Chapter Twenty #2
“Xydell has gone to the snows,” Orval said bluntly.
Ritathan caught himself, then bowed his head.
Halithe opened her mouth to express condolences but, remembering Xydell, wasn’t sure what to say.
Orval was still speaking. “The Blood is more liability than asset. At least in the Black Hills.” He sighed. “We are tolerated, just, and that only because that my horrid, wonderful Aunt Xydell was known and loved in the Black Hills.”
“What?” Ritathan asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Long story,” Orval repeated. “Just know that every eye on us is a wary one.”
“Are those war goats?” Aramal asked.
“So Old Petro claims.” Orval chuckled. “He lets me use the cart when needed. Much easier for me than trying to ride a horse with this leg. Room for cargo as well, when I go to market.”
“Heard of such, but never seen them before.”
“Their names are Ornery and Stubborn. Stubborn has the broken horn. Petro showed us their old armor, in a trunk in the stable.” Orval shook his head.
“They are so gentle though, it’s hard to believe.
They seem to enjoy pulling me around, but I don’t push them too hard.
Truth to tell, they’d do anything for a bit of dried apple. ” Orval pointed. “We turn off here.”
“But—” Ritathan pointed ahead, to where Halithe could see the outline of a walled castle, rising ahead of them.
“We’re not living in the Keep,” Orval said.
“The gatehouse is in decent shape, but the rest is in ruins.” He slowed the rams to make the turn.
“I convinced Jerrold to put up scaffolding and scatter tools around, so it looks like we have started repairs. It’s more important to get the quarry working again.
” Orval hesitated. “Besides, well, my wife is expecting again.”
“So soon?” Ritathan said.
“Yes, well,” Orval sounded both embarrassed and proud.
“With that, and the fact that the twins are walking, we are going to have our hands full. The Keep is no place for children, not in its current state.” He glanced at Halithe and smiled.
“So we were given permission to move to an old manor house that had been left abandoned since the conflicts. Plenty of room and land for gardens and livestock.”
“Given permission,” Ritathan said slowly.
“They do not fully trust us yet, but they see the wisdom in a token Lord High Baron,” Orval said.
“The manor is nothing fancy, and the attic is full of broken and worn furniture we are slowly fixing. We can offer you shelter, and hard work, but not much else. So I think you’d best be a scribe for now.
” Orval cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you brought any books with you? ”
“No,” there was real sorrow in Ritathan’s voice. “There was no time.”
“Pity,” Orval said with a sigh, then sat up straighter. “Ah, you can see the roofs from here.”
Ahead of them, just peeking above the trees, was a thatched roof. The road narrowed, with two ruts down the center. The cart’s wheels fit perfectly, but the horses had to slow. Ritathan dropped back so they could ride single file. Aramal fell back as well, leaving Halithe in the middle.
Low hanging branches, from the trees on either side, periodically blocking the road. At one point, Halithe had to push some aside with one hand, watching to make sure they didn’t hit Aramal when released. Clearly this road didn’t see much use.
“Here we are,” Orval announced as the cart rattled over a last bump and they entered a wide courtyard surrounded by a low stone wall covered in vines.
The two-story house was vine-covered as well; the shutters were open and smoke was rising from the chimneys.
Further on was a barn, and a practice circle, where weapons lessons were clearly taking place.
The group of boys, wooden swords in hand, all turned to watch as Orval pulled the cart to a halt.
“That’s enough,” an older man called. “See to the rams and then you are free.”
Ragged cheers rose. Some darted toward the cart while others gathered weapons and started cleaning the yard.
“Free?” Orval demanded. “What about my classes?”
One of the boys, a tall, lanky lad with his hair falling in his face, grinned. “You skipped out on yours this morning, so no reading and writing for us today,” he crowed as the others all laughed.
The older man walked over. Halithe recognized Captain Roth, another who’d been banished. “A deal’s a deal,” he said calmly.
“Fine, fine,” Orval conceded. “Here, Yfin, take these.” He handed the tall boy the reins and started to climb down from the cart. “You can all stay for lunch if you wish,” he said to the group.
“We’re going fishing,” another, lighter voice answered, and Halithe stiffened in shock as she realized that one of the “boys” was a girl. Now that she looked, quite a few were girls. “Lady Amari packed us lunches. She wants eels for supper.”
“She does now? Then you’d best be about it.” Orval got down off the wagon slowly.
Yfin grinned up at Halithe. “Want to come?”
“I’ve never gone fishing,” she blurted out.
“And we need to be made known to the Lady High Baroness,” Ritathan cut in smoothly.
“Next time, then.” Yfin gathered up the leads. “I know all the best fishing places.”
“No, you don’t!” came protests and cat-calls as he led the goats off toward the barn. The others followed.
“They can see to the horses and bring your packs in,” Roth said. “I assume you have quite a bit to tell us.” His eyes flicked over Ritathan but he waited until they’d dismounted and the horses and the crowd were gone before he said, “Mage Ritathan.”
“Captain Roth,” Ritathan brushed himself off. “You survived.”
“I assume there’s a tale to be told here,” Roth said.
“Yes,” Orval started for the house, his leg dragging. “Over lunch. Come along.”
He led them around to the back of the building, where there was an open area under a sort of trellis, also covered in vines. Tables and benches were set out and there was room to feed a great deal of people. A woman walked out the kitchen doors with a babe on her hip.
“There you are,” she said, then called over her shoulder. “Rosalind, Orval’s returned.”
“Amari, love,” Orval limped over and kissed her, then took the babe. “Look who’s come, with tales to tell.”
Ritathan gestured for Halithe to go first; he and Aramal followed. Another woman emerged from the kitchen, carrying a smaller child who had a head full of curls. Halithe knew this woman: Rosalind, the former Royal Housekeeper of the Palace of Edenrich. Rosalind stopped in the doorway and stared.
Orval gestured, making introductions. “Here are Ritathan, Aramal, and Halithe, all fleeing Satia and Xyrath.” He dodged the grasping hands of the babe he held. “Come to join the Hearth, if we are willing.”
Rosalind’s face grew dark, grimacing as she spat out, “Why would we trust Halithe, Daughter of Tarwain, Lord Marshal of the Army of the Wyvern Blood?”