Exiles of Forlorn (18 page)

“They’re early,” said Uller, sneaking up on us so well that he could have been invisible. And he wasn’t alone.

“Weren’t expecting them for another week,” said Gargath. His silent little shadow was there, too. It was finally getting cool enough that their feather-lined long-coats weren’t so ridiculous to wear. Behind him was Front-Strider. The Plainsfolk stood silent vigil with his big crossbow strapped to his back, a quarrel full of hand-made bolts dangling from his belt.

“The seas must have been fair for the voyage,” offered Antioc.

“Whatever the reason, I’m glad,” I said. I gestured to the group and stepped forward. “Come on.”

“Where are you going?” asked Uller.

“I’m going down there.”

They all followed, albeit reluctantly. The boats had come ashore by the time we’d navigated our way through the crowd and reached the beachhead.

Ferun noticed us first. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” I said, crossing my arms and making it clear I had no intention of leaving.

Arn looked over his shoulder at us. “Ah, Lew. I’m glad you came.”

That made Ferun glower, but otherwise he acquiesced. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that interested in the new arrivals. Yes, a fresh batch of exiles carried the promise of having some competent builders for my wall crew, but what I was really interested in were the boxes on the supply boat. I ran past the throngs of dirty newcomers, getting knee deep in salt-water as I grabbed the edge of the boat and helped pull it ashore. I dove into the crates, but struggled to pull them open without assistance as Arn gave the new arrivals the same greeting speech he’d given us when we arrived.

I waved for Antioc, and he quickly joined me at the boat. He nodded wearily and went to work pulling open the crates. I dug through the straw packing in the first one. Finding only jars and cured meat wrapped in paper. I went to the next one and found more sundries, as well as a couple of bolts of fabric. It wasn’t until I search the third crate that I found my prize.

“Oh, thank the Daevas,” I said, looking into the parted layer of straw.

“What are they?” asked Antioc over my shoulder.

“Nails,” I replied, running my fingers over them. “Sweet, beautiful nails. I never thought I’d be so happy to see such a simple thing.” There they were - little bundles of pointed iron shanks wrapped in twine ribbon. Until now, I’d had the colony blacksmiths make nails for me out of whatever old rusted metal we could spare. Most of the iron on Forlorn went to making weapons or tools, leaving very little for something as seemingly inconsequential as nails. Having a fresh shipment of high quality nails . . . at that moment they were more precious than gold.

Antioc pried open another crate and swept the straw aside. “Did you send for these as well?”

I pushed him aside and looked in the box. My excitement was boundless. “Oh, my . . . yes! Yes I did!” I reached in to touch them, lifting them out one at a time so I could admire them. A new hammer, which I quickly tucked into my belt. A folding masonry ruler. Sheets of clean, brown parchment rolled in oilcloth. New pencils. A bubble-filled leveling tool. And best of all, a brass compass. Oh, how I had longed for a good compass. I lifted it into my hands, cradling the little thing like a child with a baby bird. When I looked up, Antioc was looking at me, one eyebrow raised. “I tell you, friend, if I had any idea what we were getting into, I’d never have left port without these.”

“I am happy for you.”

“Oh, stow it. I don’t make fun of your club.”

“It’s a maul. And you make fun of it all the time.”

I loaded my new tools into the leather belt that had come with them and buckled it around my waist. Antioc hoisted one of the crates of nails onto his shoulders and followed me up the beach to where Arn and the others were getting acquainted with our newest arrivals.

It looked to be an altogether lackluster lot. Several Illyrvolk, some middlelanders, Plainsfolk, even a couple of fallen nobles. Arn handed out job assignments, but stopped when he reached a short, slightly plump, red-haired girl close to our age wearing long blue robes and a great big smile. That was odd, the smile. Didn’t see those very often on newcomers to Forlorn.

Arn pinched his yellow beard and gazed at the bright-eyed young woman.

“You don’t remember me, Arnie?” she asked, her voice no less dulcet than her demeanor.

Arn narrowed his eyes. Slowly, realization crept over his face. “Zindet Markula?” She giggled and jumped into his open arms. “Unbelievable; you were barely as high as my knee when I saw you last! Now look at you.”

She stepped back and raised her arms, showing off her long, flowing robes.

“You’re a priestess?”

“You always said I was bright. Well, now I serve the sun Daeva, Oralae. Bright, indeed!”

Arn laughed louder than I’d ever heard him before. He opened his arms and embraced her again, squeezing her so tight she seemed likely to choke. “But what are you doing here, Zin? Surely you’ve not been exiled.”

“No, of course not. This is part of my ministry. I’m here to spread the love of the Daevas to your people.”

“Oh . . . good,” muttered Uller. He may have sworn by the Daevas often, but he didn’t have much use for them otherwise. I was only slightly more religious. It made sense that a priestess of Oralae would come to address our spiritual needs. They were notoriously optimistic and cheerful, spreading the good news that, no matter how dark or cloudy it got, the sun was always there, just beyond the clouds. Personally, I didn’t need a priest to remind me there was a sun.

“Well, we certainly could use a priest. But, why you?”

She tilted her head to the side. “You aren’t glad to see me, Arnie?”

“No, no . . . of course I’m glad to see you. It’s just, why would you come here by choice? This place is . . . this is not a good place.”

“Then I can think of no place better to spread the healing light of our lord Oralae.”

Uller groaned.

“Also,” she opened a leather pouch on her belt and pulled out a straight razor and a pair of shiny new shears. “I’m a barber.”

Arn threw his hands in the air. “Thank the Daevas! How did you know we needed a barber?”

“That’s how I found out where you were. You sent out a request for a barber to tend to your colony, so I learned the trade and booked the first barge here I could.”

“Well, at least she’ll do something useful,” muttered Uller. Gargath elbowed him in the side as Antioc and I chuckled.

Arn did a curious thing next. He took Zin’s face in his hands and leaned in close to her. At first I thought he planned to kiss her, until he moved his lips close to her ear and whispered something. When he was finished, he pulled back and looked her in the eyes. She looked surprised, but nodded slowly. Arn thanked her and moved on to the rest of the exiles.

That’s when we got a surprise of our own. Antioc noticed him first, patting my arm and pointing at a pair of exiled nobles standing at the end of the line, well apart from the rest. Fools: they still thought themselves a class apart from the common rabble. I knew from personal experience that such people adapted worst of all to life on Forlorn, where everyone was measured irrespective of their birth. One of them was fat, enough to virtually eclipse the other one, who stood further away. At first, I thought Antioc was just having a laugh about them, until the bigger one backed away and I caught a glimpse of the thinner one’s face.

“Could it be?” I stepped away from the boat and made my way down the beach for a closer view. Antioc and the others followed. Once I was close enough to confirm, I started laughing.

“Lew Standwell?” he said, his face contorted in shock. His eyes passed from me to Antioc, his mouth agape. “And you?” Typical. He’d destroyed this man’s life, and he couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name. “What the Daevas are you two doing here?”

“Building a wall,” I said, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. “What are
you
doing here?”

“You know these two, Lew?” asked Arn.

I pointed at Claster. “We know this one. This is Claster Briknel, thirdson of Lord Flaeren Briknel of Briknel Hold. He’s the reason we’re here.”

“Actually, you’re the reason I’m here,” corrected Antioc “He’s the reason I got kicked out of the army.”

I waved my hand. “A minor distinction.”

Antioc met eyes with him. “Did you finally accost the wrong watermaid?”

“How dare you!” Claster’s visage hardened as he pointed. “You are addressing a nobleman, peasant!”

Uller shook his head. “No, he’s not.” Gargath and I laughed.

“There’re no nobles here, Claster,” said Arn, stepping between him and Antioc. “You are one among equals.”

“But, don’t they call you the Sand King?” asked Claster.

Arn narrowed his eyes. “Not if
they
want to keep their teeth.”

Claster’s eyes widened as he took a step back. Every moment between then and now was almost worth it just to see the look in his eyes.

“This is shaping up to be a fair day,” I said, nudging Antioc’s arm. He cracked a smile. For him, that was a landslide.

“What about you?” Ferun asked, looking at the portly one. “What’s your name?”

“Horvis Cloverstand,” he said, dipping his head reverently. “Firstson of Duke Melbourn Cloverstand of Castle Cloverstand.”

He could have stopped at ‘Cloverstand’ and I would have known exactly who he was. The Cloverstands were one of Morment’s oldest and most powerful noble houses. And here they had their firstson in exile on Forlorn. What could poor Horvis have possibly done that his family’s money couldn’t buy him a pardon, or at least a reprieve? What would drive him to forsake his birthright and go into exile?

Claster narrowed his eyes at Arn. “Do I know you?” I guess I wasn’t the only one. The befuddled look on Horvis’ face showed hints of recognition as well.

“No,” he answered pointedly. “You two were in the army?” He asked, waving a finger between them. They both nodded. “Good. More guards. Ferun, give them a spear and put them on guard duty.” He pointed at Claster. “Give him the first shift.”

15.

I’
m not ashamed to admit that I was happy about having a barber in the colony. It was even worth listening to Zin’s joyous prattle about the Daevas just to get a good shave and a haircut. I made it a point to go with Uller. Antioc had decided to grow a beard, and Blackfoot was too young to need much shaving. Reiwyn found Zin intolerably annoying, and preferred to cut her own hair rather than deal with her.

It wasn’t just process of elimination that made Uller my shave-mate. I anticipated that my grim friend’s interactions with the ebullient little priestess would be most entertaining. I was in no way disappointed. Zin took quite a liking to Uller as soon as she found out he was educated at Magespire. The affection was entirely unrequited. Uller grumbled his way through her cheerful queries, giving terse, non-committal answers. As soon as his shave was done, he left me alone with her. I’d made sure we were at the end of the line, which Uller found irritating, but he didn’t want to suffer her without me nearby.

“So you’re the wall builder?” she asked as she worked up a lather of lye soap with a brush in a wooden bowl.

“Engineer,” I clarified. “An important distinction, I think. I don’t actually build the wall.”

“I see,” she said with a nod. “Sounds interesting.”

It would have been flattering, if she hadn’t already established she found nearly everything absolutely fascinating. She applied the lather to my face. It smelled like the eucalyptus the colonists used to scent the soap bars they made with lye from ashes and pig fat. Once covered, she flipped out the straight razor and went to work on my jowls.

“So you’re friends with our fearless leader?” I asked between swipes. “Arnie?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say friends. We met when I was a child. It was many years ago.”

“It couldn’t have been too long. You don’t seem that old.”

“I was five, so it would have been thirteen years.” She sighed. “Now you’ve got me telling you how old I am!”

“And where are you from?”

“Mierdean.”

“Interesting.”

She stopped shaving and looked at me. “I see what you’re doing.”

“Oh?” I grinned. “What am I doing?”

She wick’d another swath of lather from my face and wiped the razor on a towel. I wouldn’t get any more answers out of her that night. But it was enough. She’d confirmed my suspicions: the Sand King was from Mierdean. Not much to go on, but it was better than what I’d had before.

Zin finished up my shave and wiped away the residual lather with a warm, damp towel. She asked a few questions about Uller, which I was more than happy to answer. I didn’t exactly think they’d make a good couple, but I had a personal motive for wanting Uller to find romance somewhere other than with Reiwyn. I dismissed myself before she could start with her sermon about Oralae.

Evening had come and we were well on our way to night as I walked along the main avenue of the colony. Despite the hour, people were still furiously working away. I passed a Brontish woodcarver whittling forks out of little shanks of wood with a small, sharp knife. A few steps down, a Plainsfolk woman molded bowls out of clay collected from the side of the lagoon. I took a turn and found myself near the big ovens where several women kneaded dough to cover and set out to rise overnight for baking in the morning. Another turn and a little farther down, I passed the metalworkers, taking advantage of the cool evening air to hammer impurities out of glowing yellow rods of iron.

I didn’t care to return to my yurt yet, so I walked through the rest of the colony, up the incline on the western edge; gentle at first, then steep as it wound north through a patch of woods. The wall didn’t reach here; it didn’t have to. This side of the colony ended in a series of cliffs overlooking the sea. I didn’t come here often, especially not alone. I wasn’t sure why; it was especially beautiful on a night like that, when two of the moons were new and the third was a half-crescent. It made the night dark enough to see the stars but bright enough to avoid stumbling into a tree or something. I stopped at the edge of one of the cliffs and looked up at them, losing myself in their sparkle while the tide battered the rocks below, throwing up clouds of spray.