The river was just about to get too shallow even for the shallow-drafted barges, but the locals had prepared for that, building a pair of docks right at the point where the bottom of a barge would start to scrape gravel. Delia urged her mount up to the dock, and one of the locals—a handsome lad in homespun loose trews and a linen smock, with the reddest hair she had ever seen, deftly caught the rope she untied from the back of the saddle and tied up the string at the dock.
As she walked her mount away, the second string was pulled up alongside the first, and tied off to the dock and the prow of the first string.
Then the Tow-Beast pulling the third string splashed belly-deep through the water to the opposite side of the river, and another fellow waiting at the second dock caught the rope and tied the third string there.
And there was just enough room that if a fourth lot of Valdemarans decided to take up the invitation to settle here, there’d be space to wedge in a last string of barges, though they would be so tight-packed that you’d be able to easily walk from one bank of the river to the other.
As this was happening, Squire Lesley had gone to the second barge of the string, and with an apple and a cabbage was coaxing the Empress and her brood down a gangplank flung to the deck of the barge.
A murmur of admiration came from the crowd at the sight of the enormous sow, who had somehow managed to keep herself pristine in the barge, though the same could not be said of all of her piglets. She was not the only pig in the barge by any means, but she’d been given a partition for herself and her brood, while the rest milled in a herd in the rest of the barge.
“By the staff of Great Wethlen!” exclaimed a farmer who, except for his rough, brown clothing, did not look altogether unlike the Squire. “She’s magnificent! She’s a goddess incarnate! How ever did you manage to produce such a beauty?”
Squire Lesley beamed. “Now do you see why I wanted to come here?” he asked, looking up at Delia, as the piglets milled around his ankles.
“You and I, friend Less-el-lee,” said that same farmer, clapping the Squire on the shoulder. “We shall come to see if I have built you a house and an enclosure worthy of this paragon among pigs! Come! Come! And if you do not like it, then I shall slay myself in grief!”
“Hardly think that’ll be necessary, Aylar,” Lesley replied, with a gentle pat to the man’s back. And with that, they moved off, the Empress following the bribe of the apple in Lesley’s hands.
Delia felt her eyes start to sting, and turned away, signaling to the other two riders that she was going to start her trip back to the Lake. They, too, were remaining; one with a Tow-Beast, and one with a Charger, a stallion and a mare, that would provide the foundation stock for heavy horses to help with plowing, something Brandywine did not have. Those who were remaining were going to live in their barges for the next year, but start new fields of crops that would not be harmed by being sown late in the season. That and the supplies they had brought should see them all through to next spring without difficulty, and even with abundance. This village had goats, not sheep, so the sheep being brought along were a welcome addition, and as was the small herd of cattle she passed as she urged her mount into a canter. And even more welcome were the herding dogs that had accompanied their masters. This was something the locals had never had, and included a mastiff-like breed that lived with the herds it guarded day and night, and had been known to successfully fight off bears.
They’ll be all right, she told herself, as the ponderous Charger ate up the leagues between her and Crescent Lake. Isla hadn’t told her as much, but she suspected that the arrival of peaceful strangers had come as a relief and a surprise—people didn’t build palisades for defenses for no reason. And Squire Lesley, who was in charge of this group of people who were mostly local to him, had his directions.
Make sure the Valdemarans stayed welcome. When in doubt, in a disagreement, side with the locals. Start dressing like the locals, and blend in as quickly as possible. Forget the language of the Empire; translate every book they had with them into the local tongue.
Assimilate. Assimilation was survival.
And should the very worst happen, should the Empire somehow track them to this refuge, bypassing the town that would be built on the shores of the lake—well, they all already knew how that would go. Every single Valdemaran who was about to become a citizen of Brandywine agreed. The Empire always followed the same pattern when it came to things like this. There would be an initial scouting party. And that scouting party should be welcomed with a great feast, at which they would be given far too much to drink.
And then they were to be slaughtered without mercy. Or perhaps poisoned. The Empire showed no mercy; it would be given none.
When enough scouting parties failed to return from a “primitive” location like this one, the Empire generally stopped sending them, giving it up as a bad investment. The Empire wanted places to conquer that had treasure and wealth worth looting, not a bunch of farms.
That rather bloody-minded thought actually cheered Delia up somewhat.
Now . . . if only Kordas was here.
* * *
—
Kordas stared at his breakfast and tried to muster up the enthusiasm to eat it. He’d spoken to Isla and things were going well—better than well—but he still had no answers for how he was going to save all of the people of Valdemar, not just the ones willing to escape.
He also had no idea how he was going to free the vrondi once they had escaped. At least, without killing them.
“Lord Duke,” Star said, interrupting his thoughts. “The Record Keeper wants to know if you have any orders for us.”
I still can’t believe how quickly people were able to pack up what they needed and leave, he marveled. Granted, they weren’t able to take everything from their homes. Furniture had to be left behind. Still . . .
Pack up, pack up . . .
Orders for the Dolls . . .
Something dawned on him with the force of a blow, and he looked up at Star. “Could I order the two remaining Innovator mages to move to other quarters? By which I mean, both living quarters and working quarters?” he asked, slowly feeling his way.
“Yes, my Lord,” said Star. “In fact, they have been complaining for some years now that they do not like where they are. Utility mages have better quarters, and they are envious.”
“Are there better quarters available to them?” he asked.
“Yes, Lord. It is merely that no one has given the orders,” said Star. “And they no longer have the ear of the Emperor. They have produced nothing new for nearly a decade, and he no longer cares to hear from them unless they produce something akin to the pellets or the Dolls.”
The idea practically exploded in his mind. “Then tell them their request is approved. Pack up their possessions and move everything today to their new living quarters. Tell them that because their working apparatus is so delicate and needs such great care, it will take a week to move it to their new working quarters. Tell them to rest and enjoy themselves for a week. Then pack up everything except what has to do with the Dolls and move it. Then leave it all packed, tell them in a week it is ready, but that they must decide how to arrange everything in person. By then, the Regatta will be over, and it won’t matter. Take everything that has to do with the Dolls, put it on a barge, and send the barge through a Portal—”