Page 62 of Traitor Son

“I offered them amnesty.” And if the girl had been helping her sweetheart, or her brother, she would have done better to tell him to build a hut and start farming. The deserters could have settled anywhere in the valley, and Remin would have looked the other way, as long as they were peaceful.

But they hadn’t done that.

“I need to talk to them first,” he decided. “As their lord, I’m worried about the bandits that have been harassing other villages in the area. I also want to help them prepare for what’ll be coming out of the mountains in a few months. We’ll see how they respond, and keep our eyes open for an old man and a teenage girl. Juste, you go to the mill while we’re making our greetings in town. See who’s in charge of the grain.”

He suspected that that was where they would find the pair in question. And the behavior of the townspeople would determine whether he took the betrayers away quietly or hanged them from the larger of the two trees in the town square.

There was no hint of trouble from the village elder, a very elderly man named Yewen Brodrim who was a little hard of hearing, but seemed in full possession of his wits otherwise.

“The Duke of Andelin?” he said loudly, looking automatically toward Remin, who had a nobleman’s bearing even when he was in the middle of dismounting his horse. “Himself? Well, well, we must be honored, honored indeed! We will be pleased to offer whatever we have, Your Grace.”

He bowed, hands together in the Vallethi style.

“We heard there were bandits operating in the area,” Remin said, equally loudly. He wanted friendly relationships with even his smallest villages; Duke Ereguil was always saying that happy people were productive people. “We won’t strain your hospitality, elder, but would you mind calling your folk together tonight? We also want to see how you’re coping with the new Andelin wildlife.”

“Bastard devils,” Elder Brodrim declared loudly. “It’s good of you to trouble yourself, Your Grace. Folk are busy with the planting, but I reckon I can gather a few together.”

The size of the gathering that evening made Remin fairly sure that this was not a town with a guilty conscience. The people came to thesquare dressed in their finest, lit lanterns, and generously offered the little food they had to spare after the long winter. There was no sign of fear among them, and he and his men were careful not to give them reason. Huber and Juste were at their most charming, the squires behaved themselves, and Jinmin kept out of sight. The giant knight was alarming under the best circumstances.

As much as he preferred to be in Tresingale, it might be a good idea to visit his other villages, at that. Remin listened gravely to their troubles as Juste sat behind him at a table, scribbling notes. They had indeed been troubled by the devils, and lost seven people before the winter snows fell.

“Most of them from ghouls, while they were in the fields alone,” said Elder Brodrim. “Two of them were stranglers who crept through windows in the night. And they are growing bolder, Your Grace. Ronze over there, he says he saw a big wolf running through the trees at the end of his north pasture. A very big wolf. Ronze’s not one to exaggerate.”

Remin did not curse aloud.

“Seems early for that,” was all he said, but in his mind, he was picturing the miles of empty land in Tresingale, where there was no wall.

“Folk don’t go anywhere unarmed, Your Grace,” said the elder. “And the doors are barred after dark.”

Except for tonight, when they had turned out to honor their lord.

“We’re taking many of the same precautions in Tresingale,” Remin said, looking out at the packed square. He supposed now was as good a time as any to address them. He hardly needed to signal for silence; as soon as he stood, the crowd quieted. “We’re as worried about the Andelin devils as you are,” he told them. “And we’re doing many of the same things. I can’t promise that we’ll get rid of them in a night, or even a year. And we can’t wall off your fields. But I will see that you at least have a place to sleep at night where the stranglers can’t get you.”

Last year, in Tresingale, they slept in the cookhouse and the storehouse, and posted guards. He could at least give them the option of doing the same. Next year, they would have something better.

“That’s very generous, Your Grace,” Elder Brodrim said amid murmurs of agreement. After the terror Valleth had inflicted on the valley, the devils were just one more damned thing. The people of the Andelin were realists. Life was short, hard, and often ended violently.

That left one other bit of business.

Juste had pointed out the girl and her grandfather as soon as they arrived in the square. The miller and his granddaughter were obviously of Vallethi stock, the girl almost wraithlike with her pale, thin hair and skinny frame. They claimed not to have any grain to spare for their duke, even at a high price. Remin had glanced at them from time to time, but avoided staring. The old man hadn’t a word for anyone else in the square, and there was something off about that girl’s smile.

As much as he hated to ruin the mood, it would be best to deal with it before the wine started flowing.

“There is one other thing that brought me to Ferrede,” he said. He had already planned what he would say. He did not want this place to fear him when he left. “Five days ago, my men dispatched a large group of bandits, over a hundred strong. They were marching to Tresingale. They confessed that they meant to raid it.”

He paused, watching. There was surprise on many faces, discomfort in a few, and anger on two.

“My men would have resisted,” he continued. “They’re soldiers. They don’t know how to farm as well as you yet, but we have sixty acres planted so far. We’ve been building homes. I just brought my wife to the valley. It may be that I will bring her here one day, to see how one of the oldest villages in the Andelin has endured a century of hardship and still prospered.”

He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick, but everyone was nodding; they liked what he was saying. He was making them relate to his men, to his wife, to his fears for her safety. But he also saw puzzlement, because what did this have to do with the people of Ferrede?

“Someone from this village was supplying the bandits with grain.”

The charge hit them like a rockslide. Remin watched, waited, and sure enough, the girl from the mill turned at once as if she meant to slip away. Jinmin was already there.

“You fools.” Elder Brodrim’s voice trembled as he spun, searching the crowd. “Jutte, Tymmon, you foolish old bastard, do you realize what you’ve done? After everything we said? Do you realize what you’ve done toallof—”

“I’m Vallethi, you craven dog!” The miller suddenly roared. He had a long white beard and was just going stringy with age, and he yankedineffectually away as two of Remin’s men grabbed him. “This bastard sweeps the valley clear and the lot of you can’t wait to drop to your knees! Maybe if more of you had—”

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