Gail Martin - The Sworn

“You’ve done a great job, Renn,” Cam said as a stable boy ran out to take their horses. Cam looked around at the familiar courtyard. The buildings were the same, but when he inspected them more closely, he could see the toll that neglect had taken. Despite Renn’s efforts, Brunnfen looked shabby and down on its luck, and while it had always been a forbidding place, it had never before looked impoverished.

Renn smiled weakly. “I mostly made it up as I went along, but I wanted to keep it from falling apart before you could get here.” He paused. “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?”

Cam met Renn’s eyes. “I can’t, not right now. Donelan needs me. The Divisionists dispersed, but they’re not broken. If plague does come, along with a lean harvest, there could be riots. There’s nothing like hunger and fear to bring out challengers to the throne.”

“So it’s true,” Renn murmured. “You really are the King’s Champion.”

Cam nodded. “Aye, although I’m a rather busted up old warhorse these days, I’m afraid. But Carina fixed me well enough to soldier, and as long as I have breath, I’m sworn to Donelan’s service.”

“Did he tell you he’s getting married?” Rhistiart blurted. It was so unexpected Cam suspected Rhistiart was about to burst from his long silence.

Renn raised an eyebrow. “A potential lady of the manor?”

Cam laughed. “The daughter of the Brewers Guild master in the palace city.” He pursed his lips as he thought. “Although… that gives me an idea. Someday my bones won’t bounce back from battle, and then I imagine I’ll need a place to retire. It would be nice to have good ale. Tell me, how is the grain harvest looking?”

Renn grinned. “If you want something to ferment, you’ve come to the right place. We’ve got a good crop of grain in the field, and a bumper crop of apples and plums. Not to mention fields of potatoes.”

Cam’s smile widened. “And in my experience, no matter how bleak it gets, men will always find coin for something to drink. Perhaps I can borrow someone from Rhosyn’s father’s guild to set up shop in Brunnfen. With a percentage coming to the lord, it might work out well all ways around.”

“See, thinking like the lord already,” Renn said, clapping Cam on the shoulder. “Come on inside, both of you. I won’t promise you the kind of dinner you get at the palace, but the cook’s been working up a welcome home meal and I don’t want it to get cold!”

Two servants appeared in order to carry the travelers’ saddlebags upstairs and take their cloaks. Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the great room. After the long ride, Cam’s limp was pronounced and his injured leg ached. Renn seemed not to notice the limp. The room was much as Cam remembered it, a long, cold hall with a huge fireplace at one end. It was too warm to have the fire lit, though come winter, a bonfire would scarcely heat Brunnfen’s cold stone. A layer of candle smoke hung near the ceiling from the tallow candles. The unmistakable smell of roasting goose filled the air, along with the scent of leeks, onions, and fresh bread. Cam’s stomach growled, and even Rhistiart looked hungry.

Three places were set on the long, empty table. A pitcher of ale and tankards sat next to pewter dishes that were dented and dinged from hard use. Cam looked at the bare walls and frowned.

“I remember there being tapestries,” he murmured.

Renn sighed. “There were. Alvior had them burned after Father’s death, Crone take his soul. Not that I was necessarily fond of the pictures on the tapestries, but they did help keep down the chill. Quite a few things disappeared like that-either destroyed when Alvior was in one of his moods or, more likely, sold off to raise money for his pet rebels.”

They sat down at the table and a plump woman in her middle years brought out a roast goose on a platter. Cam could tell the woman was trying to get a good look at him without staring.

“I hope this is to your liking, Lord Cam,” she said with an awkward curtsey. “Master Renn told us you’re used to the fancy food they serve at the palace.”

Cam eyed the goose and the baking dishes full of vegetables that two serving girls placed on the table. He met the woman’s gaze. “Believe me when I tell you that after three weeks on the road, no meal has ever smelled or looked as good.”

The plump woman blushed. “Thank you, m’lord. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was a kitchen girl when you and m’lady Carina were just little. You used to nip dried fruit from the pocket of my apron and I pretended not to notice.”

Cam laughed. “I do remember!”

The woman chuckled. “Now that you’re home, I’ll bake up some fresh cakes for you by evening.”

There was silence as the three men ate. Even Rhistiart paid more attention to his plate than to conversation. When they were finished, the servants brought out a warm plum pudding and a pitcher of mulled wine, then left them alone once more.

Cam leaned back and sipped at his drink. “So what made you suspect that Alvior had thrown in with the Divisionists?” he asked, watching Renn.

Renn was quiet for a few moments, with a sad expression. “Looking back, I should have guessed sooner. I didn’t even realize at first that Alvior had murdered Father. Made it look like an accident, but later, I could see that he’d arranged it.” He knocked back the rest of the wine as if it were brandy, a gesture that told Cam quite a bit about how hard the years had been for his younger brother.

“You have to understand, after you and Carina… left, there was no one to take my part against Father-or Alvior.” He turned his face in profile so that Cam could see the scar that sliced through his right eyebrow down onto his cheek. “Alvior gave me that one night when I got in his way. Must have been about twelve years old. Cracked me over the head with a pewter goblet for something that annoyed him. Father never said anything.”

Cam felt old anger rise, but said nothing. Rhistiart looked down, silent as the brothers talked.

“I learned fast to stay out of Alvior’s way. Spent as much time as I could out in the fields. Although I’ve got to say, all that has come in handy since Alvior ran away. At least I knew how the manor really operated. I even slept in the barn when I could, just to be out of his reach. But I was around enough to notice that something strange was going on after Father died.

“Alvior started getting visitors from across the sea. And he started bringing strangers to Brunnfen who weren’t from around these parts. The men who came in boats looked highborn. Some of the other strangers, those who came on horseback, were ruffians. They never seemed to do anything but talk, so it wasn’t as if he was entertaining them with wenching and dice.”

Renn grinned ruefully. “One night, I decided to find out what was going on. They caught me eavesdropping. I guess Alvior could have made me ‘disappear’ but maybe he was afraid of getting caught after Father’s death. So he threw me in the dungeon and locked me down there.” He shrugged. “Once in a while he also remembered to feed me.”

“And when Rhistiart helped me escape from the Divisionists, I told Donelan what I’d overheard: that Alvior was backing the traitors,” Cam finished. “So Donelan’s men came to Brunnfen, and they let you go.”

Renn nodded. “If you think I’m skinny now, you should have seen me when they let me out of the dungeon. Pale as a vayash moru and skin and bones. I was scared to death that the king’s men would assume I was on Alvior’s side, but they heard me out and left me be.”

“Any idea where Alvior went?”

Renn shook his head. “I asked the servants if they’d seen anything. One of the men said that Alvior headed down to the beach beneath the cliffs and that a boat with big sails left the inlet that day. There’s nothing but islands off the coast until the other side of the sea, and I doubt he sailed toward Margolan or Eastmark, so I assumed he went across the sea.”