The Wanderer by Cherry; Wilder, Katya Reimann

meeting Gael began to understand that the old days were not so long ago as she had believed them, that the ceaseless turn of seasons as she had understood them by the croft at Holywell was but a small drop in time, and that perhaps these men—the Druda, Gorrie, and even Knaar—were not so old, their youth not so far away. For a poor crofter’s girl in her
seventeenth year, these thoughts were new, and she felt herself jealous for the first time of Jehane, who’d had a tutor for more than a hand of years now, besides having her father welcome Druda Strawn to dinner in their fine forest hall many a fair night. The Maddocs’ home—only on a feast day might their fare stretch so far as to include company.
    This resentment might have stayed but for Jehane’s kindness and light spirit, and also it was swept away by the larger ideas of Hylor’s varied and much-changing lands that were slowly coming to fill Gael’s waking thoughts.
    As the young troop rode back from Ochma through the rift along the eastern bank of the River Keddar, they passed the splendid old houses of the Rift Lords. There was Cannford Old House, where Strett of Cloudhill’s daughters had lived with their grandmother; there were Keddar Grove and Pauncehill. The Eastmark families were loyal to King Gol; the lands of Barkdon had been redistributed, but these, as Druda Strawn now pointed out, were the very families who were clamoring for a new Lord of the Eastmark to be set over them.
    The balance of the Marches was out of kilter; there was no Lord of the Eastmark to stand in council where the Marchers met. The Rift Lords desired to see the Eastmark’s honor restored by Gol’s appointing one lord its master. Indeed, one lord had begun to rise above others, and that was Degan of Keddar, a Rift Lord with many holdings. He had survived the Silverlode massacre, aged twelve years, the page of Strett of Cloudhill. Keddar had married one of Strett’s daughters, Perrine—the elder daughter, Annhad, was wed to the Lord of Pfolben, ruler of the Southland. Old Strett’s memory was so highly regarded, Keddar’s marriage had already in some way set him on a level with Pfolben. “But we shall see,” said the Druda. “We shall see. Our king is aged and tired, and Mel’Nir yet remains sadly full of tension. We can hope for a new Lord of the Eastmark before the kingly throne changes hands, but perhaps Gol will want to leave that for his heir.”
    By the Druda’s expression Gael could tell that he hoped the king would act.
    The young men went off to explore a village with a summer fair but Jehane and Gael rode up and stood before Cannford Old
House. It was fine to see, with old trees and a white road winding through an avenue. One sister, Pearl of Andine, the youngest and some said the most beautiful of Strett’s daughters, yet remained. She had never married, and the great house was, of all things, a school for young women of noble birth.
    “You will go in?” asked Gael, as Jehane rode boldly to the gatehouse.
    “Duty call!” smiled Jehane. “My granddam knows the Lady Pearl—we’ll get a look at the house!”
    There was a sturdy old woman in the gatehouse who let them in, spoke reverently of Fion Allrada, Jehane’s grandmother, and inquired about their training on the High Ground. They rode on up the avenue through the quiet afternoon and came to the front of Cannford Old House, facing eastward. The house was of wood and grey stone with some newly glazed windows among the narrower orioles of a former time. It was a house of women: two young girls took their horses. As they mounted the steps, the paneled wooden doors swung inward without a sound and they went into a cool, high-roofed hall.
    A woman received them there and then turned toward the staircase, where a lady was descending. She was above the middle height and beautiful, with fine, even features, a radiant fairness, her thick blonde hair glowing in its silver snood. This quality, of giving off her