that was so forced it looked more a twitch. The crows scattered as the two
horsemen rode past the willow.
“I’ve been thinking ‘bout what you
said, Grae. About how they told you to report to the Chamberlain four days
ago?”
“Yes. Four days ago.” He knew what
Hammer was working out. Grae had done the same calculation last night, after
he’d left the Chamberlain’s room.
“And the Cobblethries … when did
their caravan get attacked?”
“Two nights ago.”
Hammer scratched at his beard.
“I don’t know either, Hammer. I
didn’t think of it when I was talking to him.” Grae thought of the Dromese red
the Chamberlain had pushed on him. “They must have wanted to send a squad even
before the Cobblethrie incident.”
“Maybe.” Hammer shrugged and noticed
the new pendant hanging from the brig’s neck. “That’s very pretty. You got
earrings to match?”
Grae fidgeted with the pendant. “The
Chamberlain gave it to me. It’s a symbol of the King’s Authority.”
“It looks real nice,” said Hammer.
“Brings out the brown in your eyes.”
Grae ignored the needling and stared
at the pendant. It was just larger than a mollie coin but made from silver or
platinum, with tiny studs of gold around its thick edges. The studs gave the
medallion the look of a tiny sun. A crude image of an animal skull was etched
onto one side. And what looked like circular water ripples on the back. The
pendant was primitive and terribly out of place dangling below his officer’s
bevor. He considered tucking it into his tabard, but resisted. The Chamberlain
had insisted he keep it visible at all times on this assignment.
Grae let the pendant drop. He cleared
his mind and breathed deeply, taking the Nuldish moors into his lungs. He
spotted a group of horsemen behind them, far toward the west. Five or six of
them. He could just make out the long blond braid on one of the riders.
“Hammer.”
“I know sir. Persistent buggers.”
“Are you planning on telling me what
they want?”
Hammer touched the wide brim of his
kettle helm absently. “They’re Andraens. Odd folk. Shouldn’t we be ‘eading
South, sir? Toward Tiftyn?”
Grae glanced back at the riders. They
were moving slowly, content to keep pace. “We have to make a stop first,” he
replied. “Daun Sanctra.”
“Daun Sanctra? What’s at Daun
Sanctra?”
“Sir Jastyn Whitewind. The
Chamberlain said he wants to speak with us.”
“Why would a Whitewind wanna meet
with us?”
Grae shook his head. “Who knows? One
more curiosity in a mission defined by curiosities.”
Hammer glanced backward with as much
subtlety as he could manage. “Maybe Lord Whitewind wants to loan us some men.
That would hit the spot. Garrisoners or not, we could sure use more soldiers.”
Grae said nothing. Another dozen
standards would have made a sizable difference. But commanders did not have the
luxury of questioning orders.
Hammer persisted. “Did the
Chamberlain mention why ‘e’s sending ten men to kill the most
dangerous creature in Laraytia?”
“He obviously doesn’t know much
about Laraytian Standards.” Grae flashed a half smile. “I told him we only
needed four, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
Chapter 10
“It is far more difficult to be named one of Blythwynn’s immortals than one
of Lojenwyne’s primes. The Holy Receiver of Light, Her Luminance Evra Fannent,
spoke once on this subject: “To be a great warrior and commit courageous deeds
in battle takes but a few reckless years of youth. To become an immortal is to
have lived an entire life for humanity.” It is an eloquent explanation, but I
would amend it thus: Those wishing to be immortals must live their life for
humanity. Those wishing to be primes must be willing to end their life for
humanity.”
-- Overlord Pheadrie Cantalian, 3rd Brigade, Laraytia
“I am nothing.” The silks and linens
that draped the canopy’s frame dampened the sound. Sir Jastyn
horsemen rode past the willow.
“I’ve been thinking ‘bout what you
said, Grae. About how they told you to report to the Chamberlain four days
ago?”
“Yes. Four days ago.” He knew what
Hammer was working out. Grae had done the same calculation last night, after
he’d left the Chamberlain’s room.
“And the Cobblethries … when did
their caravan get attacked?”
“Two nights ago.”
Hammer scratched at his beard.
“I don’t know either, Hammer. I
didn’t think of it when I was talking to him.” Grae thought of the Dromese red
the Chamberlain had pushed on him. “They must have wanted to send a squad even
before the Cobblethrie incident.”
“Maybe.” Hammer shrugged and noticed
the new pendant hanging from the brig’s neck. “That’s very pretty. You got
earrings to match?”
Grae fidgeted with the pendant. “The
Chamberlain gave it to me. It’s a symbol of the King’s Authority.”
“It looks real nice,” said Hammer.
“Brings out the brown in your eyes.”
Grae ignored the needling and stared
at the pendant. It was just larger than a mollie coin but made from silver or
platinum, with tiny studs of gold around its thick edges. The studs gave the
medallion the look of a tiny sun. A crude image of an animal skull was etched
onto one side. And what looked like circular water ripples on the back. The
pendant was primitive and terribly out of place dangling below his officer’s
bevor. He considered tucking it into his tabard, but resisted. The Chamberlain
had insisted he keep it visible at all times on this assignment.
Grae let the pendant drop. He cleared
his mind and breathed deeply, taking the Nuldish moors into his lungs. He
spotted a group of horsemen behind them, far toward the west. Five or six of
them. He could just make out the long blond braid on one of the riders.
“Hammer.”
“I know sir. Persistent buggers.”
“Are you planning on telling me what
they want?”
Hammer touched the wide brim of his
kettle helm absently. “They’re Andraens. Odd folk. Shouldn’t we be ‘eading
South, sir? Toward Tiftyn?”
Grae glanced back at the riders. They
were moving slowly, content to keep pace. “We have to make a stop first,” he
replied. “Daun Sanctra.”
“Daun Sanctra? What’s at Daun
Sanctra?”
“Sir Jastyn Whitewind. The
Chamberlain said he wants to speak with us.”
“Why would a Whitewind wanna meet
with us?”
Grae shook his head. “Who knows? One
more curiosity in a mission defined by curiosities.”
Hammer glanced backward with as much
subtlety as he could manage. “Maybe Lord Whitewind wants to loan us some men.
That would hit the spot. Garrisoners or not, we could sure use more soldiers.”
Grae said nothing. Another dozen
standards would have made a sizable difference. But commanders did not have the
luxury of questioning orders.
Hammer persisted. “Did the
Chamberlain mention why ‘e’s sending ten men to kill the most
dangerous creature in Laraytia?”
“He obviously doesn’t know much
about Laraytian Standards.” Grae flashed a half smile. “I told him we only
needed four, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
Chapter 10
“It is far more difficult to be named one of Blythwynn’s immortals than one
of Lojenwyne’s primes. The Holy Receiver of Light, Her Luminance Evra Fannent,
spoke once on this subject: “To be a great warrior and commit courageous deeds
in battle takes but a few reckless years of youth. To become an immortal is to
have lived an entire life for humanity.” It is an eloquent explanation, but I
would amend it thus: Those wishing to be immortals must live their life for
humanity. Those wishing to be primes must be willing to end their life for
humanity.”
-- Overlord Pheadrie Cantalian, 3rd Brigade, Laraytia
“I am nothing.” The silks and linens
that draped the canopy’s frame dampened the sound. Sir Jastyn
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