“Coran!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t recognize you. You were only what, twelve when we met?”
“Yes.”
“My, but you have grown,” she smiled, “even taller than your father. I am surprised you even remember me.”
“How could I forget such a beautiful lady?”
She laughed with delight. “You are just like your father was at that age, never at a loss when it came to flattery, and so full of life.”
“If you like I will guide your escort to Tyelin?”
“Of course. We can talk more over something to eat and a warm fire.” Her head disappeared inside and the shutters closed to keep out the wind.
“This way, my Lord.” The now deferential Captain inclined his head.
Coran followed the officer to the front of the column. There wasn't much chance to talk. Before they covered a mile it began to snow. Soon after, the wind intensified and the snow began to pelt their faces. Up and down the column men held cloaks tighter and pulled hoods low. Visibility was limited to the rider in front of them. All they could do was blindly follow. Coran led the party between two ridges and down into the bowl shaped valley that cradled the town and keep of Tyelin.
The black stone stronghold had been built long before Summerhall and Soros’ unification of Midia. It had been an outpost of Mon Vusaar. The last remnants of that culture were destroyed in the last Great War. Tyelin was one of the few places to survive. The silver hawk that once flew across the kingdoms of Holdon, Voltia and Taragon was now restricted to this one, last place in the world. Over time its significance had deteriorated until now it was just a minor hold.
Coran led the way through the deserted, storm-racked street, and past square brick houses with steep tile roofs, until they reached the heavy wooden gates of the castle. The gates were quickly opened by black cloaked guards who lowered their heads against the wind and closed it again after the last horseman came through.
The wind still swirled in the courtyard and snow was piling up against the eastern wall. The tops of the walls and the upper levels of the keep were lost in the raging storm. Coran left his horse with a groom, a young man who braved the storm without a cloak or coat, then went inside ahead of the others to make arrangements for the Queen and her party. Tyelin held many people at one time so there was plenty of room for all the guards accompanying her Majesty. Inviting so many armed men inside the castle, men from another kingdom, was something he would normally never allow. Despite the relative peace dominating the land it was still not prudent to take chances, but the royal house of Westland had been close to the ruling house of Summerhall for generations. To say that they were allies was not enough.
As Coran entered the narrow hall a man with more gray than brown in his hair greeted him. “My Lord, we have visitors?”
Coran eyed the man. Kirsire’s thick build belied his keen mind. Of course he would know instantly of strangers in the town, and would never admit that he knew, or how. “A royal guest, so make sure that the dinner is a special one tonight.”
“Royal?” Kirsire asked with only a touch of surprise, feigned of course.
“Yes. Royal. So see that they have proper accommodations,” Coran responded with a grin then hurried off to change.
About an hour later Coran waited in what had always been called the family room. On one side was a heavy oak table surrounded by six straight backed chairs where he used to eat with his family. Since his return he would usually eat in the main hall with others or alone in his chambers. On the other side of the room a cushioned black couch and two chairs were arranged around a fireplace set into the stone wall. On the mantle above the hearth sat a curled horn. If it could be straightened out it would be a full pace in length. It was harder than a ram’s horn and solid black, a Vusaari War Horn, a leftover of a time long past.
A fire was already lit and heat radiated out from the flames to warm the entire room. He watched, leaning against the stone mantle, as the conflagration crackled and danced until a knock announced the arrival of his guest.
Coran was surprised to see that the Queen was not alone. A girl, perhaps a little younger than he, accompanied her. The resemblance between the two was noticeable. The girl’s hair was only slightly darker and her round face matched the older woman’s perfectly.
Caroline gestured to her companion, her hand decorated with ruby and emerald rings. “My daughter, Willameina.”
The girl gave him a quick curtsy. “Please call me Willa, Sir Coran. My friends do.” She smiled revealing dimpled cheeks.
He returned her curtsy with a perfect bow. “I would like to call you friend, Willa, so please, it is just Coran.” He indicated the blue padded chairs. “Have a seat please.” The Queen took one of the chairs, Willa sat on the couch. “Something to drink? I have some Taragosan Red or tea if you prefer.”
“Wine would be wonderful.” Caroline sighed. “It has been a long ride. Those coaches are so uncomfortable you know. I was bounced around like a sack of potatoes on some farmer’s wagon.”
While she went on about the inadequateness of traveling by carriage, Coran poured each of them a glass from the silver decanter on the table. He handed one to each of the ladies before retrieving his own and taking the other chair. She told him of her visit to Kluele, where she spent the winter with an old friend, and the decision to stop at Allard before returning home.
“Willa is not yet promised and it is a good idea for her to get out and meet people,” Caroline explained her daughter’s presence then paused and looked at him curiously over her wine glass. “Tell me, are you as yet spoken for?”
Coran cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Not yet. Have you heard any news from Summerhall lately? We are somewhat isolated here, especially during the winter.”
“You have not heard?” The Queen didn't seem to mind his change of subject. “You know that my son has expressed an interest in Margery?”
“Yes. I heard about that last fall,” he responded. Because of Westland’s and Summerhall’s close relationship, Robert, Westland’s King, wished to make the relationship closer by marriage. It was a rare occurrence since anyone who married the heir to the high throne had to renounce any other claims and become a member of house Sundarrion. Somehow Robert had persuaded a promise from Stemis to accept his son as the principle suitor for one of his daughters. “I did not know that he had made a decision as to which sister.”
“Katelyn is supposed to visit Westhaven sometime after her birthday, but my son seems to prefer Margery.” She shrugged. “We will see what happens.” Caroline held out her glass and waited for him to refill it before continuing. “That is not the worst of it. Cranus thinks that if a prince of Westland can marry a Sundarrion then so can a prince of Voltia. His son, Torvilin, has already announced his intention to marry Katelyn if my son chooses Margery.”
“He announced his intentions?” Coran was shocked. Surely that was going too far even for a Voltian. “Stemis would never agree to that. He would not do that to one of his daughters.” Torvilin was well known for being as skilled with a sword as he was arrogant and cruel. The popular rumors were that he liked to drop puppies in pots of boiling water just to hear their screams. Popular, but not necessarily true.
“He may not have a choice,” she informed him bitterly. “Torvilin heard that a man from Stockton was talking with Stemis about his son and Katelyn, I believe it was Lord Harthorn’s son. He visited the would-be suitor, and challenged him. At least he had the decency not to kill him, just run him through the leg.” She shook her head in disgust. “So you see the problem? If there is no competition what can Stemis do?”
Coran could not do anything about another suitor, but he vowed to himself that he would not allow Katelyn to be wed against her will. It seemed his decision to go back now was a timely one.
“Are you all right?” the Queen asked him. She was watching him closely. They both were.
Coran realized his knuckles were white as he gripped his glass and forced him
self to relax. “I am fine. I was just thinking.”
“Of course, I almost forgot how close you are to those two girls. Do not worry. Something will come up to make things turn out for the best.” Caroline smiled to try and reassure him.
“I know it will,” he replied evenly.
The topic switched to more mundane matters. The weather, was everyone well, and ‘have you ever been there’ were discussed, though Willa spoke sparingly.
After the decanter had been emptied the Queen finally stood and announced that she was going to clean up before dinner. She led the unobtrusive Willa out the door. That left Coran alone with his thoughts. The one that kept coming to the surface was about when could he leave. Even through the thick stone walls he could hear the wind howl its fury. The voice of winter protesting its being vanquished from the world for another year.
The storm blew itself out by the following morning but the roads were obstructed by a half foot of new snow. The spring sun emerged strong and was already at work, but it would be another day before the way south was clear. So it fell on Coran to continue as host.
He spent much of the time entertaining the subdued Willa. Once he was able to break through her shy exterior he was pleasantly surprised with her mind. She was clever, kind, and quite knowledgeable about the many kingdoms of the world. Coran supposed that a princess’ education had to be extensive. He enjoyed her company and hoped that it might be the makings of a friendship. His father always said to never pass up the opportunity to make a friend.
That afternoon he had an errand to run in the town, Willa insisted on accompanying him. He in his heavy cloak and she in a fur-lined coat walked the slush filled streets. She had to grab his arm to keep from falling when her foot threatened to go out from under her. There were a few people about dressed in dark heavy cloaks like Coran’s. They greeted him with a ‘Coran’, or a quick ‘Sir’, and always with a friendly smile.
A woman approached them with a leather sack in hand. “I hear you are leaving tomorrow,” she stated. Her silver hair was bunched up in a bun in the back of her head. She wore a pleasant smile between two rosy cheeks. “This is for you.” She handed him the sack.
He opened it with both hands to peer inside. As expected, it contained her famous bread. “Thank you, Janin.”
“No need.” She waved his thanks away. “Tell your father that he must come back and I will cook a special meal for him.”
“I will,” he replied.
Happy, Janin hurried off. Mornings were always a busy time for hardworking people, and Janin took pride in her baking.
“Who was that?” Willa asked him as she peered over his hands and into the bag.
“Janin, the baker. Her cooking skills are locally renowned.”
“If she is so talented why do you not have her working in the keep?”
“Because her sister already heads the kitchen staff and neither of them would work for the other. She will not take her sister’s job away from her either,” he explained closing the bag and taking her arm again.
“The people here certainly are friendly,” Willa commented. She walked carefully to avoid splashing her clothes as they continued on his errand.
“Everyone around here is close so formality doesn’t really fit,” he explained with a sense of pride. These were his people after all. The lack of ceremony was the one thing he preferred over the formality of Summerhall.
He walked around a building somewhat larger than the others until he came to an open doorway in the back and entered a large room where irregular shapes of iron were piled in one corner. Tools hung by hooks covered the wall above a work table where finished pieces were arranged side by side. There were knives and axes and a few swords, their blades shone like mirrors. They were assaulted by the heat of the forge fire that permeated the entire room. A boy of perhaps ten filled a bin with charcoal while a man with arms as big as Coran’s legs watched nearby. The man turned as Coran entered and gave him a wry grin. He was the blacksmith who did much of the work for Tyelin. He would have worked at the forge inside the castle but he preferred the familiar forge that had been his father’s.
“I knew you would be here today,” the man told him in a strong voice. He went to the bench where he picked up an object about a yard long that was wrapped in a gray wool cloth. “It’s just like you wanted.”
Coran took the bundle eagerly. “What about the sun? You said that might be tricky.”
“I said it wouldn’t be easy, not that I couldn’t do it,” the blacksmith scoffed. “Like I said it’s just how you wanted it.”
“Thank you,” Coran said sincerely.
“Don’t thank me. You paid enough for it.”
Coran smiled at the larger man. “Worth every bit.” Then he handed over a few coins, nodded to the man, and left the smithy with Willa in tow. The warm sun seemed colder after the heat of the smith’s forge. He waited for Willa to catch up and take his arm before heading back to the castle.
“What is in the bundle?” she asked as she watched where she stepped carefully.
“Just something I had made for someone.” He hoped she wouldn’t press the issue since he did not wish to explain. It was sort of private. “It’s a present.”
“Oh,” was all she said. She must have sensed his reluctance to talk about it.
That night the three of them ate in the family room. The main dish was lamb bathed in a delicately spiced, white sauce. Coran liked lamb, but was not too crazy about the sauce. The food was washed down with more of the red wine.
Shortly after they finished eating, while a couple of servants came to clear the table, the Queen informed them that she wished to retire for the night. It was rather late and the meal had been filling, so Coran could understand. He was a bit sleepy himself, and would have to get up early to leave in the morning.
He found himself alone with the princess of Westland. They each took a glass of wine and went to sit on the couch near the fire.
“Have you ever been to Westland?” she asked him to begin the conversation.
“Not to Westhaven, but I have been to Allard,” he told her and sipped his drink. “I know that you were in Kluele, have you been anywhere else?”
“Unfortunately, no. I have been just about everywhere in Westland, but this is the first time I have left my kingdom. I wish that I could see more before going home,” she sighed.
“I hope you get the chance. I enjoy traveling myself, and hope to do more of it now that my duties are fulfilled.”
“Duties?”
“Yes. My father sent me here to learn how to run the place. For some time in the future, I think. I have learned about everything there is to learn.”
“So you are leaving?”
He nodded. “In the morning.”
“Where will you go first?” she asked and he sensed a rising interest.
“Summerhall. After that I cannot say. Maybe Arryvestra. I have heard how beautiful the city is supposed to be.”
“I have always wanted to go there as well. The architecture is supposed to reflect the best that Ithan ever produced,” she told him, raising a hand to cover her yawn. Any interest had faded for some reason.
“I hope I am not boring you?”
“Of course not. I am just suddenly tired.” She stood, finished her drink and went to set the empty glass on the table. He rose when she did. She turned to face him as he came within a step of her.
“I should thank you for a wonderful time,” she told him looking up into his face. “It is too bad that we do not have more of it.”
“I agree, but I must be up early myself,” he explained. “I will see you in the morning?”
“Of course.” Opening the door and stepping out she smiled back one last time.
The following morning Coran was checking to see that the packs were securely tied onto his horse. He wore all black except for a silver hawk sewn onto the front of his shirt and the hilt of his sword, with a black grip and silver pommel, which protruded o
ut from under his rich, black cloak. He was not alone in the yard. The Queen’s escort was forming up around the carriage before the gates, the captain barked orders to straighten backs and secure saddlebags. At the appearance of Queen Caroline and Willameina, Coran finished his inspection, crossed the yard, and offered his hand to help the ladies into the coach.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” the Queen said as she took his hand and stepped up. “I shall write your father and let him know what a wonderful host you have been.”
“I thank you, your Majesty, but there is no need for that.”
“Nonsense.” She released his hand and disappeared inside. “I hope we will meet again soon,” she finished from her seat.
“As do I,” Willa agreed. She gripped his hand but made no move towards the waiting carriage. “I really enjoyed meeting you.”
“I enjoyed your company as well. I hope we will have a chance to continue our friendship,” he told her sincerely.
“I look forward to that day.” She gave him a dazzling smile complete with dimples before climbing inside and taking the seat opposite her mother.
The driver shut the door tightly and pulled himself up to his seat. The Captain ordered the column forward, the driver flicked the reins and the coach jerked ahead. Coran watched it disappear through the open gates before turning toward his own mount. He put his left foot in the stirrup and swung his right over the horse’s back, then settled into the saddle.
“Any idea when you might be returning, Sir?” Kirsire asked looking up at him. His eyes betrayed the sadness he felt at his Lord leaving once again.
Coran did not know where his path would lead him, but he didn’t think it would be back here for some time. “I am sorry old friend, but I do not know.”
Kirsire was a little taken aback at being called friend. Coran had never addressed him in such a familiar way. He also appeared to be touched by it. He looked up at him fondly and nodded his understanding. “Fare you well.”
Fire And Ice (Book 1) Page 2