The Wicked Day (31 page)

“My youngest, Eldon. We’re riding the moor from Averlay to the Mearh Dun hills. Check on the stockmen. Draw up lists for their winter supplies. Take accounting of the herds. Besides, I figure it’s high time Eldon learned the difference between a cow and a sheep.”

Eldon grinned but didn’t say anything.

“You, I don’t know,” said the duke, eyeing Jute. “But it ain’t just anyone that flies with the hawk. Kinda scrawny, but you’re welcome in Thule, long as you don’t eat us into the poorhouse.”

Jute ducked his head, embarrassed. “Thank you,” he said.

“Scrawny?” The hawk paused in his inspection of his feathers and chuckled. “This boy is the guardian of the wind.”

“Oh?” The duke winked at Jute. “I hope you don’t mind roast rabbit. Well, I was just teasing. Teasing and tall tales. That’s my downfall.”

“Sends ma crazy, most days,” said Eldon.

“I figured there was something different about you, lad. You don’t be a duke for forty-three years without learning a thing or two. I can feel things. I ain’t a wizard, never had a hand for spells, but I can read my land and I can read the wind. I knew when things went bad. The wind changed. That was years ago. Years ago. And then, the end of this summer, the wind changed again. Seemed to cheer up.”

“But that’s not all that’s changed in recent days,” said the hawk.

“Nope.” The duke spat into the fire. “Couple weeks back, the earth shook. Real uneasy-like. It ain’t been the same since. Something’s wrong. Not just here in Thule, but all of Tormay, I reckon. The land’s waiting for something now. Or someone. I expect you know more’n me about that.”

“We found the place where she died,” said Jute, shivering despite the warmth of the fire. “Out on the Scarpe plain. Dead men and wolves. Blood everywhere. She died there.”

“She?”

“The mistress of the earth,” said the hawk.

“The mistress of the earth!” said the duke, staring at Jute. “Stone the crows. That ain’t welcome news, master hawk. About the worst I’ve ever heard. She had nothing but kindness for us, here in Thule. Nothing but kindness.”

The duke abruptly got to his feet and paced back and forth.

“Mind you, I ain’t so old as I can’t track the trail from here,” he said sadly. “I was hoping things’d keep staying quiet. Folks live their lives in peace. Duchies behave as good neighbors should. Fish a little, hunt some deer. Winter, springtime, summer, and harvest. The Dark don’t like those things. It has its hand in, don’t it? The Dark’s come back to Tormay.”

“Truly,” said the hawk. “But the Dark’s been in Tormay for many a year now. Perhaps it never left.”

“Well, if it’s here or not, ain’t much you can do except what comes to you. That’s the best any of us can do, whether a duke or a youngster mucking stables. And I imagine you’re here to tell me what that is.”

“The regent would’ve done well to hire you as his advisor, Galaestan,” said the hawk.

“Instead of that fat fool Dreccan Gor? No, master hawk. I can hardly stomach a day of Hearne, let alone years on end. Walls and towers? No, thank you. This is my home, as poor and scrape-by as it is. I know this land like the back of my hand, and you don’t get too far from your own hand now, do you? Here, try some rabbit, lad. Eldon, help yourself. I ain’t your ma and I ain’t gonna serve you. Take more than that, boy. Put some meat on your bones! Sorry. My apologies. It takes some doing to think of you as the guardian of the wind.”

“I have trouble with it myself,” said Jute, smiling, but then he sobered quickly. “We have a simple message for you. It isn’t ours, but Owain Gawinn’s. He requests the duchies send what soldiers they can by his—what is that thing called?”

“The writ of sovereignty,” said the hawk. “The kings of Hearne created that right, and it was never revoked, even after the monarchy was destroyed.”

“And the reason?” asked the duke, looking rather sour. “It’d better be solid gold. I don’t fancy calling up my men and marching them off to Hearne. Leave the cattle, the fishing boats, the farms. Gawinn’s a good man, but the writ of sovereignty? Never been invoked in my lifetime.”

“The Dark is the reason,” said the hawk. “The Dark is coming to Hearne. When the snows thaw in the passes of the Mountains of Morn, then the Dark will come marching. If Hearne falls, then the duchies will fall as well, one by one.”

“Blast!” said the duke.

“My lord duke,” said the ghost, appearing by the fire, “do you, er, have any news of the Stone Tower?”

“Eh? What’s that? Ah, you’re a ghost. My great aunt Gavaris ended up a ghost. Choked on a fish bone. It’s a wonder she hadn’t choked years earlier, the way she ate. Haunted my great uncle’s house until he got fed up and went to sea. I expect he would’ve gone to sea even if she had lived. Ghosts can’t stay on the sea for long. It’s the tides. They keep washing 'em back to shore. But the Stone Tower?” The duke slid a rabbit off the spit and took a bite. “There’s enough wards woven around that place to make my head spin. Besides, I don’t pay attention to wizards. As long as they don’t bother me, that’s all I care about.”

“Oh,” said the ghost, looking crestfallen.

The duke’s son threw more wood onto the fire. It flared up, pushing back the night. Snow swirled down, appearing as the flakes journeyed from darkness into light, hissing in the fire. The horses dozed, stamping occasionally in sleepy patience.

“The mistress of the earth dead, the Dark creeping about Tormay, Gawinn calling us to arms.” The duke shook his head. “Eldon, I expect your ma’ll have an earful to say about this. Well, might as well get one peaceful night’s sleep afore she hears it. I’m turning in. Plenty of blankets in the saddlebags if you don’t mind the horse smell.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A CHANGE IN THE WEATHER

“Two hundred barrels of salted mackerel, eighty wheels of Thulish cheese—that’s the cartwheel size, my lord—four hundred kegs of ale, another two hundred kegs of cheap Vornish red wine, twenty dozen sacks of onions, forty dozen sacks of potatoes, thirteen dozen sacks of turnips, and eight dozen sacks of garlic.” The quartermaster glanced up from his notes to make sure that Owain was paying proper attention. “Three hundred hams, the same again of bacon, six hundred loaves of twice-baked bread. . .”

“Hard as rock,” rumbled Bordeall.

“One hundred seventy sacks of grain, milled, and three hundred sacks of grain, unmilled,” continued the quartermaster, choosing to ignore the comment. “Ten blocks of sea salt and thirty-three kegs of olive oil. As to livestock, my lord, we’re currently bursting at the seams. I’ve rented additional space down in Fishgate. Two warehouses for five silver coins a month and three coins a month, respectively. Not a bad deal, if I may say so.”

“Yes, yes,” said Owain, trying not to fidget in his chair. “Just tell me what the final tallies are.”

Rain slashed down outside the window of his office. It had been raining all night and it gave no sign of letting up. Bordeall stood at the window, staring out gloomily at the city wall. The quartermaster cleared his throat with an accusative sort of sound. He was determined to do his job well. He rustled his papers as if to underscore the fact that there were a great many papers covered over with a great many notes, and that he still had a great deal to say about bushels of nails and baulks of timber and other things that could be counted and recounted.

“As I was saying, my lord,” continued the quartermaster, “that has greatly expanded our livestock capacity. An increase of threefold over our previous capacity. Fourteen hundred bales of hay, half that of alfalfa, and six hundred bushels of feed corn. I’m not happy about the alfalfa stock, my lord, but there was mildew in the crops this summer. Though, I think that, er, oh yes—the livestock.” He began to speak a great deal faster, as it was impossible to ignore the fact that Owain was glaring at him. “Three hundred seventy-five head of cattle, four hundred twelve head of sheep, two hundred pigs, three hundred eighty chickens, and that’s giving us about two hundred fifty eggs a day, give or take a few dozen.”

“Not enough,” said Owain. “We’ll be out of meat in no time. Particularly with Harlech having arrived last night.”

“Those boys eat a lot of meat,” said Bordeall. “Like a pack of wolves.”

“Lannaslech mentioned he thought Hull and Thule were only a day’s march behind him. That’s a lot of extra mouths.”

“That’s a lot of extra swords,” said Bordeall.

“Furthermore,” said the quartermaster, feeling that the conversation was wandering away from his lists and numbers, “I have it on the best authority that three herds of cattle shall arrive this afternoon from Vo. An emissary from the duke’s court rode in this morning, with the duke’s compliments. And there’s the fish.”

“The fish?”

“Haddock and cod,” said the quartermaster. “Excellent catches they’re having right now. Almost swamped a boat yesterday, so I was told. The fishing guild said they’ve never had such a season. Very peculiar, they said.”

“At least something’s working out these days,” said Owain. “We’re about to be attacked, but there’s plenty of haddock and cod. Bordeall, do you think fish could be used as a weapon?”

“I almost choked to death on a fish bone once,” said Bordeall.

“It wouldn’t be surprising to me in the least if it started raining fish.” Owain got up and walked over to the window. “Almost two days straight.”

No one said anything for a moment. The quartermaster stood in frustrated silence, wondering whether he should move on to his list of rope, twine, nails, and other assorted things that fasten. Owain stared out the window. It wasn’t just that it had been raining for two days. The rain was decidedly on the warm side. A pleasant rain that had the children out, splashing through puddles and floating little homemade boats down the swollen gutters. A very unseasonal rain.

“If the weather’s anything like this out east in the Morns,” said Bordeall, his voice a low rumble, “the snows’ll be melting. Probably already are. If the rumors are true.”

Owain grunted in response, a noise halfway between irritation and agreement. Bordeall had voiced what he had been thinking all morning. Melting snows. The passes in the Morn Mountains clear after months of being impassable. The streams and rivers choked with water and ice. Mud. An army slogging its way west. West, toward Hearne.

Rumors had been trickling in since late yesterday from a few frightened countryfolk from the far eastern reaches of the Rennet Valley. Their stories were mostly incoherent. Monsters and murderous beasts slaying people in their bed. Smoke blackening the sky from the villages in the mountains. The peculiar thing about it was that there weren’t that many refugees. Just a handful. If there was an enemy army marching down the Rennet Valley, then you’d think there’d be more refugees streaming into Hearne. Whole villages full of them. Unless, of course, they were being slaughtered to the last child.

Owain shuddered. He turned from the window, his mind made up.

“Bordeall,” he said.

“Sir?”

“The Gap.”

“Sir?”

“It’s the most defensible spot in the whole Rennet Valley. Even outnumbered. It can’t be flanked, unless you ride two days into Vomaro and swing back north for another two.”

“Your father held there for three weeks in the Errant Wars, if I recollect. Harth beat themselves to pieces on those slopes.”

“It’s time for the Guard to march.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“What about the rope and twine?” said the quartermaster.

“I’m sure they’ll keep in your hands,” said Owain. “Let’s go find ourselves a war.”

The Guard rode out that afternoon. Two columns of eighty horsemen, steaming and stamping in the rain. The footmen marched behind them. Their spears angled toward the sky like a forest of impossibly straight saplings. The archers followed them, sixty strong, in looser formation. At the rear rode the men of Harlech. There were only fifty of them, led by Duke Lannaslech and his son Rane, but Owain was desperately glad to have them. He was not too proud to know that each of them were worth more than several of his Guardsmen.

Owain and Bordeall sat on their horses in the shelter of the main gate’s arch. The soldiers turned as they marched by. Owain tried to look at each face as they passed by. Names flashed through his head. Fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons. Good men and scoundrels alike. They would do. They would have to do.

The Duke of Harlech nodded cheerfully at him as he rode by.

“You’re most hospitable, Gawinn,” he said. “A good bed, a good breakfast, and a good fight. What more could a man want?”

“Only about a thousand more soldiers,” said Bordeall, but no one except Owain heard him.

“That’s the lot,” said Owain, as the last of the troop rode out through the gate and down the muddy road. He turned to the two soldiers standing at attention beside his horse. “Lucan, the city’s yours for now. Keep an eye out for the duchies. Send the contingent from Vo on after us if they arrive anytime soon. Old Maernes and Galaestan should arrive in the morning, I hope. Both of ‘em have got more common sense in their little fingers than you do in your whole skull, so treat ‘em politely and listen to them, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Lucan, struggling not to scowl.

“Suggest to ‘em—suggest, I say—that I’d prefer they keep their men here for now, until we figure out what we’re dealing with down in the Rennet Valley. No one’s heard from Dolan or Vomaro. Keep a couple riders out north and south of the valley to pick up any news there might be, but on no account engage the enemy if you find him.”