The Path of the Sword (24 page)

“That would be lovely!” she almost gasped. “Then perhaps a few moments of rest?”

He nodded, relieved that he would be spared the effort of trying not to step on her toes, disappointed at no longer having an excuse to rest his hands on her. He offered her his arm and he led her through the still dancing crowds to a table near the back of the room where they could sit with at least the illusion of privacy.

“I'll be right back,” Jurel said. “Wine?”

“That would be perfect,” Erin replied.

As he walked away, negotiating the various living obstacles toward the long table that served as a bar, he heard her voice call, “Hurry back!” and when he glanced over his shoulder, he caught her coy smile and her gaze from under long eyelashes.

Hurry back.
Now that sounded like a very good idea.

Making haste toward the refreshments, he caught sight of his father, who was smiling mysteriously at him. His eyes were most definitely twinkling with amusement as he raised his cup, saluting his son. Beside him, Galbin threw his head back and even over the near deafening roar of the crowd Jurel heard his booming laughter. His father gestured for Jurel to join them. He altered course with a sigh. He did not want to keep Erin waiting but he could not be rude to his elders, now could he? It would be just a momentary detour anyway. Certainly, his father had no tasks to set him on. Not on New Years.

He turned and caught sight of Erin, her head resting on her hand, gazing at him with a smile and he gestured that he would be but a moment.

“Hello father,” Jurel said as he stepped to the head table. “I haven't seen you all day. How are you?”

With a grunt and a widening smile, Daved regarded his son with a sly expression. “Not so well as you, I'd imagine. So, ah, what have you got there, eh lad?”

“Who? Erin?” Jurel asked as innocently as he could manage. “Why, just spending time with a friend is all.” He tried to sound off-hand, casual, but the heat rising in his face gave him away. As if the dancing and ogling had not. He cursed inwardly; his father would ride him about this, he knew, gibing and jesting until Jurel would want to crawl under the nearest rock, or manure pile.

Galbin laughed and leered. “A friend you say?” the big man asked then transferred his look to Daved. “You know, Ingirt and I used to look at each other like that. As friends. That was, oh, about nine months before Valik was born.”

“Well my son better have more sense than you, you old lecher,” Daved growled though the twinkle remained as strong as ever in his eye and Galbin roared a great guffaw.

Jurel would not have believed that his face could have gotten any hotter but someone seemed to have lit a bonfire in there.

“Do you mind if I go?” he squeaked. And cringed. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “She's waiting for me.”

“Go on lad,” his father said with a good natured chortle. “You mustn't keep a young lady waiting, you know. I won't wait up for you.”

Jurel barely waited for his father to finish before he made good his escape but he was not quick enough to miss his father's words to Galbin.

“I hope the hayloft is well stocked,” Daved said. “I expect some may need the padding before too much longer.”

Trying to quell the raging fire in his head, he finally managed to pour drinks—spilling only some—before making his way back to his seat at Erin's side.

“What was that all about?” she asked before taking a sip of the spiced wine he handed her. “Mmmm, wonderful,” she sighed happily and to Jurel it sounded like a contented purr.

“Oh nothing. I haven't seen my father all day and he wanted to wish us a happy season's greetings.”

Once again, he tried for non-chalance. Once again, his blasted face did not seem to want to cooperate. Eying him over the rim of her cup, Erin smiled.

“Really?” she asked with one beautiful eyebrow raised. “And do you always blush so sweetly when your father greets you?”

He choked on his mouthful of ale, not sure how he should respond, not entirely sure he
should
respond, and felt his face grow hotter. Again. He began to wonder if constant blushing could cause permanent damage.

Her laughter was intoxicating, as sweet as honeyed wine, as magical and bewitching as a siren's call and he could not hold back his own.

“Well, they made some suggestive comments that I would not care to repeat in front of so gentle a lady,” he replied archly.

“Perhaps you should.” She drained the rest of her cup and eyed him in a most uncomfortable yet pleasant manner. “A bit more wine and we may need those suggestions.”

Before he could formulate an answer, even before his mind picked itself up from the belly-flop it had just undergone, he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder with the force of a smith's hammer.

“Hey Jurel,” Darren slurred. “Y'not come see yer friens or what?”

Suppressing a flash of irritation, Jurel turned to look up at his drunk friend.

“Sorry Darren. I got caught up in the party.”

Winking at Erin, Darren said, “I spose you got caught all right.”

Erin laughed. “Oh you're such a souse Darren.”

“Aye that he is,” Trig said, joining them. Wryly, he added, “Sorry if he's bothering you.”

“I am not!”

“It's no bother,” Jurel assured both. “We were just talking. I'm always glad to see friends.”

Darren snickered but it was Trig who spoke. “Sure. Just talking. You hear that Darren? We'll let you...talk...in peace. Alone.” He winked.

Was everyone insane? All that winking and leering was bound to hurt someone.

As he steered Darren away, he cast a strange glance at Jurel. Certainly there was amusement, but there was something else too. Sorrow? As if he had lost something dear to him and could not quite remember where to look for it? He wanted to ask, to get up and follow and talk to the men who had once been his staunchest friends. But Erin held him there, not with any physical contact, but with something more ethereal that was a lot more powerful than shackles.

“What was that all about?” Jurel asked.

“I think maybe they see the same thing your father saw.” Erin's voice was so quiet he barely heard it.

“And what do they see?” Jurel leaned forward, enrapt by those eyes.

“Hopefully, the same thing you're seeing now.”

He felt he could lose himself in those eyes. He felt he could cast away his body and fall into the
light of dawn. He could stay in there forever, never surfacing, breathing in that light. What
had ever made him think that leaving was a good idea? He leaned forward a little more, heard
her breath hitch, causing her to twitch like a skittish doe. She mirrored him, leaning forward and
as her eyes closed, she tilted her head and parted her lips. Heart hammering, he closed his own eyes. He felt a light touch, just the barest graze on his lip. He tasted honey and spices. He tasted wine and something he could not identify, something that was just Erin as her breath tickled, hot and moist on his cheek.

I am never leaving this place
.
I will stay here forever. Stay with her forever. I will stay until-

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Galbin's voice broke in like an intruder.

Jurel jerked back, his eyes snapping open in time to see Erin do likewise. There were blooms of color on her cheeks and her bosom heaved in the most distracting way. They looked at each other, eyes locked in some spell, before she tittered nervously, and broke the trance. As they turned their attention to Galbin, who now stood with his hands above his head waiting for the din to die down, Jurel saw Galbin wink at him. As the gathered crowd slowed, quieted, Jurel tried to do the same to his racing heart which seemed intent on coming through his ribs to flop helplessly about on the floor. His glance happened on his father who stared back with an undecipherable expression, one that looked very similar to the one Trig wore when he had led Darren away, but more intense.

When the din had reduced enough and the only sound remaining was the howling of the wind outside, like a thousand wolves under a full moon, Galbin lowered his hands.

“Hello everyone! I'm glad you all could make it to our little get together-”

“And where else
would
we be?” A voice called out. “This is our bedroom after all!”

Galbin smiled as a ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. “Yes, well, I'm sure most of you will end up sleeping here anyway—on the floors, on the tables.
Under
the tables.”

A cheer went up in the crowd and tankards thunked together all around.

“Anyway!” Galbin called out and the room quieted again. “I don't want to interrupt your revelries for long,” another sly wink at Jurel, “so I will make this quick.” He raised his tankard over his head. “Here's to a fine year past and to a wonderful year ahead. May you all work like mules to make me rich.”

Laughter and cheers mingled with a shouted chorus of
“Here here!”
as once again tankards clattered against each other.

“I also wanted to say-”

He did not get to finish. From outside, there came a great splintering noise as of thunder, a loud cracking that seemed to make even the gale pause and take notice. It was followed by a thud that made the hall shake, a deep shuddering thump that caused bottles and tankards to rattle and clank against each other. Several gasps rose in the crowd and Galbin spun toward the sound as if he thought he could see through the walls to what had caused it.

“What in blazes?” he muttered.

With astonishing speed, he bounded across the hall to the exit. Unlatching the door, he staggered when it flew open, driven by winds and snow that chilled the entire hall within heartbeats, and then he was out the door and gone, with Daved at his heels.

Throwing his overcoat on, he glanced apologetically at Erin.

“Go on Jurel. I'll be here when you get back.” A sly smile stole across her features. “After all, we have an unfinished conversation to get back to.”

He flashed her a tight grin and ran to join his father and Galbin who were already in the teeth of the storm. As he rushed to catch up with them, so too did his whirling thoughts rush to catch up with his emotions. Frustration at being thwarted, at having to stow away the heat that threatened to engulf him, vied with a kind of dazed wonder, a euphoric elation. He had to stay. How could he not? For as long as fate permitted, he would stay on the farm with Erin and explore these new feelings, plumb them like a sailor plumbs the depths of a river. With her, he would be happy, no matter how boring life on the farm could be. He would be happy.

Hours later, he would think bitterly that fate, if there is such a thing, is fickle indeed.

But that would be later. Now, he did not realize he was smiling until Daved broke roughly into his thoughts.

“Stop mooning lad!” he hollered over the shrieking wind. “There'll be time enough for her later.”

Pulling his coat tighter, he nodded and followed the two men as they fought their way through a storm the likes of which he had never before seen. Icy winds numbed his face within a dozen paces and snow driven so hard it hurt turned the night a blurry gray. The ground was already covered with drifts that rose and fell like a stormy sea and the footing was treacherous as they went.

Soon, the source of the ominous sound became apparent. The main barn loomed into view, the snow seeming to part like a curtain, and even in the dim gray light they saw the massive oak tree that had stood beside that barn for as long as the barn had stood, and for centuries more before, laying on the ground, felled like a giant warrior. The roof of the barn had sustained considerable damage: like a desperate death strike, the tree had impaled the roof with one massive limb which still jutted from a gaping hole in the tiles, one ragged, splintered edge rising into the sky, so that the barn looked like some unlucky jouster dying after his opponent's lance found its way through a crack in his armor. Jurel gasped in shock, coughing when snow drove its way into his throat.

“The livestock!” Galbin cried, his words torn away by the wind until only shards were left to reach anyone's ears. “The animals can't survive that exposure!” He spun and barked orders with the efficiency of a drill sergeant though his eyes were a little wild. “Jurel, get the other hands. We need to cover that. Daved, go and see about space in the other barns for the livestock. I'm going into that heap to survey the damage.”

The three men scattered. Jurel ran back the way they had come and stumbled through the door to the hall, pushed by the wind. Panting, he stopped and stared at the faces that watched him expectantly.

“That big oak fell on the main barn. There's a huge hole in the roof and the livestock is exposed to the weather. Galbin needs all of you out there. My father is going to see to the livestock.”

Men were jumping to their feet and donning their coats before his mad gush of words halted, rushing past into the storm like a hive of bees roused to alertness by a threatening invader. A din had arisen again in the hall, but this time there was no joy in it. It was an anxious hum, a fearful murmur.

He found Erin quickly enough and saw the disappointment in her eyes, like a dark cloud passing over the sun. She smiled at him, trying to hide her sadness and blew him a kiss. He inclined his head and ran back into the maelstrom.

A stream of curses viciously delivered by an enraged Galbin greeted him as he entered the main barn, a potent overtone to the manic cacophony the livestock was kicking up. When Jurel reached the bottom of the ladder that led up into the loft, he understood why. The large man stood amid a jumble of broken roofing tiles and cracked timber in the middle of a miniature snow storm under a hole that gaped as black as a predator's maw. The barn creaked alarmingly, groaning as though in mortal pain.

When the sounds of men arriving drew Galbin's attention, he glared down darkly. “Jurel get the horses to the other barn before they kick this one into even more pieces.”

Jurel jumped to comply and more orders were barked, orders to join Jurel in moving the frantic animals, orders to gather the materials necessary to effect repairs, orders to get moving. Everyone jumped to frantic action—it may have been New Year, the one holiday where no one was required to work, but not a soul argued, not a soul grumbled.