Westhaven - Rowan Erlking (free e novels .txt) 📗

set it on the ground next to him with a spoon.

“Eat it slowly and savor every bite,” she said. “And quit before you are too full and get a stomachache. We don’t want your master knowing we went behind his back and fed you. We’ll feed what you don’t eat to the dogs over there.”

He did not hesitate to grab the bowl and spoon, and started to eat. The stew was still warm. Stuffing his face at first, he then remembered her words and slowed down. He savored the meat. It was perfectly tender. And the potatoes were just the right firmness, yet soft. It was as if she had stolen the recipe from his mother’s thoughts and had replicated it perfectly. Perhaps she had, though from some other human.

He started to feel sick. Whether it was from thinking about his mother being sucked dry by some Sky Child or if it was from eating too much too fast, he didn’t know. He set down the bowl and clenched his stomach.

“Here.” The scullery maid set a steaming cup of tea next to him. “This will take care of your stomach.”

Kemdin looked up. He could smell it. It was mint.

“You know witchcraft?” He stared with big blinking eyes.

She chuckled then crouched down next to him. “No. But I know common sense. And common sense is that mint is good for indigestion. It gets the blood flowing.”

He blinked at her. “But…that’s herbal magic. Witches use it.”

Letting out another chuckle before sighing, she said, “Then your witchcraft is mostly just common sense.”

But he still just stared.

Nodding, she leaned back on the wall next to him. “Yes, I suppose it would be surprising coming from me. But this is your first real visit to Kalsworth, isn’t it?”

Kemdin nodded.

She smiled at him, patting him on his knee where his breeches pulled tight. “You are a good boy, but I am sure that your experience with my kind has been harsh. After all, you have been under the heel of the General Gole.”

His eyes grew wide, backing up from her.

Laughing, she nodded. “Yeah, we’ve heard of it. But General Winstrong is the most effective general in the army of Sky Lord. Though, meeting him today, I wonder if he really shouldn’t ought to retire.”

Deciding it was bad to answer, wondering if the woman was gleaning thoughts from him every time she touched his knee, he said nothing.

“But about witchcraft, or herbal magic as I think your father called it,” she smiled, looking him in the eye, “I have learned that most of it is not magic at all, just the knowledge of plants. And because of that, I have been studying herbalist lore. In fact, it is quite popular here in Kalsworth.”

“The general—” He drew in a breath, scooting from her.

“Wouldn’t approve, I know.” She stood up. “But what the general doesn’t know won’t hurt him—or us. Now drink up. I’ll bring over something for your head so you can sleep in relative comfort.”

She walked indoors before he could answer. The general would have taken her remarks as insubordinate, if not also blasphemous. Her conspiring manner was bad enough. What if the lieutenant touched him and found out he had snuck behind the general’s back? The man certainly couldn’t say he was innocent anymore. What was he going to do?

But, in the end, that was answered by the porter coming into the yard, taking Kemdin’s half filled bowl and empty cup with a short smile at him, and the scullery maid returning with a pillow and a blanket.

He heard the porter whisper to the scullery maid as they entered the inn again, “That poor boy really has been through the mill. I have never seen a more beaten-down slave in my life.”

“What was that general thinking?” the scullery maid hissed back. “And what happened to his hair? I’ve never seen human hair like that.”

They were gone and only the sounds he heard were the clop-clop of the lamplighter walking on stilts in the road, and the footfalls of the constable on patrol through the hum of cicadas. Even the laughter inside the inn had died down. Listening to the air, the boy expected to hear someone cry out in pain, but the air was still. Kalsworth really was different from any other town he had ever been in.

*

“How have you accomplished this?” Gailert was puzzled. Kalsworth was unlike any other town he had visited, and he wondered why he had waited so long to enter it. Five years. It took five years for him to see his dream of civilization in reality. The humans and the Sky Children were at peace there.

The merchant he had been talking to ran his fingers along the inside edge of his chintz and velvet coat, grinning broadly. “Compromise, my friend. Compromise.”

The generals’ face darkened. “What do you mean, compromise, Mr. Pennerly?”

“Have you taken a look at this town’s architecture?” Mr. Pennerly said sweeping his arm out to the front window past the spinning electric fan that cooled the room. “We have melded two cultures into one. The great conquerors of ancient history did not completely eradicate the lesser elements and cultures of the people they conquered. They integrated them so soon the separate identities were so melded together that they became indistinguishable. And that brought peace.”

“Integrated?” Gailert nearly rose from his chair. “You don’t mean the magic—?”

Mr. Pennerly laughed gently shaking his head. “No. Of course not. But there are some charming things in human society that you must admit are useful.”

But Gailert did not look likely to admit to anything. “What are you saying?”

With a shrug, the merchant turned his dinner companion who was a beautiful human woman that had a smile so sincere and lovely that even the general felt charmed. “I am saying, the old adage ‘you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar’ is true.”

That made Gailert pause. He tilted his head then settled in his seat, though he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

The other man at the table, a businessman in law and trade wearing an unadorned suit coat of deep blue with silver buttons and a handkerchief in his pocket took out his watch and checked it, clearing his throat. “We discovered that instead of removing all the human leaders from their positions of power and business and setting them aside while we organized Kalsworth to our liking, we chose to step in and convert them to the higher standard of living. We showed them we were not demons but civilized men that respected their strength and wanted to improve their world.”

“Allies for order,” Mr. Pennerly said, nodding.

The businessman in the dark suit leaned forward. “By accepting the good elements of these humans, these aristocrats, and focusing on their resentment for Kitai warriors’ interference in their land, we have established also the opportunity to weed out the toxic elements without any uprising from among the peasants.”

“The peasants recognize the authority of their leaders. And by permitting some of them to remain in power, adding our improvements, they also recognize and respect ours,” Mr. Pennerly added.

It was impressive. Gailert had to hand them that. However, something was nagging the back of his mind. He raised a finger to tell them what. “How do you keep the human town leaders from using our technology to murder and rise up against our people?”

Mr. Pennerly’s smile split into a grin. “That’s where playing on human understanding comes in. There is a demon that arises whenever anyone kills for avarice.”

“It is called the Night Stalker,” the businessman cut in.

“It feeds off of the aristocracy, the wealthy and ambitious, seeking out its prey until it finds him and sucks him dry. Then it hides again.” Mr. Pennerly leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “And to kill us, their companions in business and in authority who had given them more power and wealth through our technology, would be entirely motivated by avarice.”

“They’re terrified of the Night Stalker,” his friend said. “And therefore they don’t dare double-cross us.”

“Besides,” Mr. Pennerly said. “They are more prosperous doing things our way, and they know it.”

The general nodded, thinking hard to himself about his dreams and this reality. He was indeed very impressed. “And have you tried this with the villages?”

Both men cringed, glancing to the other. Mr. Pennerly looked pained before speaking.

“That’s the rub,” he said. “This tactic really only works in towns and cities. Their leaders, the village patriarchs, are more like father figures to the villagers. They thrive on the perpetuation of tradition.”

“A pity,” Gailert said and sighed. He had hoped retraining the peasants was an option. However, his mind then turned him back to the reason he had come to Kalsworth. “Gentlemen, I have a personal inquiry. Where can I find a good, loyal blacksmith?”

“Blacksmith?” Mr. Pennerly glanced at is dinner companion as if she knew. “What do you need a blacksmith for?”

With another sigh, Gailert tilted his head and said with a glance towards the kitchen, “My boy’s leg irons are too small for his ankles, and I need to have a new set refitted that he can grow into.”

Mr. Pennerly lowered his eyes, straightened up and leaned in, casting his dinner companion another glance. “You don’t mean that poor disheveled little wretch I saw your lieutenant drag into the inn yard? I must say, people are talking about how badly you treat him. And I have to ask why?”

Blinking Gailert sat back. “How badly I treat him? That boy is lucky I let him live. I should have had him shot years ago, but he looked useful.”

“Really?” Mr. Pennerly frowned. “For what reason would you have that child shot?”

Already the general knew that the people of Kalsworth were more lenient to their slaves, but this judgment did not seem to be in their right. However, in order to continue business with these men who had accomplished what he had dreamed of, Gailert chose his words with tact. “The boy’s father was an insurgent, a blacksmith that made weapons for the raiders up in the plains near Lake Bekir. I chose—”

“Oh, sir! My apologies!” Mr. Pennerly sat up and wiped his brow, shaking his head with relief. So did his human woman and his business companion. “An insurgent’s child. That makes all the difference. Of course you would be hard on him. But why haven’t you had him marked? People were thinking you just enjoyed having a human to bully.”

With a strained laugh, mildly relieved, Gailert answered, “Rest assured, I’d prefer more civil relations with humans than dragging a child around to bully. But what do you mean by mark? Have you a system for dealing with such cases?”

Both men nodded to the general.

The businessman reached into his pocked and drew out a card. He turned it over, removing a graphite pencil from his vest pocket. He wrote on it as he spoke. “Take the boy to the law office. Once there, inform the head constable that your boy needs to be marked as a Traitor’s Son. They have brands for both insurgents, their sons and their daughters.”

“None for wives?” Gailert chuckled taking the card as soon as the man was done writing the directions.

The businessman looked up with a smirk. “Wives are considered insurgents and killed with their husbands. Human women are fiercely loyal, and therefore deadly if angered.”

“Hmm.” The general peered at the card with a slight glance at the woman sitting at their table. “What do they do with the insurgents once they have been branded? You don’t just let them go.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Pennerly said. “After branding, they are taken to the city square, put into the stocks for all to see and throw things at him. And then after a week, if he is still alive that is, he is drawn and quartered with his entrails taken out and burned.”

Gailert made a face. “Isn’t that a little drastic?”

“It makes the point,” Mr. Pennerly said.

“The people see for themselves what