David Farland - Chaosbound

She paced around the barrels, nerves jangling. She felt that she should go after the Walkins and try to offer some apologies, make amends.

But nothing that she could do would ever undo the damage. Baron Walkin was dead. Perhaps he deserved it, perhaps not. Myrrima strongly suspected that if Aaath Ulber had just stopped to negotiate, approached things more rationally, the tragedy could have been averted.

But Aaath Ulber had killed the baron, taken all of the Walkins’ money, and left them with nothing.

They came to our land with nothing, she thought, and with nothing they walk away.

It sounded fair, but Myrrima knew that it wasn’t.

Draken went up the cliff, heading toward the brush. “We’re going to need plenty of firewood,” he said. It was one more thing that they’d need, and Myrrima dreaded the chore. Bringing in enough for the long journey would take hours, and she knew that they couldn’t wait that long—the mayor of Fossil and his men were probably already rowing frantically toward them.

“Just get enough for a day or so,” she shouted. “We can stop up the coast and take on firewood.”

Sage came to the barrel and crouched next to it. The girl was trembling, and tears filled her eyes. She was only thirteen, and had never seen anything like what Aaath Ulber had done to Owen Walkin.

She needs comfort, Myrrima thought. I could cast a spell to wash away the memory. . . . But that would be wrong. She’s going to need to learn how to deal with such things if we go back to Mystarria. “Are you all right?”

Sage shook her head no. She peered into the water barrel, her eyes unfocused. “Daddy tore that man apart.”

Myrrima had a rule in life. She never blamed a man for what he could not control. Thus, she would never ridicule a foolish man, even if he was only a little foolish. She’d never belittle the halt or lame.

But what of Aaath Ulber? Was he guilty of murder, or was what he’d done outside his control?

She didn’t want to exonerate him to Sage. But she’d seen how Aaath Ulber’s mind had fled when he attacked. He wasn’t in control. What’s more, Myrrima suspected that he couldn’t control himself.

“I think . . . he was protecting us,” Myrrima said. “He was afraid of what Owen Walkin might do. I suspect . . . that he was right to kill him. I just wish that he hadn’t been so brutal. . . . To kill that man so, in front of us, his wife and children—”

“I feel sick,” Sage said. Her face had a greenish cast, and she peered about desperately.

“If you need to throw up,” Myrrima said, “don’t do it here.”

But Sage just sat for a moment, holding all of the horror in. “So . . . Aaath Ulber was born to kill that way.”

Myrrima had seen the rage in Aaath Ulber’s eyes, how his own mind revolted after the deed. “There were men like him even in our old world, men whose anger sometimes took them. It’s . . . Aaath Ulber’s rage is an illness, like any other. I don’t like it. I don’t approve of what he did. But I cannot fault him for it. If you fell ill with a cough, I would not condemn you. I wouldn’t find fault. Instead I would offer you herbs for your throat, and with a compress I would wash your fever away. I would seek to heal you. But I fear that curing your father might be beyond my ability. I know only a few peaceful runes to draw upon him. I can try, but I suspect that the only cure lies in Mystarria—in the hands of Fallion. We must find him, and get him to unbind the worlds.”

“Did father start the fight?” Sage asked. “Draken said that it was ‘all his’ fault. Father started it.”

Sage had lost so much in the past day. She still needed a father. So Myrrima decided to let the girl hold on to the illusion that she still had her father for as long she could.

Myrrima asked, “What do you think?”

“Draken said that when Daddy first found the Walkins, he insulted them. He called Rain a ‘tart.’ So father started it, and Owen Walkin tried to finish it.”

Myrrima traced the logic. “It wasn’t Aaath Ulber who started this,” Myrrima said, “it was the Walkins. They’re the ones who were squatting on our farm. We thought it was the birds eating our cherries, but now you and I both know better.”

“Draken was letting them live there.”

“Because he loved their daughter,” Myrrima said. “But Draken didn’t have the right to let them squat. It wasn’t his farm. You wouldn’t go give away our milk cow, would you? That is what Draken was doing. He should have come forward and asked your father’s permission. Nor should the Walkins have allowed it.”

Myrrima did not want to say it, but she half-wondered if the Walkins had thrown Rain at Draken. Perhaps they’d hoped that the two would fall in love. Perhaps they’d encouraged Draken’s affection, knowing that his father was a wealthy landowner who might provide a parcel for an inheritance. It was, after all, a time-honored tradition among lords to increase their lands that way. But in Myrrima’s mind, it was also damned near to prostitution.

“Your father was in the right to throw them off,” Myrrima said. “We’ve had this talk about squatters before. It isn’t a kind thing to do, but it is needful.”

“But the Walkins had children in the camp,” Sage said. “Some of them were just babies. They shouldn’t have to starve just because . . . their parents make mistakes.”

“That’s the way of it,” Myrrima said. “When parents make mistakes, children often suffer.” She thought of Erin, and even of Sage. What would her children be called upon to bear because of her actions?

She dared not say it, but now she was reminded of how much she feared Aaath Ulber’s plan. He was going to take the whole family back into a war.

“The ship doesn’t really belong to Father,” Sage said. “It doesn’t belong to anyone. Father shouldn’t be able to just take it.”

“Aaath Ulber is a soldier at war,” Myrrima pointed out. “When a lord is in battle, he often finds that he may have to commandeer goods—food for his troops, shelter for his wounded, horses to draw wagons. He takes a little in order to help the many. That is what your father was doing with the ship. Owen Walkin knew that. He was a soldier, too. Baron Walkin broke his oath.”

Sage peered into the barrel. It was nearly full, and light reflecting from the water’s surface danced in her blue eyes.

Sage was aptly named, for even as a babe she had seemed to have a thoughtful look to her. “Father has changed,” Sage said. “I don’t know who he is anymore. He doesn’t think like we do, or else how could he do what he did to Sir Owen?”

“I suspect that you’re right,” Myrrima said. “Aaath Ulber’s people have been at war with the wyrmlings for thousands of years. In that war, his people lost everything—their lands, their friends, their freedom to roam. On Aaath Ulber’s world, he had a choice of only a few women that he could wed. He was expected to marry a woman from the warrior clans, a good breeder. In his world, he was expected to give up everything in the service of his people—even love.”

“I think that people who give up love,” Sage said, “must be a different kind of people. A person who would give up love for the war effort would give up anything else. I think he just expected Walkin to give up the ship. He didn’t think to ask for it, because in his world there would have been no need to ask.”

Myrrima studied her daughter, surprised at the depth of the girl’s insight. “I think you’re right. You should remember this. You and I both know your father, but we have yet to learn what kind of man Aaath Ulber really is.”

Rain still loved Draken; that much she felt sure of as she walked away from the Borenson camp, using a wad of grass as a poultice to stanch the wound to her arm. The cut wasn’t wide, but it was deep.