Page 90 of Traitor Son

He was volunteering to once again become Remin’s spymaster.

“You’re entitled to lands in the Andelin,” Remin reminded him. “And you have your place as my steward.”

He had sworn to himself, at the end of the war, that he would find a peaceful place for every man that had carried a sword beside him.

“I am ever a herdsman,” Juste replied gently. “I’ll second Darri, if you don’t mind. He has an aptitude.”

With that, they turned to issues at the other end of the valley. With so many grand designs on the horizon, sometimes Remin became impatient with the small matter of the devils. He did not fear them, himself. He chafed at the restrictions they imposed. But as precarious as the situation was in Tresingale, it was even more so for the folk outside it.

“Our reinforcements have arrived from the border,” said Tounot, who had charge of this matter. In his hands was the latest stack of reports, ferried by Remin’s fledgling navy since travel overland had become impossible. “They say the men there are holding, especially with supplies from Raida. They’ve agreed to guard and fortify the village in exchange for foodstuffs.”

“Good.” Underneath the papers scattered across the table was a map of the valley, and Remin’s eye effortlessly picked out the small village onthe northeast end, ten miles from the Vallethi border. “Did Raida take many losses?”

“The border detachments sent both men and builders to them,” Tounot replied. “All they needed was a stone barracks. At night they shut the doors, post a couple guards, and sleep soundly.”

That was more or less what he had intended for Ferrede. Remin was glad to hear it. And he hadn’t given up on Rollon and the builders he had sent to the village months ago; there was a better than even chance they would come back as soon as the devils melted away for the winter, none the worse for their adventures.

But he had four more villages, oath-sworn to give him fealty, and he owed them protection. Even after their first disastrous experiment, he still hadn’t given up on the idea. The thought of his people out there facing the devils alone made it very hard to sleep some nights.

“There must be a way,” he said aloud. “To get to the other villages. I know we’re short of men, but I don’t want to wait until the walls are up to come up with something. We need a way to get teams of men to the other villages in one piece. Men in armor might survive the trip, but we need to send builders.”

“A very small selection of men in armor could survive that journey,” Edemir corrected dryly. “Not many of us are up to facing down a charging wolf demon, Rem.”

“We can’t afford to send all our knights in any case.” Remin waved this point aside. He never thought of himself as extraordinary and still didn’t really understand why anyone else did. “But I was thinking of the armor in particular. Devils can’t bite through metal. Couldn’t we have the smiths make something sufficient to protect a small party? They could take turns sleeping during the day.”

“I wouldn’t like to carry a metal coffin on my back from here to Isigne,” said Miche, but he was thoughtful rather than mocking. “But maybe with a supply cart or something, it could work. I’ll take that one, Rem. The blacksmiths and carpenters need to make friends. They can knock their heads against this together, or I’ll knock their heads off separately myself.”

“Trouble?” Remin asked, his black brows lifting.

“Nothing I can’t manage,” the blond knight said languidly. “People are on edge. They’ll get over it when the walls are up.”

But it was a warning, all the same; Miche was very good at reading people. It was important to remember that most people in the valley weren’t thinking about building ports and arranging trade with K’ar Yez. Most of the valley’s inhabitants were enduring long hours of backbreaking work in murderous summer heat, and spent their nights trying not to hear the howling of devils. After a while, that would wear on anyone.

Except for the pages. Remin only sporadically saw the youngest people in his service, but they were all energetic and resilient and didn’t have the sense to be afraid. Edemir, Tounot, and Huber maintained connections with other noble Houses and each had a few pages, ranging from eight to thirteen years old. The boys were useful for running errands and frequently did small, mindless chores, though the rest of their teaching had been somewhat disrupted lately.

This fact did not go unnoticed by Jacot of Caillmar, who had swum the Brede.

“Morning, Your Grace,” he called one day as Remin approached on his horse. The boy had placed himself in the duke’s path more than once, and Remin had several suspicions as to why. “Just finished helping old Wen, need anything?”

“Did you ask Wen if he was done with you, or did you decide you were finished by yourself?” Remin was wise to the ways of pages.

“Well, I saw you coming,” the boy said, jogging alongside him at a respectful distance from the warhorse. “And I said to myself, surely in proper order I should ask His Grace first, has he got any job what needs doing. Though it ain’t what I expected, being a page. Ain’t somebody supposed to teach me to read and play the lute or something?”

“You might not have noticed, but we’re a little busy for the fine arts,” Remin said dryly. “You can sing by yourself if you feel your musical education is being neglected.”

“And so I do,” the boy agreed cheerfully. “They said I had a nice voice back home.In Celderline, he claimed his prize, An exile princess, Imperial heir, And a light like stars was in her eyes, And roses, in her hair…”

“That’s what they’re singing now, is it?” So the story of Remin Grimjaw was ending with marrying the princess after all. And she had worn roses in her hair.

“All over Celderline, they never shut up about it. You sure there ain’t nothing I can do to change your mind, Your Grace? I’ll sing the whole thing, if you like. Or never sing again.”

The boy was quick-witted, Remin would give him that.

“Why do you want to be my page?” he asked, mostly out of curiosity. Remin did not take pages. Ever.

“Who wouldn’t?” Jacot replied. “Train under the greatest knight in the Empire? It’s like walking into a story, innit?”

“This is not a story. You could die here and no one will sing songs about it. You know that?”

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