A Wizard and a Warlord

15

The citizen was an old man, nearly bald, but with quick, bright eyes that took her in at a glance, weighed her, and decided to take her seriously. “Defend myself? Why? Do you mean to strike me?”

“Not only you,” Alea said impatiently, “your whole town! And no, it won’t be me who attacks you—it will be General Malachi with all his army!”

The man relaxed with a smile. “General Malachi? Is that all?”

“All!” Alea squawked. “Burning your houses and looting your shops? Slaughter and torture? All?” The man waved away the threat. “Surely it won’t come to that. The Scarlet Company will stop him before he comes near.”

“Tell that to the four villages he conquered! Tell it to the smoking, charred ruin that was the hopeful beginning of a new village! Tell it to the young folk who were killed or hauled away to slave and whore for Malachi’s bandits! Tell it to the young men who mean you no harm but will come charging against you with swords in their hands because they’ve spears at their backs!”

The citizen stared, unnerved, but collected himself and objected, “Surely you exaggerate.”

“No, actually, I’m holding back the worst of it.”

“It can’t happen here,” the man said with finality. “Perhaps in a small village full of peasants, but this is a town. General Malachi wouldn’t even try.”

“Wrong! Being a town is all the more reason for him to ride down upon you! You’re wealthy, you have a huge store of riches to delight his men—and with your barges, he can ferry his army across the river and start conquering the villages there!”

“Then surely the Scarlet Company will stop him here,” the man said stubbornly. “If you really think there’s danger, good woman, you’re perfectly free to scream it from the rooftops—but I don’t think you’ll find any to believe you. Good day.”

He turned away and Alea nearly did scream with exasperation.

She did, however, walk up and down every street and lane in the town, telling everyone she met, as loudly as she could, about their danger. Most of them glanced at her with frightened eyes and hurried on their way, leaving her to turn and finish her sentence to the next person before that one, too, scuttled away. Now and then she managed to back a man or woman into a corner, haranguing the person until she was finally asked, insistently and sometimes angrily, to stop spouting such nonsense.

She could have wept with frustration.

By the time sundown came and she slumped exhausted onto a bench outside an inn, she was past anger and on the verge of despair. The fools, the blind fools! They almost deserved to have General Malachi and his troops grind them into their river mud.

Almost. No one deserved that, not even self-blinded, complacent idiots.

She needed someone to listen to her rant about them-and it must be dinnertime for the troops. Gar, she thought, can we talk?

His answer was so immediate that she knew he must have been waiting for her call. Of course, though there isn’t much to tell—only the usual soldier’s round of drudgery and boredom. They do have some idea of drill, though it’s very rudimentary—only making us practice marching forward with spears in our backs while they shout and bellow at us and wave weapons in our faces.

Making sure you’ll be more afraid of them than of the enemy you face, Alea thought sourly.

It’s working on most of the other footmen, Gar told her. They must be captives from the villages Malachi has conquered.

Alea’s stomach sank. Do you—do you recognize any of our teenage hosts?

One or two, but they’re so dull-eyed and cowed that I don’t think they’d recognize me even if I were dressed as they last saw me—and the wide-eyed cringing simpleton I’m playing should be safe from discovery.

I certainly hope he is. Alea could easily imagine one of the young men betraying Gar in hopes of a little consideration from his captors.

What luck in the town? Gar asked.

Absolutely none, Alea thought in disgust. These people wouldn’t believe the dam had broken unless they were breathing water!

Don’t they believe the stories about General Malachi? Oh, they believe them easily enough. In fact, everybody has heard of him—but nobody believes he’d attack anything as big as their town!

I’ve heard of cities deluded by their own self-importance. Gar sighed. But this is too much. Won’t a single one of them lift a spear in his own defense?

Why bother? Alea thought bitterly. They’re convinced the Scarlet Company will protect them—bring General Malachi and his army to their knees overnight! I tell you, if their complacency has any grounds, the Scarlet Company must be a full-scale army!

Perhaps it is, Gar thought somberly, just very well hidden. Well, if they won’t listen to you, they deserve what they get—but maybe they have a reason for their calm.

If they do, they’re certainly closemouthed about it, Alea replied. No one’s ever seen the Scarlet Company, or anyone from it—though I suppose it could be that they’re so scary no one wants to even think about them.

Well, if we can’t find out what they’re like now, Gar thought, maybe we can get some idea from their history. I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows …

Don’t you dare! Alea’s thought had all the force of terror. Your only protection is seeming to be an idiot, and simpletons don’t go around asking about the past! The ones I knew back ho—back on Midgard, they didn’t even know there was a past!

If you say so, Gar thought doubtfully, but we have to know whether or not there’s any reason to hope that the Scarlet Company will bail them out.

I’ll ask! You just sit tight and watch! If anybody here knows anything more about the Scarlet Company than we do, I’ll find out by this time tomorrow!

You don’t think anyone does know about it, do you? Gar asked slowly.

I’m beginning to doubt that it exists, Alea thought grimly. I’ll ask anyway, though—tomorrow. Right now, I’d better find a safe place to sleep.

The next morning, Alea set out to discover anyone who knew anything about the Scarlet Company. She strolled along the docks, claiming to be hunting a missing bondmate and refusing offers to take his place. She worked a mention of the Scarlet Company into every conversation while she listened intently for the other person’s thoughts but never caught anything coherent, only a passing aura of admiration and fear. She did see a great number of barges and smaller riverboats coming in, watched their owners bargain with wholesalers, then watched them unload produce and reload salt, spices, iron ingots, bars of tin and copper, and the other commodities that a farming village needed but couldn’t produce for itself.

Then she made the rounds of the town limits, reasoning that travelers would have heard of the Scarlet Company, and struck up conversations where the town streets joined the main roads. She saw cart after cart coming in filled with preserved hams, barrels of salt beef and ale, furs and sheepskins and bales of wool; she saw other carts rolling out with more metal and dye and other things the villagers didn’t have around them—but no one she talked to had the guilty or guarded reactions she expected of a Scarlet Company member.

In the evening, she paced from neighborhood to neighborhood, seeing the people come out of their cottages to chat and play while the older citizens sat in circles and discussed earnestly whether or not a given girl should be bonded to a given boy, whether a young man who had struck another was a bully and should be exiled, working out a schedule for their neighbors to haul away garbage, even listening to an argument between two women as to whether or not the first woman had the right to milk the other’s cow if it wandered into her yard (they decided that the two should barter for the milk and build a stout fence). Wherever she could, Alea mentioned the Scarlet Company, but her mind caught only the usual awe, and sometimes relief that the Scarlet Company was there to stop bullies.

Finally, as darkness fell, she traded a bit of copper for a bed in the single-women’s room at an inn, chatted with her neighbors and managed to mention the Scarlet Company, but received only the usual answers, then politely excused herself for her evening “meditations.” The other women stared at her in surprise, then quickly said “Of course” and left her alone.

Alea felt a moment of surprise of her own, at their obvious awe—even if it was rare for a person to meditate before sleeping, surely it wasn’t anything remarkable—then settled herself, let the cares of the day drift through her mind, slow, and settle, then thought, Gar.

Here. Gar’s thoughts were unutterably weary. Alea’s mind moved to a higher level of alertness. What has happened?

Nothing, Gar thought, but it could have. Then he remembered the key incident of the day, letting her share it with him.

The recruits had come marching into camp at daybreak—or trying to march, anyway; they hadn’t quite caught the knack of stepping in unison, and the broken branches they were carrying in lieu of spears lay at all different angles across their chests. Nonetheless, they were at least trying to look military. When their leader called, “Halt!” they all stamped as they stopped.

So did Gar’s heart, almost. He recognized the hard-faced leader—Crel, one of the few free survivors of the young people’s village. When he had first seen the lad, his face had glowed with health, happiness, and the pleasure of the company of his youthful friends. He had been smiling, easygoing, and genial. Now, though, he was gaunt, steely-eyed, and tense.

The lieutenant came forward grinning. “Very good, very good—for men who haven’t been taught a thing. So you want to join General Malachi’s army, do you?”

“We do!” the men chorused, turning to him. “Keep your eyes front!” the lieutenant snapped. They jumped and whipped their gazes back to the hair of the men ahead of them.

“Shoulders straight! Bellies in! Hold those spears straight up, if you can remember which end you think has the tip!” The lieutenant prowled along the line. “You’re filthy, you stink, your clothes are ragged! You all need your hair cropped to your skulls! You’re undisciplined—you need kicking into line!” He paused at the front, grinning at the leader. “Still want to join?”

“Yes!” Crel spat, and the others echoed him.

The lieutenant nodded and started to stroll around them again. “Well, you might do at that. All right, off to the barracks with you. Sergeant Chester!”

“Sir!” A sergeant came running, snapped to attention, and saluted more crisply than Gar had noticed in a day and night at the camp.

“Take these men in charge,” the lieutenant commanded. “See them scoured, shorn, and uniformed. Burn those rags they’re wearing, then set them to their tasks.”

“Yes, Sir!” Sergeant Chester turned to face the recruits. “ ‘Ten-shun! No, not like that suck those bellies in! Drop those sticks, they’ll do for the fire. Thumbs along the seams of your leggins! Square those shoulders, don’t pull ‘em back! All right, now, march! ”

They followed him toward the tents. Too late, Gar realized he was in their line of march and started to turn away—but Crel saw him. His eyes widened with the shock of recognition and Gar could hear his thought: Was he a spy for the bandits all along? Then Gar’s pitiful stance must have registered, because he thought, No, the poor man’s a captive and a slave. Then he marched on and Gar breathed a sigh of relief.

He wasn’t about to rely on the boy’s first reaction, though—he might change his mind when he thought it over. Gar watched and, when the lad went to the latrine, Gar went after him.

Crel looked considerably better for a wash, a shave, and clean clothes, but the harshness and bitterness were still there in his face. He glanced up as Gar came in—then stared and braced himself for a fight.

“Easy, easy,” Gar said softly, hoping no one would hear through the canvas walls. “I’m just the village idiot out to visit the necessary room. You don’t have to have that much intelligence to know how to use a privy.”

“Idiot!” Crel hissed. “Is that what they think you are?”

“I’ve been very careful to make sure they think so,” Gar said.

“Then it was your father who came to our village.” Crel’s eyes filled at mention of the happy, hopeful pair of longhouses.

“No, that was me,” Gar told him. “I angered General Malachi in my proper form and he set patrols to find me. I disguised myself as an old man, and they rode right by me.”

“Then why disguise yourself as an idiot?”

“Because they had begun to be suspicious of the old me. The idiot was a bad choice, though—brains don’t matter in a human shield, and they’re quite happy to have a bear like me to prod ahead of them onto the pitchforks of the enemy—should any of them think to try to fight back. I’d rather not disillusion them.” He let that sink in for a few seconds, then added. “I gather you’d just as soon they didn’t find out which village you came from, either.”

“That’s right enough,” the lad said slowly. “Are you making a deal?”

“Only pointing out our mutual interest,” Gar said, “that neither of us wants his real nature bandied about.”

“So you won’t tell them where I come from if I don’t tell what you really are,” Crel said slowly. “Before I agree to that, though, I’d like to know why you’re here.”

“Because I was caught,” Gar said simply. “I’m trying to figure out a way to stay alive when they attack that town down below us and drive me ahead with the other slaves, to draw whatever kind of weapons the town men have. So far I’m ahead of the game—none of them are going to expect me to try something clever at the last minute. What are you here for?”

“Why is everyone?” Crel asked bitterly. “I want to be on the winning side.”

Gar stared at him for a moment, wondering whether Crel intended to be with the winners, or for his side to win because he was on it. Then he nodded. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Crel said.

I can’t believe he’d betray the memory of his friends like that! Alea thought.

Neither can I, but it’s not for me to lecture him after what he’s been through, Gar replied. What about your day? Find anything worth knowing?

Nothing, except that everyone’s so sure of the Scarlet Company that they don’t even bother thinking about it. Alea’s thoughts simmered with frustration. Of course, when I did put the thought into their minds, it scared them. They pushed it away as quickly as they could.

Sure of the Scarlet Company but afraid of it too, Gar mused. How about the town in general?

No government, if that’s what you mean, Alea thought wearily. I learned there’s a great deal of commerce. Barges and carts are coming and going all the time, constantly being loaded and unloaded, if that matters to you.

Actually, it does, Gar thought slowly.

Alea stiffened, catching the complex of associations that came with the words—an image of a web with the town at its center, every strand vibrating with the necessities of life. I see, she thought slowly. The town controls the villages even without a government.

Only by being the central market, Gar thought, but there are many villages and only the one town. If the merchants decided to stop dealing with one of them, that village would suffer harshly, maybe even die if it had a year of bad crops and no way to bring food from other villages.

But the merchants wouldn’t do that! Alea thought.

No, they wouldn’t, came the slow answer, but they are managing the market, which means they’re controlling the economies of the villages.

Have you found your government at last? Alea thought acidly.

No, Gar replied, still slowly, but I’m beginning to understand how they can manage without one. Of course, he added hastily, it only works as long as the town doesn’t grow too greedy.

I suppose the priestesses take care of that, Alea mused, the priestesses and the sages.

Yes. Gar seemed to be brooding. This looks to be one area in which the Scarlet Company would not be watching for bullies.

But she caught the thought he didn’t mean to send—that an economic bully was still a bully, and the Scarlet Company might have an interest after all.

So the next day, she went to talk to the people who presumably kept the merchants from being bullies—though as she walked up the steps of the goddess’s temple, she couldn’t help but think that the priestesses certainly wouldn’t be paying much attention to economic systems.

She entered the cool domed area and stood facing the statue of the goddess in her aspect as mother. There were no seats, so she was still standing half an hour later when a priestess came in and found her brooding over the resemblance between Freya and this mother-goddess.

The priestess approached with a keen gaze. Apparently deciding that Alea was praying, she stood at a discreet distance and waited until Alea turned with a little frown, then stared at the woman.

“Do you come only to pray,” the priestess asked gently, “or do you need to talk with me?”

“I wish to become a priestess,” Alea answered, “or at least, to learn if I have the gift of piety.”

The woman gazed at her, a careful, brooding look, then smiled and said, “There is more to it than piety, but you may have the gift for it indeed. Come, let us talk to the High Priestess.”

That evening, when Alea sat down and relaxed into meditation, she was able to tell Gar, I am a novice priestess now.

She wasn’t prepared for the panic and horror behind his thoughts as he protested. Dazed, she leaned into the fury of the blast and, as it began to slacken, caught beneath it the fear that she would be trapped on this benighted planet and that, moreover, he would be denied her company. Touched, she smiled and thought, Don’t worry, companion. I’m not serious about it—only hoping to learn anything they may know about the Scarlet Company.

Oh. Well, that’s reassuring. Gar calmed considerably. No one has mentioned anything yet, I take it?

No, but I have learned that they have a library. They shouldn’t mind an illiterate peasant leafing through the books to look at the pictures.

Now Gar’s tone was amused. If they’re careless enough to let you in, they deserve what they get. Let me know if the plot’s any good.

The next day, Alea went to the priestess who had inducted her into the temple and asked, with some anxiety, “Lady, you said that there was more needed of me than piety.”

The priestess nodded gravely. “A great deal more.”

“May I ask what?”

“Fortitude, and the willingness to sacrifice comforts and luxuries.”

“I am truly willing! As to fortitude, try me!”

“So we shall,” the priestess murmured. “So we do. Have you the patience to wait until we tell you that you have passed the test?”

Alea bowed her head, abashed. “I have never had overly much patience.”

“That we shall try sorely,” the priestess promised. “However, we of the goddess may be devoted to her above all, but we express that devotion in our care of the people. Have you compassion and the desire to heal and nurture?”

“I-I think I have,” Alea said hesitantly, “but older women have told me you never know until you have someone to care for.”

The priestess positively beamed, pleased with Alea’s humility—or realism. “It is so. Be sure that you will have ample opportunity to test those qualities.”

“Are we … are we to protect as the Scarlet Company does?” Alea ventured.

The priestess frowned, disturbed by the question. “The Scarlet Company has nothing to do with the temples, child—or if it does, we have no knowledge of it!”

Alea sighed with relief—to cover her disappointment.

“Why would you think we did?” the priestess pressed.

“Because I thought … I had heard … Well, the priests and priestesses remind us time and again that we must treat each other with respect and kindness and be careful not to become bullies in any way!”

“Ah. Yes, that much we do.” The priestess’s face smoothed. “But that is not doing the Scarlet Company’s work, child—it is simply giving it that much less to do.”

After that interview, Alea decided that she might learn a great deal from the priestesses, but none of it would be what she wished to know at the moment. Nonetheless, she didn’t resist at all when her mentor called her to assist as she made her rounds.

Her rounds, it seemed, were in one of the poorest parts of the town. The woman strolled down the streets with a basket of food and medicines on her arm, stopping to chat with everyone who wished, going in wherever she was asked to visit someone who was ill. Most were previous patients; she only had to make sure they were still mending or, if they were not, to give the patient a new medicine. Some were new, and here she was careful to explain to Alea every step of her diagnosis and treatment. Alea listened, clinging to every word; most of it she knew already, but the one or two ideas or remedies that were new to her were well worth the time.

As they went back to the temple, she frowned, lost in thought. Finally the priestess asked gently, “What troubles you, my child?”

“I see that I have a very great deal to learn, Reverend Lady,” Alea answered. “May I look in the books in the library? Can I learn faster that way?”

Again the priestess virtually beamed. “Surely you can, once you learn to read—but you may go there this evening and at least look at the books.”

Alea caught the thought that the woman didn’t say—that if the novice really had the interest in learning that a priestess needed, turning pages to look at undecipherable scratchings and glorious pictures would turn her interest into a ravenous hunger.

So after dinner that night, she went down to the library and walked along the shelves, taking in the kind and amount of knowledge stored there. She stopped at the history section, took out a huge volume entitled History of the World, and took it to a reading stand, hoping the world in question would be this one. She turned the pages, realized they were of parchment and that every single character had been drawn by hand, and was staggered by the thought of the number of hours of work this library represented.

Then she turned a page and lost all thought of copyists working by candlelight as she discovered the ancestors’ own view of how and why they had colonized this planet.