The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Areanath

When Areanath made his way down to the kitchens, he wasn't altogether surprised to find his brother already waiting for him.

"There's a horse ready and waiting for you out by the western gate. I thought we could cut through the gardens to get there." Mothlenor's jaw tightened slightly. "Perhaps avoid the market crowds."

Behind him, Cookie stood silently at the oven, her back turned to both of them.

"Alright," Areanath said, casting a quick glance Cookie's way. "I'll follow behind you shortly."

Mothlenor gave him a slow bow, then left without another word.

Areanath waited for his brother's footsteps to fade, then called quietly across the room, "He's gone, Cookie. You can stop hiding in the corner."

Cookie snorted, turning to face him. "I wasn't hiding. I was staying out of the way." She wiped flour from her hands, shaking her head. "That brother of yours always seems so angry. I feel it's best to just make myself as scarce as possible when he comes around."

"It's his loss," Areanath said, giving Cookie a coy smile. "My brother has no idea what kind of pleasant company he's been missing."

Cookie snorted again, a faint blush rising to her already red cheeks. "Get out of here already." She handed him a linen wrapped bundle. Areanath could smell baked apples, and the bundle was warm to the touch. "And take these with you. For the road."

"Thank you, Cookie." He bent and gave her a quick peck on one cheek. "I knew I came down here for a good reason."

"Oh, go on. Shoo!" Cookie flapped her flour dusted apron at him, her whole face faintly red. "And come home safely, you hear? I'll have no one to steal my tarts from me, with you gone."

A hard lump formed in Areanath's throat. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not without his voice betraying the anguish he felt. So he forced a smile and gave Cookie a sly wink before darting out of the kitchen.

It wasn't half the farewell the woman deserved, but it would have to do.

Mothlenor insisted on leaving the hunting dogs in their kennels, arguing that they would be too difficult to control on the trail, and that they could manage well enough without them. "This is a symbolic Hunt, anyway. We could return empty handed, and it would still mark the beginning of the harvest season."

"I suppose," Areanath reluctantly agreed.

The morning was still grey and cool, and from the garden Areanath could hear the bustling from the market square as shops were opened for the day. They walked in silence, Mothlenor taking the lead with his brisk pace, Areanath following more slowly behind, nibbling on an apple tart and taking in the scents of the garden for the last time. Every rose bush they passed reminded him of Nevina. The lump in his throat tightened, and he tucked the half eaten tart back in with the others, appetite gone.

On exiting the garden, Mothlenor led Areanath to a small group of four riders, each on a dark horse. Mothlenor's own stallion, a mean thing with a penchant for biting stable boys, stamped his hooves impatiently nearby.

One of Areanath's favorite horses, a dappled mare that he had known since her birth, stood apart from the rest, her reigns held loosely by a tall, pale skinned man that Areanath didn't recognize. He passed the reigns to Areanath wordlessly, bowing and turning on his heel to head back to the castle.

Areanath watched him as he departed. "Who is that?"

Mothlenor, already in his saddle, cast a glance over his shoulder at the man. "Just another hired hand, I'm sure. Here for the summer, gone by the first snowfall, no doubt."