“It’s a king’s ransom,” Atres agrees, “and probably best not to leave it lying about, but we need to pick out one or two of the smaller things to sell. That, with a few links from that chain, should be more than enough for a horse and everything that goes with it.”
In the kitchen, Kethas hears the scream of an erne, and all the fluttering and flapping that accompanies all the lesser birds diving for cover. Smirking to himself, he tosses all the scraps and trimmings, along with some of the meat he’d been preparing, into a pan and picks up his gauntlet. Stepping out into the courtyard, Kethas whistles for Sea Hunter. Sea Hunter, hearing his signal, folds his wings and plummets downward while Kethas sets himself against the impact. At the last moment, Sea Hunter rotates, opening his wings and landing on Kethas’s outstretched arm. Spotting the pan, Sea Hunter hops and lands next to it, diving into the food.
With a break here and there for an occasional squawk or bite of food, Sea Hunter delivers the reply from Sothra, the Shaman of Clan Valkis.
When the message has been delivered, Kethas grins at Sea Hunter. “When your chicks are hatching, come back and I’ll feed you again as a thanks for the swift reply.”
A slightly discontented squawk from Sea Hunter has Kethas chuckling. “Yes, I know how hard you work to feed your young ones. That’s why I offered it.”
Squawking in agreement, Sea Hunter continues to gorge himself.
“Eat your fill, old friend,” Kethas agrees, “You’ve earned it. I need to go deliver your message, but if the pan is empty, call me and I’ll bring more.”
A quieter squawk of agreement from Sea Hunter, and Kethas heads back inside.
Kethas steps into the taproom to find Benger, Emlyn, and Atres sweeping up a pile of brightly colored small parcels into a saddle bag.
“Good news,” Kethas announces, “Oso, Rilgi, and Usurg are already on their way down the mountain. Sea Hunter wasn’t sure if they made it to the pass before the last blizzard hit or not, but they left the village not long after he did.”
Atres sags with relief, “So one tenday, maybe two at most, if the pass is blocked, and they have to go around.”
“Long before anyone has to face this thing,” Kethas confirms.
“That is good news,” Atres sighs, “Give Sea Hunter my thanks.”
“Is this Sea Hunter still here? Can I see him?” Emlyn asks.
“He’s in the courtyard, feeding,” Kethas shrugs, “but I don’t think he’d mind you taking a peek. Move slowly, though.”
Emlyn slips out through the door into the courtyard and spots the huge erne feasting from the pan. She drops to her haunches and freezes in place, staring wide-eyed. Kethas steps out behind her, and Emlyn looks up.
“He’s beautiful,” she breathes.
Sea Hunter hears her and preens a bit before returning to his food, and Kethas laughs.
“Come on, girl,” Kethas says, “Let’s let him eat in peace.”
Nodding, Emlyn stands up and follows Kethas back inside.
“If Sea Hunter is back, I’m a bit worried about Fish Killer,” Kethas frowns, “I hope he didn’t get caught in that blizzard. Sea Hunter says it was a bad one. Fish Killer is faster and should have beaten Sea Hunter back. I’ll give him a few days to see if he shows up. He may be holed up with my clanmates waiting for the blizzard to blow itself out.”
It’s been a hard few days of travel, including asking the dogs to run through the night once to try to beat one of the winter blizzards before it could block the pass. Oso, Rilbi, and Usurg are loading up their backpacks, preparing to start hiking now that the snow is running out and sleds are becoming more of a liability than a help. Sircan moves quickly to harness the dog teams together and lash the now-empty extra sleds together for the return trip to their village.
“We’re lucky we beat that last snowstorm,” Rilbi grins, “You may have a hard time going back, brother.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sircan nods, “I trust the dogs to find a good path. I think the dogs and I will go back the long way since that blizzard likely blocked the pass. You three be careful, yourselves. Who knows what those people in the city get up to? No need to make another Atres while trying to save him, eh?”
Taking their leave, the three men hoist up their packs and, with their sturdy poles, start heading further down the mountain. Sircan shouts to the dogs, and the sleds start heading back up the mountain.
Sikre, Itre, and Banzul huddle with their dogs and Fish Killer in a snow hut. It’s out of the howling blizzard that’s currently raging outside. All the combined body heat keeps the temperature inside well above freezing. Every so often, one of the three men tunnels out and clears the air vent at the top of the shelter, ensuring that they don’t suffocate before the blizzard ends.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Returning from this task, Itre frowns, “A blizzard like this might have already blocked Grominster’s Pass. It’s dumped a few feet of snow already and shows no signs of letting up soon. We can try the pass, but if we have to turn back, it will cost us a few days of extra travel, and then we’ll still have to take the long path. Otherwise, we can skip that and take the long path down. If we take the long way, that means a few extra days of travel to reach Harito, but most of that will be below the snow belt.”
“If we’re below the snowbelt, we can hunt,” Banzul shrugs, “We’ll have the dogs. If Fish Killer will stay for a bit and help by spotting game, a few extra days won’t be a problem.”
“I think I’d rather opt for taking the long way,” Sikre says slowly, “There are a couple of spots in the pass that are prone to avalanches, and with this much snow falling so quickly, I think we’re safer to go the long way. Fish Killer, if we hunt for you, will you help us find some elk or deer before you return to Kethas?”
A despondent squawk of agreement from Fish Killer sends Sikre into a gale of laughter.
“Now, now,” Sikre says, “Haven’t you been well-fed and cared for? I know that you want to be back on the wing, but now isn’t the time for that. Besides, you can show off all you like when we go hunting. We’ll even promise not to tell anyone we carried you down the mountain.”
“You tuck those,” Atres says, pointing to a couple of the smaller things Emlyn’s chosen, “somewhere safe so that no one can pickpocket you. I’ll see if I can get a carriage.”
Without waiting for Emlyn’s reply, Atres is out the door.
As soon as the door closes, Benger frowns at her for a long moment. “Are you sure that all this,” Benger says, waving a hand at the now cleared table, “doesn’t change anything? It seems to me that it ought to change everything. It seems that it would put Dranor, at least, within reach, and possibly the prince. You could be queen or duchess in a few years.”
Atres, returning, stops for a moment to listen to Emlyn explaining her choice to Benger.
“It changes nothing,” Emlyn replies firmly, “Atres suits my goals, and they do not. Neither Armeniel nor Dranor is suitable. Yes, they’re powerful here, but that’s not my goal. My goals have to do with seeing my people restored.”
“Surely as queen or even duchess,” Benger says, “you would be able to do that.”
“Improbable,” Emlyn shakes her head, “Highly improbable, in the best of scenarios. Furthermore, because of our oaths, I’m ill-suited to court life here. Benger, I cannot lie, and I’ve listened to the courtiers here at the balls. They do nothing but lie. There aren’t five words of truth uttered at one of those balls on a given night.”
At Benger’s look of disbelief, Emlyn tries again to explain, “My people have already told me that they have hope as long as I live. I must rebuild my house. Neit is committed to rebuilding my people. Neither Dranor nor the prince is suitable for either task. They’re too consumed with ruling over what they have now, for one thing. My people would chew them up and spit them out if they were to attempt to lord over them as their families do here, simply by right of birth. Worth, among the Cymry, must be proven. Can you see the prince or Dranor stepping into a ring to defend his right to rule and his place at my side by winning fight after fight?”
“I suppose I see your point,” Benger concedes.
“Worse yet,” Emlyn grimaces, “is what my people would think of me for taking such a mate. It would destroy their respect for me. Such a union would be doomed to failure, and they would count me a fool for not seeing it. The Cymry are not overly tolerant of fools.”
A small smile comes to Emlyn’s face, and her voice grows softer, “Yet when I consider Atres... Atres would defend his place at my side. Vigorously. Once he’s been trained properly by our standards, he will defend both his place at my side and his right to rule beside me successfully. Possibly even increasing his status to match, if not surpass, my own, in time. Can you see him doing otherwise?”
Benger thinks for a time and shakes his head.
“Neither can I,” Emlyn sighs happily, “and this is why the so-called lowly King’s Guard is a thousand times better choice. This is why even my grandfather approves of Atres. Remember my curse, I find the path to victory. This, for me, would be a victory. My people and my House restored, a worthy mate and strong children.”
Pleased beyond words at hearing her praise and assessment of him, Atres sighs happily as his worry evaporates before allowing the tavern door to close and announcing his presence, “Fy lleidr bach, the carriage is here.”
“I see,” Benger says slowly.
Tucking the two small brooches into the pouch with her spending money, Emlyn drops them back inside her clothing. Turning to find Atres, she takes his outstretched hand, and he tucks hers into his arm.
“Oh, my bonnie lass,” Atres grins, “let’s go sell off some of your king’s ransom and find you a horse.”
Leading them outside, Atres hands Emlyn into the carriage before seating himself beside her, wearing a huge grin.
Eyeing him, Benger asks, “How much of that did you catch?”
“Enough,” Atres grins and nods, “to be reassured that she’s thought this through and isn’t likely to change her mind at the last minute.”
Turning to face him, Emlyn smiles, “Paladins know what it is to make choices that we must live with. Our oaths are for life. Your bonding with a mate is much the same, is it not?”
“It is,” Atres agrees.
“I would not abuse you so,” Emlyn says thoughtfully, “Having lived through having my oaths abused, I couldn’t possibly bring myself to do anything like that to another.”
“I don’t want you to come to me out of a sense of duty,” Atres frowns, but Emlyn cuts him off, blushing furiously.
“Nothing like that,” Emlyn says, ears growing pinker, “You have been… quite to my liking.”
Intrigued, Atres asks, “What exactly do you mean?”
Blushing a deep crimson, Emlyn blurts out, “I think that kiss bodes well for the one thousand and seventy-ninth night.”
Startled, Atres begins to laugh, and when Emlyn buries her face in her hands, Atres reaches over and scoops her up, “I had imagined dozens of awkward circumstances around your inability to lie, but this one wasn’t on the list. Next time, remind me of this and tell me you don’t want to answer.”
As Emlyn tries to wriggle away, Atres laughs again, “Oh, lass… I only thought you were spellbinding before. This… This is lusciously, deliciously entrancing. And no, you are damn well not going anywhere. You can burrow into my shoulder and blush all you like.”
Benger sits across from them and smirks.
Feeling Emlyn press her face into his shoulder, he sighs contently and grins at Benger, “Those adorable, delectable blushes are my payment for waiting for the next one thousand and seventy-eight days.”
This statement is greeted with a light rabbit punch to Atres’s arm, which sends him into another gale of laughter.
“Mmmm,” Atres purrs a few minutes later, “Are you asleep again? Or still blushing?”
Shyly, Emlyn peeks out and sees that both men are highly amused.
“Gods above,” Atres grins, “You are adorable. Are you ready to join the rest of us? We’re nearly there.”
Shaking his head, Benger says, “I think you might be the only man living who thinks she’s adorable. I can think of a lot of words to describe my little sister, but adorable isn’t on that list.”
“What words would you put on that list?” Atres asks.
“Formidable, terrifying, intense, fierce, relentless,” Benger replies.
“Hmm,” Atres nods, “That tells me where I need to help her find moderation.”
Boltir’s Atres Watch Current Count: 1 "Crisis of Confidence" detected.
Observation: "Atres finally saw the loot. He opened a few of Nia’s silk bundles and found enough gold and gems to buy a small duchy. Now the lad is shaking in his boots, asking if she’d rather have a Prince or a King instead of a 'lowly King’s Guard'. It’s the first sensible thing he’s said all week! He’s realizing that a woman who can rebuild a Great House with bandit-rubies might need a Skald to chronicle her rise, not just a man to polish her pauldron. I’m giving Atres a 'Reality Check' penalty. He’s starting to realize he’s outmatched, while I’m already measuring my beard for the coronation ballad!"
Boltir’s Tip Jar
Current Total: 32 coppers, a garnet-encrusted earring (don't ask), and Snips (the crab) is currently trying to intimidate a healing potion bottle.
Boltir’s Plea: "Did you see Benger? He tied that unconscious yabbo to a saddle like a sack of grain and used the man’s own coat-tails to do it. That’s the kind of practical, spiteful ingenuity I can get behind! Toss a copper in the jar so I can buy Snips a tiny, crab-sized King's Guard uniform—maybe he can teach Atres how to keep a proper grip on things. Also, leave a review if you think Nia should have left that 'mouthy asshat' to walk back to Harito in the mud!"
Tell me, would you date Atres, Argonath, Korek or Benger?