Page 20 of Into the West

Not my millpond. Not my otters.

He could have made it his business, of course, but that would have set a bad precedent for everyone.

Not being a complete monster, aside from whatever flocks and herds and seed-stock they had, he actually had ordered a couple of the grain barges to be hauled out for them as well. One of the older mages, not one of the Six Old Men, but a mage named Siman, and Siman’s apprentice, were staying with the new village. Kordas more than half expected that the news of this was what had changed the other villages’ opinion of the new one from “grudging” to “welcoming.” He didn’t blame them at all. A mage was a force-multiplier if anything nasty came after you. And if nothing nasty came after you, they were useful in so very many ways that it wasn’t often people in tiny villages like these got within seeing distance of one. But Siman reckoned that he could live out a comfortable old age here, with his apprentice handling the bulk of any work they were asked to do, and unlike the Six, who seemed to thrive on adventure and uncertainty, poor old Siman had not greeted the advent of their escape with any pleasure. But to remain behind meant the certainty of being scooped up by whatever power broker ended up on the Imperial Throne, and he’d liked that idea even less. This had turned out to be a happy compromise for everyone.

Well, watching people bumble barges around was getting a trifle irritating. The thwacking and thumping of vessels colliding sounded like a band of drummers dropping their instruments down an infinite staircase. Yelling—most of it unnecessary, which only made it more annoying (this shouting could have been a note!) seemed to run in waves up and down the staging area. Still, best not to have runners in action now, so, shouting it was. And yes, of course he could have called all the mages here and gotten them to do it magically—but magic was a manageable resource and one he intended to preserve until needed, and most of the people here had no idea just how many mages he’d collected under his roof. He had no intention of letting them find out. Firstly, he was certain there was at least one person out there who would be willing to sell them all out to the Empire if they thought they could get away with it and the pay would be enough, and he especially did not want the Empire knowing how many mages he had. People would be people. They will do what seems best for them at the time. It’s not that anybody would “turn evil” in an instant, it’s usually that someone ran out of good solutions at the same time an opportunity to do harm comes along. That can happen to anyone, and there is fear here, so let-downs and betrayals are inevitable. You don’t have to utterly trust them to love them. Secondly, if they knew how many mages there were, people would be coming to him all the time to try to get the mages to do with magic what they could very well do, albeit with difficulty, with their own hands and those of their neighbors. That was a bad habit to get into. Mages were people too, and people got annoyed, even angry, when plagued with too many petty requests. People got testy when overworked.

And the mages were of different specialties and all levels of strength and skill, starting with Jonaton and the old men at the top, down to Sai’s new apprentice Venidel. But Kordas had noticed more than once in the past that to most people a mage was a mage was a mage and they were all interchangeable.

Not unlike Dolls. Or servants. Or Dukes or Barons. People think of each other as what they can do for them first, and as individuals second. It’s not evil, it’s expedient. We don’t have a lot of time to be cozy.

So rather than find himself or his mages enmired in countless exercises in futility, Kordas and his staff just simply did not let people know how many magic wielders they had, nor who they were. The mages appreciated that; many of the ones he’d sheltered had suffered from fools, the thoughtless, and those who thought magic was “effortless”—even to their faces.

Even while trying to keep the idiots alive despite themselves.

“Well, this is going about as well as I’d expected, and not worse, which is a relief,” he told Rose. “So let’s get back to our own strings and see that we set an example about being organized.”

I almost wish there had been a way to siphon off some of that young Elemental’s magic and store it for later, he thought, as he and Rose got well away from the busy footpath around the lake and walked back to their section. It would have been more than useful. It would have made setting up the new Gates they were inevitably going to have to put up a lot easier.

But that would have been wrong, he decided. The poor thing was being tormented, and making use of what it produced in response to the torment would have made me no better than the Emperor. Maybe worse, because I, at least, know better, and I’d have taken it anyway. I could have justified it, too. Then again, thanks to the Dolls, we saved who we could, or so I tell myself.

He exhaled strongly, pulling himself off of that well-trodden path of thought. For now, if he had followed his own wishes, he would have been with the scouts, as one of the mages there to protect them. All anyone knew, including the people who lived around Crescent Lake, was that the further north and west you went, the more magic and danger you were likely to encounter.

But—I can’t do that. He couldn’t take Isla and the boys with him, and he didn’t want to leave them. For the first time, ever, they were allowed to be a family, and he was enjoying that. In fact, except for the danger and uncertainty facing them, this was the happiest he had ever been in his life. Now that his family’s plan was in motion—

Well, Isla had put it best. Good leaders know how to let go and let competent people do their jobs. Leave petty grievances and squabbles among neighbors to their own headmen. Leave cooking and figuring out rations to the quartermasters, former housekeepers, former Seneschals, and cooks.

Leave scouting to the scouts. Leave leadership to those who can’t escape it.

And with that in mind, he stepped up his pace.

From where Delia stood on the stern of the first barge in their string of five, the land on this side of the Gate didn’t look much different from Crescent Lake. Wooded, almost up to the riverbank, but at least there was enough open space on either bank to act as a towpath. Some of the trees she recognized, most she didn’t, and she didn’t know the names of any of the bushes, but that was mostly because she didn’t know much about plants that weren’t growing in a garden. The chief difference was that this part of the country must have been hit with a hard frost at some point in the very near past, because the evergreens stood out like doleful sentinels against the flaming reds, oranges, and yellows on either side of the river. It was breathtaking; back home the trees didn’t burst out into colors nearly this bright.

I need to stop thinking of it as “back home.”

Grass on this verge was up to a horse’s knees, but the horses weren’t being allowed to snatch mouthfuls on the way. They’d all had a nice grain meal this morning, they’d get a chance for some green stuff when they stopped for a rest and water at noon, and they’d be allowed to graze all night. Letting them mosey along, snatching up grass as the mood dictated, did two bad things, at least according to Stafngrimr: the horses would slow down to nothing to stuff themselves, and they’d get the bad habit of expecting you to cater to their whims when they wanted to eat. “Snacks on your terms, not theirs,” he’d said. “Or they are the leader, not you. And you don’t want a horse thinking he’s the one in charge.”

And besides, letting them eat with a bit in their mouths meant you’d be spending hours cleaning mucky, nasty bits and bridles.

A couple of the mages’ mounts had objected to not being able to do as they pleased, but the former Imperial Sergeant, Briada Fairweather, had stopped the entire group for a moment, gone and cut some willow switches in full view of all the animals, and then—making sure each mount knew she was handing a switch to its rider—dealt them out.

“If you beat these nags, I’ll beat you,” she said flatly, as she got back on her horse. “But now they know that if they disobey you, there’ll be consequences, and if Stafngrimr is half the horseman I think he is, they all know about those consequences. Put your heels to them if they won’t stay with the group, and just give their rumps a little flick with the switch if they don’t keep up after that.” She smiled at Delia. “Don’t need to hurt them, just get their attention.”

Since the mounts all immediately behaved themselves, it appeared that Briada was right.

The Sergeant’s two cousins were in the lead, both with hand-crossbows and a Spitter, as well as an eye-opening number of knives, and axes that looked well used. Ivar’s huge black mastiff Bay ranged on ahead, but not that far; if his master called him back it would take him two breaths to be at their side. The dog worked his way in a zigzag from one side of the path to the other. Once in a while he stopped long enough to sniff in the air or the ground, but evidently he didn’t find anything to alarm him, because he went right back to his own version of scouting.

Ivar brought up the rear, also with hand-crossbow and Spitter, also with an axe instead of a sword, and two knives almost as long as Delia’s forearm instead of a lot of smaller ones. Next to him was the Sergeant, armed with a sword instead of an axe as her cousins were. Delia guessed that when they had deserted the Imperial Army, they had taken their arms with them. They had armor, but it wasn’t obvious. It was underneath the enormous knitted wool tunics they all wore. That had been Briada’s idea.

“Baron said we aren’t an invading army, so don’t look like one,” she’d explained to Delia. “Man makes sense. We want to get through territories peacefully. If we’ve got weapons, that’s only good planning. If we’ve got armor, well, you don’t armor up against boars and bears, and that makes it look like we’re looking for trouble.”

Delia could easily pick out some of the Valdemar horse lines by eye. Manta, Ivar’s horse, was a Charger out of the Bearheart line. The three Fairweathers all had Chargers too, but out of a slightly smaller line, the Grimjack line. Chargers were specifically bred and trained for war; you could brandish a sword around their ears and they wouldn’t turn a hair. They were also trained in harness, so the big chestnut Tow-Beast, Tight Squeeze, could get some rest if he ran into terrain that made him labor. Hakkon had his very own Valdemar Gold, Skydancer. Jonaton was mounted on a mule, since speed was not going to be needful, but steadiness was. He and his mule Carrot knew each other very well, and she wouldn’t blink if he started performing magic on her back.

Sai and his apprentice also rode mules and so did a mage Delia didn’t know well, named Endars; apparently mules were the mount of choice for a mage when fast travel was not required.

Alberdina and Delia’s mounts were not what Delia had expected; they were False Golds. At two years old, they were not their full size yet, but they were up to bearing the weight of the smaller women. The important part was that they had been trained to follow where Hakkon and Manta went, and they were gentle and strong. They could also haul the boats at a pinch, and Delia’s Buttercup was doing just that alongside Tight Squeeze.

The last member of their party did not actually have a mount, because she didn’t know how to ride: the Doll Amethyst. Someone had done a beautiful job with this doll, embroidering a lovely, stylistic face with beadwork surrounding an amethyst cabochon in the middle of her forehead. She hadn’t spoken much to Delia, and she didn’t seem to speak much in general.