Dormael had never been able to sever his family ties, and commit himself fully to the Conclave. Many wizards advocated just such an approach, and severed all personal ties upon becoming full wizards. Dormael, though, didn’t believe that doing so would make him stronger. He wanted to feel the loss when someone close to him died. He didn’t look forward to such a thing, but he felt that it would keep him grounded, and remind him of who he was. It would remind him of why he had chosen to take the invitation to become a Warlock in the first place.
On the next afternoon, after having ridden a slow pace north along a major road, Dormael turned them onto a well-tended side trail. The day was chilly, but the sun was warming his back as Dormael took his friends east. Soon, a fence began to line the road to the northern side, sectioning out a large plot of land. They rode along the fence for a good hour before they saw anything else, but what appeared in the distance put a smile on Dormael’s face.
A wooden arch stretched over the trail, carved in geometrical reliefs that made patterns down the side of the wood. In the middle of the arch, the world Harlun was spelled out, and then a sequence of runes in Old Vendon that told the history of their family. Beneath that, a plank was hung across the arch from a pair of small chains, the words Harlun Family Vintners painted across them in bright white letters.
A man clung to one of the pillars of the arch, hammering at one of the chains that held the sign in place. He continued to work as they came upon him, but Dormael knew he’d seen them long before they got close enough to speak. As they approached, the man hopped to the ground.
He was a hair’s breadth taller than Dormael, but muscled in a way that spoke of hard training over many years. He was fair haired, and wore his hair cropped short, with a short beard over his entire face. He smiled as Dormael got closer, and regarded them all with a bemused expression.
“Of all the things I thought might happen today,” the man said. “My brother coming out of the hills was not amongst them. Maybe the gods would come down and kiss me, but my brother coming home? Never.”
Dormael dismounted, and moved to embrace his brother.
“Allen,” he laughed.
“Bastard,” Allen said. “I mean, Dormael.” He smiled as Dormael let him go, then turned to D’Jenn. “I see you’re still as lively as mud.”
“And I see that you’re still a mouthy little shit,” D’Jenn replied, before climbing down himself. Everyone else followed suit, and soon the introductions were being made.
“This is Shawna,” Dormael said, indicating the noblewoman. Shawna made the traditional bow as if she’d been born to it, and Allen returned it.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, rising from the bow.
“I know,” Allen replied. “You don’t have to thank me.” Shawna gave him a momentary look of confusion, then turned an unsurprised glance on Dormael. Dormael ignored it, pushing Bethany toward his brother.
“And this,” he said, “is Bethany.”
Allen crouched down to Bethany’s level, giving her a serious look in the eyes. She gazed back in confusion, but didn’t try to hide behind anyone else. Allen narrowed his eyes at her, then nodded.
“I know that look,” he said. “You’re trouble, girl. Trouble in a little blue cloak.”
“I’m not trouble,” Bethany said.
“Look like trouble to me,” Allen muttered. “Have you ever been in a fight?”
Bethany crossed her arms, and looked him right in the eyes. “Yes.”
Allen peered at her. “I see. I could tell you were dangerous. Do you want to fight me, and just decide who the greater warrior is, right here and now?”
Bethany shook her head, and turned her chin up. “I’m a wizard now. Wizards don’t get into fights.”
“Oh, I see,” Allen said, looking from the girl to Dormael and back. “Well that certainly makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“How’s mother?” Dormael asked, interrupting his brother’s banter with the youngling.
“The same as always,” Allen sighed, rising from his crouch. “Rushing around, trying to do ten things at once, and forgetting about nine of them along the way.”
Dormael laughed. “Nothing ever changes.”
“They’ve been worried about you, though,” Allen said, punching Dormael in the arm. “It’s been seasons since we’ve seen you, gods-dammit. You know how Ma gets, too. At least once a week we have a conversation in which she brings you up, and wonders aloud whether or not you’re dead.”
“I’m not dead,” Dormael said.
“You should tell her that—you know, maybe in a letter here and there,” Allen smiled. “At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to it every time I’m here.”
“And our father?”
“The same,” Allen smiled. “He makes things here and there at the forge, but these days he spends most of his time playing guitar and pretending to hate the puppies that follow him around. Drinks a lot of firewine.”
“Things really haven’t changed at all,” Dormael said.
“Not much,” Allen nodded.
“Are you home for the winter, then?”
“Aye, at least for a bit. I’ve winnings to last me a few years, now. Who knows what a famous warrior can get up to, eh?” Allen said. “I’ve got options.”
Dormael shared a look with D’Jenn.
“What?” Allen asked.
“Let’s get out of this cold,” D’Jenn said. “We’ve got something we want to talk with you about.”
“I’ve got a few questions myself,” Allen said, turning his gaze on Dormael. “Like how in the Six Hells my brother here thinks he can drag home a woman and child, several years after the deed was done, and not expect our mother to set her own hair on fire? She’s going to go crazy.”
What did he just say?
“What did you just say?” Dormael asked.
“Your woman and child,” Allen said, looking at him as if he were stupid. “Mother’s going to kill you. Maybe all of you. I won’t stop her, either.” He looked to Bethany. “Maybe I’ll save you. You might be worth it.” He favored Bethany with a wink, and she gave him a shy smile in response.
Everyone just stood there, hanging in silence for a moment before the chaos began.
“Him, with a child?” D’Jenn said.
“I am most certainly not his woman,” Shawna growled. “If you think for one minute that I would give myself to him—”
Dormael turned an injured look on Shawna.
“I thought we were friends,” he said. “I’m not all that bad.”
“You’re terrible,” she said.
Allen blinked at them, then ruffled Bethany’s hair. “And this cute little thing? Surely someone is going to claim her.”
Bethany turned her eyes up to Dormael, catching his gaze. He was on the verge of opening his mouth to explain, but the look in her eyes caught him up short. Who was she to him—who had she become to him?
Just like that, he made his decision about the girl.
“She’s my daughter.”
A moment of stunned silence passed, and Dormael could feel everyone staring. He felt the color rising to his cheeks, but squared his shoulders and braced himself for the barrage of objections. Let them object—he had made up his mind. Bethany had no one in the world, and gods-dammit all, he wasn’t just going to abandon her.
Meeting her gaze, he realized that he couldn’t have, anyway.
“At least there’s that much,” Allen muttered. “Why is everyone staring at my brother? I guess he is much uglier than me. The black eyes are an improvement, though.”
Bethany reached up and took his hand, and Dormael wrapped his fingers around the girl’s.
“She’s my daughter,” he said, with more certainty. It felt odd, but right.
Surprisingly, no objections came. D’Jenn gave him an approving nod, with a look that said he had expected this to happen all along. Shawna gave him an unreadable look, but couldn’t keep a smile from tickling the corners of he
r mouth. Allen narrowed his eyes at the two of them, then took in the astonished looks of the rest of the party. He looked down at Bethany, and shrugged.
“Well then, Miss Trouble, do you want to ride back home with your uncle, so he can fill you with enough mischief to keep your father pulling his hair out for years?” Allen asked. Bethany looked to Dormael, and he nodded to the girl and motioned her forward. She turned her eyes on Allen, smiled, and held out a fist with her pinky finger extended.
“Only if you can tell me what this means,” she said.
**
Harlun homestead was a sprawling compound.
Dormael often forgot how much land his mother and father owned, until he came home on his scattered visits and rode through it. He’d flown over it once out of pure curiosity, and had been stunned by the amount of land that the vineyard itself occupied, much less the farmland and pastures attached to it. The Red Hills was a expansive piece of land in the highlands, and Dormael’s extended family lived over much of it, if not the immediate members that lived on Harlun homestead.
“She’s had to buy up four square of field from the Caerlins,” Allen said, reading Dormael’s mind as he looked out over the hills.
“Is that right? She’s bought more land?” Dormael asked.
“The business doubled year before last, and then again last year,” Allen said. “The Old Witch Herself thinks that it will double again next year.”
Dormael uttered a short laugh. He and his brother had always referred to their mother as The Old Witch Herself. The familiar nick-name brought a smile to his face.
“Do you remember why we used to call her that?” Dormael asked.
“You don’t?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Remember when she would whip us, then chase out of the house—”
“—yelling at us to go tell everyone that The Old Witch Herself had done it to us,” Dormael laughed. “That’s right. How could I have forgotten?”
“Too much drinking, too much Shaman’s Leaf,” Allen smiled. “Looks like you’re getting fat, too. All that affects your mind.”
“So she’s raking in money?” Dormael said.
“That she is,” Allen replied. “Doesn’t know what to do with it all, either. She’s been getting orders all the way from Thardin, if you can believe it. Special delivery, summer firewine. It’s been going there for a few years, now. Isn’t that illegal?”
“It’s illegal in Thardin,” Dormael said. “The last I heard, we’ve only outlawed trading with Rashardians and the Dannons. Not that they’d have anything to trade but rat skins and blood sacrifice.”
“Whoever it is, they pay her well,” Allen shrugged. “She just keeps expanding. She holds that over pop’s head all the time, tells him that she’s ‘international’ now.”
“What does he say?” Dormael asked, a smile coming to his face.
“He grumbles about all the new hands needed to work the vineyard, the new equipment, how unmanageable the homestead is becoming…you know how he is. He does a few smithing jobs for people in town, but mostly he writes music and talks politics with anyone who will listen. Until the next raiding cycle comes along, anyway. Hasn’t been much work for a weaponsmith lately, but you know how it is. I’ve been trying to get the old man to meet some people from Tept, maybe hammer out a few weapons for the fighters, but he says he’s got no interest in letting his operation get out of control like mother’s. The old man should consider it, though. He makes good steel when he can be bothered to do it.”
“He really does,” Dormael agreed.
For the rest of the ride, Allen made light conversation with D’Jenn, and doted over Bethany. Dormael chewed on his anxiety at seeing his family again, and at the sudden decision he’d made to adopt the youngling. D’Jenn’s eyes bored into Dormael the entire ride, and even Shawna gave him strange, considering looks. If anyone had asked him to explain his sudden decision, he wouldn’t have been able to put it into words. In the moment, though, he had realized that there was no other way that things could have turned out. Dormael had never thought of himself as fatherly material, but someone had to look out for the girl—more specifically, someone who was Blessed.
Then, there was the fact that he loved her. He had realized it at some point in the journey, but had kept it quiet, even when talking to himself. The two of them had settled into a pattern—in fact, all the companions had—and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The thought of giving her up, even leaving her at the Conclave for training, clenched his heart like a fist.
Let the others look at him like a fool. The only important thing was how Bethany had looked at him when he’d said it out loud. He listened to the tall tales that Allen told her the entire way back home, and couldn’t keep the smile from his face. She looked happy, and that made him happy, too. It soothed some of the anxiety he felt at seeing his family again.
When they rode up to the lawn before the house, Dormael’s mother and father were already on the porch. There were people gathered nearby—cousins, friends of the family, distant relatives and close ones alike. Children ran and tumbled in the yard, and Dormael could already smell something wonderful being cooked from inside the house.
Dormael’s mother was a portly woman with a striking head of red hair about three shades darker than Shawna’s. She let out a series of incoherent exclamations as she came down the stairs, gesturing for all of them to climb down and give her hugs. Dormael sighed and let her pull him into a tight embrace, but returned it with genuine warmth.
“It’s good to see you, old woman,” he said.
“Fuck yourself,” she laughed, wiping a tear from her cheek. The old bat was always crying about one thing or another. She pushed him away, then went on a tour of his companions, embracing every one of them in turn. She surprised Shawna by foregoing the traditional bow, and pulling her into a laughing hug. His mother had always been friendly to a fault.
“I’m sure my sons have told you nothing about me,” she said, smiling as she held Shawna at an arm’s length. “I’m Yanette.”
“Shawna,” the noblewoman replied, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Shawna Llewan.”
“And who,” Yanette said, turning to Bethany, “is this lovely lady?”
“This,” Allen said before Dormael could open his mouth, “is your new granddaughter.”
Everyone froze.
Yanette gave Allen a sharp look, and Allen shoved an accusatory finger in Dormael’s direction. She turned that look on Dormael, then back to Bethany, and then to Shawna. Shawna shook her head, holding her hands for peace, and the look got turned on D’Jenn. D’Jenn burst out laughing.
“I’ve adopted her, ma,” Dormael said. “Her name is Bethany. She’s got Eindor’s Blessing.”
Yanette gave him an astonished glance, then crouched down to Bethany’s level. Bethany was tentative, and looked to Dormael askance. He smiled and winked at her, his hands waving in the Hunter’s Tongue.
It’s alright, little one.
“Let me get a look at you,” Yanette said, taking Bethany’s face in her hands. “My granddaughter…my first granddaughter. Has anyone told you, child, that you’ve got eyes like a pair of emeralds? So green. Like the grass in the middle of summer. And Blessed, too? We’ve got so many wizards in the family, now.” She smiled then, tears coming to her eyes, and held the girl out at arm’s length. “Do you know what grandmothers do, child?”
“No,” Bethany said.
“They spoil you rotten,” Allen cut in. “Don’t listen to a thing The Old Witch Herself tells you, kid. Trust me.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Yanette said.
“She trusts me already, ma. We’ve bonded now. You can’t corrupt her,” Allen said.
“Did he tell you that gnomes live under the house, and that they crawl up out of the floorboards at night to pinch your toes?” Yanette asked, peering sideways at Bethany. The girl nodded.
“Doubt the gnomes at your peril,” Allen s
aid. “Let your toes get pinched, girl.”
“What grandmothers do,” Yanette said, riding over Allen’s comments, “is feed you until you can barely eat. Then we feed you more.”
Bethany smiled. “I think I like grandmothers.”
Yanette laughed. “I like you, too.” She yelled over her shoulder, “Somebody get Judi down here—find my sister! She’ll want to meet little Bethany, too.”
“Don’t go passing my granddaughter around before I see her,” Dormael’s father said, coming down the steps. Saul Harlun was a tall, lean man. He had close-cropped hair and a beard of the same length, both of them long gone to gray. He favored Bethany with a wide grin, and shook her hand. “You should know, before you get tossed between aunts and uncles, that grandfathers are the best. We tell lots of stories.”
Bethany’s smile grew even wider.
“I like stories, too,” she said.
With that, the rest of the relatives closed in, and the lawn descended into shaking hands and chattering voices. Bethany was snatched away by Yanette and a veritable squad of women, all of them gushing over the girl. Children ran in their wake, all of them close to her age scrambling to make their introductions to the new girl. Saul watched the tornado of family sweep out onto the lawn, then into the house, and turned back to Dormael.
They clasped forearms, and Dormael’s father drew him into a hug.
“Welcome home, son,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, old man,” Dormael smiled. Things were always a bit awkward between Dormael and his father, but not so bad that he didn’t love the old codger. “You look terrible. Like you’ve got one foot in the grave already.”
Saul laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“I can still kick the shit out of you, boy,” he said. “You and your brother forget—you’re both just imperfect shadows of me. I came first.”
The Knife in the Dark (The Seven Signs Book 2) Page 12