wind.
“Britches!” Lar cursed under his breath. It was the woman
from the fair who pulled Elias’s bacon out of the pan—Lady Bryn Denar.
Lar rode to meet to her. He reined in his horse and asked
without preamble, “What are you doing here? My Lady,” he added as an
afterthought.
Bryn, who stood in her stirrups, sat in her saddle and
caught her breath. “Word travels fast in Knoll Creek. I figured something was
amiss when the Mayor cancelled our audience.” She fixed cobalt eyes on Lar. “But
this... The constable told me that Elias lives, but is mortally wounded. Is
this true?”
“No. He is anything but. The Doctor has restored him—mostly.
He was arrowed through the shoulder, but it has done little to slow him down or
his damn mule-headed stubbornness. He escaped through a window at old
Phinneas’s when we went to fetch him some food. He insisted a merchant by the
name of Slade is responsible for the ambush and has taken my horse to pursue
him. For some reason, he thinks this merchant waits for him at the Manor. At
first I thought him crazy with grief, but I’ve begun to get a bad feeling about
all this. I’m going to head him off.”
“And if there is battle, you intend to fight with that?” Bryn
motioned at the ancient sword Lar had stuck into his saddle bags. “It looks
like an heirloom you pulled off a wall.” Lar blushed, for that is exactly where
he had procured the dusty blade, from over the doctor’s mantle.
“It was the best I could manage.”
“Here,” Bryn said as she produced a sword from under her riding
cape, “take this.”
Lar took the proffered weapon and examined it quickly. It
was a rapier, Kveshian by the look of it. Longer and thicker than its Phyrian
and Galacian counterparts, the Kveshian rapier proved adroit in a duel as well
as open combat. Lar knew little of academics, but he had paid attention during
military history. “Thank-you, Lady Denar. Can I ask, where are you going? My
Lady.”
“I’m coming with you. If Duana’s instincts are correct, we just
may be riding into a fight, so, under the circumstances, I think we can do away
with titles. Call me Bryn.”
“Right, but why?”
“Because that’s my name.” Bryn eyed the imposing farmer, who
looked back at her with poker-perfect deadpan. She sighed. “I am an agent of
Crown Law, so this kind of thing concerns me. That having been said, I can’t
help but shoulder some of the responsibility for this. I should have put the
clues together sooner.”
Lar pressed his mount closer to Bryn. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t come to Knoll Creek to collect taxes, but this is
neither the time nor the place to discuss this. Are you with me or not?”
Lar gave Bryn an appraising look, but truth be told he was
glad for the company. “Aye,” he said, “I’m with you. But, you have given me
your sword, how will you fight if it comes to that?”
“I shall manage just fine. Now, get off that horse.” When
Lar’s sole response was to frown down at her, she sighed again, but she wore an
easy smirk. “That horse you’re riding looks like its back is about to break. I
think you outweigh it by a stone, whereas my gelding is from the queen’s
stables and has the fortitude begotten of a millennia old, storied bloodline. Let’s
switch mounts so that we can recoup the time we’ve lost here talking about the
weather.”
Lar harrumphed, but dismounted at once and the two switched
horses. “Let’s not waste any more time then,” Lar said, sounding a great deal
braver than he felt.
Bryn nodded at him once and then they were off, galloping
into the yellow sun.
†
Elias opened his eyes. He lay on the floor, his
father’s sword grasped firmly in hand. His sword-arm throbbed and his head swam.
He glanced at his arm and with a sharp gasp noticed the source of his
discomfort: the very same runes etched into the base of the blade were branded
into the flesh on the underside of his forearm.
He examined the four
“Britches!” Lar cursed under his breath. It was the woman
from the fair who pulled Elias’s bacon out of the pan—Lady Bryn Denar.
Lar rode to meet to her. He reined in his horse and asked
without preamble, “What are you doing here? My Lady,” he added as an
afterthought.
Bryn, who stood in her stirrups, sat in her saddle and
caught her breath. “Word travels fast in Knoll Creek. I figured something was
amiss when the Mayor cancelled our audience.” She fixed cobalt eyes on Lar. “But
this... The constable told me that Elias lives, but is mortally wounded. Is
this true?”
“No. He is anything but. The Doctor has restored him—mostly.
He was arrowed through the shoulder, but it has done little to slow him down or
his damn mule-headed stubbornness. He escaped through a window at old
Phinneas’s when we went to fetch him some food. He insisted a merchant by the
name of Slade is responsible for the ambush and has taken my horse to pursue
him. For some reason, he thinks this merchant waits for him at the Manor. At
first I thought him crazy with grief, but I’ve begun to get a bad feeling about
all this. I’m going to head him off.”
“And if there is battle, you intend to fight with that?” Bryn
motioned at the ancient sword Lar had stuck into his saddle bags. “It looks
like an heirloom you pulled off a wall.” Lar blushed, for that is exactly where
he had procured the dusty blade, from over the doctor’s mantle.
“It was the best I could manage.”
“Here,” Bryn said as she produced a sword from under her riding
cape, “take this.”
Lar took the proffered weapon and examined it quickly. It
was a rapier, Kveshian by the look of it. Longer and thicker than its Phyrian
and Galacian counterparts, the Kveshian rapier proved adroit in a duel as well
as open combat. Lar knew little of academics, but he had paid attention during
military history. “Thank-you, Lady Denar. Can I ask, where are you going? My
Lady.”
“I’m coming with you. If Duana’s instincts are correct, we just
may be riding into a fight, so, under the circumstances, I think we can do away
with titles. Call me Bryn.”
“Right, but why?”
“Because that’s my name.” Bryn eyed the imposing farmer, who
looked back at her with poker-perfect deadpan. She sighed. “I am an agent of
Crown Law, so this kind of thing concerns me. That having been said, I can’t
help but shoulder some of the responsibility for this. I should have put the
clues together sooner.”
Lar pressed his mount closer to Bryn. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t come to Knoll Creek to collect taxes, but this is
neither the time nor the place to discuss this. Are you with me or not?”
Lar gave Bryn an appraising look, but truth be told he was
glad for the company. “Aye,” he said, “I’m with you. But, you have given me
your sword, how will you fight if it comes to that?”
“I shall manage just fine. Now, get off that horse.” When
Lar’s sole response was to frown down at her, she sighed again, but she wore an
easy smirk. “That horse you’re riding looks like its back is about to break. I
think you outweigh it by a stone, whereas my gelding is from the queen’s
stables and has the fortitude begotten of a millennia old, storied bloodline. Let’s
switch mounts so that we can recoup the time we’ve lost here talking about the
weather.”
Lar harrumphed, but dismounted at once and the two switched
horses. “Let’s not waste any more time then,” Lar said, sounding a great deal
braver than he felt.
Bryn nodded at him once and then they were off, galloping
into the yellow sun.
†
Elias opened his eyes. He lay on the floor, his
father’s sword grasped firmly in hand. His sword-arm throbbed and his head swam.
He glanced at his arm and with a sharp gasp noticed the source of his
discomfort: the very same runes etched into the base of the blade were branded
into the flesh on the underside of his forearm.
He examined the four
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