Book 5: Chapter Eleven

“If these Chosar lived below ground in Tir Yadar, what makes you think they’re from the same civilization that built the South Valley ruins?” Magister Borya asked. “Tir Navis, I mean. The underground area Ellerie discovered is much smaller than the rest of the city.”

“The Chosar built all the Tirs,” Ariadne said. “Most weren’t entirely below the surface. Tir Navis was the first true military stronghold in Aravor, so the High Guard built it as an underground fortress in the mountains. It would have been their final fallback position in the event of a large-scale war. The civilian city was constructed above the surface as more colonists arrived. Tir Yadar served a similar purpose in Cordaea.” Tir Navis, like many other cities, had been designed based on lessons the Chosar had learned from the Second Demon War, though the third war ended before it could cause the same catastrophic damage in Aravadora that it had in Van Kiradaea.

Borya exchanged glances with Magister Nadza, a gray-haired woman who’d focused her studies on documenting the Tir Navis ruins and everything found within. They were the two stormborn scholars assigned to talk with Ariadne about Ellerie’s notes on Tir Yadar.

“You found written records with that much detail?” Nadza asked. “I’m surprised they survived for so long. Lady Ellerie doesn’t mention anything like that in the notes she sent.”

Ariadne hid a grimace. She should have just said it was due to similarities in the language and in the totem statues that had been found in both cities, but the magisters were experienced historians who liked to ask probing questions. It was difficult enough to remember to speak in the past tense, but if she wasn’t going to tell them who she was, she had to be more careful not to let anything slip that she couldn’t pass off as something they’d learned from Ellerie’s and Bobo’s formal survey of the ruins.

“There were some records, but they didn’t survive our attempts to preserve them,” she said. “We copied the details we could find, but Ellerie hasn’t decided whether to include them.”

Ariadne felt only a little guilt at the lie, since she herself could write a true firsthand account if needed. But that document didn’t exist yet, which had led to a further delay for Ellerie’s and Bobo’s book about the Chosar.

They insisted that for the work to be taken seriously, it had to have a source—and Ariadne herself was the source of nearly all of their information about the Chosar. She wanted to tell The People’s story, but Ellerie wasn’t certain whether a modern-day copy of an ancient text would be sufficient, especially if they couldn’t provide any proof the ancient copy had actually existed.

The other option was to admit where the information had come from, but Bobo wasn’t optimistic about that idea. He didn’t think anyone would believe the truth, and felt releasing it under their own names would tarnish their reputation just as they were trying to gain acceptance for their other book—the more scholarly report on the findings of the Tir Yadar expedition. Plus, it would mean Ariadne would have to make her identity known, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Then again, describing the Chosar in that much detail might draw attention from those who already knew about them. Would Thedan or Ephrenia hear about it, or any other bondmates who might still be alive? Maybe even some last remnant of the Chosar people, hidden away somewhere?

That possibility alone would make it worth it … though it might not be necessary once Ariadne found a way to speak to Hera.

It turned out there was a small temple to The Lady in Snow Crown, but no one there had been able to help. Ariadne had gotten the impression that none of the three priests were blessed. She would have to try again in a larger city, but it would be several more days until Leena returned. In the meantime, Ariadne was doing her best to hide her impatience.

Nadza interrupted her musings. “Perhaps you and Sarette should visit Tir Navis and help us to identify those aspects that are similar to Tir Yadar, to give us a greater understanding of how they are related.”

“I’d like to, but we won’t have enough time on this trip,” Ariadne said. Leena’s new ability to teleport others had allowed them to make the journey to Snow Crown earlier than they’d expected, but they didn’t want to be gone for too long until they knew what Rusol was planning.

Just then, Sarette appeared in the doorway to Nadza’s workroom. “Magisters, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Ariadne, are you ready? I promised my mother we’d be on time to supper, and then some old friends of mine asked if we wanted to go out tonight—the taverns and teahouses are doing a spring festival this week.”

“I can come,” Ariadne said, standing. It would give her time to get her lies straight in her mind before she spoke with the magisters again. “Excuse me,” she told them. “I can return tomorrow if you’d like?”

“Yes, certainly,” Nadza said.

Borya looked disappointed, but nodded. “Of course. I’m teaching in the morning, but I’ll have time in the afternoon.”

Ariadne left Ellerie’s notes with them and accompanied Sarette out of the building. While they walked, she gestured to the stack of books the stormborn woman was carrying. “Do you need some help with that?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Sarette said, and passed her half the stack. “The instructors at the military academy said these cover most of the training for cadets. I’ve been observing classes for the last two days, but I don’t know when I’d have time to do the whole year, so I asked what they’d suggest. This is what they gave me. Some of these are copies of books passed down from—” She cut off what she’d been about to say.

“Borrisur?” Ariadne asked.

“Yes.” Sarette’s voice was curt.

“Would it have been better if I hadn’t told you the truth?”

They’d reached the street, and Sarette glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “I just … I’m trying to make sense of it. Borrisur was Chosar, and a warden. You knew him!”

“I’ve seen him around. I’ve never met him.”

“And the wardens created some sort of magic ritual, then put the Mage Knights into those things …”

“Stasis pods,” Ariadne supplied. “They were worried the ritual would be dangerous for us.”

“And then you went to sleep. But you don’t know for sure what happened after.” The other woman seemed to take some comfort in that.

“No, but they were supposed to wake us up once the ritual was complete, which means the problem must have happened during the ritual. Maybe it was an accident or a mistake, or maybe the ritual wasn’t what we were told it was, but something went wrong. The people either abandoned the city or they died, and no one ever came back for us.” Tir Yadar appeared to have been evacuated in good order other than the collapsed sections, but Ariadne was trying to keep her hopes realistic. A lot could have happened over the intervening centuries.

“And Borrisur became a god,” Sarette said. “I don’t understand how that can happen.”

“The new gods are just people—that’s all they’ve ever been. They have a warden’s long life, and some part of the ritual must have worked if they can give others the ability to use totemic magic, but they’re still just people. Think about it … if godborn really exist, then Boreas and the others must be out there somewhere in the world, just like you and me.”

Sarette shook her head. “No wonder Oracle Galina was so worried about what you knew.”

“Do you think that’s it?” Ariadne asked. “It doesn’t explain what she said about the snowborn.”

“They must have something to do with it. What if they know the truth? You should talk to them.”

Another clue, but the snowborn territory was said to be harsh and inhospitable to anyone other than the snowborn and stormborn.

“I need to find a way to talk to Hera first,” Ariadne said. “After that, I’ll know what to do.” She spoke with more confidence than she felt.

#

“You’re awfully young to want to be a soldier,” Nedley said.

At sixteen, the boy was older than Nedley had been when he’d signed up as a mercenary, but Nedley’s brother had insisted they wouldn’t be facing any real fighting. Now, though, Corec was preparing for a war, and Nedley didn’t want to be the one telling parents their child had been killed in battle.

“My Lewin’s a good, responsible man,” the boy’s father said, grasping his son’s shoulder. “But his brothers are taking over the ranch, and I don’t want him working as someone else’s farmhand. That’s no way to make a living. You’re paying good money, and a man can work his way up in an army.”

Nedley hid his sigh. “Can you ride?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Lewin said, speaking up for the first time. “I have a horse.”

“Good cow horse,” the father put in. “If you ever need to rope an angry steer, those two can handle it. Boy was born to the saddle.”

Nedley wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I don’t think there are many cows near the dragon’s keep,” he said. “She ate them all.”

“A shame. I was thinking about heading down there myself—been hearing rumors about feral herds just roaming around for anyone to take.”

“Probably farther north.” Nedley turned his attention back to the young man. “Do you have any weapons training?” It seemed unlikely, but he had to ask.

Lewin opened his mouth to reply, but his father beat him to it. “He’s good with a bow. Does half our hunting.”

“A longbow?” Nedley asked. Corec had told him to be on the lookout for trained bowmen.

“Horse bow,” Lewin said.

“He once hit a coyote at a full gallop,” his father said, beaming with pride.

Lewin shrugged uncomfortably. “It was just luck.”

All Nedley knew about horse bows was that they had a shorter range than a longbow. That might not get Lewin up on the fortress walls with the other archers, but if he could ride too, it might be enough to qualify him as a scout. That would at least keep him out of the front lines.

“A silver and a half per day as a trooper trainee,” Nedley said. “You’ll have to show Corec what you can do. If he approves, you’ll be a trooper at two silver a day, plus room and board in the barracks.” He wouldn’t mention the scout position until he’d seen whether the father’s boasts were true. “Come here first thing tomorrow morning with your horse, your bow, and any clothing or other belongings you want to take with you.”

If Lewin actually knew how to use his bow, that would give Nedley an archer of his own for the journey south, in addition to the three volunteers he’d found among the hunters and farmers who’d asked to accompany the caravan. Those four archers would provide most of the protection for the group. Leena had brought a bundle of swords for the soldiers Nedley was recruiting, but armor would have to wait until they reached the keep, and Nedley couldn’t protect an entire caravan by himself.

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After the two men had left, he turned to Aldin. “That’s seven, including you and Bili. Has anyone else asked?” Seven was a full squad, which was what Corec and Boktar had asked for.

“That was the last one,” Aldin said.

“Let’s stop recruiting, then. If anyone else comes by, write down their names and where we can find them in case we ever need more men. I’m going to head to the shelter. If Kimi comes here first, will you send her along?”

“Sure, Ned.”

When news had gotten out that Nedley was assembling another supply caravan, he’d been inundated by requests from people asking to accompany him south. Unlike the previous trip, they weren’t seeking an escort to the various villages along the way, but instead were heading to the keep itself, or to the region surrounding it. Half of the hopeful new settlers were established tradesmen and farmers seeking out new opportunities, but the other half were refugees.

Nedley had assumed the first caravan of refugees he’d escorted to the keep had been facing dire circumstances, but he’d come to realize they were the lucky ones. Sure, many had lost their homes, but they had the skills to make a living anywhere and the money or resources to allow them to build a new life for themselves.

In comparison, this new group was a sorry lot—families who’d lost everything to the dragon, and unskilled laborers with no job prospects in Four Roads. They were all desperately searching for work and a place willing to take them in. Most didn’t have anywhere to stay in Four Roads, so Nedley had taken over one of the newly emptied refugee shelters to house them.

When he arrived there, he looked over the notes Kimi had been keeping for him, but her neat handwriting just made him think about her. What would happen between the two of them now that his time in town was coming to an end? He had to figure out what to do about her, but neither Kimi nor Mother Yewen had given him any clue about what that was supposed to be.

If she was a regular village girl, he would ask her to go on a walk with him. Did concubines do that sort of thing, or would she laugh at him for mentioning it? Was he supposed to ask Mother Yewen for a Presentation ceremony? He had some vague idea that a Presentation involved multiple girls—would Kimi be offended if she thought he was considering someone else? Did she even want to go with him, or was she just being polite? After all, while he was doing well enough for himself now, he was hardly the sort of man a concubine would have had in mind when she’d first decided to become a concubine. The whole thing gave Nedley a headache.

A voice interrupted his musings. “We got some new ones overnight,” Harlan said. He’d lived in Four Roads for seven years, clearing fields, digging ditches, and doing other odd jobs around town. He was young and strong, so when he’d come looking for work, Nedley had recruited him as a trooper trainee, like Lewin, and assigned him to the shelter to watch over things.

“How many?” Nedley asked.

“Two families, and a widow with children.”

“I’ll talk to the widow first.”

A moment later, Nedley was standing in front of the woman. Her two young sons were with her, staring quietly. Their faces had been scrubbed clean, but their clothing was still smudged with dirt.

“Harlan tells me your name is Netta?” Nedley asked.

“Yes,” the woman answered, her voice dull and tired.

“Where are you from?”

“Willow Grove, till my husband died from the consumption. Then the dragon came.”

Nedley wasn’t sure where Willow Grove was, but her accent was odd, somewhere in between hillfolk and freelander. He scratched down the details, grimacing at his own handwriting. He should have waited for Kimi to arrive.

“Why do you want to go south?” he asked.

“When we was in Dalewood, Lord Corec brought us food and blankets.” She gave a brief flicker of a smile at the memory. “Then Lord Greendale, he came back from Tyrsall and kicked us out. Said the dragon was dead now, so we had to go home. Got here, and t’ others told me you work for Lord Corec.”

Nedley had given up on correcting people who called Corec a lord. The proclamation that Corec was claiming the dragon’s territory hadn’t helped. Maybe he was a lord now—Nedley wasn’t sure how that worked. It wasn’t fair for Corec to get all the credit, though. Miss Ellerie had paid for most of the supplies in Dalewood.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here in Four Roads?” Nedley asked. “We’re living rough where we’re going. Don’t the temples provide food and shelter?”

“They’ll feed us, all right, but what sort of life is that? Ain’t nobody hirin’ here—they had a lean winter, they say.”

“What sort of work are you looking for?”

“Whoever’ll take me.”

What could she do with two young children to take care of? But Nedley couldn’t bring himself to tell her no.

“Can you cook? Clean?” Maybe one of the more well-off among the new settlers would need help around the house.

“Aye, and weave and sew,” Netta said.

Nedley nodded. “If we leave tomorrow or the next day, will you be ready?”

The woman glanced at her boys, then at the small family’s few belongings. “Yes.”

“I’ll send word to the shelter once I know for sure. If you have any questions, talk to Harlan. If he doesn’t know the answer, he’ll know where to find me.”

Nedley went back into the shelter’s main room to look for the next family on the list, but before he could find them, Kimi burst through the door. She rushed over to him, a wide smile on her face.

“Nedley! I’m sorry I’m late, but Mother Yewen asked to speak to me. Guess what! I’m going to the keep! I’ll be helping to help teach the children. Sister Berit is going too—she’s from the Order of Scholars, so she’ll be in charge—but Lady Katrin asked for me specifically!”

Well, that solved one problem.

#

Corec was in the family crypt below the conservatory when Branth came down and sat on the lower steps. He was carrying two mugs, and set the extra one next to him.

“Do you remember her?” Corec asked, staring at the image of his mother’s face carved into limestone. She’d died when he was just two years old, and his only memories of her came from Isabel’s stories and a portrait in the sitting room.

“She laughed a lot,” Branth said. “That’s mostly what I remember. She and Mother were always smiling and laughing together. Father laughed more back then too.”

That didn’t sound like the Ansel that Corec knew.

“I take it Toman’s not coming after all?” he asked, joining Branth on the steps.

“The messenger said he’s too busy supervising a barn-raising, which is nonsense. The tenants don’t need any help with that, and even if they did, Tammerly’s not so decrepit that he couldn’t handle things for a day.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Corec said. “I wasn’t looking forward to talking to him anyway.” He took a sip, then coughed. “That’s strong. Is it even ale?”

“We tried something new,” Branth said, then pointed to the light hanging in the air above Moira’s sarcophagus. “Magic?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let Father see it.”

“I’m not sure I care about that anymore,” Corec said. “He’ll think whatever he feels like thinking regardless of what I do, and if the new priest wants to say something about it, let him. The Church of Pallisur claims they fight against dark magic, but at my tribunal, they couldn’t explain even what it is. Just anything not given to them by Pallisur, which is obviously a lie.”

“I can’t say I know much about it,” Branth said carefully, then changed the subject. “Do you really think we’re in danger? Should I send Marisa back to the chapter house at Highfell?”

“I don’t know. Rusol’s been after me for a while, but if he was serious about it, it shouldn’t have taken him this long to figure out who I am.” Would Razai’s conversation with the man help? Or would it make things worse? “With the stories about the dragon, it won’t take him long to figure out I’m in the free lands. Once he knows where to find me, he shouldn’t have any reason to bother you, but I can’t predict what he’ll do. I’ve never known why he was trying to kill me in the first place.”

“Toman met him at Duke Edmond’s investiture. Maybe that put him off the whole family.”

Corec laughed. “Could be, but I think the attacks started before that. There haven’t been any recently, though. Now that he’s king, maybe he’s just too busy to care anymore.”

Branth nodded. “Let’s hope,” he said. “And what’s this I hear about you taking over a keep in the free lands? A hillfolk peddler was going on about it last week, and Father says you told him it’s true.”

“It’s a run-down fortress in the middle of nowhere, but we’re trying to fix it up. It should make a good target for Rusol. Close enough that he can get to me if he wants, far enough away that he’ll have a problem sending a sufficient force. It’s just …” Corec trailed off, shaking his head. “There’s just too much to deal with. New people are showing up every day, and we’ve got to handle building, hiring, getting supplies, clearing the roads. Everyone keeps asking questions I don’t know how to answer. I need a steward—someone I can trust, and who knows what he’s doing. Are you interested?”

There was silence. Corec looked over to find his brother staring straight ahead.

“I wish I could say yes,” Branth finally replied with a sigh. “It gets tiring here. Father’s all right as long as you do things his way. Toman’s an arse, but he needs me. He’s never done anything without Father telling him to, and Father won’t be around forever. Toman didn’t want to marry Vena, you know—she’s ten years older than him!—but Mother and Father pushed him into it. That’s why I never got married. They want me to, so I won’t. But Toman can’t run this place on his own, especially not once his son inherits Tammerly’s lands on top of it. I have to stay here.”

“If you’re sure,” Corec said. It had been a long shot, but he’d had to try. Branth was the only steward he knew.

“There’s the dairy farm to consider, too. We built it from nothing, Marisa and I—something that’s just ours, not Father’s or Toman’s. I couldn’t give that up. You don’t need me, Corec. You’re a knight, or as good as. You went out and started a new life for yourself—twice—and you don’t have Father telling you what to do all the time. Hell, you fought a dragon and lived to tell about it! You’ll be fine.”

Corec chuckled. “We’ll figure it out, I guess, but I could use some advice. How would I go about hiring a steward? Where do I find one?”

“How much land are you talking about?”

“With our latest guesses at the map, we think it’s a little over twelve thousand square miles, but we haven’t surveyed it yet to say for sure. We’ve heard rumors of hillfolk towns out on the western border, so we may have to give up some of it.”

Branth stared at him. “Twelve thousand miles? Bloody hell, Corec! Don’t let Toman hear that.”

“You think he’ll have a problem with it?”

“Finding out his little brother has laid claim to a region over twice the size of Tarwen and Tammerly combined, and without all the damned mountains to deal with? Yeah, that might be a problem.”

“There’s nothing he can do about it, though,” Corec said, hoping Branth would agree. Corec hadn’t paid much attention to his lessons on the intricacies of familial property laws amongst the peerage.

“He might tell the king about you himself, hoping to claim the land if you die.”

Ansel was Corec’s heir, at least until Corec and Katrin were married, but Corec understood Branth’s reasoning. Toman would be Ansel’s heir.

“I don’t think he hates me that much,” Corec said. “And I want Rusol to find me. But maybe it’s best to keep quiet about how much land there is. I didn’t tell Father, so you’re the only one who knows.”

“Other than the freelanders and the hillfolk.”

“I can’t keep it a secret forever, but I don’t have to rub it in Toman’s face while I’m here. It’s not really my land anyway. I’m just watching over it.”

Branth nodded. “With that big of a territory, you’re right, you’ll need a steward with the right training, but most stewards learn the craft within the region they’ll eventually be supervising. How large are your personal estates? How many tenants?”

“I … don’t have any. Estates or tenants.”

Branth tilted his head to the side. “You’ve got a household, though, right? People to feed?”

“I figured we’d buy from the farmers, or accept crops as part of their taxes.”

“If you buy, you’re paying market rates. If you start exchanging goods for taxes, then you …” Branth hesitated. “Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about the king’s share or the Church’s tithe, but it’s a bad idea anyway. Prices fluctuate too much. And what about your personal income?”

“We’ll have the toll bridge and the mines for now, and the taxes starting next year.”

“Mines are all right, if you include them in your estates—Father owns shares in some of the old silver mines—but taxes and tolls would be baronial income, not personal. You can pay your soldiers from that, but you shouldn’t be spending it on your own household.”

“I didn’t know there was a difference,” Corec said.

“I suppose the tutors didn’t cover those lessons until after you’d left home, but Father’s always been a stickler for propriety.” Branth frowned, then shook his head. “I keep forgetting you don’t answer to the king. I still think you should keep separate books for the household and the lands, though. And you need your own estates.”

Corec sighed. Another complication. “All right, I’ll work something out,” he said. The estates would have to be sufficient to support his friends as well, not just him.

“Good. Now, for twelve thousand square miles, you’ll need more than just a steward. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“Most of it’s empty. I’d settle for one person who knew what he was doing.”

Branth scratched at the stubble lining his cheek. “I’ve got two assistants, but with Marisa here, I can get by with one. Maybe I could loan you the other.”

“He’ll know what to do?”

“Everything? No. But it’s a start. The fellow I’m thinking of, the younger one—Carn—he usually helps me ride around to the villages to update our records. It would save you from doing it yourself.”

Corec nodded. “Do you think he’ll be interested?”

“Well, he’s Tammerly’s cousin’s son, but he’s not high up in the family and he doesn’t have a wife or kids to worry about. He might be willing.”

“Does he have a problem with magic?”

“I’ve never asked. The topic doesn’t come up much when you’re not here. We can go talk to him and find out.”

“Thank you.”

“Happy to help, little brother,” Branth said, climbing to his feet. “And if someone comes nosing around looking for you, well, I still remember how to hold a sword.”

“Don’t!” Corec said sharply. “Don’t fight. If Rusol sends someone, answer any questions they ask. Tell them the truth. I want him to find me, remember? Whatever you do, don’t make trouble. Rusol’s a mage, and more dangerous than you know.” The swordplay lessons Branth had received as the son of a baron wouldn’t do him any good against a warden with an army at his back.

Branth frowned. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“I’m not alone. Don’t worry about me. You need to protect the family, and the best way to do that is by telling Rusol everything he wants to know. Leave the fighting to me.”