Fletcher Read online

  “We need to move the dignitaries inside, to more comfortable surroundings. At the same time, perhaps it would be wise to have protection for them? It was noted that the attack here today started as being aimed at their party, not our people. Master Tolan, if you would check for any sign of magic?”

  The man who looked ready to go to a dance, instead of working that day, moved forward. His eyes closed and his left hand came out. After a moment he turned, pointing at Depak Sona. No one gasped at that. Then, still with his eyes closed he moved forward and pointed at the one lady from the wagon. She was in very normal clothing for her people. Instead of standing back, there was a strange bow and she moved forward. For all the world looking like she was about to fight the man who’d discovered her.

  A nimbus of golden light surrounding her right hand, which started to move toward the man who still had his eyes shut.

  Everyone stiffened. Anders spoke.

  “Hold, please. Everyone. This man… Master Tolan, only seems to be telling us where the magic lies. There is no harm or threat in this.” He hoped.

  The woman glared at him, then after a bit, lowered her hand. The light around it dimming, if not fading totally. At that point, the man spun in place, to point at Anders.

  His voice was soft and a bit high pitched for a man. Smoother than his face would have allowed for, normally. A bit nasal as well.

  “Those three points. There has been activity here, recently. Mainly from the first and third subjects. There are other traces that are fading. Those are not here, now. The second point, back there… Was casting illusion, only. Not a direct force.” Opening his eyes, the man glanced around, saw Depak Sona and sneered a bit. Then managed to seem a bit more bland toward the woman from the Modroc.

  When he looked at Anders he simply faded into confusion. Then covered it, speaking to the older guardsman.

  “No one here is actively casting magic. That lady is holding her powers ready. That… Well, I’d be doing the same after such a horrible event, with my own skills being of no more use to that function, so perhaps we shouldn’t press her on it? It’s all right now, ma’am. The danger seems to be passed.” Then the fellow bowed in that direction.

  There was a nod from the elder guard who spoke to Captain Ford directly.

  “We should see them to their rooms, so they might refresh themselves. Perhaps the footmen could see to that, Captain?”

  The orders were given, the voice restrained and fake smiles coming all the way around. The dead men on the ground, and all of the attackers had failed to survive, were pulled away then. Depak Sona moved to stand with Anders, which meant that when the dignitaries were ushered inside, they floated along with that group, behind the guards. They had spears out, swords at their sides. It was almost impossible for them to pretend that the people in the center weren’t prisoners. The only thing that saved that was that they were taken to rooms in the same wing as the Ambassador from Barquea.

  Once inside those spaces, it was very clear that they weren’t going to be allowed to leave any time soon.

  Captain Ford looked around then, his voice hard when he spoke.

  “We should provide some food. Wine for nerves or harder spirits if these people wish. Brolly, can you see to serving their magic user?” That part was spoken coldly. The woman herself seemed to understand, though she simply looked at them, sneered a bit and moved back into her room. The door was shut on her.

  That portion wasn’t too hard for him to manage, though there was trouble when the servants brought the food in. The men and women there refused to have anything to do with the Modroc at all, fearing that they might be attacked by them. It was rather ridiculous, to be honest.

  Rolling his eyes, Anders moved forward as one of the servants, a man in nice clothing who seemed to be in charge was about to be publicly thrashed by Captain Ford for not doing as he was told.

  “We… Need a lady to stand with me, so that no one thinks I’m taking advantage of these good women. Then I’ll take the food and drink in on the trays. These are fine people. There is no reason to fear them.” He sounded young. Tired as well.

  Given that he felt like his skin was going to dance off he was shaking so hard in fear, that last bit wasn’t correct. No one spoke for a moment. Not until Estella, the woman who had cared for young Anders as a child moved forward.

  “I can stand with you in that. We have the cart here and full service ready. Whom do we serve first?”

  The others all stared at her, except Anders and Captain Ford. He simply smiled.

  “Always the bravest, aren’t you Mother? Very good then. My Mother and the small boy will do your tasks for you. This time. Master that fear. These people are from a different land. Not an evil one. Their Princess was attacked this day, to start a war. How we treat these folk now might well determine how many people die in the years to come. Now, Anders… Mother? If you will.”

  They just went room to room. There were four of them set up for the moment, with people sharing the spaces. That meant they were a bit tight in one room that held four ladies. It was the first that they went to.

  Anders knocked first, not knowing if that was the custom of the people in their far-off land. He had to do it twice before one of the women came to the door, opening it shyly.

  “Vet? Onder hest?”

  The language was heavily accented Ephrite. A thing that he’d learned so long ago that it was probably a different thing now or could have been. Still, he was able to work out roughly what the woman was saying as she stared down at him.

  She wanted to know what was wanted.

  He answered in Istlan, since there was no way to explain to anyone how Anders Brolly knew a language that the boy had never heard before.

  “We bring food, wine and harder drink.” He was bowing as he did it, using the second courtly form, bending his front leg deeply. The shaking he was doing was visible. Then, no one called him a coward, not even in a different language. They didn’t bow back, either, so he stood, turned and took the heavy tray from Estella, then entered the room and settled the thing on the table.

  In their own language, one of the women, who was in a dress that was perhaps a bit plain compared to the others, spoke then. Sounding fearful.

  “They bring us food and things to drink. Is it poisoned? Those men we hired for protection tried to kill them. Are we being put to our death in return?”

  The words weren’t simple, even if she was there as a serving woman of some kind. Anders looked at her directly, then moved to the tray, which was heaping with bread, fruit and cheeses. He took some of each, putting it on a small plate, then took a goblet and mixed wine with the golden liquor in the last bottle.

  Standing there, in front of them, he ate it all, then drank the foul and burning beverage he’d concocted. It wasn’t good the way he was having it. The message was sent though. Well enough that the woman in her plain dun colored dress moved in then and did the same thing.

  “If I die… Don’t eat anything.” She sounded very afraid. Still, she did it. The other women waited, as if they were going to see their friend and the serving boy die.

  They’d see after a while that it was safe, he hoped.

  Bowing again, using the first courtly form, his heels together, he backed from the room. Estella was behind him. She simply walked.

  “I don’t understand. It’s a bit improper to stop for a snack when serving, don’t you think?”

  Captain Ford laughed, still out in the hallway. After the door closed, he spoke to his Mother, his voice low.

  “Brolly was showing them that the food was safe. Of course, if it is poisoned you’re not going to live through the day.”

  That would be too stupid to have arranged at all. Rather than answer he shook his head a little.

  “We need to do the others before I’m too drunk to stand. I don’t drink regularly.” Which was partially true. The boy was used to having weak wine with his late meal. Also, on occasion he’d nipped a bit of harder th
ings from different sources.

  What had been in the half filled cup was much stronger than he was used to.

  Captain Ford smiled, a bit grimly.

  “That doesn’t get you out of work. Report in to the bowyer as soon as you’re done here, if not needed to stand this duty full time. Once you two go in first, the others will fall in line. Except with their magic user. Foreign magic scares many.”

  Which was just true. More to the point, they were scared of the strange on top of magic being there. Doubling up like that seemed to be the point that was too much for them. They’d deal with a Wizard, Magician or sorcerer. That or a person from a far-off land. Doing two things at once was just too much to bear for many.

  They did the collection of men next. Those were in two rooms, requiring a repeat of the first one, with him eating a small plate of the food and drinking half a cup of wine and spirits mixed. It was too much for his stomach, which was angry at him for stuffing it full as he was.

  On the good side the shaking had stopped by the time he was at the room of the lady of magic. Estella hadn’t gone in with him for the men but did now, since the woman might need to be guarded from his improper advances. When she saw who was there, in her doorway, she nodded.

  “So, they send their high shaman for me? Are we to battle now, boy? I fear that you will best me easily. My arts of illusion are no match for you.” Her head was held high and her voice calm enough.

  She also spoke decent Istlan. Easily clear enough to be understood by everyone there.

  Bowing, going low for the woman, got a curtsy back. That was done very properly, as far as he could tell.

  “Nothing like that at all, ma’am. I was tasked to bring you food and drink, as well as to see to any needs you might have. Estella here came to make certain I don’t press you in an unwelcome fashion. Not that I would, it’s just the timing of things today. I don’t suppose you know where those assassins came from, do you?”

  It wasn’t his job to poke into such matters at all. The lady shook her head, her face seeming annoyed.

  “Not in any way. We met them on the ship, coming to here, from home. They contracted as road guard, for a reasonable rate. We did not bring a guard of our own, fearing that would seem too adversarial for this meeting. A mistake, it seems. Are we to be placed to death for this?”

  Anders shook his head, knowing to speak, since he didn't think that all lands indicated the negative that way.

  “Not that I’ve been told. Now, I’ve been stuffing myself in each room and drinking wine, to show that it’s safe to drink. It is, except that I can’t let myself get too drunk. There’s work to be done still this day. I don’t suppose that we could get Estella to do that part for us? Or Captain Ford, out in the hallway, if you want? I’ve been ill and have eaten too much for now.”

  The words got a laugh from the woman.

  “I think I understand. Perhaps if this lady were to do that? She’s smaller so would fall to anything in the food faster that way than a large man. I will drink only water, if you have a clean source of it here?”

  Anders, the boy, was willing enough to run and get her some from the well out back. It was good enough for even the King, after all. Farad however, was old and well versed in lore.

  “We should boil that for you and all your people here first, to cleanse it. Water in strange places takes time to get used to. That can cause discomfort. I’ll set to having some prepared for you. Do you enjoy tea at all?”

  The woman nodded, her eyes going slightly narrow.

  “That would work. You are a clever one, aren’t you? If I might ask, how many years have you?”

  Smiling he bowed.

  “Twelve, ma’am.” He decided to be daring then, at least for him. “If it isn’t out of place, would it be all right to learn your name and title? I’m likely to be your room boy…” A thing that he didn’t explain, even if the woman should have a room lass, if not a full maid.

  “I am Clarise Sett. Duma of the Princess and her friends. Her… Tutor? In languages. In magic for Eltha Tennet.” The words got her to go very still.

  “Is that the first lady who was attacked? I’d noticed that they didn’t go for your Princess directly.”

  The words had the woman curtsy again, a thing she held for a long time. He bowed back, not taking her meaning.

  “Yes. It is clear that those vile men were trying to go for those with magic first. You were made the next target, when you fought them so effectively. Poor Eltha would have died then. She was using her powers to…” The woman stopped then, as Estella made up a small plate of food to show it was safe.

  Anders had to think for a bit, trying to work out what might be going on. At first he’d wondered if the girl, Eltha Tennet, was secretly the Princess. That made sense, given that killing her would certainly start a war between Modroc and Istlan. Even removing part of her retinue first thing might work for that.

  Taking a few moments to think, he finally nodded.

  “She was busy using illusion, a skill that you taught her, to disguise the Princess for some reason? Perhaps… The girl trying to get out of her marriage to Prince Erold? That picture was clever then. The painter saw the illusion he put on the canvas? We used a spell to uncover what was seen at the time. Which showed the girl who arrived here today. Only…”

  Estella went wide eyed as Captain Ford walked all the way into the room.

  Duma Sett took a deep breath.

  “It was something like that. The girls meant no harm. They simply didn't know if this Prince would be foul or unhandsome. So they tried to assure a way out for Princess Sweyn. If she were rejected for being uncomely then that wouldn’t be her doing, correct?”

  The others seemed to find that idea very insulting. Estella looked positively scandalized by the very idea. Farad simply drew a smile on his lips.

  “That sounds like a very good plan, indeed. We probably need peace more than a pretty Princess, so there won’t be a simple way out for her that way. On the good side, Prince Erold is both kind and attractive. Brave as well. Notice how he got the ladies to safety first thing?”

  There was a pursing of the lips then, followed by a strained smile.

  “I do recall something like that. Yes.”

  Chapter eleven

  After that and putting in an order to have all the water used by the new people boiled and cooled before being served as well as tea to be delivered to Duma Sett, Anders went to his room, took his new arrows and went to see the bowyer. He really figured to be working in that space alone that day, since everyone else, including Master Belford would likely be very busy.

  That was partially true. The old man with the peg leg was in the shop, working away when Anders came in. In the next room, visible at his work bench was the younger man who was in charge of fletching. Barkley, the Sergeant in command of the section looked at him when he walked in. He noted the basket with the twenty arrows in it.

  “See to inspection on those first. Then come back here.” There was a gruff, commanding tone to the words. Making it clear that he needed to see to that quickly.

  In the fletching space, the man turned to look at him, then waved for him to hand the light arrows over. They were sorted into two piles. One had fifteen of the arrows in it the other had five. Pointing, the younger man smiled at him.

  “Not horrible for your first batches. These five are unbalanced. The others will work. I expect the next ones to be better than this. Let me show you why they were rejected.” Picking one up, the fellow waved to it. “You skipped on the binding glue here. You can see by the color that the thread was never wet. Under that the work is fine, so we can use this for practice. We make war arrows here, so keep that in mind. Never cut corners, get lazy or forgetful. Arrows break as it is. We need to make certain they can get to their target first.”

  The next two had the same issue being that he’d simply placed the feather on at an angle.

  “That can work, if you do it to all of them at the
same angle. They’ll fly straighter but slower if you do that. Most times, on the battle field, we prize distance and speed over accuracy. If a man has to fight in close quarters, ten paces or so, then the other type works well. The spinners? This last one is just bent for some reason. We might be able to heat and straighten it. Or not. It looks good otherwise. You can’t always tell if things like that will happen to the wood.”

  The man handed back fifteen of the arrows. Setting the rest on the side of his bench.

  “I expect double that amount tomorrow. Fewer rejections. I hate to do it, you coming off being sick like you are but we could be going onto war footing. That means if you fail too much, I’ll have to beat you. Understood? Best to make more arrows than I ask for and inspect them yourself first. Bring your forty best.” The fletcher seemed a bit saddened by the pronouncement. Probably because he thought that Anders would be beaten. If not the next day, then soon.

  If the number of arrows went up each day, doubling, that would be happening. He’d worked for almost four hours to get twenty, of which five had been set aside. Moving faster was clearly the goal. A thing that had never increased the quality of work, as far as he knew.

  There was a pat on the shoulder at least, to comfort him.

  “Go see Sergeant Barkley. He has more for you as well.”

  That it turned out was working on three bows at one time. The finishing work on what he’d started already for his own practice, planing the wooden portion for the horn bow and then getting it into the form to rest overnight and a new yew bow. One meant for a soldier to use if a war came. A common archer, at any rate.

  “That and the strings for them. Come here, to the tying rig. It’s a skill to get the strings right. You’ll be failing at it, to start. Least wise if you don’t pay attention. Each man with a bow needs a minimum of two strings and should go into a campaign with five. The castle proper fields two hundred longbow men, and fifty horse short.” The man took a strand of fibers, gut string that was about eight feet long and started working. “Note the amount? Seven to eight fibers per string. There’s a feel to it. If you need, count them at first and go with eight. Watch how I use the rig, do the loop and then the binding…” The man spoke as he worked, taking a while to make the string. Not nearly as long as Anders would have figured from how the man had been talking about it.