Greendaughter (Book 6) (19 page)

“Let them cast their spell,” Sharl told Chyrie. “While Dusk is here—well, such as he is—I want you to update this map Rowan sent me. I need to know which clans have allied with Rowan now, where they are, and where these so-called beast-speakers are stationed.”

Chyrie grimaced—she had been curious about the weather spell, and she was already tired and drained—but saw the sense in what Sharl asked and obeyed. She soon found that as difficult as it had been dividing her attention between touching Dusk’s thoughts while conversing with Sharl and Val, it was far more difficult to do so while attempting to read a map in the dark and pen characters upon it. Val had no strength to lend her, being unaccustomed to beast-speaking and even more drained by the morning’s adventure than she, and by the time she was finished, she was utterly exhausted, barely able to remind Dusk of the expected torrent of rain and watch the owl fly away before she all but collapsed in Valann’s arms.

Rivkah, Loren, and Jeena had finished, too, and were watching for the result of the spell. Already the air was heavy, as before a storm, and Chyrie could see clouds gathering to block out the stars. A low rumble could be heard, and even as they watched, a few flashes of lightning lit the clouds.

“I’m sorry,” Rivkah said. “Jeena gave me more power than I’m used to working with. I think we may have built something bigger than we thought.”

A tremendous gust of wind whistled over the watchtower as if in agreement, almost snatching the map from Sharl’s hands, and ashes swirled up from the firepot.

“We’d best get under cover,” Sharl said. He glanced at Val, who was wearily trying to lift Chyrie. “I’ll get her. The wind is stiff and that ladder’s steep.” He lifted Chyrie carefully and, to Valann’s grudging relief, was able to cradle the elf in one arm as he climbed down the ladder.

Chyrie was asleep before Sharl reached the bottom of the ladder.

When Val and Chyrie awakened the next morning, it was still storming violently outside. As elves in the Heartwood tended to do, the elves sharing the room with them were huddled sleeping under their furs to wait out the storm, but both Jeena and Naura were missing. Val and Chyrie hurried down to the main hall, where they found Rivkah breaking her fast alone. The mage brightened considerably at the sight of the elves, and eagerly invited them to join her; the elves were no less eager to scramble to their usual seats on the table and eat heartily.

“Sharl’s meeting with the Brightwaters,” Rivkah said. “He never came to bed last night, stayed up talking with his generals. He personally took nearly two hundred soldiers this morning to be stationed between the forest and the river, and several more supply wagons. Jeena and Loren rode out with them—Loren wanted to meet the Brightwaters’ Gifted One—and they took another elf with them, one of the Longears, I believe. Sharl said they would meet whatever elves were coming to the city and bring them back in the wagons.”

Chyrie looked soberly at Valann.

“It is perhaps best that Naura goes back to her people,” Valann said. “Here it would be painful for her to see other women bear.”

“What are you talking about?” Rivkah asked puzzledly.

“Nothing of significance,” Chyrie said quickly. “Will Sharl be returning tonight?”

“I hope so,” Rivkah said, glancing down at her food. “This is no weather for them to be traveling, much less camping. Sharl said they’d come back with the wagons as soon as the troops were settled, but that may take some time in this storm.”

“If the rain slows Sharl and his men,” Valann comforted, “it also slows the invaders.” He shook his head. “It is unfortunate, but I doubt that the Brightwaters, however kindly inclined they may be, will
allow two
hundred humans
to camp
within the forest on their lands, nor yet supply them with food and wood for fires.”

“We’ve solved the firewood problem, at least,” Rivkah said, brightening slightly. “Come and look.”

Val and Chyrie followed her to the closest of the hall’s two fireplaces. To their surprise, the fire there was fueled not by wood, but by stacked blocks of some plant material, judging from the smell.

“It’s peat, cut from the Dim Reaches,” Rivkah explained. “Sharl had men cutting it even before we left for Cielman. It has to be pressed and dried before it can be used, but the cutting and pressing is simple labor, and it can be dried quickly with such a simple spell that even apprentice mages can handle that job. A great load of black rock arrived, too, only two days ago—our very first ship trade. There’s plenty for the forges, and in a pinch we can burn it in our fires, too. The peasants are saving and drying droppings, too, from the horses and livestock, and bringing it to the city.”

“How can we be of help?” Valann asked. “No elves will likely arrive until the wagons return, and there is no need to wait for Dusk’s call, for Chyrie will feel it.”

“You exhausted yourselves yesterday,” Rivkah said doubtfully. “Perhaps you should rest today, especially Chyrie.”

“If I need not fly a hawk across the Heartwood, to me that is rest,” Chyrie said wryly, taking another piece of bread to sop her stew. “We are a folk not accustomed to sitting idle while others labor. Surely there is some small help we can give, and there are few in the rooms above us who could not perform some tasks to be of use.”

“It’s hardly weather for a strong man to be laboring outdoors, much less pregnant women and children,” Rivkah said slowly, “but surely there’s light work that can be done indoors. What do you suggest?”

“The Brightwaters, as Sharl said, are skilled at making nets and lines for fish and eels,” Valann said. “Let them continue to do it. Even the children can assist in that. I have seen many of the elves carving bows and arrows; let them work with your weapons-makers to improve the quality of your own bows. Even those with few skills can sort feathers for fletching arrows or whet blades. I am not as skilled as Jeena in herb-craft, but I know many healing salves and potions that can be made against future need. Chyrie is skilled at drying and potting foods for later eating; she can instruct your people in such preparations that there will be more food in the city.”

“You’re right,” Rivkah said, chagrined. “Sharl and I didn’t realize we were neglecting a work force under our very roof. Let’s go put your friends to work.”

To Rivkah’s surprise, she found the elves not only willing, but eager to find tasks to occupy their time. Even the oldest elf could fletch and tip arrows, and many of the women, early in their pregnancy or simply known to be fertile, could exceed most human women in strength and energy. The Brightwaters, down to the youngest child, showed themselves to be every bit as skilled at making and mending nets, fish traps, and lines as Valann had said, and could turn almost any small scrap of metal into sharp barbed hooks as well.

The storm actually worsened, rather than slackening, and Sharl, Jeena, and Loren, together with nearly fifty more elves, returned late that night, all of them thoroughly soaked but happy. Loren and Jeena were enthused by the possibilities of elven and human magic, each very different in nature, being used to complement each other. Sharl was pleased that the Brightwaters had received him kindly and were even glad of his troops camped near the forest, providing a human wall between them and the invaders.

Unfortunately, he told Rivkah, the Blue-eyes were adamant in resisting any contact with either the humans or other elven clans. The Brightwaters’ envoy had come running back from their lands, arrows whistling after him. Worse, the Blue-eyes had made a raid on Longear lands, stealing a good quantity of their preserved food and killing two Longears. This attitude, Jeena added, was far from isolated; many clans who had refused to join Rowan’s alliance were striking savagely at neighboring clans who had, fearing that the allied clans might join forces against them.

“How can they feel that way?” Rivkah protested. “The storm we created helps every clan in the forest, not just those who are working with us.”

“Remember that we do not use weather magic,” Jeena reminded her. “It is spring, and it is storming. Few elves in the Heartwood would credit you with that.”

“No gratitude is owed to out-kin,” Valann added. “They will not ask you for help, nor thank you for it.”
(Any more than we did,)
he added in thought to Chyrie.

“You can’t mean to say you still agree with your people that it’s better to fall alone than stand with us,” Sharl demanded.

“It is better to stand with kin than with strangers,” Val said adamantly. “It is better to die free than live enslaved or obligated to another. Our thoughts have not changed.”

“But you’ve been so much help to us,” Rivkah argued.

“You have treated us as kindly as you could,” Chyrie said gently. “But you are not our clan, and this is not our land. We came because our word to do so was given, and because I must protect the lives I carry within me. If we must be here, then it is well to do what we can to ensure that we survive. But given the choice, and only myself to consider, I would return to my kin without a moment’s delay, even to die there.”

Sharl shook his head disgustedly.

“Well, against your will or not,” he said, “at least you’ve made yourself useful, I must admit that, and so have the others. Rivkah told me what you’ve done today. It had never occurred to me, putting pregnant women and children and tottering elders to work, but what they’ve done is amazing. If only more of our people could see what your folk are accomplishing—” He shook his head again silently.

“What?” Rivkah pressed. “There’s trouble, isn’t there? What is it, Sharl?”

“It’s Rom,” Sharl said quietly. “Just when I thought I’d gotten the folk settled down, he’s got them stirred up again. Yesterday when a group of elves arrived at the gate, people were shouting insults at them. A few even threw stones. The guards had quite a time getting them under control so the elves could pass safely.”

“What are you going to do?” Rivkah asked softly.

“What can I do?” Sharl said bitterly. “Arrest him for spreading rumors? Hang him for fanning coals that were already lit? He was one of my best guards, even saved my life. Doria’s dead, Rivkah, and I’m to blame, but Rom sees it as the elves’ fault. I don’t know what to do. I can’t even send him back to Cielman, not past that army. I’ve set him to supervise the guards on the keep’s wall, away from the people and from the gates where the elves arrive. I don’t know where else to send him, unless it’s to the swamp to dig peat like a common laborer.”

“Rom isn’t causing the problem, only aggravating it,” Rivkah comforted him. “The people will come around once they see how willing the elves are to help us all.”

“I doubt if there’s time to change their minds,” Sharl told her. “Even with the rain, it can’t be more than a few days before the advance force of that army reaches our garrison. We could be seeing combat here in a week or less. We’ll be fortunate just to finish the fortifications and get the last of the people and the food into the city in time.”

The next days were as frantic as Sharl predicted, even despite the rain that continued to pour down with only short and infrequent breaks. Families arrived from farms to the south and west, bringing wagons filled with every portable item they owned and driving their livestock ahead of them. They were met at the gates by guards who recorded that farm’s mark and the number and type of livestock, which were then herded to the city pens. Any grain or preserved food the farms brought was carefully logged as well, and stored in the large storage buildings Sharl had had built for just this purpose. The families were then directed to lodging and assigned work in the city.

Every available person was sent to work on the still incomplete fortifications, despite the weather. The teams of mages were now supplemented by hand labor, hauling blocks from the stone pits to the wagons with horses and chains, and from wagon to wall. The hand labor went much more slowly, but every block set in place meant one more obstacle between the invaders and the city.

Those who were not working on the fortifications were directed to the Potters’ Guild, where roof tiles were being formed and baked to be used in place of the flammable thatching, or sent to the large open kitchens to dry or pot meat and vegetables. Even the children worked in the stone pits, gathering in baskets the small loose stone chips, which could be heated red-hot in huge caldrons on the walls and poured down on the invaders below.

The rain-soaked city seemed to have fallen into frantic and muddy chaos, and indeed there was a certain air of fearful hurry about the workers; but Sharl could consult his records and determine how many blocks had been set on the wall, how many barrels of pickled fish had been stored, or how many score arrows had been tipped and fletched on that day, and how many people could be moved from the pottery sheds to the nets for the next day.

Contrary to Sharl’s prediction that the wagons he had brought back contained the last elves who would come to the city, elves continued to arrive. Guards had to be diverted to escort duty; while most of the city folk accepted the elves’ presence and even admired their willingness to help with any task they were set, there were still many who hurled insults, if not rocks or offal, at every elf they saw. The elves now worked only in the keep or its grounds, or in places where there were guards watching.

The elves’ quarters grew crowded, but no one complained; Sharl, frantically busy, did not notice the state of affairs until some of the servants shyly came forward, offering to share their own quarters so that the extra rooms could be given to the elves. There were now so many pregnant females, infants, and sick or crippled elves that Jeena, Crystal, and Lusea, a Gifted One recently arrived from the Black Feather clan, were kept constantly busy, and Valann, Loren, and often Rivkah with them.

There were births almost every day, and sometimes more than one. Rivkah and Loren were horrified to learn that nearly one infant in four was stillborn or “unspoken,” but the elves seemed resigned to it. When Jeena or Lusea quietly carried away the pitiful little wrapped bundles, the mothers would grieve alone in silence for a few hours, carefully ignored by the others and comforted only by the Gifted Ones, then go on with their business as if nothing had happened. None now returned to the forest, however, for with the imminent approach of the barbarian army, it was far too dangerous for a weakened elf to attempt the journey.