Ghost in the Yew

by Blake Hausladen

  “Which we will get to presently,” I roared as if we stood upon the steps of the Deyalu. “Answer my question. Is your evidence sufficient to charge me or anyone else in my province with any crime?”

  “No,” he relented, but shouted back at once, “but the chancellor’s writ has now been delivered. You cannot deny it. Enhedu is filthy with churlishness and this scourge will be remedied. By order of the Chancellor will deliver 4,000 men fit for daily service, and you will do so immediately.”

  This set me back and I struggled after memories of the churlish laws. I was at a loss and looked back at Fana. Whatever they had done to justify such unflinching secrecy better be ready.

  She stepped forward took Parsatayn’s writ and read it. She then turned to the chancellor’s man with a smile equal to the one Dia had worn the day I met her upon the Deyalu.

  “What seems to be the problem? Is your office concerned with our application of the Ninth Law?”

  “What could you possibly know of the law? Be gone.”

  I opened my mouth to defend her, but she seemed in no such need.

  She replied, “Enough, certainly, to understand you have no authority to dismiss me. I can answer for all municipal application of the Churlish Law in Enhedu.”

  “Municipal application,” he said with a scoff. “You cannot even spell those words. Prince, set this child aside. She will not be heard.”

  Fana spoke over me again. “You had best unblock your ears then, or you will miss when I tell you of the census the prince commissioned upon his arrival last fall.”

  The man blanched. “Census?”

  Fana, it seemed, was as much changed by her trip north as Gern by his trip south. I fought off a grin. She did not need my help.

  “Correct,” she said. “Commissioned by the prince and supervised by a Bessradi scribe. The family history of every person in Enhedu has been recorded and verified. There is no one in Enhedu who is churlish. Your writ is without merit.”

  “Enough of this,” one of the bailiffs said then and stepped forward with a jingle of chains. “Argue it however you like, just do it while in a cage.”

  His move was so sudden I did not think to block his path. He continued forward and snatched Fana by the hair.

  Hessier steel flashed past me on both sides, and in the next instant, the man was folded on the ground, bleeding heavily from his mouth and nose. Fana leapt free and dashed behind me while the other bailiff and my bodyguards all drew their blades.

  Across the field, the rest of the bailiffs started forward.

  “One flag,” I ordered Gern, the single pennant snapped aloft, and I looked to the trees.

  Leger voice rang out from behind the bailiffs. “Company A, order. Advance.”

  One hundred greencoats upon Fells rode out of the trees to block the road. But they were not all. From the flanks other voices called orders to companies B through J and the men of my town appeared. Sevat and Haton were amongst those who stood as captain before each body of men. The forward line of each was a stout troop of greencoat infantry and behind them were all of my many swineherds, tree farmers, beekeepers, carpenters, timbermen, and quarrymen. Their weapons were an odd collection of hammers, axes, and awls. Each company had aloft a proper pennant of green and black and were kept in formation with the precise calls every Zoviyan would recognize as those of the Hemari.

  So savage was their bluster, it seemed I must have 4,000 men after all.

  The bailiffs did not know which way to turn. They cast about while the men before me stood slack jawed. The advantage mine, I drew my sword and advanced on the senior bailiff. The chancellery men stumbled back and left the man alone beside his unconscious fellow.

  “Drop your sword and order your men to do the same, or you will die where you stand.”

  He tightened his grip upon his sword instead, and set his weight forward. I leapt at him, out-danced his clumsy blade, and slashed his forehead to the bone. He screamed, dropped his sword, and tumbled backward. His men started forward again.

  “Last chance,” I said down at him and got ready to kill him and withdraw.

  He rolled over, his face a sheet of blood. “Hold,” he yelled toward his men and a second time before it had an effect. They came to a halt but clamored angrily instead of surrendering their arms.

  The mass of bailiffs wavered. Those nearest me dropped their weapons and turned their horses away. The rest followed.

  Leger was next to act, his company coming to a gallop. They raced around the bailiffs and claimed the ground upon which the weapons had been dropped.

  Well done, Alsman.

  The chancellor’s men stood stupidly looking on. The bloodied bailiff managed to protest, “You mean to deprive chancellery officers of their arms.”

  “You have committed assault upon the Enhedu Road and have made an attempt upon the life of a son of Vall. By the laws of Zoviya and of this province, I could stake you to the ground and leave you for the crows. I recommend you get yourself and your men out of my sight and out of Enhedu before you offend me further.”

  The man was near blind from the blood that poured into his eyes but hefted his fellow and retreated. The four functionaries were left quite alone.

  Fana stepped forward and retrieved a lock of her hair that had been yanked free. She wound it into a tight ball, tucked it away, and smiling once more, said to the senior man, “Shall we retire up to the keep so you may verify the primacy of the census?” And saying it she stepped aside and gestured for the man to lead the way. I did the same. He was beyond speech and gestured madly for me to precede him.

  We marched up to the quiet gallery alcove where Fana began to explain the volumes that lined a long shelf. Our guest snatched one of the volumes, thumped it down upon the table, and began flipping through it. He read page after page and then paused as he noticed a date or some other detail of the masterful work. He let out a long screech dropped the book on the table as if it were a snake that had bit him.

  It was a complete census, better than any the Kaaryon had ever required of its own citizens. I was as impressed as the official was terrified.

  “You have documented all of Enhedu. How?”

  Fana shrugged. “I cannot account for your lack of understanding. I am sure we could arrange a tour so you can verify the census, or if you care to, you could stay and make copies to take with you.”

  The man managed a stammering of syllables but nothing more.

  I added, “You will, of course, prepare a copy of your reporting of all of this before you leave. I am sure you do not want to go back with this news unless it bears my seal and the signatures of credentialed witnesses. My father’s messenger will be carrying word of all of this ahead of you, of course, so you can be certain the palace will know all the details of your visit well before your return. You are free, of course, to write of Enhedu as you see fit.”

  They looked ill. I took the senior man by the arm and led him down to the writing desk. Fana stood behind him while he wet the ink stone and tried to compose himself. Gern arrived to report all was well upon the carriageway, and while I waited for the chancellor’s men to compose their report, I wrote a letter to my father.

  The defeated men talked very little while the senior of their number worked and said nothing at all. Fana reviewed their account and the copy I would send with my father’s messenger. When she was satisfied and all was signed, I called up a pair of greencoats to escort them out. Another of Leger’s men also stopped to add his Report of Standing to the correspondence that the royal messenger would carry. It was so brief as to border on criminal and very poorly written. I couldn’t have been more pleased. It said next to nothing about what was going on in Enhedu, which was fine with me. I sent the sergeant down with my compliments. I was left alone with Gern and Fana.

  She charged suddenly toward me and got down on her knees. “I am so sorry, my lord. Please do not send Selt away. Without his help, we would have been lost.”

  I took her hand
and lifted her off the floor. “Fear not. My words were meant to keep him out of their hands. I will have to punish him, but nothing as severe as being dismissed. What do you think, Lieutenant? Fifteen days in the box sound right to you?”

  “In the box?” Gern asked hesitantly and shared a nervous look with Fana.

  “Yes,” I replied after a moment, happy to draw a bit more nervousness out of them for their part in keeping such a secret from me. I could not keep them on the hook very long, though. “You will have to find an appropriate cell, of course. Perhaps a cottage somewhere along the coast?”

  “Yes,” Gern laughed, “that sounds about right.”

  “Fifteen days for you as well, I think,” I told him and pointed at Fana. “You too, now that I think on it.”

  “As you wish,” Gern smiled.

  “And where is Dia?” I asked. “She had a hand in this, too, if I am not mistaken.”

  “Apologies,” Gern said. “We thought it best she stay clear of the chancellor’s men. You will find her in your apartment.”

  “Hmm. Add another fifteen days for that, I think.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” he said with an easy bow.

  I said farewell and an extra thank you in case I did not see either before they took their holidays, and made my way upstairs.

  It had been too long since I had worn chainmail. I had not put it on properly and a fold in the padded shirt beneath was putting a mean pain in my shoulder. Dia did not help the situation much when I began taking it off. The process involved bending at the waist and tapping my palms on the floor until the sleeves slid free and their weight pulled the rest over my head.

  “Do that again,” she said with a giggle.

  “Not likely,” I said but could not help a smile. “You could have told me, you know.”

  “And ignore the counsel of your bondsmen?”

  I considered this for a time. I really was rather apt to make a mess of things if left to do them by myself. I resolved to my response easily.

  “No. No. I take it back. It is as I would have it be.”

  She crossed and put her hands through my hair, patted down a patch that must have been standing up from when I had on the helmet. She giggled and pressed it down a second time, unsuccessfully, it seemed, by her expression.

  “It is how I would have it as well. Tell me of the morning,” she said and let me hold her while I recounted our adventure upon the carriageway. When I got to the part about sending Gern and my scribes on holiday, she detangled herself from my happy hands.

  “Where are you off to all of a sudden?”

  She wasn’t smiling. “You have sent half of my wedding planners away, and I cannot let her leave without saying goodbye. Will she be spending her days away with Gern?”

  “I don’t know. I guess, perhaps.”

  “Have you talked to Gern yet about them?”

  “No, I thought to but—”

  “Never mind, then. I’ll do it. I have something in the works for them already, anyway.”

  I tried not to seem too relieved. “I should go, too. I owe Erom and Merit time enough to discuss our muddy streets and am late for my visit to the harbor. I also have to get my father’s messenger heading south—again. I wrote a second letter for the messenger to take back.”

  She took the sheet when I offered it and read it where she stood.

  “This will do nicely,” she said softly. She looked as pleased as I ever remember seeing her, gave me a rather delicious kiss, and returned the letter before we made our way down.

  * * *

  87th of summer, 1195

  * * *

  Vall, Lord Father and Exaltier of Zoviya,

  Men from the chancellor’s office will return to Bessradi in the coming days—men who visited Enhedu with intention to remove me by writ, and who, when their claims were shown false, assaulted my citizenry and attempted by force to take them into unwarranted municipal service. I was forced to call upon my brigades to halt the violence and their swift action saved many lives, including my own.

  I chose not to execute the thousand who attempted such savagery upon Enhedu and suggest instead that if it is the dire need for labor that compelled these men toward violence against our family, spare their lives and declare them churlish.

  * * *

  With regrets for the turmoil my name collects to yours,

  Prince Barok Yentif, Arilas of Enhedu

  73

  Healer Geart Goib

  I woke to midnight’s darkness, the smell of smoke, and Avin’s shouting.

  “Geart, help me gather the books. The prison’s on fire.”

  I scrambled up, but the smoke smelled wrong. More like burnt bread than dried wood. I went to the window.

  The entire horizon was an angry red line. Fast, dry wind drove the flames southwest.

  “Geart, hurry,” Avin said with a tug on my arm.

  “It’s not the prison,” I told him and pointed. “The arilas made good his promise. He set fire to Heneur. And himself.”

  Avin rushed to join me. “Blessed spirit. Such a wind. All of Aderan must be on fire. What fool sets fires when such a wind blows?”

  “Men told to. Men who know no better. The harvest is too close. Harod made promises.”

  The smoke got thick and then thicker. We lost sight of the flames and all but the dim glow of the lantern boxes along the prison wall.

  I grabbed the blanket off the bed. Avin had the same idea as me. He took hold of our washbasin and poured it on the blanket. I stuffed it around the edges of the window to keep the wind from pushing more smoke into the room.

  Jailors and prisoners began to wake and yell.

  “It is the fields,” I said down the hallway at the panicked jailors. “Get men with buckets onto the roof.”

  “Get back in your room,” the senior jailor growled as he came around the corner. I retreated, but he listened to my words. His barking got men moving toward the well.

  Avin was back at the window. “If Lord Vall is too distracted to stop the likes of this, petty men will be sharpening their knives in every dark corner of Zoviya.”

  I nodded, and we watched. The smoke began to take on an evil glow, and a blizzard of wheat embers leapt over the wall. Then they beat at the window. The glow became bright, and flames licked the prison walls. I worried the whole world was on fire. But then the glow faded, and the rain of sparks quit.

  “So fast,” Avin said with a shake of his head. “I hope no one was caught out there.”

  A new smell in the air told me otherwise. The first yells from below confirmed it.

  “Best get ready,” I said and sat on the bed. The stink of burnt flesh got stronger.

  “Great spirit, no,” Avin said.

  “I do not know who you pray to today, my friend, but men shrieking for the grace of Bayen’s blue light will be here soon.”

  My words made it to him, and he sat next to me.

  I had not made it very far into my book about wounds, but it had taught me much about healing skin and muscles. I thought through the lists and diagrams of it all. Healing skin before muscle prevents the muscle from healing properly. Muscles too can come sometimes in many layers. The arilas had a limp because I did not know what I was doing. I counted myself lucky he did not know any better and Avin a good friend for teaching me the difference.

  The wounded did not keep us waiting. Jailors and soldiers rushed down the hallway bearing charred and screaming men. They jammed into the room, shouting over the screams.

  “Everyone to the courtyard,” Avin said and pushed them back. They forgot they were the guards and we the prisoners, and Avin led us out.

  “Torches, water,” Avin yelled as we emerged into the smoky darkness.

  “Heal this man,” an officer screamed at Avin and dragged him toward a man who thrashed and gasped where he had been dropped in the dust.

  “I need light and water,” Avin repeated, and this time the soldiers rushed to retrieve them.

&
nbsp; “There,” I pointed. “The big tent. The wind won’t fill the wounds with dust in there.”

  “My tent?” the officer protested but then relented the next instant. We crowded inside. Torches and water arrived, and upon the officer’s wide table we examined the man. His legs were charred, and the rest was red and bloody. His lips and ears were black. Pieces of his clothes were seared into his flesh and dust and ash clung to every wet wound. I could hardly believe that he lived.

  “I need a sharp knife and a horse brush,” Avin ordered and moved around to the other side of the table. “And more water.”

  Men rushed about, and the officer asked, “What can we do for the rest?”

  “Put them in the other tents to keep the dust off,” Avin replied, his voice tightened into savage bites. “Give them sips of water. Keep them still.”

  The officer charged out, already yelling. A knife, brush, and more buckets of water appeared. Avin scoured his hands and the knife. I knew what the brush was for. The knife I did not understand. He leaned over the man. “When I cut him, hold his ribs open as wide as you can.”

  I understood then. The man had breathed in the flames. Avin had to open him chest to heal what was inside.

  I nodded, Avin pulled the knife along his ribs, and I pulled him open. The man screamed, and the soldiers clamored close.

  “Stand away,” Avin shouted and jammed his hand inside. His forearm flexed as he took hold of something and the syllables of Avin’s song slammed my ears and blinded me with a great blue flash. He was not singing, he was screaming. It was a blistering wrath that made the man’s body vibrate. The wet blood and sweat cooked away into a mist. The stricken man gargled and then gasped.

  The soldiers backed away, their anger turned to elation by the hot glow bathing their own wounds and tired faces.

  Avin withdrew his hand slowly, I let go, and the wound snapped shut. Still bellowing the song, he dashed around the table beside me and opened the man’s left side with another furious cut. His hand stabbed into his chest, and I struggled to pry open the wet ribs. The second cut healed quicker, and Avin tossed me the horse brush as he rushed around to the man’s head.