The Harvest Tide Project by Oisin McGann Read Free Book Online Page B

trouble, and then she would say it was his fault. Well, it was she who had grabbed the page from him; it was she who tore it. And he’d tell, if it was the only way to save his own neck. Not that it would work. They were in so deep now. It didn’t matter who had started it.
    People were peering out windows at the soldiers now, some coming to their doors, or even out onto the street. They were all careful to stay out of the path of the battlegroup , but they got in Lorkrin’s way as he tried to follow the soldiers. He pushed impatiently through the forest of legs, struggling to see what was going on.
    The Forward-Batterer directed his troops to start the search with the houses at the edge of the village and work their way in. Doors that were not open by the time the soldiers reached them were kicked in.
    They obviously had a description of the man they werelooking for. Anyone fitting that description was dragged out into the village square and made to kneel under armed guard. The villagers did not put up a great struggle. There were shouts and plaintive crying, even women trying to hold onto their men as they were dragged out into the street. But no weapons were raised against the soldiers; no one struck out or stood up to them. Lorkrin looked on with morbid fascination . Myunans were nomads, and had little contact with the army. But for the villagers of Crickenob, raids were like storms or floods, freak events that they bore with dignity if they could, each villager keeping up a dignified front and hoping they would not fall victim. Raids were just another part of life. There was nothing the villagers could do about them. So the people assembled in the square to find out what would happen next. Frightened and worried, they were nonetheless fascinated to know what had taken place beyond their small world to bring the soldiers here.

    Shessil Groach and his hosts were enjoying a breakfast of milk, plums and butter on a tomato-flavoured bread, when they heard the shouting and screaming. Moffet, who had just opened the shutters to let in the morning sun, grunted to himself and stuck his pipe in his mouth.
    ‘Soldiers’re coming,’ he rasped to his wife. She tutted and started taking the more fragile pieces of crockery from the shelves and putting them in cupboards. She moved the furniture well clear of the door and unlatched it, leaving it closed over. She would not have her door knocked off its hinges, but she was not going to open the door of her home in welcome to any Noranians either. There were principlesto be observed after all.
    She put a pot of tea on the table and the couple sat back down with their guest to finish their breakfast. Groach was pouring the tea when the door was kicked in. It bounced against the wall before swinging back on its hinges, nearly hitting the burly soldier who had kicked it. The trooper stopped it with his hand and stepped into the kitchen, followed by two others. Groach, his eyes wide at this violent intrusion, froze, the teapot poised in mid-air. Moffet blew a smoke ring.
    ‘What is it this time?’ he asked. ‘Kartharic spies, I suppose, or bush demons maybe. I liked the last one. What was it?’
    ‘Witches,’ his wife supplied.
    ‘Ah yes, witches. I remember you cornered quite a few of them that time. Damned clever test you had. If they didn’t burn when you put them on a bonfire, they were witches. Damned clever. ’Course, they all burned as I remember.’
    ‘There is a fugitive loose in the area,’ the soldier growled. ‘There’s a reward for his capture. You two I have seen before. Who is he?’
    His finger pointed like a weapon at Groach, who was still holding the teapot up in the air. The teapot started trembling . Could he be the fugitive they were searching for? Surely not. Why would they send so many soldiers just to find him? Suddenly he was afraid. He tried to think of something to say, but all he could do was squeak quietly. Moffet’s eyes flicked towards Groach