Prospero, the Master of the Merchants was behind it.”
“We were told these people violated Hetar’s borders, raping and killing innocents,” Wilmot said. “Confiscating their lands was to be their punishment, and by expanding our own borders we would protect Hetar.”
Lara shook her head. “Wilmot, these clan families live in peace, each within its own borders, meeting only once yearly at a time called the Gathering. The only roads in the Outlands are here in the mountains. They have been made so the carts from the mines might traverse the land easily. Are you aware that when the clan chieftain of the Piaras protested Hetar’s invasion they cut his tongue out? That the women of the villages have been used as Pleasure Women? Their young daughters saved for those among you who lead? Is this our vaunted Hetarian civilization and justice, Wilmot?”
He looked at her, both sadness and confusion in his gaze. “I have known you all your life until you left us, Lara, daughter of Sir John Swiftsword,” he finally said. “I did not know you for a liar, but what you say is so hard for me to comprehend.”
“When you came into these mountains, Wilmot, were you attacked? No. Your mercenary force swept down on the surprised villages, capturing them and forcing the people into bondage. Did you find the village in which you stayed barbaric or rough? Were those people savage to your eye? Or were they civilized, their homes far better than the hovels in the Quarter you and I have known?”
“I will admit to being surprised,” Wilmot said, “but when I remarked on it my captain said it was because they had stolen the furnishings from Hetarian homes. Yet I had never seen their like before, neither in the Quarter nor the marketplaces.”
“Because your captain lied, Wilmot. Perhaps he did not know, and said what he believed to be true,” Lara said. “But all you have been told of the Outlands is untrue.”
“And you came here of your own free will?” he asked her.
“I did, along with the young daughter of another mercenary who was sold into slavery. Her name is Noss, and she was the archer who remained here on the rise shooting with such great skill at your mercenaries. Her husband would not permit her to enter the heart of the fray,” Lara said.
“The Outlanders accepted you readily?” he asked her.
“They did. And the clan lord of the Fiacre made me his wife,” she told Wilmot.
“Where did you learn to fight as you did today?” he inquired.
“I was taught by the Shadow Princes. They say I have a destiny,” Lara answered.
He nodded. “I think they must be right.” Then pausing a brief moment he said to her, “What will happen to me now, Lara, daughter of Sir John Swiftsword?”
“We have allowed a survivor from each village we took,” Lara explained. “You are to drive the carts of bodies back to the City. This is our message to the High Council. They must abide by the ancient treaties. We will not allow our lands to be invaded by Hetar. If they understand this, the peace between us will be restored. You must tell the High Council that the Outlanders are not barbarians. They simply wish to be left alone in peace as it has always been.”
“The High Council? How could I gain their ear? I am a mercenary, and not even one of rank,” he said.
“Two of the provinces voted against breaking the peace,” Lara told him. “Seek out the Coastal Kings or the Shadow Princes,” she advised.
He looked surprised. “How can you know this?”
Lara smiled wickedly. “We have friends,” she replied. “Tell whoever you speak with that Lara, daughter of Sir John Swiftsword and wife of Vartan, Lord of the Fiacre, sent you. They will hear you out. Gaius Prospero cannot be allowed to use the council to his own advantage ever again.”
“Shall I attempt to speak with your father?” Wilmot asked her.
“Tell him I am well, and happy,” Lara responded. Would he care, she wondered? “And tell your mother I send her my regards. I hope she is well.”
“She misses your family,” he admitted. “You and your brother in particular. She will be happy to learn that all has turned out well for you.”
Vartan joined them. “It is time,” he said to Wilmot. “Some of us will escort you to the border separating the Outlands and Hetar. You must reach the City, and there may be those who for their own purposes seek to stop you, or even take your life, Wilmot. For the sake of your people the truth must be known, and spread throughout Hetar.”
“My lord, I am frankly fearful for my life now,” Wilmot said. “Gaius Prospero is a powerful man. If he would engineer a war with the Outlands, then it is likely there will be war. There was a rumor in the City before we left, softly spoken, but heard by many ears, that Gaius Prospero would be called upon by the High Council to become emperor of Hetar. For the first time in memory life has grown difficult for Hetar. When times are difficult, the people clamor for change in hopes that change will bring prosperity once again.”
“If what you say is so,” Lara noted, “then you will be safe, for Gaius Prospero will use the seven wagons of dead to his own advantage.”
“Yet we have no choice but to send them,” Vartan replied.
“I know,” Lara responded.
The five survivors from the other villages were now led forth, and boosted up on their wagon seats, Wilmot climbing into the first wagon. They moved off, horsemen of the Aghy riding on either side of the wagons. The Winter War was over. Once Imre and Petruso were settled in their fiefdoms again; once the other clan families had donated supplies to get them on through the winter, life could again return to what it had been before Hetar had been foolish enough to invade the Piaras and the Tormod. Yet why, Lara thought silently to herself, did she sense that this was but the beginning?
Chapter 17
GAIUS PROSPERO, a perfumed handkerchief pressed to his nose, stared unbelieving at the seven reeking carts piled high with their dead. The stench was unbelievable, and he wondered that the drivers of these horrific wagons could stand it. But they sat stoic and unmoving upon the benches of their transports, hollow-eyed and gaunt and staring at him as if he were responsible.
“Why have you brought your burdens to me?” he demanded aloud.
“Because we were told to bring them to you, my lord,” the man on the first wagon spoke up. “Actually, we thought to drive them up to the door of your fine home, but the guards would not allow us inside. They sent for you instead.”
“How could this have happened?” Gaius Prospero said as if to himself. “They are uncivilized barbarians. They are not even united under one government, but live a tribal life. They are savages! Bandits!”
Wilmot held his tongue as he listened to the Master of the Merchants’ ruminations. He was good at holding his tongue. It aided in his survival all these years. But he had been in the Outlands long enough to learn that while the society there was different from that of Hetar, it was not the uncivilized place the government wanted them to believe it was. He wondered if the Outlands were not perhaps more civilized than Hetar in a way.
“How did this happen?” Gaius Prospero demanded to know.
“The armies of the Outlands overcame us, and obviously knowing they were coming the villagers rose up against us,” Wilmot said succinctly. The other men nodded in their agreement. What else was there to say?
“And why did you six survive?” was Gaius Prospero’s next query.
“It was decided beforehand to spare one man from each village to drive the wagons,” Wilmot answered.
“There were seven villages, and there are seven carts,” the Master of the Merchants noted sharply. “Why are there but six of you?”
“The mercenaries from Quartum joined those at Fulksburg to make a stand. One man from the other villages had escaped the Outlanders, and had come to warn us,” Wilmot reported. “They were too many for us. They fight well. All were slain but me.”
“Because you were the best of the mercenary fighters?” Gaius Prospero said sarcastically, rolling his eyes in disbelief.
“I have fought in the ranks of the mercenaries for over thirty years, my lord, but I was spared because the last
