Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

A step away from a Matus. One more step. Then I’ll earn the right to petition a Weaponmaster to be trained as a Dagodin . He smiled inwardly with the thought as his dreams swept away to a more ambitious status. A Dagodin so I can graduate from the Mystera and study either in Calisto or at the Iluminus to become an Ashishin. Then I’ll join the Pathfinders. No one will be able to stop me from finding her then . His smile grew wider.

“You know, I would hope that look meant you’re eyeing some new girl,” Mirza said, his lips pursed. “But knowing you the way I do, that’d just be wishful thinking on my part.” He sighed as Ancel offered no reply. “Hey Dan, who’s escorting us with the delivery?”

Danvir’s eyes twinkled and his mouth twisted into a slow grin. “Headspeaker Valdeen.”

Mirza cackled. A groan escaped Ancel’s lips. The last thing he needed was to be in the company of Alys’ father especially after what happened the evening before.

“There’ll be several guards coming with us to help protect this year’s delivery because of the recent feuding between us and Doster. Maybe-”

“You know, Dan,” Mirza interrupted. “You always say us when you speak about Sendeth, but-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Danvir retorted. “I swear you listen to your father too much about how they treat us. We pay taxes and tribute to King Emory regardless. And the whole of Whitewater Falls belongs to him, Eldanhill included. Whether we’re far north and behind the King’s back as people like to say, it doesn’t matter. We pay all the same. Think on it.” Danvir gave Ancel a sidelong glance, his annoyed expression changing to a grin. “Anyway, as I was saying, maybe Ancel can huddle with the soldiers so Master Valdeen doesn’t get to questioning him about his plans for his daughter.”

“My chances of avoiding that man are about the same as us running into Dosteri raiders,” Ancel grumbled. “Slim to none.”

“Well, I’d suggest you make nice with Alys before we leave then,” Mirza said, making a humping motion.

Danvir chuckled, clapping Mirza on the shoulder hard enought to make him stumble.

Ancel ignored his friends, staring off toward where the girl rounded the corner off Learner’s Row onto Henden Lane on her way home. The end of the Row split into several streets that meandered through this side of Eldanhill before they met the Eldan Road. Houses great and small, all sandstone or brick with tiled roofs, painted in white shades or dull yellows lined the roads. The citizens of Eldanhill bustled about the streets, busy with their preparations for the upcoming harvest celebrations. For a moment, he thought about hurrying after her before he changed his mind.

“He has more women on his mind than he knows what to do with,” Mirza’s distant voice said.

Ancel stopped walking. His friends stood a few feet behind him both acting as if they did not see him.

“Happens to the best of us,” Danvir quipped, “or so my Da says.”

“Does this mean we’re better than him?” Mirza nodded toward Ancel.

Danvir rubbed at his clean-shaven chin, his face feigning seriousness. “I don’t know, maybe he just needs a class in how to love them and leave them. Let them do the chasing. Maybe, you and I…”

Ancel couldn’t take anymore. Yelling, he chased after his friends as they ran off laughing.

Ancel and his friends spent the better part of the next hour startling numerous merchants and townsfolk along the cobbled streets. Most were lost in preparation for the Soltide festival or busy hawking their wares.

Those who recognized them swore to tell their parents or chased them with brooms and switches. Their fun and nuisance making finally stopped after the town watch became involved. When they saw the gray uniforms advancing down Market Row onto Thanairen Square, they snuck off through one of the many back alleys crisscrossing Eldanhill. A short while later, they parted ways, and Ancel headed home.

As they did every year for Soltide, his parents had chosen to stay at their four-story townhouse in Eldanhill rather than their sprawling estate at the winery farther north. His father preferred to be close to his business dealings this time of year. Not that Ancel minded. He enjoyed being in town for Soltide rather than among the kinai orchards or watching his father instruct the workers in the correct methods of kinai juice distillation.

Ancel skipped down Damal Way past matching houses with their oval, stained glass windows, sloping, tiled roofs, and double doors that appeared as if the architects modeled every home after the first one built. Flowers in full bloom among the well-tended gardens added splashes of color to the otherwise bland white paint of the brick edifices.

Old man Finkel stood outside his home, tending his roses. When he saw Ancel, the man’s eyes narrowed.

“Hello, Master Finkel,” Ancel said.

“Don’t hello me, boy. The only thing I want to hear from you is that you’re going to leave my daughter alone. If you don’t…” Finkel’s voice trailed off as he stabbed his shovel into the soft dirt.

Ancel nodded and hurried by the front yard before the man actually decided to use the shovel.

Not long after, he passed by the Jungs. Their daughter Shari was outside, playing with their black and white hound dog.

“Hi, Ance,” she called, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“Hi, Shari.” Ancel moved close to the wrought iron fence.

Shari came down to meet him, her hips swaying as she moved. “When will you take me dancing again?”

“Tomorr-” A gooseberry slapped the ground next to Ancel, the yellow fruit splattering onto his boots. Ancel looked up. Shari’s older brother threw another gooseberry.

“Stop it, Caron,” Shari yelled, whirling to face the youth.

Caron threw another gooseberry. “You know Da doesn’t want him around. Do you want me to go call him?”

“Look, Shari,’ Ancel said. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ll head on home. Maybe we can speak during school tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” Shari replied as she walked away smiling, her hips swaying once more.

Ancel glared at Caron before he walked away, continuing on home. More familiar faces greeted him along the street. There was Miss Jillian Flaina, Irmina’s aunt, in one of her usual extravagant dresses, green silk with yellow Calvarish lace ruffles along the hem and bunched at the sleeves. Next to her strode old Rohan Lankon, his hat perched on his head in such a way that a slight wind might blow it off. They were involved in some heated discussion, and Jillian looked none too pleased. Ancel graced them with a bow, to which he received an icy stare from Jillian. What her issue was, he had no clue.

Ancel quickly forgot them as he saw Mirza’s father, Devan Faber, and Danvir’s old man, Guthrie Bemelle, across the other side of the street. To see the two of them together made him smile. Devan was as hard as the rocks he quarried, and Guthrie as soft as the gooseberry pudding his Inn was famous for. He shouted a greeting, but the men only gave him a half-hearted acknowledgement. They were both too engrossed in conversation to notice him. He wondered if they’d just all come from a meeting at his house. His father had a tendency to call these councils whenever he came to town, but usually they held them at Guthrie’s Whitewater Inn.

They must have been discussing what we saw in the Greenleaf . Spurred on by the thought, Ancel picked up his pace and took a left onto Tezian Lane. As he reached the stairs to his house, a loud sound somewhere between a rumbling grunt and a dog’s bark issued behind him. Ancel turned to the sound as a mountain of shaggy, white fur crashed into him. He pivoted while snagging fur by the fistful.