Chapter 10

“Shavala? Wake up, Shavala.”

The voice slowly nudged her out of the darkness. She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight up at the sky. Her vision had returned to normal, no longer tinged with red. Zhailai’s face hovered above hers.

The little dragon stuck its head between them and licked Shavala’s cheek. Zhailai’s gentle concern came through the tree bond, as did a sharper spike of anxiety from another source.

“What happened?” Zhailai said. “Are you all right? I was collecting mushrooms when the dragon came to find me. It’s worried about you.”

“I think I did something I shouldn’t have.” Shavala tried to push herself up but got distracted at the sensation of the wind blowing against her wings, causing them to billow out. No, not her wings. There was too much information in her brain. She could feel herself lying down and standing on all fours at the same time.

“What do you mean?” Zhailai asked, helping her to sit up.

“I—” Shavala was suddenly looking up at herself from the dragon’s height. Her vision started to go red again and she had to close her eyes. How could she speak when she wasn’t even certain which thoughts were hers?

Like this, the staff said, helping her to buffer the bond, showing her how to hold it at arm’s length. The feelings eased until they felt more akin to the normal tree bond. The staff explored the new connection in delight, examining the dragon in ways Shavala couldn’t follow.

“Shavala?” Zhailai prompted again.

“I’m sorry,” Shavala said. “It’s getting better now. How did you know he was worried?”

“He?” Zhailai asked. “How did I know? I...” Her eyes widened. “I felt it through the tree bond. What did you do?”

The spell had been successful. Not in quite the way Shavala had anticipated, but she’d be able to communicate with the dragon now—within the limitations of the tree bond.

If she wanted to go beyond that, giving up the protections the staff had taught her to separate her mind from the dragon’s...

She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun shining down between the saplings.

The tree bond would have to be enough.

Treya let go of the little girl’s forehead as the fever faded. “There, you’re all better now,” she said. Turning to the child’s mother, she added, “The coughing should go away by tomorrow, but if it doesn’t, use some of the tea Sister Merill gave you.”

As the two left the room, Mother Yewen appeared in the doorway. “How do you like our new house of healing?” the old woman asked, gesturing around. “We’ll have to reinforce it before winter comes again, of course, but it’ll do for now.”

“You’re keeping it, then?” Treya asked. They were in the refugee shelter which had been built in the chapter house’s courtyard. The building was an eyesore, and she’d expected Yewen to have it removed as soon as it was no longer needed.

“Now that the refugees are gone, it provides a place for the herbalists and chirurgeons to gather—the ones who aren’t affiliated with any of the temples. And, perhaps, traveling healers, such as one of our own wayward daughters.” The woman gave her a pointed look.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come here very often,” Treya said. Leena had been willing so far, but the Sanvari woman couldn’t keep up her current pace forever, and even after the road was cleared, it would take Treya nearly a week to reach Four Roads on horseback.

“Are things really so busy at that fortress of yours?”

“You knew what would happen now that the dragon is dead, didn’t you?” Treya asked.

“I suspected, but why don’t you tell me about it? I delivered Corec’s proclamation to the council, of course, but beyond that, all I’ve heard is what you mentioned in your letter, and a few bits and pieces from Leena and young Nedley.”

“How did people take the proclamation?” Treya asked.

“There were complaints, but not as many as I suspected. It helped that he limited his claim to the dragon’s territory, but it’s still a great deal of land. Some of our citizens are muttering that it should be free for anyone, as it was before.”

“There were too many people asking for our protection,” Treya said. “We can’t afford to watch over them all unless we tax them, and we needed enough land for anyone who comes.”

“I see,” Yewen said. “That was not adequately explained in the proclamation. Who wrote it?”

“Ellerie or Bobo, I think.”

“Not you? You’ve been through enough of the concubine training to contribute, and communication has always been the Orders’ highest priority.”

Her tone suggested the words were more than just a suggestion.

“I’ll try,” Treya said. “I’ll do better.” She’d offered to help Corec with correspondence, but she hadn’t fully considered what that would entail. Perhaps she’d spent too much time looking down on the role of the concubines.

Yewen nodded. “Let’s see,” she said. “What can we add to the initial announcement? A tax will be assessed to better protect those who settle in the region. The funds will be used to ... what? Maintain the roads and raise an army?”

“I think so.” Treya hadn’t paid close attention to the details. Ellerie had gradually taken over the money side of things.

“You should know. Half the concubines in town are trying to figure out how to reach Corec on behalf of their patrons. I have a letter from a granary owner suggesting he’ll set a discounted price for the next year in exchange for regular orders, and another looking to purchase. I assume that one’s planning for the future, and not for this season. There’s a horse-breeder asking whether Corec would be interested in a line of warhorses, though I can’t imagine where the fellow got those from. It’s not just men with concubines, either. Farmers are saying their workers are heading south, leaving them without enough hands to get the spring planting done, and two men have written to complain that you’re buying all the mules and driving up prices, and would you kindly stop.”

“If you give me the letters, I’ll take care of them,” Treya said. She could still do that much, even if she hadn’t figured out the rest of it yet.

“He needs a real concubine,” Mother Yewen said. “A concubine must be able to speak with her patron’s voice, and a man will always be closer to a woman who shares his bed than to a hireling. If you’re not going to do it yourself, then convince him to come for a Presentation ceremony. Here, or South Corner, or Tyrsall. Somewhere!”

“I’ll talk to him,” Treya said. Though about what, she wasn’t sure.

Yewen gave her a skeptical look, but just said, “Good. Now, tell me what’s actually happening down south.”

Treya sighed. “It’s hard to keep up with everything that’s going on. We’ve got close to four hundred people already and more show up every day. Most of them are at Hilltop, but we’ve convinced some to spread out to the two nearest villages to the east. The farmers don’t mind being farther away, but they don’t want to wait for us to survey the area. They all want to pick out their own land now, so we’ve just got to point them to the right spot and hope it works out. Corec’s letting them claim what they think they can clear and plant in the first two years, and then we’ll have to make up any differences at tax time.”

“Do you need anything from Four Roads?” Yewen asked.

“I’m supposed to ask Nedley to hire more carpenters and builders, but I also brought a request for you from Katrin and Nallee.” Treya handed over the message. “I agree with them.”

Yewen opened the letter and read through it. “Interesting.”

“There, boy, see?” Gren said. The white-bearded trapper gestured to the fortress on the far side of the bridge. “It’s right where I told you it was.”

“I never said it wouldn’t be, Grampa,” Ferd replied.

Razai had run into the pair on her journey south from Four Roads. She’d passed a dozen wagons along the way, traveling either in small groups or on their own, but Gren and his grandson were on horses and able to keep up with her. They could also handle themselves around a campfire, so she hadn’t objected to their company.

From a distance, the fortress looked much as she remembered, other than the collapsed section of wall to the left of the gatehouse. The village seemed different, but it took her a moment to realize why—the wooden buildings in the northeast part of town were gone now, including the administrative offices the Matagorans had once used for coordinating trade between the locals and the trading houses. New structures had begun to take shape in their place.

“Don’t sass me, boy,” Gren said. “There’s good hunting around here—or there was, back in the day. Always an adventure, dodging the soldiers. They didn’t like me trapping near the keep, but they never caught me!”

“Mmmhmm,” his grandson said.

“Besides, this place has history. It’s the last remnant of Meftil from before she fell to the plague. The capital was down south, but they burnt it to the ground to kill the last of the sickness.”

“Yesterday you said the Matagorans built the keep.”

“I ... I ... that’s not the point, is it? Meftil may have fallen, but something still stands in its place. Doesn’t matter who built it or when. You have no appreciation for the past. We’re from here, you know. Meftil, I mean.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Razai interrupted before Gren could launch into another diatribe. “Are we crossing,” she said, “or did you come all this way just to talk about it?”

The trapper grunted. “You’re not much better than he is, young miss. Don’t know that I trust that bridge, though. Came down here, oh, about twenty years ago and there was a big hole in it. How’d they fix it already?”

The bridge did look odd, with one section of stonework appearing markedly different than the rest.

“You came down when the dragon was living here?” she asked.

“It didn’t catch me, no more than those Matagorans ever did. I didn’t stay long, though—some things ain’t worth the risk.” Gren might talk too much, but he wasn’t stupid. He reminded Razai of Renny, as strange as that comparison was.

“The bridge must be fine,” Ferd said. “People have been coming south for weeks. How else would they be crossing the river?” He clucked his tongue and his horse stepped out onto the bridge.

Razai followed him and Gren brought up the rear, muttering under his breath the whole time.

On the other side of the bridge, the road split, with one branch heading west and another to the south, and a smaller path leading up the hill.

The two men stopped at the crossroads, Gren eyeing the work going on in the village.

“Well, now, that’s a bit busier than I expected,” he said. “We’ll just go along on our way. I’ve heard this new feller has soldiers too—wouldn’t want them finding out about me already. It’s more fun if I make them work for it.”

“Good luck,” Razai told him. “Want some advice? If you see a wood elf, run the other way. They don’t like trap hunting.” Shavala didn’t, at least, and she’d be somewhere around if she’d ever returned from her trip home.

Gren cocked his head to the side. “Why would an elf be all the way out here?”

“You never know. The forest isn’t that far away.”

“The Matagorans didn’t catch me, and neither did the dragon,” the old trapper said with a grin. “No elf ever will.” He glanced down each branch of the road. “South, I think, for now. Let’s see what we can find.” He winked and waved, then headed down the Farm Road. Ferd shook his head and followed, giving the village one last, longing glance.

Razai took the path up the hill, careful to keep her horse and mule away from all the activity. She had to stop and wait as four men dragged a trimmed log over to one of the new buildings under construction.

When she drew closer the fortress, she found that someone had assembled a tall crane and pulley system right next to the broken section of the wall. As she watched, a group of workers began to heft a large stone block back up to where it belonged.

There were two soldiers near the front entrance of the gatehouse. They seemed to be watching the builders rather than actually guarding the place, but she figured she should ask before just going in.

“Where can I find Corec?” she said. “My name is Razai. He’s expecting me.”

One shrugged, but the other said, “He’s in the courtyard. Come with me.”

He led her through the gatehouse tunnel, though there weren’t any actual gates to block the way—the rusted portcullises had been removed and were leaning against the inside wall. They found Corec at the eastern corner of the fortress, examining a jumbled pile of fallen stone near a partly collapsed lookout tower.

“If she wants it, she can have it,” he was saying to a man in dusty work clothes. “The walls are the priority. We can rebuild the tower with wood if we have to.” He saw Razai and gave her a broad smile.

“Excuse me,” he said to the worker, then came over. “Razai, welcome back. Ludlo, could you go find Harri to take care of her animals?”

The soldier nodded and trotted off.

“Harri?” Razai asked. “What happened to Nedley?”

“He went to Four Roads for supplies. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Harri’s our new groom—Ned’s a soldier now.”

Weeks? Razai had planned to get her pay and head straight out, but she couldn’t ask someone else to relay her message to Nedley. Telling a man his brother was controlled by demon magic was the sort of thing that should be done in person. But she supposed two weeks of rest wouldn’t hurt. She’d been on the road for a long time.

“Is there some place I can stay?” she asked. “I have a message for him from his brother.”

“Oh, you found him? Ned’ll be glad to hear that. We set aside a room for you in the keep in case you wanted to stick around.”

Razai grunted. “Just until Nedley’s back, then I’ll be on my way.”

Corec nodded. “Leena told me about what you’d found in Larso. I didn’t realize you were going to talk to Rusol yourself.”

“The opportunity came up so I took it.”

“She said you offered him a truce?”

“Something wrong with that? You’re the one who’s always making excuses not to kill people.”

“No, no, it was a good idea. But Leena said he didn’t take you up on it?”

“Not yet. I thought he might, but then he realized you’d bonded me and he figured I’d come to kill him. I had to dodge his guards on the way out.”

“What?” Corec said. “Bloody hell, Razai! Why didn’t you tell us about that before?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” she snapped. At the time she’d spoken to Leena, she’d still been trying to figure out a way to avoid mentioning the incident at all. Where was she supposed to draw the line? Corec was paying her to gather information, but Rusol was her own blood. And then there was Vatarxis, watching over them all.

Corec visibly calmed himself. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. It’s not good news, but he didn’t like me anyway. I don’t suppose this will make it much worse. Hopefully he’s realized you weren’t trying to kill him.” He gave her a suspicious look. “You didn’t try to kill him, did you?”

“Of course not—you didn’t pay me enough for that. Did Leena mention the compelled troops? It’s not just the mercenaries; he’s used compulsion magic on others as well. Some of his royal guard, at least.”

Corec nodded, then stopped. “Wait, he’s the demonborn?”

Razai glared. “You have a problem with that?” she asked. She had no idea how she was going to keep Corec and Rusol from going to war with each other, but she had to try.

“I have a problem with him,” Corec said. “The men he was controlling murdered the people of Jol’s Brook. Ask Nedley how he feels about it the next time you see him.” His voice was firm.

Razai looked away. She didn’t have an argument for that, and she couldn’t think of any way to change the path her nephew was on. If Rusol had just listened to her, she could have convinced him to use his powers in more subtle ways and not do anything to attract any attention. As both warden and king, he could have done a lot of good for their people. But he hadn’t given her a chance.

“Yes, he’s demonborn,” she admitted, “but passing as human. I don’t know for sure if he’s the one casting the compulsion spells, but how many other demonborn mages can there be in Larso? Both groups avoid the place.”

“A bastard half-sibling, maybe?” Corec said. Then he shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter—it’s either him or one of his bondmates. Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”

“Give him a couple of the other wardens and he’ll be more likely to accept a truce.”

“I wouldn’t do that even if I could. Did he say why he dislikes the wardens so much?”

“Not to me. He doesn’t even seem to know who any of them are. He was surprised by your name—Corec. That it sounded Larsonian.”

Corec went still. “He didn’t already know my name?” he said.

“No.”

“He didn’t know my name when he sent the red-eyes after me, but he does now? You told him?”

“I just said that.”

“Where’s Leena? I’ve got to get to Larso.” Corec rushed off without another word.

Hells of my fathers, Razai thought to herself. Now what?

“How’s this?”

Corec peered around the sun-dappled glade. “Where are we?” he asked. The air smelled familiar.

Leena pointed east. “If you look through those trees, you’ll see the village.”