It shouldn’t be that wet. It’s rotting on the other side, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” His father eyed him with satisfaction, and Jeriah felt a flicker of pride. It was the first question he’d answered right.
“It’s not just the gate,” his father went on. “There’s also seepage through the dike. See here?” He led Jeriah to a mudpuddle twenty feet from the gate. To Jeriah it looked like all the other puddles he’d seen that morning. If you can’t make an intelligent comment, ask a question.
“Is it dangerous, sir?” He gestured to a cluster of cottages in the midst of the low fields. As their campfire had burned low, Todder Yon had told Jeriah something of the sorceress’ history—including the tale of how she’d flooded her own village.
“Of course it’s dangerous,” his father said. “Oh, not to people’s lives or I’d evacuate the place. The houses are higher than they look—even if the whole dike gave way, there’d only be a few feet of water over the floors of the lowest buildings. And that’s now, with the river at full flow. The higher buildings would be left on an island, but the tenants could wade ashore. The fields would be lost, though, along with the crops they’re carrying.”
“But why haven’t you…ah, I thought winter was the best time to repair dikes.”
“It is.” An expression that held both pain and pride swept over his father’s face. “And I’d have done it, except Master Averas has told us that we’ll have to leave this land forever next spring. The spring after that at the latest. I am ordered to move all my people into the north.”
He started back to the horses, with his son slogging behind. “Jeriah, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” The hesitation was so unlike his father that it captured Jeriah’s attention.
“Sir?”
“The Hierarch is the Sunlord, chosen of the Seven Bright Gods, but the priests who serve him are only men. I’ve been wondering…You fought the desert barbarians yourself, last winter, and you’ve always had a mind of your own. Do you think this relocation is necessary?”
Jeriah had never actually fought the barbarians. He’d only patrolled with a troop for several months before the conspirators had recruited him. But he’d heard the stories of howling mobs, white as ghosts, swarming out of the flying sand. Of the gutted remains of Southland farms. Of human bones in the refuse heaps of barbarian camps. Some of those stories had come from his brother. “Yes, sir. It has to be.”
“Ah.” His father’s shoulders slumped, then straightened again. “Well, that’s the other reason I didn’t repair the dike. Before we leave, I’m going to open all the gates and flood the land. They’ll get nothing I can keep from them.”
His father might be short on forgiveness, but he’d never lacked courage. This probably wasn’t the best time, but Jeriah didn’t have a lot of time.
“Master Lazur gave me leave for a month, but with the problems involved in the relocation, everyone is needed. I was wondering if I could return sooner.”
His father frowned. “I think you should leave Master Lazur’s service. You’re my heir now—and through no fault of your own, you haven’t been trained to run the estate. I should have taught you along with Tob—your brother, but you weren’t interested in farming and…Well, you have alot of catching up to do.”
Not if I can help it. “There’ll be time for me to learn all those things when we’re resettled in the north. Besides, I think the woodland soil is different. Half of what you’re teaching me might be useless there.” He saw his father’s lips tighten and continued hastily. “Serving the Hierarch and the Realm is what I am trained for. I’d like to do it, at least till this crisis is past.”
His father sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Jeriah knew better than to press, and they mounted the horses and rode on in silence. His father noticed every bug, on
“Exactly.” His father eyed him with satisfaction, and Jeriah felt a flicker of pride. It was the first question he’d answered right.
“It’s not just the gate,” his father went on. “There’s also seepage through the dike. See here?” He led Jeriah to a mudpuddle twenty feet from the gate. To Jeriah it looked like all the other puddles he’d seen that morning. If you can’t make an intelligent comment, ask a question.
“Is it dangerous, sir?” He gestured to a cluster of cottages in the midst of the low fields. As their campfire had burned low, Todder Yon had told Jeriah something of the sorceress’ history—including the tale of how she’d flooded her own village.
“Of course it’s dangerous,” his father said. “Oh, not to people’s lives or I’d evacuate the place. The houses are higher than they look—even if the whole dike gave way, there’d only be a few feet of water over the floors of the lowest buildings. And that’s now, with the river at full flow. The higher buildings would be left on an island, but the tenants could wade ashore. The fields would be lost, though, along with the crops they’re carrying.”
“But why haven’t you…ah, I thought winter was the best time to repair dikes.”
“It is.” An expression that held both pain and pride swept over his father’s face. “And I’d have done it, except Master Averas has told us that we’ll have to leave this land forever next spring. The spring after that at the latest. I am ordered to move all my people into the north.”
He started back to the horses, with his son slogging behind. “Jeriah, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” The hesitation was so unlike his father that it captured Jeriah’s attention.
“Sir?”
“The Hierarch is the Sunlord, chosen of the Seven Bright Gods, but the priests who serve him are only men. I’ve been wondering…You fought the desert barbarians yourself, last winter, and you’ve always had a mind of your own. Do you think this relocation is necessary?”
Jeriah had never actually fought the barbarians. He’d only patrolled with a troop for several months before the conspirators had recruited him. But he’d heard the stories of howling mobs, white as ghosts, swarming out of the flying sand. Of the gutted remains of Southland farms. Of human bones in the refuse heaps of barbarian camps. Some of those stories had come from his brother. “Yes, sir. It has to be.”
“Ah.” His father’s shoulders slumped, then straightened again. “Well, that’s the other reason I didn’t repair the dike. Before we leave, I’m going to open all the gates and flood the land. They’ll get nothing I can keep from them.”
His father might be short on forgiveness, but he’d never lacked courage. This probably wasn’t the best time, but Jeriah didn’t have a lot of time.
“Master Lazur gave me leave for a month, but with the problems involved in the relocation, everyone is needed. I was wondering if I could return sooner.”
His father frowned. “I think you should leave Master Lazur’s service. You’re my heir now—and through no fault of your own, you haven’t been trained to run the estate. I should have taught you along with Tob—your brother, but you weren’t interested in farming and…Well, you have alot of catching up to do.”
Not if I can help it. “There’ll be time for me to learn all those things when we’re resettled in the north. Besides, I think the woodland soil is different. Half of what you’re teaching me might be useless there.” He saw his father’s lips tighten and continued hastily. “Serving the Hierarch and the Realm is what I am trained for. I’d like to do it, at least till this crisis is past.”
His father sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Jeriah knew better than to press, and they mounted the horses and rode on in silence. His father noticed every bug, on
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