Chapter 11
The fear screamed through Raye’s skull, flashed behind her eyes.
No. No. No.
Before her, Svein had begun trembling, the whites fully visible around his eyes, and it took all Raye’s effort to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and gently shove him toward his room. And thank the gods, he went, his head ducked low, Mr. Snuggles clutched tightly against his chest.
“Did you not hear us, weaver?” cut in the man’s voice again, deeper this time. “Open up, and come out! We’re here on behalf of the magistrate!”
Raye squeezed her eyes shut, waited for the familiar low thunk of Svein’s trapdoor closing, while her screeching thoughts frantically considered and discarded possible options.
How many men were there? Were they really here on behalf of the province’s magistrate?
If she refused them entry, what would they do?
Could she put them off until Gaelfr returned? What if Gaelfr never returned?
“We have a written order to speak to you, weaver,” insisted the voice. “Now open up!”
Gods damn it, damn it, and after one last desperate look at Svein’s closed door, Raye crept toward the papered window at the front of the house. And with a silent prayer to the gods, she carefully lifted just the corner of the paper, and looked.
And yes, there were multiple men, clustered together on her doorstep. At least a half-dozen of them, big and rough and unshaven. And though Raye couldn’t remember seeing any of them in the village before, a few of them looked vaguely familiar, didn’t they?
One of the men banged on the door again, making her leap back from the window, and she gripped her hands together, and dragged in a deep breath. She couldn’t open the door, or let them in. She couldn’t. No.
“If you really have an order,” she called back, shaky, “then I want to see it. Slide it in on top of the door.”
There was a small crack at the top of the door, one Raye had repeatedly tried and failed to fix, and after a moment’s grumbling from outside, a small folded sheet of paper poked through.
And when Raye clutched for it, unfolded it, she found that it was indeed an official-looking document from both the provincial magistrate and the realm’s ruling Council, led by Lord Nash.
But it was only a demand for an official interview, with no reasons listed, and Raye fought for clarity, for focus.
“This says nothing about granting you entry,” she called, though her voice still wavered. “And I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m a quiet, law-abiding citizen, minding my own business. There is no reason whatsoever for you to speak with me!”
Her voice had gone too sharp, too close to the edge, and she clamped her mouth shut.
While a sound much like a laugh carried through the door, along with the distinct clink of a weapon.
“We’re registering all the places in the province that are harbouring and abetting orcs,” came the reply.
“And we have good reason to believe you’re one of them! ”
Raye shot another helpless look toward Svein’s closed door, and hauled in a bracing breath. “Yes, it’s common knowledge that I have an orc son,” she replied, as steadily as she could. “But he mostly stays indoors, and never goes into the village. He’s of no harm to anyone!”
She winced as she said it, because even speaking about Svein to these cretins felt like a violation, a sacrilege. Especially when there was another laugh from behind the door, another clink of metal, and something that sounded like — a yelp. A dog?
“Yeah, we know about your spawn,” came the drawling, taunting reply. “We’re here about the other one. The full-grown orc. The orc our dog’s been smelling all over your door, and your garden!”
They meant… Gaelfr. Damn it. Damn it, they had a dog, smelling in her garden for orcs. And suddenly Raye had a vivid, horrible vision of Gaelfr dumping out that full basin in the garden last night, covering it all over with his fresh seed.
“Why do you have dogs sniffing my garden?” she shot back, a beat too late. “Surely the magistrate and the Council have far better uses for their soldiers?”
It was a groping stab in the dark — these men couldn’t be actual soldiers, could they?
— and she was rewarded with another scoff, another yelp from the dog.
“We’re not soldiers,” came the reply, from a different voice this time.
“We’ve been contracted to support the Council on this matter, and use whatever evidence and resources at our disposal. ”
Right. Mercenaries, then. Mercenaries hired by the Council, just to sniff out orcs across the province. Or rather, to sniff out places that were harbouring and abetting orcs. And if they’d found out about Gaelfr so soon after he’d left, did that mean…
“Have you been watching me?” Raye demanded, high-pitched. “Spying on me?”
But she regretted it the instant she spoke, because of course they’d been spying on her.
Of course, gods damn it, because despite her cottage’s half-league distance from the village, the men had been coming by more and more lately, hadn’t they?
Not just walking past the cottage on the nearby road, but coming down her lane, lingering and gossiping, tromping around her garden.
And that had to be why some of the men looked familiar too, and why hadn’t Raye seen it?
Why hadn’t she caught the depth of the threat in it?
There were a few amused snickers from behind the door now, and half-audible murmurs about the fool orc-drunk wench, too oblivious to realize why there were always men in her garden.
“Yes, you’ve been under surveillance,” came yet another voice.
“So we know there’s been at least one adult orc here recently.
And, there’s fresh earth in the garden, like you’ve been letting them dig tunnels here.
So all your pretty claims of being a harmless little mother are absolute bollocks! ”
Raye’s head was pounding, her teeth grinding together. She had to think, damn it, think…
“Yes, my son’s father came to visit him,” she gritted out. “And yes, they did some work in the garden together, and then he left. That’s all. There was no tunnel digging, and certainly no harbouring and abetting whatsoever!”
Her voice sounded decisive, carrying loud and certain, but there was only another scoff from behind the door.
“We know the truth, weaver,” came the reply.
“The orcs have been using fool women like you as cover to build their secret bases! And once they connect them all, they’ll be able to attack anywhere in the realm. Even in the capital!”
Raye’s head was throbbing now, and she fought the rising irrational urge to kick at the door.
“Then go defend your capital,” she snarled back, “and leave me alone! I am not involved, I know nothing about it, and it has nothing to do with me! Now I’ve given you your interview, so get the hell off my property! ”
There were a few mutters and curses behind the door, a few more clinks of weapons. “Watch yourself, weaver,” came the menacing reply. “Unless you want us to set this cottage aflame, and burn you and your spawn to a crisp.”
The fear raked up Raye’s spine, but stronger still was the stark stabbing fury. “Burning women and children alive, how heroic,” she spat. “Such great service to the realm. Now either get it the hell over with, or leave!”
She was hollering by the end of it, her voice ringing through her ears. And then echoing painfully in the empty silence afterwards, because damn it, they wouldn’t actually do it, would they? They wouldn’t honestly kill her and Svein over this?
But there was nothing stopping them, either, and the fear kept shuddering through Raye’s gut, scraping through her skull.
If they killed her and Svein today, would anyone notice, or care?
The villagers certainly wouldn’t, and the government wouldn’t, either, especially since it had apparently sent these bastards after her.
And while Raye had been visited by several officials before, and threatened by various soldiers and men, none of them had ever accused her of something like this.
Harbouring and abetting, supporting an attack on the realm’s capital.
Something that could easily justify her and Svein’s death.
No. They could really kill her and Svein. Now. Today. And the only person who would notice, the only person who would care, was — Gaelfr.
Raye clung to that with all her strength, because yes, Gaelfr would care. If not for Raye, at least for Svein. Right? That was, if he came back at all, but he’d promised, he’d promised…
“Also, my son’s father is coming back,” her strained voice called out. “Today. Soon. You wouldn’t want to run into him, would you? Especially after you’ve murdered his family?”
That earned a few unintelligible mutters from outside the door, and Raye waited, listened, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Maybe they were calculating the risk — one orc against a half-dozen of them.
And while it wasn’t good odds for Gaelfr, he was still bigger than any of these men, and that massive axe of his was unlike any human weapon Raye had ever seen.
If he would use it to defend them, if he came back, please…
“We’ll be watching you, weaver,” came the flat voice from beyond the door. “And next time any more orcs dare show their faces here, you’ll be finished. You, and your spawn. Him first, so you can watch.”
Raye’s face crumpled, the bile suddenly churning in her throat, but she clutched her shaking hands to fists, and forced herself to breathe.
Waiting, waiting, holding herself still, until finally — finally — she could hear them clattering away again, the dog yelping, the sounds fading toward the village.
And with the last of her strength, she staggered toward the washbasin, and vomited her breakfast into it.