David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

“That man, Haern, might have kidnapped him,” Evelyn said. “If he were wounded and low on food, he’d need someone like us to help out, but why leave the boy here? Why tell us to take him back to his parents whenever he could talk? Everything he paid us for, he could have taken by force. Still, I won’t pretend to understand Arthur’s reasons, and neither does Tristan.”

“He says his name is Nathaniel.”

Evelyn kissed his neck.

“I told him his new name, and we’ll use it so long as he’s with us. No need to risk undue attention should we go out and about.”

Matthew grunted. Fair enough.

“It might be Arthur himself that came for him, though everything’s just a jumble when Tristan tells what happened. But I think you’re right. Those men weret up to no good. Could see it in their eyes.”

“So what do we do?”

Matthew sighed. He wished he knew. While he thought, he ran his rough fingers through her hair, enjoying its softness.

“We got to get him home, even if that means travelling all the way to Veldaren.”

“What if you stop in Felwood and deliver him to lord Gandrem? He’s always been a friend to the Gemcrofts.”

“So was Arthur.”

He was right, of course, and he could tell she knew it.

“Let us all go, then. I don’t want to be left here, and it won’t be safe for the kids, either.”

“Our livestock’ll die.”

“With how much Haern gave us, we could buy our farm back twice over.”

Matthew shook his head side to side, thinking of all the work he’d put into raising his cattle and pigs.

“Still no good reason to let them die, waste all they’re worth. Besides, me going to the city might be strange, but it ain’t unheard of. All of us packing up to go? If there’s more soldiers looking, and you know there are, then they’ll hear about it in a heartbeat. I’ll go alone, just me and the boy. He’s light enough. We can ride together, make good time.”

“We have no horses.”

“I’ll buy one from the Utters in the morning.”

Evelyn pulled her arms tight across her chest as if she were cold. She recognized that tone in his voice. He’d made up his mind, and it’d take tears and a hysterical fit from her to change it. She didn’t have it in her. They had to do something before more soldiers showed up looking for Tristan.

“Trevor’s old enough to look after most things,” Matthew continued, as if trying to reassure her. “And with the cold already breaking, we’ll easily last until spring on what wood we have. I’ll leave you half the coin, too, in case something happens. You can afford salt or meat if need be.”

“I know I can do it,” she snapped. “Don’t mean I want to, or will enjoy it. I’m scared, Matt, scared witless. What if men come looking while you’re gone?”

He kissed her forehead.

“I trust you,” he said. “And I’ll pray you stay safe. I don’t know what else to do, Evelyn. I just don’t know.”

Come morning, he trudged east through the half-melted snow, across fields he knew by heart. The Utters were a large clan, and wealthier than most, at least compared to the local farm folk. They had several horses, and while they might not be eager to part with one, Matthew knew the gold jingling in his pocket would be persuasive enough.

When he returned, it was atop a mare he’d paid for – far more than she was worth, but given how they were still waiting for winter to make its exit, and time wasn’t on his side, he’d been forced to accept. He refused to be overcharged on the saddle, though.

“Without that mare you got no reason for it anyway,” he’d said, and after threatening to buy a saddle from the Haerns or the Glenns, they’d relented. The mare was a beautiful horse named Strawberry, so named by one of their daughters. Matthew thought the name a little demeaning for such a majestic creature, but figured he’d leave it be considering the horse was already familiar with it. On his ride back, he swung by Fieldfallow (the closest thing to a town for thirty miles) and bought trail rations and a thick riding coat.

“Little early to be heading up to Tyneham,” the old storekeep had said. Matthew only gritted his teeth and paid, again twice as much as he would have in spring. Back at the house, Tristan was already bundled up and ready to go. His fever had come and gone, but never as bad as before. Matthew kissed his kids goodbye, hugged his wife, and then set Tristan on the saddle.

“You ever ridden a horse before?” he asked.

The boy nodded. “At the castle,” he said. Matthew guessed he meant Felwood, and again he felt tempted to stop there. Lord Gandrem was an honorable old man. Surely he wouldn’t let something untoward happen to the boy. Resolving to decide the issue later, he climbed into the saddle, shifted Tristan so they could both sit more comfortably, and then set off.

The first day came and went uneventfully. A caravan passed them heading north, dour men that didn’t even wave greeting. Just before nightfall, he spotted a distant pond. Glad for once for the cold, since there’d be no mosquitoes flitting about, he set up camp beside it, Strawberry staked close enough to the water’s edge to drink. Tristan had remained quiet through much of the ride, and Matthew didn’t press him to talk. Come the fire, though, it seemed both their tongues loosened.

“How long until we get there?” Tristan asked.

Matthew poked the fire with a stick, shifting one of the thicker logs into a hotter section so it might burn better.

“It’ll be several days to reach Felwood. From there, less than a week to ride into Veldaren. That’s where your ma is, right?”

The boy shivered, as if the mere mention of her name reminded him how far away from her he was.

“I think so,” he said. “Do you…do you think she misses me?”

“Can’t see why not. Evelyn would be sick with fits should one of our sons run off missing.”

Tristan pulled his blanket tighter about him, and his eyes glazed as he stared into the fire.

“He died protecting me,” he said.

“Who?”

“Mark. I liked him. He’s nicer than Lord Hadfield.”

The name Mark didn’t ring any bells, but Hadfield sure did.

“Do you know why Arthur would want you dead, boy? You’re young, sure, but you got ears and you probably know more than I when it comes to the upper crust.”

“I don’t. He always said I was like his son, and when he married mom, he’d be my father.”

Matthew felt a tingle in the back of his head at that. Perhaps it had something to do with marriage. Had Alyssa rejected Arthur, and he lashed out spite? Did he want to remove any potential heirs? What foul plans might he have for Alyssa as well? Too many questions without answers.

“Safe to say he ain’t planning to be much of a father to you,” Matthew said. “Now eat up. Got a long ride tomorrow, and you’ll need the energy for it. Riding’s tiring work, though you wouldn’t think it.”

They slept under blankets. Halfway through the night, Matthew awoke to distant howling. Coyotes, he figured. A tired glance to his side showed Tristan shivering, a shaking fist pressed to his lips. He was crying. Touched, Matthew reached out and put his arm around the boy, sliding him closer so he could wrap him in a hug. Tristan continued to cry, but his trembling stopped. Soon the crying turned to sniffles, which turned to steady breathing. Matthew fell asleep not long after.

Come morning, they both woke red-eyed. Tristan said little, and several times Matthew had to hold back an angry word. Evelyn always insisted he was a bear when he got up in the morning. No reason to take that out on the poor kid. They ate some rations, drank, and then rode south, stopping every few hours to stretch their legs and rest their backs. Matthew wasn’t a stranger to a horse, but he hadn’t ridden in over six months. Muscles he didn’t know he had announced their angry presence to him.