Tolby’s hand stayed on his wife’s knee, but it squeezed a little.
“Gain?” Hosmer threw one hand up in the air, in appeal. “Oh, Da. We could sharecrop the orchards and move into town. We could buy that vineyard salon you wanted, and you could retire from keeping the groves, and just work on your brew and warehousing. And Mom . . . Mom could be near healers when she needed them, and have a small tailoring shop like she used to when you first courted her, and make fine gowns when she felt like it, and there would be lots of girls for Nutmeg to play with, and a real school, too.”
“I see you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Lily responded mildly.
“I have! Ever since that last band of Bolgers came through and rousted us for hard cider year before last. I swear they’ve developed a taste for it over that swill they call booze, and they’ll be back again soon enough, and there will come a time when Da can’t handle them and with us not around—” He ground to a halt.
“I see. Why is it you might not be around?” Tolby drew a small glowing stick from the fire.
Hosmer looked at his father closely. “I can’t stay in orchards my whole life, Da. It isn’t in me. Sooner or later, I’m going to go and see what I want to do.”
Tolby nodded slowly. He looked at Garner who merely shrugged. “I’ve no plans,” he said lightly. “Yet.” As wiry as the others were stocky, one had to look closely at his face to see the Tolby in him; his looks favored Lily more.
“The trouble with young bucks,” the older Dweller remarked, as he let go of his wife’s knee and actually lit his pipe and took a puff on it. “Is that they’re ready to butt heads before they know what a full rack of antlers is, and what weight they’ll be carrying. And before the old buck is ready to retire.”
Hosmer cleared his throat. “What can we do?”
“Think of it this way: what if it were Nutmeg? What if we did have Bolgers attacking, and we’d put her on a raft and floated her downriver to safety? How would you want her finders to treat her, eh?” Tolby’s thick brows lowered heavily. “I shouldn’t even have to ask.”
“I’d kill anyone who hurt her,” his oldest son declared. “You know that!”
“There may be a day when we can’t be here to help Nutmeg, and she has to depend on strangers. What then? We were all newcomers once.”
“Dwellers belong here,” Hosmer answered defensively. “We’re some of the first kin! We’ve never invaded or taken slaves.”
“People are people.”
Garner shifted weight. “Not to them,” he said, backing up his brother. “ ’Course,” and he retreated a little. “I’ve seen Galdarkans bully, too.”
“If she is valuable as a slave, we would have had riders through here already. I can’t say how long she’s been on the river rider, but she wouldn’t have lasted more than a few more days. She’s near starved. From what I know of Vaelinars, they don’t age as we do and their lives are as long as the great trees of the north. She could easily be as old as Mom and I put together, yet still be a child.”
“She is about Nutmeg’s age, physically. Her teeth are still young, with ridges, although she’s lost one,” Lily said. She pushed a hand in her apron pocket and brought out the band which had served as a bracelet, with a ring forged to it for fastening chains. “This one slipped off over her hand. The other Da cut away, and she’ll have scars from that, always it looks. The metal did more than gash her, it branded her as if . . .” Lily stopped uneasily. “As if something evil branded or tattooed itself into her flesh.” She held it out to Hosmer. “Do you wish to put it back on her?”
He stared at the loathsome thing, rearing back. He glared at the floor before muttering, “No.”
“Then what do we do?”
Hosmer looked up, the fire bringing out the gold over the gray in his hair. His gaze flickered with the thoughts running
“Gain?” Hosmer threw one hand up in the air, in appeal. “Oh, Da. We could sharecrop the orchards and move into town. We could buy that vineyard salon you wanted, and you could retire from keeping the groves, and just work on your brew and warehousing. And Mom . . . Mom could be near healers when she needed them, and have a small tailoring shop like she used to when you first courted her, and make fine gowns when she felt like it, and there would be lots of girls for Nutmeg to play with, and a real school, too.”
“I see you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Lily responded mildly.
“I have! Ever since that last band of Bolgers came through and rousted us for hard cider year before last. I swear they’ve developed a taste for it over that swill they call booze, and they’ll be back again soon enough, and there will come a time when Da can’t handle them and with us not around—” He ground to a halt.
“I see. Why is it you might not be around?” Tolby drew a small glowing stick from the fire.
Hosmer looked at his father closely. “I can’t stay in orchards my whole life, Da. It isn’t in me. Sooner or later, I’m going to go and see what I want to do.”
Tolby nodded slowly. He looked at Garner who merely shrugged. “I’ve no plans,” he said lightly. “Yet.” As wiry as the others were stocky, one had to look closely at his face to see the Tolby in him; his looks favored Lily more.
“The trouble with young bucks,” the older Dweller remarked, as he let go of his wife’s knee and actually lit his pipe and took a puff on it. “Is that they’re ready to butt heads before they know what a full rack of antlers is, and what weight they’ll be carrying. And before the old buck is ready to retire.”
Hosmer cleared his throat. “What can we do?”
“Think of it this way: what if it were Nutmeg? What if we did have Bolgers attacking, and we’d put her on a raft and floated her downriver to safety? How would you want her finders to treat her, eh?” Tolby’s thick brows lowered heavily. “I shouldn’t even have to ask.”
“I’d kill anyone who hurt her,” his oldest son declared. “You know that!”
“There may be a day when we can’t be here to help Nutmeg, and she has to depend on strangers. What then? We were all newcomers once.”
“Dwellers belong here,” Hosmer answered defensively. “We’re some of the first kin! We’ve never invaded or taken slaves.”
“People are people.”
Garner shifted weight. “Not to them,” he said, backing up his brother. “ ’Course,” and he retreated a little. “I’ve seen Galdarkans bully, too.”
“If she is valuable as a slave, we would have had riders through here already. I can’t say how long she’s been on the river rider, but she wouldn’t have lasted more than a few more days. She’s near starved. From what I know of Vaelinars, they don’t age as we do and their lives are as long as the great trees of the north. She could easily be as old as Mom and I put together, yet still be a child.”
“She is about Nutmeg’s age, physically. Her teeth are still young, with ridges, although she’s lost one,” Lily said. She pushed a hand in her apron pocket and brought out the band which had served as a bracelet, with a ring forged to it for fastening chains. “This one slipped off over her hand. The other Da cut away, and she’ll have scars from that, always it looks. The metal did more than gash her, it branded her as if . . .” Lily stopped uneasily. “As if something evil branded or tattooed itself into her flesh.” She held it out to Hosmer. “Do you wish to put it back on her?”
He stared at the loathsome thing, rearing back. He glared at the floor before muttering, “No.”
“Then what do we do?”
Hosmer looked up, the fire bringing out the gold over the gray in his hair. His gaze flickered with the thoughts running
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