Hintindar
Arista woke feeling disoriented and confused. She had been dreaming about riding in her carriage. She sat across from both Sauly and Esrahaddon. Only, in her dream, Esrahaddon had hands and Sauly was wearing his bishop's robes. They were trying to pour brandy from a flask into a cup and were discussing something-a heated argument, but she could not recall it.
A bright light hurt her eyes, and her back ached from sleeping on something hard. She blinked, squinted, and looked around. Her memory returned as she realized she was still in the skiff coasting down the Bernum River. Her left foot was asleep, and dragging it from under a bag started the sensation of pins and needles. The morning sun shone brightly. The limestone cliffs were gone, replaced by sloping farmlands. On either side of the river stretched lovely green fields swaying gently in the soft breeze. The tall spiked grass might have been wheat, although it could just as easily have been barley. Here the river was wider and moved slower. There was hardly any current, and Wally was back to rowing.
"Morning, my lady," he greeted her.
"Morning," Hadrian said from his seat at the tiller.
"I guess I dozed off," she replied, pulling herself up and adjusting her gown. "Did anyone else get any sleep?"
"I'll sleep when I get downriver," Wally replied, hauling on the oars, rocking back then sitting up again. The paddle blades dripped and plunged. "After I drop you fine folks off I'll head down to Evlin catch a nap and a meal then try to pick up some travelers or freight to take back up. No sense fighting this current for nothing."
Arista looked toward Hadrian.
"Some," he told her. "Royce and I took turns."
Her hair was lose and falling in her face. Her blue satin ribbon had been lost somewhere during the night's ride from Sheridan. Since then she had been using a bit of rawhide provided by Hadrian. Even that was missing now, and she poked about her hair and found it caught in a tangle. While she worked to free it she said. "You should have woken me. I would have taken a shift at the tiller."
"We actually considered it when you started to snore."
"I don't snore!"
"I beg to differ," Hadrian chided while chewing.
She looked around the skiff as each of them, even Etcher, nodded. Her face flushed with embarrassment.
Hadrian chuckled. "Don't worry about it, you can't be held accountable for what you do in your sleep."
"Still," she said, "it's not very lady-like."
"Well, if that's all you're worried about, you can forget it," Hadrian informed her with a wicked smirk. "We lost all illusions of you being prissy back in Sheridan."
How much better it was when they were silent.
"That's a compliment," he added hastily.
"You don't 'ave much luck with the ladies do you, sir?" Wally asked, pausing briefly and letting the paddles hang out like wings, leaving a tiny trail of droplets on the smooth surface of the river. "I mean with compliments like that, an' all."
Hadrian frowned at him then turned back to her with a concerned expression. "I really did mean it as a compliment. I've never met a lady who would-well, without complaining you've been-" he paused in frustration, then added, "that little trick you managed back there was really great."
Hadrian only brought up the sneezing spell to try and smooth things over, but she had to admit a sense of pride that she had finally contributed something of value to their trip. "It was the first practical application of hand magic I've ever performed."
"I really wasn't sure you could do it," Hadrian said.
"Who would have thought such a silly thing would come in handy?"
"Travel with us long enough and you'll see we can find a use for just about anything." Hadrian extended his hand. "Cheese?" he asked. "It's really quite good."
Arista took the cheese and offered him a smile, but was disappointed he did not see it. His eyes had moved to the riverbank, and her smile faded as she ate self-consciously.
Wally continued to paddle in even strokes and the world passed slowly by. They rounded bend after bend, skirting a fallen tree then a sandy point. It took Arista nearly an hour with her brush to finally work all the knots out of her hair. She retied its length with the rawhide into a respectable ponytail. Eventually a gap opened in the river reeds to reveal a small sandy bank that showed signs of previous boat landings.
"Put in here," Etcher ordered, and Wally deftly spun the boat to land beneath the shadow of a massive willow tree. Etcher leapt out and tied the bowline. "This is our stop. Let's get the gear off."
"Not yet," Royce said. "You want to check the mill sails first?"
"Oh yeah," Etcher nodded looking a little embarrassed and a tad irritated. "Wait here," he said, before trotting up the grassy slope.
"Sails?" Hadrian asked.
"Just over this rise is the millwright Ethan Finlin's windmill," Royce explained. "Finlin is a member of the Diamond. His windmill is used to store smuggled goods and also serves as a signal that can be seen from the far hills. If the mill's sails are spinning, then all is clear. If furled, then there's trouble. The position of the locked sails indicates different things. If straight up and down like a ship's mast, it means he needs help. If the sails are cockeyed, it means stay away. There are other signals as well, but I am sure they've changed since I was a member."
"All clear," Etcher notified them as he strode back down the hill.
They each took a pack, waved goodbye to Wally, and climbed up the slope.
Finlin's Mill was a tall weathered tower that sat high on the crest of a grassy knoll. The windmill's cap rotated and currently faced into the wind, which blew steadily from the northeast. Its giant sails of cloth-covered wooden frames rotated slowly, creaking as they turned the great mill's shaft. Around the windmill were several smaller buildings, storage sheds, and wagons. The place was quiet and absent of customers.
They found their horses, as well as an extra one for Etcher, along with their gear in a nearby barn. Finlin briefly stuck his nose out of the mill and waved. They waved back, and Royce had a short talk with Etcher as Hadrian saddled their animals and loaded the supplies. Arista threw her own saddle on her mare, which garnered a smile from Hadrian.
"Saddle your own horse often, do you?" he asked as she reached under the horse's belly for the cinch. The metal ring at the end of the wide band swung back and forth, making catching it a challenge without crawling under the animal.
"I'm a princess, not an invalid."
She caught the cinch and looped the leather strap through it, tying what she thought was a fine knot, exactly like the one she used to tie her hair.
"Can I make one minor suggestion?"
She looked up. "Of course."
"You need to tie it tighter and use a flat knot."
"That's two suggestions. Thanks, but I think it will be fine."
He reached up and pulled on the saddle's horn. The saddle easily slid off and came to rest between the horse's legs.
"But it was tight."
"I'm sure it was." Hadrian pulled the saddle back up and undid the knot. "People think horses are stupid-dumb animals they call them, but they're not. This one, for instance, just out-smarted the Princess of Melengar." He pulled the saddle off, folded the blanket over, and returned the saddle to the animal's back. "You see, horses don't like to have a saddle bound around their chest any more than I suspect you enjoy being trussed up in a corset. The looser the better, they figure, because they don't really mind if you slide off." He looped the leather strap through the ring in the cinch and pulled it tight. "So what she's doing right now is holding her breath, expanding her chest and waiting for me to tie the saddle on. When she exhales, it will be loose. Thing is, I know this. I also know she can't hold her breath forever." He waited with two hands on the strap and the moment the mare exhaled he pulled, gaining a full four inches. "See?"
She watched as he looped the strap across then through and down, making a flat knot that laid comfortably against the horse's side. "Okay, I admit it. This is the first time I've saddled a horse," she confessed.
"And you're doing wonderfully," he mocked.
"You are aware I can have you imprisoned for life, right?"
Royce and Etcher entered the barn. The younger thief grabbed his horse and left without a word. "Friendly sorts, those Diamonds are," Hadrian observed.
"Cosmos seemed friendly," Arista pointed out.
"Too friendly. It's how you might expect a spider to talk to a fly as he wraps him up."
"What an interesting metaphor," Arista noted. "You could have a future in politics, Hadrian."
The fighter glanced at Royce. "We never considered that as one of the options."
"I'm not sure how it differs from acting."
"He never likes my ideas," Hadrian told her, then turned his attention back to Royce. "Where to now?"
"Hintindar," Royce replied.
"Hintindar? Are you serious?"
"It's out-of-the-way and a good place to disappear for awhile. Problem?"
Hadrian narrowed his eyes. "You know darn well there's a problem."
"What's wrong?" Arista asked.
"I was born in Hintindar."
"I've already told Etcher that's where we will wait for him," Royce said. "Nothing we can do about it now."
"But Hintindar is just a tiny manorial village-some farms and trade shops, there's no place to stay."
"Even better. After Colnora, lodging in a public house might not be too smart. There must be a few people there that still know you. I'm sure someone will lend a hand and put us up for awhile. We need to go somewhere off the beaten track."
"You don't honestly think anyone is still following us. I know the Empire would want to stop Arista from reaching Gaunt, but I doubt anybody recognized her in Colnora-at least no one still alive."
Royce did not answer.
"Royce?"
"I'm just playing it safe," he snapped.
"Royce? What did Cosmos mean back there about you not being the only alumnus of the Diamond in Warric? What did he mean about ghosts?" Royce remained silent. Hadrian glared at him. "I came along as a favor to you, but if you're going to keep secrets…"
Royce relented. "It's probably nothing, but then again Merrick could be after us."
Hadrian lost his look of irritation, and replied with a simple, "Oh."
"Anyone going to tell me who Merrick is?" Arista asked. "Or why Hadrian doesn't want to go home?"
"I didn't leave under the best of circumstances," Hadrian answered, "and haven't been back in a long time."
"And Merrick?"
"Merrick Marius, also known as Cutter, was Royce's friend once. They were members of the Diamond together, but they…" He glanced at Royce. "Well, let's just say they had a falling out."
"So?"
Hadrian waited for Royce to speak, and when he did not, answered for him. "It's a long story, but the gist of the matter is that Merrick and Royce seriously don't get along." He paused then added. "Merrick is an awful lot like Royce."
Arista continued to stare at Hadrian until the revelation dawned on her.
"Still, that doesn't mean Merrick is after us," Hadrian went on. "It's been a long time, right? Why would he bother with you now?"
"He's working for the Empire," Royce said. "That's what Cosmos meant. And if there's an imperial mole in the Diamond, Merrick knows all about us by now. Even if there isn't a spy, Merrick could still find out about us from the Diamond. There are plenty who think of him as a hero for sending me to Manzant. I'm the evil one in their eyes."
"You were in Manzant?" Arista asked, stunned.
"It's not something he likes to talk about," Hadrian again answered for him. "So if Merrick is after us, what do we do?"
"What we always do," Royce replied, "only better."
The village of Hintindar lay nestled in a small sheltered river valley surrounded by gentle hills. A patchwork of six cultivated fields, outlined by hedgerows and majestic stands of oak and ash, decorated the landscape in a crop mosaic. Horizontal lines of mounded green marked three of the fields with furrows, sown in strips, to hold the runoff. Animals grazed in the fourth field and the fifth was cut for hay. The last field lay fallow. Young women were in the fields cutting flax and stuffing it in sacks thrown over their shoulders while men weeded crops and threw up hay.
The center of the village clustered along the main road near a little river, a tributary of the Bernum. Wood, stone, and wattle and daub buildings with shake or grass-thatched roofs lined the road, beginning just past the wooden bridge and ending halfway up the hillside toward the manor house. Between them were a variety of shops. Smoke rose from buildings, the blackest of which came from the smithy. Their horses announced their arrival with a loud hollow clop clip clop as they crossed the bridge. Heads turned, each villager nudging the next, fingers pointing in their direction. Those they passed stopped what they were doing to follow, keeping a safe distance.
"Good afternoon," Hadrian offered, but no one replied. No one smiled.
Some whispered in the shelter of doorways. Mothers pulled children inside and men picked up pitchforks or an axe.
"This is where you grew up?" Arista whispered to Hadrian. "Somehow it seems more like how I would imagine Royce's hometown to be."
This brought a look from the thief.
"They don't get too many travelers here," Hadrian explained.
"I can see why."
They passed the mill, where a great wooden wheel turned with the power of the river. The town also had a leatherworker's shop, candlemaker, weaver, and even a shoemaker. They were halfway up the road when they reached the brewer.
A heavyset matron with gray hair and a hooked nose worked outside beside a large boiling vat next to a stand of large wooden casks. She watched their slow approach then walked to the middle of the road, wiping her hands on a soiled rag.
"That'll be fer 'enuf," she told them with a heavy south-province accent.
She wore a stained apron tied around her shapeless dress and a kerchief tied over her head. Her feet were bare and her face covered in dirt and sweat.
They reined their horses and she eyed each one carefully.
"Who are ya and what's your business 'ere? And be quick 'afore the hue and cry is called and yer carried ta the bailiff. We don't stand troublemakers here."
"Hue and cry?" Arista softly asked.
Hadrian looked over. "It's an alarm that everyone in the village responds to. Not a pretty sight." His eyes narrowed as he studied the woman. Then he slowly dismounted.
The woman took a step back and grabbed hold of a mallet used to tap the kegs. "I said I'd call the hue and cry and I meant it!"
Hadrian handed his reins to Royce and walked over to her. "If I remember correctly you were the biggest troublemaker in the village, Armigil, and in close to twenty years it doesn't seem much has changed."
The woman looked surprised, then suspicious. "Haddy?" she said in disbelief. "That can't be, can it?"
Hadrian chuckled. "No one's called me Haddy in years."
"Dear Maribor, 'ow you've grown, lad!" When the shock wore off she set the mallet down and turned to the spectators now lining the road. "This 'ere is Haddy Blackwater, the son of Danbury the smithy, come back 'ome."
"How are you, Armigil?" Hadrian said with a broad smile, stepping forward to greet her.
She replied by making a fist and punching him hard in the jaw. She had put all her weight into it and winced, shaking her hand in pain. "Oww! Damned if ya 'avent got a 'ard bloody jaw!"
"Why did you hit me?" Hadrian held his chin, stunned.
"That's fer runnin' out on yer father and leaving 'im to die alone. I've been waiting ta do that fer nearly twenty years."
Hadrian licked blood from his lip and scowled.
"Oh get over it, ya baby! An' ya better keep yer eyes out fer more round 'ere. Danbury was a damn fine man and ya broke his 'eart the day ya left."
Hadrian continued to massage his jaw.
Armigil rolled her eyes. "Come 'ere," she ordered and grabbed hold of his face. Hadrian flinched as she examined him. "Yer fine, for Maribor's sake. 'Onestly, I thought yer father made ya tougher than that. If I 'ad a sword in me 'and yer shoulders would 'ave less of a burden to carry and the wee ones would 'ave a new ball to kick around, eh? 'Ere, let me get you a mug 'a ale. This batch came of age this morning. That'll take the sting out of a warm welcome it will."
She walked to a large cask, filled a wooden cup with a dark amber draught, and handed it to him. Hadrian looked at the drink dubiously. "How many times have you filtered this?"
"Three," she said, unconvincingly.
"Has his lordship's taster passed this?"
"'Acourse not ya dern fool, I just told ya it got done fermenting this morning. Brewed it day afore yesterday I did, a nice two days in the keg. Most of the sediment ought ta 'ave settled and it should 'ave a nice kick by now."
"Just don't want to get you into trouble."
"I ain't selling it to ya, now am I? So drink it and shut up or I'll 'it ya again for being daft."
"Haddy? Is it really you?" A thin man, about Hadrian's age, approached and pushed back the people milling about. He had shoulder-length blonde hair, a soft doughy face and was dressed in a worn gray tunic and a faded green cowl. His feet were wrapped in cloth up to his knees. A light brown dust covered him as if he had been burrowing through a sand hill.
"Dunstan?"
The man nodded and the two embraced, clapping each other on the shoulders. Wherever Hadrian patted Dunstan, a puff of brown powder arose leaving the two in a little cloud.
"You used to live here?" A little girl from the gathering crowd asked, and Hadrian nodded. This touched off a wave of conversations among those gathering in the street. More people rushed over and Hadrian was enveloped in their midst. Eventually he was able to get a word in and motioned toward Royce and Arista.
"Everyone, this is my friend Mr. Everton and his wife, Erma."
Arista and Royce exchanged glances.
"Vince, Erma, this is the village brew mistress, Armigil, and Dunstan here is the baker's son."
"Just the baker, Haddy, Dad's been dead five years now."
"Oh-sorry to hear that Dun. I have nothing but fond memories of trying to steal bread from his ovens."
Dunstan looked at Royce. "Haddy and I were best friends when he lived here-until he disappeared," he said with a note of bitterness.
"Will I have to endure a swing from you, too?" Hadrian feigned fear.
"You should, but I remember all too well the last time I fought you."
Hadrian grinned wickedly as Dunstan scowled back.
"If my foot hadn't slipped…" Dunstan began, then the two broke into spontaneous laughter at a joke no one else appeared to understand.
"It's good to have you back, Haddy," he said sincerely. He watched Hadrian take a swallow of beer then to Armigil he said, "I don't think it fair that Haddy gets a free pint and I don't."
"Let me give ya a bloody lip and ya can 'ave one, too." She smiled at him.
"Break it up! Break it up!" bellowed a large muscular man, making his way through the crowd. He had a bull neck, full dark beard, and balding head. "Back to work all of ya!"
The crowd groaned in displeasure, but quickly quieted down as two horsemen approached. They rode down the hill coming from the manor at a trot.
"What's going on here?" the lead rider asked, reining his horse. He was a middle-aged man with weary eyes and a strong chin. He dressed in light tailored linens common to a favored servant and on his chest was an embroidered crest of crossed daggers in gold threading.
"Strangers, sir," the loud bull-necked man replied.
"They ain't strangers, sir," Armigil spoke up. "This 'ere's Haddy Blackwater, son of the old village smith-come fer a visit."
"Thank you, Armigil," he said. "But I wasn't speaking to you, I was addressing the reeve." He looked down at the bearded man. "Well, Osgar, out with it."
The burly man shrugged his shoulders and stroked his beard, looking uncomfortable. "She might be right, sir. I haven't had a chance to ask what with getting the villeins back to work and all."
"Very well Osgar, see that they do return to work, or I'll have you in stocks by nightfall."
"Yes, sir, right away, sir." He turned bellowing at the villagers until they moved off. Only Armigil and Dunstan remained quietly behind.
"Are you the son of the old smithy?" the rider asked.
"I am," Hadrian replied. "And you are?"
"I am his lordship's bailiff. It is my duty to keep order in this village and I don't appreciate you disrupting the villein's work."
"My apologies, sir." Hadrian nodded respectfully. "I didn't mean-"
"If you're the smithy's son, where have you been?" The other rider spoke this time. Much younger looking, he was better dressed than the bailiff, wearing a tunic of velvet and linen. His legs were covered in opaque hose and his feet in leather shoes with brass buckles. "Are you aware of the penalty for leaving the village without permission?"
"I am the son of a freeman, not a villein," Hadrian declared. "And who might you be?"
The rider sneered at Hadrian. "I am the Imperial Envoy to this village, and you would be wise to watch the tone of your voice. Freemen can lose that privilege easily."
"Again, my apologies," Hadrian said. "I am only here to visit my father's grave. He died while I was away."
The envoy's eyes scanned Royce and Arista then settled on Hadrian looking him over carefully. "Three swords?" he asked the bailiff. "In this time of war an able-bodied man like this should be in the army fighting for the empress. He's likely a deserter, or a rogue. Arrest him, Siward, and take his associates in for questioning. If he hasn't committed any crimes, he will be properly pressed into the Imperial Army."
The bailiff looked at the envoy with annoyance. "I don't take my orders from you, Luret. You forget that all too frequently. If you have a problem, take it up with the steward. I'm certain he will speak to his lordship the moment he returns from loyal service to the Empire. In the meantime, I will administer this village as best I can for my lord-not for you."
Luret jerked himself upright in indignation. "As Imperial Envoy I am addressed as, Your Excellency. And you should understand that my authority comes directly from the empress."
"I don't care if it comes from the good lord Maribor himself. Unless his lordship, or the steward in his absence, orders me otherwise, I only have to put up with you. I don't have to take orders from you."
"We'll see about that." The envoy spun and spurred his horse back toward the manor, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The bailiff shook his head, irritated, and waited for the dust to settle.
"Don't worry," he told them. "The steward won't listen to him. Danbury Blackwater was a good man. If you're anything like him, you'll find me a friend. If not, you had best make your stay here as short as possible. Keep out of trouble. Don't interfere with the villein's work, and stay away from Luret."
"Thank you, sir," Hadrian said.
The bailiff then looked around the village in irritation. "Armigil, where did the reeve get off to?"
"Went to the east field I think, sir. There is a team 'e has working on drainage up thata way."
The bailiff sighed. "I need him to get more men working on bringing in the hay. Rain's coming and it will ruin what's been cut if he doesn't."
"I'll tell 'im, sir, if 'e comes back this way."
"Thank you, Armigil."
"Sir?" She tapped off a pint of beer and handed it up to him. "While you're 'ere, sir?" He took one swallow then poured the rest out and tossed her back the cup.
"A little weak," he said. "Set your price at two copper tenents a pint."
"But, sir! It's got good flavor. Let me ask three at least."
He sighed. "Why must you always be so damn stubborn? Let it be three, but make them brimming pints. Mind you, if I hear one complaint, I'll fine you a silver and you can take your case to the Steward's Court."
"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling.
"Good day to you all." He nodded and trotted off toward the east.
They watched him go, and then Dunstan started chuckling. "A fine welcome home you've had so far-a belt in the mouth and threat of arrest."
"Actually, outside the fact that everything looks a lot smaller, not much has changed here," Hadrian observed. "Just some new faces-a few buildings, and, of course, the envoy."
"He's only been here a week," Dunstan said, "and I'm sure the bailiff and the steward will be happy when he leaves. He travels a circuit covering a number of villages in the area and has been showing up here every couple of months since the Empire annexed Rhenydd. No one likes him, for obvious reasons. He's yet to meet Lord Baldwin face to face. Most of us think Baldwin purposely avoids being here when the envoy comes. So Luret's list of complaints keeps getting longer and longer and the steward just keeps writing them down.
"So are you really here just to see your father's grave? I thought you were coming back to stay."
"Sorry, Dun, but we're just passing through."
"In that case, we had best make the most of it. What say you, Armigil? Roll a keg into my kitchen and I'll supply the bread and stools for toasts to Danbury and a proper welcome for Haddy?"
"'E don't deserve it. But I think I 'ave a keg round 'ere that is bound ta go bad if'n I don't get rid of it."
"Hobbie!" Dunstan shouted up the street to a young man at the livery. "Can you find a place for these horses?"
Dunstan and Hadrian helped Armigil roll a small barrel over to the bakery. As they did, Royce and Arista walked their animals over to the stables. The boy cleared three stalls then ran off with a bucket to fetch water.
"Do you think the envoy will be a problem?" Arista asked Royce once Hobbie left.
"Don't know," he said, untying his pack from the saddle. "Hopefully we won't be here long enough to find out."
"How long will we be here?"
"Cosmos will move fast. Just a night or two, I imagine." He threw his bag over his shoulder and crossed to Hadrian's horse. "Have you decided what you'll say to Gaunt when you meet him? I hear he hates nobility, so I wouldn't start by asking him to kiss your ring or anything."
She pulled her own gear off Mystic, and then holding out her hands wiggled her bare fingers. "Actually, I thought I'd ask him to kidnap my brother." She smiled. "It worked for you. And if I can gain the trust and aid of a Royce Melborn, how hard can it be to win over a Degan Gaunt?"
They carried the gear across the street to the little whitewashed shop with the signboard portraying a loaf of bread. Inside a huge brick oven and a large wooden table dominated the space. The comforting scent of bread and wood smoke filled the air, and Arista was surprised the bakery wasn't broiling. The wattle and daub walls, and the good-sized windows, managed to keep the room comfortable. As Arista and Royce entered, they were introduced to Arbor, Dunstan's wife and a host of other people whose names Arista struggled to remember.
Once word spread, freemen, farmers, and other merchants dropped by, grabbing a pint and helping themselves to a hunk of dark bread. There was Algar the woodworker, Harbert the Tailor, and his wife Hester. Hadrian introduced Wilfred the carter, and explained how he used to rent his little wagon four times every year to travel to Ratibor to buy iron ingots for his father's smithy. There were plenty of stories of the skinny kid with pimples who used to swing a hammer beside his father. Most remembered Danbury with kindness, and there were many toasts to his good name.
Just as the bailiff predicted, it started to rain and soon the villeins, released from work due to weather, dropped by to join the gathering. They slipped in, quietly shaking off the wetness. Each got a bit of bread, a pint to drink, and a spot to sit on the floor. Some brought steaming crocks of vegetable pottage, cheese, and cabbage for everyone to share. Even Osgar the reeve pressed himself inside and was welcomed to share the community meal. The sky darkened, the wind whipped up, and Dunstan finally closed the shutters as outside the rain poured.
They all wanted to know what had happened to Haddy. Where he had gone; what he had done. Most of them spent their whole lives in Hintindar, barely crossing the river. In the case of the villeins, they were bound to the land and by law could not leave. For them, generations passed without ever setting foot beyond the valley.
Hadrian kept them entertained with stories of his travels. Arista was curious to hear of adventurous tales he and Royce had over the years, but none of those came out. Instead, he told harmless stories of distant lands. Everyone was spellbound to hear about the far east, where the Calian people interbred with the Ba Ran Ghazel to produce the half-goblin Tenkin. Children gathered close to the skirts of their mothers when he spoke about the Oberdaza-Tenkin who worshiped the dark god Oberlin and blended Calian traditions with Ghazel magic. Even Arista was captivated by his stories of far off Dagastan, so few people had ever traveled there.
With Hadrian the center of attention, few took notice of Arista, which was fine with her. She was happy just to be off her horse and in a safe place. The tension melted away from her.
The hot bread and fresh brewed beer were wonderful. She was comfortable for the first time in days and reveled in the camaraderie of the bakery. She drank pints of beer until she lost track of just how many she had. Outside night fell and the rain continued. They lit candles, giving the room an even friendlier charm. The beer was infecting the group with mirth, and soon they were singing loudly. She did not know the words, but found herself rocking with the rhythm, humming the chorus, and clapping her hands. Someone told a bawdy joke and the room burst into laughter.
"Where are you from?" It was the third time the question was asked, but the first time Arista realized it was addressed to her. Arbor, the baker's wife, sat beside her. She was a petite woman with a plain face and short-cropped hair.
"I'm sorry," Arista apologized. "I'm not accustomed to beer. The bailiff said it was weak, but I think I would take exception to that."
"From yer mouth ta 'is ears darling!" Armigil said loudly from across the room. Arista wondered how she heard from so far away, especially when she thought she had spoken so softly.
Arista remembered Arbor had asked her a question. "Oh-right, ah…Colnora," the princess said at length. "My husband and I live in Colnora. Well, actually we are staying with my brother now because we were evicted from our home in Windham Village by the Northern Imperial Army. That's up in Warric you know-Windham Village I mean, not the army. Of course it could be-the army I mean this time-not the village-because they could be there. Does that answer your question?"
The room was spinning slowly and it gave Arista the feeling she was falling, though she knew she was sitting still. The whole sensation made it difficult for her to concentrate.
"You were evicted? How awful." Arbor looked stricken.
"Well, yes, but it's not that great of a hardship really, my brother has a very nice place in the Hill District in Colnora. He's quite well off, you know?" she whispered this last part into her ear. At least she thought she did, but Arbor pulled back sharply.
"Oh really? You come from a wealthy family?" Arbor asked, rubbing her ear. "I thought you did. I was admiring your dress. It's very beautiful."
"This? Ha!" She pulled at the material of her skirt. "I got this old rag from one of my servants who herself was ready to throw it out. You should see my gowns. Now those are something, but yes, we're very wealthy, my brother has a virtual army of servants," she said, and burst out laughing.
"Erma?" Someone said from behind her.
"What does your brother do?" Arbor asked.
"Hmm? Do? Oh, he doesn't do anything."
"He doesn't work?"
"Erma, dear?"
"My brother? He calls it work, but it's nothing like what you people do. Did you know I slept on the ground just two nights ago? Not indoors either, but out in the woods. My brother never did that. I can tell you. You probably have, haven't you? But he hasn't. No, he gets his money from taxes. That's how all kings get their money. Well, some can get it from conquest. Glenmorgan got loads from conquest, but not Alric. He's never been to war-until now, of course, and he's not doing well at all, I can tell you."
"ERMA!" Arista looked up to see Royce standing over her his face stern.
"Why are you calling me that?"
"I think my wife has had a little too much to drink," he said to the rest of them.
Arista looked around to see several faces smirking in an effort to suppress laughter.
"Is there anywhere I can take her to sleep it off?"
Immediately several people offered the use of their homes, some even the use of their bed saying they would sleep on the floor.
"Spend the night here," Dunstan said. "It's raining out. Do you really want to wander around out there in the dark? You can actually make a fine bed out of the flour sacks in the storeroom."
"How would you know that, Dun?" Hadrian asked, chuckling. "The wife's kicked you out a few times?" This brought a roar of laughter from the crowd.
"Haddy, you, my friend, can sleep in the rain."
"Come along, wife." Royce pulled Arista to her feet.
Arista looked up at him and winked. "Oh right, sorry. Forgot who I was."
"Don't apologize 'oney," Armigil told her. "That's why we're drinking in the first place. Ya just got there quicker than the rest 'o us, is all."
The next morning, Arista woke up alone and could not decide which hurt more, her head from the drink, or her back from the lumpy flour bags. Her mouth was dry, her tongue coated in some disgusting film. She was pleased to discover someone had the foresight to drop her saddlebags beside her. She pulled them open and grimaced. Everything inside smelled of horse sweat and mildew. She only brought three dresses: the one worn through the rain was a wrinkled mess, the stunning silver receiving gown she planned to wear when she met Degan Gaunt, and the one she presently wore. Surprisingly, the silver gown was holding up remarkably well and was barely even wrinkled. She brought it hoping to impress Gaunt, but recalling her conversation with Royce and how the Nationalist leader felt about royalty, she realized it was a poor choice. She would have been much better off with something simpler. It would at least have given her something decent to change into. Pulling off her dirt-stained garment she removed her corset and pulled on the dress she wore in Sheridan.
She stepped out of the storeroom and found Arbor hard at work kneading dough and surrounded by dozens of cloth-covered baskets. Villagers entered and set either a bag of flour or a sackcloth of dough on the counter along with a few copper coins. Arbor gave them an estimated pickup time of either midday or early evening.
"You do this every day?" Arista asked.
Arbor nodded with sweat glistening on her brow as she used the huge wooden paddle to slide another loaf into the glowing oven. "Normally Dun is more helpful, but he's off with your husband and Haddy this morning. It's a rare thing, so I'm happy to let him enjoy the visit. They are down at the smithy if you're interested, or would you rather have a bite to eat?"
Arista's stomach twisted. "No, thank you. I think I'll wait a bit longer."
Arbor worked with a skilled hand born of hundreds, perhaps thousands of repetitions. How does she do it? She knew the baker's wife got up every morning repeating the same actions as the day before. Where is the challenge? Arista was certain Arbor could not read and probably had few possessions, yet she seemed happy. She and Dunstan had a pleasant home and, compared to those toiling in the fields, her work was relatively easy. Dunstan seemed a kind and decent man and their neighbors were good friendly folk. While not terribly exciting, it was nonetheless a safe, comfortable life, and watching her, Arista felt a twinge of envy.
"What's it like to be wealthy?"
"Hmm? Oh-well, actually, it makes life easier, but perhaps not as rewarding."
"But you travel and can see the world. Your clothing is so fine and you ride horses! I'll bet you've even ridden in a carriage, haven't you?"
Arista snorted. "Yes, I have certainly ridden in a carriage."
"And been to balls in castles where musicians play and the ladies are all dressed up in embroidered gowns of velvet?"
"Silk, actually."
"Silk? I've heard of that, but never seen it. What's it like?"
"I can show you." Arista went back into the storeroom and returned with the silver gown.
At the sight of the dress, Arbor gasped, her eyes wide. "I've never seen anything so beautiful. It's like-it's like…" Arista waited but Arbor never found her words. Finally she said, "May I touch it?"
Arista hesitated, looking first at Arbor then at the dress.
"That's okay," Arbor said quickly with an understanding smile. She looked at her hands. "I would ruin it."
"No, no," Arista told her. "I wasn't thinking that at all." She looked down at the dress in her arms once more. "What I was thinking was it was stupid for me to have brought this. I don't think I will have a chance to wear it, and it is taking up so much space in my pack. I was wondering-would you like to have it?"
Arbor looked like she was going to faint. She shook her head adamantly, her eyes wide as if with terror. "No, I-I couldn't."
"Why not? We're about the same size. I think you'd look beautiful in it."
A self-conscious laugh escaped Arbor and she covered her face with her hands, leaving flour on the tip of her nose. "Oh, I'd be a sight wouldn't I? Walking up and down Hintindar in that. It is awfully nice of you, but I don't go to grand balls or ride in carriages."
"Maybe one day you will, and then you will be happy you have it. In the meantime, if you ever have a bad day, you can put it on and perhaps it will make you feel better."
Arbor laughed again, only now there were tears in her eyes.
"Take it-really-you'd be doing me a favor. I do need the space." She held out the dress. Arbor reached toward it and gasped at the sight of her hands. She ran off and scrubbed them red, before taking the dress in her quivering arms, cradling it as if it were a child.
"I promise to keep it safe for you. Come back and pick it up any time, alright?"
"Of course," Arista replied, smiling. "Oh, and one more thing." Arista handed her the corset. "If you would be so kind, I never wish to see this thing again."
Arbor carefully laid the dress down and put her arms around Arista hugging her close as she whispered, "Thank you."
When Arista stepped out of the bakery into the sleepy village her head throbbed, jolted by the brilliant sunlight. She shaded her eyes and spotted Armigil working in front of her shop stoking logs under her massive cooker.
"Morning, Erma," she called to her. "You look a might pale, lassie."
"It's your fault," Arista growled at her.
Armigil chuckled. "I try my best. I do indeed."
Arista shuffled over. "Can you direct me to the well?"
"Up the road four 'ouses, you'll find it in front of the smithy."
"Thank you."
Following the unmistakable clanging of a metal hammer, Arista found Royce and Hadrian under the sun canopy in the smithy's yard watching another man beating a bit of molten metal on an anvil. He was muscular and completely bald-headed, with a bushy brown moustache. If he was in the bakery last night, Arista did not remember. Beside him was a barrel of water, and not far away was the well where a full bucket rested on its edge.
The bald man dropped the hot metal into his barrel, where it hissed. "Your father taught me that," the man said. "He was a fine smith-the finest."
Hadrian nodded and recited, "Choke the hammer after stoke, grip it high when drilling die."
This brought laughter from the smith. "I learned that one, too. Mr. Blackwater was always making up rhymes."
"So this is where you were born?" Arista asked, dipping a community cup into the bucket of water and taking a seat on the bench beside the well.
"Not exactly," Hadrian replied. "I lived and worked here, I was actually born across the street there at Gerty and Abelard's home." He pointed at a tiny wattle and daub hovel without even a chimney. "Gerty was the midwife back then. My father kept pestering her so much that she took mum to her house and Da had to wait outside in the rain during a terrible thunderstorm, or so I was told."
Hadrian motioned to the smith. "This is Grimbald, he apprenticed to my father sometime after I left-does a good job, too."
"You inherited the smithy from Danbury?" Royce asked.
"No, Lord Baldwin owns the smithy. Danbury rented from him just as I do. I pay ten pieces of silver a year and in return for charcoal I do work for the manor at no cost."
Royce nodded. "What about personal belongings? What became of Danbury's things?"
Grimbald raised a suspicious eyebrow. "He left me his tools and if'n you're after them you'll have to fight me before the steward in the manor court."
Hadrian raised his hands and shook his head calming the burly man. "No, no, I'm not here after anything. His tools are in good hands."
Grimbald relaxed a bit. "Ah, okay, good then. I do have something for you, though. When Danbury died, he made a list of all his things and who they should go to. Almost everyone in the village got a little something. I didn't even know the man could write until I saw him scribbling it. There was a letter and instructions to give it to his son, if he ever returned. I read it, but it didn't make much sense. I kept it though."
Grimbald set down his hammer and ducked inside the shop, emerging a few minutes later with the letter.
Hadrian took the folded parchment and stared at it. Without opening it he stuffed the letter into his shirt pocket and walked away.
"What's going on?" Arista asked Royce. "He didn't even read it."
"He's in one of his moods," Royce told her. "He'll mope for awhile. Maybe get drunk. He'll be fine tomorrow."
"But why?"
Royce shrugged. "Just the way he is lately. It's nothing really."
Arista watched Hadrian disappear around the side of the candlemaker's shop. Picking up the hem of her dress, she chased after him. When she rounded the corner, she found him seated on a fence rail, his head in his hands. He glanced up.
Is that annoyance or embarrassment on his face?
Biting her lip, she hesitated then walked over and sat beside him. "Are you alright?" she asked.
He nodded in reply but said nothing. They sat in silence for awhile.
"I used to hate this village," he offered at length, his tone distant and his eyes searching the side of the shop. "It was always so small." He lowered his head again.
She waited.
Does he expect me to say something now?
From down the street she heard the rhythmic hammering of metal as Grimbald resumed his work, the blows marking the passage of time. She pretended to straighten her skirt, wondering if it would be better if she left.
"The last time I saw my father we had a terrible fight," Hadrian said without looking up.
"What about?" Arista gently asked.
"I wanted to join Lord Baldwin's men-at-arms. I wanted to be a soldier. He wanted me to be a blacksmith." Hadrian scuffed the dirt with his boot. "I wanted to see the world, have adventures-be a hero. He wanted to chain me to that anvil. And I couldn't understand it. I was good with a sword, he saw to that. He trained me every day. When I couldn't lift the sword anymore, he just made me switch arms. Why'd he do that if he wanted me to be a smith?"
A vision swept back to her of two faces in Avempartha-the heir she did not recognize-but Hadrian's face was unmistakable as the guardian.
Royce didn't tell him? Should I?
"When I told him my plans to leave, he was furious. He said he didn't train me to gain fame or money. That my skills were meant for greater things, but he wouldn't say what they were.
"The night I left, we had words-lots of them-and none of them good. I called him a fool. I might even have said he was a coward. I don't remember. I was seventeen. I ran away and did just what he didn't want me to. I was gonna show him-prove the old man wrong. Only he wasn't. It's taken me this long to figure that out. Now it's too late."
"You never came back?"
Hadrian shook his head. "By the time I returned from Calis, I heard he'd died. I didn't see any point in returning." He pulled the letter out. "Now there's this." He shook the parchment in his fingers.
"Don't you want to know what it says?"
"I'm afraid to find out." He continued to stare at the letter as if it were a living thing.
She placed a hand on his arm and gave a soft squeeze. She did not know what else to do. She felt useless. Women were supposed to be comforting, consoling, nurturing, but she did not know how. She felt awful for him, and her inability to do anything to help just made her feel worse.
Hadrian stood up. With a deep breath he opened the letter and began reading. Arista waited. Slowly he lowered his hand holding the letter at his side.
"What does it say?"
Hadrian held out the letter, letting it slip from his fingers. Before she could take it, the parchment drifted to the ground at her feet. As she bent to pick it up, Hadrian walked away.
Arista rejoined Royce back at the well.
"What was in the letter?" he asked. She held it out to Royce who carefully read it. "What was his reaction?"
"Not good. He walked off. I think he wants to be alone. You never told him, did you?"
Royce continued to study the letter.
"I can't believe you never told him. I mean, I know Esrahaddon told us not to but I guess I just expected that you would anyway."
"I don't trust that wizard. I don't want me or Hadrian wrapped up in his little schemes. I could care less who the guardian is, or the heir for that matter. Maybe it was a mistake coming here."
"You came here on purpose? You mean this had nothing to do with-you came here for proof, didn't you?"
"I wanted something to confirm Esrahaddon's claim. I really didn't expect to find anything."
"He just told me his father trained him night and day in sword fighting and said his skills were for greater things. Sounds like proof to me. You know, you would have discovered that if you had just talked to him. He deserves the truth and when he gets back, one of us needs to tell him."
Royce nodded, carefully refolding the letter. "I'll talk to him."