The Warden, page 6
6
THE THORNS
Aelis was shocked to find the village a sudden flurry of activity, as if every shepherd, goatherd, and farmer had come running back to its very center in the short time she’d been gone.
The children, boys and girls alike, seemed to be running about to no real purpose. She spied Pips and Abel among a group of children who’d all taken up sticks and were slicing them through the air like swords.
Many of the adults had gathered into clusters, speaking closely to one another. They drew back when she approached, made signs, whispered superstitious charms invoking the Worldsoul, Stregon, and Anaerion. More tellingly, she saw more than one stout farmer holding a thick wooden walking stick or a woodaxe at his side. They tried to look casual, like they’d just been caught splitting wood or were going out for a hike in the surrounding hills. But she saw the way they nervously settled and resettled their fingers, the way their eyes shifted to other men and women standing nearby, similarly armed.
She ignored it, then caught the eye of Pips and waved the girl over, squatting down to look her in the eye—a decision she regretted almost instantly as Pips’s stick-sword whipped viciously through the air just inches from her nose.
“Pips,” she said, “what’s going on? What’s got everyone so excited?”
“Warden Aelis,” Pips said, bubbly and excited. “It’s adventurers comin’! Bois n’ his brother Juval took their family’s herd up right up to the pass. Not much more than two hours after breakfast said they saw ’em come trundling down in their wagon, a big war wagon…”
“Adventurers? Prospectors or pioneers, you mean?”
“No, I mean adventurers, s’what my uncles call them,” Pips insisted.
“Very well then. What do you know about them?” From the corner of one eye, she saw Elmo and Otto trying to thread their way gracefully through the crowd toward her and Pips. Thankfully their idea of “threading gracefully” seemed similar to a bull getting caught in a fence and then trying to drag the fence with it. She had some time.
“I know there’s a dwarf among ’em,” Pips proclaimed, “a real dwarf with a long beard and an axe and everything, and the wagon had a big bow on it…”
For a moment, just a moment, Aelis pictured an armored wagon with a huge ribbon tied around it, and then felt so ridiculous she blushed in embarrassment as she realized the girl was talking about some kind of weapon mounted on the thing. Thankfully Pips didn’t seem to notice her shame, so Aelis gave the girl a pat on the shoulder and stood. “Go with your uncles, Phillipa,” she said as Elmo and Otto finally came free of the crowd to drag the girl away.
She scanned the crowd, wishing for a moment for a few more inches of height, and found Rus and Martin lingering outside their inn. Rus was trying to calm people down enough to listen to him.
Aelis set off determinedly in their direction, her boots thumping into the dirt track that circled the green until she was close to them. “Screen me for a moment,” she muttered. They stared at her blankly and she said, “Screen me. Stand between me and the crowd. Do it.”
She must have summoned enough of an air of command, for the two stepped in front of her as she slipped her wand into her left hand. The Charm she formed in her mind and then released with a stab at the air and an uttered syllable was quite simple, but took a good deal of concentration to spread out over as wide an area as the few dozen people before her were occupying, especially in open space without walls to give her boundaries.
All she did, really, was float the mental suggestion that they should turn and listen to her, quietly, with an open mind. Not a compulsion or a command, not even close. She saw enough of the crowd turn that as she slipped her wand away she was already raising her voice.
“Listen to me, good people of Lone Pine. If it’s true that a band of frontier explorers and salvagers are coming our way, we’ve nothing at all to fear. Like as not they’ll have gold to spend and will be looking for beds, food, and drink, perhaps more than goodmen Rus and Martin alone can provide. Their horses will need shoeing, their clothes and tools mending and sharpening, and they’ll want food and other necessities for their long trip south. And more than coin, they’ll bring stories to trade, perhaps a bit of music.”
“We’ve had rough sorts here before, end of summer before last,” said one farmer, holding a quarterstaff as if ready to choke the life out of it. “Busted up some of our homes, stole horses n’ livestock, put ideas in our children’s heads, and worse.”
As the man spoke, Aelis flicked her eyes toward Rus, who gave her a tiny affirming nod. Aelis cleared her throat and the man stopped speaking, surprised.
“Tell me, goodman. Did Lone Pine have a Warden that day?”
There was a general shaking of heads in the crowd.
“Then this day will be different.”
Something about Aelis’s attitude mollified them, and in short order most of the crowd melted away from the green, back to their daily tasks—even if in many cases those tasks seemed much closer to the green than they had been before. The children kept running about, slashing their sticks in the air, clattering them into one another, declaring themselves to be this or that war hero. Aelis fixed her gaze on the western horizon, where any band in a so-called war wagon would be approaching from if they’d come down out of the mountains that morning. She was briefly distracted when she heard Pips boldly declare that she wasn’t some war hero, but rather a Warden come to defend the town with her sword and staff.
For once, Aelis found herself envying the Invokers their staves. She could lean on it, or hold it forthrightly before her in some kind of wizardly pose.
She settled for turning to Rus as he walked slowly to her side. “If it should be a group of ruffians,” she said, “how many veterans in the village besides you and Martin?”
Rus snorted faintly. “What happened to the confidence? ‘This time will be different’?”
“I can defend myself. I can manage a band of ruffians, if it comes to it. I can probably do both at the same time. I probably can’t do those two things and defend a dozen villagers.”
“You’ve no lack of confidence, Warden—”
“Please answer my question, Rus,” Aelis said, her words coming out rather more curt than she’d meant.
“Me and Martin, but I won’t ask him to fight anyone and neither will you. Elmo and Otto, but don’t look to them for subtlety. Emilie, blond woman who lives just on the outskirts, is a devil of a hand with a bow, but I’ve not seen her on the green today. A few others were wound-dressers, grooms, runners, servants, and the like.”
“Thank you,” Aelis remembered to say, and nodded. “I don’t think we’ve really a need to go posting an archer. What’s the worst these adventuring sorts can get up to?”
“The worst? Murder, theft, ra…”
“It was a rhetorical question,” Aelis said, cutting Rus off. “Is it common they go bad like that?”
“It didn’t quite come to blood with the crew Ewig was talking about from the other summer. But it was damn near. As it was, they made off with a good deal more than they’d paid for. There was a lot of anger, hurt feelings. No one was hurt in a permanent way, but around here, horses and sheep are the most wealth anyone’s got. You steal them, you’re stealing a livelihood.”
“No one’s stealing anything, horses nor sheep nor a scrap of food, on my watch.”
“There’s that confidence again,” Rus said, his tone slightly puzzled. “If they are ruffians, I hope they’re similarly impressed.”
Aelis didn’t answer, for the sun suddenly glinted off metal at the crest of the hill in the west. She leaned forward, squinting. A pair of horses were leading the “war wagon,” if indeed it was such a thing, straight toward Lone Pine. It started out large and kept getting bigger. A murmur ran through the crowd as it neared, and even Aelis was taken by just how large it got.
War wagon proved to be a more apt description than Aelis could’ve imagined.
Only once it was passing the edge of houses near the green could she estimate its size; thirty feet in length and ten or a bit more wide, and on its back was indeed something like a huge arbalest—the bolts must’ve been half again as long as most longbow arrows—mounted on a rotating platform. The horses pulling it, she realized, were some of the biggest draft animals she’d ever seen, a soft brown with dark cream feathering on their fetlocks. A ram was mounted on the front, a heavy blunt wedge of iron, along with a winch.
The wagon itself didn’t seem to have a central structure, just canvas strung across poles and lashed to either side. Two dwarves sat side by side on the driver’s bench, their beards flowing over their laps as the wagon pulled onto the green. She saw at least two taller folk, humans, she thought, crawl atop it, checking the ropes holding various barrels, chests, and crates in place.
Two more tall folk rode animals of a piece with the draft horses that were hitched to the wagon, and each led another horse behind.
The amount of baggage and equipment strapped to the wagon was astounding. Up close, she judged that each one of the horses was eighteen hands at a minimum, broad and heavy to boot, and that all that sweating horseflesh carried a powerful scent.
The dwarves wore hard studded leather jerkins and matching gloves that went to the elbows, leaving their arms bare but for thick iron bands fitted closely around their biceps. One of them now rose, keeping one foot on the runner and one on the board. His beard was twisted into thick braids, mostly red with streaks of light, nearly blond brown mixed in, and his head was bare.
“Greetings from Timmuk Dobrusz and his company,” the dwarf roared, posing for a moment with hands on hips, before going on. “Lately returned to civilization—such as it is—from the frontier wilds beyond the Durndill Pass. We’ve stories to trade and treasures, too, from the ruins and the delvings and the holdings lost to the wilds those many years ago. What say you, folk of…” He looked down at the other dwarf, muttered something in their own harsh tongue that Aelis didn’t catch, then back at the two humans—one man, one woman—who had walked to the front of the flatbed. Similarly attired in leather, armed with an ironmongery’s worth of short swords and knives between them, they both offered eloquent shrugs.
Aelis stepped forward. “Lone Pine is where you find yourselves, Timmuk Dobrusz and company. And I am its warden, Aelis de Lenti.”
“I wouldn’t have thought Lone Pine rated a warden.” That comment came from one of the riders, who threw a dark green hood back off her face as she spoke.
Aelis had had enough social schooling in her life as a count’s daughter, added to Lyceum training, to keep from gasping. But deep down she wanted to, because the revealed face was not quite elvish and not quite human, but a mix of the two, and stunningly, arrestingly beautiful. Aelis found herself flushing slightly at the auburn hair, cut short along the sharp line of her chin, the ice-blue eyes, and the high, fine cheekbones.
“I’ve only recently arrived,” Aelis said, keeping her voice smooth and her face composed, she was reasonably sure. “But I am its warden nonetheless. As such, Timmuk Dobrusz, I assume you’ve your paperwork and charter in order?”
“Of course!” The dwarf smacked one of his gloved hands against his thigh, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Of course we do. Darent!” he shouted, turning to the leather-clad man standing on the wagon behind him. “Fetch the paperwork!”
It was a short wait while Darent clambered beneath the canvas tent erected on the wagon. The rest of the party—the two dwarves, the half-elven woman, the human woman on the wagon, and the other rider, whose hood was still up, obscuring their features—stared down at Aelis. She felt the weight of that collective stare—and she ignored it.
What do they think I am? Some country margrave’s daughter gone to her first ball? Never had someone stare at her before?
On the wagon she heard the sound of locks being turned and something opened. She saw faces appear in windows of the houses around the crossroads as people were drawn back to the scene.
Finally, Darent came hustling out of the back of the wagon, holding a cylindrical leather case. He handed it to Timmuk, who hopped down off the wagon and strolled up to Aelis, holding it out to her.
“You’ll find it all in good order,” Timmuk said as Aelis took the case and popped the cap, sliding out a thick roll of parchment bound with red ribbons. She handed the case back to Timmuk and unknotted the thong that held the roll of papers closed.
Aelis was still conscious of the eyes on her as she unrolled and began to read. Though in truth she wanted to read every word, she didn’t think she could keep everyone waiting for too long. She’d gotten past the official rhetoric at the top, explaining that this charter was issued by the Crowned Heads of the Three Nations and Ratified by the Power of the Estates House.
The bearers of this document are entitled to salvage and treasure beyond the northern borders of Ystain, she read, just as the half-elf on the spare draft horse cleared her throat.
“Tell me, Warden. Are we going to be here all day as you read?”
Well, now you damn well are, Aelis thought, even as she smiled. “I think you could perhaps dismount and see if our fine innkeepers will provide you refreshment. While you stay outside.”
Timmuk grumbled something under his breath and Aelis pretended not to notice as she leaned her back against one of the pillars holding up the inn’s front porch. She heard a child-sized someone trying to clamber up onto the railing to look over her shoulder, and glanced back to find Pips balancing there.
With her eyes bright, she extended a finger and pointed to the top. “What’s that say?”
“Can you not read, girl?”
Phillipa half shrugged, half shook her head. “I can make my name and I know a few other marks, that’s all. My uncles aren’t too learned.”
Aelis tsked. “We’ll have to work on that. For the moment, though, I need to focus on this.” She turned back to the page, trying to ignore the girl balancing on the railing behind her.
Entitled to salvage and treasure beyond the northern borders of Ystain in all former holdings and properties of Ystain, Her Allies and Colonies for a period of two years extending from the date of issuance. The bearers must pay a tax totaling …
Aelis let her eyes skip down the page, as it detailed the complicated percentages of fees the company would have to pay to the Crowns and the Estates House, in the unlikely event that agents of the various exchequers could track them down. In most cases, Aelis knew, the companies paid a flat fee to be issued a charter and did pay something to various officials, and theoretically to the crown, upon their return.
The members of this company, known as the Thorns of the Counting House, are herein named and undersigned, agreeing to abide by all clauses, codicils, and addenda to this agreement …
Timmuk Dobrusz, dwarf of no fixed residence
Andresh Dobrusz, dwarf of no fixed residence
Darent Lash, human of Lascenise
Dashia Lash, human of Lascenise
Maurenia Angra, of Lascenise
Luth, human of Lascenise
Aelis didn’t have long to puzzle over why there was no race listed next to the name of Maurenia Angra, but she felt certain that was the woman on horseback. Aelis sneaked a glance at her over the top of the document, and realized the entire company was staring at her. Studded leather and lethal steel seems to be the uniform, Aelis reflected. Maurenia was dressed much the same as the Dobruszes and the Lashes, though she made the leather stylish, somehow. Instead of steel, her jerkin appeared to be studded with bronze, and her gloves were thin, supple leather. The sword at her left hip was a foot longer and a good deal slimmer than Aelis’s leaf-bladed Abjurer’s sword. She had a long basket-hilted dagger balancing it on the other side of her belt, inlaid with silver. Luth, the remaining member of the company, was still hooded, and Aelis couldn’t take the time to study him, but she was reasonably sure she saw a pair of throwing axes tucked into the front of his belt before she flicked her eyes back to the parchment.
She briefly checked many of the remaining clauses, carefully reading those regarding the acquisition and possession of magical items or equipment, all of which became the legal property of the Crowns and the Estates House as soon as it entered the country. She lightly skimmed the penalties for nonpayment of tax, crossing borders legally agreed upon with Foreign Heads of State, and had a chuckle that the Crowns were forced to acknowledge the orcish chieftains as heads of state. She could imagine them choking on it. Each member of the company had entered wills and arrangements for disposition of assets in the event they did not return. The documents also indemnified the crowns, the estates, and their agents from all injuries and losses the company might suffer, while generously offering to create a small trust for personal burial or cremation, with the deposited money nonrefundable in the event that a body was not recovered and heirs did not specifically request a symbolic burial.
“They really cover every contingency, don’t they,” Aelis said as she flipped to the last page to check the seals. The largest, in red, was the outline of the dozen columns outside the Estates House. Slightly smaller, in purple wax, the three crowns of Ystain, Imraval, and Tyridice in a tilted triangle. None of the crowns had any identifying marks; all were simple icons with three points.
“Well,” Timmuk said, “there’s no hard limit on the weight or volume of phoenix feathers one can harvest.” Aelis laughed faintly at the joke. While she read, more village folk had crept back toward the crossroads and the green, whispering curiously about the company.
“I do have one question,” Aelis said as she began to roll the parchment back up, then using it to point to the oversized arbalest on the back of the wagon. “I didn’t see any particular license for that…”
“No licenses are required beyond the borders,” Maurenia put in, quick and curt.
“Well, you’re no longer beyond the borders,” Aelis answered smoothly, feeling that she’d somehow scored a point. “I am going to ask that you disable it while you’re in Lone Pine.”
