by Tinnean
“Piss,” Ehron rumbled, rolling over and covering his face with a pillow.
Seone gestured at Ehron, but Daemon only shrugged.
Once Ehron finally sat up, he was passed a cup of black tea, and Seone informed him that he and the rest of Ehron’s private guard had arrived from the coast that morning. He had made certain that all of Ehron’s belongings were accounted for and properly disposed of. The slaves Ehron took, as well as the property, trinkets, he had seized in Crosas, had brought a hefty sum at the market.
Ehron sighed audibly and asked why he had been allowed to sleep so late.
“Your father has planned a great feast in your honor, and he wanted you rested for the festivities.”
“I thought the feast was last night.”
“As did I,” Daemon assured him. “But apparently your father has a far greater celebration in mind.”
He groaned loudly.
“We are all of a similar mind,” Seone sighed deeply. Celebrations were tedious.
“I must have a bath,” Ehron announced to the two men at his bedside.
“Aye, you must.” Seone grimaced, heading for the door.
“Please, we beg you.” Daemon chuckled, ducking a hastily thrown cup.
LATER, OUTSIDE the keep, Gareth watched Ehron’s men walking with Daemon. They had entered the courtyard together, all assessing the walls as battle-trained warriors used to checking for the enemy. Daemon was pointing out the passageways of wood running the length of the walls as well at the gatehouse itself. Gareth wondered why all the attention to detail. The men stayed crowded around him, all listening intently. Gareth felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find his father beside him.
“They are soldiers, all of them all Rieynan born, and yet they listen to a man who was not,” Gareth mused, inclining his head to mean Daemon. “Is that not odd?”
Torbald smiled at his son. “You do not understand, as war and you have not been acquainted. Daemon proved himself on the battlefield, fighting at Ehron’s side, with loyalty and blood. They follow his orders as though Ehron himself gave them.”
“Will Ehron retain these men?”
“This is his private guard. They will be added to those here on the barony as long as Ehron is here. When he leaves to either take his own home, or to become shield bearer, they will follow him.”
“Daemon will remain with him as well?”
“Soldiers are in Ehron’s employ for a term of their contracted bond. Once this expires, they can leave to seek other employment or, if Ehron wills it, agree to new terms. Daemon, as a free man and not a career soldier, may leave as he wills now that the war is over. As he is not Rieynan born, there can be no bond in other but time of war.”
“I wonder if he will stay.”
“My guess is that Ehron wonders the same,” he finished, raising his head suddenly as Daemon came bounding over to the stairs leading up to the keep. “Good rise, Daemon!” he called to his son’s servant.
“Good rise to you, my lord,” Daemon greeted the baron cheerfully. “I must know if Ehron’s men and I are to be included in the celebration this set or if we are to stand guard while you take your revelry.”
Torbald had already promised his men that they could join the festivities, thinking that the men Ehron brought home with him could perform the service of standing guard of the keep while the others celebrated. “I had thought that Ehron’s men would guard the holding.”
“Aye, my lord. I will inform the men.”
“You, Daemon, are of course invited to dine and drink with us.”
“I will stand with my men, my lord, as is my place,” Daemon assured him, bowing deeply before turning to rejoin the soldiers.
“He said ‘no’ so deftly,” Gareth teased his father, elbowing him in the side gently. He watched Daemon give the news to the men, who only nodded. He saw no look or action that betrayed even the slightest amount of anger.
“Aye, he did,” Torbald agreed, tearing his eyes from Daemon to regard the steady stream of visitors coming through the main gate. “Call your mother and brother to the great hall so that we may begin to receive all our guests.”
“And Amelina?” Gareth asked as he turned to enter the keep, even then trying to track Daemon with his eyes, to keep watch on the man.
“Aye, call my little bird to me as well.” Torbald smiled warmly, thinking about his daughter. “She is the fairest of our house, after her mother, and all are ever enchanted by her beauty.”
Gareth rolled his eyes before taking leave of his father. Clearly he did not share Torbald’s estimation of his youngest child. When Gareth finally found his sister in the passage from the kitchen to the hall, Amelina whined that she would rather find and speak to Daemon Shar.
“As would I,” Gareth snapped, hurrying past her.
“Where did you see him last?”
When Gareth was asked much later the same question by Ehron, he could only answer that some time ago the servant had been walking in the courtyard with his men. Ehron wanted to find him, perturbed that he was stuck, with the rest of his family, greeting the maxims, or lower lords, for hours.
When they were finally finished and the hall was filled with people, Ehron wanted to leave to search for Daemon but was instead informed that the evening meal in honor of his return was to be immediately served.
“In honor of my son!” Torbald called out to everyone again, and all who were there raised a glass of thick, rich elderberry wine to Ehron Terhazien.
Servants came through the crowds then with pitchers and basins and linen squares for everyone to wash their hands before they sat down to partake in the feast.
Torbald took his place at the center of the table set up for him and his family at the end of the hall closest to the hearth. It was raised up on a dais so that he could see everyone taking his or her seats. Odessa stood then and announced the six courses that they would be having, consisting of a variety of cooked meats, salted fish, wild birds, venison, chicken and duck. There was an audible cheer when the servants began bustling in with food and drink. Each guest was given a choice of wine or ale, and everyone was poured a large glass of cool water.
Odessa didn’t eat but rose quickly with her daughter and walked from table to table, answering questions about the food and its preparation. Torbald watched with obvious pride as his wife recited the names of common herbs like mint and sage and rosemary and ingredients like clove of torrel and nassi wine used in the cooking. Trays of fresh fruit were laid at each table for guests to pick from at their leisure.
Everyone applauded again when the small keo songbirds were brought out and presented so artfully with their tail feathers replaced after being cooked. As servants came in to bring more ale and wine, Torbald noticed Daemon dodging around several of them as he made his way to the baron.
Daemon walked around behind the table and didn’t stop to address himself to either Ehron or Amelina, just made his way to Torbald and dropped to one knee behind him.
Torbald turned in his seat to face the servant. “Daemon.”
“My lord, I would not interrupt your meal but for one of Maxim Carhall’s men is drunk and has made several gross slurs toward a member of your family.”
Torbald was taken aback. For a man to come to the house of his patron and rebuke him was indeed a gross offense. He wanted to question Daemon immediately, to know what exactly had been said and about what member of his family. As he looked out at his hundred guests, surveying their number and merry mood, he reined in the impulse, taking a deep swallow of wine. When he spoke, his voice was calm and measured. “Why not simply put him in the stables for the night after you have relieved him of the light.”
“Aye, my lord,” Daemon agreed, having first thought of rendering the man unconscious as well. “This step I would have taken had he not been overheard by several of Maxim Groe’s men.”
Torbald nodded. “You tell me now that there is to be a brawl in the courtyard.”
“If there is
only a brawl, then truly are the gods smiling on you, my lord.”
Torbald understood at once. It was tense and critical outside. Tempers had flared, and men were standing ready to do battle. Only due to the fact that Daemon and his men were standing guard had words not escalated to violence.
“Can this event be averted?
“Aye, my lord,” Daemon assured him, “if you will allow me to speak for you in this matter.”
“And where goes my steward Penn H’rah?”
“He spoke to me early this set that he would take his meal with Maxim Huhn and his family, as he has a daughter that is fair.”
Torbald looked out at the great hall and spotted Penn immediately, since he was the only man at one of the tables wearing the Terhazien colors of purple and green. It frustrated and annoyed him that Penn was not more vigilant about his duties. He was more Gareth’s companion than the Terhazien steward. Penn had proven time and time again that he was not capable of carrying out his responsibilities.
Torbald suddenly put his hand on Daemon’s shoulder. “Speak for me, act for me. You have my word.”
Daemon rose and turned to go, but Ehron caught his arm as he passed him. “Do you need me there with you?”
“Your presence would only escalate matters, my lord,” Daemon told him, patting his hand before giving him a slight bow. He was back across the room in seconds.
Dessert came in the form of rich almond pudding and fruit in heavy cream. Tables were moved back by the servants and the floors quickly cleared so that the dancing could commence. Musicians were ushered into the great hall, and the reel quickly began. Several maxims’ daughters pulled Gareth onto the floor, and a quick line formed to be Amelina’s partner. Gareth could hardly keep his mind on what step came next, as his thoughts were with Daemon and what was occurring outside.
Suddenly Maxim Rey Quel raised a glass and with a booming voice thanked the baron for graciously providing musicians and dancing for his men as well. Everyone rushed to the large glass windows crudely set into the wall of the keep that faced the courtyard below.
Serving women, handmaids, laundresses, grooms, cooks, seamstresses, chambermaids, and other house servants danced beside a growing bonfire with the soldiers of the maxims. Several people stood and clapped along to the music, while others, including Daemon, danced a reel in the dirt. People flew from one partner to the other; hands clasped and joined in merriment. There was no hint of hostility. The music was provided by fife and pipe and drum played by several of the Terhazien servants. Gareth saw Daemon beckon soldiers down from the wall-walks and send others from the dance back to their duty as guards. Gareth watched him drift off with the last group leaving for the gatehouse. He clapped along with the music and waved for others to join the dance as he walked away.
“I understand this not,” Torbald said, coming up behind Gareth.
“You gave Daemon your power, father, and instead of using it to punish, he gave them that which they must have wanted from the beginning,” Gareth told him. “To sit outside in the dark and listen to a celebration and not take part must be hard indeed. Daemon gave them their own. He is a shrewd man indeed to glean what was truly wanted.”
“Indeed,” Ehron echoed, leaning in beside Gareth so he could see the dancing and look for Daemon in the crowd.
Torbald announced to everyone that they could come and go as they liked: join the dancers in the courtyard or stay in the great hall. He then went down to the courtyard and announced to the assembled and suddenly silent crowd that if it were agreeable, he and his party would join them. The cheer of approval brought a wide smile to the baron’s face as he greeted the servants, shaking hands with many of them.
Soon servant and lord were so intermingled that it was hard to tell one from the other. The grounds were well lit, with iron lanterns casting off shadows in every corner of the grounds. The warm night air and the baron’s wine and ale gave everyone a joyful glow and a feeling of camaraderie that Torbald had hoped for but was unsure if he could create. As he took in a deep breath of the warm night air, strolling arm-in-arm with his wife and the escort of his children, Torbald could not have imagined a more perfect homecoming celebration for his son.
Gareth saw Daemon first, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was looking for him or if it was the way that Ehron’s servant alone was standing on the wall, his attention directed out toward the fields.
“Daemon!” Torbald called to him before Gareth could, wanting to speak with the servant, ready to praise his quick thinking.
“Daemon Shar, come to me!” Ehron roared out, crossing in front of his father.
Daemon turned quickly from his vigil and leaped down off the wall-walk to the ground twenty feet below. He landed lightly on all fours, then stood and crossed the short distance to his lord.
“My lord, please forgive my shortness earlier. I was in haste to find peace with the soldiers,” Daemon explained to Ehron, knowing by his tone from years of service that Ehron had been worried.
The hooded face upturned to him and the husky voice filled with concern made Ehron smile. “Oh, fear me not,” he chuckled, reaching out to squeeze Daemon’s shoulder before turning to look at his father. It was only then that both he and Daemon noticed that everyone was standing there stunned, struck dumb by Daemon’s vault from the height of the outer wall of the manor house. “Father?” Ehron asked slowly, turning to look at Daemon, who could only shrug his shoulders in reply.
“Daemon, how… I have never seen…,” Torbald stammered before trailing off in amazement. He stepped in close to Daemon and examined him. “Are you not hurt?”
“Oh, my dear lord,” Daemon said, taking a step back from the baron, “’tis nothing.”
“Come back up!” one of the men called from the wall-walk.
Ehron laughed suddenly and nodded. “Aye, Seone is right,” he said to Daemon. “Go back up.”
Daemon shrugged again and walked over to the tree that stood beside the wall. He leaped from the ground up into the branches and then walked out onto one of them. The sweet summer air blew the long bough up and down, and Daemon rode with it, his weight not seeming to hinder the limb in any way. It was as though he were a leaf on the branch, and the wind carried him back up to the wall-walk, and he stepped nimbly from that most delicate sprig onto the wooden beam beside Seone.
Everyone applauded, and Daemon bowed theatrically before waving.
“How now, Daemon!” Torbald cried. “Are you a magician?”
“’Tis only the smallest of movements, my lord,” Daemon explained, calling back down to the baron. The laughter he gifted them with was deep and warm, making Amelina sigh heavily.
Looking up at him, it was only then that Torbald saw something that he had not noticed before. “Please come back down before me,” he said quickly. “I promise that you will not be made to climb back up. I know you are not a trained animal. I want only to look at you.”
Daemon leaped down again, startling Amelina for the second time. When he brushed by her, he gave her hand a quick squeeze before stopping in front of Torbald. The older man reached out and touched the baldric that his sword hung from.
“You carry this oddly, and so I had not looked at it before. You must draw your sword from your back.”
“Aye, my lord, it is a curse to be smaller, and so I carry the weight on my back and not at my side.”
Odessa watched her husband intently as his hand traced the line of the baldric down across Daemon’s chest. It was only then, looking from her husband to Daemon, that she saw what Torbald did.
“This baldric, encrusted with the stallions Rudios and Weren, is given only to a soldier who has done great service to the warlord. I myself have one much like it from when I served in the unification wars with Scerce. Tell me of the service you performed for Nictorus Troen to receive yours, Daemon Shar.”
He cleared his throat and turned his head to Ehron.
All eyes went with him.
Ehron groaned
deeply. “Father, I would not ruin this night with tales of—”
“Speak, my son.”
Ehron raked his fingers through his thick hair, eyes flicking to Daemon. “You had to wear the baldric?”
“’Tis the only one I have,” Daemon quipped. “You always speak of us procuring another, and yet we—”
“Ehron,” Torbald cut off the banter between the two men.
“I…,” Ehron sighed. “I really prefer that we—”
“Please, my son.”
Heavy sigh before Ehron began. “I was in Adaran prison in Shokee, and Daemon brought me out,” he told his father. “And none but a cat could have done it, a rat-catching cat, finding his way in the dark to me and then bringing me forth.”
He had finished fast, his words tumbling out, one on top of the other, so that it took a moment for everyone to sort through them.
“The prison? In Shokee?” Torbald asked his son. “You were there and emerged alive? How my son?”
He gestured to Daemon.
“Repeat this tale.”
“By the gods,” Odessa winced, drawing her breath in sharply. She grabbed her son’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Atrocities had been committed at the prison. Everyone at home had heard the stories. When Mycah Ilen and the Second Legion had liberated it, the dead had numbered in the thousands. “Tell me you were not in that hope-forsaken place, Ehron.”
“I was, but it was not my time to die.”
Gareth shook his head, then interrupted, “You ask too much of our faith, Ehron. No one came out of there alive before Mycah liberated it from Crosan forces, and we heard not that you were—”
“I was there!” Ehron yelled at his brother, the pain of the abuse still lingering in the back of his mind even after the parade of years. “I was there, and you may ask Nictorus himself if you believe me not. He had dispatches at the ready to send to you. He had thought me dead and waited only for Mycah to confirm his suspicion when he liberated the prison. But Mycah found me not inside when he came but outside the walls with Daemon!” Ehron ranted on, but they could all see he was calming. “I was with Daemon.”