Lawrence Watt-Evans - Relics of War

Grondar looked annoyed. “Go tell your mother,” he said. “Ishta can stay here with me, so she can see that I’m not promising anything Tesk wouldn’t like.”

Garander guessed that their father was more concerned with keeping Ishta out of trouble than keeping Tesk happy, but either way, it was not an unreasonable suggestion. “Yes, sir,” he said. He turned and trotted toward the house.

He doubted that it was a coincidence that both lords had sent delegations so close together; probably one of them was spying on the other. Or both of them were spying on each other. He wondered just what they wanted to do with Tesk-and whether they even knew what they wanted. He knew, from dealing with his sisters, that sometimes people wanted something just because a rival wanted it. That wasn’t just a girl thing, either-there had been plenty of times when he was little when he would want a particular toy or food entirely because Shella wanted it. At the time he would never have admitted it, would have insisted that he had good, solid, sensible reasons for wanting whatever it was, but now, looking back, he knew that much of the time he had really just wanted to keep it away from his sister.

He had tried to outgrow it, and had more or less managed it where Shella was concerned, but he knew the urge was still there, and he suspected that something very similar was driving at least one of the delegations.

When he reached the house he found his mother and sister cleaning the mattresses, and quickly explained the situation. He had expected them both to rush out to see the baron’s people, but instead his mother said, “Are they going to be there for long?”

“Well…until Tesk comes to meet them,” Garander said.

“You’re sure he’s coming?”

“Well, he said he would meet the other group, the ones from Ethshar, so I expect he’ll come.”

“And when are they due?”

“Mid-afternoon.”

“Then we have time, and I want to get this done. Grab that end and lift.” She gestured.

Garander desperately wanted to see what was going on in the west field, but he obeyed; he had to admit that getting the winter dirt out of the bedding and fluffing it up would make sleeping more comfortable, especially when the weather turned warm.

They had arranged everything around the fire, where the heat would dry the straw and fabric and the smoke might drive out some of the bedbugs, and were admiring their handiwork, when his mother asked, “They aren’t expecting us to feed them, are they?”

It was about lunchtime, and she had not seen the size of the baron’s company, so it was not an unreasonable question. “I certainly hope not,” Garander answered. “There are dozens of them; there’s no way we could feed so many.”

Shella of the Green Eyes nodded. “Your father will want his lunch, though. And your sister.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“I’ll make something you can take for them. And tell them we’ll be out once I’ve cleaned up the dishes.”

Garander nodded.

He ate in the house with his mother and sister-salt pork and turnips, washed down with small beer. When he was done his mother handed him a bag of fried sausages and yesterday’s bread, and a jug of strong beer from last year’s brewing. Garander frowned. “What about Ishta?” he asked. “You don’t want her drinking that, do you?”

“She can come fetch her own water.”

Garander didn’t argue; he accepted the bag and jug and headed out while the two Shellas cleared away the plates and pans.

The scene in the west field was rather different now; the baron’s party had made camp. That field was planted in wheat; Garander hoped they would not chew the soil up enough to ruin the crop.

Grondar was sitting on a camp chair, talking with the woman in the green gown-Velnira, Lord Dakkar’s…something. Garander did not remember her title. Ishta was standing nearby, looking bored. Garander wondered whether the two adults were discussing the terms of the baron’s offer to Tesk, or maybe what sort of compensation would be paid for the intrusion on the farm-or were they just chatting? He trotted toward them.

Velnira looked up at his approach, and Grondar turned. “Ah, son!” he called. “This is Velnira of Varag. Her uncle was my regiment’s quartermaster, old Alden One-Eye.”

Chatting, then. But perhaps they had already covered weightier matters. “I brought lunch for you and Ishta,” he said, lifting the bag.

“Good!” Grondar clapped his hands. He turned back to Velnira. “I hope you don’t mind if we eat; I trust you have your own supplies. While I would hardly deny a guest proper hospitality, I can’t feed a host like this, and I’m sure the baron wouldn’t expect me to.”

“No, of course not!” Velnira said. She had a very nice voice, Garander thought, even if her face was not particularly appealing. “You go right ahead. I think we’ve covered everything important.”

Grondar nodded and rose, then looked around for Ishta. He found her, put an arm around her shoulders, and then held out the other arm for the bag of food.

A moment later the three were seated cross-legged between two furrows, and between bites Grondar was explaining to his son the terms he had set.

“No more taxes, ever,” he said. “A round of copper-a round , not a bit-for every night these people spend on our land. That’s the fee for lodging here, regardless of how the negotiations turn out, and if Tesk agrees to serve Lord Dakkar, we’ll have an additional silver bit apiece for our help.”

“I don’t think he’ll agree,” Garander said.

“No, you don’t understand-the baron has already agreed…”

“No, Father, I mean I don’t think Tesk will agree.”

“Oh, well.” Grondar turned up a temporarily-empty palm before grabbing the beer jug for another swig. “We’ll have the copper all the same.”

“I wouldn’t trust the baron about the taxes.”

“Oh, I don’t. And even if I did, his heir won’t be bound by it. But it might last a few years.”

Garander nodded, and looked around. The baron’s party seemed to be settling in for an extended stay; they had pitched tents and set out firepots. Folding chairs, like the one Grondar had been using when Garander returned, were everywhere, but were still insufficient for the throng, leaving most of the soldiers to sit on the fresh-turned earth. It did not look like a group that had come simply to offer a man a job. “Do you think they’re really just here to recruit Tesk?”

“I don’t know,” Grondar admitted.

“What do you think they’ll do if he says no?”

“ I think he’d rather go to Ethshar!” Ishta said.

“He might,” Garander said. “Or he might want to stay where he is. I mean, he didn’t want to sleep in our barn or anything; I think he likes living in the forest.”

“That’s just not right,” Grondar said. “For a man to live like that.”

“He’s not really a man,” Garander said. “He’s half demon.”

Grondar grunted unhappily. “He’ll be here today, won’t he?”

“He said he would,” Ishta said.

“He did,” Garander confirmed. “And so far, he’s always done what he said he would.”

Grondar started to reply, but a shout interrupted him. He and his children turned to see what was going on.

The baron’s people were getting to their feet, staring and pointing to the south. Garander turned in that direction.

He noticed from the corner of his eye that his mother and sister were approaching from the house, having presumably finished cleaning up, but that was not what had caused the excitement. No, what had the attention of Lord Dakkar’s company was a flying carpet sailing toward them, perhaps a half-mile away and sixty feet off the ground.