Heritage of Fire Read online

  "In the town, perhaps. Not with the Captain."

  "Doesn't matter, does it?" He saw Sankey appear at the taproom door, hesitate a moment, and then begin to walk over to the bench where they sat, mug in hand. "And there may be more goodwill from the company than you'd think. The Captain isn't the be-all and end-all of the Brotherhood of the Western Knights, you know." He was watching the corporal.

  Sankey approached and made a small gesture with his mug. Alissa glanced at Gerd, but Gerd was already shoving over to make room. Sankey sat.

  "Hear you're moving on," said Sankey, after a moment of fiddling with his mug. "Going west." Islanders spoke of 'the east', rather than 'the mainland', and "the west" rather than the Wizard's Isle, as if their little green dots in the great ocean were the centre of the world.

  "Yes," said Alissa shortly, and then, "I have to, if I'm ever to be a real swordsmith."

  "Ah," said Sankey, and sipped his ale. "You'll be missed." Alissa smiled, with only a little bitterness. "No, truly. And so you're selling up?"

  "Yes." Alissa didn't add of course, but it hung there unspoken. "I have to buy myself into a workshop. I'll take a piece or two, to show what I've done. No point in carrying anything else with me, especially if I can change it into money."

  "Stock in trade, too?" Alissa nodded shortly, picking up her ale mug again. Sankey pursed his lips. He looked up at the mild cloud-fretted sky. "See, it's just that for a while now I've had my eye on that horn-handled belt-knife you've got hanging on your wall." Alissa lowered her mug sharply and looked up, but Sankey simply went on: "I'm wondering what you'd take for it."

  Alissa's mouth opened. She stared. Then she raised her mug again and took a deliberate sip. She lowered it once more. "The one with the single-edged blade, about so long, with the duck's-tail tip? Blued steel?"

  "That's the one."

  "It was just a try-out, that blueing. I was meaning to etch the blade. Never got around to it." Alissa seemed to be trying to find something to say while she assimilated Sankey's words.

  "It looks fine as it is," said Sankey.

  Alissa blinked. "Well … I'd need to clean it up a little. Hone it, perhaps. And there's my mark on the pommel. I could grind that out …"

  "No," said Sankey. "No, don't do that." He took another pull at his mug. "I like it just the way it is."

  Alissa looked from face to face. Gerd was watching as another man in his section appeared at the door and began to make his way over. It was Heard, who might have been the man who'd coughed. Gerd smiled gently.

  12

  Nobody said anything more. But on the third morning of his punishment, Gerd arrived in the cool dawn to find that the latrine had already been cleaned, the channel sluiced and scrubbed, the cesspit newly backfilled with lime and fresh gravel, and clean sand brought in. Even the spade had been scraped down and scoured. The place would have stood a general inspection. There was nothing left for him to do.

  During the fourth of his packdrill sessions men not on watch began to drift out of the barracks as he stumped back and forth in the strengthening sun. They said nothing, simply leaning against walls and doorposts, arms folded, watching him.

  On the fifth day, he shrugged again into his full pack, tightened the straps across his shoulders, and walked out onto the barrack-square again for his two hours. Sankey was already waiting.

  So were four other men, all from his squad, all in their full kit and packs, mail and shield. Gerd looked from face to face, but nobody was giving anything away. All five faces were as blank as walls. "Come on, come on, form up," said Sankey. Gerd stepped into line, his body obeying before he had a chance to think. "Party, party shun! Close order dress, ho! Snap it up, snap it up. Better. Trail your spears, ho! Party, into file, left tu'n! By the right, quiiick march!"

  Their boots crunched over the gravel, Sankey counting cadence. He marched them across the square, past men who were standing by the entrance to the keep, watching silently. As they approached the inner side of the curtain wall he wheeled them, and wheeled them again at the gatehouse, still counting cadence.

  There he halted them and turned them into line, at right angles to the base of the gatehouse tower. He began the spear and shield drill, bellowing the orders as though they were on the other side of a river, not five paces away. "Port your spears, ho! Level your spears, ho! High present, ho! One pace forward, march! Brace your spears, ho!" The thud of spear-butts pounding on the hard ground, the stamping boots and the slap of palms on spear-staves echoed off the walls. At the top of those walls the sentries were looking down from the guard-walk, watching them.

  The door at the base of the tower opened. Captain Mannon looked out. Sankey filled his lungs. "Order your spears, ho!" The spears slammed vertical with a crash, and the line stiffened into exemplary immobility. Sankey snapped a full bristling salute, stamping his boots.

  Captain Mannon had been about to say something. His mouth was opening, but then he took in the faces, the exactly-ordered line of spears, the gleaming mail, the bright shields, the polished leather. His eyes flicked to Sankey, who was stiffly holding his salute. The Captain had no choice but to return it, and to do that he had to let go of the doorhandle and step forward. Whatever he had been about to say died in his throat. He drew himself erect, and as he did, his eyes rose to the men who were standing by the keep, then to the guards on the walls, all looking at him.

  He returned the salute, and suddenly his eyes were wary. "Good to see you doing your duty, corporal," he said, quietly. His voice rose. "At least someone is. Sentry! Can you see any beacon-fires?"

  The man on the wall started. He turned and hastily scanned the horizon. "Ah …. no, sir."

  "Well, that's good. Because the town could have been sacked and burned by now, and you'd have had your back to it. Get your eyes outward." Captain Mannon turned on the men standing by the keep. "And you there. If you're on make and mend, that means making and mending, not standing around as if it's hiring day at the fair. If you haven't got anything useful to do, I can find something for you."

  He glared at them, and they looked at one another. By ones and twos they withdrew into the keep. The Captain checked the sentry on the guard-walk again, and saw him standing rigid at his post, eyes outwards. He nodded, and his eyes returned to Sankey. "Carry on, corporal," he said, quietly. He ran his eye down the rigid line again, and for the first time glanced directly at Gerd. But his eye travelled on, with no further sign, and then he stepped back inside and closed the door again.

  As it thudded shut, Sankey might have made the slightest little nod. "All right, lads," he murmured. "Let's keep it tight." And then, in his official bellow, "Trail your spears, ho! Party, party left tu'n! By the right, quiiick march!"

  They pounded the square backwards and forwards for two hours, but the Captain did not reappear.

  The following day was kit inspection. The Captain seemed to take less time about it than before. Perhaps the standard of turn-out was higher than it had been. He walked steadily up and down the two ranks, and he had little to say.

  When he came to Gerd, he again said nothing. He didn't even glance at the dagger riding at Gerd's hip. He passed on without a sign, and Gerd slowly released the breath he'd been holding.

  Well, the Captain could hardly have picked him out for having improper equipment. Half the section was wearing a piece of Alissa's work, a knife or a belt-buckle, an arm-guard or a pair of reinforced gloves. All of them were worn so that the trademark showed, and had been buffed to make it clearer. The Captain showed no sign of having noticed. He did, however, take a moment to stare into Gerd's face before he walked on. Gerd, holding his own features rigid, had seen nothing there at all. Not challenge, not assessment, not disapproval. Nothing. The Captain might have been glancing at a stone in the wall.

  After guard-mount that evening, Gerd found Alissa locking up. She glanced up as Gerd loomed over the counter of the stall and nodded. "Good," she said. "You'll come in handy." She turned a heavy key in the
lock of her strongbox and swung the box around on the counter so that Gerd could take one of its handles. "Give me a hand with this, will you?"

  Gerd took the other handle and lifted. The box was a surprising weight. They carried it out between them, set it down while Alissa closed and bolted the door, and then picked it up and walked out of the bailey with it. They marched through the gateway and down the road towards the town.

  The wind off the sea still had a freshness about it, but the fields were already high with the grain, just coming into ear. There was a scent of growing crops, and a golden quality to the light. Gerd could feel the warmth of the long day's sun on his shoulders. The waters of the bay played lazily with the shingle of the shoreline, all power contained for the moment, a gentle surge and wash.

  "This is all your doing, you know," said Alissa, gesturing with her free hand towards the strongbox. "I should be paying you a portion."

  "Me?" asked Gerd. "I never said a word."

  "You didn't have to. There's been men from your squad slipping in all week, buying this or that. Except for the bow, I've sold every last piece I had on hand, including all sorts of try-outs and odd bits of work. I've been run off my feet. If business had always been this good, I'd never have sold up. I'd have bought a stall in town and stayed on."

  Gerd glanced across. Alissa was marching on steadily, shaking her head. "But you have sold up, haven't you, and you are going west to the Wizard's Isle to learn swordsmithing, aren't you?"

  "Yes. Now that I've made up my mind to do it, it's all I want to do. Funny how that happens."

  Gerd made no reply. He wished he could say as much about what he wanted. They stumped on into the town, where Alissa hefted the box onto the goldsmith's counter and opened it. The man raised his eyebrows at the mass of silver coins. He started sorting them into piles. Some were foreign money, Kihreean kroners or pieces from Narboine or Gleddis. There were even two or three sorts that Gerd had never seen before.

  The goldsmith separated some of these out, small discs, a little irregular in shape. "You're not taking those?" asked Alissa. She sounded disappointed. "I knew I shouldn't have …"

  "No, no," said the goldsmith. "I'll take them, all right. Those are thalers, old coins from the Wizard's Isle. They're struck by hand, but they're better silver than anything from the Western Isles or the Merchant's Guild. Lately, anyway. I'll give one of gold for twenty of those, by weight. For these -" he waved at a stack of island pieces "- sixty to one, and for those mainland coins eighty to one. Some of these recent mintings… tcha!" His voice trailed off. He busied himself with a pair of scales and calculations. "I make that five ounces and four pennyweights of gold. Will you take my note?"

  Alissa nodded, her eyebrows rising. "More than I thought. Yes, I'll take the note. Safer than carrying the gold," she said. "You have a correspondent in Walse?"

  "On the Wizard's Isle? Yes, of course," said the goldsmith, jotting down figures. "Petar Hollar, at the sign of the Fleece, in the Jewel Market. He'll take my paper, and give you ninety-eight in the hundred." He finished his reckoning, drew a line under it, and brought the candle to melt red wax on to the document. He folded the paper and impressed his seal into the wax and offered it to Alissa, who signed it across the fold, took it and put it carefully in a soft pouch that she carried under her tunic, next to her skin, while Gerd and the goldsmith averted their gaze. The goldsmith swept the silver into bags, which he tied off and set down behind the counter. Alissa nodded, and they left the shop.

  "So when are you leaving?" asked Gerd, as they emerged into the late sunshine. He was reluctant to think about it.

  "Next week," said Alissa. "The Two Brothers is just in, from Walse. I've already bespoke a berth. She'll clear in a week, wind and weather permitting."

  They had turned back for the castle again, still carrying the box, now empty, between them. "You've time for a drink, then," said Gerd, "as soon as we've put this back."

  But there was no time just then. They came to the gatehouse, and the sentry stopped them. "Captain's passed the word for you," he said to Gerd.

  Gerd and Alissa glanced at each other. "Did he say what he wanted?" asked Gerd.

  The sentry simply shrugged. Gerd and Alissa again exchanged glances. "You better go see him right away," said Alissa. "He doesn't like being kept waiting. I'll take the box. It's a lot lighter now."

  Gerd cast an eye over his turnout. It was well enough, for off-duty. He wore his mail, because he had to keep accustomed to the weight, and his sword and his dagger were on his belt. "All right," he said.

  At the door in the base of the gatehouse tower he took a moment to settle himself into the proper demeanour of a man called into the Captain's office. Stiff, unblinking, unsmiling. Head and shoulders back, back straight. He knocked.

  "Come," said a voice from within.

  Gerd opened the door.

  *

  "You'd better sit down," said Alissa, seeing his face.

  Gerd sat, filled one of the mugs from the pitcher he'd brought, and took a pull at it, saying nothing. Alissa watched him sidelong. Then she leaned back against the wall, crossed her ankles and put her mug down on the seat beside her, staring out at the sea. Indoors, the taproom was doing a brisk trade, and it was noisy. Here, on the bench outside, you didn't need to shout. The waves curled and washed the pebbles ten paces away, beyond the harbour wall. A cooling breeze blew off the harbour to balance the long evening's sunshine.

  "I wonder if I can guess what the captain wanted?" Alissa asked, directing the question, apparently, at a passing gull. Gerd made no reply. He wiped his mouth, sat forward on the bench and cradled his mug in both hands, staring at it. Alissa's mouth quirked. "Let's see. He's got a problem. He never had this sort of problem before. Either people do what he tells them, or else they try to fight, or else they just give up and go away. You did none of those. Instead, you asked him what right he had - and what do you know, he doesn't have an answer. And then others started asking the same question. He can't allow that to happen, now can he? It's a very awkward question indeed."

  She glanced at Gerd, who hadn't moved, before she stared out at the waves again. "So, if I were Captain Mannon, what would I do about this? Well, first, being that I'm a shrewd trader with a long head, I'd step back a bit and ask myself if there's not some other way to look at it. As soon as I did that, I'd see that if there's one thing the whole business proves, it's that Gerd Penrose is a leader. Where he goes, others follow. A good thing, I'd say, in an underofficer. Clearly, he ought to be promoted. So I'd offer him a promotion. Wouldn't I?"

  She checked Gerd again. Gerd's mouth had turned down, and he took another swallow of ale, very deliberately, as though washing a taste out of his mouth. Alissa nodded to herself, returned her eyes to the sea, and went on: "Now that, of course, would mean making quite clear to him that loyalty to the Company is required. Sadly, not all of the under-officers have shown leadership qualities, and some have been less than loyal. No doubt I would need to spell out to Penrose the benefits that loyalty would bring, including - since I was not going to be captain forever - the chance of even greater rewards to come. Just the thing for an ambitious young fellow on the way up."

  Gerd was staring into his drink again. His knuckles on the ale-mug had turned white. Alissa watched him sidelong, and smiled to herself. "And that would be exactly the right thing to do, too, if he was an ambitious young fellow, and if he thought that getting rich was the same thing as going up in the world." She leaned forward, picked up her ale mug, sipped, and leaned back again. "But it would be just the wrong thing to do if he didn't think like that. If he didn't think like Captain Mannon, that is."

  "I'm leaving the Company," said Gerd abruptly. "Buying myself out. I think I might go with you on the ship to Walse. See what's over there."

  "I thought you might be leaving. But you won’t be doing it just yet." Alissa's voice had changed. It sounded harder, no longer airy and bland. She leaned forward. "Certainly not yet, I think."


  Gerd turned his head to glare at her, as he hunched over his mug. "Why not yet?"

  "Because you haven't finished." Alissa gestured with the half-empty mug. "Oh, yes, of course you have to go. I don't know where, or what you'll do, but I do know that you don't want Corporal Sankey's job, nor Mannon's either, and that the Company is no place for you, even after you're done with cleaning it out. But you haven't finished cleaning it out yet."

  "Why do I have to do it?" asked Gerd, almost as if he were asking himself. "Why me?"

  "Why, because it needs it, and because you're the one who can, of course."

  Gerd looked at her sharply, but Alissa only smiled disarmingly and sipped her ale again. Gerd went back to staring at his hands.

  *

  "It's three weeks to midsummer day," said Gerd.

  "Only three? My, how time does get on." Corporal Sankey stumped along, his helmet hung from its strap on his chest, balancing the pack on his back. It was still six miles back to the castle, but most of it was downhill. They'd done fifteen miles already. "The flies are bad enough for midsummer, mind." He blew one away from his face and hitched his shoulders to shift the pressure of his webbing again.