Leof

LEOF COULDN’T BITE back a smile when he saw the roofs of Sendat appear, and Thistle picked up her pace as she scented the stables of home.

“Good to be back, my lord,” Bandy, his groom, said.

“Good and bad, man,” Leof replied, waving to a few townsfolk as they made their way up the winding road to the fort.

He assessed it with new eyes as he came near. Although it was reasonably well fortified against normal attack, it would be helpless against an enemy which could not be killed. The walls needed to be much higher, giving defenders the chance to isolate and deal with individual attackers. The top of the walls needed to be sharp, rather than wide, and the defenders should be armed, not with spears, but with axes. Meat cleavers, even, lashed to poles, would do until they could get proper halberds made. The smithies would have to work overtime. Halberds were the best weapon, he was sure. The long blade fixed firmly to a long pole — it combined sword and spear, with the advantage that it kept your enemy at more than arm’s length. A broadsword could hack off a limb, but it needed luck as well as strength and judgment. A good whack with a halberd, on the other hand, had so much leverage behind it that it frequently sent limbs flying. The weapon wasn’t used much in close-quarter work because of the danger to your own troops, but a line of defenders, trained to work together… The plan was all Leof could think of, and he was miserably aware that it was full of flaws.

They rode into the muster area to shouts of welcome from the stables and the smithies. Leof dismounted thankfully and gave Thistle to Bandy, patting her and murmuring gratitude for her hard work as he did so. He ordered another groom to help Bandy before heading straight to the smithies, walking the kinks and aches from his legs and telling himself he was not at all tired.

The chief blacksmith, Affo, was a surprisingly small man, though with the massive arms of his trade. Leof didn’t tell him the details of the attack on Carlion, just that the town had been attacked, and the warlord’s men would be marching to give aid.

“We have perhaps a day before they march past us. And in that time . . .” he paused, unsure of how to phrase the order, then shrugged the problem aside. No good way to say it. “I want as many axes as you can produce.”

“We’re doing that already, lord,” Affo said, surprised. “Battleaxes, halberds, even choppers.”

“What?”

“The Lady Sorn ordered it, after that mad — after that messenger from Carlion came. She said,” he added, clearly fishing for information, “that my lord Thegan needed them. She said not to worry about finishing them off, no decoration or such, just make them sharp?”

“If your warlord wanted you to know why, his lady would have told you, no?” Leof said severely.

“Aye, lord,” Affo said. His expression plainly said, “All lords are mad.” Leof hoped he’d keep thinking so, instead of wondering what kind of enemy needed to be attacked with axes. The thought hadn’t occurred to Leof, but of course Otter would have come to Sendat first. Lady Sorn had reacted as befitted a warlord’s lady. He breathed more easily. The men would not be going into battle badly armed, although they would only have enough axes for the forward guard.

He turned toward the hall and the Lady Sorn. He half-expected her to be waiting for him in the muster yard, but of course she would not do that. Not the Lady. She never intruded on the public spaces — the men’s spaces. The hall, the residence and the gardens were her domain and she kept to them. Leof had approved of that when he first came to Sendat. She acted the way women should, modest and refined. Then he had met Bramble, and his ideas about what a woman should do had undergone considerable change.

Sorn was waiting by the fire in the hall, sitting in a pool of sunlight from one of the high windows. The light turned her auburn hair into fire and made her skin glow, enriched the deep green of her dress and sent flickers of light from her earrings into the corners of the room. She seemed, for a moment, a creature of flame and leaf, like the embodiment of a forest, caught on a tapestry of the seasons between autumn and spring. Then he saw her face, calm as an iced-over pool, and thought, between autumn and spring is winter.

Normally, Sorn was surrounded by her maids and ladies, but now she was alone, except for the small hunting dog that was always at her side. She was waiting to hear her lord’s message in private. Leof wished he had something better to tell her.

He bowed and saluted. Composed, Sorn rose and bowed back, pro-tocol strictly observed, no trace of anxiety on her face. The little silvery whippet — what was its name, something odd, he couldn’t remember — stood at her side, shivering as whippets do in the presence of strangers. She quieted it with a touch and it lay down again, head raised.

“My lady, I bring greetings from the Lord Thegan,” Leof said.

“You are welcome, Lord Leof.”

She gestured to him to sit beside her and he eased himself into a cushioned chair thankfully. Sorn poured him wine from a glass jug.

“You have heard the news, I gather, from Otter the Stonecaster?” He took a long swallow of the wine; it was a winter red from down south, full and comforting.

Sorn nodded. “I did what I could to prepare.”

Leof smiled at her. “I’ve just come from the smithies. You did exactly right, my lady. My lord’s men will be marching through here on the way to Carlion by tomorrow sunset, and it will… it may make a great deal of difference, having the axes ready for them to take.”

She nodded, serious. “My lord?”

He hastened to reassure her. “He will be with them. He bids me to tell you that he thinks of you. He is well, although . . .” he took the sheaf of papers Thegan had given him from inside his jacket, “not all will be returning with him. The Lake — or, my lord thinks, some enchanter controlling the Lake — raised a great wave against us. Many were killed.”

Sorn looked at the papers and went very still.

“How many?” she whispered. The whippet sprang to its feet and nosed her hand. She patted it absently. “Shh, Fortune.”

“About a quarter of our forces,” Leof said. “My lord has charged me with letting the families know.”

Sorn reached for the papers. “This is my responsibility,” she said, her voice low. “You will have enough to do.” She hesitated. “And the Lake People?”

Leof sighed. “We never laid eyes on the Lake People,” he said. “My lord blamed an enchanter from Baluchston for the wave and was about to punish the town when the messenger from Carlion arrived.”

Sorn took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still looking at the list of names. “Baluchston is a thorn in his side,” she said absently. “He will have it out one way or another.” Then she looked up with anxiety in her eyes, as though he might hear that comment as disloyal. It was the first real emotion she had shown. The whippet stood alert, regarding him warily.

Leof smiled reassuringly at her. “One way or another,” he agreed. She relaxed a little although, as always, she sat very straight. Fortune sat down again.

“Go to your quarters, my lord, and rest. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin your work.”

He smiled at her ruefully. “I doubt my lord would think so, I have a few hours’ work yet before I can rest. But I would be glad of some food.”

She smiled back, her face lighting with a hint of mischief. “I confess, I ordered a meal sent to the officers’ workroom. It should be there by now.”

He chuckled. “Too predictable, obviously. Thank you, my lady.” He rose, bowed and went out, leaving her sitting quietly. The sun had moved past the window while they talked and she sat now in a pool of shadow, studying the lists of the dead, her dog at her side.