Ravenheart (34 page)

It was a pleasant ride into town. The sky was clear, but the breeze carried promise of autumn, cool and fresh. The track they followed made for easy travel, though in winter it would be hazardous, Kaelin knew, for it dipped sharply as they came to the valley in which the town was situated. In winter supplies would be brought by pack ponies, adding greatly to the price of sugar, salt, and other essentials.

Black Mountain was not a large settlement. Fewer than a thousand people lived there, the stone houses clustered around the river and the three mills. From the high trail the first building to be seen was the fort and barracks housing the two hundred Beetlebacks. It was constructed in a great square, with a parade ground and an inner keep. The keep was stone built, a large round tower with no windows for the first twenty feet. There were slits known as murder holes through which musketeers could shoot at any attacking force. The outer walls of the fort were of timber. They were not high—no more than twelve feet—but a deep trench had been dug around the perimeter, and entry to the barracks was across a drawbridge. It was an old fort, built to withstand the attacks of sword-wielding clansmen. A modern army equipped with cannon would blast away the walls in minutes.

Killon was whistling one of Jaim’s songs as they eased the wagon down the final slope, crossing the first of the river bridges.

“Will she be expecting you?” asked Kaelin.

“No, I’ll surprise her.” Killon was a slender young man, slightly round-shouldered, and though he was only in his early twenties, his hair was thinning at the crown. He had an honest, open face and a quick nervous smile. “We’re going to walk the tree at the winter feast.”

Kaelin found himself thinking of Chara and envying Killon Ustal’s happiness.

At the town’s outskirts Killon leapt down and with a wave set off at a lope down one of the narrow cobbled streets. Kaelin rode on to the warehouse. Stepping down from the empty wagon, he handed one of Grassman’s loaders his order sheet and allowed the man to drive the wagon through the gates. He waited until the man returned, the wagon full, then checked the contents.

Then he climbed the wooden steps to the ramshackle office occupied by Arus Grassman.

The sturdily built Varlish trader took his money, counting it slowly before placing each coin, one at a time, in a large box on his desk. He made no attempt at conversation. Once he had finished counting, he scrawled a signature at the bottom of a checklist and handed it to Kaelin.

The young Rigante scanned the document. “It says here fifteen sacks of salt,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“Only fourteen were loaded.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Then let us count them,” said Kaelin.

“Fifteen were counted out of the storehouse. If one has been lost, that’s not my problem. Perhaps one of the workers stole one.”

“If that is what happened, then it was one of
your
workers, and that makes the loss your responsibility. That is the law.”

“Don’t preach Varlish law to me!” roared the man, rising from his chair, his face reddening. “I’ll not take that from a kilt.”

“Fetch another sack of salt,” said Kaelin.

“Or what?” Grassman was a big man in his late thirties with massive shoulders and a spreading gut.

Kaelin looked around at the office. “In the south,” he said, keeping his voice even, “all the warehouses are built of stone. This one is timber. I hope your fortune is not entirely held in such a building.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A fire in such a place would be hard to extinguish. A man could be left penniless.”

The trader blinked. “Are you threatening me?”

“A kilt threaten a Varlish? How foolish would that be? I am merely pointing out the dangers of having a wooden warehouse. A lantern falling from its bracket, a lightning strike, a disgruntled customer. So many perils.”

“You
are
threatening me. By the Sacrifice, I’ll have you thrown in jail.”

“And all my men? My, but that will make for an interesting trial,” said Kaelin. “Perhaps you will then round up all the kilts of Black Mountain who know me. And while we sit in the barracks jail, eating the Moidart’s food, you can stand in the ashes of your life, among the blackened timbers.” He stepped in close to the astonished man and smiled. “Now fetch me my salt or refund the price, you gutless sack of horseshit!”

For a moment it seemed the man might strike him, but then he just sagged into his chair, reached into the money box, and counted out five daens. “Take it and be damned to you,” he said. “And from now on you can trade elsewhere.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Kaelin. “I’ll come here. At least until another trader arrives.”

Kaelin left the warehouse and climbed to the wagon. Flicking the reins, he moved out onto the main street and
down to the barracks. Jaim had advised him to pay his respects to the colonel. “I have no respect for Beetlebacks,” objected Kaelin.

“Then have respect for intelligence,” snapped Jaim. “You don’t have to kiss the man’s boots, but it makes sense to keep him on friendly terms. You might need a friend among the Beetlebacks one day.”

“When did you ever pay respects to a Beetleback?” argued Kaelin.

“I’m not running Maev’s enterprise. I’m not the highlander who shot a pistol in front of a crowd of onlookers. You are right, though, Ravenheart. Offering such advice does stick in my craw. Yet it is still good advice.”

Kaelin had to admit that it made sense, though it was still needling him as he drove the wagon across the lowered drawbridge. Two Beetlebacks bearing muskets stepped out to block his way.

“What is your business?” asked the first.

“I have come to see the colonel,” he told them, “to … pay my respects.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“An appointment? No. Where do I go to make one?”

“Leave the wagon here and walk to the keep. See the clerk at the duty desk.”

Kaelin drew the wagon to the left and applied the foot brake. Then he climbed down. “You can leave that hunting knife here as well,” said the guard. Kaelin drew it and tossed it to the driver’s seat.

He strolled to the keep and in through a massive door studded with iron.

A clerk was sitting at a desk, scribbling on parchment with a long quill pen. The man glanced up. “Yes?”

“I wish to make an appointment to see the colonel.”

“And you are?”

“Kaelin Ring of Ironlatch farm.”

“Ah, the duelist!” came another voice. Kaelin looked round to see a broad-shouldered young officer coming down
the circular stairs. “Come up, Master Ring. I am sure the colonel will be delighted to meet you.”

Kaelin stiffened momentarily. There was something about the dark-haired soldier that caused his stomach to tighten. The man was smiling, but his eyes were cold and hard.

Kaelin followed him. The stairs wound up to the first level, which was an open food hall in which a score of soldiers were sitting at bench tables, eating their midday meal. The second level was partitioned off by several doors. One of them was open, and Kaelin saw a row of pallet beds. The third level opened out onto a seating area set in a semicircle below a series of tall windows.

“Wait here and take a seat,” said the officer, pausing before a door and tapping on the wood panel. Kaelin did not hear anyone call out, but the officer entered, closing the door behind him. Kaelin wandered to the first of the windows and stared down onto the parade ground. Moments later the officer returned.

“I am Captain Ranaud,” he said, offering his hand. Kaelin shook it. “Colonel Linax does not have a great deal of time to spare, but he wants to meet you.”

Kaelin entered the room. It was some thirty feet long, the floor covered from wall to wall with a thick carpet of sky blue decorated with swirls of pale gold. Kaelin had never seen the like. The furniture was highly polished and beautifully crafted in rich, dark glowing wood, the chair seats padded with green leather. The colonel was sitting behind a long curved desk that was also leather-topped. It was the most beautiful furniture Kaelin had ever seen. Colonel Linax had a thin, pale face and sunken eyes. His skin was dry and unhealthy.

“Welcome, Master Ring,” he said, his voice faint. “Do take a seat.” Kaelin sat down. “We have heard of your … trouble … with Call Jace and his son. I can see from the wound on your face that it was quite a duel. You are from the south, I believe.”

“Yes, sir. Old Hills, just outside Eldacre.”

“I know it well. The highlanders in that area are more, shall we say, loyal to the Moidart. They are educated. Have you been educated, Master Ring?”

“I have, sir.”

“Then you know what I mean. Let me speak plainly: The Black Rigante are not educated. They make themselves rich from extortion and robbery. You have been their latest victim, and to be honest, I am surprised to see you alive. I understand your sword shattered and they spared you.”

“That is so, sir. I was lucky, for I have never held a blade before.”

“Of course not. There is no need for our highland people to have swords in the south. But you fought bravely, which does you credit. Are you still paying tribute to Call Jace?”

Kaelin’s mind worked swiftly, and he sensed there was no point in lying. “Yes, sir. It seems … prudent.”

“Indeed so, Master Ring. So why have you come to me?”

“To pay my respects, sir.”

“Not, then, to issue a complaint against Call Jace?”

“I did consider it,” said Kaelin, thinking fast. “But the fight was fair, and no one was killed. I did not know what crime I could accuse him of.”

“Very wise, Master Ring. Now is not the time to deal with Call Jace, though the time is coming, I can assure you.” The colonel suddenly began to cough. His face darkened, his body spasming. He grabbed a handkerchief from his desk, which he held to his face. When the paroxysm passed, he fell back in his chair. Kaelin saw blood on the handkerchief.

Captain Ranaud tapped Kaelin on the shoulder, and the young man rose from his seat and bowed to the colonel. “Thank you for offering me the courtesy of your respect,” whispered the colonel. Kaelin walked to the door, following Captain Ranaud out to the top of the stairs.

“The colonel, as you can see, is not a well man,” said Ranaud. “I am pleased that you came, Master Ring. Perhaps we can talk more.” Ranaud led him to another room. It was
far smaller than the colonel’s office, and the floor was not carpeted. The furniture, too, was of a simple design, crafted from highland pine. Once again Kaelin sat down. Ranaud perched on the edge of the desk. He was a big man, his black hair closely cropped to his skull, his brown eyes deep-set and mournful. He had an easy smile, but there was a tightness to the man that had Kaelin on edge. Though there was no evidence to support it, Kaelin believed him to be ruthless and very dangerous.

“Describe to me the route you took into the Rigante heartland,” said Captain Ranaud.

“There was a high pass with stockaded gates. After that we came to a valley.”

“The gates were guarded?”

“Yes.”

“By how many men?”

“It was difficult to see, for it was raining heavily. Only one man came down to open the gates. I would think there were more that I could not see.”

“Did you see any weapons hidden?”

“Weapons?”

“Cannon?”

“No, sir. Do they have cannon?”

“What weapons did the guards carry?”

“The man who opened the first gate had a sword and a pistol in his belt. The next gate was opened by a cloaked clansman, and I did not see his weapons.”

“Did you observe many men carrying muskets in the town itself?”

“No, sir.”

“You stayed overnight in the great house?”

“I did.”

“Were there weapons there?”

Kaelin recalled the dining hall. All around the walls there were pikes, longbows, axes, swords, and shields. There were also racks of muskets.

“Call Jace has many weapons on his walls: knives, swords, and suchlike. Many of them are very old.”

“What makes you say that?”

“There were long pikes and what I think were called glaves. My teacher, Mr. Shaddler, told me they were weapons carried hundreds of years ago, when men wore armor.”

“How many people were at the feast?”

“Perhaps a hundred.”

“All men of fighting age?”

“Yes,” said Kaelin.

“How many people live in the main settlement, would you think?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. Several hundred. A thousand. I didn’t get much of a chance to see the settlement. I arrived at night in the rain. I fought Bael in the morning and then left in the storm that evening.”

“It would be most helpful, Master Ring, if you could visit their lands again and this time take greater note of your surroundings. It is important that we gather intelligence on their community and its strengths.”

“I don’t know that I would be welcome, sir, but if I am asked, I will certainly take note.”

“Good. Your loyalty will not go unrewarded, Master Ring. We look after our friends. I am glad you came here. I was planning to visit Ironlatch and meet you. So tell me, what caused the trouble between you and Bael?”

Kaelin guessed the man knew, but even so this was perilous ground. “He and his father came to the farm. I did not like Call Jace’s manner, and I struck him. Bael hit me with his pistol, and we struggled. I managed to pull a pistol from his belt, and I shot him with it.”

“Not your own pistol, then?”

“Highlanders do not own pistols,” said Kaelin, “though I think that law is not held to as severely in the north as it is in the south.”

“Indeed so, Master Ring. Let me show you out.”

Together they walked down the stairs, past the clerk, and out into the sunshine. As they emerged, Kaelin saw Arus Grassman striding toward the keep. The man looked shocked to see Kaelin standing with Ranaud. He stood confused and uncertain.

“Arus, my friend,” said Ranaud, “what brings you to the barracks?”

“I was … just passing,” said Grassman.

“Have you met Master Ring?”

“Er … yes, we met this morning.”

“Make sure you give him your best prices,” said Ranaud. Swinging to Kaelin, he extended his hand once more. “I shall make a point of visiting Ironlatch soon.”