First Rider's Call
Page 52
In this case, Zachary found the dispute rather straightforward, and worked out a compromise by which both farmers could use the pasturelands by cooperatively tending their flocks. The farmers were surprised, but not displeased.
As the morning dragged on, a craftsman accused a minor nobleman of shorting payment for a fine knife. The nobleman was quite arrogant, something, in Laren’s experience, that was not uncommon. The more minor the nobleman, it seemed, the more arrogant he was.
Not once did Zachary turn to her. Over the few years he had been king, he had managed to hone his instincts and learn what questions to ask. He listened to his advisors, but had developed a sense of when to heed their advice, and when to dismiss it. From Laren’s perspective, his decisions on each case proved to be just and appropriate.
The next man in line shambled forward with his eyes downcast, nervously twisting his cap. “My name is Vander Smith, Excellency. I come from the county of Aidree in Wayman Province.”
“What do you wish to petition of the king?” Sperren asked.
Vander Smith’s gaze flicked from the castellan to the king before returning to his feet. “I’ve nothing to petition, sir. I’ve come to make a report.”
That caught the king’s attention, and Laren’s, too.
“You see, I am a game warden for Count Gavin Aidree, cousin to Lord-Governor Wayman. He asked me to come speak.” Vander Smith tugged a sealed letter from his pocket and passed it to Sperren.
Sperren cracked the seal and read the letter. “His lordship writes: Please hear the tale my game warden, Vander Smith, has to tell. No matter how strange his statements, I swear on my honor he speaks the truth. By my own hand, Gavin, Count of Aidree.”
Sperren passed the letter to Zachary, who glanced briefly at it before handing it over to Colin Dovekey.
“Please tell us your report, Warden Smith,” Zachary said. “You’ve traveled a long way for this.” Wayman Province was on the southwest border of Sacoridia, with Mirwell Province its neighbor to the north, and L’Petrie Province to the east. The country of Rhovanny sprawled on its western border.
Vander Smith bowed. “Aye, Your Highness. It’s an odd thing to tell.” He wrangled his hat some more and licked his lips. “The count and I were leading a hunting party through the west woods of his forest preserve. A stag was sighted and the count loosed an arrow.” Here Vander Smith paused, his eyes darting from one to the other of them. “The arrow bounced off.”
Colin chuckled. “Come, come, Master Warden. I’ve heard that tale often enough. It’s right there with fish stories, and how the big one got away. The arrow bounces off the stag, and it runs off. The hunters return home without their prize, but of course it has nothing to do with their poor prowess as hunters and marksmen. No, it’s because the deer has a tough hide!” Some within hearing range laughed.
Vander Smith’s expression remained solemn. “No, sir, the arrow bounced off the stag, and it didn’t run away. There were eight of us in the party to verify this, including the count. You see, the stag was turned to stone.”
“Turned to stone?” Laren recognized a hint of doubt in Zachary’s voice. “You are saying this deer was not a statue of some kind?”
“That’s correct, Your Highness.”
“Are you sure about that?” Colin asked.
The warden licked his lips. “The count and I, well, we know every inch of those woods. A right good hunter is the count. There is no statuary in those woods—no reason for it. And if it was something carved by a sculptor, it is the most amazing thing. Accurate to every detail, capturing even the texture of its hide and antlers. What’s more, it wasn’t just the deer.”
Even though Zachary did not request it of her, Laren touched her brooch to affirm the warden’s words. Oddly, her ability did not answer. Before she could wonder about it, Vander Smith continued his story.
“You see, it was a whole grove of trees around the deer. And the birds in the trees. And the flowers and moss.”
Now Zachary turned to her, but she could only shrug. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but returned his attention to the warden, who now held something in each hand. Sperren took the objects with wide eyes, and passed them to Zachary. One object was a pine cone, the other a butterfly, each made of granite. Zachary gazed at them in wonder, then glanced sharply at the warden.
“A whole grove, you say?”
“Aye, Your Highness.”
Zachary passed Colin the pine cone, and handed Laren the butterfly. It was amazing. She held it up before her eyes. Its wings were paper thin—but stone. The delicate object was so lifelike to the smallest detail, she almost expected it to flutter its wings and lift from her fingers. But it did not. It was unnaturally heavy.
Zachary sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Thank you for your fascinating report, Warden Smith. I’d be most appreciative if you and the count maintained your vigil over your lands for any other . . . unusual happenings of this nature, and report them to us.”
The warden, very obviously relieved, bowed. “Aye, Your Highness. It is my honor to serve.”
“May we keep these?” Laren asked, enchanted yet disturbed by the butterfly.
“Certainly, ma’am.”
Warden Smith bowed again, and dismissed, he stepped aside so the next petitioner in line could move forward to seek audience with the king.
Laren beckoned a Green Foot runner to her side and whispered, “Make sure this is put in my quarters.” She passed him the butterfly, and the lad ran off on his errand.
As the morning dragged on, a craftsman accused a minor nobleman of shorting payment for a fine knife. The nobleman was quite arrogant, something, in Laren’s experience, that was not uncommon. The more minor the nobleman, it seemed, the more arrogant he was.
Not once did Zachary turn to her. Over the few years he had been king, he had managed to hone his instincts and learn what questions to ask. He listened to his advisors, but had developed a sense of when to heed their advice, and when to dismiss it. From Laren’s perspective, his decisions on each case proved to be just and appropriate.
The next man in line shambled forward with his eyes downcast, nervously twisting his cap. “My name is Vander Smith, Excellency. I come from the county of Aidree in Wayman Province.”
“What do you wish to petition of the king?” Sperren asked.
Vander Smith’s gaze flicked from the castellan to the king before returning to his feet. “I’ve nothing to petition, sir. I’ve come to make a report.”
That caught the king’s attention, and Laren’s, too.
“You see, I am a game warden for Count Gavin Aidree, cousin to Lord-Governor Wayman. He asked me to come speak.” Vander Smith tugged a sealed letter from his pocket and passed it to Sperren.
Sperren cracked the seal and read the letter. “His lordship writes: Please hear the tale my game warden, Vander Smith, has to tell. No matter how strange his statements, I swear on my honor he speaks the truth. By my own hand, Gavin, Count of Aidree.”
Sperren passed the letter to Zachary, who glanced briefly at it before handing it over to Colin Dovekey.
“Please tell us your report, Warden Smith,” Zachary said. “You’ve traveled a long way for this.” Wayman Province was on the southwest border of Sacoridia, with Mirwell Province its neighbor to the north, and L’Petrie Province to the east. The country of Rhovanny sprawled on its western border.
Vander Smith bowed. “Aye, Your Highness. It’s an odd thing to tell.” He wrangled his hat some more and licked his lips. “The count and I were leading a hunting party through the west woods of his forest preserve. A stag was sighted and the count loosed an arrow.” Here Vander Smith paused, his eyes darting from one to the other of them. “The arrow bounced off.”
Colin chuckled. “Come, come, Master Warden. I’ve heard that tale often enough. It’s right there with fish stories, and how the big one got away. The arrow bounces off the stag, and it runs off. The hunters return home without their prize, but of course it has nothing to do with their poor prowess as hunters and marksmen. No, it’s because the deer has a tough hide!” Some within hearing range laughed.
Vander Smith’s expression remained solemn. “No, sir, the arrow bounced off the stag, and it didn’t run away. There were eight of us in the party to verify this, including the count. You see, the stag was turned to stone.”
“Turned to stone?” Laren recognized a hint of doubt in Zachary’s voice. “You are saying this deer was not a statue of some kind?”
“That’s correct, Your Highness.”
“Are you sure about that?” Colin asked.
The warden licked his lips. “The count and I, well, we know every inch of those woods. A right good hunter is the count. There is no statuary in those woods—no reason for it. And if it was something carved by a sculptor, it is the most amazing thing. Accurate to every detail, capturing even the texture of its hide and antlers. What’s more, it wasn’t just the deer.”
Even though Zachary did not request it of her, Laren touched her brooch to affirm the warden’s words. Oddly, her ability did not answer. Before she could wonder about it, Vander Smith continued his story.
“You see, it was a whole grove of trees around the deer. And the birds in the trees. And the flowers and moss.”
Now Zachary turned to her, but she could only shrug. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but returned his attention to the warden, who now held something in each hand. Sperren took the objects with wide eyes, and passed them to Zachary. One object was a pine cone, the other a butterfly, each made of granite. Zachary gazed at them in wonder, then glanced sharply at the warden.
“A whole grove, you say?”
“Aye, Your Highness.”
Zachary passed Colin the pine cone, and handed Laren the butterfly. It was amazing. She held it up before her eyes. Its wings were paper thin—but stone. The delicate object was so lifelike to the smallest detail, she almost expected it to flutter its wings and lift from her fingers. But it did not. It was unnaturally heavy.
Zachary sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Thank you for your fascinating report, Warden Smith. I’d be most appreciative if you and the count maintained your vigil over your lands for any other . . . unusual happenings of this nature, and report them to us.”
The warden, very obviously relieved, bowed. “Aye, Your Highness. It is my honor to serve.”
“May we keep these?” Laren asked, enchanted yet disturbed by the butterfly.
“Certainly, ma’am.”
Warden Smith bowed again, and dismissed, he stepped aside so the next petitioner in line could move forward to seek audience with the king.
Laren beckoned a Green Foot runner to her side and whispered, “Make sure this is put in my quarters.” She passed him the butterfly, and the lad ran off on his errand.
