Wren (The Romany Epistles) (8 page)

The shopkeeper studied me for a moment before adding. “I
keep telling Tourth that if he openly makes his claim, he will find more
support among the residents of this valley than the enforcer. Besides, if he
takes his father’s title, the enforcer’s presence will be redundant. His place
is to keep order in this valley in absence of a governing lord.”

I mulled this new information as Roulf tied the mouth of the
bag. He handed me the strings with a warning. “If Tourth does declare himself,
he is going to need more than just his current band to keep him alive. You can
be sure the enforcer will try everything in his power to see that Tourth dies
before his claim can be legalized by Orac.”

“Thank you for the provisions.” I held out the money Tourth
had given me.

“I will not take it.” Roulf pushed my hand away gently. “All
of that is worth far less than the cask of ale you saved me tonight and the
peace I will most likely have for the next two weeks.” He smiled. “I will
encourage the mystery of the ghost of Pavron Alley and perhaps I shall have
peace even longer.”

“I wish you well.” I bowed and exited, waiting until I heard
the bolt settle before I slipped off into the darkness. My arms were heavy with
goods and my mind heavy with information.

~~~~~

While I waited for Wren’s return, I retreated to the ruins
of the lookout tower. At least none of the others would dare bother me there.
It was my haven, the one place that I made it clear I wanted to never be
interrupted. Perched high among the ragged, scarred stone parapet points still
standing, I almost felt as free as one of Wren’s falcons. On some nights the
wind would blow, gusting and filling my ears with a roar that blocked out all
other sounds. Up there I could gaze out over my little plot of ground, the only
place I still could call mine, and pretend my parents still lived.

Staring out on the darkness, I asked Deus the question I had
been repeating since I returned to find my parents gone beyond my reach, my
sister grieving, and my people needing more from me than I could give.
Deus,
what should I do?
I leaned my forehead against the cold stone. I breathed
deeply of the ancient smells of earth and damp.

The desire to follow Deus’ will burned in my soul. That same
desire led me to leave years ago to fight for my king. When the battle took all
I had, I returned home to even more destruction and devastation. Despite the
evidence in the world to the contrary, I knew that Deus was merciful and
loving. The training engrained into my memory, actions, and thoughts from youth
reassured me that He was, but I often struggled with that fact in the harsh
reality of the right now. It was hard to see the big picture and overarching
plan when the details hurt so much. Just when I thought I found peace, the past
would intrude into the present and the future would demand change. I
concentrated on the cold seeping into my body, cooling my anger-fevered skin.

Please show me the way, Father. For right now I am blind and
liable to walk into a ditch and kill us all.

A small whirlwind of flapping wings brought my attention to
the wooden framing next to me just in time to see a rather large bird alight.
Straightening her feathers, the dark-pigmented female falcon coldly fixed an
eye on me. Even in the darkness and dim moonlight, I could catch the
intelligent glint in its gaze. I remained completely still. After switching
eyes and shifting its weight a few times, it appeared to deem me harmless and
began preening its feathers.

“She likes you.” Wren’s words slipped through the night as
though they belonged there. I turned my head to find her sitting cross-legged
on top of the parapet across from me. The bird’s head turned and she regarded
Wren with first one eye and then the other. The falcon made a sound in greeting
and returned to her preening.

“She does?”

She nodded. “Volante doesn’t take to people she doesn’t
know. The fact she was comfortable enough to let you out of her sight to preen
is a sign of trust.”

I peered into the darkness at Wren. Her head was angled so
she could see both me and the bird, the moonlight at her back, caressing her
shoulders, outlining the angle of her cheek and hiding her expression. She used
all the habits of a woman who knew how to hide in plain sight.

“How is Roulf?”

“Well, as far as I could assess. I helped him with some
unwelcome company and in return he wishes to immortalize me as the Ghost of
Pavron Alley.”

I smiled. “That sounds like Roulf.”

“He also told me to give this back,” she said, holding out
the small bag of coins I gave her earlier. Once I focused on them, she tossed
them to me. “He also sent a warning. There are rumors that you are in the
valley. He predicts it is only a matter of time before the enforcer comes to
search this ruin to disprove the rumors.”

My chest tightened as I lowered my head, hiding my face from
her view.

Volante made a noise. With a swift bat of her wings, she was
airborne, flinging her small body at the woman, claws first. Wren raised her
arm, sheathed in a leather sleeve. Sharp talons caught the material and the
bird came to perch, razor beak inches from the smooth, moonlit outline of
Wren’s face. The bird then shifted her weight, lifting a leg up, offering a
small message tube.

“Impatient to deliver her message,” Wren commented as she
accepted the gift and the bird retreated to the edge. Then with a final head
bob my way, Volante was gone.

“Oh, that life was as simple as hers,” I whispered.

“It isn’t simple. Hers is a complicated journey every day,
seeking out my siblings, and returning. Falcons are not as welcome other places
as they are here. In many lands, they become prizes to capture or kill.”

“How many siblings?”

“Eight other than myself.” She tucked the message deep into
a pocket.

“Who was that from?”

“An elder brother, most likely. So, what do you plan to do
about the enforcer?”

I lowered my head and shrugged. “Pray and hope the Lord will
reveal a way for us to take.”

When I finally did look up, she studied my face. Although I
couldn’t see her eyes on me, I could feel their steady scrutiny. “I will pray
as well,” she replied. Then in one fluid motion she rose to her feet.
Unaffected by the sheer drop three stories to the cobbled courtyard below, she
stepped from stone to stone to the rickety stairs and disappeared down them.

How does she figure in all of this, Deus? She has come out
of nowhere like an answer to prayer, but which prayer? I lowered my head again,
rubbing my scalp with my fingertips. Please give us a clear indication soon.

Two weeks passed without event. Then the rain came. It
started with a few drops, catching the nose and cheeks, speckling the dust with
dark splotches. We raced to get the last of the grain from the fields as we
prayed that the Lord would hold it off a few hours longer. In His grace, He
did.

With the last of the grain under a tarp in the wagon behind
us, we stood just inside Farmer Hanor’s barn and watched the overburdened skies
unleash their load in a torrent.

“Praise the Lord, we made it,” Arthus murmured, his voice
only slightly louder than the pounding of the rain.

“Aye,” Svhen agreed.

“We are still going to have to walk home in it,” Dardon
pointed out with a grimace. “I wasn’t planning on a drenching or I would have
brought my cloak.” None of us brought our cloaks. The walk home promised to be
wet and cold.

“So, what is next?” I asked Tourth, who leaned against the
door jam at my left and stared moodily into the downpour. Even as the words
fell from my lips, a lone rider appeared on the lane to the homestead.

“Who is it?” Dardon asked.

Svhen answered, “He wears the livery of the enforcer.”

Within moments, the four men disappeared without a sound.
Svhen melted into the shadows beyond one of the stall walls; Arthus slipped
into the wagon, beneath the grain; Dardon swung up into the overhead loft; and
Tourth slipped out the back exit that opened into the paddock. I was left
standing, hay fork in hand, in the overly wide doorway when the stranger
approached and dismounted to bring his horse out of the weather.

“Pardon miss, where might I–” He paused upon studying on my
face. “You were the maid wearing trousers.”

I lowered my head and curtseyed clumsily. “Aye, sir. How
might I help you?”

“You are a pretty one,” he commented studying my lowered
head. There was no malice in his tone. “Your brother shouldn’t let you roam out
alone. You might catch the enforcer’s eye.”

I curtseyed again. “I will tell him, sir. Do you seek anyone
in particular?”

“I do. Is this the land of Farmer Hanor? I need to speak to
him on a matter of great urgency.”

“Farmer Hanor is not at hand, but his wife is within the
house.” I pointed to the building across the yard. “Do you wish for me to seek
her?”

“No, I will.” He threw his horse’s reins around the nearest
post and knotted them. “Thank you for your help.”

I nodded, not meeting his eyes and busied myself with
unloading the last of the hay from the wagon while he walked away. When I
thought he was far enough to no longer hear, I gently poked Arthus’ hiding
place. “You should leave before he returns.”

He rolled out of the hay, wisps clinging to his hair, to
frown up at me. “Are you sure you will be fine?”

“Of course she will,” Dardon commented, jumping down from
the loft. “Have you seen what she can do with a knife?” I demonstrated a small
sampling of my skills for him the week before.

“No. But regardless, she shouldn’t be left alone.”

Svhen hurdled the stall wall with surprising ease for a man
so large. “Tyron is a good man,” he commented with a nod toward where the man
had disappeared. “He won’t molest her. Besides it will appear suspicious if she
isn’t here when he returns.”

Arthus frowned at Svhen. “That was Tyron?”

Dardon looked from one to the other. “You know him?”

Svhen shrugged. “Have to get news somehow. He doesn’t like
his master.”

“Svhen encountered him on the edge of Ruther’s property a
few days ago. They struck up a mutual appreciation,” Arthus explained.

“A possible ally?” Dardon asked.

Svhen shrugged again.

“You should tell Tourth about him.”

“Already did,” Svhen replied and sauntered toward the
paddock door.

As he disappeared outside, Dardon grimaced after him.
“Sometimes I cannot comprehend that man.”

“Not everyone tells you everything, Dardon,” Arthus pointed
out before turning to me and studying my face. “Are you sure you will be safe?”

I smiled at his concern. “I have been taking care of myself
for years. I am certain I can deal with Tyron should he try anything
inappropriate. I will see you later.”

“Hurry up, Arthus,” Dardon complained. “He is going to come
back any minute.”

The two of them followed Svhen and I turned back to the hay.
Roughly an hour and a half later, the man Svhen called Tyron returned walking
through the rain as though it wasn’t even there. He shook off his heavy cloak
upon reaching the shelter of the barn.

“Mistress Hanor says I should speak to you.”

I stopped my work, and turned to him with raised eyebrows.
He was a quiet-looking man about the age I placed Tourth at. “Why did she say
that?”

“I have news that she believes you should know.”

He met my gaze evenly with dark hazel eyes. There was no
cruelty in their expression or in the lines of his face, only a weary honesty
tested by circumstances beyond his control. I turned back to my work, heaving
the pitching fork under another load of hay. “And that would be?”

Accepting that I was not going to volunteer anything, he
spoke his piece. “The enforcer is planning on hosting a celebration, an
anniversary celebration of the rise of King Orac to the throne. He has hopes
that the King himself will attend. In preparation, he demands the eastern wall
of his fortress be completely replaced in stone before the festivities. To do
so, he is pressing every able-bodied man his men can find into work. Every
able-bodied man,” he said, accenting the last words heavily. “Mistress Hanor
said your brother needed to know this.”

I didn’t immediately reply. My thoughts were with the men
who had just left me. “How soon is this new order effective?”

“Immediately.”

I nodded as I hurled another load of hay upward into the
lift that would bring it into the loft. “I will see that my brother hears of
it, sir. Thank you.”

“Wish your brother well for me,” Tyron said as he untied his
horse. “And don’t forget what I said about you being about on your own. The
enforcer is always seeking pretty maids to share his bed or entertain his men.
I wouldn’t want you to end up there.”

I glanced his way as he mounted, but he wasn’t watching me
anymore. I laid my fork in the corner as the horse and rider rounded the bend
in the lane. Now I needed to get home and find Tourth. He was going to have to
decide on a course of action soon.

~~~~~

I had to do something. No more harvests gave me an excuse to
stall. I still possessed no idea what to decide, though. I had mulled and
prayed the past two weeks almost constantly. My mind retraced the familiar
arguments. I counted the options as the water coursed down my face.

I could pack up everyone and leave. We owned little to live
on and even less to take with us, but we could seek a better place to settle in
another valley. However, something within me couldn’t bear the thought of
leaving. Despite the fact it was a fraction of what my childhood home had been,
it was still my home. The place I envisioned coming home to every night and
where I wanted to be.