The Dragon of Despair (56 page)

After a few seasons had passed, the settlers might even strike up trade with the soldiers assigned to the new garrison at the gap. That would be nice. And the wild creatures who had been harassing them certainly wouldn’t be so fierce and bold with armed men patrolling the forest.

Indeed, by the day that Ewen climbed to the walkway from which one could see over the top of the palisade, some of the settlers were beginning to view the soldiers with a certain fondness—as a future lifeline, rather than as potential enemies.

Lord Polr alone, armed and armored, wearing a helmet, his shield slung over his arm, strode to within twenty long paces of New Bardenville’s eastern gate.

“The sun has risen on the first day of King Tedric’s new law,” the lord cried, his voice strong and fierce. “Will you come forth and let us escort you to the gap?”

“No,” Ewen called in return, enjoying the steady ring of his own voice. “My friends and I have made a home here. In this home we will stay. Let King Tedric know that in all things but this new proclamation we will remain faithful to him and his descendants, but that wasteland should not remain unused when there are farmers to farm it and crafters to tame it for the use of civilization and the king’s own greater glory.”

Ewen was proud of his speech. He’d sat up the night before going over it again and again until he could say the words naturally. Lord Polr did not look impressed, but then Ewen had not thought that a few words—no matter how well chosen—would end it. They must debate until Lord Polr saw how determined the settlers were to remain.

Lord Polr made a dismissive gesture with one hand, then called out:

“I ask again. Will you not come forth and obey the wishes of your king? We have observed how pressed you are, how your fields are stripped of all grain, how your livestock has died. We have even found fresh graves in the plot by the forest edge. You have lost many of your number. You will lose more before winter releases her grip. Come and we will escort you to safety.”

Ewen was aware of the stirring from below and behind him, where the majority of the settlers stood in a tight cluster, listening intently to the exchange. Even without turning to look he could tell that they were remembering what this new threat had made them almost forget—the fear under which they had been living even before Lord Polr arrived.

Without glancing down lest someone catch his eye and gain excuse to interrupt, Ewen shouted his defiance again.

“No! We will not return to the east, to a life as little better than slaves to large landholders such as yourselves. In a realm where you begin to outstrip the generous holdings granted to you by Zorana the Great what room is there for us to grow?”

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 Brooks—and all those who have followed him here—will you obey your king’s command and come east again?”

“No!” shouted Ewen, and a few other voices—but only a few—answered with him.

Lord Polr raised his hand once again, and this time Ewen recognized the seeming gesture of dismissal for what it was—a 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 blind—or 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 Elise—because you were the only ones who had at least some command of the language—went 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 buy—and if you’ll forgive me, Lady Archer isn’t being encouraging—so 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 face—painted in a pinkish red that matched the interior of the bill—looked 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.