Chapter 24

Thomas Horbac raised the axe high above his head. With a puff of white vapor in the thin, cold air, the axe fell and the log split.

Though the thick yellow tangles of his beard were still less than two winters in length, the young pack-llama keeper was as hearty as any of the mountain men. He loved chopping firewood, relished the power he wielded behind the handle of his axe - it was a good axe, its broad blade taken from the shoulder of a large grizzly bear, hardened and sharpened in the same manner as knives. As he lifted the split halves back onto the stay and raised the axe again to quarter them, he wished he could add the splitting of wood to his everyday routine. But the work of a llama keeper on the main artery to the Cloud City was ever demanding, and even a man so hearty as himself felt the strain of his added chore. Besides, the felling of trees in the Hai Mahlner was illegal, so sparsely and slowly did they grow; firewood came to the village by carts from the mills around the Hai Lei capitol, chopped and ready to burn.

But for the past two days, the Hai Lei mills had been preoccupied. The carts bore up the mountainside great round slices of wood - still saplings by forest standards, but larger around than even the oldest withered trees in the highlands - so all the village men went for their axes, and their evenings were spent about the wood, with only a mug of hot ale as a reward. Thomas knew something of the forest mills, having seen one before: they were many in number and frighteningly efficient, supplying all of the Northern Hai Mahlner villages with lumber, in addition to their own. If the forest timberjacks were set loose upon the Mahlners but for a single day, the entire mountain range would be left bereft of trees; yet the same men could double or triple their efforts in the Khokuri where the trees grew swiftly, and still struggle to leave a mark upon the vast expanse of tangled woodlands. The mills were in constant motion, with a seemingly endless demand and an even more endless supply. Boards, beams, planks, and other lumber rolled out other Hai Lei in fagots and cords, in all directions; to the mountains, to the grasslands, to the marshes, and to the arctic stretches in the far North. Almost every piece of wood built with or burned anywhere on the Northern continent came out of the Khokuri Forest, and out of the Hai Lei mills, so when those same mills became too busy to export more than rough cut logs, it was indeed an event worthy of notice.

"They're building walls," the cart driver had said when he arrived with his load of logs in the village. "Walls 'round every city."

"Walls?" the village men had asked. Of course each of them had already heard the rumors: something was not right in the Hai Lei. "Around every city, you say?"

"That's right. Big ones, too. Thick enough to walk atop, and high enough you couldn't throw me over."

"Why ever would they need walls?" the men had asked. They relished the role they played.

Warming to his as well, the driver answered: "Well, I hear talk of some kind of invasion."

"No!"

"Yes. Big battles, big armies. Fightin' seems to have died down, but they're building walls all the same."

"They think there's more to come?"

"None could right tell me. Most people I saw seemed happy enough, but they sure are building in a hurry. And all the farmers and villagers have been ordered into the cities."

"No!"

"Yes. Seems they're getting ready for a war down there. But like I said, no one could tell me when any attack was going to come. And the Consul Hai's soon to be involved as well, so there's no tellings what's to happen next."

One man with an unkeen eye on the stack of uncut firewood had asked, "So we're to cut our own wood now until they're done with their walls, is that it?"

"That's what they said." A groan rippled round the village square, but the driver had continued: "But they also said in four more days, they'll be finished, and resume their normal operations. At least in Jion, where I was at, see?"

"Four days to wall a city?" the men had scoffed. "It can't be done."

"I said the like when I heard," the driver had answered. "But they had already finished the South-facing wall while I was still there loading up, see? And apparently they're working even faster at the capitol."

"As long as it gets us our firewood back quick," was the men's answer. And the discussion had ended.

Thomas, for his part, believed the Hai Lei builders could do what they claimed. As the mountain mines turned out gold and silver and gemstones, the forest turned out wood - that was what they did: with an endless resource and over four hundred years of practice, the forest men had become the finest and the fastest carpenters and woodsmiths on the Northern continent, even the entire world. A white cloud puffed in front of his face again as he brought the axe down on another unsplit log. His pale eyes glanced from beneath shaggy yellow locks at the two woodpiles, cut and uncut; another hour of work at least. His tight muscles had only begun to warm beneath heavy skins and furs, and his axe continued to swing with ease. The packing and corralling of endless llamas ended with the coming of twilight, and his chore would last through dusk and into the night; a lifetime in the mountains had softened the bite of bitter cold, and he continued his work with little more than a wind-whipped redness in his cheeks.

In the deepening darkness, a long shaft of warm light splashed the young man as a door opened behind his back. Thomas turned at the drifting sounds from inside the tavern to see the silhouette of a short plump woman.

"Tom!" called Wana, her cheerful voice battling the sharp wind.

"Yeah mom?" he answered, the axe handle slung back over his shoulder.

"How much longer?"

"Hour?" he shrugged.

"Fire's getting low in here. Can you bring some wood in?" Wana shivered against the cold outdoors - she was dressed for the balmy, bawdy tavern floor.

"Can't you get it?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to. Because you're going to get it for me right now."

"Right, right," Thomas sighed. He sank the axe blade into the broad side of an uncut log, turned to lift and armful of dry, frozen wood - the last of his labors from the day before.

The air in the tavern was raucous and rowdy, and heavy with the fruity flavor of hot ale. Candles shone from wagon-wheel chandeliers above and torches flared along the greasy walls. Thick men with thicker beards crowded around tables that wobbled and creaked with age, laughing at crude jokes, smoking long pipes, and drinking from tall wooden mugs. There were women among the crowd as well, too slender to be wives, too old to be daughters; Wana tolerated their presence mostly because they helped her serve drinks to the rough, jostling patronage during the busier parts of the night. In the back corner, a table was broken and the slumped figure of what had been a man lay beneath in a drunken stupor, a spilled mug still clutched in his furry hand. If a night passed in which Thomas could return from the corrals and find no tables in need of repair, he considered it for himself a minor holiday.

A boisterous cheer rose up as Thomas entered the room bearing his armful of fire fuel, and more than one mug was raised in his general direction. The first fireplace was in easy reach, and he laid half his burden on the stone hearth. Spluttering for a moment, the wood hissed and steamed, the embers glared bright orange, then a thick gray smoke rose up through the chimney hole as the fire roared back to life. He then turned and pushed his way across the room toward the fireplace on the far side.

"Hey, boy," said a stout man whose beard dripped with ale. "You need help with your wood? Finished mine half an hour ago." And he laughed.

"Must be tiring work with them scrawny arms, boy," said another man, joining in. "Finished mine a whole hour ago." It was a favorite joke among the mountain men to flay those old enough to sport a beard but not yet old enough to comb it. "How 'bout you, Burt?"

"Ahh, I just got done," the man said. Then to silence the jeers, he continued, "but I was getting a start on tomorra." And they all laughed.

"Alright, guys," said Thomas, pushing through. "You're all done way ahead of me, but none of you are cutting wood for a whole tavern full of drunks who stay up 'til all hours."

"Drunks?" they said. "Who's drunks?"

"The three of you," laughed Thomas. "To start with."

Then a woman came and brushed against him. "Looks like you're working really hard there," she said, licking her lips.

"Yeah, yeah it's hard work."

"I hope you're not going to work too late," she said, running a hand along his bicep.

"No later than I have to," he answered, smiling.

"Good, cause you know you need to come and keep me company when you're finished."

"Mari," he laughed, "you know I can't afford your kind of company."

"Well, you can't blame a girl for trying," she pouted.

"Why do you keep asking, then? You know I haven't struck gold since yesterday." But he felt a twinge of pain as he said it.

"Sometimes a girl needs more than gold to keep her happy." She smiled, winked, and whirled away.

Thomas reached the far side of the room and dropped the last of the wood, sending the smoke ever thicker into the room - the chimney hole on the street-facing side of the old tavern had never been well ventilated. He turned to look at his mother across the mob of farmers and traders: a poor tavern matron, growing older in years and wider in girth; she hid her sorrow well behind a mask of cheerfulness. But he knew it still gnawed at her just as it did him. It was more than ten years since his father left to try his hand in the Kadaras gold mines - the man had not returned, and had taken up with a girl young enough to be Thomas' sister. His memories of the man were old and faded, already having spent more than half his life with only a mother, but the memories he still held were pleasant, if not happy. He knew the village men who chided him tried, in their own way, to make him feel more wanted. But life was busy, a neverending cycle of activity, and little time was left to reminisce about what might have been.

A new cheer rose up as fresh, hot ale filled the mugs, and a song began:

Drink up, drink down, 'til the rum's all gone
Let's overflow, 'til the rum's all gone
Line up, sit down, 'til the rum's all gone
Look out below, 'cause the rum's all gone

Hey! Come right in, 'til the rum's all gone
Long time to go, 'til the rum's all gone
Let the night begin, 'til the rum's all gone
Now down the flow, and the rum's all gone

Now drink it up! Drink it good!
And another round for all, 'til we hear the morning call
Up the line, down the line
Fill the mug and tip the cup
Splashes, splashes, apples and rot
Right again, down the line, give us all you've got

And a 'Hey! Hey! Hey!'
And a 'Lay! Lay! Lay!'
And a 'Ho! Ho! Ho!'
And another round to go!

So...

Drink up, drink down, 'til the rum's all gone
Let's overflow, 'til the rum's all gone
Line up, sit down, 'til the rum's all gone
Look out below, 'cause the rum's all gone

Come right in, 'til the rum's all gone
Long time to go, 'til the rum's all gone
Let the night begin, 'til the rum's all gone
And down we go, and the rum's all gone

The rum's
All
Gone!

The song was an old favorite of the patrons, and they could not have cared less that they sang about rum while they filled their mugs with hot ale. Indeed, half of the words were forgotten or lost in the slurring, and a tune could hardly be imagined among the gruff voices. Several of the women turned circles with the men while the singing lasted; one man who climbed up on a table to clap and stamp the beat lost his balance and fell backward into the crowd, sending more than one mug flying. Even Thomas, empty handed at last, spun for a moment with Mari and another woman, arm in arm as he made his way back to his night-time chore. A mug was thrust upon him by an unseen hand, and the hot flavor of apples and pears burned in his throat as he tipped it to the ceiling. Then, with the taste still on his lips and the brew dripping from his beard, he felt Mari's lips press against his for a moment, until he was at last able to push away and eject himself from the mob.

In fact, Thomas saw only two faces in tavern who did not fit with the merriment. Travelers they were, by the look of their dress and their clean shaved faces. But they were on a journey, not a holiday or a visit. They had not the calm, happy air of the forest peoples, but rather the quiet, shrewd nature of the grassland folk. Their faces were stern and their eyes were cold. It was as if they had some appointed task which kept their attention, but they were sullen and withdrawn, as though their task had not been presently within the room; they simply sat and bided away the night. Yet even with no hint of malice or aggression, Thomas did not favor them - he would have spent one guess to mark the pair as agents of the Hai Krun on some errand.

The Hai Mahlner and the Hai Krun had long been uneasy allies, even dating back before the great war. Neither bringing an outright attack on the other, their armies had only made passing swipes at one another, each choosing instead to spar with the Hai Lei or the Hai Rengiln. Once the peace began, they had remained heavy trading partners, exchanging corn and wheat for gold and silver and works of stone. What all the silver paid for, Thomas could only guess, but there were rumors of slaving ships that landed in Hai Krun ports. In his years, the young man had met many travelers from the Hai Krun, but they had all been messengers or soldiers or agents; commoners of the grasslands were kept under a heavy yolk, and seldom allowed to venture beyond their own borders. In any case, the only thoughts he had of an errand called upon the two sitting in the tavern were very sinister, especially considering the news of late.

If the Hai Lei was walling up its cities in defense, who better to name as the enemy than its own bitter rival, the Hai Krun? Thomas did not normally involve himself in the politics of the ruling houses - he preferred working to wondering and worrying - but something inside himself sparked when he saw the lives of commoners affected. He tried to imagine his feelings should the lord Dethendor order his village to empty and seek shelter within the walls of the city Umbin-dir, but found he could not. Though he had traveled in his short span of years, from the forest mills to the mountain capitol to the great city in the clouds, the small village clinging to the rocks had always been his home, and always would be. He wondered what the masses of lowland farmers and traders must be thinking as they shuffled their families off toward the nearest city.

The lord Iosoan Lei had passed the village on his way up the mountain the previous morning: that lent some weight to the talk of invasions and battles. Was the time of peace truly at an end? If Iosoan was to make a formal complaint to the Consul Hai, then the lord Darrak Krun would have to appear before them as well. Perhaps the two agents had a purpose no more dark than preparing the way for their lord, soon to follow, but Thomas was not convinced. He made a note to himself to keep a sharp eye, should anything more unusual happen. Of what he might do if he did notice something, he had only the most vague idea, and he was not even sure to recognize the thing for what it was should he see it. But then, open eyes and shut mouths often discover the most secret of secrets.