Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Read online

  The trip back across the mountains with my small army took three days longer than I had hoped, but it did afford us the opportunity to discuss with the carpenters and mason the grid of plots we had spent the winter planning and drawing. I listened to each man’s concerns, and the grid was altered slightly to widen the road around the well.

  The mason was particularly eager to get a look at the fallen wall he would rebuild and the ground where he would dig the well. He was Leger’s age, of equal fitness, and carried himself far better than the rest of our new craftsmen. His downfall at Almidi, we learned vaguely from the others, had to do with Kuren himself. The mason would not speak of the conflict that had cost him his business, choosing instead to comment on the quality of the stone along the mountain road. “A quarryman’s dream,” he called it. I shared Leger and Sahin’s opinion of the man.

  No storms found us on the road, and everyone managed the trip in good health. Dia and the people of Urnedi were beside themselves with worry at our late return, but all were distracted by the subsequent flurry of new tasks and labors.

  I put my army to work with our new axes and saws north of the keep, clearing trees and marking plots with posts and ropes. A camp sprang up beyond the skeletal town, and the happy mason set to work digging a well with a team he selected from the crowd.

  One day became six as large squares of pine north of Urnedi disappeared. The farmers began planting crops of spinach, cabbage, and beans while the timbermen raised a pair of large barns to cut and dry the pine. They also used a second curious method for drying wood that involved stripping a ring of bark from the bases of living trees—ringing them—so as to leave them to die and dry on their own. The drying process took several years, but for the hardwoods, it was considered the most sensible approach. The overseer of the timber camp led the team himself and ringed hundreds of oak, walnut, and cherry trees in the vast expanse of forest around Urnedi. I suspected he was looking to his own future but I could only approve. Leger and Sahin agreed.

  Well east and downwind of the town, another section of straight pines was cut near the large pond Dia had found, and the swineherds went to work pulling stumps and building fences. The wild pigs were not so easily corralled, but the forest was full of them. Some of the bearded monsters they brought in were terrifying and seemed hardly worth the effort, but I was assured a few dead chickens and the occasional apple would make them as docile as lambs. There was certainly enough wild millet growing around the pond to keep the herd fed until a proper feed crop could be grown. The swineherds’ biggest worry, they claimed, was discouraging the black lynx that prowled the forest from snatching piglets.

  The crafty old fisherman, meanwhile, had a much easier time than most. The stone road that ran west to the river was easy to walk, and he managed somehow to net string upon string of river trout and bass. Pork and fish were going to be on the menu for a long time to come.

  I expected each day for the strain of the work to cause conflicts, but we managed somehow to make it through another dozen in peace. When a heavy rain left everyone in the camp wet and ankle-deep in mud, however, nothing could stop annoyances from becoming disputes. I was not surprised to learn the order of home- and shop-building was the cause. It almost came to blows before the mason managed to settle the dispute in some way. The fisherman was the only man left unhappy by the compromise, but he was surly by nature.

  The event put the confidence of the town in the mason, so on the 28th day of Spring, I named him Urnedi’s mayor. The decision was very well-received, and he became busy the very same day with the minor grievances of the town. He was quick and thorough, and I gave my support to all of his decisions.

  Another thirty days vanished, and when the cut timber began to cure, I saw Dia little, Leger even less, and our lieutenant-in-training not at all. In quick succession, the shops for the blacksmith, mason, and carpenters were framed and roofed, and while others rose, Urnedi began to show the signs of life it needed most.

  The bang of a blacksmith’s hammer and the fall of Leger’s axe woke us every morning, fish and pork sustained us, and Dia kept us civilized. I was sad, though, during that busy spring that the only time I ever got a good hold of her was late in the night when someone would stub his toe on the privy door in the hallway and I would wake enough to gather her up in my arms.

  The only distraction from the work that I was able to maintain was the occasional turn with my rapier atop the keep. But the exercise was frustrating. I could not dedicate anywhere near enough time to find the flaw in my form. The nearest thing I had to a sparring partner was Leger, but his philosophy of sword was not made for dueling. I became convinced that a line of fifty Leger’s would murder a line of fifty Barok’s, but without a man on his left and a man on his right he was largely defenseless against me. The best I could manage was to maintain my skill alone while the spring’s construction hurried along at a pace that rivaled the noise and commotion of Bessradi.

  I was so engaged in the effort to build a town that it was not until Leger and Sahin suggested we form a craftsmen’s consortium and I heard their talk of all the young Enhedu men who hoped to become apprentices that I realized that it was already the 75th of Spring and that my coming of age had come and gone. Leger and Dia must not have known that the 69th was my birthday.

  I decided not to remind them. There would be no academy training for this son of Vall, no grand celebration, nor even a simple letter from any of my kin. I wanted none of it and sent curses over the mountain. I had a well to finish, twenty buildings waiting for roofs, and a dozen industries that needed my time and careful attention.

  The Yentif could rot, and they would all of them pay.

  34

  Matron Dia Esar

  Erom Oklas

  Ten days after Barok’s return from Trace, and still I was amazed how the keep’s stores disappeared. The Dame had hung a slate chalkboard from one of the sconces in the kitchen and had drawn a calendar on it to help us keep track of the days until the early crops of spinach and cabbage would be ready for harvest. It was only the 28th of Spring.

  “Will it be enough?” I asked the Dame as she counted again the barrels and baskets of wild radishes, mushrooms, and asparagus the girls had spent the better part of two days collecting. They were exhausted. It had rained overnight, and the mud had made the work hard and dirty. The only thing more difficult than seeing it all done was keeping my dresses clean.

  “It had better be,” she replied. “We can’t take another day away from cooking, and we’ve already gone through just about every wild patch I know of. What did the farmers say about the early crops? Will the rain help?”

  “Their story hasn’t changed. The spinach will be ready in twenty days, the cabbage no sooner than the 65th. They are tired of my questioning, I think.”

  “We’ll need at least half a pig a day until then for sure.”

  “The swineherds won’t want to give up any more than they are already.”

  Pemini grumbled, “My brothers wouldn’t be so difficult.”

  I grimaced for the girl’s sake and waited for the Dame’s characteristic growl. But the discontent went unchallenged, and the Dame’s silent surrender invited more of the same.

  “Maybe they are better at nursing piglets,” another said.

  “Pig shit,” Pemini spat, missing her friend’s joke entirely. “The prince has never been hungry a day in his life. He doesn’t know the first thing about herding pigs and neither do those Almidi brutes he brought us. It should be my family running that land and corralling those lovely bearded grays.”

  I wanted to say something, but not only was Pemini about to cry, she was also entirely right. We had all felt the same way when Barok returned with a horde of Tracians instead of a handful. There was very little to them you could not find in the north—at least as far as pigs or trees were concerned. And my darling prince, a master of commerce though he might be, was horrible at understanding the men and women who did the work. The Deyalu
had made him blind and deaf to their troubles. And Leger had disappeared into the forest with the timbermen, so he was even less available. He liked chopping wood a bit too much, if you asked me.

  The rest of the girls began to complain all at once, and the Dame looked ready to finally put an end to their protests when one of the men who helped Thell in the stable rushed into the storeroom.

  “You better come quick,” he said frantically and to no one in particular. “The swineherds are trying to walk off with the millet.”

  We all got there to find Thell stomping a slow circle. I had never seen him angry before. He got a look at us and pointed up to the rafter space above the stalls where the sacks of millet, wild oat, and barley were supposed to be. He and his men had spent every waking moment since Barok’s return out along the river and around the swampy pond cutting and thrashing the wild grain.

  “They took it all?” the Dame spat. “What do they expect me to make the bread out of now, handfuls of mud?”

  I was ready to be the voice of peace until I saw that Clever’s trough was empty. The barley was meant for the horses.

  “Follow me,” I growled and marched through the imaginary town toward the Tracian camp. The swineherds had not hurried. I wished I had put on one of Barok’s swords or was at least atop Clever. We were very much outnumbered—again.

  “Thell,” the Dame said. “Go get Gernilqwa and the lads.”

  He trotted off, and we stomped up behind the swineherds. The rest of the camp gathered around us. Everyone was covered in mud and surly. The camp was a truly miserable place.

  “Return those this instant,” the Dame ordered, but the men ignored her. She took hold of one man’s arm.

  “Take your hand off me, woman,” he said darkly as his fellows turned.

  She held fast, and I said, “Those are not yours to take. Put them back.”

  The crowd gave the man confidence, and he scoffed. “Get back to your kitchen and be glad you are not standing on my land.”

  The mason, a well-liked man named Erom Oklas, shoved his way through the crowd. “Your land? You, sir, have none.”

  “This is none of your business, Erom. Keep off.”

  “If you’re stealing food, you better believe it is my business. Do you have the prince’s leave to take it?”

  “We need feed for our hogs.”

  “Those hogs are not yours, either, and there is still plenty of millet to be had out by the pond.”

  “We’re busy catching pigs, or didn’t you notice what you ate last night?”

  “I surely did. Fish with wild mushrooms and asparagus. The best meal I have had all year—food these fine women made for us. Do you think you are the only ones busy around here?”

  “I’ll not be told what to do by women who should be in the kitchen. They serve us.”

  “You stupid ass,” Erom scoffed, “have you even read the pledge you signed? You own nothing yet and are as much a servant to the prince as they are.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your shop is the first that will be built. We have to wait until all these scullions get nice new houses before we’ll see a second of a carpenter’s time.”

  “Is that what this is about? You would honestly risk being sent back to Almidi because you are unhappy our hosts will have homes before you do?”

  “Sent back?”

  “You need to spend more time in the camp, I think. You must know there are hundreds of villagers who could replace you. We are all very lucky Prince Barok gave us the chance to come here. You risk it for us all with your selfishness.”

  The mason’s words had the whole camp grumbling, and the swineherds seemed suddenly very alone. I stepped in next to Erom so everyone would know he had my support. He nodded respectfully while Madam Oklas took his arm.

  The swineherd said, “What would you have us do? We have forty animals to feed.”

  “I would say you had better butcher a few then and get to work pulling the last of the millet instead of corralling more pigs. You might also think about suggesting to the prince that he trade some of his hogs to men in the villages for feed and food for the town. You have already taken too much time from the prince’s projects with this little show, and you could use a few friends right about now.”

  As if on cue, Gern and his men issued from the keep. They crossed the town at a trot.

  “What’s the trouble?” our lieutenant said. His men looked ready for a fight.

  “No trouble,” Erom said. “We were just discussing what to do with all the extra pigs our fellows here have managed to corral.”

  The camp set its eyes on the trio, the nine heavy sacks already handed over to Thell’s men.

  “I was wondering,” the swineherd managed to say to Gern, “do you know anyone in the north who would be willing to trade some good feed for a few sows?”

  Gern, his brow all crinkled, had nothing to say to the sudden question. His family had little to do with pigs. I gave Pemini an encouraging look.

  “Could father take them?” she asked toward a pair standing at Gern’s elbow. They were the eldest of her five brothers and the tallest of Gern’s men.

  “By the dozen,” the older replied and looked to the swineherds. “You shouldn’t need to, though. If you keep the sows penned you can let the boars forage on their own without worrying about losing them—and they’d be sure to chase off the black lynx you’ve been having problems with, too. Quite a job you did though, getting so many in with just the three of you working at it. How many is it now?”

  “Fifty-three,” the man said with due pride, “if you count the twelve we have already butchered.”

  “Sounds like you need a few extra hands more than you need a couple sacks of feed. I could recommend some young men to the prince who would be willing do the work for maybe a sow and boar each season, if you could stand the company.”

  The Almidi swineherds smiled for the first time, and I would never forget how quickly they were changed by a few words from an equal who knew and respected their trade. Pemini was no exception.

  “If you got all the cousins together,” she suggested, “you could have a good feed barn and pen built in no time. Father knows how to build them proper. He knows the grays better than anyone.”

  If the swineherds still minded being spoken to by a woman from the kitchen, they didn’t show it. Erom got everyone else back to work, and we left Pemini and her brothers with the swineherds to work out the details of what they would propose to Barok.

  Back in the kitchen, the Dame crossed the 28th off with a smile and started going through her roast pork recipes.

  Of all of them, though, I think I was the happiest at the result. Seeing my prince’s people fed was a rough task, and it was hard to ask so much work of the Dame and her girls. I wanted our time to be our own again, not lost to the feeding of strangers. I was sure the town had reached a turning point.

  I could not have been more wrong.

  35

  Alsman Leger Mertone

  The 29th of Spring, 1195

  I was only just walking back toward Urnedi when Gern and the mason came to find me. I begged off long enough to wash off a dozen days worth of sap-caked sawdust and grime. I’d been at the timber camp since our return from Almidi, a bit too long perhaps, but my back and shoulders had needed the exercise as much as the overseer had needed the second pair of eyes.

  A few of the young men from Almidi had it in mind that they did not need to work very hard. They had been too long in Kuren’s employ, and the forest around the camp was thick enough that all you had to do to be out of sight was take a few steps. I hadn’t needed to say anything to them, though, just embarrass each by working eight times as hard. The meals around the campfire each night turned from grumblings about blisters, bugs, and the length of the day to wonderings if Barok would be paying out shares of the timber camp when their two-year stretch was up. I encouraged their talk of it and promised the overseer I would argue their case with the prince. Such an offer of
equity was certainly due to them if they maintained the same pace of work. The camp was sure to be an extraordinary venture. Enhedu’s timber was pristine.

  I joined the mason and our lieutenant on the carriageway. They had horses waiting, and I was treated to a long ride south along the river to an ancient quarry in the foothills of the mountain that was rumored to be the source of Urnedi’s dark stone. The centuries of wild growth made the place unrecognizable, but the mason couldn’t stop singing of the quarry’s qualities. And Gern, for his part, was relentless in helping push the idea of reestablishing it with help from the north. I couldn’t argue with either of them and agreed to present Erom’s proposal to the prince.

  The mason’s day only got better when we returned, the post of mayor rewarded to him for some clever bit of peacekeeping the previous day. Pemini and her brothers were also rewarded for their part, their family profiting by way of a proposal the prince had agreed to. I’d missed the details of it all but was glad Barok seemed to be on top of things. I walked with our new mayor for a time, hoping to hear all the news.

  He’d just finished telling me about his progress with the well when Sahin joined us at the site. He looked older. He had not had a chance to keep his head shaved as he liked. Dia had been right—he was bald on top and the rest was coming in gray.

  “Afternoon, Sahin,” our mason-mayor greeted. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Afternoon,” he replied with a bow. “Please don’t let me interrupt. I need to speak with Leger and Gern when you are done with them.”

  But the bowyer did not have a casual look about him. Erom noticed it too, so begged off to attend to other matters.

  Sahin led us south without explanation, around the keep, and into the trees. His demeanor hardened further. Gern’s did the same. We were going to meet the Chaukai.