Del watched the scene with cynical eyes and a small smile upon his lips. Did no one but he see them? They were so obvious to him, yet no one took any notice as the little thieves plied their trade. One by one they took turns to filch a loaf of bread here, or cut a purse there. Not a single cry of outrage was raised.
They were good. No question about that, but he was better.
Del laughed under his breath as one of the thieves chose Bainbridge as his target. Fool that he was, Bainbridge had not noticed the boy hanging around his stall. A small dirty hand darted out in a blur of motion barely seen, and then whipped back holding a juicy piece of fruit. The boy secreted his prize where none could see and quickly walked away as if nothing had happened.
To all but Del’s eyes, nothing had.
The littlun had been fast, he noted with approval, but then Del’s smile slipped as he remembered why that was. He saw again those dark years before the Lady came. He remembered slipping quietly from alley to alley, and doorway to doorway, all the while listening for others like him. He was fast too—still breathing proved that. He could almost see himself creeping around the side of this square in the dark…
Del blinked and shook off the distraction. “Follow him to the others,” he said. “Father Ran wants them.”
Tor snorted. “He wants them to come on their own.”
“I know it, make sure the littleuns do. They ain’t to say nothing about this.”
Tor grinned and slipped away.
Del watched for a moment before turning to survey the stalls again. He had a strong impulse to indulge sticky fingers, but he was not here for thieving. He had a job to do. His eyes flicked from face to face settling and assessing for a moment before moving on. He did not really need to do it, but habits were hard to break. Besides, not all habits were bad. This one was a good one to keep. You never knew when you might meet someone faster than you. It was best to be prepared.
With his survey done, Del slipped into the crowded square intent on Bainbridge the fruit merchant. Bainbridge was always reliable. He would be the best one to approach this day.
Del waited at the stall for a gap to open between the merchant’s customers, and eeled into a space between two old mothers as soon as it appeared. His mouth watered at the sight of so many different varieties of fruit. Food of any kind always had that effect on him. He suspected it always would. His hand snaked forward and snatched the biggest Pella he had ever seen.
“Oy you little beggar!” Bainbridge said and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.
Del grinned and made a copper appear as if by magic. “I need two dozen.”
“Oh, it be you again do it? I thought it was one of them little bandits thieving from me again.” The merchant released his hold and took the copper. He examined it thoroughly. “Humph! You can have a dozen.”
“Two dozen I said, or I won’t tell you the news.”
“News? What news?”
Del bit into his Pella and held his other hand out. His mouth was suddenly filled with an explosion of sweet tasting fruit. It was so good that he wanted to force the rest in. He stopped himself from acting like a littlun and savoured it—barely.
Bainbridge growled in disgruntlement. He quickly snatched up an empty sack and chose the biggest and best Pella on his stall. He was a good man at heart—a fool with his money, but a good fool.
Del swallowed and took the sack. “There was this big battle see—”
“A battle?” The merchant asked sharply. “Where?”
Del scowled. “Do you want to hear it or not?”
“Yes, yes. Get on with it!”
“There was this battle see. The Lady tricked them Hasians up north. She used her magic to make ’em think they had her trapped.”
“But they didn’t? You’re sure boy, really sure that she’s safe?”
“The King is sure,” Del said slyly.
“You overheard this?”
This was the point where his story would be believed or just taken for rumour. Del put as much scorn into his voice as he could. “Course not! Father Ran always goes to see the King alone, but I heard him talking to cook after he came back.”
Bainbridge’s face lightened even as he snorted in derision. “Ranulf always was a fool. She’ll be spilling the story all over Devarr before long.”
“I doubt it. Father Ran said if she did he would throw her on the street.”
The merchant’s eyes gleamed. “He’ll not do it boy. He’s too kind hearted. I remember him before the troubles began. Ranulf’s inn was the best in Devarr. All the lords stayed there, but now? He has no room for ’em. Where’s the money in feeding you lot? Who ever heard of an innkeeper giving his rooms and food away for free?”
Del grinned. Ranulf said the same kinds of things about Bainbridge. “Don’t tell no one I told yer about the Lady.”
“I know when to keep my mouth shut, boy!”
Del grinned and ducked into the crowds. As soon as he could, he found a vantage from which to observe Bainbridge. The merchant was already giving instructions to his lackey to mind the stall.
Bainbridge pushed quickly through the crowded marketplace and accosted a man behind another of the stalls. The baker turned away from a sale and cocked his head to listen as he whispered his story.
Del smiled a moment before letting it slip. He replaced it with his more usual ‘I dare you’ glare, and made his way home to Father Ran.
* * *
“And what do we have here I wonder,” Ranulf said to the three little waifs who accompanied Tor.
The two girls were looking around with bright and inquisitive eyes, while the boy continued to glare at his escort. Tor was smirking, which made the newcomer mad enough for it to show, but he was much smaller than Tor. He was obviously unwilling to fight or run while under his captor’s eyes.
Ranulf’s heart lurched in his chest as two pairs of sapphire blue eyes came to rest upon him. The girls looked up at him and smiled shyly. “Have you no names for me, ladies? Should I call you piglet one and piglet two?” The girl on the left giggled; the other just stared at him solemnly.
“My name’s Halah. I’m seven.”
“Seven! My, that’s nearly grown up!” Ranulf almost laughed at the very serious nod she gave him. He turned to the other one. “And are you seven too piglet?”
She nodded.
“No name for me, little piglet?” He coaxed, but she just stared at him with those amazing eyes. It was the boy who set matters straight. Still scowling, he stepped forward.
“She’s mute.”
“She cannot speak?”
“Never has as far as I know. I found her in me hidey one night during the Hungry.”
“And you look after her, do you?”
The boy scowled even more. “They don’t eat much,” he said defensively.
Ranulf sighed. He could see that none of the three had eaten much for a very long while. “Well then, boy, what should I call you?”
“Connell is my name.”
“And the girl?”
“Anything you want…” he began but Tor nudged him in the back warningly. “We call her Julia.”
“After the Lady is it? And before?”
Connell shrugged uncomfortably. “Girl mostly.”
“Hmmm. I like Julia better.” Ranulf turned to find cook and the others waiting. He beckoned them over. “This is Lady Halah and this Lady Julia. See to it they are washed and fed.”
Cook nodded. “Come along my dears. I have a nice soup on the stoves, and there’s plenty of hot water for baths,” she said as she ushered the girls away.
Ranulf turned back to Tor. “Show Connell where everything is. Tell him the rules, and give him his clothes.”
“I ain’t staying!” Connell protested and Tor nudged him again. “Do what you want, I ain’t staying.”
“As you wish, boy,” Ranulf said. “I’ll not try to force you, but don’t you want to see that your friends are taken care of?”
Connell glanced toward the door where cook had led the girls and wavered in his resolve. “Well, just today then.”
Ranulf held in a grin. “You might as well have a quick wash while you’re here. I guess I can afford to let you have a meal and the clothes for free—just this once mind!” He said forcing a scowl onto his face as Tor grinned behind Connell’s back.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Apart from being three sizes too big, filthy, and worn out? Why, nothing at all. Still, I can’t have you walking around down here like that. Everyone will think I starve my children! No, no, no, I can’t have that.”
“All right. If I have to then I have to... but I can wash myself!”
“Well of course,” Ranulf said scornfully. “I’m not in the habit of bathing grown men!”
Connell nodded once and followed Tor to the bathhouse.
Ranulf sighed. “By the God, how many more like him are still hiding from me?”
“Father Ran?”
Ranulf sighed again and turned toward the newcomer. “I’m not a priest, boy!” He said as Del stepped into the common room. Del was a comely lad. Whenever he saw the boy, he just knew that in a few years he would look like a lord. He already acted like one with the other children. They followed where he led just as a guardsman follows his lord. “What have you there?”
“Pella, Father Ran,” Del said showing him the contents of the sack. “Bainbridge gave me two dozen for a copper.”
“Two dozen! He always was a fool with his money.”
Del grinned and offered a palm full of coins to Ranulf. “Here’s what I have left.”
Ranulf waved the money away. “Keep it for me, would you lad? I’m late for my visit with Gy. Besides, you’ll need it when you go out tomorrow.”
“If you’re sure, Father Ran. I won’t spend none of it.”
“Of course not, lad. You know I trust you. You’re like my own son. All of you are.”
Del stood taller.
“Tor came in a short while ago. Another group of little ones has come to join us.”
“I told you they would come, Father Ran,” Del said smugly.
“So you did, lad, so you did.” Ranulf fetched his cloak from where it hung near the door. “I might be gone awhile. Look after the old place for me.”
“I will, Father Ran. You can count on me.”
“I always do!” Ranulf called over his shoulder as he left the inn.
* * *
King Gylaren read the report with eyes burning for the need of sleep. By the God he was tired. Tired of never-ending bad news, tired of forever having to cajole his lords into doing their duty as they ought, tired of the same old petty excuses.
“By the God, how did I ever let her talk me into this?”
“My lord?” Ranulf questioned.
“Julia,” Gylaren said dropping the parchment upon his desk and leaning back. “Why did I let her talk me into this?”
“Into...?”
“The throne.”
“Ah,” Ranulf said, smiling in amusement. “Perhaps she used her magic upon you, my lord. She is rumoured to be powerful.”
“Oh she’s powerful all right, and in more ways than one. I can attest to that. I told you of the time she raised the ferry above the lake. There were a few surprised faces that day I can tell you!”
Ranulf chuckled. “I remember you telling me of it, but what of this other way in which she is powerful?”
“Her temper I meant. You must know that I never wanted the throne, my friend.”
“I do know, but you’re the best King we could have in these days.”
Gylaren snorted. “That’s good of you to say, but the only reason I’m King is that Julia could find no one else. That’s what I meant about her temper. The voting was going badly for us. It looked as though Ascol might win the throne, but unknown to me, Julia had already taken steps. When I found out she was scheming to make me the next King, I visited her apartments to tell her to stop.”
“And she was angry?”
“Very,” Gylaren said dryly. “She accused me of being a blind fool... well, as good as. I thought she would kill me when I told her to keep out of affairs that did not concern her.” He shrugged. “It was at that meeting that I realised I had no choice. I took the throne because Julia wouldn’t make Keverin do it, and Purcell was out of the question of course. So apart from me, who was left?”
“Lord Halden?”
“A worthy man, but old. Too old to put right the mess that Pergann, may the God comfort him, left us to deal with. No, she was right... she is right. It is my duty, but I miss the mountains. I miss my home.”
“Devarr is your home, my lord.”
Gylaren shook his head. “Not so. Devarr will never be home. There is only Meilan for me, but my duty holds me. Dylan likes it here though. A lucky thing wouldn’t you say?”
Ranulf nodded. “He will make a fine King after you.”
“I believe he will. I believe he will indeed.”
Dylan had taken to Devarr as if born to it. A lucky thing. He was heir to the throne and Deva did not need another unhappy King such as Pergann had been. Deva needed time to come back from the disaster Pergann created with twenty years of misrule.
Gylaren realised that he was wool-gathering. Now was not the time for it. “Your news is not all bad I trust?”
“It’s good mostly, my lord. I have my friends keeping their noses to the wind as you asked, but they report all quiet. Everyone is happier now that you have control of the streets. Food is abundant, and prices have returned to normal.”
“Hoarding?”
“Has stopped, my lord. You cannot blame them for fearing a return to the dark times of last year, but they seem to have let that particular fear go.”
“But?” Gylaren said. He was sure there must be one.
“But the news of Keverin’s death has everyone unsettled.”
The news had been all the more shocking for it had come upon the heels of celebration. The report that Julia’s kidnappers had met their end at the hands of Camorshin clansmen had caused great celebration through the city. Everyone loved Julia for what she had done for them. The celebrations lasted days, but then came the shocking news of Keverin’s death. Worse, he had died fighting an invading force of Hasian sorcerers. The news had sent panic through the streets as every rumour was enlarged upon until the invaders became an unbeatable force camped less than a league away.
“You have started the counter I suggested?”
Ranulf nodded. “I have my lord. My little whisperers have helped somewhat—more than some if truth be known, but rumours will spread no matter what my boys do.”
“They always do my friend.”
Ranulf’s children were not truly his. Magda, Ranulf’s wife, had died childless of a fever. Those Ranulf termed ‘his boys’ were actually orphans of Pergann’s misrule. They were homeless boys and girls that had lost their families to the chaotic years preceding Julia’s arrival at the capital. Ranulf had taken in a few strays, and on Julia’s say so, he had taken more until his inn was no longer an inn. It was more an orphanage than a place to sit and drink ale. The change was good for Ranulf who had still been grieving over Magda’s death. He still was of course. He would never find another woman like Magda, and he did not want to.
Gylaren frowned. Thinking of Ranulf’s boys brought Julia’s hospital to mind. It was something he would have been happy to finance and support. It was the first of many that Julia had planned for the lords to finance. Although a tax had been considered, the Church that would have to maintain them. His failure to persuade the lords at council to pay a tax had led to the Holy Father’s intervention. Farran had proposed that the Church fund the hospitals, and lacking support from his lords, Gylaren could only agree. That lack of support on so many important issues had led to many sleepless nights.
“The people will settle down when the western lords arrive,” Gylaren said, trying to convince himself.
“But they haven’t yet,” Ranulf warned.
Gylaren grimaced. “Young Adrik came in yesterday.”
“Ascol?” Gylaren nodded. “That’s good news, but what of the others?”
Gylaren gestured at the report he had been reading. “I have most of the southern lords encamped here at Devarr. Adrik and one or two from the Western marches have come in, but not enough.”
It had been a disappointing response but not a surprise. He knew all of his lords, of course, but many of the southerners were friends or friends of friends. He had known from the first that he could count on the southrons, but the lack of support from the west was a harsh blow. If Keverin had been alive, his mere presence would likely have brought them in, but he was lying in his grave. Those who looked to Athione to lead the way had adopted a wait and see attitude that could spell disaster for the entire kingdom.
“I told Purcell to make ready to join us at the border. He has things well in hand. The others will protest, but they will obey him.”
“They would be fools to affront him after what his son did for them. Corlath died to protect them. Donalt nearly did also. Elvissa could have fallen, and would have but for the God’s good blessings.”
“Stubbornness is the only reason that the fortress held for so long. Purcell’s men are too woodenheaded to give way, even when out-numbered five to one. We have Purcell himself to thank for that, and I do—I assure you I do. I tell you my friend, since taking the throne my eyes have been opened to foolishness of every kind. Some of what they do still astounds me. Men, whom under other circumstances I would have called intelligent, act in the most absurd ways when called upon to levy guardsmen. Just yesterday I received a messenger from Lethbridge asking that he be excused from the war!”
“What for?”
“He writes that his guardsmen are needed to help bring in the harvest! Since when does a farmer need help with that from a soldier?” Gylaren snorted in disgust. “Lethbridge is not the only one either. I need my western lords, Ranulf. I need them badly.”
Ranulf nodded. “Can you not order Athione to march?”
“I can, and I will, but what point in ordering Marcus to Devarr when he will straight away march north with us?”
“This Captain Marcus will not be heeded by the western lords,” Ranulf warned. “I’m unused to examining a lord’s motives, Gy, but it seems to me that you need a new Lord Protector in the West. They would surely rally to him and march north when he does.”
“They should,” Gylaren agreed. “But I doubt it will work out that way. They’re more intent on avoiding their duty to the kingdom than doing the sensible thing. Besides, I can’t raise Marcus so easily as that. Athione is too important. No matter how good a guardsman Marcus is, he’s one thing more—a commoner.”
“Give Athione to Gydrid then. He seemed like an intelligent boy to me.”
Gylaren smiled. “He is that, but I can’t give Athione to him. Niklaus holds Meilan, Dylan will hold Devarr and the throne after me. I cannot give Athione to Gydrid without seeming to be parcelling out Deva to my sons. The lords will accuse me of trying to take all power into my own hands.”
“Might not be a bad idea. At least you want to oppose the Hasians. It seems to me the lords would let them take Deva… at least as long as the sorcerers allow them to keep their own lands.”
“It’s not so bad as that,” Gylaren said, though it did seem so on occasion. “The north will fight. Jihan is a strong example. The south is mine, and Purcell will drag the east into it—kicking and screaming if need be. He’ll not take any nonsense. It’s the west that’s uncertain…”
“Forgive me for saying so, Gy, but the west has more lords than the others. They will account for more in this war than you give them credit for... or they will when they do their duty.”
Gylaren heard what went unsaid. If they did their duty—if they rallied to him. It was a cursed big if! He was confident that the southrons would follow wherever he led. There was not a hint of a doubt in his mind. As for the others, well, he was not so confident, but Jihan and Purcell were both fine men. They would do everything in their power to help, and they had a big advantage in tradition. The Four were created to protect Deva, with the lord protectors to hold them and lead the other lords into battle. It was their traditional role, and one that few would question. Men like Jihan were born to lead and protect those less able than himself. The lords might resent the fact, but they were not strong enough to change it.
“What will you do?” Ranulf said.
“Wait a while longer I think. I’ll march without them if needs must. I’ll collect as many as I can on my way north, but I swear to you my friend, that if I survive this war, those who failed their duty to me will rue it.”
Ranulf nodded. “Maybe Julia will save us the trouble.”
Gylaren smiled tiredly. “She has enough to do.”
* * *