Ah, yes. The quiet town.
But he would get to that in a minute.
“So, having a bicycle makes their lives better.” He considered the contraptions thoughtfully.
“Yes, and they’re also fun to ride once you get the hang of it. The children love them.” She frowned at the ice-packed dirt road that led into town. “Although they’re not so easy to ride in winter, and the whole of Ys would need to have a far better system of roadways for them to be viable for long-distance travel. Still, bit by bit, we’re working on making the roads around the town better.”
“I see.” She clearly didn’t realize how much she gave away about herself when she talked about a subject she felt so passionate about.
“Perhaps you might like to take a bicycle back to Braugne with you.”
“Perhaps so.” Reluctant to destroy the fragile rapport they had established, he didn’t tell her he had no intention of returning to Braugne anytime soon.
Instead, he turned to Lionel and ordered, “Major, set a watch on the dock and notify me immediately if there’s any movement from the abbey. Jermaine and Gordon, you stay with me and the priestess. The rest of you, return to camp.”
“Yes, Commander,” Lionel said.
As he set a pair of soldiers on watch, Wulfgar turned back to catch the priestess studying him. The icy wind had whipped her cheeks into a pleasing rosy color.
She told him, “If you might trust what I tell you, it would save your men a lot of effort in this cold. Nobody on that island is going anywhere while you’re here.”
“You may be right.” He studied the island with a narrowed gaze. “Or they may change their minds. And my men are not here to be spared any effort.”
At that her expression turned sour, but she shrugged.
Perhaps she didn’t want to destroy the fragile rapport either. Or perhaps it was no matter to her.
Either way, he didn’t think she had meant anything underhanded by her suggestion. It was probably just as she had said. The people sheltering on the island wouldn’t need to come to the mainland for supplies.
From the accounts he had read, the long-dead architects of the abbey had made good use of every inch of land. They would have vegetable gardens, fruit trees, fields of grain, and plentiful water. No doubt farm animals too, at the very least chickens and goats, and probably sheep as well.
The island would be well fortified, and there were only two gateways that offered an entrance through the fortress walls. The first was the public dock they had just left, which was wide enough for three or four barges to dock but too narrow to allow for all of them to unload at once.
In one text he had examined, the writer described a second dock that faced seaward. Smaller and more private, it mirrored the public dock in almost every detail, with a narrow ledge made even more slippery and treacherous by waves from the open sea and a stairway that cut into the cliff that was barred by a heavy, iron-bound door.
A battering ram was useless in those conditions, and even if either of those doors were breached, it would only take a few fighters to defend the stairways. They could hold off an invasion indefinitely while an attacking force would have to contend with the confined space, the narrow ledge, and the sea itself, along with whatever those manning the walls saw fit to throw down on them.
He and his men could climb those cliffs and scale the walls. Braugne was a difficult, mountainous country, and most soldiers were taught how to climb before they reached manhood.
But that kind of climb would be too hard and slow to gain any real purchase in battle. It would involve hammers, pitons, and rope. The abbey had a few blind spots on the towers that faced seaward, but he wouldn’t be able to get enough of his men up the walls before they were pelted with rocks from above, or worse, boiling water or oil. Inevitably, they would be swept into the sea.
Meanwhile, the abbey could survive for years under siege, definitely for far longer than all but the most stubborn of armies.
If they were under siege, they wouldn’t have access to the outside world, either to their precious crossover passageways or to the rest of Ys, and sooner or later, that isolation would chafe. But still, the only thing they were truly vulnerable to was treachery.
And the only way they could be taken was from within.
~ 3 ~
He turned toward Calles. It was time to survey the silent town.
“Come,” he said.
The priestess joined him, and Jermaine and Gordon fell into step behind them.
As they walked the short distance to town, she pulled her hood up, but she didn’t complain about his insistence on exploring the town in inclement weather. He found himself liking her just a little bit.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he matched his longer stride to hers. “What is your name?”
“Lily.”
“Do you have a title? In Braugne we call Camaeline priestesses my lady.”
“That has always sounded so fancy to me. I was a foundling, so I’m not used to it. Please just call me Lily.”
He could hear the smile in her voice, and briefly, he wanted to lift her hood away so he could see that spectacular something in her expression again.
Frowning at the unwelcome impulse, he said, “You didn’t have to agree to this. You could have gone back to a cozy abbey fire. Your prime minister certainly wanted you to.”
Ruefully, she replied, “Margot is very protective.”
“Yet, when I brought up the subject of taking a liaison, I don’t think she had an objection to giving me a priestess. She just didn’t want it to be you.” He let her mull that over for a moment as he watched her closely, intensely interested in how she would respond next.
Then she sighed heavily enough he could hear it despite the wind. “She and I have known each other for most of our lives. She tormented me when we were small, but now that we’ve grown past all that, she seems to want to make up for it by keeping me wrapped in wool and tucked away in a drawer.”
He almost smiled. It was a good deflection. She was careful about what she said, confessing to a small truth without giving away too much.
He said, “You became friends.”
She laughed. “It still sounds funny to admit, but yes, much to my surprise, we’ve become friends.”
“I like your laugh.” While his tone was brusque, he spoke the truth. Her laugh sounded warm and infectious. If she were a courtesan, he might have purchased a night with her based on her laugh alone.
When she peeked around the edge of her hood at him, the wary expression was back in her eyes. “Thank you.”
They had reached the town’s main street, and as they walked he studied the closed shops and dark houses. In a few of the shops’ windows, he saw luxury items.
Chocolates and scented soaps and gourmet packaged foods from Earth. In one shop window, jars of caviars were stacked in a pyramid between bunches of roses that had been cleverly fashioned out of crimson velvet.
When he saw jars of caviar, he remembered the single taste he’d had once, spooned onto a flat salt bread called a cracker, and his mouth watered.
Much of Earth’s technologies didn’t work in what they called Other lands, like Ys, where magic took prominence. Most weapons, combustible engines, and the like were useless, if not outright dangerous, but from what he had experienced, there wasn’t a single thing wrong with the food.
After walking a few blocks, he said, “Most of the town’s population is on the island, I take it.”
“Yes, Commander.” She turned businesslike. “The town council urged everyone to evacuate, but a few refused.”
“Who remains?”
“There are two brothels who anticipate earning some of your men’s money, along with a couple of inns that remain open to any travelers who may desire a warm bed under a roof as a change from the hardship of a winter camp.” She paused, then said evenly, “The rest of us are simply hoping you don’t abuse the women, loot or ransack the businesses, or requisiti
on everyone’s homes without their permission.”
He stopped walking, abruptly angry with the townsfolk cowering on the island, angry with their blasted Chosen who had decided to play this roundabout game instead of meeting with him openly, and angry with everything else about the miserable, freezing day.
Hold on to your temper, Wulf, Jermaine said. This isn’t her fault.
Pivoting, he glared at the other man. Then he strode back to the shop that had the jars of caviar in the window, his long legs making short work of the distance. Stripping off his gauntlets, he dug into his pocket for tools and picked the lock on the shop door.
Lily had followed him, her posture stiff with outrage, but she said nothing when he thrust open the door and strode into the shadowy interior.
By the door, Jermaine sighed. “You might as well step inside too, my lady. This might take a few minutes.”
“The shop is not open,” she bit out.
“No,” he agreed. “But there is also no reason to stand outside in this wind until we absolutely must.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped inside, and Jermaine and Gordon followed.
Wulfgar ignored them. There were twenty small jars of caviar along with a couple of different kinds of salt bread. He swept all the jars together and dumped them on the counter.
He preferred the salt bread made in Ys to the kind he had sampled from Earth, and he grabbed several packets to toss them beside the caviar, then selected a couple of bottles of wine. He had always wondered what chocolate might taste like, so he grabbed some packages, and then a strange metal container nearby caught his attention.
Picking it up, he frowned at the graphic and sounded out the strange words written in English. “Ch-ef Bouy…”
Lily snapped, “It’s called Chef Boyardee. The shop stocks it especially for the Chosen, who gets a hankering for it sometimes.”
“Well then. If it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.” He added a can to the pile. “Gordon, Jermaine, is there anything you want from in here?”
“Not at the moment, Commander. Perhaps later.” Gordon spoke politely while Jermaine just looked at him in exasperation.
“Fine.” He said to Gordon, “Tally up the cost, and leave the coin in a jar behind the counter. When you’re done, take everything back to my tent.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Gordon busied himself, Wulf turned to Lily, who stared at him with wide eyes. She had pushed her hood back. The friction caused fine strands of dark hair to float around her head in a delicate nimbus.
“No matter how long I remain camped in Calles, that coin will remain untouched behind the counter.” With an effort, he kept his voice quiet and even, but his anger still burned through. “The shopkeeper may choose to remain on the island, but presumably he or she would still like to earn a living. If any of my troops want to buy anything, they will add their coin to mine. There will be no looting. Under my command, the punishment for rape is death. Since embarking on this campaign, I haven’t had to carry out that sentence once.”
“I see,” she said, her voice quiet.
“While we are at it, I also did not assassinate the lord of Braugne. That act was committed by someone else.” His gaze burned with a steady, banked rage. “He was not only my half brother, he was my closest friend, and I will avenge his death if it takes me the rest of my life.”
As he had spoken, pink color had washed over her cheeks. Clearly floundering, she opened her mouth and closed it again. When she finally spoke, her voice was subdued. “We have heard tales of other things.”
“I’m all too aware of the stories being told,” he said between his teeth. “I’ve also seen the bodies left butchered in homesteads, and the burned fields. None of those atrocities have been committed by me or my men.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Her reply was even softer than before.
This time he refused to let remorse get a foothold. “Now, if that will be all, I’ve got other things to attend to.” He looked at Gordon. “Take her back to camp with you.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Lily decided she wasn’t going to get offended at being taken back to camp along with the commander’s purchases as if she were another of his possessions. She’d already caused enough trouble for one afternoon.
Retreating into the shelter of her hood, she walked to the encampment beside Gordon. He was taciturn, and she made no attempt to break the silence.
Every passionate word the Wolf had spoken had rung with truth. He shouldn’t have broken into the shop of course, but she suspected he had done it in part because he had lost his temper. When he had left her, he and Jermaine had headed toward the closest inn where golden light gleamed in the windows, shining brightly in the frigid, sullen day.
She chewed her lip. What were they doing, and why had he sent her ahead to the camp instead of keeping her with him?
Maybe they were securing rooms for the night. Maybe they were hiring women, and her presence would have been, well, cumbersome.
At that thought, she pulled a face. All in all, it was best she hadn’t joined them. The gods only knew, every time she opened her mouth, she threatened to let out something she shouldn’t. The less opportunity she had for creating more headaches for everyone, the better.
Cook fires dotted the landscape of tents that covered the valley up to the edge of the forest. It was a sobering sight. There must be thousands of troops. She didn’t see any cattle, which puzzled her at first, but when she heard a whinny from the direction of the trees, she realized they were using the forest for the shelter it offered their animals from the wind.
Among the orderly rows, the commander’s tent was unmistakable, larger than the others with two guards at the flaps. She swiftly scanned the encampment but could find no hint of the weather magic which had died down a while ago.
Once at the commander’s tent, Gordon lifted a flap and gestured for her to precede him. Uncomfortable and fascinated at once, she stepped through the opening to discover a pleasant surprise.
The interior was filled with light and warmth. Thick rugs covered the ground, and woolen hangings around the tent walls provided relief from the winter chill. Braziers warmed the interior and provided the light.
To one side a sitting area was made up of chairs constructed of leather stretched on wooden frames. A large table of planks set on wooden blocks dominated the other side. There were papers strewn over the top, along with maps.
Aside from the colors woven into the patterned rugs and hangings, it was all very plain, but overall the interior was much more comfortable than she had expected and much less intimate than she had feared. A woolen hanging separated the tent into two spaces. It had been tied back, and just visible on the other side was the edge of a neatly made bed.
Inside, she quickly grew overheated and removed her cloak. Gordon unloaded the bag of purchases and stacked everything neatly at one end of the table. She hovered nearby.
The maps and the papers beckoned her. She wanted to rifle through them, but Gordon positioned himself near the tent opening where he watched her steadily with an impassive expression.
His psyche was another matter. When she gave Gordon a polite smile, the shadowy figure over his head glared at her with unmistakable enmity.
There was just no making friends with some people. She had learned a long time ago to mask her reactions to the psyches around her… mostly.
She asked, “Might the commander have something I could look at while I wait?”
After a moment, the soldier nodded to a pile of books that were stacked on a wooden stump by one of the chairs in the sitting area. Wandering over, she picked up the books.
One was a history of Camaeline Abbey. Another was a set of biographies following the lineage of the Chosens. The Wolf of Braugne had done his homework before arriving.
Flipping through the biographies, she saw the last penned entry was about Raella Fleurise and made no mention of the new Cho
sen. She wasn’t surprised. The date at the beginning of the book meant it had been created before Raella’s death in the spring.
Unexpected tears pricked Lily’s eyes. Raella had been elderly, and she had died peacefully of natural causes, her husband and family by her side. One couldn’t ask for a better ending, but in many ways, she had been the mother Lily’d never had, and she thought she would feel Raella’s absence for the rest of her life.
Closing the book, she set it back on the stack with the others. Then, selecting a chair at random, she settled and prepared to wait for the commander to finish his business in town.
He wasn’t gone long.
She had untied the fastenings of her quilted jacket and drifted into a doze when voices sounded outside the tent. As she jerked awake, the flap lifted, bringing a blast of cold air along with the Wolf. Jermaine followed at his heels.
Instantly, the interior of the spacious tent felt much smaller—too small, in fact, and far more intimate than it had a few moments ago. As Lily stirred, Wulfgar’s sharp eyes took in everything at a single glance, her position near one of the braziers, Gordon’s stolid presence, the neat stack of store-bought goods.
As his attention lingered on the maps and papers at the other end of the table, the devil took hold of Lily’s mouth.
“Curiosity is a sin,” she said, keeping her tone pious. “Of course I wanted to read all of it.”
His dark gaze snapped back to her, and he laughed. She wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by it.
Smiling, Jermaine collected the papers and rolled up the maps. Wulfgar unbuckled his sword belt and laid the sword on the table. As Gordon took his cloak, breastplate, and gauntlets, he ordered, “Bring us some mulled wine.”
“Yes, sir.” Bowing his head, Gordon stepped out, followed by Jermaine.