Chapter 11 Aleksis
11
Aleksis
How long would it take for Rihard to realise he’d been told only part of the truth? How long before the man understood that asking Aleksis to deal with things meant a loss of the control that mattered so badly to him? The journey was long, and it would be slow with carts. They’d need overnight stops along the way to sleep, to rest the horses, to pick up fresh supplies. If they forced the pace, the injured would suffer for it. Would Rihard send men after them? Might the Commander jump on a horse and pursue them in person? Unlikely. Rihard had lost at least eight of his guards in the fire. Several of the village men who’d been working alongside them had been killed. Many of the survivors were weakened. They’d be unable to go on with the backbreaking work of tree felling and hauling. Rihard had been too angry with the chaotic situation, too distraught at the unravelling of his plans to think the thing through.
On the night of the fire, the Commander had been staying at the home of a certain accommodating woman who lived some distance from the main settlement. He’d learned late about the unfolding disaster and seemed all too ready to step back from both the flood of injured people and the voices of angry ones. After that scene in the village hall Rihard had given his deputies some vague orders then retreated, perhaps back to the woman in question. He’d known Aleksis was planning a return to Dragon’s Keep at some point. But he would not be happy when he woke to realise the convoy had already departed. He would be furious when he found Stasya gone as well, even though he’d seemed to understand why Lady Elisabeta would be interested in the girl. With luck, Rihard would simply wait for further communications, pushing neither his own men nor the local folk to keep working on the impossible task. In the aftermath of the fire, those capable of labour should be helping the farmer rebuild his barn. They should be assisting with care of the injured, not only men and women, but also farm stock. Rihard’s deputies were capable men. If the fellow would leave the practical decisions to them, something might yet be salvaged from the sorry situation. But Aleksis wouldn’t be standing around in the vain hope Rihard would see sense. Stasya had spoken out boldly. It was clear she’d had no idea what a risk she was taking. There must be no repetition of that.
They left two injured men at Sweetwater, where there were local women with healing skills. They travelled on to the larger settlement of Vita’s Hope. No physician there either, but Aleksis and Matiss went to talk to the town elders, while the rest of them, under Pavel’s direction, made camp for the night. It turned out an old man who lived in the settlement had once been infirmarian in a religious order. Why he’d left the order, nobody said. Thrown out? Lost his faith? That didn’t matter. They called him in to take a look at the injured men, and Aleksis was impressed by his practical manner. The fellow knew how to treat burns and the aftermath of breathing in smoke. It was agreed that three of the remaining injured would stay in Vita’s Hope, which meant the only invalids still with the convoy were Aleksis’s own men. And the goatherd. The old man, still known as Father Mikelis, had recommended that Lukas also remain there, travel by cart being ill-advised for a man in his condition. The elders would have been happy to take him along with the others. But Lukas refused to stay behind unless Stasya, too, was staying. And Lady Elisabeta had demanded to see Stasya in person.
The injured were taken away under the supervision of Father Mikelis. Stabling was found for the horses. The remaining members of the convoy settled in their camp, gathering by a small, well-contained fire to eat a hearty meal provided by the local people. At a certain point, Stasya drew Aleksis aside, where others could not overhear.
‘What happens to Irina?’ she asked straight out, not bothering with Master Aleksis or other niceties. ‘You see how she is. Not burned or otherwise injured, but … not herself. Could she stay in these people’s care? She’s … she’s broken.’
It was true; the woman was a shell of her former self. She did not speak; she did not want to eat or drink; she had no will for anything. He thought only Stasya’s care was keeping the baker alive. The suggestion made perfect sense. But …
‘It would be irresponsible of me to take you on this journey without another woman to accompany you.’ It sounded rather pompous; he saw that reflected on Stasya’s face. But it was true. A young woman alone, travelling with so many men … it was wrong. And they were friends, weren’t they, she and Irina? ‘She can be cared for at Dragon’s Keep. Well cared for. There is a court physician.’
Stasya’s lips tightened. She made to say something, then stopped herself.
‘Speak up. Say what you want to say.’
‘Irina is weighed down with grief. She’s lost the last family she had in the world. Father Mikelis and the folk of this settlement would surely be a better choice than a court physician.’
‘Perhaps. Or she might bolt for home, despite her fragile state, thinking this place close enough. I cannot take that risk.’
Stasya looked at him. The light from the bonfire showed her features in gold and shadow, almost like a painting. An odd creature. He never knew what she would say next. She’d told stories on the way, many stories, to take the minds of her friends off their hardship. The noise from hooves and cart wheels had made it difficult to hear, but he’d noticed how the men tried to ride closer to that cart so they could listen.
‘Oh, you care about her now?’ Her tone was unusually hard. ‘A show of compassion. A pity that did not happen earlier, before you worked her to exhaustion. Before the fire. Before she lost her only son.’
Briefly, Aleksis was lost for words. He could have pointed out that it was not he who had forced Irina to bake for Rihard’s men. He had not caused the fire. He had not suggested her son join the fight to extinguish it; had he known about that, he would have tried to keep the boy away. He could have reminded Stasya that it was Rihard who had set the whole chain of disasters in action. He could … but no. Rihard had acted under the Ruler’s orders. Lady Elisabeta was responsible, though she could hardly have foreseen such a disastrous result. And he was Lady Elisabeta’s adviser. Her trusted senior adviser. They’d started out well, he and she, when Elisabeta was new to her position of authority and finding her feet. He could not say the same for more recent times. ‘The baker will accompany us to Dragon’s Keep,’ he said. ‘If you’re worried about her on the journey, or about the goatherd, please draw your concerns to Matiss’s attention.’
Stasya turned her back and walked away without a word. Shoulders squared, head held high. He watched as she returned to Irina’s side, in the warmth of the fire but not too close; as she coaxed Irina to sip water, to nibble on a piece of bread; as she talked, made gestures. She was telling another story, he knew it. But over the sounds of the encampment, he could hear nothing.