The Lost War, Karl Gallagher [recommended reading txt] 📗

he let them. He’d decided to have at least two meals a week in the commons. It kept him from working until he fell over. It gave the populace a chance to talk to him outside Court. And it was a quality control check on the cooking.

The dinner rush was over. The tables were half full. No Peers were in sight. The commons served those with no household or groups not able to gather any food of their own.

The line for the serving tables was short. Though several people were standing around holding empty plates and mugs.

Sharpquill walked toward the line. Halfway there he stopped.

The last person in line was Belladonna.

The one in front of her was facing forward, back stiff, not acknowledging anyone was behind her.

Anyone getting into line could have Belladonna turn and speak to him. Hence the scattering of people waiting for someone else to join the line first.

Doing unpleasant things for the common good was the Autocrat’s job. He walked to the end of the line. But left two empty spots between himself and Belladonna, lest she feel an invitation.

She didn’t turn around.

Sharpquill studied her back. He’d heard all the rumors. Most took it as given that their arrival here was her fault. He’d confronted her in her tent, chasing out the rest of the household for privacy, but she’d refused to say anything to him. Nor had she admitted anything about causing it to any of the other people who’d asked. Most only received cold silence. Possibly just as well.

What would he do if she said, “Yes, I did it”?

There was no Kingdom law against practicing magic. Kidnapping would be a stretch. And how would they punish her? Hard labor was everyone’s lot now.

He could have her burnt at the stake. Some people muttered about that already. But Sharpquill didn’t want the precedent.

Establishing her guilt and not punishing her would be worst. A mob would extract its own idea of justice. God only knew if he could regain control afterwards.

Better to leave the doubt.

Belladonna reached the serving table. The server placed a pinch of wild greens on her plate. The previous customers had received smiles and a bit of chatter. For Belladonna the server acted as if the plate was floating in the air by itself.

A spoonful of mashed vineroot was delivered in equal silence.

Lady Buttercup was the last server, holding a set of tongs over a platter of fried fish. When Belladonna arrived Buttercup tucked the tongs into her armpit to free her hands. She pivoted her chair and rolled a few yards back to the cooking tables.

There she found a piece of fish overcooked to nearly burnt. She picked it up with the tongs, held the tongs firmly in her armpit, and wheeled back to the serving table.

The scorched fish landed on Belladonna’s plate without a word.

She left the tent to eat alone elsewhere.

Autocrat Sharpquill stepped up to the serving table once she’d left.

“Some greens, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The next server said, “They’re mashed today. Tastier that way, I think.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Here’s a nice juicy piece of fish for you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Lady Buttercup.”

Sharpquill looked for a table with some people he hadn’t talked to recently. He found some of the best information in those casual chats.

He wondered if burning at the stake might have been kinder than ostracism.

***

Whatever it was, it was too loud to be a near-deer.

Newman nocked an arrow and shifted left, seeking an open patch in the woods to give a clear line of fire.

The other hunters followed him, not wanting to be left behind. The rustling and snapping made them nervous.

He found a view from fifteen yards away. There was a near-deer, a dead one. Five wolves—more or less—clustered around the kill, bolting chunks of meat. One snarled as a second one stuck his nose under the ribcage.

Newman yelled, “Haroo!” and kicked a branch toward them with a rattle of wood and dead leaves.

The wolves whirled to face him. Growls filled the air.

Newman strode forward, kicking the branch again. “Haroo! Haroo!”

Each wolf ripped a gobbet from the carcass and trotted off.

As the last grey tail vanished among the trees the other hunters crept up.

“So that’s what’s been leaving those bones we’ve seen,” said Bodkin.

Newman shook his head. “Not all of them. Probably not most of them.”

“But they’re predators.”

“Not the apex predator. They’re used to being driven off a kill.”

Beargut asked, “The dragon?”

“No. Prey’s too small and it can’t fit through the trees. There’s something else out there.”

***

Redinkle pulled open the tent flap. “Hey, come see the rhinos!”

The members of House Applesmile surged out. Newman was last. He’d grabbed his bow and quiver.

“This way.” She led them to the bluff. More people of the Kingdom were lining the edge, pointing across the river. “See them?”

A red-furred bull rhino led four cows and a couple of calves through the flood plain on the other side of the river. They were spread out, selecting specific bushes and devouring them in one or two bites.

Newman slung his weapons. “Oh, you worried me. I thought we might have some walking through the camp.”

Master Sweetbread laughed. “Don't say such things. The Autocrat will make us rebuild the wall even stronger.”

“I don't think we can make a wall that holds up to that,” said Pinecone.

Strongarm slid over from the Wolfhead group. “Stone walls can stop anything, man. We need a castle.”

Something streaked through the air, too fast to make out. Then the black dragon snapped out its wings wide as it slammed into the spine of a cow rhino in the middle of the group. The stricken beast let out a deep moan, loud even across the river.