matrons. To Diegan’s everlasting uneasiness, the company blatantly proclaimed itself to the eyes of every passing shepherd. The bellying, bullion-fringed standard with its brilliant blue cloth bore a sigil not seenfor five centuries: the royal twelve-pointed star of pale gold. The curious came out to stare in droves. Whatever the sentiments held by city governments and their mettlesome packs of trade guilds, the crofters of Tysan lent tacit trust once assured the prince’s captains would pay for provender. Young boys watched the marching men in their helms, shining mail, and the bright, sharp steel of their longswords, and dreamed; or else turned up in holed boots and motley tunics, reeking of cow dung from the tilling and begging to be taken on for training.
Lysaer s’Ilessid turned none of them away.
‘Why leave them on the farms where their families must struggle to feed them?’ Oblivious to the squalor, he sat by the hearthside cracking nuts for Lady Talith in a peasant’s croft near Dyshent. Crickets chirruped in the smoke-grimed shadows of the corners and round-eyed children peered through the boards of the cattle stalls, where the matron had locked them for safety. Outside, amid a glitter of campfires, the fighting force sprawled at their ease in the mild night, while the off-duty watch laughed and cast bets, and the day’s new recruits dug pits for latrines behind the thorn fence of a sheepfold. Attentive to the timbre of the officer’s calls that wafted through opened shutters, Lysaer added, ‘These boys’ skills will be sorely needed later. Any unsuited for our fighting force will be given land of their own to husband, once Avenor’s rebuilt.’
‘If we ever get there,’ Lord Diegan grumbled acidly. Dark where his sister was leonine, he dug his knuckles into eyes gritted raw from the dust thrown up by his prince’s ridiculous train of wagons, columns of light horse and pack-mules. The rains ended earlier since the banishment of Desh-thiere’s mists; if the past plagues of bloodsucking insects were lessened, the air hung as close as new summer. ‘We’ll need to cut tents out of carpets, at this pace. Next winter’s frost will catch usbefore we can raise a roof to keep the rust from our weapons stores.’
‘Spend the cold season in Erdane with Talith, then,’ Lysaer said, and grinned in suave provocation. He wore neither doublet nor shirt. Since his offer to sling yoke buckets in from the dairy, the matron had carped until he stripped off his fine silk. Afterward, nobody remarked that his lack of finesse in the farmyard had left him bespattered with milk. Unjustly magnificent in fitted breeches of blue suede embroidered with seedpearls, he leaned down and scooped another nut from the poke by his ankles.
Across the cottage, the farmwife’s daughter thumped her chum, her gaze never leaving the beautiful prince, except to stab in envy at the tawny-haired lady who curled like a cat at his knee.
‘Or else go back to your Lord Governor in Etarra,’ Lysaer resumed, well aware of his captain’s coiled tension as he flipped up and fielded a nut-meat. ‘The Etarran division will return as I promised, once we reach the crossroad to Camris.’
‘You can’t be serious about that!’ Lord Diegan’s sharp movement rucked the braided hearth-rug and upset the little sack, and nuts cascaded into the embers. ‘You’re carrying the endowment to found a city, and -’
‘And what?’ Lysaer stretched and pecked a kiss on Talith’s cheek, letting her retire before the debate could encompass the Master of Shadow. Left to the censure of her brother, the prince stayed unmoved. ‘This is Tysan. My ancestors ruled here.’
‘For which Erdane’s mayor sent an edict to draw and quarter you!’ Hot in his velvets, Lord Diegan endured discomfort rather than let the dairy girl make unflattering comparisons. ‘The fanatics on his council will have troops out to slaughter your bodyguard before you’ll gain
Lysaer s’Ilessid turned none of them away.
‘Why leave them on the farms where their families must struggle to feed them?’ Oblivious to the squalor, he sat by the hearthside cracking nuts for Lady Talith in a peasant’s croft near Dyshent. Crickets chirruped in the smoke-grimed shadows of the corners and round-eyed children peered through the boards of the cattle stalls, where the matron had locked them for safety. Outside, amid a glitter of campfires, the fighting force sprawled at their ease in the mild night, while the off-duty watch laughed and cast bets, and the day’s new recruits dug pits for latrines behind the thorn fence of a sheepfold. Attentive to the timbre of the officer’s calls that wafted through opened shutters, Lysaer added, ‘These boys’ skills will be sorely needed later. Any unsuited for our fighting force will be given land of their own to husband, once Avenor’s rebuilt.’
‘If we ever get there,’ Lord Diegan grumbled acidly. Dark where his sister was leonine, he dug his knuckles into eyes gritted raw from the dust thrown up by his prince’s ridiculous train of wagons, columns of light horse and pack-mules. The rains ended earlier since the banishment of Desh-thiere’s mists; if the past plagues of bloodsucking insects were lessened, the air hung as close as new summer. ‘We’ll need to cut tents out of carpets, at this pace. Next winter’s frost will catch usbefore we can raise a roof to keep the rust from our weapons stores.’
‘Spend the cold season in Erdane with Talith, then,’ Lysaer said, and grinned in suave provocation. He wore neither doublet nor shirt. Since his offer to sling yoke buckets in from the dairy, the matron had carped until he stripped off his fine silk. Afterward, nobody remarked that his lack of finesse in the farmyard had left him bespattered with milk. Unjustly magnificent in fitted breeches of blue suede embroidered with seedpearls, he leaned down and scooped another nut from the poke by his ankles.
Across the cottage, the farmwife’s daughter thumped her chum, her gaze never leaving the beautiful prince, except to stab in envy at the tawny-haired lady who curled like a cat at his knee.
‘Or else go back to your Lord Governor in Etarra,’ Lysaer resumed, well aware of his captain’s coiled tension as he flipped up and fielded a nut-meat. ‘The Etarran division will return as I promised, once we reach the crossroad to Camris.’
‘You can’t be serious about that!’ Lord Diegan’s sharp movement rucked the braided hearth-rug and upset the little sack, and nuts cascaded into the embers. ‘You’re carrying the endowment to found a city, and -’
‘And what?’ Lysaer stretched and pecked a kiss on Talith’s cheek, letting her retire before the debate could encompass the Master of Shadow. Left to the censure of her brother, the prince stayed unmoved. ‘This is Tysan. My ancestors ruled here.’
‘For which Erdane’s mayor sent an edict to draw and quarter you!’ Hot in his velvets, Lord Diegan endured discomfort rather than let the dairy girl make unflattering comparisons. ‘The fanatics on his council will have troops out to slaughter your bodyguard before you’ll gain
Similar Books
