The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series) (5 page)

Then Shem and the bottle of sedation from
Idumea arrived late that evening, and Shem said they shouldn’t
bother her father with anything else—

So well into the night Jaytsy sat on her bed
with her knees pulled up to her chest, wondering how, or if
ever
, she should tell her family that Captain Thorne was
waiting for his filly to be ready.

Chapter 2
~
“I know
everything
that goes on here in
Edge.”

P
errin stared out
the northeast window of his private office in the tower and came to
some conclusions.

The problem with Shem, Mahrree, Jaytsy, Peto,
the fort—with everybody, really—was that they couldn’t
see
.

But Perrin could.

He could see them in the shadows, staring
from the trees, going for cover behind a door, under a desk, into a
shop, through a barn. . .

Shem said his mind was confusing him.

Mahrree said it was nightmares.

His children said nothing.

But he knew the truth: he was surrounded by
Guarders, masquerading as cats.

Not
literal
cats—it wasn’t as if he was
insane—but citizens looked at him, then looked again. Some were new
who claimed they were from the ruined village of Moorland. Others
said they were visiting relatives to help with rebuilding, or on
their way to somewhere else, although Edge wasn’t on the way to
anywhere “else.”

He’d spin around, and there they’d go—ducking
behind a building or tree, and when he chased after them, they were
already gone.

He changed his routines, patrolling different
roads in patterns he never used before. And he stared into the eyes
of those cats—those collaborators who Qayin Thorne had mentioned to
Shem when he thought Perrin was dazed and presumably deaf from
grief in the carriage—sent to the barn at Edge to keep an eye on
the trapped and wounded falcon named Perrin Shin.

And someday, his family would believe him
about the cats, if they weren’t already dead.

Colonel Perrin Shin was the only one who knew
the whole truth. How could a man sleep with that knowledge?

Today out of the command office window and he
observed another pair of cats setting up across the road from his
fort taking over the old catapult fields. The abandoned farmhouse
was being cleaned up, having been claimed by a couple around his
age who waved pleasantly as he stalked by that morning.

He pulled over his spyglass and focused on
the woman hauling crates into the house. Then he pivoted the shaft
to get a closer look at the man tying a cow to a tree next to the
barn that looked as if it could come down at any moment. Perrin
didn’t feel even the smallest bit of guilt for watching the man
scratch himself in a less-than-suitable place, sure that no one
could see him. The spyglass was, after all, meant to spy on
Guarders.

After an hour Perrin took a quick walk over
to the run-down house, the dusty windows already wiped clean, and
the sounds of scrubbing coming from the kitchen. He noticed that at
the old barn the man was hammering a board against a leaning door
frame.

Perrin straightened his jacket and marched
over to him. Moments before Perrin reached him, the farmer turned
around. He blinked rapidly to see Perrin continue his stride and
stop only about a foot in front of him.

“
You’re the colonel, aren’t
you?” the man said, taking a short step backward and almost into
his barn.

“
I am,” Perrin said coldly.
“And why are you here?”

The man blinked at him again, nervously. He
was of average height, average weight, brown hair going gray at the
temples, and light brown eyes. Nothing remarkable, nothing
distinguishable.
Exceptionally
average, so as to not to be
memorable in any way.

Exactly the kind of man Perrin would have
chosen for the task.

“
I, I, I, I . . .” the man
stammered, “I . . . and my wife, of course, we’re from Moorland.
Lost our home and my mother in the land tremor, and heard there
were possibilities here. Cambozola Briter, sir,” and he held out
his hand to shake Perrin’s.

Perrin slowly raised his hand and took
Briter’s, squeezing it until he heard something pop. The man gasped
slightly and Perrin released his hand.

“
Bit of a mouthful, the
first name there, isn’t it?” Briter said, trying to sound
light-hearted but a trembling undertone gave him away. He shoved
his hand into the safety of his trousers’ pocket. “I was named
after four different ancestors,” he gabbled. “You can shorten it,
though. You can call me Cambo, or Zola, or Bozola, and even in
school I was called Bozo. So sir, you may call me—”

Perrin focused his glare. “Mr. Briter will
suffice.”

Cambozola Briter swallowed hard. “I, I, I
spoke to your master sergeant some days ago. Said soldiers planted
this field, but it needed to be taken care of,” he rushed. “My wife
is an excellent gardener, sir, I’m a fair cheese maker, we’ve got
chickens and plans to buy more cows. The master sergeant said we
could provide food to the fort in lieu of payment for the land.
We’ve got some builders lined up to shore up the barn. He, I mean
that sergeant, had us a sign a paper and everything.”

Perrin just nodded once. “Yes,” he said
tonelessly. “Sergeant Zenos told me. I will personally review the
document. How long did you live in Moorland?”

Briter was beginning to sweat, and not,
Perrin was sure, because it was hot Weeding Day. No matter how
well-trained the spy, it was a rare man that could withstand a
prolonged Shin glare. “Most of my life, sir. My family came from
Sands, but I’ve always preferred small villages, away from all the
bustle. Would never want to be in Idumea, sir! And may I say, sir,
sorry about your parents?”

Perrin nodded again, but doubted this
cat
was anything but sorry; only surprised that Perrin was
already on to him.

He looked over at the house. “Is that your
wife cleaning in there?”

Briter nodded and cleared his throat. “Yes.
Sewzi. And we have a son, but he’s in Mountseen at the
university.”

“
I want to meet your
wife.”

“
Of course, of course!”
Briter said, massaging his hand and rushing ahead of the colonel to
his house. “Sewzi! Visitor
from the fort
, Sewzi!” he called
in warning as he ran up the back steps, Perrin stalking after
him.

The back door opened and a pleasant enough
looking woman opened the door. She glanced at Perrin and stopped.
“Oh, my . . .”

You better be afraid, Perrin thought, because
I don’t fear you.

“
Mrs. Briter,” he said
shortly. He shook her hand firmly but decided not to crush any of
her knuckles.

She seemed so innocent, so average. Maybe a
little younger than Mahrree, with rough, dry hands. She might
actually be a gardener, and wouldn’t that be the ideal place for
her to spend all day watching the fort across the road, in the
acres of her new farm. Her blue eyes looked as terrified as a
rabbit’s.

“
Just so both of you know,
I’m watching this land. Perfect view from my tower. I know
everything
that goes on here in Edge because nothing escapes
my attention. Do you understand?”

The Briters nodded vigorously.

“
Of course, sir. Of
course!” Mr. Briter said too quickly. “And, and, and we appreciate
that!”

Perrin squinted at them. “I don’t know why
you would. But I
will
find out.”

He spun and headed back to the road, leaving
the Briters with their mouths hanging open.

Maybe this was why his marks in diplomacy in
Command School were always his lowest. He didn’t see a need to
coddle the truth, but to expose it and pierce it, writhing, to the
ground.

---

“
How long did you say this
has been going on?” Rector Yung asked Shem, who leaned against his
mantelpiece watching the fire.

“
A few weeks,” Shem
confessed. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure it was
trauma. I thought it was just a temporary disturbance, but . . . I
suppose it’s the berry that broke the bear.”

Yung nodded sadly and watched the flames as
well. “We suspected and feared something like this could
happen—”

Shem shook his head. “But he’s so strong. I
don’t understand.”

Rector Yung put a hand on Shem’s arm. “It has
nothing to do with strength. It’s happened before, with others.
Sometimes a man just gets pushed too far. And when you look at his
history, it’s rather inevitable. That Perrin’s lasted so long is
remarkable.”

Shem turned to him. “Wait a minute . . .
that’s why they sent
you
, isn’t it? I thought it seemed odd
you were willing to come back into service, but you
knew
this would happen, didn’t you?”

Yung shrugged. “Suspected, but
not
knew
. With the others—”

But Shem, furious that he’d been left in the
dark, didn’t care about any others.
He
was supposed to be
the one shedding light for everyone else. “So why didn’t you warn
me?”

“
Shem,” Yung said
patiently, “what else could we have done?”

There was no answer for that. Bitterly, Shem
turned back to the fire. “So what do we do now?”

“
We’re going to need help.
I don’t work alone, nor is this a quick fix. Jothan just returned
to the forest. We should tell him.”

Shem closed his eyes and massaged his
forehead. “Do we have to let
them
know?”

“
While I’ve seen this
before, I’d feel much more comfortable with some assistance.
Jothan’s the perfect man.” Yung paused. “Shem, why don’t want them
to know?”

It took him a minute to find the words. “I’m
worried of what they’ll think of him.”

“
What they’ll think of him?
They’ll think he needs help.”

“
Are you sure?” Shem’s
voice was so tight, so tense, that Yung turned the brawny soldier
to face him.

“
What’s this really about,
Shem?”

His chin trembled as he stammered, “What if .
. . what if they decide he’s . . . not the one? What if they . . .
change their mind or something?”

“
Why would they do
that?”

“
I don’t know!” Shem nearly
wailed, sitting down in Rector Yung’s only chair, a stuffed piece
that was likely twice as big when it was first made decades ago,
but now was so worn that it was flat and barely big enough to
contain the master sergeant. He held his face in his hands, tears
leaking between his fingers.

Astonished, Yung squatted in front of him and
waited.

“
He can do it, Rector. He
can do it all. Or rather, he
could
have. But now? It’s all
been too much, I feel it. If Jothan tells them—”

“
But Shem, nothing’s
changed. Perrin’s still the one. Hifadhi believed it, and Gleace
does too. And
I’m
more sure of it now than ever before. He’s
going through this for a reason, Shem. There’s a purpose to the
pain. There always is. Sometimes it takes us a lifetime to
understand it, but eventually we’ll see and even be
grateful.”

Shem couldn’t look at him. “I can’t see that
right now. I just don’t get it.”

“
You’re not required to
‘get it.’ You’re required to stand at his side; nothing more,
nothing less,” the rector assured.

The men sat in silence for a few minutes,
listening only to the crackling of the fire.

Yung watched the flames while waiting for
Shem to come out of his brooding. Eventually he said, “How do they
make steel for swords?”

“
I’m sorry, Yung, but I’m
really not in the mood to give you a step-by-step
description.”

“
They do it with fire,
right?” Yung said. “Smelting iron, then heating it for a long time,
and processing it in some way, right?”

Shem sighed. “That’s the over-simplified
version, but yes.”

“
Why? Why so much heat and
time?”

Shem sighed louder, as if to emphasize that
he
really
didn’t want to discuss this. “Because iron is
brittle and useless as a weapon. But through sloughing off the
impurities, getting rid of the slag, and heating it correctly, it
becomes a strong, stable piece of steel.”

“
It does,” Yung agreed.
“And only by such a grueling refining process does it become
something as fine as what you wear on your hip—a true piece of art
and function, able to defend like nothing else in the world
can.”

Shem was crying again, but now for a
different reason.

Yung smiled that he ‘got it.’ Even as a boy,
Shem had been so quick to understand. That was why he was
chosen.

“
He’s going to make it,
isn’t he?” Shem sniffled.

“
Oh, I believe he is. And
when—not if, but
when
—he comes out of all this—”

“
He’ll be even more
remarkable, won’t he?” Shem wiped his nose on his sleeve. “He’ll be
everything we anticipated?”

“
He will, Shem. Now please
tell Jothan. Get some more minds working on this besides just yours
and mine. This is going to take some time, and we’ll need
reinforcements. In the meantime, you can update me about his
behavior and we can make some plans.”

Shem exhaled. “Do you have any idea how many
people I meet, and at different times, and in different
places?”

Yung chuckled. “No, actually I don’t. And I
don’t envy your schedule. When, exactly, do you sleep?”