No shell misses. When we say such a thing we an that it has not struck n or materiel - but every shot strikes sothing. Walk through Daressa, where the thunder and fire has raged for years without respite, and you will see that war kills more than n.
- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687
He found a road after an hour or so of walking, as the land flattened and spread beneath another set of towering mountains. Shell-bursts were more frequent here - it looked as if barrages were regular, and prone to target the road. Splotches of irregular, loosely-packed dirt mingled with the older road surface where attacks had struck true and been hastily repaired.
There were other, more sobering reminders. The wreckage of wagons and carts lay here and there upon the road. Bloated horses and oxen buzzed with clouds of flies or lay with gleaming white bone exposed to the sun. The air stank of death and stagnant water when the wind blew, and grew thick with insects when it stilled.
By mid-day the stench and noxious buzzing swarms had beco intolerable; even where the road was not littered with animal carcasses there were great pools of fetid water that had gathered in craters. When he ca to a crossroads, Michael gladly took the narrower path that led away from the coast and toward the hills. He could see a light haze of smoke from beyond a rise, and the deep wheel-ruts in the path promised at least a middling village lay sowhere along the turnoff.
As it happened, the village was not far at all from the main road. Michael felt in high spirits at the prospect of a place to rest and eat, far from the stink he had waded through for most of the morning. The Safid had clearly limited their barrage to the coastal road; this one was unmarked and well-kept.
The village itself ca into view as he crested the slope. It was a small sort of town, although markedly different from the ones he rembered from Ardalt. Where Varneck or Maiburg had been loose sprawls of buildings interspersed with fields and animal pens, the houses here clustered together in a tight clump ringed by a low but stout wall. The wall itself had clearly been patched and reconstructed many tis, the stone varying from aged but neatly-cut blocks to little more than a loose jumble of cented infill.
Two n stood by the towns gate, conversing in the shade until one of them spotted Michael approaching. They were ard but not uniford; both held rifles ready at their sides while watching him walk up the path. For his part, Michael made sure that his hands were clearly visible - the tension in their greeting was palpable.
Thats far enough, one of the n called, bringing Michael to a halt several paces from their position. His eyes tracked thodically over Michaels disheveled appearance, lingering on his boots before snapping back to his face. State your business.
Their speech marked them as locals - Daressan, by simple logic, though Michael had never learned to differentiate most of the smaller continental dialects by ear. The accent was reminiscent enough of Esroun that he had no trouble understanding it.
Looking for so food and drink, Michael replied. Maybe a place to clean up.
The two n exchanged a glance. Michael did not miss the slight nod that the leftmost gave, nor that the other man was looking for it. He felt a slow chill. Was one of the doorn a verifex, or one of the lesser varieties that could likewise sniff out deception?
Roads closed, said the man who had spoken before. Has been for a week. Howd you get past the block? You co from Leik?
Michael shook his head, his thoughts blurring as he tried to pare down a truthful but innocuous variant of his story. Ca by boat - not the Safid ships, he said, holding his hands up as both n tensed. Saw them shelling Leik last night, tried to steer wide. Ended up wrecking on the shore. I passed out there until morning, then walked until I ca here.
Another glance, another nod from the man on the left - less firm, this ti. Definitely an ensouled. Michael hoped it was not his anxiety that the man was using to test his claims, as he felt it more keenly the longer this impromptu interrogation continued.
The speaker shrugged and turned back to Michael. One last question: do you an harm to anyone in this town, or to the free people and sovereignty of Daressa? The verifex nudged him in the ribs, and the man let out a sigh. or to their Ardan protectors?
No, Michael said, with what he hoped was clear conviction.
Firm nod. The n parted, and the probably-verifex gestured for him to walk inside. We dont have an inn, he said. But Roland serves food and drink for coin, if his mood suits. On the right as you enter, with the green door.
Michael thanked the n and walked in, letting out a shaky breath as he passed under the arched gateway and into the village proper. He was quite sure those n would have shot him if he had lied, and denied him entry for ambiguity. This was a village at war, and had been for long enough that it appeared more of a fortress outpost charged with farming than so sleepy backwater. He was a long way from Ardalt.
The reality of his situation made itself felt once again as he got his first look at the town. It had an age to it that most construction in Ardalt lacked, a sense that the paint and copious plaster lay over work from stonemasons long-dead. Buildings crowded together and rose high with their sides pressed together, culminating in mossy sloped-tile roofs that overhung the street.
He did not have to look long for Rolands door, as the vibrant green paint made it jump out amid the cramped buildings. Michael grasped the wooden handle and pulled the door open.
There was a small room within, furnished in fine dark woods. A modest bar ran along the far wall, and a few tables clustered under the front windows. The bartender, presumably Roland himself, looked up as Michael entered.
A new face, he rumbled, not sounding particularly pleased at the notion. He looked like a man who subsisted entirely on at, so of which might even have been cooked. We dont normally get many travelers. None, recently. Trouble is more likely. He squinted over the bar at Michael. So which are you?
Just hungry, Michael said, trying to muster a smile. Very hungry. Ive just walked up from the coast. The man at the gate said you might have food.
A noise from the corner sent a little shock of adrenaline through Michaels gut, though he kept his smile frozen on his face. His focus on food had kept his attention squarely on Roland, but now he turned his sight to the side. Three people sat at one of the corner tables, two n and a woman. They were not overtly staring at Michael, but by their posture they were certainly paying attention.
I do, if you have coin, Roland said. Nothing fancy. Bread, cheese and ale for a livre.
Michael hurriedly realigned his sight with his eyes. Ah, he said. Im afraid I only have Ardan coin.
A crown, then, Roland said, making an exasperated gesture. Michael fished out the largest of the coins he had stolen from Elias and set it on the counter; Roland made it disappear with preternatural speed. A noise from the corner made Michael turn his sight again.
The three at the table wore covert smiles. Michael realized that he may have just been swindled - he did not have proper exchange rates in his head, and had no idea how many Daressan livres went into an Ardan crown or vice versa - nor, indeed, if one livre was a reasonable sum to ask for a spare al of bread and cheese.
Money had not been a real concern of his prior to today. Jeorg had possessed seemingly inexhaustible funds, sohow, and what he had learned during his schooling related more to broader matters of finance rather than actually using the stuff. His father had impressed upon him, however, that if a man cheats you it is usually best to let him think he has done so successfully.
Karl would have gone on to plot revenge, of course. Michaels desires were simpler, he would forgive Roland nearly any transgression as long as the man eventually fed him.
To Michaels delight, Roland bent down beneath the counter and erged with a rough platter, on which he placed half a loaf of bread and a sizable block of a fresh, white cheese. He pushed it in front of Michael and turned to fill a mug from so barrels on the back wall; by the ti he had filled it half of the bread was gone.
The stony expression on the barmans face softened fractionally, although his mouth pulled into a frown. Chew your food, damn you, he grumbled, bending down once more to retrieve a length of sausage. He sliced it with a knife from his belt and tossed the at onto the platter beside the cheese. Keep it in your stomach, not on my floor.
Michael gave him a grateful smile, trying his best to linger on each bite now that his imdiate, ravenous need was sated. He moved on to the cheese and sausage, finding both to be deliciously salty and filling. He was more sure now than ever that Stefans soul had gifts beyond endurance - the volu of food he had eaten was prodigious, and he did not feel anywhere near full. Michael reflected that if ever made it back to Ardalt, he would have to look up that old tutor of his and apologize for his inattention.
Mid-mouthful, he paused when one of the n at the table stiffened. His head was tilted to look out the window, eyes sharpened on sothing in the distance. Constable, he muttered.
Every eye in the room turned to Michael. The woman among their group got up, carefully stepping around an empty chair to eye him. Her eyes slid downward to his boots, then up to his face with realization. Shit, she muttered, exchanging a look with Roland.
She turned to look back at the table, and Michaels sight blurred for a mont. When it cleared the others had gone, leaving him alone with Roland.
What- he began, but Roland laid a aty hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard, staring into his eyes for a mont before giving a disgusted snort and pushing Michael away.
Should have seen it, he spat. Idiot. What were you thinking, coming here? Just because we dont have a garrison-
The door burst open, revealing two Ardan soldiers - one with the filigreed cap of an officer, the other a walking slab of muscle in an infantrymans gear. Behind them stood the verifex from the gate. A grin spread across his face as his eyes settled on Michael.
There, the verifex said. You see?
The Ardan officer sighed and reached into his pocket, taking out a neat stack of coins. Yes, yes, well done, he sighed, handing the money to the verifex and stepping through the door. Michael could hear the wooden floorboards groan as the other soldier followed, glaring down at him.
And you, the officer said, moving to stand in front of Michael. As with the others, his eyes flicked to his boots, then his face. Deserter. Youre better at hiding it than so, but a spectors eyes will always tell. The officer smiled, and the other soldier stepped forward to clamp Michaels arm in an unyielding grip.
They probably wont kill you, since were short on your ilk, the officer said. But I fear they will be rather unkind to your kneecaps.
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