decorative about it and the overhanging upper story, tall,
narrow windows and thick, iron-strapped doors all conveyed messages
of their own. And yet when whoever was occupying it went away,
there really wasn’t much point in locking it, and so they never
did. They just tied the doors shut and rode away. Lowren had loaned
it to any number of folks, nobles, a foreign diplomat or two, over
the years. Lowren’s lands were located on the northern fringes of
the Juniper Mountains, rolling down into the steppes. His
north-eastern boundary was the Juniper River, which was not a
particularly large river. It rose in the mountains far to the west
and drained a quite a hinterland. The crest of the ridge-line to
the south was the agreed-upon boundary with Windermere. With them
being stable and peaceful, he’d always thought it a lucky thing to
have that mountain barrier, just in case as it were. There was a
point where the boundary with Windermere ended and then there was
nobody there, just mountains. He had no great ambitions in that
direction. Let the small bands of skin-clad native hunters have it,
he had concluded after no great thought.
His people, mostly farmers and hunters,
preferred to clear lots lower down in the valleys, in forested
bottomlands where the soil was deep and black. The land, when his
grandfather came, had been an enclave of unspoiled
wildness.
In winter, he hunted elk and bear from
another lodge, one up in the hills fifteen miles to the northeast
of this location. It was his only royal reserve, all other lands
being open to the common weal. Whenever a group of venturesome
souls went off five or ten miles, started clearing the forest and a
new hamlet sprung up, he would make them as many gifts as he
could—more policy. It was not exactly cheap either. It had to be
done, and ultimately, it would pay off for sovereign and people
together.
Lowren sometimes thought he might be
kidding himself, but he might one day find a more equitable method
of governing his people. It was an inherited system and he wasn’t
responsible for all of its faults—or was he?
Again, his attention had been brought
to the present by the others.
“ Whoa.” The party
dismounted, stretching their legs and muttering quietly amongst
themselves.
The younger ones had never been there
before. While his discipline was relaxed, they knew enough not to
go running around like little boys.
Bibbs, familiar with the place from
previous visits, opened up the doors to the stables and then went
with Lowren to the door of the main house. The pair went in for a
quick inspection and found the place livable if a bit dank and
musty-smelling inside. There was kindling and a bundle of
birch-bark beside the hearth, and water in the bucket. Bibb made a
mental note to have that properly rinsed out before anyone took a
drink.
They came back out quickly enough.
Lowren stood in the shade, on the low, wide veranda, waiting for
someone to unload a cask, and Garvin went among the men giving
good-natured orders to the newest ones and suggestions to those
more capable of listening properly. He soon had them disposed. One
or two others looked on in amusement.
Garvin took the hunters under his
wing.
“ All right, lads.” The
lucky troopers were responsible for untying their dead animals,
getting them down off the backs of the horses, and then putting
them up on the big outdoor table.
Not far from this was a horizontal
pole, one supported about eight feet up by trestles, with a pair of
benches on each side.
There were chains and hooks and bits of
soft iron wire hanging along its length.
“ All righty, then. You
three. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
He was gratified to see that none of
them turned too green at the thought of draining, cleaning up and
skinning out their own meat.
“ Here boy, I’ll show you
step by step, and each of you will get some help. It pays to listen
when I speak, incidentally.”
Garvin got up on one of the benches and
took
narrow windows and thick, iron-strapped doors all conveyed messages
of their own. And yet when whoever was occupying it went away,
there really wasn’t much point in locking it, and so they never
did. They just tied the doors shut and rode away. Lowren had loaned
it to any number of folks, nobles, a foreign diplomat or two, over
the years. Lowren’s lands were located on the northern fringes of
the Juniper Mountains, rolling down into the steppes. His
north-eastern boundary was the Juniper River, which was not a
particularly large river. It rose in the mountains far to the west
and drained a quite a hinterland. The crest of the ridge-line to
the south was the agreed-upon boundary with Windermere. With them
being stable and peaceful, he’d always thought it a lucky thing to
have that mountain barrier, just in case as it were. There was a
point where the boundary with Windermere ended and then there was
nobody there, just mountains. He had no great ambitions in that
direction. Let the small bands of skin-clad native hunters have it,
he had concluded after no great thought.
His people, mostly farmers and hunters,
preferred to clear lots lower down in the valleys, in forested
bottomlands where the soil was deep and black. The land, when his
grandfather came, had been an enclave of unspoiled
wildness.
In winter, he hunted elk and bear from
another lodge, one up in the hills fifteen miles to the northeast
of this location. It was his only royal reserve, all other lands
being open to the common weal. Whenever a group of venturesome
souls went off five or ten miles, started clearing the forest and a
new hamlet sprung up, he would make them as many gifts as he
could—more policy. It was not exactly cheap either. It had to be
done, and ultimately, it would pay off for sovereign and people
together.
Lowren sometimes thought he might be
kidding himself, but he might one day find a more equitable method
of governing his people. It was an inherited system and he wasn’t
responsible for all of its faults—or was he?
Again, his attention had been brought
to the present by the others.
“ Whoa.” The party
dismounted, stretching their legs and muttering quietly amongst
themselves.
The younger ones had never been there
before. While his discipline was relaxed, they knew enough not to
go running around like little boys.
Bibbs, familiar with the place from
previous visits, opened up the doors to the stables and then went
with Lowren to the door of the main house. The pair went in for a
quick inspection and found the place livable if a bit dank and
musty-smelling inside. There was kindling and a bundle of
birch-bark beside the hearth, and water in the bucket. Bibb made a
mental note to have that properly rinsed out before anyone took a
drink.
They came back out quickly enough.
Lowren stood in the shade, on the low, wide veranda, waiting for
someone to unload a cask, and Garvin went among the men giving
good-natured orders to the newest ones and suggestions to those
more capable of listening properly. He soon had them disposed. One
or two others looked on in amusement.
Garvin took the hunters under his
wing.
“ All right, lads.” The
lucky troopers were responsible for untying their dead animals,
getting them down off the backs of the horses, and then putting
them up on the big outdoor table.
Not far from this was a horizontal
pole, one supported about eight feet up by trestles, with a pair of
benches on each side.
There were chains and hooks and bits of
soft iron wire hanging along its length.
“ All righty, then. You
three. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
He was gratified to see that none of
them turned too green at the thought of draining, cleaning up and
skinning out their own meat.
“ Here boy, I’ll show you
step by step, and each of you will get some help. It pays to listen
when I speak, incidentally.”
Garvin got up on one of the benches and
took
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