IN THE VERY early morning, Leof woke in the officers’ tent with his mother’s voice whispering in his ear: “Go home, little one, go home . . .” His face felt surprisingly cold; when he raised a hand to his cheek he found that he had been crying, but he didn’t know for what. His drowned men? His mother? He scrubbed all traces of the tears away, as embarrassed as a child might be, and rolled out of bed. The men around him were still asleep.
Even so early in the morning the latrine pits were busy. He made his visit and went to stand by the edge of the camp, looking toward the Lake, where the houses of Baluchston showed their roofs as black triangles against the paling sky. It was going to be a beautiful spring day. A good day for attacking a town, he thought wryly. A good day for destroying a thousand years of tradition. A thousand years of freedom.
He knew he had to talk to Thegan, and knew also that it would make no difference.
As a rider in the chases, he had loved it when the chases were held at the free towns, because they brought competitors from all over the Domains, all keen to see if their horses were the fastest. That was how he had met Bramble, at a chase in Pless. One of the most prestigious chases, because Pless was a horse-breeding area and had a strong local field as well as the riders like him who brought their horses from far and wide.
He liked the free towns. He liked the sense of purpose in them, even if the purpose was mostly about making silver. He liked the casual warmth of their people, the way they walked with heads high, unafraid. Since he had come to Central Domain he had noticed how few people looked up, in case they met the eyes of a warlord’s man and were — what? Beaten for insolence, perhaps? It was not like that in Cliff Domain, where the warlord’s men were a disciplined fighting force, respected for protecting their people against raids by the Ice King’s men.
Perhaps my lord Thegan is right, he thought with a kind of despair. Perhaps what this country needs is to be brought together under the rule of one overlord, someone who knows how to keep discipline among his men, someone who could protect the rights of the ordinary people. But whether Thegan was the right person to do that, he did not let himself consider.
Leof knew that no matter what he said to Thegan, Baluchston’s freedom was over. The best he could do was prevent the sacking of the town. There were lots of stories about the sacking of towns from earlier wars between Domains — Leof didn’t want to be part of one.
He left the gradually lightening sky and went to Thegan’s command tent. Dawn was usually a good time to catch Thegan alone.
Thegan looked up from a pile of papers as Leof entered, and smiled at him.
“Just the man I need,” he said. “I want a thorough tally of who we have lost so that the families can be informed. You know most of the men, don’t you, even the Centralites?”
“Yes, my lord,” Leof answered by rote. Then he took a breath and plunged in. “But there is another duty I would prefer.”
Thegan leaned back a little from his table and pushed the papers away, his eyebrows rising. He looked mocking and suddenly older, as if Leof were an importunate child.
“Prefer? I don’t remember asking your preference, officer.”
There was a lump in Leof’s throat, which he had to swallow down.
“My lord, I would ask that you let me parley with Baluchston. Let me convince them to surrender.”
“To surrender the enchanter?”
Leof paused. He had to say this just right, or Thegan would take offense. “My lord, if I were that enchanter, I would have left the town long ago. The town may not be able to produce him.”
“Then —”
“Then they must surrender to us, to prove their good faith,” Leof said hurriedly. “It seems to me that no matter what they do, only the surrender of the town will prove their good intent.”
Thegan smiled slowly. “That is very well thought out, Leof. Yes. Good. You may put that argument to the Baluchston Voice. I think they have kept the custom of a Voice, rather than a Mayor.” He paused for a moment, considering that. “In fact, it could be argued that Baluchston is not, and never has been, a free town. It was not founded by Acton or his son. It keeps the customs of a village. It has no charter with any warlord.” He smiled with genuine pleasure, seeing potential problems with other warlords disappear with that argument. “It has no claim on anyone’s protection. Go and tell them so, and tell them that they have until noon to make up their minds.”
Leof nodded and turned to go, his stomach churning. But he should have known Thegan would not let him go so easily.
“Leof?”
He made sure his face showed nothing as he turned back. Thegan was smiling, but it was the dangerous smile, the one that tightened the corners of his mouth but didn’t reach his eyes.
“After you have parleyed, I want that list of the dead by noon.”
Leof nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
He left the tent with a sense of overwhelming relief, and realized that for a few moments he had been in as much danger as Baluchston.
“Hodge,” he called as the sergeant went past. “My lord wants a tally of the dead. Get three of the men who can write to make a list. Then come to my tent with an honor guard. We’re going to Baluchston.”
He rode in on Thistle, with Hodge and three others on matching bay geldings, Thegan’s honor guard horses which had somehow escaped the wave. Men and horses were as polished as a quick brushup could make them and the Baluchston people stopped in the street to look at them. Their expressions were odd: a mixture of fear and surety, as though they believed that, though the soldiers could try, nothing could hurt them. But the trying would be painful.
Leof had been an officer of one kind or another since he was eighteen, carrying the burden of ensuring his men’s safety, but he had never felt responsibility weigh so heavily before. Not soldiers but townsfolk at risk… Riding through the town with everyone looking was like the beginning of a chase, when the competitors lined up in front of the crowd. He tried to feel some of the same exhilaration chasing brought, but the stakes were much too high.
Leof knew, theoretically, how to handle this. He could not stop and ask for directions to the Voice’s house. Thegan would say that would show weakness. So they rode to the market square, which led directly onto the Lake shore and the ferry wharves. It was disconcerting, to have an open side to a town square, a side which moved and glinted as the current sent the Lake water downstream toward the high, impassable falls that plummeted to the Hidden River. The open side made him uneasy, as though the Lake were watching, as though the ground were shifting under his feet.
He stopped the small troop in the middle of the square and simply waited until, some minutes later, a fat old lady tramped out of one of the shops and came to stand in front of him.
“I’m the Voice,” she said simply. “My name’s Vi. What can we do for you?”
Her voice was dark and somehow comforting, the voice of the wise old women of the fireside stories. Wise old women are sometimes enchanters, Leof reminded himself. He gave the signal to dismount, swung down from Thistle and handed her reins to one of the men, patting her absently on the flank.
“I speak for the Lord Thegan,” Leof said formally, bowing. “I would have speech with you on his behalf.”
She nodded and led him toward the draper’s shop from which she had emerged. A number of other townsfolk watched. Vi looked at them as though to invite them to join the discussion, but they shook their heads.
“Best you handle it, Vi,” one called. She nodded and ducked into the dark interior of the shop.
Hodge began to follow them, but Leof signaled him to wait with the horses. Hodge didn’t look happy but he obeyed. Leof relaxed a little. Better to have no witnesses to this.
“We don’t bother with a Moot Hall,” she said as she threaded her way past bolts of fabric, skeins of wool and a pile of cured sheepskins. “We generally have our meetings in here.”
The room beyond was a light-filled kitchen, smelling of fried fish, centered around a large pine table, scrubbed white. Leof stood, unsure. The protocol of a warlord’s fort he understood, but not that of a kitchen!
“Sit you down, lad.” Vi smiled with real humor, as though enjoying his uncertainty.
Suddenly Leof laughed. Solemnity wasn’t natural to him, and Vi’s casual welcome suited him much better than it would have suited any of the other officers. Better to parley with humor and wisdom than with protocol and hostility. He sat down, not at the head of the table, but in the middle, and Vi, as though appreciating his tact, sat opposite him and poured them both some cha from a jug standing ready. Equals. His mouth twitched, imagining Thegan’s reaction to that. That sobered him.
On the way into town, Leof had practiced a dozen different ways of beginning this conversation, but he discarded them all. It was clear to him that Vi knew why he was here.
“Well, now, my chickling,” she said in her deep, comforting voice. “Here’s a pretty pickle.”
“He wants the town,” he said simply. “And he’ll take it, however he needs to. If you resist, he’ll kill every one of you. Not one warlord will object. He’ll make it sound so inevitable that they won’t be able to.”
Vi nodded. “So?” she prompted.
“So you should surrender. Save the lives of your people.”
Vi’s eyes were hooded as she looked down at her mug of cha, nodding. Then she looked up challengingly. “Might be that the Lake will have something to say about that.”
Leof paused, not sure how to reply. Truth, perhaps, was all the weaponry he had.
“He doesn’t believe in the Lake. He… he can’t believe in it, I think.”
She nodded. “Doesn’t mean the Lake will ignore him.”
“He says it was an enchanter who called the waters up.”
Vi sniffed with contempt, reminding Leof vividly of his aunty Gret. He paused, then said delicately, “The question is, when would the Lake act, and what would she do? She can’t just inundate the town — that would cause more deaths than Thegan. What can she do to protect you?”
“You don’t know?” Vi seemed surprised. “Hmm. Well, best not to tell you, then, I think.” She thought it over. “I’ll go talk to her. This is a decision best left to her.”
“You only have until noon. After that, he attacks.”
Vi drank her cha slowly, deliberately. “Better if he doesn’t,” she said just as deliberately. “Best if you stop him, lad. Or the Lake might do more harm than she has already.”
The cha was good, and brought him a clearer head than he’d had since the Lake had risen.
“You’re Acton’s people,” he said. “Are you sure she’ll protect you?”
Vi laughed. “Oh, lad, we stopped being Acton’s people a long time ago. We’re Baluch’s children. Baluch’s and the Lake’s. She’ll look after us, don’t you worry.” She reached across the table with some effort, and patted his arm. “Looks to me like you might have stopped being one of Acton’s people yourself.”
He pushed back from the table and stood up, appalled. “I am my lord Thegan’s man,” he said furiously. “My loyalty is to him and to my comrades. I came to warn you, to convince you to surrender so that lives would not be lost needlessly. Do not impugn my honor!”
“Oh, lad,” Vi said sympathetically. “You’ve got more honor in your little finger than Thegan has in his whole body.”
“Until noon. You have until noon by the grace of your lord Thegan.”
She shook her head. “He’s no lord of mine, lad, nor ever will be. But I’ll talk to the Lake and see what she says. Won’t be back by noon, though. I’ll have to go out to the deep water and that takes time. Sunset, say. I’ll be back by sunset. Do what you can to stay his hand until then.”
Leof turned on his heel and walked out without replying. Stay his hand? Might as well try to stop a storm. Baluchston was doomed.