Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (68 page)

~~~~

A
ndy decided that waiting
hurt like someone had tied a rope around his middle and made him wade through
oily slime. It was a lot of work going nowhere. He stood in the courtyard of
Brengarra with Sedrik and Master Arvold, groaning and squirming and watching
the windows. Mum said she and Lesha would be right down, but that was an hour
ago. She also said, “Don’t get dirty.” His best doublet was stiff and hot and
foppish, and his good shiny boots pinched his toes. They had been perfectly comfortable
at the Turning Festival. That he was growing taller pleased him, but only when
he was wearing bigger shoes. The dagger felt good on his belt, though. Mum told
him he was too inexperienced to wear it, but waiting had made him feel defiant.
A short while ago, he had run upstairs and buckled it on his belt. The diamonds
glittered like stars he had taken captive. Maybe Mum wouldn’t notice until it
was too late to tell him to take it off.

He had already cut himself on the
blade and sharpened it six times over the past couple of days, but wearing Da’s
gift didn’t take the edge off his boredom. “C’mon, Sed, we have time for one
spar. Maybe even two.”

Sedrik scowled at him. His
eyelashes were fine copper thread. “Now you want to spar? You been moping
around for two days, not so much as looking at your practice sword, and now you
want to spar?”

True, Andryn hadn’t cared for much
since Da rode away without him, not food, not horses, not swords. Practicing
with Sedrik just wasn’t the same. Andy was so sad and listless yesterday that
Sed set him to shoveling out the stables. All by himself. Even with half the
garrison horses gone, the task had taken him all day. Or maybe it was just that
he had lacked enthusiasm.

“Squires do what they’re told,” Sed
reminded him. Again. “And Her Ladyship told us to wait right here.”

“Well said,” Arvold lauded.
Starched and long-practiced in the art of waiting, the steward stood calmly on
hand with his ledger and stylus tucked in the crook of his arm. “It won’t do to
tear a hole in your knee, m’lord, not on council day.”

Andy sighed and wilted bonelessly
onto the steps of the keep. He lay looking up at the sky. Dark clouds swirled
past, and the tor thundered, but the rest of the sky was flat and blue and
close enough to grab. “What’s taking them so long?” The assembly bells in town
had stopped ringing long ago.

“It’s the way with women,” Sed said
sagely. “Get used to it.”

“Run up and tell ‘em to hurry.”

“Are you crazy? That’s a good way
to get bit.”

Mum eventually emerged from the keep.
“Hurry, Lesha. The councilmen are waiting. Dry your eyes. We’ll talk about it
later.” She shoved a kerchief into Lesha’s hand.

“But,
Mum
—” Lesha’s eyes
were red and puffy again, and not about Da leaving. The two of them had had a
fight about something, and Andy could guess what.

“You have things outside yourself
to concern you today, young lady,” Mum snapped. “Andy, get up! You’re scuffing
your heels. Look, your pants are getting filthy.”

Andy scrambled off the steps and slapped
the dust from his rear. “About time.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get on
your horse.”

Highborns didn’t walk to town, even
though the town hall was right out the gate and across the highway. It was a plain
but stately building with columns out front and tall stained-glass windows and
a steep slate roof. All the town celebrations were held here, but Andy and his
family rarely took part in those. Just popped in and popped out, as Mum
described it. But once every Thyrran month, the noble family held court in the
large, open dance hall and listened to the council’s complaints and plans.

The proceedings usually bored
Andryn to sleep. Cottars fought over sheep or claimed a hedge was growing too
far into another’s field or complained about taxes and tolls. Councilmen angled
for favor and funds. But not today. This was an emergency meeting. The whole
town, it seemed, clustered at the door. People argued and pushed and shoved and
craned their necks for a view inside. Many of the people were strangers, drawn
from the tent city by the river.

When Her Ladyship arrived, they
parted to let her approach the steps and dipped into bows and curtsies. Andryn
waved at the baker’s five kids who he fished with in the deep pools above the
ford. Maybe he could sneak away and catch a fish or two. He bound out of the
saddle, but Mum grabbed him by the scruff before he escaped into the crowd.

“Back, back, back,” Sedrik cried,
waving his arms, exuberant in his duty to clear an ample path for his lady. The
people shouted and pleaded, hoping to have their fears heard, but Andryn
understood not a word, and Mum didn’t bother addressing them. She hustled her
son and daughter inside. Sedrik and Arvold closed the doors.

The crowd inside the hall was better
mannered. The councilors greeted their lady courteously and showed her to the
ornate chair on the dais. The chair was made for Da. It swallowed Mum. She
perched delicately on the edge of the cushion while Lesha and Andryn filled
plainer chairs to her left. Arvold took his place on her right, his stylus at
the ready. A long table below the dais was for the councilors. Townsfolk and
their families occupied the rest of the floor.

Mum raised a hand for quiet and
said, “Thank you for responding to the bells. In light of recent events we
agreed to meet with the town council a few weeks early. Until these crises are
settled, we will continue to meet at least once a week. Everyone will have a
chance to be heard. Councilor Aylburn, you may proceed.”

The presiding spokesman for the
council heaved himself out of his chair, the buttons on the front his doublet
scraping against the table as he rose. Andryn made a game of counting the man’s
chins as he gave his usual dull, windy preamble. Either Aylburn wore a lower
collar today or he had grown a new one. “… in our state of sorrow and fear we
pray that the Mother-Father returns His Lordship to us safely, and the king
with him. As you know, my friends and neighbors, we long for—”

“Yes, certainly, we long for peace,
but may we get to the point?” said a councilor farther along the table. He had
large, hard hands for all his velvet finery. Andy recognized him as a member of
the smith’s guild. “The smoke, Master Aylburn. The smoke seen in the direction
of Haezeldale.” Councilor Aylburn blustered at the interruption, but the rest
of the men and women at the table waved for him to relinquish the floor. The
smith stood in his place. “My lady, we have all heard the rumors. Might the
evil that surrounds Brynduvh have spread farther east? Haezeldale is clearly
under attack. Is Brengarra next?”

“Should we evacuate the town?”
cried a woman standing amid the crowded floor.

Andryn peered around Lesha at his
mother. She held her chin high. Her face didn’t change in the slightest. “I
sent scouts to Haezeldale.”

“Have they returned?”

“I sent them only last night. I
don’t expect word from them until this evening at the earliest. As soon as I
have answers, I will pass them on to you.”

“But should we evacuate?” the woman
persisted, frantic.

“And go where?” Mum asked. “The
people of Athmar, Arwythe, and Brynduvh’s outskirts have all come here.”

“We could go to Gildancove on the
coast.”

“I would advise my people not to
trap themselves against the sea. Until we understand this threat, it is perhaps
best to stay put. Brengarra’s walls are strong—”

“And Athmar’s weren’t?”

Aylburn pounded a gavel. “We’ll
have order. Let Her Ladyship finish.”

Mum dipped her chin toward the
councilor in gratitude, then answered, “His Lordship left dependable swords and
well-trained militia behind for our defense. If the worst happens, we will
close our gates and defend the walls. What else can we do? If you would flee,
flee, but if you cannot see the nature of this danger, how do you know you will
not blunder into worse?”

Andryn prided himself on his vivid
imagination—he saw himself as a tall, strong knight all the time—but even he
had trouble imagining invisible blades cutting people to bits.

The chandler nudged free of his
neighbors and said, “Speaking of outsiders, m’ lady. These militias from other
towns, they’re uncouth, they’re unruly, their dangerous. They broke up the
tavern last night. And yesterday I … caught them with Eddya, my daughter. Two
of them had her cornered behind the shop, and she didn’t look happy about it,
if you catch my meaning.”

“Of course, I do. Was she rescued
before they had their way with her?”

The chandler cleared his throat as
if it were growing too tight to talk. “No. Not according to Eddie.”

“Arvold, take down the names of the
men involved. His Lordship will try them on his return.”

“Will you not have them arrested?”
the chandler demanded.

“If you intend to fill their place
in our defenses, yes.”

The chandler looked stricken and
took a step back again.

“These strangers and refugees are
nothing but trouble, Your Ladyship!” said another. “They will eat us out of our
winter stores.”

Andy snorted and leaned toward his
sister. “Maybe we should send the militias home and tell these crows to defend
themselves with pitchforks.”

“Shh,” Lesha said.

Indeed, his whisper was not as
quiet as he thought. Bethyn swung around wide-eyed, and Councilor Aylburn
coughed out a surprised gasp.

Andy sank back in his chair, teeth
clamped on his lips, face hot as a stone in the sun.

“Unfortunately,” Mum said, “I think
my son has the right of it. If we would be protected, we must endure and make
the best of it. Keep your daughters indoors, and keep those doors barred. If
things get out of hand, I’ll send Captain Nors and the garrison into town to
deal with it.”

From there, the talks digressed to
less interesting matters. The subject of the smoke kept coming up, but Mum had
said her piece and discussions about it starting sounding like squeaking
wheels. When no one else brought forth a matter Mum agreed to address,
Councilor Aylburn dismissed the court.

“Can I go fishing now, Mum?” Andy
asked while the people shuffled from the hall.

“Not in those clothes. You’ll have
to wait.”

Andy groaned and plopped back down
in his chair. “I’ll bet Da isn’t waiting on stupid meetings.”

“No, he’s likely waiting while his
people cross the river,” Mum snapped. “Imagine how impatient he must feel,
wondering if the king is alive or dead and unable to find out this very
instant. Just sit there while I talk with Master Aylburn, will you? It won’t
take long.”

It felt like it took forever. His
toes went numb in the meantime. He squiggled them around, stood up and stomped
about, but feeling remained in only half of them. He sank down into Mum’s chair,
which was more comfortable than his, and curling up on velvet cushions, he imagined
Da cutting his way through a hundred inept Aralorri soldiers to rescue the
king. It wasn’t Haldred at his side, but Andy himself. Together they bashed
down a thick oaken door, and the White Falcon was so grateful that he awarded
Andy with a real sword.

He woke to his sister’s whine. “Can’t
we talk about it now?”

Mum let out a sound of annoyance. “Dearest,
your father is right to question this young man’s motives.” Ha, Andy knew it.
They had been fighting about boys. He had half a mind to jump up and run back
to the keep before he gagged all over his sister, but Mum had an arm a mile
long. She would catch him and make him stay put, so he didn’t bother.

Most of the councilors had gone.
Only a few lingered, whispering like spiders. Arvold stacked papers and jotted
down notes. Sed must have received Her Ladyship’s gracious permission to go
outside and ready the horses.

“His only motive is that he likes
me,” Lesha insisted.

Andy put his fingers in his ears.
Their voices came through loud and clear anyway.

“I hope you’re right. You’re beautiful,
talented, sweet-natured, and he would be a fool not to like you. But you cannot
afford to play the blind innocent, Lesha. A bastard stands no chance of
inheritance, and you, as the oldest of House Brengarra, will make a tempting
target for greedy men. Even
charming
greedy men. We must be cautious.”

“Brengarra will go to Andy,
anyway.”

Yes, yes, that’s why Mum and Da
insisted he attend all these painfully dull meetings. Blah, blah, blah. He just
wanted to be a knight riding the countryside and fighting sheep thieves. But he
was destined to be a peacetime lord, or so Mum said, while Jaedren got to do
the fighting. It wasn’t fair.

Mum lowered her voice. “If it does,
where will you be?” Andy’s ears perked. If? What did that mean? Did she want
Jaedren to have the holding instead? Jaedren never got sick. “This is exactly
what I’m talking about, Lesha. Don’t you see? A man who can’t provide a good
situation for you is not worthy of you.”

“That’s nonsense, Mum. We’ll live here,
of course. Andy wouldn’t cast us out.”

“Andy, the little brother you call
‘pansy’ and ‘rat’? Hnh, I’d start kissing some arse if I were you. For
starters, go wake him up. Sweetly.”

Mum and Arvold drifted out the
door, discussing the steward’s notes as they went. Lesha climbed the steps to
shake Andy’s shoulder, but he sat up and glowered at her.

She stopped, startled. “How much
did you hear?”

He shrugged glumly and limped down
the steps. His toes throbbed.

Lesha kept pace. “Look, I won’t
call you a pansy anymore.”

Was that her idea of a sincere apology?
He never got the chance to ask her. He heard something like a parade of
children beating on pots and pans, far away. Screams rather than laughter
followed. “A fight!” he shouted and darted outside.