Noble-born or not, Orbern ran things because at least he had some kind of claim to an education. Knew how to build. He’d had them put up a palisade across the gorge they occupied. Raised log cabins that didn’t leak. Even got a crude sort of forge up and running for their metalworking needs. It used a big ol’ flat stone as an anvil.
And because of all this the man’s rule was tolerated, even if he was a pompous ass.
Today Yusek was ‘scouting’. Which consisted of crouching under the cover of a tall evergreen watching the rain misting down the mountainside. The Mengal mountains were tall enough to gather clouds to themselves, but here they were not tall enough to completely shadow the leeward slopes, and deep valleys cut through to the coast. As a result, a portion of the mist always reached inland — not that any ever touched the Dwelling Plain.
She was keeping an eye on the trader track where it came winding up from the south. And this day, sure enough with the damned cold rain and all, there came two figures tramping through the mud, stepping over the trunks of fallen trees, pushing through the channels of run-off that charged across the path.
Damned fools. Out in this weather. Now she had to get soaked too!
She went down to meet them.
They were a couple of the sorriest travellers she’d ever seen. Carried no goods or packs as far as she could make out; they wore big loose hooded cloaks pulled close against the rain. At least they were armed, as she could see the polished bronze heels of sheaths hanging down beneath their cloaks.
As she stepped out on to the track they stopped and exchanged looks with each other from under their deep hoods. ‘Where you headed?’ she asked.
One stepped forward. ‘North,’ he said in a strange accent.
‘I’m with a settlement just-’
‘Do you know of a monastery here in these mountains?’ the fellow demanded, cutting her off.
‘A what? Monastery? No. Like I said, I’m with-’
But the two had walked right past her. She watched them go, dumbfounded. What in the name of Mowri …
She caught up with them. ‘Listen. There’s a settlement near here. Orbern-town.’ Stupid damned name. Orbern-town! Damned ass. Ha! Ass-town!
The two stopped. Even this close Yusek couldn’t see into the deep hoods. One spoke again, the same one as before — the other had yet to say anything at all. ‘There are people there who would know these mountains well?’ he asked.
Yusek wiped the cold mist from her face, shrugged. ‘Yeah. Sure. You bet.’
‘Very well. You may lead us there.’
She snorted, waved for them to follow. Listen to that! ‘You may lead us there …’ Who do these two think they are?
Yusek wouldn’t have denied she’d grown up in the middle of nowhere and knew next to nothing, but even she would’ve run off when the sharpened logs of the palisade hove into view. She especially would’ve panicked when the heavy log door was pushed shut behind them and the great cross-piece was set into place and all the hairy unwashed mountain men of Orbern’s crew came shambling out to see what was up.
But not these two. They followed her right in, meek as lambs to the axe. Some people, she reflected, didn’t have the sense to be allowed to live.
She led them straight up to the main log ‘Hall’ as Orbern called it, pushed open the door. The two followed her in. A bunch of the crew pushed in behind.
Orbern was eating; he spent a lot of time doing that, hanging around the table. Yusek guessed this was his way of playing ‘Lord of the Manor’. He looked up as if surprised, set down his knife and wiped his hands on the layered robes he wore to demonstrate his ‘Office’. He had a great head of straggly hair and beard that Yusek figured he cultivated, again as part of his image as some kind of great master of the wilderness, like those of the ex-free cities of the north.
‘And who do we have here?’ he asked, all arch and loud.
‘Travellers, sir,’ she answered, addressing him as he kept telling them to.
Orbern pulled on his beard, nodding. ‘Excellent! Greetings, sirs! Welcome to Orbern-town — such as it is at this time. Admittedly no Mengal yet. But we are growing. Soon we hope to become a regular waystop on the trader road. What may we do for you? Beds for the night, perhaps?’
Some of the boys behind the travellers chuckled at that. The two didn’t even turn round.
‘Do you know of a monastery in these mountains, north of here?’
Orbern made a great show of stroking his beard and studying the cross-beams above. ‘A monastery, you say? Are you on a devotional pilgrimage? Are they expecting you?’
‘If none here knows it then we will move on.’
A lot more of the men laughed at that. Yusek couldn’t hide her disbelief. How dense can you be?
Orbern merely raised a hand for silence. ‘There’s no hurry. Perhaps we do know of such a place. Perhaps-’
‘Do you know?’ the traveller asked, interrupting.
Orbern was thrown for a moment but recovered smoothly. ‘I? No. But for a contribution to Orbern-town’s-’
‘Then who?’
Orbern glared from beneath his tangled brows. Yusek laughed, and none too gently. Now this was funny … this was a good show. ‘A contribution to Orbern-town’s future will gain you our good will,’ Orbern ground out, sounding far from friendly.
As if by way of answer, the spokesman of the two pushed back his heavy hood.
Yusek heard gasps of hissed breaths. Almost as one the crowd of outlaws and murderers, hunted men all, flinched several steps backwards, clearing a circle round the two. She stared surprised: the man wore a mask, a painted oval, all complex swirls and bands. Oddest thing, she thought. Then she glanced to Orbern.
The man was frozen, eyes huge. He appeared to be struggling to take a breath to speak but failing. Yusek made a disgusted face. What’s this? So the fellow’s wearing a mask? So what?
No one moved or spoke; it was as if all were too terrified. A few like Yusek were peering about, confused; mostly men from the north. Since no one was saying anything she stepped forward, hands on the knives at her belt. ‘Hand over everything you have,’ she demanded.
A strangled high-pitched laugh burst from Orbern. He waved his hands frantically. ‘Don’t listen to her!’ he spluttered, almost squeaking. ‘You are free to go, of course!’
‘What’s this?’ called out Waynar, a great hairy fellow from the north who claimed Barghast blood. He uncrossed his thick arms and stepped forward. ‘Free to go?’
‘Would you shut up!’ Orbern snarled at him, then offered the two guests a nervous laugh.
‘You ain’t our king or anything,’ Waynar countered. He loomed up so close to the visitors that his out-thrust chin almost touched the masked forehead of the much shorter and slighter of the two. ‘Who in Hood’re you? An’ why’re you wearin’ that stupid mask?’
Damned straight! Yusek added silently. ’Bout time someone took charge. Looks like Orbern might be on the outs.
The spokesman tilted his head to peer past Waynar’s shaggy bulk. ‘Is this one in defiance of your orders?’
Orbern’s shoulders fell. He clasped his head in his hands and let out a long shuddering breath. ‘I am very sorry, Waynar,’ he said. ‘But … yes. He is.’
The spokesman shrugged. Or appeared to shrug. Something happened. Yusek wasn’t sure; she didn’t quite catch it. His cloak moved, anyway. Waynar’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened but nothing came out. Then a great torrent of blood and fluids came gushing down from the man’s waist, down over his legs, splattering amid falling wet glistening coils and viscera. The man almost split in half.