hand.
Ria looked. Almost directly beneath them was the broad expanse of the Brightwater River. Southward lay a number of sturdy wooden docks built out into the stream of the river, piles of stone buttressing each support against the strength of the water. Ria could see stacks of debris where likely one or more of the old docks, probably fallen into disrepair, had been torn apart and rebuilt. The docks now were fresh and new; even now Ria could see Yvarden standing there, doubtless casting the antirot and worm-repelling spells to keep the wooden beams sturdy.
Across the river to the west lay fields. Those fields were green-gold with ripening grain now, or green with the tops of vegetables. Here and there Ria could see a break in the fields, winding lines of streams branching out from the Brightwater, or darker blots of farms.
“What are you seeing out there?” Lord Sharl asked after a moment.
Ria shrugged. “The river. The docks. Farms.” What else was there?
“Hope,” Lord Sharl corrected. “Hopes and dreams. More than a thousand people who have tied their lives and the lives of their children to this city. I brought them from all parts of the known world—folk whose homes and lands were destroyed or rendered unusable by the invasion, folk from uninvaded countries where all the good land was already taken, folk from large families who had no more land to parcel out, folk who weren’t born to land and who didn’t have the money to better themselves. They came because I made them a promise. Sixteen years ago I made the same promise and I broke it. This time I’m going to keep it.”
Lord Sharl gestured down at the muddy river.
“That’s why I’ll keep my promise this time. I’ve spoken to merchants in the north—dozens, maybe hundreds of them. As settlement moves west, the Dezarin becomes more and more impractical. This was the only site convenient to both the river and the trade road; that’s why I chose it. The Brightwater River will become the new supply line between north and south, and we’ll be the only trade city on the Brightwater. Emaril frets about the depth, but I’ve had depth readings taken all along the length of the Brightwater from rafts. Sixteen years ago we had supply ships carrying down full loads of coal, by the gods, in high summer when there hadn’t been rain for weeks. That river can carry anything we load it with, and it’ll carry it right to our door.”
Ria eyed the river dubiously. It didn’t look all that special to her.
“There’s only one thing as important to the success of this city as the river,” Lord Sharl continued. He turned Ria around to look in the opposite direction at the forest. “The elves. Their goodwill might not save this city, but I can assure you that their continued hostility will destroy it. If the border clans made a determined effort, they could make it so dangerous to pass around the southern tip of the forest that nobody could get to the city from the trade road. It wouldn’t take much to dissuade merchants from diverting their caravans to Allanmere—just a few arrows now and then, or even one or two very decisive bloody raids, and then the river trade I’m counting on will be just another empty dream.
“We need timber from the forest for building. Even if we build every house and shop out of stone, we’ll still need beams for the roofs, for floor supports, and wood to burn until we can bring in shipments of coal. As the plains around the city are dug up for fields, we’ll need to hunt in the forest for food and furs, too, until enough livestock can be bred to feed the city. Even healing herbs—most of them grow in woodlands, not on the open plains. Those are commodities the elves could trade in, if they’d trade.”
Ria remained silent. She could see where this trail ended.
“But we can’t negotiate with the elves if we can’t talk to them,” Lord Sharl said after a moment’s silence. “Sixteen years ago some of them would
Ria looked. Almost directly beneath them was the broad expanse of the Brightwater River. Southward lay a number of sturdy wooden docks built out into the stream of the river, piles of stone buttressing each support against the strength of the water. Ria could see stacks of debris where likely one or more of the old docks, probably fallen into disrepair, had been torn apart and rebuilt. The docks now were fresh and new; even now Ria could see Yvarden standing there, doubtless casting the antirot and worm-repelling spells to keep the wooden beams sturdy.
Across the river to the west lay fields. Those fields were green-gold with ripening grain now, or green with the tops of vegetables. Here and there Ria could see a break in the fields, winding lines of streams branching out from the Brightwater, or darker blots of farms.
“What are you seeing out there?” Lord Sharl asked after a moment.
Ria shrugged. “The river. The docks. Farms.” What else was there?
“Hope,” Lord Sharl corrected. “Hopes and dreams. More than a thousand people who have tied their lives and the lives of their children to this city. I brought them from all parts of the known world—folk whose homes and lands were destroyed or rendered unusable by the invasion, folk from uninvaded countries where all the good land was already taken, folk from large families who had no more land to parcel out, folk who weren’t born to land and who didn’t have the money to better themselves. They came because I made them a promise. Sixteen years ago I made the same promise and I broke it. This time I’m going to keep it.”
Lord Sharl gestured down at the muddy river.
“That’s why I’ll keep my promise this time. I’ve spoken to merchants in the north—dozens, maybe hundreds of them. As settlement moves west, the Dezarin becomes more and more impractical. This was the only site convenient to both the river and the trade road; that’s why I chose it. The Brightwater River will become the new supply line between north and south, and we’ll be the only trade city on the Brightwater. Emaril frets about the depth, but I’ve had depth readings taken all along the length of the Brightwater from rafts. Sixteen years ago we had supply ships carrying down full loads of coal, by the gods, in high summer when there hadn’t been rain for weeks. That river can carry anything we load it with, and it’ll carry it right to our door.”
Ria eyed the river dubiously. It didn’t look all that special to her.
“There’s only one thing as important to the success of this city as the river,” Lord Sharl continued. He turned Ria around to look in the opposite direction at the forest. “The elves. Their goodwill might not save this city, but I can assure you that their continued hostility will destroy it. If the border clans made a determined effort, they could make it so dangerous to pass around the southern tip of the forest that nobody could get to the city from the trade road. It wouldn’t take much to dissuade merchants from diverting their caravans to Allanmere—just a few arrows now and then, or even one or two very decisive bloody raids, and then the river trade I’m counting on will be just another empty dream.
“We need timber from the forest for building. Even if we build every house and shop out of stone, we’ll still need beams for the roofs, for floor supports, and wood to burn until we can bring in shipments of coal. As the plains around the city are dug up for fields, we’ll need to hunt in the forest for food and furs, too, until enough livestock can be bred to feed the city. Even healing herbs—most of them grow in woodlands, not on the open plains. Those are commodities the elves could trade in, if they’d trade.”
Ria remained silent. She could see where this trail ended.
“But we can’t negotiate with the elves if we can’t talk to them,” Lord Sharl said after a moment’s silence. “Sixteen years ago some of them would
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