Scion of Cyador

CVII

In the full light of a late afternoon in midsummer, Lorn unlocks the iron gate to the dwelling, steps inside, and locks it behind him. Once inside, he pauses to blot his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he steps around the privacy hedge and starts toward the cooling spray of the fountain, already savoring the cooler air inside the walls that surround the garden.

Sssssssss!!! Two white objects flutter out of the shade to his right. Lorn staggers as a dull blow slams into his right thigh. Something else jabs at his left calf.

His sabre is in his hand before he realizes the attackers are two large grayish white geese. He steps back, using the flat of the blade to blunt the jabbing beaks, although the cacophony of hisses and squawklike noises continues as he edges around the big birds and toward the veranda, and as the geese pursue him with darting bills and an occasional blow from a cocked wing.

He laughs as he climbs the steps onto the polished tiles under the veranda roof and turns to see Ryalth emerging from the foyer, also laughing.

“Dearest! How do you like our guards?” Ryalth straightens up, still laughing as she speaks.

“I doubt any will enter the house without their presence being well and fully announced.”

“We will have to pen them, I fear, when we have company for dinner.”

“That might be wise.” Lorn glances back at the two hissing birds, who remain on the walk, their small eyes fixed on him.

“I’d like you to meet Pheryk.” The redhead turns to the figure who has followed her.

A muscular man with iron-gray hair and a short square beard stands just beyond the door to the foyer under the roof of the veranda. Behind him is a slender white-haired woman, who continues to smile.

“Most would have run or slashed up the geese,” Pheryk observes with a smile on his mouth and in the dark brown eyes.

“I was surprised,” Lorn admits. “I didn’t expect the geese so soon.”

“You told me that sooner was better,” Ryalth points out.

“Indeed I did.” Lorn laughs once more.

Ryalth turns to the white-haired woman. “This is Ghrety. She’s Pheryk’s consort.”

“We’re most pleased that we can be of service,” Ghrety says, bowing. “Never thought that little Ryalth would ever be a mighty trader lady.”

“I take it that you’ve known Ghrety before.” Lorn looks to his consort.

“Of course, dear. She was my nursemaid’s sister, and I knew she’d consorted with a Mirror Lancer. Actually, that was how I found Kysia to begin with, because Ghrety recommended her. Kysia’s Pheryk’s cousin.”

Lorn nods. Ryalth will not bring anyone into the household whom she cannot trust. “I’m am glad you are both here. I am sure Ryalth has already told you of my concerns.”

“Yes, ser.” Pheryk smiles. “Be good for us, as well. For now, young Phelyt and his consort can have our place without the old folk to worry about, and we’ll have the pleasure of a young one about-and folk who need what we do.”

“Young Kerial-he’ll be needing clothes, too,” adds Ghrety.

“All the time,” Ryalth says. “He’s growing so fast.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Not that I’d be meaning to put sweetsap in your mouth, ser,” offers Pheryk, “but when word got round about what you did to the barbarians, many were the plain lancers who cheered under their breath. More of that been done years back, never would we have had the troubles of the past years.”

“That’s what I thought,” Lorn says. “I was fortunate enough to be where I could do something about it.”

Pheryk smiles. “Once, ser, that be a happy accident. Twice be not.”

Lorn shrugs. “Best I still claim fortune and such in Cyad.”

“Aye.” The gray-bearded man nods. “That I understand.”

Lorn glances back at the geese, who have reduced their clamor to an occasional hiss, and half smiles, before turning to his consort. “Have you all any more surprises for me?”

“Well…we now have iron bolts, and Pheryk has put them in place on most of the doors.”

“My da-he was a journeyman cabinet-maker, and I learned a thing or two before I joined the lancers,” explains the gray-haired veteran. “Be a shame to scar the doors more than you must.”

Lorn nods. Once more, Ryalth has done far better than he could have.