The soldier who met them at the gatehouse scowled as he approached the wagon and began inspecting the bound bundles of wool. He climbed up onto the cart and prodded and poked the different bags. Then, looking down at Nellic, he said, “The quality is decent. Bring this load to Hawden Street. There are crowds of spinners there turning wool into tunics day and night.” He jumped down with a huff and waved them on. His eyes narrowed when he noticed Fallon and Trynne.
“What are these two?” he asked.
Nellic bobbed his head agreeably. “I brought them for the reward. Ten apiece, eh? They can serve in the king’s army.” He sneered at them, obviously pleased with his ploy. He would not only be freed from the burden of paying them, he’d also get reward money.
“We came to fight for the king’s army on our own,” Fallon answered, his voice tight with anger. Not strictly true, but they’d decided it might be their easiest way to Dahomey. To her father.
The soldier snorted. “You mean the queen’s army,” he said with a chuckle. He nodded to Fallon’s sword. “Can you use it? Can you prove it?”
Fallon shrugged, his cheek muscles hardening. “I’m all right with a sword.”
The soldier dumped some coins into Nellic’s greedy palm, and the tradesman left with a final mocking wave that reminded Trynne of Dragan. Then the soldier brought his fingers to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. “Cap’n!” he shouted.
A graying middle-aged man approached with a frown. “Two more? What Hundred are they from?”
“Dunno. They volunteered.” He bared his rotting teeth in a grin.
The captain hocked and spat. He sized them both up, giving Trynne special attention. She was tempted to use the Tay al-Ard to escape. She reached behind her back, but Fallon gave her a subtle gesture and a warning look.
“We take lads as young as twelve. Your brother?” he asked Fallon, nodding at Trynne. She bristled inside but kept her expression carefully controlled.
“Cousin,” Fallon answered, a hint of humor in his voice. Trynne nearly elbowed him in the ribs for that.
The captain’s brow furrowed. “Get them some tunics, a pass to bear arms, and bring them to the castle for training. The queen’s ship departs soon, but they’ll have to train for two months before going to the cursed shores.”
“Thought so,” the soldier responded. “Thank you, Cap’n.” Two months? They certainly couldn’t wait that long. They’d have to figure out a way to get on the queen’s ship.
“Be back sharp, or I’ll flog you.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
The soldier escorted them inside the gate to the barracks. It was crowded and noisy, and everywhere Trynne looked, older men —and very young ones—were being arrayed in armor and given
weapons from barrels full of swords and pikes. There were a few who looked to be their own age, but it was conspicuous that the older youths and young men had already been taken.
The soldier brought them past the weapons to a series of trunks stuffed with tunics. The tunics all looked the same, dingy gray with the cross symbol she’d seen on the tunics of the men who’d attacked them on the road. The soldier handed a larger one to Fallon and a small one to Trynne. As she took the rough wool from him, she noticed the scrubbed-out bloodstains and the stitching that had closed the gashes made by weapons. How many other soldiers had worn this tunic? How many had died in it? There were so many trunks, such an excess of swords, pikes, shields, and helmets. This was a land perpetually at war. Such a desolate place . . .
Her insides gnawed at her as she drew the tunic over her head.
She had to find her father and get him away.
It was midafternoon and the city was warm, the air heavy with smoke. There were fountains at the major crossroads. Trynne noticed that each had a sculpture with a stone face carved into it, like the ones she had seen elsewhere in this place—and in Gahalatine’s pavilion. She could barely sense the faint whisper of Fountain magic emanating from them. The fountains were not spewing water, and she watched as men carried buckets of water to refill the fonts.
There were long, winding lines of women approaching the fountains with pots and smaller buckets waiting to receive. She sensed, intuitively, that the sculptures could summon water—but no one was left who could summon it.
As they reached a gatehouse to the castle, not the main drawbridge but a porter door, the soldier spoke a few words to the sentries, one of whom motioned for Fallon and Trynne to follow him.