reason for your dismassal and I hope it stays that way. My
father would have been more severe with you, but I do not agree that
men should be punished for only acting within their nature. I was a
soldier once, Kestan, just like you and I am not blind. I knows what
goes on and I would have been more lenient with you if my son hadn't
caught you. But he did see you and I have to be seen to act, you
undersand?"
"Yes, your majesty. Thank you."
Grunhill has taken possession of an old abbey, there's rumours it's
haunted and he can't seem to keep staff for very long. It's probably
just in need of better repair. The old bell tower is still there,
although I don't know if the bell is still working. I trust your
tenure there will be as long as it needs to be." Varathorn
handed Kestan the letter he'd been writing. "Your reference."
"Thank you, my liege. This is most generous of you." Kestan
hadn't expected a reference, never mind a place already secured for
him. Not after what he'd done.
"I have arranged for a coach to deliver you to Lake Sapphire in
an hour. Your belongings have already been packed and I have I've
advised Lithor to take you to the coach stage there."
Kestan's stomach jolted as his mind went to his stable companion.
Varathorn smirked. "The elder Master Lithor. Young Lithor has
other duties to attend to."
Kestan wondered why he should be dismissed but Lithor wasn't; after
all they were both caught in flagrante as it were, but he decided to
cut his losses and forget about it. It wasn’t as if they would
ever have become anything more permanent. A few fumbles in the stable
hardly constituted a great romance and long term lovers were not for
the likes of men like them.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Varathorn dismissed him with a wave of his hand, as if now that he
had said what he needed to, Kestan no longer existed.
*
Grunhall
Manor was a few miles away from the coach stage, and there were no
public coaches waiting when Lithor the elder dropped him off there,
so Kestan decided it would be best to walk to his new post. At least
he'd save money on the fare, if not in shoe leather.
A few moments after he started his walk, a farmer stopped his cart
beside him.
"Do you need a lift somewhere, sir?" The farmer was dressed
in shabby clothes, his brown hair liberally peppered with grey,
although he looked quite young.
"I'm expected at Grunhall Manor."
"Oh, aye? You must be the new tutor. Hop in; it's on my way
home."
"Thank you," Kestan lifted his trunk into the cart bed amid
bales of straw and hay before climbing onto the bench beside the man
and holding out his hand. "Kestan of Stonycroft."
The farmer shook hands with him, quite a firm grip and Kestan tried
not to wince. "Grilbur of Sapphire Lake." The man took up
the reins again and they were soon trotting off down the country
lanes.
"How did you know I was the new tutor?"
Grilbur shrugged his shoulders. "It's a small place. Word gets
around."
"I see." They spent the rest of the journey in silence
until Grilbur brought the cart to a stop outside a wrought iron gate.
"This is the place. You be careful, now. There's strange things
happen in that house," Grilbur warned ominously.
Kestan hoisted his small trunk back down and grinned. "I don't
believe in ghosts."
"That don't matter. Not when they believe in you."
With those parting words of wisdom, the farmer drove off and left
Kestan staring at the gate. It was bounded on both sides by a tall
brick wall, with large trees in the grounds behind it effectively
obscuring the view of the house. The gate was warm to the touch –
the late summer sunshine had been warming it all morning – as
Kestan pushed it open and made his way between the avenues of trees.
The path seemed never ending, first winding one way, then the other,
so he felt as if he was walking in circles. Birds fluttered from
branch to branch overhead, calling to each other and his feet
crunched along the gravel path.
Suddenly, the trees cleared and he
father would have been more severe with you, but I do not agree that
men should be punished for only acting within their nature. I was a
soldier once, Kestan, just like you and I am not blind. I knows what
goes on and I would have been more lenient with you if my son hadn't
caught you. But he did see you and I have to be seen to act, you
undersand?"
"Yes, your majesty. Thank you."
Grunhill has taken possession of an old abbey, there's rumours it's
haunted and he can't seem to keep staff for very long. It's probably
just in need of better repair. The old bell tower is still there,
although I don't know if the bell is still working. I trust your
tenure there will be as long as it needs to be." Varathorn
handed Kestan the letter he'd been writing. "Your reference."
"Thank you, my liege. This is most generous of you." Kestan
hadn't expected a reference, never mind a place already secured for
him. Not after what he'd done.
"I have arranged for a coach to deliver you to Lake Sapphire in
an hour. Your belongings have already been packed and I have I've
advised Lithor to take you to the coach stage there."
Kestan's stomach jolted as his mind went to his stable companion.
Varathorn smirked. "The elder Master Lithor. Young Lithor has
other duties to attend to."
Kestan wondered why he should be dismissed but Lithor wasn't; after
all they were both caught in flagrante as it were, but he decided to
cut his losses and forget about it. It wasn’t as if they would
ever have become anything more permanent. A few fumbles in the stable
hardly constituted a great romance and long term lovers were not for
the likes of men like them.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Varathorn dismissed him with a wave of his hand, as if now that he
had said what he needed to, Kestan no longer existed.
*
Grunhall
Manor was a few miles away from the coach stage, and there were no
public coaches waiting when Lithor the elder dropped him off there,
so Kestan decided it would be best to walk to his new post. At least
he'd save money on the fare, if not in shoe leather.
A few moments after he started his walk, a farmer stopped his cart
beside him.
"Do you need a lift somewhere, sir?" The farmer was dressed
in shabby clothes, his brown hair liberally peppered with grey,
although he looked quite young.
"I'm expected at Grunhall Manor."
"Oh, aye? You must be the new tutor. Hop in; it's on my way
home."
"Thank you," Kestan lifted his trunk into the cart bed amid
bales of straw and hay before climbing onto the bench beside the man
and holding out his hand. "Kestan of Stonycroft."
The farmer shook hands with him, quite a firm grip and Kestan tried
not to wince. "Grilbur of Sapphire Lake." The man took up
the reins again and they were soon trotting off down the country
lanes.
"How did you know I was the new tutor?"
Grilbur shrugged his shoulders. "It's a small place. Word gets
around."
"I see." They spent the rest of the journey in silence
until Grilbur brought the cart to a stop outside a wrought iron gate.
"This is the place. You be careful, now. There's strange things
happen in that house," Grilbur warned ominously.
Kestan hoisted his small trunk back down and grinned. "I don't
believe in ghosts."
"That don't matter. Not when they believe in you."
With those parting words of wisdom, the farmer drove off and left
Kestan staring at the gate. It was bounded on both sides by a tall
brick wall, with large trees in the grounds behind it effectively
obscuring the view of the house. The gate was warm to the touch –
the late summer sunshine had been warming it all morning – as
Kestan pushed it open and made his way between the avenues of trees.
The path seemed never ending, first winding one way, then the other,
so he felt as if he was walking in circles. Birds fluttered from
branch to branch overhead, calling to each other and his feet
crunched along the gravel path.
Suddenly, the trees cleared and he
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