The Dragon of Despair (51 page)

Before he’d become Ewen Brooks, Ewen had been a miller, a country miller at that. He’d been to Eagle’s Nest once and his family holdings were in Kite lands. Still, he wasn’t ignorant. After a moment, he placed the device. Shield.

That meant that the man bearing that device was in service of House Gyrfalcon. It wasn’t likely the duke himself, but judging from the cost of the man’s gear he was probably a ranking member of the House.

All this went through Ewen’s mind in the time it took for him to decide not to wallop Hart across the side of his face for disobeying orders. If trouble was coming—and that line of armed soldiers sure looked like trouble—then Ewen Brooks needed all the members of the Bardenville settlement on his side.

It’d be easier to get them to cooperate with whatever trouble those soldiers represented if Dawn were still here. Dawn was good at getting people to work together. But Dawn wasn’t here. Wouldn’t ever be here again. Another way of looking at it, though Ewen didn’t like that way of thinking at all, was that Dawn was here, for now and for ever.

In a misery of loss, Ewen thrust away from him that thought and the attendant image of the grave marker in the little yard, searching for something that would make him strong to balance what threatened to melt him into tears.

Hadn’t he founded this settlement? Hadn’t the men and women followed him across the Iron Mountains and built this village from nothing? That was truth, a truth that no one could take from him, not even armed soldiers on horseback.

Ewen concentrated on his achievements, putting from him the gradual dissolution of that unity of purpose since the siege had begun. Then indeed had Dawn’s gentler way of leading become important, and then indeed had Ewen begun to resent his wife’s influence.

How he regretted that resentment now. If he hadn’t resented her, she might still be alive.

The sound of the approaching troop brought Ewen from his reverie. Abruptly, Ewen realized that he and Hart were no longer alone at the gate. The settlers were emerging from the houses and workshops, crossing from the small gardens they so carefully tended within the palisade.

Nearly all the residents of New Bardenville now stayed inside those sturdy log walls. Only a few brave youths like Hart ventured abroad by daylight to see what they could garner from hunting and fishing.

Going outside the palisade had become too chancy. Bad things had a way of happening if you went very far in any direction at all but east. Branches fell from the green tangle above. Strange howls and yelps echoed and reverberated in the thick green tangle.

Just a few days ago, Garrik the carpenter had gone abroad seeking some green wood he needed to bend into shape before letting it season. Once he was out of sight of the settlement a flock of crows had descended on him, driving him hither and yon until he abandoned his search and ran back through the palisade gates.

The crows had been as thick as swarming bees and Ewen could have sworn the crows—who carefully stayed just out of bow shot—laughed at the humans before wheeling back into the forest.

Such attacks had been worse earlier. Several of those who had gone out hunting and trapping had never returned. Based on the few mangled bodies that had been found, all were presumed dead.

Those losses had hit the community hard, but even worse from the standpoint of long-term survival had been the morning the settlers had awakened to find that overnight the lovingly plowed fields outside the walls had been stripped of their young greenery. Deer and elk prints dimpled the soft earth in such numbers that entire herds must have descended to feast.

However, when the bravest hunters ventured out that very day, hoping to make up the community’s losses in meat and hides, they saw not so much as a fleeing hind or hart. Nor had they since. Squirrels and rabbits didn’t go very far when split among so many. With supplies of feed running thin and no grazing available, the settlers had been forced to slaughter some of the livestock—including those two new mules Ewen had been so happy to acquire just a short time before.

Even the fish traps set in the nearby streams were repeatedly found broken and emptied. Raccoons were the likely culprits, but some whispered that the tiny foot-and handprints were those of ghost babies—the returned spirits of the dead children of the first Bardenville, unhappy to have their birthplace taken over by others.

Dawn Brooks had been good at stopping such talk, pointing out that the newcomers had adopted the first settlers as ancestors, that their ghosts were more likely to defend the settlers than to bring harm. Even her reasonableness hadn’t mattered, though, when weird hoots and yowls jolted the settlers from their already restless sleep.

But Ewen didn’t want to think about Dawn and what she might have achieved. Without waiting to take opinions from the loosely gathered settlers, Ewen went out to meet the soldiers.

“Be ready to open the gate for me,” he said to Hart as he reached for the latch, “but keep it closed until then.”

The youth, eager to make amends for his not quite confessed infraction, nodded. Ewen thought he could trust Hart even to hold the gate against those who might have different ideas.

He strode out, holding his head high. Immediately, he noticed the guarded look the man riding in the lead gave him. What was his problem? Didn’t he like having to deal with someone not of noble birth?

“Welcome to New Bardenville,” Ewen declaimed, as if this mob of armed soldiers were no different from any of the other visitors the settlers had entertained thus far.

They were different, of course. Except for Derian Carter and Firekeeper, all the others had been coming to join the settlement or had been bringing welcome supplies. Then his greeting had truly been a welcome. Today he was aware of a certain ring of defiance to it.

Indeed, he realized that on some level he felt much as he had when his father had stumbled on the fort he and his buddies had built at the edge of some scrubland upstream from the mill. Then as now, what he had thought of as so grand suddenly looked rather shabby and makeshift.

“I’m Ewen Brooks,” he went on. “Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

The leader of the riders straightened slightly in his saddle.

“I am Lord Polr Shield. I have come here from the king.”

“King Tedric?”

Ewen kept his expression as innocent as possible.

“Of course!” Lord Polr didn’t look at all pleased. “Who else?”

“My companions and I have been out of touch with Hawk Haven for some time now. It was possible that old King Tedric no longer sat his throne. When we departed the king was elderly and reported ill.”

Actually, Ewen was fairly certain that the king had not gone to explain himself to his ancestors. Two groups of settlers had come to join New Bardenville since Derian Carter’s departure and both had reported the royal situation unchanged. What Ewen had intended was to move Lord Polr away from whatever prepared speech he had ready—and to emphasize that the settlement had been in place for some time.

Lord Polr regained his poise with regrettable ease.

“I am happy to report that King Tedric is alive and well. My officers and I received our orders from him personally.”

Ewen stood and stared rather blankly, doing his best impression of a simple yokel. He wasn’t going to help Lord Polr along by asking “And just what were those orders?” or anything like that, though he was itching to know.

During the longish pause that ensued, Ewen made some estimates as to the disposition of Lord Polr’s command. Only ten soldiers. That meant
his
group outnumbered them three or four to one. Of course, that was only if you counted the children and the malcontents.

Lord Polr’s group was well armed, too. Every soldier wore a sword and most also carried bows. They were lightly armored in leather with metal reinforcements, good armor for the summer weather, when heavier mail might lead to problems with the heat.

The thing that really impressed Ewen was that the upper right-hand corner of every shield bore a small insignia—a wavy line flanked by two squares. It wasn’t much, wouldn’t even show from a distance, but it indicated that the bearer had fought in King Allister’s War. Fought, not just served. Ewen felt chilled. Veterans, then. He reestimated his odds.

Lord Polr grew tired of waiting.

“I bring an announcement for all of those who dwell west of the Iron Mountains. Is this the only community here?”

“Only one I know of,” Ewen said laconically. As if he’d rat on someone else! He was genuinely insulted.

“It would be easier to be certain the announcement was heard,” Lord Polr pressed, “if you would let me come into your settlement. What was it you called it? New Bardenville. And read it in your public square.”

“If you read it from where you are it should be just fine,” Ewen said. “Out here to the west of the Iron Mountains we hear with our ears, not our eyes.”

There were a few smothered chuckles at this sally, but Ewen didn’t dare look around to see if they were from Lord Polr’s troops or from inside his palisade. It was important he seem unmoved by such considerations.

“Very well,” Lord Polr replied stiffly.

He reached into his saddlebags, pulled out a stiff roll of parchment, and read from it without further preamble.

“Let it be known,” he read, his voice ringing out with practiced ease, “that by order of King Tedric, monarch of Bright Bay, and with the full support of his heirs and nobles, the lands west of the Iron Mountains have been closed to any settlement or colonization.

“Moreover, as a means of enforcing this commandment, a guard post is being established at the gap in the Iron Mountains, where, in time, a full keep will be built to enforce our royal will. Any who violate this commandment will be punished to the extent of their voluntary participation in the venture.”

That leaves a loophole for the children to slip through,
Ewen thought idly,
and maybe a spouse or so, but no escape for me.

“This order,” Lord Polr continued, “shall be enforced seven days following the publication of this commandment. Any who wish to avoid being in violation of this commandment and so risk full displeasure of the law shall by that time remove themselves and their persons to the lands east of the Iron Mountains.”

Lord Polr finished by declaiming a proper listing of the king’s titles and honors. Busy planning his response, Ewen hardly heard the words, instead hearing the silence when Lord Polr’s declamation ceased.

“And when,” Ewen asked, hoping he sounded casual, “was this commandment publicized?”

Lord Polr’s aristocratic mouth shaped a thin smile.

“Why this very moment, Ewen Brooks. In seven days you and your followers will be in violation of the king’s will for the disposition of his lands.”

“And if we resist?” Ewen asked.

Lord Polr gestured to his soldiers.

“These are not my only troops. There are others a day away, preparing the guard post mentioned in His Royal Majesty’s proclamation. However, if you or your followers resist, I shall command them to stop building and assist me in rooting you out.”

Ewen said nothing, only wheeled on his heel and gestured to those within the palisade. In obedience to his signal, Hart swung open the gate and Ewen strode inside.

He slammed the gate behind him. Somewhere in the trees he could swear he heard the harsh, mocking laughter of crows.

XX

ON THE NIGHT
following the trial’s end Firekeeper sat with Blind Seer upon one of the many hills that had so recently been their refuge.

Wolf and woman sat with their backs against a wall of stone. Although Firekeeper knew they were nearly invisible, she felt exposed. The tensions of the last several days, when they had been hunted by Captain Brotius and his men and then forced to surrender, were still fresh.

“I wonder,” Firekeeper said, leaning into Blind Seer for comfort, “how does our pack back home? Elation has not come back and Bee Biter has less than nothing to say on that run.”

The wolf’s reply was a deep, shuddering sigh that commented far more eloquently than mere words that he, too, had been worrying about both their wingéd friend and the pack they had left behind.

“I thought that any wolf, even any Beast,” Firekeeper went on, “would be more than a match for mere humans, but Brotius and his men, they pressed you and me hard.”

Blind Seer lapped her forehead reassuringly.

“But we,” the wolf replied, “were trying to stay near our friends. The pack will have no such constraints. They can move wherever they wish.”

“There are,” Firekeeper reminded him, “the new pups to slow them.”

“The pups will be running by now,” Blind Seer said, “not very fast, true, or very surefooted, but no longer burdens to be carried dangling from their mother’s mouth.”

“I hope so.”

Firekeeper found herself looking up into the night sky. The comet was still visible, but it was much fainter. Soon it would be gone. She wondered where it was going and once again wished that wherever that was she was going with it.

Blind Seer mouthed her arm.