Taniel (The Taverner's Daughter I)

95: Hanrey

Hanrey breathed easier, now, with some miles between him and Skerby. He urged Jess to the side of the road before swinging awkwardly out of the saddle. He led the chestnut mare into the trees, the reins looped over the saddle-horn.

His big hands kneaded his lower back. He relieved himself, returning to check the straps and bindings on both horse and baggage.

His eyes lingered on the bump in the bedroll. If the need be great enough, Cissie had said. How had he forgotten? All those years, the door-ball had sat there with the baldric. How had he overlooked this link with his wife? He sighed, knowing, full well, the why.

Memory did not like staring inside a tankard too long.

For nothing less than death, Cissie had reminded him before she went. Like everything else, that Cissie had left him, the personal portal catered for Taniel's need - not his. It was little wonder he sometimes mused that his part in his daughter's procreation might merely be a means to an end.

Seriously, though, he thought, what of the things he had done, for Cissie; the people killed. From the start, had she known the potential for his children? He thought she had believed he was but a simple soldier who wanted no part of the old world.

Without his input, would the prophecy have faltered?

Hanrey stumbled, his back coming up against a tree trunk. Mouth agape, he wondered if she had manipulated him from the beginning. The sheathed sword dug into his back, mocking him. He yanked it from its harness, dropped it to the ground, and knelt by it.

Tears dribbled down his face as he rocked, keening softly, sure now that he had been feeding the damned prophecy from the moment Cissie had dragged him through the travl-ring.

He had helped her bring the sword out of Aislenfell, thinking she truly believed it was only used for ceremonial binding rites. He had recognised the sword from the moment he had handled it. Had Cissie always intended him to use the sword for its true purpose?

"No, no, no," he cried, leaping to his feet.

He pulled the letter from his jacket pocket.

He split the green wax seal.

Cissie's handwriting rippled and swayed. Hanrey let the bundled pages fall, unable to read though his heartbreak. He walked to Jess, his breathing ragged.

He did not need to know Cissie's words, anyway.

Hanrey swiped his hand over his mouth. There was logic in accepting the ancient enhancements, for then he would be better able to keep Taniel away from those wanting to use her.

Jess snorted and nuzzled the back of his neck.

Blindly, he fumbled in the saddlebag for his flask. Getting his wife back was nothing but a futile dream - he saw that now. He flipped back the stopper.

"No more. I'm done with it," he muttered, turning abruptly to Cissie's letter. Taniel did not need her mother's guidance.

He emptied the flask over the scattered pages. Striking a match on his boot, he flicked the flare at the sodden paper. Blue and orange flames kindled, greedily consuming the unread words. Tongues of fire licked at the leaf litter.

Hanrey drubbed the errant flames.

He ground the wax-flecked ash into the dirt.

Deep in thought, Hanrey unsaddled Jess and rubbed her down. They would rest awhile before taking to the road again. There was only one person he trusted to be Taniel's guardian – himself.

He could be the best Keeper ever known in Corrangorach or the Old World.

Hanrey scratched his head and squeezed his jaw. He must not let his loathing of the dragon-touched keep him from the path he must take. He shuddered.

He must do it for Taniel.

***

8 April 2017 - replaced with the revised (shorter) scene - left out magic to build suspense

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