12. Foxfell


  

  All day Foxfell had teased them from on high. Seemingly not that far and yet each bend brought with it another uphill section in order to reach its prominence. It was the most arduous of any of the days she had been with the caravan. The path was dusty and sun-scorched, and the air, thin at this altitude, held the sharp, clean scent of dry pine and heated stone. Alaric shared the assessment.

  "We will need to rest at Foxfell after this. The animals will need a break or they will start to break."

  Lyrianna nodded. It was an entirely reasonable consideration that she had entirely failed to consider. The North to South pass was six hundred miles alone. At some point people and mounts needed to rest. It made sense to do this in a hold. Indeed, this was the prime purpose of a hold.

  She had never visited Foxfell. During her training rides she had been from Moonhold to Wolfsong, passing through Silverfork along the way. Those were the days the trainees remembered most fondly. It was in Silverfork that after a year of his gentle begging she finally decided to visit Brother Leif by night. A wave of soft warmth passed through her at the memory of his grateful body against hers, and the fact he had no idea she'd wanted his for just as long.

  Marinus planted his hooves over the ridge of the climb and finally the path flattened out. The wind here was sharper, a constant, low whistle that cut through the silence of the high peaks. Foxfell was there, no longer eluding but with a flat road leading straight to its gates.

  She'd never thought about it at Silverfork or Wolfsong. Now it occurred to her that the holds weren't built beside the road like an inn, an option for those who felt like it. They were built on the road. The road passed through it, and thus must anyone upon it. Given what she'd learned about the Order in the last few days, it seemed apparent that opening the gates to enable this would not come free of charge.

  Lyrianna and Alaric went first to ensure any lookouts would see their colours and open the gates readily. Thus it was. At thirty yards out the iron and wood swung inwards to break the circle of stone walls twenty feet high.

  The design told a story. Not so high that they could stop a concerted siege, just high enough to ensure it would take one to breach them. Foxfell was built to protect travellers from the perils they were likely to face and not potential threats.

  It didn't align with what she had read about the purpose of the holds. In theory, they were meant to be the holdfasts for the days of the Dragon Moon, strong enough to save people from giants and dragons. She laughed inwardly imagining a true believer trying to convince the castellan to give them the coin for a hundred foot wall. Doubtless, this was how Foxfell came to embody the 'just enough' approach.

  The gates closed behind them as soon as their horse tails had passed the threshold. The heavy doors slammed shut with a solid, echoing thwump. Lyrianna looked round in surprise. For a moment she wondered if she had forgotten a custom, then she saw Alaric and he was just as startled and immediately turned on the men operating the gate.

  "Why have you closed us in? Can you not see the caravan behind us?"

  They shrugged apologetically.

  "Castellan wants to speak to you first." One explained. "I'll take you to him."

  Alaric and Lyrianna dismounted and the other man on the gate tethered their mounts while they tailed after the guide. The ground underfoot was hard-packed earth.

  A set of double doors led into a hall with tables. The air inside was thick and warm. There were men and women in furs sitting around them. Lyrianna's eyes at once went to the bare arms of the men. Tattoos of Bears and Stags were crisscrossed with nasty red burns like a griddle had been put to them.

  Clanless.

  Alaric unsheathed at once, a long and sturdy scramasax in his hand in a blink. The sharp shing of metal on leather cut through the thick air of the hall. The Clanless tensed.

  "Stop!"

  A bald man in grey robes came running forward, waving his hands.

  "Please. No bloodshed," he insisted.

  "What are they doing here?" Alaric demanded.

  "I offered them shelter. They are under my protection... the Order's protection."

  "We offered protection to dishonoured now?" Alaric questioned. "Murderers, thieves, people whose own clan has declared them untrustworthy and unwelcome?"

  The Clanless flinched at the accusations yet remained seated. The low hum of their shared tension seemed to pull at the room.

  "Please..." the man in grey robes pacified, "let's talk in my chamber."

  Alaric glanced at Lyrianna and she gave a nod of encouragement.

  The man closed the door behind them. The click of the latch sounded heavy and final in the small, quiet chamber.

  "This was why I wanted to speak to you before your caravan entered." He looked at Lyrianna. "I am Castellan Oswald, by the way."

  "Well met, Lyrianna Wolfheart." She braced arms with him as was the custom of the Order.

  His grey robes told a story. It meant he was a vassal of the Order but not a sworn Brother. At the monastery they jokingly referred to such people as Cousins. Not quite brothers but still related to the Order.

  "I know you, Alaric Stonestag, though you might not remember me."

  "I know you, Oswald, or thought I did until today. We are supposed to protect travellers from these people."

  "No, we are not. With respect. We are meant to protect all from Abyss. These people are not preying on caravans they are fleeing from peril and suffering."

  "They are fleeing from their crimes," Alaric corrected.

  "Perhaps... some of them. How old were you when the Brothers took you?"

  "Eight. Not that it matters."

  "But it does. To your eyes the clans are full of good men and those who are ejected must be without honour."

  "My eyes see the marks. That tells me all I need to know."

  "But what if you are married to someone who is branded? You must forsake your sworn love or share in their exile. What of the children? Whole families are sent away for the crimes of the father."

  "I see their crimes on the road too," Alaric insisted.

  "Yes. You see the consequences of desperation. But I am not debating that. If you were to kill them protecting the vulnerable, that would be your right."

  "Then what are you debating?"

  "These people are not raiding. As I told you, they are fleeing. Tell me, have you not wondered why the roads north of here have been so quiet?"

  "What are they fleeing from?" Lyrianna asked.

  "Hunger, and worse."

  "Worse, what is worse?"

  "They say they have seen wights, ogres, bird-kin. First they slew their food. And then when the food diminished they came for them."

  "And you believe them?" Alaric asked.

  "I believe they have lost hope they can live in the borderlands. I believe their desperation is so strong that they would come to a hold of the Order on their knees, knowing that even if we slew them it would be preferable to the fate that awaits them if they stayed."

  "How many have you taken in?" Alaric asked.

  "Twenty-four. Most are women and children."

  "Please, all I ask is that you calm your caravan before they enter."

  "You want me to bring merchants in here with the very people they hired me to defend them from?"

  "They all surrendered their weapons when they came in."

  Alaric sighed heavily and turned to Lyrianna. "What do you think, Sister?"

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  "We swear to do good. We should protect everyone if we can."

  "Very well. I'll handle the merchants. But you and you," he pointed at Oswald and Lyrianna, "you keep the Clanless in line."

  Alaric strode out of the chamber, leaving Lyrianna with Oswald.

  "Thank you."

  "I'm only trying to do what is right."

  "I'll gather the Clanless and you can see them for yourself."

  They returned to the hall and the Castellan left her on her own with the ones already gathered. She looked over the group. The low fire crackled softly in the hearth, the only sound besides the quiet murmurs of the Clanless. There were four men and three women; the rest appeared to be children, ranging from the same age as the twins to a couple of years younger than her.

  She noted that the older ones did not bear the branding. One of the boys bore a stag tattoo. Old enough to be accepted and still forced to go for someone else's wrongs. For a moment she wondered why he did not return to the clan, if he bore no mark of shame.

  Then she thought of her own mother and what she could remember of her own life before the Order. It had involved a lot of moving from place to place. Not once had it occurred to her to not go where her mother went.

  Oswald led in another group so that finally there were seven men, eight women and nine in their teens or younger. Oswald appeared to be unarmed. By implication, he was relying on her to be able to best all the men should they turn violent. Unarmed as they were, it was entirely within her capabilities. Yet somehow it was always surprising when a man accepted that.

  She approached Oswald and spoke quietly, out of earshot of the Clanless.

  "How many men-at-arms does Foxfell have?"

  "Ten guards. Maybe another ten who know how to wield a blade."

  It was enough to contain the Clanless, especially as they were unarmed. It was not enough to defend Foxfell from any kind of serious attack. The reality of the hold's vulnerability settled heavy on her.

  Her attention landed on the eight men. They were not from a single clan. Along with the bear paw and stag she had seen before there were others: a bear walking on four legs, a wolfhead from side on. The brands were not uniform either. Some were long blackened, others red and raw. These men had little in common aside from being driven away. And now their common purpose was to stay alive. The rule of the road was true for them as well.

  As her gaze moved away from the men she noticed the looks coming back at her. Many of the women and female children watched her every move with fascination, as if trying to reconcile reality with what they were seeing. The northern clans had their shieldmaidens; she would have thought they'd seen it all before. Maybe there was something about seeing a woman in the midnight blues of the Order that still proved hard to accept.

  An auburn haired girl, or perhaps woman by Clanless customs, looked at Lyrianna very seriously.

  "Something interests you?"

  Lyrianna returned her gaze steadily, her hand resting near the sword pommel, a silent promise of capability.

  She spoke; the words were clear though her accent was heavy. "You have many weapons."

  "Are you interested in weapons?"

  "I want to know if you can protect us."

  "What do you seek protection from?"

  The girl's eyes darted around the hall, avoiding the windows and the dark corners of the shadows. The discomfort spread through the group like inverse mirth.

  "Things... some things we have names for. Some we don't."

  "Can you describe?"

  "My cousin, Finn, he went out in the cold one day. Later he came back but it was not him anymore it was like..." She wrapped her arms tightly around her thin chest, trying to suppress the memory. "...like someone else was wearing him."

  "You describe a wight."

  "What happened to him?"

  Lyrianna breathed. The air in the stone hall felt suddenly colder. Part of her wanted to soften it. "At times, under the Hunter's Moon and beyond, when a man or woman faces a certain kind of death, they will hear a whisper from the void promising to save them."

  "So it was Finn?"

  "No. If someone accepts the promise of the void, they let the void into themselves."

  "But they live?"

  "It is a curse, not a blessing. The man who is starving lives on as a creature driven only by hunger. The man drowning lives only to pull others under the waves."

  "What of a wight?"

  "The man is spared from a death by cold but then lives on in fear of any warmth. The touch of a human hand would burn his skin. Therefore, he wants for all light and warmth in the world to be gone."

  "That is not Finn. He loved fires." Iona’s shoulders sagged with the finality of her loss. The girl sighed. "I just want to be somewhere where we don't need fires all the time."

  "You want to go south."

  "We all do. Where does this road end?"

  "Dayhold."

  "Is it warm there?"

  "As warm as the mountain passes can be."

  "But they won't let us in, if we are Clanless."

  Lyrianna looked them over. Most of them were not branded. "They might. But it is not easy there. You would need work to get coin."

  "I don't mind. As long as I am far from here."

  Lyrianna smiled. "What's your name?"

  "Iona."

  "I'm Lyrianna. I hope you get your wish, Iona."

  Finally, Alaric returned.

  "The caravan is inside. The merchants aren't happy. They think the Clanless will try to rob them by night," he reported.

  Oswald nodded, as if this was expected. "There is plenty of spare room at Foxfell. Tell them they will be kept far apart."

  Alaric nodded and beckoned for Lyrianna to follow.

  The wagons were inside the walls and stacked up within reach of the southward gate for when they left. The merchants milled about, unsure where to put themselves.

  A group of three came forward as their representatives: the spice merchant Aziz, the silk merchant Mansur, and Tomil, the smith and farrier.

  Mansur began. "You are assured they are no threat?"

  "The fort has ample space for us all. Our paths need not cross," Alaric explained.

  "But surely they are in desperate need of coin and must know we have it," Aziz pointed out.

  Lyrianna interceded. "I understand your concern, gentlemen. But what use is gold and silver to them now? Where would they spend it but here?" There was a moment of silence and she continued. "But you are right. Eventually coin will be of use to them. So why not benefit from that."

  "What do you mean?" Mansur asked.

  "Hire them. They need coin. They want to get south. We need more people to defend the caravan. They have people," she stated simply.

  Aziz turned to Alaric. "This is Dragon Horns humour?"

  "No." Alaric grinned, undermining his answer. "It's just good sense."

  To Lyrianna's great surprise, the merchants were won over. Lyrianna then relayed their stipulations to Oswald. No thieves, no murderers. Anyone else was welcome to volunteer.

  It was left to her the next day to choose who would be selected. No more than four would be given arms. Lyrianna warmed up in the training yard, gently sparring with two of the Foxfell guards who were not on watch, their practice blades clinking against hers as she held them both off until they were out of breath.

  Sweaty and slightly in awe, they braced arms with her and thanked her for her time as the potential recruits arrived, led by Oswald.

  "Your repute is well earned," he remarked.

  "I wasn't aware I had any."

  "The Order allows a woman for the first time. What else do you think every Brother passing through would speak about?"

  "I doubt it was all complimentary."

  Oswald shrugged. "Even insults can reveal virtues by accident."

  Lyrianna gave a wry smile. There was much truth in that. Every time a Brother accused her of looking like a man, absurd as that was, she knew they were inadvertently conceding she was strong. Every time she was called a show-off, it meant they could not stop looking. Every time they called her a whore, they betrayed what they were wishing. She collected the barbs like accolades until there were none more to take.

  The Clanless appeared in the yard. Two men shuffled in front of her, burnt out stags on their arms. They looked similar, likely related.

  "Only two?" Lyrianna asked Oswald.

  "No thieves or murderers, you said. This is Arn and Donal; they are neither."

  "What did they do?"

  "The local chief's nephew roughed up their sister. They took vengeance. But they did not kill him."

  "They sound perfect," Lyrianna remarked with a smirk. "The merchants wanted four."

  "Yes..." Oswald moved back to the entrance and called out, and four women, including Iona, emerged.

  Lyrianna laughed. "I should have seen this coming." She looked them over. "Very well. Line up here. We will test each of you with sword, bow and spear. Most important, we will test your ability to listen and follow commands; without that you are useless to me, whatever your prowess."

  Hours later she presented the merchants with the six of them, sweat-drenched, bruised, and covered in red marks and scrapes and bits of grit and gravel they had been unable to brush off.

  Aziz folded his arms. "There are six not four. And four of them are girls."

  "Yes. There were only two men who fit your requirements. And I thought you'd consider two women insufficient to replace two men. So we have four."

  "You trust that they can fight?"

  "I trust that I can teach them," she stated. The merchants were unconvinced. Lyrianna frowned. "But if you cannot trust in the mettle of women, then I should step aside also."

  Tomil waved his hands excitedly. "No, no. No one says this!"

  Mansur scratched his head and shrugged. "We need only use them until Dayhold. Then we can hire better. No one back home will know."

  Aziz relented with a nod and they went back to the caravan to inform the others. Lyrianna turned to Alaric, who seemed faintly amused.

  "I will take responsibility for the Brothers. You need to ensure these women are capable."

  "I will." Lyrianna winced. "There is something else. While I said we would only give arms to these six, it does not mean others cannot travel with us unarmed."

  Alaric shook his head, though the mirth did not fade entirely. "That would undermine the added protection." He held up a single finger. "One each. Each of them can take one other under their protection." Alaric sighed. "I will have to persuade the merchants of this too. You deal with the Clanless."

  She turned to the women who looked back at her hopefully. They would be back on the road in two more days. Two days to turn them from brave volunteers to genuine assets. She gave them a nod and led them back to the training yard.