Ewen knew that he spoke as much to his own followers as he did to Lord Polr, standing there so arrogant in his strength and the implied power of his distant monarch that he had not even bothered to bring his soldiers up with him. Doubtless they lounged in their comfortable camp having a last cup of tea before escorting the settlers away from their hard-earned home.
Lord Polr shook his head, though whether in pity for the smallholders' plight or in annoyance at Ewen's continued defiance, Ewen could not tell.
"There are other solutions to your difficulties," Lord Polr responded. "New lands are opening to settlement in Bright Bay. Skilled crafters are always welcome. If land is what you desire, then petition those who hold the grants on which you reside or move to lands that are open for settlement."
"We did move to such open lands," Ewen replied, and this time his voice was raw with anger. "We moved to lands empty of all but beasts. We made a place that would have extended our monarch's holdings. This being chased away like children out of their mother's garden, is this is our reward?"
Lord Polr gave no answer to Ewen's question. Perhaps he had none. Instead he called,
"A third and final time I ask you, Ewen Brooksùand all those who have followed him hereùwill you obey your king's command and come east again?"
"No!" shouted Ewen, and a few other voicesùbut only a fewùanswered with him.
Lord Polr raised his hand once again, and this time Ewen recognized the seeming gesture of dismissal for what it wasùa signal.
From the cover of the brush the rest of Lord Polr's soldiers stepped forward. With a single motion, each nocked an arrow, angling it so that it would clear the palisade and fall within.
The archers were firing blindùor so Ewen thought until he caught a glimpse of motion in a high, broad-limbed oak, and realized that another soldier was poised on a branch there, elevated sufficiently to see over the palisade and so direct his fellows' firing that it might fall where the greatest concentration of inhabitants stood.
Lord Polr glanced to the man in the tree, took his direction, and dropped his hand like a band leader.
As one the archers fired, the arrows rushing through the air with a hiss that sounded rather like hard-falling rain. The first flight was followed by another almost before the first shafts cleared the palisade.
Ewen spun even as the bows were drawn, hollering for his people to scatter, to get to cover. Some did, reacting on the same visceral level that makes rabbits flee when their sentry stomps warning. The rest reacted more humanly, staring up at Ewen in confusion. A few even shouted questions.
Or began to do so. When the arrows struck, all questions were answered. For two of the settlers there were no questions remaining but to wonder from whence came this sudden pain. One of those hit was Garrik Carpenter, the same who had protested against resisting the king's will. Another was a woman bending to shelter the babe in her arms and so moving less rapidly than the others.
Ewen turned away from the bloody scene in dismay, red flooding his vision. It was always the same. The powerful had their way whether they were the monsters of the dark forest or their seeming civilized kin in the cities and villages. Before them fell the wondering and the weak.
Ewen saw Lord Polr signal his archers to hold their fire. Then Lord Polr called out:
"Now, Ewen Brooks, do you understand that we will enforce our king's wishes? We have more arrows in our quivers, and have already marked a fit ram with which to batter down your gates. There is fire, too, the very element which cleansed the earth of a son who disobeyed his royal father and which could render you and your rebels into ash. Will you surrender now?"
Ewen felt the walkway beneath his feet shudder as someone ran along it. He was heartened when a quick glance showed him several of the other settlers coming to join him.
A sneer twisted Ewen's upper lip as he drew breath to shout defiance. Then, astonishingly, a blow fell upon his head and another upon his back. Ewen crumpled to his knees, his words choked to a cough within his throat, his throbbing head barely managing to hold consciousness.
With the last thread of sense he heard Hart crying out in a thin boy's voice.
"We surrender, lord! We surrender! Just don't send any more arrows."
Darkness came and took Ewen away, and in his bitter fashion he was glad.
DERIAN CAME IN from checking if the hired carriage was ready, to find Elise and Edlin waiting in the hall.
After weeks in riding gear, to Derian's eyes Elise almost seemed oddly dressed in the pretty but formal summer frock she'd packed along in anticipation of just such occasions. Edlin, in turn, looked mildly miserable in his knee-breeches, waistcoat, and jacket.
"I say, it's just so hot, what?" he protested. "Can't I at least do without the coat?"
"Sorry," Elise said, though she didn't look at all sorry. "We must make the right impression."
"I'll make an impression all right," Edlin muttered, "in sweat on brocade."
Elise wasted no sympathy on him but turned to Derian.
"Is our coach here?"
"It is," Derian assured her. "Brace yourself. Oculios sent along one of those pulled by people rather than horses. He said it's the only way to navigate the streets with any speed at the busiest times of day."
"If he says so," Elise replied doubtfully. "I certainly can't hope to arrive at the ambassador's residence at all clean if we walk."
Edlin had strode to the doorway, his complaints about his clothing forgotten in the novelty of the forthcoming experience.
"I say!" he called back. "Why are they dressed like that? I mean, I can see the loincloth and harness routine, rather practical in the heat, don't you know? But why are they wearing wings on their shoulders?"
Derian shrugged.
"To show they're fast?"
Edlin grinned.
"I say! Come along, Lady Archer. Our vehicle awaits."
Elise colored slightly when she saw the state of undress affected by their "steeds" but sallied forth with style, letting Edlin hand her up into the seat slung on the light carriage frame.
"We should be back for dinner," she said. "If our plans change, we'll send word."
Derian waved.
"Have a good time!"
As he watched them clatter down the street, Derian became aware that Doc had emerged from his office/consulting room. Doubtless he'd been watching from the window the entire time.
Derian couldn't resist teasing.
"Elise looked awfully pretty, didn't she?"
Doc made a rude gesture.
"She is never less," he said with dignity, "than perfectly lovely. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll step across the hall and check how my convalescents are doing."
Derian felt a little bad about teasing Doc, but for himself, Derian felt decidedly restless. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. He didn't want to count back and figure out just how long, but he realized that face paint, tattoos, and all Hasamemorri's maids were looking pretty good.
It's when Hasamemorri herself starts looking good, Derian thought wryly, that I really need to worry.
That thought shook him out of his self-pity and with a whistle on his lips he went looking for Wendee. They'd both been collecting information in the various business centers and it was time they compared it.
Wendee was in the kitchen, hanging a market basket over her arm.
"Are Lady Archer and Lord Edlin on their way?" she asked.
"Off and running," Derian assured her. "Or at least their bearers were. I'm not sure I can get used to the idea of grown adults being hauled around by other people."
"Seems odd to me, too," Wendee agree, "but it does work nicely in these narrow streets where a horse and carriage would have trouble. I suppose the New Kelvinese had to come up with something if they were going to keep all their old buildings."
She shrugged.
"Want to come to market with me? Jalarios isn't around and Doc just brought me two sacks of the local tokens and
suggested I go shopping. I know Jalarios didn't want me going on my own, but you should do."
Derian took the market basket from Wendee's arm by way of accepting her offer.
"Why wouldn't Jalarios want you going alone?" he asked. "You did last time we were here. It seems to me that you and Eliseùbecause you were the only ones who had at least some command of the languageùwent out more than the rest of us did."
Wendee frowned.
"I'm not exactly sure why," she admitted, "but in the few days we have been here Jalarios has been as close as a burr on a bear's behind. Today's the first day that he's gone off on his own, and before he did he asked me if I would be going out."
"And?"
"And I said I didn't plan to," Wendee said, "but then Doc gave me the tokens and the kitchen was feeling rather close, so…"
She gave another of those so eloquent shrugs that managed to say more than someone else could put into words. Derian remained troubled.
"It must be nice," he said as they traced their way along one of the twisting streets toward the nearest market square, "for Doc to have money to spend. I know it was for me when I actually earned some for myself rather than taking what my parents gave me. It felt even better to give them some back."
Wendee nodded.
"I think Doc is putting some by to send home, but mostly types of currency that will transfer well."
"I'm a bit surprised," Derian said, feeling his way to an idea, "that Doc isn't putting something by for himself."
"Why should he?" Wendee said, cutting to the heart of the matter as if she'd read Derian's mind. "What he wants most he can't buyùand if you'll forgive me, Lady Archer isn't being encouragingùso why should Doc be putting by for her? He may as well enjoy having a bit to spend."
The tall redhead nodded. He dodged a tall, skinny man dressed like a crane, complete with a gaping bill that so dominated his head that his faceùpainted in a pinkish red that matched the interior of the billùlooked out through the open mouth.
Derian looked after the fellow, wondering how well he could see, and then returned to the conversation. He was in midphrase before he realized how much he was starting to take New Kelvinese oddities for granted. It unsettled him more than the crane-man had.
"I wish we could help advance Doc's suit," he said lamely.
"So does Firekeeper," Wendee replied with a laugh. "She was asking me about human courting customs this morning and was appalled when I assured her that the matter wasn't going to be resolved as simply as she imagined.
"Mind," Wendee continued, squeezing close to Derian to avoid a parade of women in elaborate floral robes who strolled down the middle of the street as if no one else were about, "I think Firekeeper isn't as ignorant as that. I think she was hoping that I'd find her a loophole. She's frustrated by somethingùand I think it's more than our current situation. What's going on with her?"
Derian hesitated. Matters west of the Iron Mountains, especially the remarkable news that the Royal Beasts were prepared to defend their lands, might just be a state secret. On the other hand, Firekeeper had been edgy lately, and telling Wendee something of what was troubling the wolf-woman might prevent disaster later.
"She's worried about her familyùwolf family," he began. "When we went west earlier this spring we discovered some people had taken over the site of Prince Barden's old settlement. They weren't particularly sympathetic to the claims of those who were already living there."
"By which you mean wolves," Wendee said, obviously trying to wrap her mind around the concept. She nodded crisply, clearly having succeeded. "No wonder Firekeeper's in a snit. Why isn't she back with her pack?"
"King Tedric told her he wanted her out of there," Derian replied honestly, "that if she started trouble it wouldn't do any good for the wolves or for her or for the Kestrels. He promised to send representatives to evict the settlers if she'd come along on this trip. Firekeeper agreed, but it's eating her alive, not knowing how her family is doing."
Wendee nodded.
"It would me, too," she said sympathetically. "We need to find things for her to do to keep her busy. Right now while we're feeling our way into the local situation she's too much idle."
"Any ideas?" Derian asked.
"Let me think," Wendee replied. "In any case, we shouldn't be discussing such things in the middle of the market."
The last turn of the street had brought them into Aswatano, the Fountain Court, their local market square. Like similar open spaces in Eagle's Nest, Aswatano had at its heart a fountain supplying fresh water to the local residents.
Unlike the ones in Eagle's Nest, however, which were attractive but fairly utilitarian structures, this New Kelvinese fountain was an ornate sculpture depicting a group of robed figures apparently trying to rope a storm cloud. The water falling from the cloud gave the impression that the scene was alive and moving.
"I'm glad Hasamemorri's house has its own well," Wendee said, glancing at the sculpture. "That gives me the creeps. Jalarios told me that it depicts a scene from one of their legends of the Founders, something to do with subduing some monster."
Derian took a second look at the sculpture and saw hints of claws and fangs in the cloud, and maybe a long, serpentine tail.
Wendee defiantly turned her back on the fountain and began inspecting fat, round yellow squash in such a fashion that Derian knew further discussion of that matter would be unwelcome.
To distract himself, Derian went a few stalls away and began fingering some long, thin peppers that burned his mouth just to look at them. The vegetable seller gave Derian a rather nasty look for which translation was unnecessary, and Derian managed an apology in his halting New Kelvinese that only slightly mollified the… man? Woman?
Derian couldn't really tell and a wave of disorientation came over him, strong enough to wash away his previous smug sense of being acclimated to this foreign land.
Shopping took longer than it would have in Eagle's Nest. Wendee wasn't about to be taken just because she was a foreigner, but her awkward version of the language with its persistent threads of archaic expressions didn't help matters much.
A butcher, his face and upper body stained in wild patterns as if to compensate for the clothing his trade made impractical, started hooting in laughter when Wendee called him something that Derian understood translated as "Thou callow fool!" Such expressions might sear the malefactor to the bone in a play three hundred years old, but clearly they didn't have the same impact on a modern listener.
When he could stop hooting with laughter, the butcher said to Wendee:
"You Hawkus?"
His Pellish was worse than Wendee's New Kelvinese, but clearly he thought he'd done something clever by showing he knew a smattering of their language.
Wendee replied with icy precision in his own language:
"Yes. I am from Hawk Haven."
The man replied with a long, deliberately slow statement from which Derian caught only the most simple words. That it was insulting, he had no doubt, given the rise of color to Wendee's fair cheek. Seeing her blush, the butcher laughed again, pointing and adding some comment that the bystanders seemed to find even funnier than his previous effort.
Derian hated putting himself to the fore, but he couldn't leave Wendee to face this alone.
"What did the butcher say?" he hissed at her under the cover of the crowd's laughter and a few shouts that only raised the level of hilarity.
"It was very rude," Wendee said stiffly, "a comparison of unpainted faces and nakedness. I'd rather not repeat it, but it implied that I was a prostitute. When I blushed, he said that it was too late to cover myself with such thin paint."
Derian felt his own color rising, but with anger rather than embarrassment. His right fist balled of its own accord. He might not be a soldier, but years of handling horses had given him impressive upper-body strength. He glowered at the butcher, wishing he had the words to tell the man what he thought of him.
He might have tr
ied, but at that moment an angry shout from the back of the crowd cut through the laughter. It was a statement of some sort, and whatever the speaker said brought silence where there had been crude humor a moment before. The only sound was the splash of the fountain.
Then Wendee squared her shoulders.
"That's cut it," she said.
"What?" Derian asked.
Wendee didn't reply directly, but instead began inspecting bags of pungent dried herbs and spices at the stall directly next to the butcher's.
Derian found himself thinking inanely that the placement probably wasn't completely fortuitous, since spices could be used to preserve meat. He was aware that every eye in the immediate vicinity remained fastened on them.
"What did that last person shout?" he persisted in Pellish, keeping his voice so low and level that they mightùthough he doubted anyone was fooledùhave been discussing whether to buy sea salt or rock salt.
Wendee responded in kind, hefting a small cloth pouch of something that made Derian want to sneeze, apparently checking to see how well it was filled.
"He said, 'Go home and take your whoring-spy-bride'ùthat's the best translation I can come up with, but it implies a great deal more, all of the ugliest type of behaviorù'with you.'"
She put the pouch in their market basket and looked inquiringly at the stall tender. The spice vendor was a young womanùat least, Derian was fairly sure was a woman; it could have been a rather effeminate boy under all the cosmeticsùwho looked decidedly uncomfortable at being the center of so much attention.
Wendee picked up another pouch of the same spice, studied it consideringly, and placed it in the basket. Again she looked at the spice vendor.
This time the young womanùDerian felt pretty sure it was a woman once he heard her voiceùstammered out a price.
With a coolness Derian was pretty sure she did not feel, Wendee countered with a lower offer. The crowd, which to that moment had remained almost completely silent, stirred. There were a few murmurs, which Derian was certain were admiring.
The Dragon of Despair Page 40
