath

  and the hold on Holt’s elbow vanished. He

  turned to see the cook and another man

  bearing down on them from the direction of

  the kitchen.

  “Who’re you?” the scout demanded. “What do you mean, who am I? This is

  my inn! What are you doing back here?” “We was just paying our compliments to

  this little lady when her brother got to acting

  rude.” He straightened his shoulders. “We’re

  from the Keep.”

  “I know.” The large man was clearly

  overwrought. “You fools. These two are

  Danann!”

  The scout took a step back, his eyes

  wide, his hands going up. “We didn’t know!” “You didn’t know!” The cook was

  mangling his apron between his hands. “Are

  you trying to get us all into trouble? Get out of

  here.”

  The scout turned, grabbing his friend by

  the arm. The soldier protested. “That kid

  knocked me down!”

  “Never mind,” the scout advised,

  dragging the other man off, back into the

  shadows of the alley.

  The cook watched the two men go, and then looked down at the ground. He dropped his apron, but his hands continued to flex convulsively. Finally he looked up at Holt and Sihr. After the tirade leveled against the two military men, Holt expected an apology at least, but the cook just stared at them in terror a moment and t
hen turned and hurried

  with his companion back toward the kitchen. Staring after them, Holt heard Sihr begin

  to move. He turned to start after her and saw

  that Keone was no longer in the doorway up

  ahead. The girl slowed to allow him to catch

  up, and then whispered, “He’ll be angry. Say

  you didn’t know any better.”

  Holt slowed too. Keone would be angry

  with him? For what? Holt had not invited the

  two drunken men over to molest them. He

  nearly stopped, resolved that if Keone so

  much as frowned at him he would run away

  during the night.

  The stonediver was sitting on the floor,

  his back to the wall. His legs were folded, knees outward, resting over his ankles. Sihr placed the tray down in front of him, and sat

  in an identical fashion at his left.

  Holt stood watching them with a defiant

  glint in his eye, ready for any rebuke. But the

  man was smiling at the platter. “Smells

  delicious.”

  “Yes.” Sihr laughed. “Of course,

  anything would be better than my awful

  attempt at rabbit last night.” They began

  eating.

  “Oh, that wasn’t so bad.” Keone shoved

  a slice of meat into his mouth, juices dribbling

  down his chin. Both ate with their fingers and

  from the same dish.

  And, Holt thought,we frontierspeople

  are said to be uncivilized.

  “You joining us?”

  Holt found Keone looking up at him

  without a trace of recrimination. So, not only

  was he not to be reprimanded, but apparently

  the incident would not be discussed. That made him even angrier. What type of people were these Danann stonedivers—suffering the rudeness of the innkeeper and the outright hostility of the soldiers without so much as a word? He tried to imagine Ardee or Kawika in the same situation. Surely, either would have thrashed the ignorant offenders, demanding respect. He remembered how Kawika had reacted to the milliner’s angry tirade. For the man’s own safety, Holt had felt the need to pull Cyn away. He had seen the hatred in the

  ranger’s eyes.

  “Sit down, Holt,” Sihr said. “This bird is

  fantastic.” She had just refilled her mouth and

  licked her fingers ravenously. She said to

  Keone, “We were discussing the possibility of

  a war with Belfayne. It seems the rumors

  have not spread as widely among the

  pioneers as back home.”