He frowned. “No, why?”
As soon as Rixxis started to explain, a gust of howling wind blew the tavern door wide open, letting in the thunder, lightning, and rain from outside. She turned, expecting to see someone silhouetted against the storm, but the doorway was empty.
Several Crows rose to push the door shut and bolt it against the storm.
“Damn. If that’s not a bad omen, I don’t know what is.” Ieduin met her eyes. “What’s got you so wound up? You must’ve jumped ten feet when that happened.”
“Man at the bar.” Rixxis nodded in Cullen’s direction. “Apparently, bandits have been harassing caravans and merchants on the road near here. It has trade all but shut down at the Greymark border. I was wondering if Trinta might have some of them on their payroll.”
“What’s that got to do with rumors?”
“Maybe nothing,” she said, “but he spun the strangest tale about the Wild Hunt, and suggested the Thief himself had come to defend Greymark.”
Ieduin gave her a doubtful look. “And you believe him?”
“Of course not! It’s just… Well, it’s a very old legend, and there are all these old tales about witches being in Trinta before it was given to Sullivan’s family. That’s why nobody wanted the place. It was a ruin with a reputation. What if someone revived all those old rumors? A propaganda war to demoralize the superior Trintan force? What if that someone decided to go about with seven other fellows, posing as a god? Do you think Sullivan would authorize such a thing?”
Ieduin snorted. “Sounds like a damn good idea, but I doubt he’s got the time. You’ve seen how busy Eris is. Multiply that by a thousand. Not only is Rowan dealing with running his kingdom, but he’s also still trying to get it off the ground and repel attackers. Bandits are well beneath his concern. It’s probably just some old drunk’s superstition. You know how humans can be. No offense.”
“None taken.” Rixxis huffed out a breath and glanced back at the man sitting at the bar. The barkeep had suggested he was just spinning a tale to get free ale out of her. Maybe that’s all it was.
Even if it was true, what purpose would it serve? Such tales might affect morale for a few soldiers, but most weren’t that superstitious. No one really believed all those stories about the witches, curses, and ghosts… Did they?
Two
“Heave!”RowanSullivancalled,and yanked on the rope.
Heat beat down on the hillside, but the fire of autumn had already touched the forest beyond, transforming her leaves into a sea of flame. Soon, winter would be upon them. Now was the time when field hands should be harvesting the fruits of their labor during the day, not hoisting palisades, digging pits, and building watchtowers. Yet every able-bodied young lad in the land had come to sweat in the mid-day sun doing just that, and he was there with them.
The heavy beam took three men to lift, even with the pulley system they’d built several days before, and one to ride atop it, directing it into place. Once the sharpened beam slid into the pit they’d dug yesterday, another crew came by with mallets, beating it firmly into the dirt.
Rowan winced as he let the rope go and it slid across his palms. His hands were already a bloody and bruised mess from all the work. He didn’t do hard labor often enough to develop the callouses the farm hands had, but he was getting there.
He bent over to catch his breath and Ewan McGovern patted him on the back. “Ya look like I feel, lad. When was the last time you got any sleep?”
Rowan gave the carpenter a crooked smile and offered his hand. “I slept my fill before the war, I assure you.”
Ewan was twice his age, a friend of his father’s, and a damn good woodworker when there wasn’t a war on. He was also bald by no choice of his own, though nature had seen fit to give him plenty of hair on his beard and chest. He had eight sons and a daughter, all pledged to Greymark’s defense but the youngest, who had been directing the palisade into place.
“A rested mind is a capable one,” Ewan said. “And you’re sweating like a bloody pig.”
“That’s a horrible stereotype,” Rowan protested. “Hamlet hardly ever sweats.”
“Take yourself over to see Martha and get some water in you. Gregory will take your place on the line.” He waved over his eldest son, who was looking at a blueprint under the nearby canopy and arguing with the rest of the engineers.
Rowan knew better than to argue with Ewan. If he resisted, the man would pick him up, carry him to the water, and hold him under until he was sure he’d swallowed his fill.
Ewan snorted, turned, and shouted, “What the fuck’re you lads standing ‘round for? Get back to work!”
Martha had a glass of water waiting for Rowan when he arrived under the canvas shelter. She held it out to him with a sympathetic smile. He thanked her and took it, gulping the whole thing down. He hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was until he was out of the sun.
“You know, you don’t have to work so hard, Rowan,” she said. “The men won’t think less of you if you rest.”
“It’s not their opinion I’m so concerned with,” Rowan replied.
He moved to refill his glass but froze as an icy breeze swept through the tent. A chill went through him, and awareness pricked at the back of his neck. He turned, his heart dropping at the sight of Ambra McGovern staring at him from the shadows, the bruise of her noose unnaturally dark against her pale skin.
He blinked, and she was gone, replaced by her twin sister, Tessa. She sat under the other canvas tent alongside her friend, Miranda Voss. Tessa gave him a tight smile and bobbed her head in a polite greeting, only to burst into giggles when her friend elbowed her. They both turned away, blushing.