Heartwood by Freya Robertson Page A

“Perhaps we could talk later about measures that can be adopted by both countries to solve this problem. But for now I would like to continue to address the problem of the poor.”
    Raedwulf gripped the sides of his podium with both hands. Chonrad frowned. The Wulfengar leader looked grim, as if he were about to tell Valens that someone close to him had died.
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    IV
    â€œWe have no more food to go around, Valens. Our stores are depleted – our stock is virtually nil! We have nothing left to share. And therefore…” he paused slightly, whether for effect or whether because he genuinely didn’t want to continue, Chonrad didn’t know. “We are going to have to cease the Charitas.”
    There was a collective gasp from around the Curia. Valens went rigid. Chonrad’s heart sank.
    Everyone throughout the Twelve Lands and Hanaire who owned land was instructed to give a tenth of what they made to Heartwood and its temples throughout Anguis. This was the law, but it was also more than that; it was recognition by all to the service that the Militis carried out for them with the Arbor. Heartwood itself had no land outside its walls; it owned some milk cows and goats, pigs and chickens, but not enough to feed the whole of the Militis, and there was nowhere inside the Baillium to grow grain. Luckily the majority of their wheat came from Laxony, but Chonrad knew they would sorely miss the sacks of oats and barley, and the barrels of fish Wulfengar wagons brought to them with each new Moon.
    Hariman’s face was aghast. “You cannot do that. It is the law.”
    Raedwulf had grown pale, but his mouth was firm as he said: “This decision has not been taken lightly. And it need not be a permanent one. But we must look to our own first.”
    Valens began arguing with him, the two of them coming down from their podiums to face each other across the floor as the first drops of rain began to fall on the cloth roof. Most people’s attention was fixed on them, everyone realising this decision by Raedwulf marked a new low in the relationships between Laxony, Wulfengar and Heartwood.
    However, Chonrad’s attention was suddenly distracted by Procella. She wasn’t watching the rapidly escalating argument that was ensuing. She was watching the ring of water around the edge of the floor and frowning. What was she staring at during this crucial moment? Chonrad’s eyes flicked back to Valens impatiently, but he couldn’t help looking back at where she stood transfixed at her podium.
    Suddenly she looked up, and to his surprise she stared straight at him. “The water,” she mouthed, pointing at the ring.
    He looked behind him into the channel.
    The water, which usually moved slowly, its surface with barely a ripple, was bubbling.
    Looking closer, he could see shadowy shapes under the surface, the same as he had seen earlier, only this time there were more, crowded together. Was it just the reflection of the people in the Curia? But immediately he knew that wasn’t the case. Apprehension rose inside him.
    Turning, he saw Procella leaving her podium and, one eye on the channel, moving down towards Valens. So far the Imperator hadn’t seen her; he was almost shouting at Raedwulf now, the two of them standing so close you couldn’t walk between them.
    â€œValens,” she said cautiously, backing towards him. He ignored her, continuing to shout at the Wulfengar High Lord.
    â€œValens,” she said more urgently. Around the Curia, other people had started to notice the movement in the water and voices began to rise.
    â€œValens!” she yelled. With one fluid movement, she drew her longsword. Chonrad sucked the breath in between his teeth – it was not a good move in a place where tempers were escalating and the Wulfengar lords flinched as she drew her weapon, sensing they had been betrayed.
    But even as he wondered at her action, he saw what she had