The Firelord's Crown

Wanderer

Airen

Inside the husk of a once-fine house Falath stamped his feet and dislodged a layer of snow from cloak and boot. The shrill wind stopped as though hacked through with a cleaver and he stood a moment, while his ears adjusted. When the snow drifted down in earnest, Markis suggested they might finish their mead in more hospitable surroundings and he was quick to agree. The pain that seared his forearm earlier had faded with medication and he no longer feared to betray his weakness.

Markis coughed discreetly and Falath moved aside. The archer took his cloak then handed him a square of cloth to towel his hair. Falath rubbed at it half-heartedly and continued to drink with his other hand. He spotted Joreb and raised his cup in greeting then wandered across to the fire. He scanned the hall for his cousin but could not see him among the small groups talking softly together or sharing the occasional laugh. Falath felt a fleeting regret that he could not share their warm companionship.

Jano protested when ejected from his seat until he saw whose face the flames illumined. Then he broke out into a broad grin.

"Markis said a soft-bellied palace-dweller wouldn’t last long out in the cold, my lord," he chirped. The archer aimed a cuff at his ear but he dodged it with the ease of much practice, still grinning.

"Markis is very perceptive," Falath replied and lowered himself onto the barely-adequate stool. "Now, make yourself useful. Try to find Lord Rollo for me and refill this while you’re about it."

Jano accepted the cup with a courtly bow and disappeared into the dark beyond.

Falath settled himself and stifled yet another yawn. The mellow warmth was soothing. He scooped up a twig from the floor and twirled it whilst he looked about him. The low-raftered hall had survived the fire better than most but there were still plenty of draughts to set the hearth-flames dancing.

Leather creaked by his side and he looked up, expecting either Jano or his cousin, but it was Joreb who squatted down next to him. The commander shivered and held out his hands to the fire.

"What news?" Falath asked.

"Not good," came the curt reply. Joreb retreated from the heat. "Little more to know than when we arrived, though perhaps Nar Michal will have something for us when he returns."

"What happened here?"

Joreb breathed out long and slow.

"I’m not sure. It could be a local feud, quittance for too high tolls, but I doubt it. This has the smell of Ormbrand or, leastways, that demon's whelp of his. I guess Malglint and his cursed horse thieves came to collect a benevolence late yesterday but found the villagers already fled to the forest. When the rebels were greeted by empty hovels they likely burned the lot in retribution." He slapped his thigh. "Ach, that bloody rebel begins to over-reach himself. He’ll alienate the very people he seeks to 'liberate'."

A water warbler screeched from the scant cover of the reed-beds and Falath shivered at the ill-omened sound.

"Shouldn’t we start back for Syranym before the weather breaks completely?" he asked. The other nodded.

"Aye, perhaps we should. I didn’t anticipate such a sudden shift. We’ll set out as soon as Nar Michal returns or we could end up marooned here till Springthaw! I hoped to make contact with the villagers, to establish the truth of the matter, but that can wait. Right now your safety is of more consequence than Gavill's clamouring for compensation. Make the most of the warmth, Highness, the ride back will be a cold one. Now, lad, stop hovering and come closer. I’ve already eaten today."