"They won't be getting through so easily if they try again," commented Ullin.
Ashlord nodded.
"We need to have a meeting," he said, "and you will be needed there if you can possibly spare yourself and leave your men."
"There is much left to do," Ullin replied, shaking his head.
"It is important that we assess the situation," Ashlord explained. "And make our plans to deal with what needs to be done. I want your ears there, if not also your voice."
"Commander Tallin," Winterford stepped over, hearing their conversation. "I can assure ye that we're in good order here and'll stand fast should anything happen. An' in that case, I'll send word for ye right away. Maybe ye can have some food an' blankets sent back?"
Ullin reluctantly agreed and gathered the men around to speak to them before he left. Ashlord saw why Ullin was so reluctant to leave. They were mostly only boys, and one or two old men. A few wore the tunics of the Passdale Militia and one or two the cloaks of the Bosklanders, but most were farm lads without even decent shoes. Yet they were all armed, and there was grim confidence in their faces as they gathered before the fire and listened to Ullin encourage them.
"...and so I leave Winterford, here, in charge of you. He is young, but cunning and proven in battle. Listen to him and obey him as you would me. I will have food, blankets, and clothing, such as can be found, sent to you before midnight. There are twenty-seven of you here. Those of you who will be on post tonight, do not hesitate to rouse the others at the least suspicion. The rest of you, sleep as well as you can until morning, but sleep with sword in hand."
On the ride back to Janhaven, Ashlord asked about Passdale's militiamen.
"I have seen few Passdale tunics," he said.
"I saw twelve fall in Passdale," Ullin said bitterly. "And two more this afternoon. Several are wounded. I do not know what has happened to many of the others."
"That is very sad."
"Yes, I regret to tell their families, if I can find their families, that is. But this I know: none ran away. Every boy of them, even the smallest, stood and fought like a lion."
The two parted for a time so that Ullin could arrange a wagon to carry supplies to the men he left behind, and to eat and clean himself. Ashlord went to go talk to the Station Master at the Post Station about some business that could not wait.
• • •
Several hours later, far into the night, a council of sorts was gathered at the stockade, in the great room of Mr. Furaman's main warehouse. It was a wide long hall with high heavy rafters and beams, a stone fireplace at one end, and a long table and chairs near the fire. It was brightly lit by oil lamps and a pot of spiced cider warming on the hearth. Martin Makeig was there, and Mr. Furaman and Ullin, who all stood near the fire, chatting as others arrived.
"That Winterford is a good fighter," Ullin said to Makeig. "And a natural leader, too. Especially for his age."
"Aye, he's one to count on at yer back," Makeig nodded.
Robby and his mother arrived, Billy Bosk a little later, and Mr. Bluepipe and Mr. Jarn, two elderly gentlemen and the only surviving councilmen to make it from Passdale. Ashlord entered and went around greeting each person and shaking hands.
"Well," he asked Ullin, "are we all here?"
"I think so," Ullin looked around the room, "such as we are."
"Then I think," Ashlord said, lifting his voice so that the others would hear, "we should first hear about the condition of the people."
"Well," Mirabella began, sitting down at a table before many of the ledgers she and Robby had brought along. "There are about two thousand of us. Mrs. Bosk is still gathering names of the missing and trying to account for them. We may presume many are captives, though some may have escaped in other directions. We have about four hundred wounded or hurt, fifty or so who cannot walk, with many among them who are not expected to live the night. We have suffered the loss of seventy-eight dead today, including women and children. That is how many we know of, besides those that perished in Passdale and Barley during the fighting there. We have about six hundred and fifty from around Passdale that are missing, mostly men, at least according to the Counting Book from the festival. Some of those probably dead, though Frizella told me that a few more people were trickling into Janhaven in small groups."
She let them absorb all that for a moment before proceeding. Mr. Bluepipe sat down heavily in a nearby chair.
"Of those who have made it to Janhaven," she went on, "we have the youngest, the frail, and the wounded housed in various buildings and barns. The rest are sleeping in wagons or on the ground. Mr. Furaman has given out all the blankets he has and much canvas for the making of tents. We will organize tent-making tomorrow. There is ample firewood, but the weather grows colder each night, now, and soon food and the cold will be a problem."
"I have stores of salted beef and ham," said Furaman. "And taters, and onions, and various dry stuffs such as beans and corn. They are yours for distributin' as ye see fit, but it will not last the winter no matter how carefully it is rationed. I suggest slaughtering all stock pretty soon and forming huntin' parties, too."
"Surely we will not be here that long?" said Mr. Jarn.
"We still don't know if we should keep moving," said Mr. Bluepipe. "For all we know the Redvests could be marching on Janhaven at this very moment!"
"I don't think so," said Ullin.
"You didn't think they would break through your lines, today, either," Mr. Jarn shot back sharply.
"I never said we could hold them!"
"Gentlemen!" cried Ashlord. "Here is how it is. The Tracian Redvests will, for the most part, stay put in Barley for the winter. Their aim is to move all food and supplies they can gather down the Saerdulin to their main supply roads farther south. Already they are building boats and rafts along the Boggy Wood and are gathering wagons. They evidently mean to send their spoils south. They do not have the forces to extend very far and still perform that work, though they will doubtless mount raiding parties. Most of their horsemen were killed today, but I believe their troops will try to infiltrate through the hills to take captives. If they are daring, they may mount a raid on Janhaven. However, I think they lack the reach. They need workers to accomplish their task, for they mean to leave not a stick or twig behind which may be useful to them. They would want to complete the scouring of the country before winter truly sets in, leaving only a garrison force behind. I do not think it likely they will be reinforced before spring, if at all. They move to make war in far parts and will doubtless draw all their forces together in the south."
"How do ye know all this?" Makeig asked.
"I have talked with several late arrivals who worked their way from Barley just tonight," Ashlord replied. "And others who rode in from around Newstone Ferry, making it here by the back ways. And I have other sources, as well. The important thing is that they do not mean to leave Barley any time soon. You should organize your people here for the winter."
"We could hurry them along, perhaps," ventured Ullin, leaning over the fireplace with one hand on the mantel, staring into the embers.
"Oh? What do you have in mind?"
"Assemble our own raiders. Send them to Passdale. Burn the stores and warehouses," Ullin said, turning around to face the aghast looks of the others. Only Makeig was smiling, his thumbs in his belt. "Deny them shelter, food, refuge."
"Those are our stores," said Jarn indignantly. "Our warehouses. You mean to destroy the very things we've worked so hard for?"
"It would mean attacking Barley and Passdale," said Mr. Bluepipe. "Even if it weren't a foolhardy idea, there aren't enough men to do it."
"It could also mean the death of any of our people still in their hands," said Mirabella. "They are sure to take retribution."
"And, besides," added Bluepipe, his voice reaching a shrill, "like Mr. Jarn said, those are our stores and our warehouses yer talkin' about!"
"Not no more," said Makeig bluntly.
"A
ll that is true," nodded Ullin. "And it would require careful planning."
"This is preposterous! Attacking Barley!" said Mr. Jarn moving to the door. "I'm going back to my wagon for some sleep, and I hope you will get some sleep soon, too. I think the day's wears have addled your thinking and maybe in the morning you'll be clearer. Good night!"
"You have to admit," said Mr. Bluepipe, picking up his walking stick and trailing after Mr. Jarn, "it does sound farfetched."
"It does," Ashlord said slyly. "Perhaps that is a good thing, too."
"Tell ye what, I'll work out a plan an' get back with ye," Makeig said headed for the door. "I needs be gettin' back to me own folk tomorrow. I plan on returnin' the day after. An' I'll leave Winterford an' some others behind to lend ye a hand with things."
He opened the door to depart, then turned back and grinned.
"Rest easy on yer south flank," he said. "Ain't no Redvest gonna get at ye through them hills."
They watched the door close and Mr. Furaman threw another log onto the fire.
"Well," he said, dusting his hands. "This building is as good as any for ye to set up some kind of headquarters in." He faced Mirabella and went on. "And I reckon we can move the junk out of the little shed across the way. There's an iron stove in it, and it might be big enough for a school room. There's the warehouse right next door. I'll have my men move out the things from there to the big warehouse, and you can get it set up as a place to take care of the infirm. It'll need lots of cleaning, but it's got windows that can let in some light and can be opened on warmer days. There's plenty of boards for cots and tables and such, and, I've been thinking, the stockade walls are sturdy. It might not be a bad notion to build some shelters against the other side and try and get some of the folk out of the weather. If we set to it hard, we might get it done before it snows."
"You are very generous," said Mirabella, obviously much pleased. "It will be the ruin of you."
"Oh, I don't think so," Mr. Furaman chuckled. "Why half my business is on account of your husband and your people. I've made a good livin' for myself, and seeing how as I ain't got no family 'cept me sister, I reckon I've plenty to spare. I can at least help through the winter. Come next spring, who knows? Meanwhile, it is late, and I'd better make it up early if I'm to get the buildings readied."
They said their good-nights and Mr. Furaman departed.
"We are fortunate to have the likes of Mr. Furaman and Martin Makeig helping us," said Mirabella. "They give the people hope of safety and relief."
Ashlord nodded, "Yes, fortunate, indeed."
There was something about how Ashlord said those words that did not strike Mirabella or the others as hopeful at all.
"What is it, Collandoth?"
"I don't mean to cast a shadow upon hope, for truly today's fortunes have been great compared to what they might have otherwise been. But matters are much worse than you imagine, and I believe getting through the winter is the least of many worries. Indeed, it is the spring that I fear, and the weakness of Duinnor that I fear the most."
Ashlord sat down at the end of the table nearest to the fire and took out his pipe. As he loaded the bowl, he went on. "For many years, Duinnor has wavered in its support of the other Realms. Many feel that it is due to Duinnor's decline into decadence, but I put it more to darker causes, changes in the aims of the highest leadership, perhaps even the King. The western realms have held off the Dragonkind for many generations, but are nigh upon collapse for their efforts. Vanara, the most gallant of these, receives little support from Duinnor, even though Duinnor maintains armies there; indeed, Duinnor bleeds away Vanaran resources. If Vanara falls, the other realms will be open to easy invasion by the Dragonkind. Duinnor seems blind to this threat. But there are other signs. Duinnor has done nothing to put down the many minor warlords and clans that have gained power, and their fights and feuds sap away the strength of the lands they occupy. And Tracia Realm, long jealous of Duinnor's sway, has openly rebelled and is intent on conquest."
He took a straw from a nearby broom, reached into the blaze, and drew the flame to his bowl. A cloud of aromatic smoke was soon wafting away to be sucked into the fire and up the chimney.
"Long has this been foreseen," he continued, "but what no one dared to imagine is that the Redvests would forge an alliance with the Dragon King. That changes everything. The Red Triumvirate of Tracia and the Sun King of Drakyr have between their lands the two weakest and smallest of the Seven Realms, Masurthia and Altoria. No doubt Redvests will march on Masurthia from the east in the spring. If Masurthia falls, and doubtless it will, it matters little if the Dragonkind attack from the west through Altoria; the fall of Masurthia alone opens the way onto the Plains of Bletharn, which stretches from the south all the way to Duinnor at its northwestern edge. There is no force upon the open plain that can oppose such an advance. They will be too far west for Glareth to muster, too far east for weak Vanara to reach, and, unless Duinnor rouses itself, too far south to oppose with any great force before the southern realms fall."
"So the Redvests are aiming for Duinnor?" said Ullin.
"Doubtless. Just as the Dragon King looks to Duinnor as well. I believe their alliance is an uneasy one, and will, in the end, turn into a race with the spoils of Duinnor as the prize."
"So Duinnor faces two enemies, one here in the east and another to the southwest," Ullin stated. "If the alliance between the Redvests and the Dragonkind holds, Duinnor will fall, and Vanara, cut off and surrounded, will then be overwhelmed."
"Yes. And it is a certainty that Tracia and the Dragonkind will then turn on each other. Each wants nothing less than dominion over all others. The Dragon King will win as long as the Houses of Men are divided and those of the Elifaen are in decline. One by one, each realm will fall into bondage, first, perhaps to Tracia, then to the Dragon King. Of course, this all presumes that another darker power in the west does not exert itself."
Ashlord looked around to see who took his meaning. None seemed to understand, but he did not press it.
"And Duinnor knows nothing of this alliance?" Ullin asked.
"I do not know."
"But they'll fight, won't they? When they find out," said Billy. "I mean, surely they'll see what's comin'?"
"Those are two different things, Master Bosk," said Ashlord. "Duinnor is yet the most powerful realm, but not as in previous days. And there are some there who would welcome a potent threat in order to advance their own power and cause. Some will fight, but how many have the will or the means to mount a determined defense?" Ashlord shrugged. "I sent messages of warning before this Redvest invasion. But will those messages fall on deaf ears? I do not know."
Ashlord stopped and stared into the fire, lightly drawing on his pipe in little puffs. The others looked at him and each other.
"I have a feeling," Ullin said, "that you have more to say."
Ashlord nodded.
"This age is coming to an end. The next age will be one of slavery or something else, but whatever it becomes may well be shaped by what we here, in this room, decide this very night."
Everyone stared at Ashlord, bewildered. Finally, Robby stirred.
"You mean the Bell, don't you? The ringing of the Bell at Tulith Attis has something to do with it."
"Yes. It has been foretold that the end of this age would be announced by the ringing of a 'great hammer' and the calling forth of the sentinels of old. It is said that king will fall to king, and the Seven Realms will be split asunder. The old powers will be resurrected, and the forgotten ways will be remembered. There will be a great hope and a great departing, yet none can say whether good or ill will prevail," Ashlord said. "The Great Bell at Tulith Attis was that 'great hammer,' Robby. And the stone guard were the 'sentinels of old.' The Realms are now split and are set upon one another. And there are other signs of the fulfillment of old prophecies, too.
"Evil has a way of unraveling itself, even while it perpetuates itself, spawning ill after ill. Sheila
told me that there was a stranger with her uncle, Steggan, on the night Steggan attacked her, the night she fled to Boskland. But it wasn't until Robby told me about Bailorg, and what Bailorg said before he died, that I realized that Steggan and Bailorg were the enemy's agents in these parts."
"Ye mean they spied for them Redvests?" Billy asked.
"Not that enemy. Another, more powerful one, though doubtless Steggan had no idea. Bailorg was foolish to enlist Steggan, and it was Steggan, I am convinced, who went to Janhaven to deliver Bailorg's dispatches. Robby told me some while back about a few old coins that Steggan gave over to the Starharts. On the day the Starharts opened their door to the stranger with the letters and coins, evil tripped over itself. Bailorg and his men were strangers in the region and had to have someone who could move about freely, without suspicion. Steggan fit the bill, though I don't know how they met. I talked to the captain at the Post Station, and when I described Bailorg to him, he remembered the fellow. He said that Bailorg came to the Post Station shortly before Midsummer's asking to retrieve his letters, saying that he failed to add an important note to one of them. The Post captain refused Bailorg, telling him that any letters could not be retrieved once given over to them. The captain also told me that Bailorg was infuriated, and if it had not been for several other armed Post Riders who were there, he was sure Bailorg would have become violent. As Makeig told me, it was around this time that Bailorg tried to convince him to attack and loot the Post Station. Makeig, of course, refused to be a part of any such scheme. But Bailorg's letters had already been taken by Steggan to Janhaven to be dispatched. I just came from the Post Station and learned that Starhart never got around to preparing those letters for dispatch. He was ordered to make his route to New Green Ferry in the south. Knowing it would be a several-day journey, he took the shortest route by way of the old south road that runs behind Passdale. The same road along which you followed Billy and Bailorg, Robby. Somewhere along the way, Bob Starhart ran into Bailorg's men. One of their horses had gone lame, and they took Starhart's. I believe I found the spot where they waylaid him, and I'm sure they murdered him, though I could not find his body."
The Bellringer Page 58
