Blackveil
Page 24
The man across from her, older, weatherworn, his hair faded to a creamy white, gazed mournfully at his queen and pair of ships.
“No need to gloat,” he said.
A pile of chestnuts sat in the middle of the table and Laren drew them all toward herself. A few rolled off onto the dirt floor. “Mine! All mine!”
“I guess that’s it, then,” the man said. “I’m all out.”
“You are?” When Laren looked, she saw he hadn’t a single chestnut left.
“You’d have thought I’d learned not to gamble with you years ago.”
“What do you say we roast the loot then?” Laren asked.
Elgin Foxsmith, retired Chief Rider of the Green Riders—the first Laren ever served under—collected the chestnuts and dumped them into a pan and placed them before the hearth. He threw another log on the fire and limped back to his seat at the table.
Two horses and a donkey watched the proceedings in the dim, one-room cabin through a window cut into the wall of the adjoining stable. One horse was Laren’s gelding, Bluebird, and the other, Elgin’s mare, Killdeer. Killdeer was getting on in years, her sweet face looking grayer than ever, and Laren worried how Elgin would cope when the time came for her to pass on. He lived a solitary life out here in the woods, claiming he’d had enough of all kinds of people during his stint in the messenger service to last a lifetime.
She worried about him all alone out here, especially with the harsh winter they’d had, so she made a point of visiting him as often as she could, bringing him news, preserves, books, blankets—anything she thought he might need. He was nearly self-sufficient, keeping a garden, a milk cow, sheep, and some chickens. Hunting and fishing rounded out his larder.
And while reclusive, he wasn’t entirely a hermit. He made periodic trips to the village to acquire goods, like fodder and grain. Still, he wasn’t getting any younger, and Laren did not know how much longer he could handle this rugged life on his own.
A bang-clatter in the stable made Laren jump.
“Bucket!” Elgin shouted. “Enough!”
Bucket was the donkey, and Killdeer’s companion. He had a habit of banging his food bucket around, hence his name. He was, Elgin claimed, not much good for anything, but Killdeer liked him so he remained. Laren knew that without Bucket, the garden would not be tilled, wood would not be hauled in, and items couldn’t be carted in from the village.
“So, Laren said, “have you considered my offer?” This time, she came not only to check on Elgin’s welfare, but to present him with a proposition.
Elgin grumbled something, then passed his hands through his hair. “Don’t think I can go back there, Red. Besides, my brooch abandoned me a long time ago.”
“Unless I’m mistaken, your knowledge and experience have not.”
“All those people crammed into one place,” he muttered. “And who would look after the girls? I can’t just leave them.”
Elgin referred to his chickens and the cow. “I don’t know,” Laren said, “but there are ways, it seems to me. And if you don’t like the work or being back at the castle, you could leave anytime.”
“And what about your current Chief Rider, eh? Can’t she handle the job?”
“Mara is a wonderful Chief Rider.”
“See? You don’t need me. Besides, I wouldn’t want to step on her toes.”
“You wouldn’t. Our numbers have more than doubled over the last year. Mara has only just recovered from terrible wounds, and while the winter has kept our senior Riders close to home and helping with training, spring is nearing and soon Zachary will have them off on errands.”
The cabin shuddered in a gust of wind as if to counter her words.
“Heh, hard to think of the prince a man full-grown, and getting married, too,” Elgin said.
“King,” Laren reminded him. “King Zachary.”
“Er, right. Just a lad when I last saw him.” Elgin had served Zachary’s grandmother, Queen Isen. He sighed. “Look, I appreciate you thinking of me, Red, but too much time has passed. I don’t know how things work up there at the castle anymore. I’d be no better than a green Greenie myself. Besides, I’ve no mind to be scraping and bowing to all the gentry. All those people! I’m my own man here.”
Laren folded her hands on the table before her. They were roughened and calloused, and nicked with scars. They looked old to her. Just as old as she sometimes felt, especially when she got up in the morning all aching and stiff. She could appreciate Elgin’s desire to stick to his life out here in the cabin—no need to adapt to the expectations of others, which, she thought, was all she’d ever done. She couldn’t remember a time when there weren’t orders to follow, or to issue. Her life was not her own, yet she did not resent it, for the messenger service gave her purpose.
Elgin was well beyond her in years, but she was now older than he was when he retired. In fact, most Riders left the messenger service within four or five years, if they were not killed doing their duty first. But the calling still clung to her as strongly as it had when she first came to the service some twenty years or more ago. It appeared there was work for her yet to do, so long as she was not cut down in the process.
“There is another reason I request that you come to assist in the training of the new Riders,” she said. “The king is preparing—quietly, mind you—for conflict. He does not know when or how, but he wishes to be prepared.”
“No need to gloat,” he said.
A pile of chestnuts sat in the middle of the table and Laren drew them all toward herself. A few rolled off onto the dirt floor. “Mine! All mine!”
“I guess that’s it, then,” the man said. “I’m all out.”
“You are?” When Laren looked, she saw he hadn’t a single chestnut left.
“You’d have thought I’d learned not to gamble with you years ago.”
“What do you say we roast the loot then?” Laren asked.
Elgin Foxsmith, retired Chief Rider of the Green Riders—the first Laren ever served under—collected the chestnuts and dumped them into a pan and placed them before the hearth. He threw another log on the fire and limped back to his seat at the table.
Two horses and a donkey watched the proceedings in the dim, one-room cabin through a window cut into the wall of the adjoining stable. One horse was Laren’s gelding, Bluebird, and the other, Elgin’s mare, Killdeer. Killdeer was getting on in years, her sweet face looking grayer than ever, and Laren worried how Elgin would cope when the time came for her to pass on. He lived a solitary life out here in the woods, claiming he’d had enough of all kinds of people during his stint in the messenger service to last a lifetime.
She worried about him all alone out here, especially with the harsh winter they’d had, so she made a point of visiting him as often as she could, bringing him news, preserves, books, blankets—anything she thought he might need. He was nearly self-sufficient, keeping a garden, a milk cow, sheep, and some chickens. Hunting and fishing rounded out his larder.
And while reclusive, he wasn’t entirely a hermit. He made periodic trips to the village to acquire goods, like fodder and grain. Still, he wasn’t getting any younger, and Laren did not know how much longer he could handle this rugged life on his own.
A bang-clatter in the stable made Laren jump.
“Bucket!” Elgin shouted. “Enough!”
Bucket was the donkey, and Killdeer’s companion. He had a habit of banging his food bucket around, hence his name. He was, Elgin claimed, not much good for anything, but Killdeer liked him so he remained. Laren knew that without Bucket, the garden would not be tilled, wood would not be hauled in, and items couldn’t be carted in from the village.
“So, Laren said, “have you considered my offer?” This time, she came not only to check on Elgin’s welfare, but to present him with a proposition.
Elgin grumbled something, then passed his hands through his hair. “Don’t think I can go back there, Red. Besides, my brooch abandoned me a long time ago.”
“Unless I’m mistaken, your knowledge and experience have not.”
“All those people crammed into one place,” he muttered. “And who would look after the girls? I can’t just leave them.”
Elgin referred to his chickens and the cow. “I don’t know,” Laren said, “but there are ways, it seems to me. And if you don’t like the work or being back at the castle, you could leave anytime.”
“And what about your current Chief Rider, eh? Can’t she handle the job?”
“Mara is a wonderful Chief Rider.”
“See? You don’t need me. Besides, I wouldn’t want to step on her toes.”
“You wouldn’t. Our numbers have more than doubled over the last year. Mara has only just recovered from terrible wounds, and while the winter has kept our senior Riders close to home and helping with training, spring is nearing and soon Zachary will have them off on errands.”
The cabin shuddered in a gust of wind as if to counter her words.
“Heh, hard to think of the prince a man full-grown, and getting married, too,” Elgin said.
“King,” Laren reminded him. “King Zachary.”
“Er, right. Just a lad when I last saw him.” Elgin had served Zachary’s grandmother, Queen Isen. He sighed. “Look, I appreciate you thinking of me, Red, but too much time has passed. I don’t know how things work up there at the castle anymore. I’d be no better than a green Greenie myself. Besides, I’ve no mind to be scraping and bowing to all the gentry. All those people! I’m my own man here.”
Laren folded her hands on the table before her. They were roughened and calloused, and nicked with scars. They looked old to her. Just as old as she sometimes felt, especially when she got up in the morning all aching and stiff. She could appreciate Elgin’s desire to stick to his life out here in the cabin—no need to adapt to the expectations of others, which, she thought, was all she’d ever done. She couldn’t remember a time when there weren’t orders to follow, or to issue. Her life was not her own, yet she did not resent it, for the messenger service gave her purpose.
Elgin was well beyond her in years, but she was now older than he was when he retired. In fact, most Riders left the messenger service within four or five years, if they were not killed doing their duty first. But the calling still clung to her as strongly as it had when she first came to the service some twenty years or more ago. It appeared there was work for her yet to do, so long as she was not cut down in the process.
“There is another reason I request that you come to assist in the training of the new Riders,” she said. “The king is preparing—quietly, mind you—for conflict. He does not know when or how, but he wishes to be prepared.”
