Darkspur

Chapter 16 - The Test

Milly was in a mood, she had been in a mood for the past three days and with every bump it was steadily getting worse. She and Mother Kell sat in a carriage bouncing alone on an increasing poor quality road, heading for some farm in the middle of nowhere. The trip had started out ok, Milly probing Mother Kell for information about the boy she was about to meet, but that ended abruptly an hour into the journey when Mother Kell realised she was saying far too much for the ears of a nine year old child. So they both took to reading to pass the time, but that was now impossible as the ruts and the pot holes rattled the carriage around so much, the books wouldn't stay in their hands. Milly was sure the wheels would fall off at any minute.

"Everyone ok in there?" the squire Handran said, peered through a small curtained window that was at the front of the carriage. He was sitting with the driver and had been appointed to look after the ladies needs when at the farm.

"Great, Handran," Milly answered, rolling her eyes as they hit another deep hole. "I know I've asked already but are we there yet?"

"We're just coming up on a village now, we're pretty sure it's Chesford this time," he shouted over the clatter of the wheels.

"Heard that before," she said.

"Now, Milly, it's not Handran's fault, is it?" Mother Kell reasoned. "Please sit back and be patient."

She did so just as the carriage took another jolt, cracking her head on the wooden frame that ran along behind the seat.

"Oh, Goddess, I want to get out," she said, putting her head in her hands.

-o-

It had been well over a week since his father had left and Sam went about his chores in the much the same way he was feeling; furiously. He was cleaning out Aindrea's now empty stable, stabbing at the straw and dung with as much force as he could muster and not making a very good job of it. Yestrik, his father's permanent farm hand, stuck his head round the door as he heard a clatter of a bucket being kicked against the wall.

"Still in a temper I see, Master Arborn," he said, rubbing his stubbled chin. "You'd get on much better if you just calmed down a bit."

"I don't want to calm down, Yestrik, I want to be mad forever," the boy replied, thrusting his fork into another pile of horse manure.

Yestrik smirked. "Whatever you say, Sam, forever's a long time though," and he disappeared again.

Sam snatched up the now full bucket and carried it outside into the bright sunshine. As he crossed the yard to the midden there was a creak, then a pop, as the rivets on the bucket handle gave way, spilling it's contents over his feet. Sam lost it, kicking the straw and manure with as much ferocity as possible. He interspersed the kicking with the odd stamp until the mess was spread over the yard, caking his boots and trouser legs. It didn't make him feel any better.

He looked up from the debris as in the distance he heard the noise horses on the road, many horses, accompanied by a carriage. He ran to the gate, the anger gone in a moment as he longed for the sound to be that of his father returning. Looking down the Great West Road he could see four horsemen appearing from the deep shadow of the trees, they were dressed in light chain mail armour and rode at the head of a plain, dark brown coach. He waited for the procession to pass but to his surprise the column turned into his farmyard.

Sam stood back as the coach rattled through the gate, another six riders behind; two, he noticed, were dressed in the same dark leather armour Cass had worn on the day he had left. The coach came to a stop and a young man jumped down from the seat sending up a cloud of dust, he was caked in fine grit, obviously thrown up from the parched road by the two horses in front. He walked over to where Sam still stood by the gate, a broad smile on his dirty face.