The Bloodstained God (Book 2) (13 page)

She slapped the sheets with irritation. “You must not speak to so,” she said. “Do not forget that I am a tanner’s widow. We are cut from the same tree, you and me.”

“That, my lady, is exactly what I must strive my hardest to forget,” Tilian replied. He executed a shallow bow and withdrew from the room.

*              *              *              *

It was morning again before the lord of Latter Fetch came to visit her. Tilian had brought her some books, just random books from the library, and she had begun to flick through them. They were dull as grass. One was about Afaeli agriculture, the growing of corn on dry land, mostly. Another was a history of the house of Kenarrab, of which she had never heard, and seemed to be mostly a list of names, marriages, properties and livestock. She was about to move on to the third when he appeared.

She tried to pull her self up to bow, but the lord stepped forward quickly and put a hand on her shoulder, pressing her back into the bed.

“Do not rise on my account, Sara,” he said. “Tilian tells me you are much improved, but any effort may reopen the wound.”

“My lord,” she said.

“Besides, there is a gesture,” he said. “You touch your fingers to your forehead, so,” he showed her what he meant. “And that is also a bow, but you should not do so to me. We are family now, according to law.”

“Tilian said, but I do not understand.”

The lord pulled a chair out from the wall and sat on it so that she could see him easily from where she lay.

“I will try to make it clearer,” he said. “You did me a great service in killing Elejine. He was a dangerous man. Did you know he killed one of the maids? No, I see you didn’t.”

“Which maid, my lord? Was it Lira?”

“Lira? I’m not sure I know that one, but no, it was another. Mara, her name was. You have some attachment to the maid Lira?”

Sara was relieved. She had not seen Lira since the terrible events in the library. She would not have liked to think the girl was dead. And yes, she did feel attached to Lira in a small way. The girl had been the first friendly face the house had shown her.

“She brought me food from the kitchens,” she replied. “She was kind.”

“Do you wish her for your personal maid, to see to your needs alone?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. Yes I would like that.”

“Then it is done.” He smiled. “You see that it is sometimes good to have some degree of influence. But I was explaining the blood bond to you.” He paused for a moment, as though ordering his words. “It is an ancient custom. Those who perform exceptional service, especially those who are in need or distress, may be granted a blood tie to a noble house. I did this for you, though it cannot be said yet that my house is particularly noble. I have a gloomy building and an overgrown forest of useless trees that was until a day ago the personal fiefdom of a deranged steward.” He laughed at his own description; a short bark of a laugh; and he shook his head.

“It cannot but improve,” he went on. “The bond, the blood bond, gives you a position in the house. Any blood relatives that I have would be senior to you, but at present I have none. My father’s kin are cut off by their degradation, and my line starts afresh with me. So you see if I were to die in the war you would inherit Latter Fetch, and your son Saul after you.”

“I do not wish it, my lord,” she said.

“You do not want the house?”

“Your death, my lord. I do not wish your death. You have been kind.”

“We’re agreed on that point then,” he smiled. “And you must learn the correct form of address. My name is Skal Hebberd. It is appropriate for you to address me as Lord Skal, and on better acquaintance just Skal. Do you see?”

“Yes, my lord. Lord Skal.” She corrected herself, but it felt wrong to use his name. It felt like a trespass on private ground.

“Better,” he said. “In a few days I will have to leave. The general gave me ten days, and I would not be late for any cause. I will leave Tilian with you until you are on your feet, and then the house is yours. There are some things that I will ask you to accomplish while I am at war, and you may seek help from whoever you wish, but they are simple things, and the landskeeper will do most of the work.”

“The house is mine?”

“To command,” he said. “You will appoint a new steward, make sure that they keep the house in good order, find a nurse for your son. Simple things.”

“My lord,” she swallowed. “Lord Skal, I do not know if I can do what you ask.” The thought terrified her. All these people, all this land, all the skills and things that must be done.

“I am certain that you can, Sara,” he said. “Do not fret overmuch. You will do what you can. It will take time to find your feet, but you will come into it with time.”

“I will try.” What else could she say? A few days ago she had been destitute, and now she was asked to play mistress of a great house, servants at her beck. It was like a child’s dream: all things handed to her, her blood raised up, ball gowns and servants, knights paying her court. Well, those parts at least were still just dream.

The lord Skal bowed his head, serious now. “I must also apologise, Sara. I should not have left you for so long unattended. I could have sent Tilian, or one of the footmen to stand guard. I feel a measure of guilt that you were so injured.”

“No, lord Skal, I was happy enough to be left with the books, and Lira brought me food when I was hungry. It was no trial at all.”

“I should have guessed that Elejine would try to harm you. You came to Latter Fetch with me. Myself, Tilian and you were the ones he needed to kill to be sure of his position again. I should have protected you.”

“But I am alive, and he is dead, so all is well, Lord Skal.”

Skal laughed again. She liked his laugh. It was unrestrained. “You are quite correct,” he said. “Do you know that they are afraid of you now?”

“Afraid of me? Who?”

“The servants. They lived under Elejine’s heel for so long. They feared him mortally, and you killed him, so they fear you.”

“They have no cause…”

“I know, Sara, but it amuses me. You will be kind to them?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I shall leave you to rest. Is there anything more that you require?”

She looked at the books that Tilian had brought, and she had a hankering to read the other book again. Lord Skal seemed well disposed to do her a favour, so…

“Could you have the other book sent to me? The one I was reading?”

“I will have it sent. What was the title?”

Sara struggled to remember. It was a very long title. She was not sure that she remembered it all. “A History of the Mage Lords, and their wars and customs,” she said. “And what happened to them. I can’t remember it properly.”

Lord Skal raised an eyebrow. “Mage Lords? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Lord Skal. It was on the table next to the tray, a big book bound in white and red leather.”

“And you could read it? It was in Avilian?”

“Yes, Lord Skal. Translated into the Avilian from High Avilian,” she remembered that well enough. “And into High Avilian from Keffish Common, and into Keffish Common from the Mage-ic.” She pronounced it in the way she had guessed it must be spoken. The lord said nothing for a moment, but stared at her, and she thought she must have done something wrong, read a book that was not permitted, but nobody had said anything. She had not thought there might be rules.

“And the author,” he said eventually. “The author. Was it a man called Torastennon?”

“I do not know. I do not remember.”

“Red and white leather, you said? A large book, laid on the table?”

“Yes. Red spine and corners on the front.” She could hear excitement in his voice, so perhaps it was not a fault of hers at all.

“I will be back shortly,” he said, and without another word he turned and left.

Sara still wondered what she had done, or perhaps what she had found. His reaction indicated that he wanted to see the book, and perhaps that he knew it, but if he knew it then why be excited? She picked up one of the other books and put it down again. She was infected by his excitement. She wanted to know. She did not have to wait for long.

Lord Skal came back into the room holding the book. Her book. She recognised it at once. He was smiling, and he laid the volume gently on the table beside her bed.

“It is a rare book,” he said.

“Rare?”

“Yes. They do not have a copy in Bas Erinor. There is no copy in Bel Arac. As far as I know this may be the only copy in Avilian. The Berashi claim to have a copy, but they will not let scholars see it.”

“Is it valuable?” She looked at the book. She had been thumbing the pages while she ate cheese and fruit. She prayed silently that she had not done it harm.

“Yes. There are scholars who would spend twenty guineas to have an hour in its company. The old duke would have paid a thousand to own it. We were told about it. Part of our education – the Pelion Codex they called it. The oldest book that mentions Pelion. The original, the one written in Magic, “ he pronounced it as she had done, which made her feel good, “would be dust by now, and the Keffish, and probably the High Avilian. There will be errors of translation, but it is a most valuable work.”

“I am glad to have found it,” she said. It was luck, of course, ridiculous, outrageous luck, but she felt a certain pride, never the less.

“I thought there might be something of value in the library, but nothing like this. It seems you have done me yet another service, Sara.”

“Please do not reward me again, Lord Skal,” she said. “I am already overwhelmed.”

He laughed again. “As you like,” he said. “But there will be more work for you. When scholars in Bas Erinor learn that the book is here they will want to visit and study it. You must organise that.”

“As you wish, Lord Skal.” Scholars. Great men of learning would come here to read a book that she had read. She wondered what they would make of it. She did not doubt that they would learn more than she had by reading it.

“Now I truly shall leave you to rest, Sara, and I will leave the book in your care, as it shall remain.” He bowed slightly, something that she found entirely surprising, and left the room with the precious red and cream book beneath her hand. A thousand Guineas? She and Saul could have lived their whole lives on such a fortune. She stroked the silken leather.

I will read it again, she thought.

A gusty, hostile wind picked at the walls of the city of gods, it tugged at clothing, spun the few remaining dead leaves in dusty, transient tornadoes, and made eyes water with its penetrating chill. Duke Aidon looked quite put out at having to the leave the warmth of Bas Erinor castle and trek out into the courtyard where Cain had set up his demonstration, but the innkeeper wasn’t concerned. Narak looked interested, if a little distracted at times, and he thought that Havil genuinely didn’t feel the cold. The Berashi prince stood next to Narak and told jokes, sipped spiced wine, and generally seemed to be enjoying the outing.

“Must we stand around in the cold?” Aidon asked, confirming Cain’s diagnosis. “I am not dressed for it.” It was true. The Duke wore only a cotton tunic embroidered with green leaves that seemed at odds with the season and a cloak hastily thrown over his shoulders. Cain wasn’t cold. He’d dressed for the walk up from the low city, and he’d been working with his men most of the night. He didn’t feel tired, buoyed up by the anticipation of what he was about to show them.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Cain said. “This will not take long.” He produced an hourglass, a nicely crafted piece of work that he had stolen from the kitchen in the Seventh Friend. “This measures one tenth part of an hour,” he said. He turned it so that the sand began to run and whistled loudly.

Four men ran out into the centre of the courtyard. They were carrying a large, oddly shaped piece of wire netting, a fisherman’s net of steel. They placed it on the ground, pulled tools from their belts, and began to bend it. Cain watched them work, and kept an eye on the glass. So far it was going well. It was like watching a dance. The men moved in unison, taking short lengths of wire from their belts when they needed them, standing, and moving together, kneeling, twisting wire. It was an unintended harmony, but it looked good. The men quickly folded the sheet of wire until it had taken on the shape of a box about a pace high, a pace wide and two paces long with a lid which they had left open. When they had reached this point they stood aside and Cain whistled once more.

More men began to enter the courtyard in a steady stream, all soldiers from the regiment. Each carried a wicker basket full of broken stone – about as much as they
could
carry – and on reaching the wire box, emptied the stone into it and departed once more.

Cain checked the glass once more as the procession continued and the wire box filled with stone. Still it was better than he had hoped. None of the men had dropped a basket, and the new bindings on the box stayed firm. They had experimented with twine, but the weight of stone had split it every time they filled the box past half full. Now they were using the same wire as the box itself, twisted three times around the edges that they wished to join. They had only been able to test it once before this, and that had been early this morning. Very early.

In a short time the box was full. It held firmly. The first team of men moved in again and tied the lid down with more wire.

It was finished. What stood before them was a rough block of broken stone, bound together with wire. Aidon stared at it. Narak smiled. Cain picked up the glass just as the last grains of sand fell from the upper chamber.

“One tenth part of an hour,” he said. “And twenty four men to do the work.”

“And what is it that you have created for us?” Aidon asked.

Narak did not let Cain reply. “A wall,” he said.

“It’s a damned small wall,” Aidon said.

“Yes, but that was a tenth part of an hour and twenty-four men. Think what can be done with several days and three thousand men.”

“It does not have the strength of stone,” Aidon protested. “The wire will rust. A couple of years from now it will start to fall apart.”

“But Seth Yarra comes to the White Road in spring, Lord Duke,” Narak said. “Imagine a wall built thus, just thrown up in a few days, perhaps the height of three men, stretching side to side across the pass. It can be defended.”

Aidon saw. Cain could see the light in his eyes switch on. “It answers,” he said. “It damn well answers.”

“How long would that take, Colonel Arbak?” Havil asked.

“I cannot say for certain, lord prince,” Cain said. “At great height such a wall is not stable, so I have made all my estimates based on a wall that it built in increments, so if it is five blocks high then it must be five wide at the base, then four, then three and so on so that only the top is a single block thick and all line up to present as vertical face to the enemy. The back is stepped, and so easy for the defenders to climb, and each block is wired to those around it.”

“Guess,” Havil said.

“Three blocks high means twenty-eight hundred boxes, and I think we can do two thousand in a day, so two days. Four high is four thousand, five high six thousand. I do not think we can make enough wire cages for six high, but if we could we would certainly complete the wall within a week.”

There was a stunned silence. Cain had expected surprise. It had surprised him when he had calculated the numbers himself. This was the best idea he had ever had. It was the sort of thing that could change the nature of warfare, lead to the creation of temporary fortresses where ever they were needed.

“You can build an eighteen foot high wall across the White Road in a
week
?” Aidon sounded like he did not believe it.

“We cannot make the boxes for such a wall, but if we had them, yes.”

“And the stone, it’s already there,” Narak said. “The White Road is walled and floored with frost shattered rock.”

“How many do you carry on a wagon?” Havil again. The prince was walking around the block, tapping it with his boot.

“The wire frames? On a good wagon we can put fifty. Less on a light one.”

“So at least a hundred and twenty wagons. Do you have so many?”

“No, lord prince.”

“Well, there must be a few in Berash,” Havil replied. “Can you send a man back with me to show how the frames are made? We can ship them directly to where you need them – Berashi frames for Berashi wagons.”

Aidon stepped in and they began to plan in earnest. Narak took the moment to draw Cain aside.

“You have done well, Colonel,” he said. “I have no doubt that I can buy you the week that you need, and then we will have a chance. This is a work of genius. How did you come to the idea?”

“A pig, Deus” Cain said. “And baskets of nuts.”

Narak looked blank for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. You have put my doubts to flight. You have proven yourself yet again. I would go so far as to say that you have provided the means by which Avilian, Berash and Afael may be preserved. All three kingdoms owe you a debt, and I shall see that it is paid.”

“There is no need,” Cain protested. He meant it. He was as happy with his life now as he could ever have conceived. He did not want it changed in the smallest part. He had the inn, he had Sheyani, and he had the estate at Waterhill. He could not imagine a better life.

“We will see. Remember that you have a duty, Cain. It is not always about what suits for men who serve the kingdom.”

Cain sighed. He did not want to be anything more than he already was. Yet… “There is more, Deus. I need wood for making palisades.”

“Palisades? Why do you need palisades when you have a wall?”

Arbak pulled a roll of parchment from beneath his cloak and unrolled it so that Narak could see. “It’s the brushwood, Deus,” he said. “If we build these, like so, and cut all the brushwood…”

Narak took the plan from him and studied it carefully.

“Aidon, Havil, you must see this,” he said. Their heads came up and Havil stepped across at once, towing the Duke in his wake. “Your lord of Waterhill has yet another scheme,” he said as they approached. “And this time I see the seeds of victory.”