There Will Be Dragons tcw-1

by John Ringo

  She waited until she was sure they were gone and got to her feet, fumbling her clothes on as best she could. She wished that she could tear them off and throw them away, burn them even. But she had to have something against the cold and the wet. She stumbled to the stream and rinsed her mouth spitting out the foul taste and worked at a loose tooth; Dionys had tried to get some response out of her, but other than that one scratch when she worked her hand free she wouldn’t give it to him. There were other cuts and bruises on her body and she winced at the pull of her ribs; there might be a crack there.

  Finally she sat down on the bridge and just let the rain fall until she heard steps squelching up the road. Afraid that one of them had come back for seconds, she stood up and turned to run. But it was just Herzer, holding a sapling taller than he was with dirt still attached to the rootball.

  * * *

  Herzer took one look at her and dropped to his knees, head down, cradling himself around the useless stick.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Herzer…”

  “I’m so sorry, there was nothing I could do, they would have killed me and…”

  “Herzer!” she snapped. “I don’t have time for your angst, damn it. I lied about Rachel. She’s up the road. We have to find her and get her out of here before they do.”

  “Rachel?” he said, coming to his feet.

  “Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” she said tightly.

  “I…” He pulled the cloak off his back and handed it to her. “You need this far more than I do,” he said. “And, yes, we need to get out of here.”

  “We’ll talk about this,” Daneh said, taking the cloak at arm’s length. “You can walk in front of me.”

  “In front…”

  “Right now, I don’t like any males near me,” she said with a venomous tone. “So it’s nothing personal.”

  “All right,” Herzer replied, edging past her.

  “And Herzer.”

  “Yes?”

  “When we get to Rachel, we’re just going to not mention that you were with the group that did this, understand?”

  “I… okay. But, no, I don’t understand.”

  “I put a lot of effort into saving your life,” she said bitterly. “I don’t want Edmund killing you. Or Rachel.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rachel had not been happy.

  “I’m going to kill them!” she snarled.

  “If you tried, you’d end up just like me,” Daneh said, shivering. Herzer’s cloak was a better fit for her than for the boy, but it was still a poor substitute for her rain gear. And she knew she was still shocky from the trauma of the rape. “I didn’t lie through my teeth just so that you could get raped too. Leave it.”

  Azure, already wet and annoyed, wandered around her sniffing and yowling. He sniffed at Herzer as well, and seemed ready to bite, but finally he left off and wandered into the woods, sniffing at the ground.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Rachel,” Herzer said tonelessly.

  “You can just butt out Herzer Herrick,” Rachel snapped. “Where in the hell were you? Huh?”

  “Too late to do anything,” Daneh said. “Leave off, Rachel. We need to get on our way.”

  “What about the snares?” she said. “We can’t keep moving without food. Azure needs to eat at the very least.”

  “He won’t start getting sick for another day or two,” Daneh said tiredly. “If we move fast we can make it to the Via in a day at most. There are towns up there; we’ll find something to eat.”

  “How far up the road did you go?” Herzer asked.

  “Only a ki or so,” Rachel said. “The trail is knee deep in mud up the way. Mom, I don’t know if you can make it.”

  “I’ll make it,” Daneh said, standing up. “I’ll make it all the way. But I’m not going to wait here for McCanoc and his band of merry men to find me again. Let’s go.”

  “God, I hope Dad is still in Raven’s Mill,” Rachel said, gathering up their few belongings.

  “He will be,” Daneh replied. “I just hope that he’s willing to overlook the last few years.”

  “Home is where when you have to go there, they have to take you in,” Herzer said, quietly. He automatically took the front position, picking up Daneh’s pack and slinging it on his back. “He’ll be there. And he’ll be waiting for you.”

  “He’d better be,” Daneh said, bitterly.

  * * *

  “Naye, naye, you have to heat it more or you’ll be hammering all day to no effect,” Edmund growled, picking up the piece of metal with tongs and setting it back in the charcoal fire.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I thought…” The apprentice stepped back and looked around at the group gathered in the forge. A few weeks before, all he’d had to worry about was what to wear to the next party. Now he was trapped in this cluttered workshop, learning a trade so ancient that until the previous week he had never heard of it. And doing badly at it. It didn’t seem fair.

  “It takes years to learn the blacksmith trade,” the smith replied, more softly, noting the glance. He jerked a chin at the bellows and waited as the apprentice pumped the fire hot. “Watch the color of the metal and the colors of the fire around it. When it gets white hot, pull it out and then strike. You don’t have much time, that’s why they say you have to ‘strike while the iron is hot.’ ” He leant emphasis to the words, pulling the piece out and hammering it flat, then turning it to shape. “Just a hoe but hoes are what will feed us all soon enough. Hoes and plows and parts for wagons will be your mainstay once you learn.” He thrust the half-formed metal back into the fire and jerked his chin at one of the other hovering apprentices. “Now, you tend the fire while he tries again.”

  He stepped back and wiped at his face as the fledgling smith tried to get the recalcitrant metal to do his will, trying not to shake his head. With the scraps and bars that Angus had brought in, they had enough material for the beginnings of a community, but they’d soon need more. He had sent a wagon load of mixed foodstuffs up the road to Angus but the distance was far enough that the oxen would eat a good bit of the load on the way. And it would be three or four weeks before any response could come.

  “What about weapons?” the apprentice asked, finally getting the hoe to form. He had got the rhythm of the hammer, and sparks struck a brilliant white in the dim forge.

  “You’re a long way from making a weapon, son, other than a spear blade, which is naught more than a hoe shaped a bit differently. But swords and such, or armor, they take a tad more work. Once we have the wire puller going in the water forge we’ll get some of you to work on mail. But for the time being it’s more important to learn how to make farming utensils.” He looked out the door of the shed again, then peered more carefully.

  “You all start working on hoes from this stock, I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Stepping out of the heat of the forge he shielded his eyes against the sun. As if in expiation for the unending rains the skies had cleared and turned bright for the last few days as the sodden ground steamed. The temperature hadn’t gone up much but the humidity was still high, giving the area a damp chill that sapped energy and made everyone hungry for fats and carbohydrates that were in short supply. But the bright sun and haze made seeing anything at a distance difficult, which was why Edmund had to look long and hard to be sure of what he saw. Then he let out a whoop and headed down to town.

  “Class dismissed for the next hour or so,” he called over his shoulder. “Try not to burn down the forge while I’m gone!”

  He thought about grabbing a horse but decided that it would take more time and trouble than just walking down the hill.

  As he entered the town of Raven’s Mill, which was growing in all four directions, he could see a large crowd gathered around the three wagons that had come from the east, and he pushed his way through to the center without thought until he approached the first wagon, which had stalled for lack of room to move.

  “Suwisa, you’r
e a sight for God-damned sore eyes!” he shouted, clambering up the side of the wagon and enfolding the muscular driver in his arms.

  “Why Edmund,” the woman laughed, giving him a hug in return. “I didn’t know you cared!”

  “I’ve been trying to run this madhouse and simultaneously teach newbies who are as hardheaded as the metal they can’t shape,” he laughed. “So I’ll admit it’s a purely selfish reaction.”

  “I should have guessed,” she replied with a grin.

  “Hola Phil,” he called to the man driving the second wagon. “Still selling the condemned mead?”

  “Aye, enough to drown you in if you don’t quit manhandling my wife!” the man called back.

  “Let me get this cluster out of the way and get the wagons up to the forge. I assume you brought all your tools with you?”

  “And spare anvils and a small forge,” Suwisa replied. “And all of Phil’s beekeeping supplies.”

  “Forges and anvils we have, tools we’re lacking. And hives for that matter. We’re going to have to have a long talk.”

  As he and a group of the newly forming guard force opened a path for the wagons, Edmund considered the priceless asset that had arrived.

  He had known Suwisa for at least seventy-five years and had occasionally considered asking her to become his “apprentice.” The problem with that was that by the time they became friends she was a master smith in her own right. He knew things about forming metal that she did not, but the reverse was also true and the level of his “mastery” over hers was an incremental thing. Just as an example, he mostly worked in “hot” forging with metal heated to brightness whereas she generally used preformed plates for “cold forging.” He was undeniably superior at the first while she had a slight edge on him in the latter. She also concentrated on plate armor and decorative works while he specialized in blades. So it was more a matter of complementary styles than superior/inferior.

  In the end he decided that if no appropriate apprentice made an appearance by the time he was getting too old to work the forge, he would probably “gift” it to her, along with Carborundum. He was pretty sure that they would get along, and judicious soundings had indicated that she had very few reservations about AI’s.

  But with the Fall and his increasing responsibilities, he had despaired of having anyone come along who could take over the training of the new smiths. Smithing was nearly as vital as farming in a preindustrial economy and the number of tools that they were going to need prior to the beginning of the planting season was staggering.

  Furthermore, he knew that his personality was not at the best teaching raw newcomers to the trade, especially ones he hadn’t carefully chosen. Suwisa was much more patient with the sort of hamhandedness he had been despairing of this morning.

  He got the wagons up to the back side of town, just short of his house, left them with a couple of the guards and one of the pair’s grown children, and led the couple up to the house. Suwisa looked at the expanded sheds and whistled.

  “How many smiths do you have in this place now?”

  “One,” Edmund replied bitterly. “I’m the only one who has made it in yet, except you. I know that there were more in walking distance of the Mill, but some of the other communities are forming up as well and I guess they made it to them. Or they were on the other side of the world when the Fall hit.”

  “Who all has made it here?” Phil asked.

  “If you mean of ‘our’ crowd, quite a few. But… well… you know most reenactors. They don’t, actually, know diddly-shit about period life. Or, for that matter, preindustrial technology. And they’re all happy to swing swords for a bit but then they want their meals served on silver platters.”

  “I won’t disagree on that, but this is tough,” Suwisa said. “Taking a few weeks to travel by wagon and sleep on the ground for fun is one thing. Having to do it for survival is another.”

  “I know,” Edmund said, leading the way into his house. He waved them into chairs around the fire then poked it back to life and pulled out a jug of cider that had been warming by the coals. When he had them comfortable he continued.

  “I know that things are tough,” he continued. “But until one faction or the other of the Council wins, this is what life is going to be. And we have to make it as ‘good’ as we can within these parameters.”

  “Or until one side gives up,” Suwisa said, taking a sip of the cider.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Edmund replied. “Paul is in too deep and is too… fanatical I guess is the best word. And Sheida thinks the world, even as devastated as it has become, would be worse off under Paul’s unrestricted control.”

  “I don’t know that I fault her there,” Phil agreed. “We heard some really weird rumors on the way over here.”

  “You mean about Paul Changing people to fit the conditions of the Fall better?” Edmund asked. “We’ve heard the same. But it’s always somebody’s brother who heard it from somebody else.”

  “Doesn’t Sheida know?” Suwisa asked.

  “I haven’t talked to her in two weeks, so I don’t know if she does or not.”

  “So what do you want us to do?” Phil asked.

  “Well, in Suwisa’s case I want her to take over training all the apprentices and turning out metalwork,” Edmund admitted. “I’m up to my ass in alligators every day and I have neither the time nor the patience to handle a gaggle of apprentices.”

  “Mallory and Christopher can help with that as well,” Suwisa said with a nod.

  “Right now it’s all farm implements,” Edmund warned. “Real blacksmithing. But in time we’re going to need armor and swords. I’m still working on the guard force but the plan is to produce a professional military as well. And there’s a training program starting so you’re going to have to set up an orientation to blacksmithing, basically what the job of an apprentice is and a few tricks for farmers. Most of the people going through the orientation are going to end up farming.”

  “All right, and how do I get paid?” Suwisa asked.

  “Right now the basis of what currency we have is food chits. You can use them to trade for meals in the chow-halls or you can get raw food to cook yourself. We’ll figure out something equitable for your training time and, of course, you’ll get paid for your finished materials. We haven’t really got an economy beyond that and it’s all based on Myron’s supplies.”

  “This is going to be fun,” Phil said. “That’s an inflationary economy if I’ve ever heard of one.”

  “Well, yes and no. Most people get three food chits per day. If they starve themselves they have ‘extra’ money. Skilled artisans get four for days spent working on communal projects, and they can try to find materials to trade for more. But there’s not much surplus floating around. So far, by restricting the chits we’re both controlling the food supply, which is really important, and keeping the economy noninflationary. Sooner or later we’ll get large enough we have to come up with a better system, but for right now it’s working. There are too many other problems for me to want to knock it.”

  “Such as?” Suwisa said.

  “You’ve heard about the bandits?”

  “There was a group of five guys who tried to, I don’t know, hold us up?” Phil said. “They had a few sticks and a knife. We pulled out three swords and a crossbow. They lost interest really quick.”

  Edmund chuckled for a moment then shook his head. “One of the things I’m worried about is that the small communities have all the food, and other goods but right now food is paramount. Sooner or later the bandit gangs are going to start banding together and attacking the towns. I want to be ready for them before they do.”

  “If there’s one thing that reenactors can do it’s swing a sword,” Suwisa said with a gesture in the general direction of the town.

  “Not as well as they think they can and that assumes they have them,” Edmund said with a frown. “Most of them started out from wherever they came from with a s
word or a bow or a glaive of some sort. And most of them left them somewhere as well. They’re heavy, don’t you know?”

  “Damn,” Phil said, shaking his head.

  “And, frankly, I’d rather have raw recruits than most reenactors with live blades. We’re going to form a militia and everyone is going to learn at the minimum to defend themselves. But I want a professional military at the core. Two tiered for right now, longbow and line infantry, the line infantry based loosely on Roman legions.”

  “Why longbow?” Suwisa asked. “Crossbow is easier to train.”

  “Hmmm… a lot of reasons,” Edmund replied. “Both of them have their pros and cons and you have to understand, despite the last week or so I’m talking with Sheida fairly often. I’m starting to get a grasp of what the strategic situation is and how it might fall out. So I’m thinking in terms not of days or weeks but of years of war.”

  “Shit,” Phil said. “I’d hoped…”

  “You’d hoped this would be over quick and we could go back to our lives. I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen. I’m not too sure we’ll be able to go back to our lives even after the war is over. But we were talking about longbows.”

  “Okay.”

  “Longbows and crossbows both have their pros and cons. Some of them are universal and some of them were specific to the conditions. Okay, here’s one: what’s the only wood you can use for a longbow that is made in Ropasa?”

  “Yew,” Suwisa answered. “Well, okay, yew and ash. But you can use hickory… oh.”

  “Right. One of the reasons for longbow rarity in Ropasa was the lack of materials. Which meant a longbow cost a lot. And towards the end the Britons had to import all their yew from the Continent, which was a critical strategic fault in the system. But in Norau hickory makes an excellent longbow and it is widely available. Here, longbows can be made by anyone with a knife and some knowledge.