Kings of the North (20 page)

“I wish I’d thought to look at those money bags,” Arcolin said. “All I saw was silver and copper coins; when he said it was his own, I thought I’d let the Council figure it out.”

“Well, they have. ’Course, what I heard could be just rumor, but I heard other things that fit in. Those coins were supposed to have
been minted here, in Vonja—had the Vonja die marks. But the Vonja Council swore they weren’t, by some secret mark no one’s supposed to know. The odd thing is, most of ’em were the right weight and passed the float test, whatever that is. Only some of the silvers were too heavy. Why would anyone make counterfeits with too much silver?”

“I’m not sure,” Arcolin said. “Burek told that last season, most of Golden Company contracted there and the bankers turned back a lot of their contract payment as counterfeit. Those were Sorellin natas … or they bore Sorellin’s mint marks. Burek said it almost caused riots.”

“Did M’dierra tell you about it, sir?”

“No. She did mention some counterfeiting—so did the banker—but she didn’t tell me specifically about her experience.”

“Burek still doing well?”

“Very well. And I found out what Andressat has against him. He may be a bastard grandson of the old man, and he chose not to take the job the count offered him. That would be enough with Andressat; he’d think it ingratitude. His foster father is a horse master at the count’s stud.”

Talking to Stammel the way he always had eased the strangeness; Stammel sat the same way, held his hands the same way, had the same expressions on his face. Arcolin tried not to look at his eyes.

“The thing is,” Arcolin went on, “there are more brigands—or whatever they are—in the woods around here than can possibly be supported without regular resupply. You know that village we camped near at first?” Stammel nodded. “They came down on that village, destroyed a couple of the cottages, killed some of the villagers and took the rest—left a trail a blind—sorry—anyone could follow across the grain. We stayed there the night after I left Cortes Vonja. No attack. We went as far as the deserted village beyond the one where we found the merchant.”

Stammel scowled. “Is that the one just south of a stretch of woods?”

“Yes. I remembered it when I rode out into what had been fields; we passed that way coming up from Sibili, last year of Siniava’s War. The cottages are all collapsed now, but someone’s tending the well. Flowers, and that.”

“And the merchant came that way …” Stammel said.

“Yes. There’s a ford in the woods, well out of sight or hearing of either village if they were both occupied. In the old days, it had stones laid down—they’ve been moved, to make a hole—wagons can’t get through without risking an axle unless you unload and load them. And there’s a footpath—a wide one, with bootmarks—along the stream to the east.”

“So the merchant could deliver the food and money there. Why did he have it still when we found him?”

“I think the brigands gave him the money,” Arcolin said. “It’s backward, I know, brigands giving money to merchants instead of robbing them, but if you wanted to put counterfeit money in circulation, who better than a merchant going to trade? As for the food, I think that’s farther from their camp, wherever it is.”

“I suppose,” Stammel said. “But it only makes the merchant richer, doesn’t it? I mean, if it weren’t discovered? And if it is, he’s dead and they don’t have a supply line.” He shook his head. “I don’t see the gain for them—or whoever hired them.”

“If the coins aren’t discovered, then with more silver or gold—or what’s taken for gold—I suppose that would spread somehow … but I can’t figure out if prices would go down or up.”

“Up,” Stammel said. “They always go up.”

Arcolin laughed. “Seems so, indeed. But scarcity always makes them go up more, and sometimes they go down in a good harvest year.”

“One of the conversations I heard,” Stammel said, “one man said if the Guild League cities started adulterating their coinage, there was no use to have a Guild League at all. He said … he said there was only one reliable mint in all the south. The others laughed at him and called him a fool.”

“Did he say where that was?” Arcolin said.

“No, sir. I think he showed them a coin—I heard one fall to their table. But I couldn’t see—and Suli was away just then, for a few moments, and didn’t see.”

“Sounds like a spy,” Arcolin said. “And very much as if someone doesn’t want the Guild League itself to prosper. I can think of only one lord down here who might have ambitions that high. Most of them are still recovering from Siniava’s War. But that only adds to my concerns. We’re only one cohort.”

“We’ll be all right, sir,” Stammel said. “Where are we, exactly? Other than two and a half days’ ride from Cortes Vonja?”

“Sitting athwart one of their main trails,” Arcolin said. “We move every two days—they’ve become better at attacking our camps, but we’ve had only minor casualties. Here—I’m going to take your hand and put it on this map—I’ve put out sticks and things to show how the land is here.”

Stammel grimaced but put out his hands; Arcolin took one and guided it to the map. “These stones are the last village we passed. Only six huts; three more in ruins. About half the fields they used to farm are overgrown; they run pigs in the woods and let cattle have the overgrown fields. I’m trying to find as many of the trails as I can, and thus figure out where their camp is.”

“You don’t think they’re moving about like we are?”

“No … largely because the villages differ so in how they react when asked about them. If they were always on the move, I’d expect the villages to have about the same contact with them, but that’s clearly not so.” Arcolin swallowed. He had to talk to Stammel about the effect of his blindness on the cohort, but he dreaded it. He tried to keep his voice light. “I wanted to ask you about Suli—she’s your usual guide, isn’t she?”

“I’m used to Suli now, sir. I know it’s strange, having a woman as my guide—all the things we’ve said—but there’s nothing—”

“I didn’t think that.” He was sure of Stammel, less sure of a young girl whose good heart might lead her too far.

“It’s her experience, you see. Her uncle went blind. She understands just how much help I need. She doesn’t try to smother me, and she doesn’t leave me lost.” Stammel swallowed. “It’s not fair to her, o’ course. She signed on to be a soldier, not a blind man’s guide. She says she doesn’t mind, but—”

“We’ll let the two of you train others,” Arcolin said. “This may not be the last time we have someone blinded. Most of our people know how to tie up a bleeding arm or leg now; they might as well learn this. Then she can rotate back into her regular duties.”

“Makes sense,” Stammel said. “Whatever the cohort needs, sir, you know I’ll go along.”

“Your needs count, too. You’ve already brought me valuable information. But now, I’ve kept you long enough. Suli can take you to
find Devlin; you and Dev decide who to start training as Suli’s assistant.”

Arcolin stood under the tent flap, watching Suli and Stammel walk across to the tent where Devlin waited, talking to Arñe. Except for his hand on Suli’s shoulder, Stammel seemed the same as ever: his carriage upright, his steps firm and even. With a guide, he would be able to march with them; he would not need a horse or a seat in a wagon. His mind was as clear as ever … he would gain weight and muscle, Arcolin knew, with time. Stammel alive, sane, healthy—should he be grateful for that and consider sight a small price to pay? He closed his eyes, shutting out the sunlight, the familiar faces of his cohort, trying to imagine it, but he could not. Sight was not a small price, no matter what else was left.

By evening everyone had greeted Stammel, and the mood of the whole cohort seemed better. Devlin, in particular, had lost his worried expression; Arcolin had seen the two of them, Stammel’s hand on Devlin’s shoulder, doing a circuit of the camp.

“I did not think it would make so much difference, having him back,” Burek said.

“You hadn’t had time to know him,” Arcolin said. “Those here who hadn’t fought with him before trained with him in the north. He’s everyone’s favorite uncle or older brother.”

“M’dierra has a sergeant like that—the recruits are first terrified, then adoring.”

“Minicor?” Arcolin asked. When Burek nodded, he said “I met him years ago; you’re right; he is very like Stammel. The troops could stand to lose me better than Stammel.”

Burek looked horrified. “But sir—if you—then I—”

“Not ready for it yet?”

“Not if it means you—something happens—”

Arcolin shrugged. “These things do happen, you know. I believe you’ll do well if it does, but in the meantime, I do wear my helmet.”

Burek laughed. Arcolin’s adventure without his helmet had indeed spread through the cohort.

“So, now that things are more as they were—not that they will be, if he doesn’t regain his sight—let me tell you what I learned from Stammel and the others who returned today.” He gave Burek a précis of the information they’d brought. “So—together with what
we’ve discussed before, do you see anything else, any pattern I’ve missed?”

“No,” Burek said. “I could wish they’d gone into the markets and noticed prices, especially the horse market, because that’s what I know most. If there’s bad money about—or more money than there should be—the price of horses goes up. Shoeing, too. I wonder if any of them noticed that.”

“They were staying in a grange in Smiths’ Street. Surely some of the yeomen were smiths. But then, the Girdish are set against false weights and measures, and in Fintha they control prices. I don’t know if Marshal Harak would approve if they raised their prices, unless the cost of iron and coal went up.”

“When we go back to the city, I can go to the horse market and talk to the smiths,” Burek said.

“In the meantime,” Arcolin said, “let’s make sure the camp isn’t so happy to have Stammel back they get careless with the watch.”

But Stammel himself took care of that; they heard his voice from across the camp, the familiar bellow. “And while you lot are sitting here like spinsters gossiping, who’s keeping watch? Less talk and more work!”

A startled silence, then camp noises resumed, this time with a different timbre.

Over the next few days, Arcolin grew used to seeing Stammel with a hand on someone’s shoulder, his head cocked a little sideways. Neat in appearance as always, attentive, alert, quick to silence idle chatter, ready to respond to any orders Arcolin or Burek gave. They moved every few days, marking the trails they found on the map; Stammel marched as fast as the others, needing extra help only on the rougher ground. Everyone called Suli “Eyes” now, but many of the troops had a nickname; he thought nothing of it.

Arcolin suspected—but knew better than to ask—that Suli, Devlin, and others gave him special help. That didn’t matter. They had Stammel; Stammel had them. If some chores were quietly diverted from him, and others came to him because sight was not required, it was only common sense. A familiar voice, a familiar presence.

They were attacked again one night, an attack as carefully planned as the other, and this time killed only five; two of their own were wounded. Arcolin heard Devlin, voice harsh with effort, tell Stammel
to get back, get down. He felt a stab of grief, but there was no time—they fought off the attack, and when he came back, Stammel was busy, talking to one of the wounded as he held the man’s shoulders down and Master Simmitt stitched the wound. He made no complaint.

But just before dawn, as Arcolin made the rounds, he found Stammel standing with one of the sentries. “I was wondering,” Stammel said. “About archery.”

“Archery?”

“I know I can’t use a sword without eyes. But I think I could shoot.”

Arcolin felt his brows rising. “But you need eyes even more—the targets are farther away.”

“I need someone to tell me where. I was thinking about Paks, and that trip she and the others made from Dwarfwatch. Canna was shot by someone who never saw her, Paks said. Someone just shooting blindly into a thicket. Now, if we were attacked, and I had someone to tell me where to aim—”

“Sergeant—” Arcolin shook his head, glad for once Stammel could not see. “I never heard of a blind archer,” he said finally.

“There’s a legend,” Stammel said. “And I’ve seen inns with that name—always thought it was a joke about the ale, to be honest. But still—if I could try with a crossbow …”

Arcolin looked at him. “You’ve spanned one already, haven’t you?”

Stammel nodded. “And the thing is, Captain, you know we usually have Cracolnya’s cohort. We need archers. If I can—they’ll never expect it. It’s like you said; they’re spying on us. They know I’m blind; they think I’m helpless.” His hands clenched and opened, clenched and opened. “If I can hit a target, then anyone could—we could train our own—maybe a half-file?”

It was impossible; it could not work, but sparring in unarmed combat was not enough for a man like Stammel. He had to feel he could fight. Arcolin understood that very well. And Stammel was right—they did need more archers. They had the captured crossbows …

“If we were in the stronghold, I’d say yes,” Arcolin said. “You’d have the space there; we’d have armsmasters to teach you. But here? We’re on campaign.”

“Just let me try for one day, sir. If I make no progress by the end of it, I’ll say no more.”

“All right.” What, after all, could it hurt? They weren’t moving that day, anyway. He could let Stammel try to get over the notion—though what would replace it he could not guess.

Stammel took a typically Stammel approach to the practice. “How many of you think you can outshoot a blind man?” he asked a glass later. Silence. “Come on, don’t be shy. I’m betting someone a jug of ale, when we get back to Valdaire, that I can outshoot you. Maybe not today, but another day. To make it fair, you can start practicing with me.” A chuckle, somewhat nervous.

Stammel held up one of their five crossbows. “This is a crossbow. It’s nice and short and thus good for use in the woods. Some of you have never used a crossbow, because Siger, being from Lyonya originally, likes longbows.” He pointed out the parts of the crossbow, naming them. “Simple to use—aim, pull this, then re-span and you’re set. Even if you don’t hit anyone, they won’t like the sound of death from the air.” Meanwhile, targets were set up, not far away at all.