The man wiped the excess grease on his already-stained overalls. He began rifling through one of the overstuffed sacks attached to the side of the cart.
Wait a minute, Astrid thought. She caught sight of tent poles wrapped up in canvas. “Is that your luggage strapped to the side?”
“On both sides!” the crossbow guard replied happily.
“You mean you live out of this cart?”
The driver gave a hearty laugh and clapped the crossbow woman on the shoulder. “She’s a woods person. Taught me how to live in the forest. A couple of months ago I was an ale tender at Keep 17, but when the call came for drivers I jumped at the chance. I hope I never leave life on the road.”
“I was a private in the Civil Guard,” the man with the note declared. “I quit when that animal son of Lungu hanged that poor girl from a lamp post. Was unemployed ‘til this crew found me.”
“What about you?” Astrid asked the other man.
He looked at his feet, embarrassed. “Let’s just say I drank too damn much.”
Astrid nodded sagely. “I have a close friend who just gave up the hard stuff. I respect that.” She thought of Gormer and his struggles with Opium.
The driver looked at her crew. “Well, back to work for us.”
They shook hands all around and parted ways.
***
It was late afternoon when she rode into Argan.
The town continued to grow. The tent city where the woods people had once made their bivouac now had more small huts than tents. Stacks of raw lumber formed a corridor down the main road into town. Buildings under construction nearly outnumbered existing structures.
“Astrid!” the head of the Argan Guard shouted. She ran down the road at full tilt and Astrid hopped off her horse to meet her.
She wasn’t all that big on hugging, but she was grateful for the squeeze she received from the petite woman named Maggie. The human contact brought her out of her own head.
“What brings you back to Argan?” Maggie asked. “Everyone’s gonna be so happy!”
Astrid paused. She wasn’t really sure why she was there. Argan was the first place she had gone when she’d come to the Protectorate. The town had needed her help, but it had also adopted her. She realized suddenly that she was answering the call to come home.
“I just needed to see you all again,” Astrid confessed. She didn’t bother to hide the longing in her voice, though admitting to the sentiment made her feel sheepish. Knights of the Well weren’t supposed to be so needy.
Maggie looked surprised, then concerned. She looped her arm around Astrid’s and guided her into town. The chocolate mare ambled along beside them with light wisps of steam trailing from her nostrils.
En route to the longhouse they stopped at the stables—which had doubled in size.
“Where are all these horses coming from?” Astrid wondered aloud.
“Merchants,” Maggie replied as she handed the reins to a young woods person. “With clear roads, trade has opened up between all the villages and settlements in the Eastern District.”
Astrid could only smile and shake her head in amazement. A couple of months ago the town feared it might starve, but now it could support hundreds of people.
“Maggie,” a deep voice called, “we got those extra patrols going. What are your orders on the—” The man stopped dead in his tracks. His hard weathered face widened in surprise, making him look much younger.
Maggie nearly doubled over in laughter. “You struck him speechless. Didn’t think that was possible.”
With a reddening face, the man thrust his hand forward. Astrid shook his broad and calloused hand and remembered who he was. “You’re that guard from Keep 52—the one who risked his life to get a message out.”
“Yup,” the man agreed proudly. “I came to you in chains, and now I work for you.”
“He’s so dramatic,” Maggie exclaimed. “I only tied your hands, Jeff. No chains involved.”
“Not too tight, either,” Jeff replied. “That’s how I knew I had a chance.”
They all shared a laugh at that, and Maggie clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s my first charge now.”
“Couldn’t ask for a better boss,” Jeff declared.
“Ass-kissing won’t get you anywhere,” Maggie replied with a smirk.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Missy,” Jeff growled, batting her hand away. “I was running patrols when you were still pissing your britches.”
“OK, old man,” Maggie shot back, crossing her arms. “Why don’t you decide what to do with Raluca’s volunteers, then.”
“Well,” Jeff replied, pinching his stubbled chin between his thumb and forefinger. “We got a couple Movers who think they still need to run things. The regular troops seem a lot easier-going. I say we split them up, maybe put the Movers on different night patrols with the woods folk. That might humble them a bit—let them see how tough and capable you crazy bastards are.”
“Make that happen,” Maggie commanded.
“On it.” Jeff turned away with a curt nod.
Astrid and Maggie headed across town to the longhouse, which was nearly hidden from view due to all the new construction.
“Don’t know what I’d do without him,” Maggie confessed along the way. “I almost quit the job you gave me.” Astrid shot Maggie a shocked look. “I tried to give it to him.”
“What did he say?” Astrid prodded.
“He told me to suck it up and quit whining.” Maggie laughed. “That was his opener. The rest was brutal. Don’t even want to repeat it. Even with tears in my eyes, I wanted to stab him.”
“And now he’s your first charge?” Astrid was bemused.
“Yup. Just when I was about to break down completely, he told me what I needed to hear.” Maggie pushed open the longhouse door.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” Astrid demanded as they stepped into the warm, crowded building.
“He told me I had no right to doubt myself because I’d earned my place. ‘Any damn fool can see that,’ he said.” Maggie laughed as they walked over to the kitchen area at the far end of the hall. “He told me I just needed someone to remind me, so I made him First Charge. He teaches me things every day and makes it seem like it’s my idea.”
“He’s a good man,” Astrid said as they sat down at the kitchen counter.
The food area had also grown. There were two stoves now, and twice as many people preparing food. Someone brought over cups of tea and went immediately back to cooking.
“They’re busy,” Astrid declared.
“Everyone is,” Maggie replied.
“How does Elder Popova feel about all this?” Astrid wondered.
“Ask her yourself,” Maggie replied and nodded her head to the right.
Astrid turned to see the small slender woman approaching through the crowd. “I heard you were back,” the elder declared.
“I couldn’t stay away,” Astrid confessed.
Popova nodded her head knowingly. “It seems like you came to us so long ago…” she trailed off.
“So much has happened,” Astrid replied. “And there is so much to do.”
“And yet you are here,” Popova observed. Astrid cocked her head and paused at the barbed words. “Walk with me.” It was part question, but mostly command.
“I’ll leave you to your work, Maggie,” Astrid said, then followed Popova like a schoolchild in trouble.
The elder got to the point as soon as the door closed behind them. “You seem lost, Astrid.”
“That’s because I am, a little.”
Popova just smiled and led Astrid past a field that was being cleared. “That will be new farmland,” she explained. “We need it to feed the people who have come out of the woods to work.”
They walked past groups of soldiers practicing in the place where beets and cabbage grew. Astrid noticed woods people training alongside former soldiers from the Raluca estate.
The casual walk turned into a tour.
>
“People who once looked down on us are neighbors now. They work to protect us.” Popova stopped so Astrid could observe the people she had trained instruct others.
“You gave them all a home,” Astrid replied.
“This place isn’t mine to give,” Popova answered. She fixed Astrid with her sharp eyes. “This is my place to protect.”
“I think I bit off much more than I can chew,” Astrid confessed.
“Doubt is natural.” Popova began walking again. “You were tortured and almost hanged. Who could blame you? You and the Dregs have done so much in so little time that I wouldn’t fault you for feeling some doubt.”
Astrid nodded. “I needed to see the place where it all began in order to make sense of it all.”
“That’s fine,” Popova answered. “You will always have a home here. Come here to clear your head any time you wish.”
They walked past the blacksmith shop, which had expanded since she’d last seen it. The shop was much busier, too, making crossbows and the bolts to go with them.
The blacksmith’s daughters directed groups of assistants and apprentices in their work like conductors in an orchestra.
“Where is that wood?” the blacksmith called in a harried voice. “The forge is getting cold.”
“Calm down, Father,” came the response. “Charlie’s on his way. We sent him to the woodpile across town.”
Just the mention of that name made Astrid smile. Charlie had become part of the village. Nobody knew where he came from. Nobody cared.
At a little over ten feet tall, Charlie had to kneel to fit under the wide roof that angled down by the forge. He practically threw the several hundred pounds of wood he had brought back onto the ground.
“Hey!” the blacksmith yelled, jumping back to avoid having his feet and ankles bashed.
Charlie immediately turned to Astrid and reached out and cupped her face in both of his four-fingered hands. He pulled her into a hug that nearly required the Well to withstand.
The strange giant person hummed one of his beautiful, chaotic tunes. The embrace was irresistible, and made her feel for a brief moment like a small child.
Still on his knees, Charlie let her go, then reached out to pat the head of the exasperated blacksmith who had already started stacking the wood. The giant made an apologetic, mewling sound and gently pushed the blacksmith back. Charlie’s hand nearly covered the large man’s chest.
The wood was neatly stacked in minutes. Satisfied with his work, Charlie ran a hand through his wiry, wispy hair and grinned, revealing what appeared to be a mouthful of molars with big gaps between them.
He rounded on Astrid and fixed her with his large brown eyes. His smile faded a bit, and he cocked his head while absently wiping his wide, bulbous nose with the back of his hand.
Astrid gasped. It had lasted less than a second. For a moment there was no thought, as if she had achieved the highest goal of her meditation. She was apart from observation, but still saw every image.
A lush green forest with trees larger around at the base than most houses became her world. Small naked figures made their trackless, soundless way through stands of fern, wild grasses, and spongy fields of moss. They looked like children as they foraged with gentle, four-fingered hands.
No, not small. They were giants among giants.
The moment Astrid realized she was seeing Charlie’s people was the moment the connection ended. She had entered his mind and seen his thoughts.
The look on his face told her that he was as surprised as she was. He sang a little song so beautiful it released all the tension from her shoulders and covered her arms in gooseflesh.
Charlie didn’t leave Astrid’s side for the rest of the day. He followed her around like a humongous two-legged puppy dog and they ate their evening meal together outside the longhouse under a rough gazebo that some of the newer woods people preferred.
Though she had no more shared images with Charlie, the connection was still there. When Astrid lay down for the night in a spare tent, Charlie curled up outside in the snow. When she woke, he was still there.
CHAPTER SIX
The Wandering Noble
Liesel Ruggerd sat on a fallen log and listened to the forest. Late winter in these parts was much harsher than in Arcadia and its environs, but after traveling across hostile and unsettled lands for nearly a year even the bitter cold felt good. At least she and her father weren’t running anymore.
She reached into her fur coat draped loosely across her light steel chest plate. Inside a roomy pocket, she fiddled with the dial on a device that delivered heat to her armor. The small amphorald in the chest piece had more than enough energy to keep her comfortable. She finally felt safe enough to use magical energy for warmth and not as a weapon. The journey to this place had been grueling.
The bulk of her power she used to charge the much larger magical gem in her rifle. That weapon was her most important tool. It had kept them alive, and now it would lead them to riches.
Her father Yarik was getting old, so she had to do most of the work now. She didn’t mind; she was a good daughter. His last daughter. They’d lost the rest of their family in that damned war. Or had it been a rebellion?
She didn’t know. She only knew that she and the rest of the nobles lost. She and her family had picked the losing side.
That didn’t make it the wrong side, it just meant that they had lost. The unwashed crude ignorant lower people had won, with the aid of Unlawful magic users. She was glad that she and her father had gotten out so she didn’t have to watch the Academy being taken over by that rabble.
She had learned to use magic at the Academy. As a noble, she felt that was her right.
When Yarik had first told her about the troubles in the Lungu Protectorate, Liesel’s heart had sunk. But where Liesel saw trouble, Yarik saw opportunity.
Magitech was the key to gaining power. Nothing like it existed in these backward lands.
Yarik had risen to the top of Arcadian society by the skill and craft of arms dealing, which he had elevated to a high art. The man was a visionary. He was one of those nobles who had worked behind the scenes to make Arcadia what it was, but in the Protectorates he and Liesel had the opportunity be on the stage.
It didn’t matter that they had only two working magitech rifles. It didn’t matter that they didn’t have a factory. Yarik had magic, a vision, and the will to make that vision real. He had done it before, and he would do it again—but this time he would not repeat his mistakes.
It also helped that Liesel had guarded with her life an oak chest holding precision machine tools and a handful of amphoralds to power them. Those small, complex devices would be used to produce the internal components of much larger machines capable of creating anything from a magitech torch to a high-powered rifle.
She shifted the strap on her shoulder just to feel the comforting weight of her weapon.
Liesel sat as the sun began to set. She was worried that her guests wouldn’t be able to find them, but then she heard their voices.
Either they didn’t know stealth or they didn’t care about being quiet. Liesel stood and cleared her throat several times to alert them to her presence.
There were two; a man and a woman. Both wore blood-red armor made from light steel plates, much like Liesel’s but with a matte finish. The crests stamped into their chest plates were different. From two different estates, Liesel thought. Interesting.
She had reconnoitered the outskirts of the Lungu Fortress Wards to get a feel for how local politics worked. The woman, who came from some small village named Blue Creek, had been most informative. It had only taken three hours of torture for the peasant to tell Liesel everything she needed to know. Liesel had repaid the favor by laying the woman to rest at the base of the very mountain on which she now sat.
Liesel gave them a reserved smile, but shifted her weight to bring the rifle down just a bit to make it easier to draw if needed. The approaching woman noticed t
he subtle move, but if the man had he didn’t seem to care.
“Welcome to our home,” Liesel said.
“Home?” the man asked. “This is the side of a mountain. You live here?”
Liesel just smiled and waved her hand. What had seemed like a solid wall of thick pine branches parted to reveal a portal with warm firelight glowing inside.
“Yes, I live in a cave on the side of a mountain. And you are welcome.” She gestured for them to enter with a sweep of her hand.
Both guests looked nervous. Liesel took a chance and turned her back on them, knowing that her father was waiting quietly just inside the door with his rifle should things go bad. They were both terrifyingly quick and accurate shots. They’d had to be. Confidence in their ability to kill in an instant had made them both content.
To form the cozy house, pine trees had been magically encouraged to bend into the shape of a dome. A small fireplace of shale and baked clay housed a crackling fire on the wall opposite the door.
“Hello,” Yarik said as he rose from his chair. He left the rifle on the table and stepped over to the guests. “My name is Yarik Ruggerd. You have a problem, and I can help.”
“What makes you think we have a problem?” the man spoke and the woman watched with sharp eyes.
“Come now,” Yarik chided. “There is no shame in seeking out friends for help.”
“Oh, so we’re friends now?” the man demanded.
“Well,” Yarik said, deepening his toothy smile and putting his hands on his hips. His pot belly poked out over his belt and the gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the firelight. “Maybe not, if you won’t even tell me your name.”
Yarik’s easy and amusing demeanor broke the ice in record time. The woman stepped forward and stuck out her hand. Liesel noted that the handshake was customary here as well. She had not yet been to a place where it wasn’t.
“I am First Lieutenant Hagan,” the woman said.
“Hagan?” Yarik cocked his head. “This sounds like a family name.”
“Yes,” Hagan replied, not following.
“In my former home,” Liesel told her, “people introduced themselves by their first names unless they wished to be on formal terms.”
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