The Claw, Ceristen Series #3

Chapter 1

"It is burnt," declared Isabelle Thorne loudly.

"I don't see that there was anything wrong with my porridge, Isabelle." Sandy tossed her long, fair plait defiantly over her shoulder and bent over the hearth again. "It may flavour of smoke, but that's naught to a real hungry stomach."

"Well, I should think I know the difference between my porridge and another's," retorted Isabelle.

Sandy glanced up, her cheeks red from both heat and temper. "Indeed? Well, if I've burned the porridge one day out of the fifty others I've made it, I shouldn't think anyone has cause to complain about it!"

"Girls," said Daren mildly, but with audible rebuke.

Fred rose and beckoned to him. "Come, Daren; we must be making for the castle. Fare well, sisters, till this evening."

"Very well." Isabelle stood up sharply. "We must get the dishes cleared away. Sandy, don't forget you've got to mend that shawl of yours today. Cecelia, would you sweep the floor? It's quite filthy. And goodness, Gwenda, go see what's the knocking at the door! And who's calling at this this hour of the morning..."

Gwenda slid down from the bench and pulled the heavy door open, shrinking back from the tall cloaked figure who stood on the threshold. The scarlet badge of a mail courier made a gleam of colour in the sober study of the sunless morning.

"My land!" gasped Isabelle, paling. "No glad tidings ever came by letter."

The mail courier cast a contemptuous glance around the room. "I have heard this is the house of Frederick Thorne. Is he within?"

"I am Fred Thorne, sir," answered Fred, stepping forward, puzzlement and worry flickering over his face. The courier handed him a letter bound to a neatly tied parcel, wheeled, and yanked the door ungraciously shut.

"Open it up, Fred," said Isabelle, coming anxiously to look over his shoulder. "Why – why, 'tis addressed to Brick Thorne, not Frederick! What can it mean?"

Fred broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

My dearest brother,

How astonished was I to hear rumour of your presence in the east! Truly, I believed that my brother would never leave that wretched land that he had so obstinately resolved to inhabit – and foolishly as well I might add – but let us not dwell on the past.

No doubt you wonder how I heard tidings of you at all, but Berda the fur trader is a dealer in many places, and some time after his visit to your own village of habitation he came to my doorstep, where he passed the night, as we are old acquaintances. And then he told me that in that small hamlet of Ceristen, he had heard tidings of a family called Thorne! My dear brother, I could scarce believe my ears when I heard it.

But now to the point of the matter: I am delighted to have traced you, my brother, delighted beyond words. And as we are now so close to one another – for I still reside in Delgrass where you must recall we parted, in the same village of Cobren – you cannot object, dear brother, to journeying down the river Dirion for a joyous reunion between myself and your own family. Bring them all, for I long greatly to see your fair wife and all your offspring! I have included all that should be necessary for travel expenses, that your purse may not be inconvenienced by our happy meeting.