Nyphron Rising Read online

  She stepped out of the storeroom and found Arbor hard at work kneading dough and surrounded by dozens of cloth-covered baskets. Villagers entered and set either a bag of flour or a sackcloth of dough on the counter along with a few copper coins. Arbor gave them an estimated pickup time of either midday or early evening.

  "You do this every day?" Arista asked.

  Arbor nodded with sweat glistening on her brow as she used the huge wooden paddle to slide another loaf into the glowing oven. "Normally Dun is more helpful, but he's off with your husband and Haddy this morning. It's a rare thing, so I'm happy to let him enjoy the visit. They are down at the smithy if you're interested, or would you rather have a bite to eat?"

  Arista's stomach twisted. "No, thank you. I think I'll wait a bit longer."

  Arbor worked with a skilled hand born of hundreds, perhaps thousands of repetitions. How does she do it? She knew the baker's wife got up every morning repeating the same actions as the day before. Where is the challenge? Arista was certain Arbor could not read and probably had few possessions, yet she seemed happy. She and Dunstan had a pleasant home and, compared to those toiling in the fields, her work was relatively easy. Dunstan seemed a kind and decent man and their neighbors were good friendly folk. While not terribly exciting, it was nonetheless a safe, comfortable life, and watching her, Arista felt a twinge of envy.

  "What's it like to be wealthy?"

  "Hmm? Oh—well, actually, it makes life easier, but perhaps not as rewarding."

  "But you travel and can see the world. Your clothing is so fine and you ride horses! I'll bet you've even ridden in a carriage, haven't you?"

  Arista snorted. "Yes, I have certainly ridden in a carriage."

  "And been to balls in castles where musicians play and the ladies are all dressed up in embroidered gowns of velvet?"

  "Silk, actually."

  "Silk? I've heard of that, but never seen it. What's it like?"

  "I can show you." Arista went back into the storeroom and returned with the silver gown.

  At the sight of the dress, Arbor gasped, her eyes wide. "I've never seen anything so beautiful. It's like—it's like…" Arista waited but Arbor never found her words. Finally she said, "May I touch it?"

  Arista hesitated, looking first at Arbor then at the dress.

  "That's okay," Arbor said quickly with an understanding smile. She looked at her hands. "I would ruin it."

  "No, no," Arista told her. "I wasn't thinking that at all." She looked down at the dress in her arms once more. "What I was thinking was it was stupid for me to have brought this. I don't think I will have a chance to wear it, and it is taking up so much space in my pack. I was wondering—would you like to have it?"

  Arbor looked like she was going to faint. She shook her head adamantly, her eyes wide as if with terror. "No, I—I couldn't."

  "Why not? We're about the same size. I think you'd look beautiful in it."

  A self-conscious laugh escaped Arbor and she covered her face with her hands, leaving flour on the tip of her nose. "Oh, I'd be a sight wouldn't I? Walking up and down Hintindar in that. It is awfully nice of you, but I don't go to grand balls or ride in carriages."

  "Maybe one day you will, and then you will be happy you have it. In the meantime, if you ever have a bad day, you can put it on and perhaps it will make you feel better."

  Arbor laughed again, only now there were tears in her eyes.

  "Take it—really—you'd be doing me a favor. I do need the space." She held out the dress. Arbor reached toward it and gasped at the sight of her hands. She ran off and scrubbed them red, before taking the dress in her quivering arms, cradling it as if it were a child.

  "I promise to keep it safe for you. Come back and pick it up any time, alright?"

  "Of course," Arista replied, smiling. "Oh, and one more thing." Arista handed her the corset. "If you would be so kind, I never wish to see this thing again."

  Arbor carefully laid the dress down and put her arms around Arista hugging her close as she whispered, "Thank you."

  ***

  When Arista stepped out of the bakery into the sleepy village her head throbbed, jolted by the brilliant sunlight. She shaded her eyes and spotted Armigil working in front of her shop stoking logs under her massive cooker.

  "Morning, Erma," she called to her. "You look a might pale, lassie."

  "It's your fault," Arista growled at her.

  Armigil chuckled. "I try my best. I do indeed."

  Arista shuffled over. "Can you direct me to the well?"

  "Up the road four 'ouses, you'll find it in front of the smithy."

  "Thank you."

  Following the unmistakable clanging of a metal hammer, Arista found Royce and Hadrian under the sun canopy in the smithy's yard watching another man beating a bit of molten metal on an anvil. He was muscular and completely bald-headed, with a bushy brown moustache. If he was in the bakery last night, Arista did not remember. Beside him was a barrel of water, and not far away was the well where a full bucket rested on its edge.

  The bald man dropped the hot metal into his barrel, where it hissed. "Your father taught me that," the man said. "He was a fine smith—the finest."

  Hadrian nodded and recited, "Choke the hammer after stoke, grip it high when drilling die."

  This brought laughter from the smith. "I learned that one, too. Mr. Blackwater was always making up rhymes."

  "So this is where you were born?" Arista asked, dipping a community cup into the bucket of water and taking a seat on the bench beside the well.

  "Not exactly," Hadrian replied. "I lived and worked here, I was actually born across the street there at Gerty and Abelard's home." He pointed at a tiny wattle and daub hovel without even a chimney. "Gerty was the midwife back then. My father kept pestering her so much that she took mum to her house and Da had to wait outside in the rain during a terrible thunderstorm, or so I was told."

  Hadrian motioned to the smith. "This is Grimbald, he apprenticed to my father sometime after I left—does a good job, too."

  "You inherited the smithy from Danbury?" Royce asked.

  "No, Lord Baldwin owns the smithy. Danbury rented from him just as I do. I pay ten pieces of silver a year and in return for charcoal I do work for the manor at no cost."

  Royce nodded. "What about personal belongings? What became of Danbury's things?"

  Grimbald raised a suspicious eyebrow. "He left me his tools and if'n you're after them you'll have to fight me before the steward in the manor court."

  Hadrian raised his hands and shook his head calming the burly man. "No, no, I'm not here after anything. His tools are in good hands."

  Grimbald relaxed a bit. "Ah, okay, good then. I do have something for you, though. When Danbury died, he made a list of all his things and who they should go to. Almost everyone in the village got a little something. I didn't even know the man could write until I saw him scribbling it. There was a letter and instructions to give it to his son, if he ever returned. I read it, but it didn't make much sense. I kept it though."

  Grimbald set down his hammer and ducked inside the shop, emerging a few minutes later with the letter.

  Hadrian took the folded parchment and stared at it. Without opening it he stuffed the letter into his shirt pocket and walked away.

  "What's going on?" Arista asked Royce. "He didn't even read it."

  "He's in one of his moods," Royce told her. "He'll mope for awhile. Maybe get drunk. He'll be fine tomorrow."

  "But why?"

  Royce shrugged. "Just the way he is lately. It's nothing really."

  Arista watched Hadrian disappear around the side of the candlemaker's shop. Picking up the hem of her dress, she chased after him. When she rounded the corner, she found him seated on a fence rail, his head in his hands. He glanced up.

  Is that annoyance or embarrassment on his face?

  Biting her lip, she hesitated then walked over and sat beside him. "Are you alright?" she asked.

  He nodded
in reply but said nothing. They sat in silence for awhile.

  "I used to hate this village," he offered at length, his tone distant and his eyes searching the side of the shop. "It was always so small." He lowered his head again.

  She waited.

  Does he expect me to say something now?

  From down the street she heard the rhythmic hammering of metal as Grimbald resumed his work, the blows marking the passage of time. She pretended to straighten her skirt, wondering if it would be better if she left.

  "The last time I saw my father we had a terrible fight," Hadrian said without looking up.

  "What about?" Arista gently asked.

  "I wanted to join Lord Baldwin's men-at-arms. I wanted to be a soldier. He wanted me to be a blacksmith." Hadrian scuffed the dirt with his boot. "I wanted to see the world, have adventures—be a hero. He wanted to chain me to that anvil. And I couldn't understand it. I was good with a sword, he saw to that. He trained me every day. When I couldn't lift the sword anymore, he just made me switch arms. Why'd he do that if he wanted me to be a smith?"

  A vision swept back to her of two faces in Avempartha—the heir she did not recognize—but Hadrian's face was unmistakable as the guardian.

  Royce didn't tell him? Should I?

  "When I told him my plans to leave, he was furious. He said he didn't train me to gain fame or money. That my skills were meant for greater things, but he wouldn't say what they were.

  "The night I left, we had words—lots of them—and none of them good. I called him a fool. I might even have said he was a coward. I don't remember. I was seventeen. I ran away and did just what he didn't want me to. I was gonna show him—prove the old man wrong. Only he wasn't. It's taken me this long to figure that out. Now it's too late."

  "You never came back?"

  Hadrian shook his head. "By the time I returned from Calis, I heard he'd died. I didn't see any point in returning." He pulled the letter out. "Now there's this." He shook the parchment in his fingers.

  "Don't you want to know what it says?"

  "I'm afraid to find out." He continued to stare at the letter as if it were a living thing.

  She placed a hand on his arm and gave a soft squeeze. She did not know what else to do. She felt useless. Women were supposed to be comforting, consoling, nurturing, but she did not know how. She felt awful for him, and her inability to do anything to help just made her feel worse.

  Hadrian stood up. With a deep breath he opened the letter and began reading. Arista waited. Slowly he lowered his hand holding the letter at his side.

  "What does it say?"

  Hadrian held out the letter, letting it slip from his fingers. Before she could take it, the parchment drifted to the ground at her feet. As she bent to pick it up, Hadrian walked away.

  ***

  Arista rejoined Royce back at the well.

  "What was in the letter?" he asked. She held it out to Royce who carefully read it. "What was his reaction?"

  "Not good. He walked off. I think he wants to be alone. You never told him, did you?"

  Royce continued to study the letter.

  "I can't believe you never told him. I mean, I know Esrahaddon told us not to but I guess I just expected that you would anyway."

  "I don't trust that wizard. I don't want me or Hadrian wrapped up in his little schemes. I could care less who the guardian is, or the heir for that matter. Maybe it was a mistake coming here."

  "You came here on purpose? You mean this had nothing to do with—you came here for proof, didn't you?"

  "I wanted something to confirm Esrahaddon's claim. I really didn't expect to find anything."

  "He just told me his father trained him night and day in sword fighting and said his skills were for greater things. Sounds like proof to me. You know, you would have discovered that if you had just talked to him. He deserves the truth and when he gets back, one of us needs to tell him."

  Royce nodded, carefully refolding the letter. "I'll talk to him."

  Chapter 9

  The Guardian

  The oak clenched the earth with a massive hand of gnarled roots unchanged by time. In the village, houses were lost to fires. New homes were built to accommodate growing families and barns were raised on once vacant land, but on this hill time stood as still as the depths of Gutaria Prison. Standing beneath its leaves, Hadrian felt young again.

  It was at this tree that Haddy first kissed Arbor, the shoemaker's daughter. He and Dunstan competed for her favor for years, but Haddy kissed her first. That's what started the fight. Dun knew better. He had seen Haddy spar with his father and witnessed Haddy beat the old reeve for whipping Willie, a villein friend of theirs. The reeve was too embarrassed to report to the bailiff that a fourteen-year-old boy bested him. Haddy's skill was no secret to Dunstan, but rage overcame reason.

  When Dunstan found out about Arbor he charged at Haddy, who instinctually sidestepped and threw him to the ground. Misfortune landed Dun's head on a fieldstone. He lay unconscious with blood running from his nose and ears. Horrified, Haddy carried him back to the village, convinced he just killed his best friend. Dun recovered, but Haddy never did. He never spoke to Arbor again. Three days later, the boy known as Haddy was gone for good.

  Hadrian slumped to the ground and sat in the shade of the tree with his back to the old oak's trunk. As a boy, this is where he always came to think. From here, he could see the whole village below and the hills beyond—hills that had called to him, and a horizon that whispered of adventure and glory.

  Royce and Arista would be wondering where he went. It was not like him to be self-indulgent on the job. The job! He unconsciously shook his head. It was Royce's job not his. He kept his bargain, and all that remained was for Arista to reach the rendezvous. When she did, that would end the assignment and his career in the world of intrigue. Strange how the end brought him back to the beginning. Coming full circle could be a sign for him to make a fresh start.

  He could see the smithy near the center of the village. It was easy to pick out by the black smoke rising. He had worked those bellows for hours each day. He remembered the sound and the ache in his arms. It was a time when all he knew of the world stopped at this tree, and Hadrian could not help but wonder how his life might have been if he had stayed. One thing was certain; he would have more calluses and less blood on his hands.

  Would I have married Arbor? Have children of my own? A stout, strong son who would complain about working the bellows and come to this tree to kiss his first girl? Could I have found contentment making ploughshares and watching Da smile as he taught his grandson fencing, like a commoner's version of the Pickerings? If I had stayed, at this very moment, would I be sitting here thinking of my happy family below? Would Da have died in peace?

  He sighed heavily. Regret was a curse without a cure, except to forget. He closed his eyes. He did not want to think. He fell asleep to the sound of songbirds and woke to the thunder of horses' hooves.

  ***

  It was almost dark and Royce was worried. Once more, they enjoyed the hospitality of the Bakers. Arbor was making a dinner of pottage while Dunstan ran a delivery of loaves to the manor. Arista offered assistance, but appeared more a hindrance than a help. Arbor did not seem to mind. The two were inside chatting and laughing while Royce stood outside, watching the road with an uneasy feeling.

  The village felt different to him. The evening had an edge, a tension to the air. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. He felt a nervous energy in the trees and an apprehension rising from the earth and rock. Before Avempartha, he considered it intuition, now he wondered. Elves drew power from nature. They understood the river's voice and the chatter of the leaves.

  Had that passed to me?

  He stood motionless, his eyes panning the road, shops, houses, and the dark places between. He was hoping to spot Hadrian returning, but felt something else.

  "The cabbage goes in last," Arbor was telling Arista, her voice muffled by walls. "And cut it
up into smaller pieces than that. Here let me show you."

  "Sorry," Arista said. "I don't have a lot of experience in a kitchen."

  "It must be wonderful to have servants. Dun could never make that much money here. There aren't enough people to buy his bread."

  Royce focused on the street. The sun had set and the twilight haze had begun to mask the village. He was looking at the candlemaker's shop when he spotted movement by the livery. When he looked closer, nothing was there. It could have been Hobbie coming to check the animals, but the fact that the image vanished so quickly made him think otherwise.

  Royce slipped into the shadows behind Armigil's brew shop and crept toward the livery. He entered from the rear, climbing to the loft. A fresh pile of hay cushioned his movements and muted his approach. In the dark, he could clearly see the back of a figure standing by the doorway, peering at the street.

  "Move and die," Royce whispered softly in his ear. The man froze.

  "Duster?"

  Royce turned the man to face him. "Etcher, what are you doing here?"

  "The meeting has been set. I've been sent to fetch you."

  "That was fast."

  "We got word back this morning and I rode hard to get here. The meeting is set for tonight at the ruins of Amberton Lee. We need to get going if we are going to make it in time."

  "We can't leave right now. Hadrian is missing."

  "We can't wait. Gaunt's people are suspicious—they think it could be an imperial trap. They'll back off if we don't stick to the plan. We need to leave now or the opportunity will pass."

  Royce silently cursed to himself. It was his own fault for not chasing after Hadrian this afternoon. He almost had. Now there was no telling where he was. Etcher was right—the mission had to come first. He would leave word for Hadrian with the Bakers and get the princess to her meeting with Gaunt.

  The moist, steamy smell of the boiling cabbage and wood smoke filled the bakery. The candles Arista lit flickered with the opening of the door. Arbor was stirring the pot while Arista set the table. Both looked up startled.