Theyre not easy to make, the Messenger said. Most Messengers spend their whole apprenticeship mastering the art. No wind or rain is going to smudge those wards. But even then, theyre not the same as having warded walls and a door.
Ever see a coreling face-to-face, boy? he asked, turning and looking at Arlen hard. Watched it take a swipe at you with nowhere to run and nothing to protect you except magic you cant see? He shook his head. Maybe Im being too hard on Keerin. He handled his test all right. Screamed a bit, but thats to be expected. Night after night is another matter. Takes its toll on some men, always worried that a stray leaf will land on a ward, and then He hissed suddenly and swiped a clawed hand at Arlen, laughing when the boy jumped.
Arlen ran his thumb over each smooth, lacquered ward, feeling their strength. There was one of the little plates for every foot of rope, much as there would be in any warding. He counted more than forty of them. Cant wind demons fly into a circle this big? he asked. Da puts posts up to keep them from landing in the fields.
The man looked over at him, a little surprised. Your das probably wasting his time, he said. Wind demons are strong fliers, but they need running space or something to climb and leap from in order to take off. Not much of either in a cornfield, so theyd be reluctant to land, unless they saw something too tempting to resist, like some little boy sleeping in the field on a dare. He looked at Arlen in that same way Jeph did, when warning Arlen that the corelings were serious business. As if he didnt know.
Wind demons also need to turn in wide arcs, Ragen continued, and most of them have a wingspan larger than that circle. Its possible that one could get in, but Ive never seen it happen. If it does, though He gestured to the long, thick spear he kept next to him.
You can kill a coreling with a spear? Arlen asked.
Probably not, Ragen replied, but Ive heard that you can stun them by pinning them against your wards. He chuckled. I hope I never have to find out.
Arlen looked at him, wide-eyed.
Ragen looked back at him, his face suddenly serious. Messengerings dangerous work, boy, he said.
Arlen stared at him a long time. It would be worth it, to see the Free Cities, he said at last. Tell me true, whats Fort Miln like?
Its the richest and most beautiful city in the world, Ragen replied, lifting his mail sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his forearm of a city nestled between two mountains. The Dukes Mines run rich with salt, metal, and coal. Its walls and rooftops are so well warded, its rare for the house wards to even be tested. When the sun shines on its walls, it puts the mountains themselves to shame.
Never seen a mountain, Arlen said, marvelling as he traced the tattoo with a finger. My da says theyre just big hills.
You see that hill? Ragen asked, pointing north of the road.
Arlen nodded. Boggins Hill. You can see the whole Brook from up there.
Ragen nodded. You know what a hundred means, Arlen? he asked.
Arlen nodded again. Ten pairs of hands.
Well even a small mountain is bigger than a hundred of your Boggins Hills piled on top of each other, and the mountains of Miln are not small.
Arlens eyes widened as he tried to contemplate such a height. They must touch the sky, he said.
Some are above it, Ragen bragged. Atop them, you can look down at the clouds.
I want to see that one day, Arlen said.
You could join the Messengers guild, when youre old enough, Ragen said.
Arlen shook his head. Da says the people that leave are deserters, he said. He spits when he says it.
Your da doesnt know what hes talking about, Ragen said. Spitting doesnt make things so. Without Messengers, even the Free Cities would crumble.
I thought the Free Cities were safe? Arlen asked.
Nowhere is safe, Arlen. Not truly. Miln has more people and can absorb the deaths more easily than a place like Tibbets Brook, but the corelings still take a toll each year.
How many people are in Miln? Arlen asked. We have nine hundreds in Tibbets Brook, and Sunny Pasture up the ways is supposed to be almost as big.
We have over thirty thousands in Miln, Ragen said proudly.
Arlen looked at him, confused.
A thousand is ten hundreds, the Messenger supplied.
Arlen thought a moment, then shook his head. There ent that many people in the world, he said.
There are and more, Ragen said. Theres a wide world out there, for those willing to brave the dark.
Arlen didnt answer, and they rode in silence for a time.
It took about an hour and a half for the trundling cart to reach Town Square. The centre of the Brook, Town Square held just over two dozen warded wooden houses for those whose trade did not have them working in the fields or rice paddies, fishing, or cutting wood. It was here one came to find the tailor and the baker, the farrier, the cooper, and the rest.
At the centre lay the square where people would gather, and the biggest building in the Brook, the general store. It had a large open front room that housed tables and the bar, an even larger storeroom in back, and a cellar below, filled with almost everything of value in the Brook.
Hogs daughters, Dasy and Catrin, ran the kitchen. Two credits could buy a meal to leave you stuffed, but Silvy called old Hog a cheat, since two credits could buy enough raw grain for a week. Still, plenty of unmarried men paid the price, and not all for the food. Dasy was homely and Catrin fat, but Uncle Cholie said the men who married them would be set for life.
Everyone in the Brook brought Hog their goods, be it corn or meat or fur, pottery or cloth, furniture or tools. Hog took the items, counted them up, and gave the customers credits to buy other things at the store.
Things always seemed to cost a lot more than Hog paid for them, though. Arlen knew enough numbers to see that. There were some famous arguments when people came to sell, but Hog set the prices, and usually got his way. Just about everyone hated Hog, but they needed him all the same, and were more likely to brush his coat and open his doors than spit when he passed.
Everyone else in the Brook worked throughout the sun, and barely saw all their needs met, but Hog and his daughters always had fleshy cheeks, rounded bellies, and clean new clothes. Arlen had to wrap himself in a rug whenever his mother took his overalls to wash.
Ragen and Arlen tied off the mules in front of the store and went inside. The bar was empty. Usually the air inside the taproom was thick with bacon fat, but there was no smell of cooking from the kitchen today.
Arlen rushed ahead of the Messenger to the bar. Rusco had a small bronze bell there, brought with him when he came from the Free Cities. Arlen loved that bell. He slapped his hand down on it and grinned at the clear sound.
There was a thump in the back, and Rusco came through the curtains behind the bar. He was a big man, still strong and straight-backed at sixty, but a soft gut hung around his middle, and his iron-grey hair was creeping back from his lined forehead. He wore light trousers and leather shoes with a clean white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his thick forearms. His white apron was spotless, as always.
Arlen Bales, he said with a patient smile, seeing the boy. Did you come just to play with the bell, or do you have some business?
The business is mine, Ragen said, stepping forward. You Rusco Hog?
Just Rusco will do, the man said. The townies slapped the Hog on, though not to my face. Cant stand to see a man prosper.
Thats twice, Ragen mused.
Say again? Rusco said.
Twice that Graigs journey log has led me astray, Ragen said. I called Selia Barren to her face this morning.
Ha! Rusco laughed. Did you now? Well, thats worth a drink on the house, if anything is. What did you say your name was?
Ragen, the Messenger said, dropping his heavy satchel and taking a seat at the bar. Rusco tapped a keg, and plucked a slatted wooden mug off a hook.
The ale was thick and honey-coloured, and foamed to a white head on top of the mug. Rusco filled one for Ragen and another for himself. Then he glanced at Arlen, and filled a smaller cup. Take that to a table and let your elders talk at the bar, he said. And if you know whats good for you, you wont tell your mum I gave it to you.
Arlen beamed, and ran off with his prize before Rusco had a chance to reconsider. He had sneaked a taste of ale from his fathers mug at festivals, but had never had a cup of his own.
I was starting to worry no one was coming ever again, he heard Rusco tell Ragen.
Graig took a chill just before he was to leave last fall, Ragen said, drinking deeply. His Herb Gatherer told him to put the trip off until he got better, but then winter set in, and he got worse and worse. In the end, he asked me to take his route until the guild could find another. I had to take a caravan of salt to Angiers anyway, so I added an extra cart and swung this way before heading back north.
Rusco took his mug and filled it again. To Graig, he said, a fine Messenger, and a dangerous haggler. Ragen nodded and the two men clapped mugs and drank.
Another? Rusco asked, when Ragen slammed his mug back down on the bar.
Graig wrote in his log that you were a dangerous haggler, too, Ragen said, and that youd try to get me drunk first.
Rusco chuckled, and refilled the mug. After the haggling, Ill have no need to serve these on the house, he said, handing it to Ragen with a fresh head.
You will if you want your mail to reach Miln, Ragen said with a grin, accepting the mug.
I can see youre going to be as tough as Graig ever was, Rusco grumbled, filling his own mug. There, he said, when it foamed over, we can both haggle drunk. They laughed, and clashed mugs again.
What news of the Free Cities? Rusco asked. The Krasians still determined to destroy themselves?
Ragen shrugged. By all accounts. I stopped going to Krasia a few years ago, when I married. Too far, and too dangerous.
So the fact that they cover their women in blankets has nothing to do with it? Rusco asked.
Ragen laughed. Doesnt help, he said, but its mostly how they think all Northerners, even Messengers, are cowards for not spending our nights trying to get ourselves cored.
Maybe theyd be less inclined to fight if they looked at their women more, Rusco mused. How about Angiers and Miln? The dukes still bickering?
As always, Ragen said. Euchor needs Angiers wood to fuel his refineries, and grain to feed his people. Rhinebeck needs Milns metal and salt. They have to trade to survive, but instead of making it easy on themselves, they spend all their time trying to cheat each other, especially when a shipment is lost to corelings on the road. Last summer, demons hit a caravan of steel and salt. They killed the drivers, but left most of the cargo intact. Rhinebeck retrieved it, and refused to pay, claiming salvage rights.
Duke Euchor must have been furious, Rusco said.
Livid, Ragen agreed. I was the one that brought him the news. He went red in the face, and swore Angiers wouldnt see another ounce of salt until Rhinebeck paid.
Did Rhinebeck pay? Rusco asked, leaning in eagerly.
Ragen shook his head. They did their best to starve each other for a few months, and then the Merchants guild paid, just to get their shipments out before the winter came and they rotted in storage. Rhinebeck is angry at them now, for giving in to Euchor, but his face was saved and the shipments were moving again, which is all that mattered to anyone other than those two dogs.
Wise to watch what you call the dukes, Rusco warned, even this far out.
Whos going to tell them? Ragen asked. You? The boy? He gestured at Arlen. Both men laughed.
And now I have to bring Euchor news of Riverbridge, which will make things worse, Ragen said.
The town on the border of Miln, Rusco said, barely a day out from Angiers. I have contacts there.
Not anymore, you dont, Ragen said pointedly, and the men were quiet for a time.
Enough bad news, Ragen said, hauling his satchel onto the bar. Rusco considered it dubiously.
That doesnt look like salt, he said, and I doubt I have that much mail.
You have six letters, and an even dozen packages, Ragen said, handing Rusco a sheaf of folded paper. Its all listed here, along with all the other letters in the satchel and packages on the cart to be distributed. I gave Selia a copy of the list, he warned.
What do I want with that list, or your mailbag? Rusco asked.
The Speaker is occupied, and wont be able to distribute the mail and read to those that cant. She volunteered you.
And how am I to be compensated for spending my business hours reading to the townies? Rusco asked.
The satisfaction of a good deed to your neighbours? Ragen asked.
Rusco snorted. I didnt come to Tibbets Brook to make friends, he said. Im a businessman, and I do a lot for this town.
Do you? Ragen asked.
Damn right, Rusco said. Before I came to this town, all they did was barter. He made the word a curse, and spat on the floor. They collected the fruits of their labour and gathered in the square every Seventhday, arguing over how many beans were worth an ear of corn, or how much rice you had to give the cooper to make you a barrel to put your rice in. And if you didnt get what you needed on Seventhday, you had to wait until the next week, or go door to door. Now everyone can come here, any day, any time from sunup to sundown, and trade for credits to get whatever else they need.
The town saviour, Ragen said wryly. And you asking nothing in return.
Nothing but a tidy profit, Rusco said with a grin.
And how often do the villagers try to string you up for a cheat? Ragen asked.
Ruscos eyes narrowed. Too often, considering half of them cant count past their fingers, and the other half can only add their toes to that, he said.
Selia said the next time it happens, youre on your own, Ragens friendly voice had suddenly gone hard, unless you do your part. Theres plenty on the far side of town suffering worse than having to read the mail.
Rusco frowned, but he took the list and carried the heavy bag into his storeroom.