Duty: a novel of Rhynan (4 page)

“What?” he demanded.

“Food.”

“Come.”

The door opened and a middle-aged man entered,
limping heavily on his left leg and carrying a tray. Two jugs swung
on hooks on his belt. He paused long enough to close the door
tightly behind him. Then he crossed to the table, managing his limp
with the ease of practice.

Irvaine didn’t even glance his way. Instead he
proceeded to open the log. He scanned the surface of the table and
groaned. “Where did the letter go?”

“I moved it, my lord.”

“What?” Irvaine straightened and dropped the book to
the table.

“Here.” Jarvin slid the heavy tray onto the table,
causing an avalanche of parchment. I lunged to catch the ink well
before it followed the sheets to the floor. He lobbed something at
Irvaine, who caught it deftly.

I set the ink well far from the table edge and knelt
on the stone floor to gather the scattered pages. Many of the
sheets were filled with ranks of numbers in flared handwriting with
figuring in the margins in a tight clear hand. Two men, one
recorded and the other did the sums. Out of habit I scanned down to
the totals at the bottom. My stomach sank as I realized their
meaning.

“Only two months?” I whispered.

“Pardon?” Jarvin asked, pausing in transferring items
from the tray to the table.

“Nothing.” I swept the pages into a stack. According
to the figures, we had only two months of provisions. My head
reeled. With no harvest left to gather, no money, and nothing to
trade, I could see no way we would survive until spring, let alone
the first harvests. The game of the forest wouldn’t support us
all.

“Yes.” Irvaine’s voice directly behind me startled my
heart into my throat. “We only have two months before the villagers
all starve together, but I have a plan.” Kneeling down, he picked
up the last three sheets of parchment just beyond my reach. “I see
you are familiar with keeping accounts and figuring.”

“My father taught me since Orwin showed no interest
in such menial work. Someone needed to see we weren’t cheated.”

“That sounds like Orwin.” His smirk lacked humor.

I offered him my stack, but he pressed his pages into
my hand. Surprise brought my eyes up to look at him truly for the
first time since waking in my parents’—no, his bed. His eyes, still
dark and unreadable in the firelight, seemed to see into my soul
without giving any insight in return.

“Keep them, look over the accounts, and tell me if
anything seems off.” Rising, he turned toward Jarvin. “Now where is
that letter?”

“Under your sword on the chair, my lord.” Jarvis
plunked down two heavy mugs and pulled the larger jug from its hook
on his belt. “What do you wish to drink, my lady?” After pouring a
generous measure of liquid into the larger mug, he paused and
waited for my answer.

“I will have what he has.” I could use a bit of wine
after this day. Besides there was much left to come.

“Water then, my lady.” He filled the second mug from
the same jug. I watched in confusion. A warrior drinking water and
not wine on his wedding night?

“I require your signature on the dower agreement.”
Irvaine approached suddenly

“On what?” I gained my feet faster than my head
wished. The world tilted a bit and the black haze threatened my
vision again.

“Steady.” He crossed to me in two strides and
enfolded me in warmth. “I thought you understood. You are of age.
Your agreement is required for me to claim the dowry.”

I shook my head in protest. “I have no dowry.” This
was all moving too quickly.

“She needs food,” Jarvin pointed out.

Not even bothering to assist me, Irvaine simply
picked me up like I was a flour bag and deposited me in the only
chair with surprising grace. “Eat,” he ordered, shoving a hunk of
bread into my limp fingers as he removed the parchment from my
other hand. “We can talk after.”

Ripping a piece of bread for himself, he claimed a
mug and strode away to study the linen again. We all ate in
silence. No one spoke until I had consumed two hunks of excellent
bread and a trencher of stew. I finished my last bite and reached
for my mug only to encounter my new husband’s watchful gaze.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” The bread sat a bit heavy in my
stomach, but my hands had steadied.

“Good. Now we can discuss details. I don’t intend to
press you tonight. You’ve endured enough as it stands. However, I
do insist we share the same bed and act in all other ways as a
married couple. I will be giving you demonstrations of affection in
public and I expect them to be welcomed or at least accepted.
Understood?”

I nodded.

“She isn’t one of your troops, Tomas. You cannot
command affection.”

“I am hardly doing that,” Irvaine protested.

“What am I to call you?” I asked before the argument
could continue.

Those unsettling eyes regarded me again. Heat filled
my middle and a pleasant tingle teased the back of my neck. He
studied my features so long I began to wonder if he would answer me
at all.

“Tomas. And you? What should I call you?” The way he
said it made me wonder if he wanted an answer.

“My given name is adequate.”

“Brielle.” He said my name as though he were testing
the taste of it on his tongue. “Yes, it suits you.”

“I am happy you approve.” I stifled a yawn as best I
could. My head’s weight, suddenly awkward, listed to the side.

“I think it is time we slept.” Before I could
protest, Irvaine lifted me into his arms again. My weary body sank
against him, eagerly seeking sleep. He strode toward the bed.
“Jarvin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Clear the meal and see that Ryanir gets his
evidence.”

He laid me on the bed. Exhaustion pulled at my
senses. I needed to stay alert. My body betrayed me, relaxing into
the feather softness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chaos ruled the village center. Horses, men, gear,
and a wagon commandeered from a local farmer crowded the open
market square. From the back of the wagon, a small, round man
handed out rations to the soldiers assigned to travel with us. The
charred remains of the previous night’s bond fire still smoked on
the edge of the square. Hangover-shortened tempers flared as the
men raised their voices to be heard over the sounds of the
horses.

Village women moved among the men, new wives making
sure their husbands had all their gear. Children tugged at their
skirts and tangled in their feet. Half-grown boys dashed underfoot.
They sought a bit of the excitement. I wanted to wish it all away.
I didn’t want to leave, but I must. I was no longer mistress of my
own decisions. I belonged to another. Rubbing a soothing hand over
my mount’s neck, I turned my attention to my husband.

The eye of the storm centered on Irvaine. He sat
astride his stallion, dark eyes observing all and ears tuned to the
voices around him. When one of the soldiers walked by complaining
about his rations, Irvaine intervened.

“You there.” He motioned the soldier over and
indicated he wanted to see his provisions for the trip. After
studying the bread, cheese, dried meat, and skin of ale, he sent
the man on his way. “Brevand,” Irvaine gestured to his
quartermaster. “I want to see the ration plan for the next
month.”

Brevand’s chin rose. Defiance glinted in his gaze for
a moment before he obeyed.

The furrows in Irvaine’s forehead deepened as he
scanned the parchment. “This isn’t enough.”

“It is all we can spare.”

“The supply wagons will arrive in a matter of
days.”

My gaze followed Antano as he moved through the ranks
calling out names from a list of his own. When each man answered,
he directed them to form ranks. However, my ears were still tuned
to Irvaine and Brevand’s conversation.

“I am taking over half the company, Brevand. The
wagons should provide enough to keep the remaining company for a
few weeks at least. Surely there is enough for full rations for the
villagers and our escort while we are gone. There is no profit
making anyone starve.”

“More troops will arrive with the wagons. More mouths
to feed.”

“Bringing more food.”

“I ran the figures thrice. We used up a week’s
rations of wine last night.” Brevand glared up at me as though it
were of my doing. The fact he had to look up to find my face
diffused his power. Still, something about the intensity unsettled
my calm.

“King’s orders. I had no choice.” Irvaine handed back
the lists. “We will have to make do with less. Have our escort give
back half the supplies. I need to speak with Antano.”

Half the men now formed ranks. I counted seventy-five
mounted warriors standing at attention. They presented a fearsome
sight with the early morning sun glinting off their armor.

“Reclaim half of the rations!” Brevand called to the
nearest unarmed man. Most of the crowd stopped moving. The soldiers
glanced at each other, but didn’t break ranks or speak. Instead, as
one, they looked to Irvaine.

Anger flickered over his features. He glared at
Brevand, who ignored him.

“We will hunt to supplement our meals.” Although
Irvaine spoke loudly, not a trace of anger crept into his voice.
“Once the rations are gathered we leave.” He pulled his stallion
closer to my gelding.

“Is Brevand always so testy?” I asked.

“On occasion he can become peevish.” He squinted at
the rising sun. “He announced the change in plans brazenly to annoy
me, nothing more.”

“Why would he wish to irritate you?” Despite his
control thus far, I didn’t trust a man of the sword to keep his
temper.

“His second accounting of supplies came a quarter
short of his first. Unless someone moved a significant amount of
grain and vegetables from the barns during the night, Brevand
botched his figures severely. He did not appreciate me taking him
to task over it.”

“Why do you keep him as your quartermaster if he is
so lax with his duties?”

“He isn’t normally so careless.” He studied my face.
“Antano mentioned the nature of your relationship with Quaren’s new
wife. My ties to Brevand are similar. His father took me under his
wing, overlooked my illegitimate birth, and gave me a chance to
prove my worth. Brev and I shared tutors, sword masters,
everything. We are brothers in all but blood.”

It sounded like a relationship strong enough to bear
a bit of incompetence. Brother or not, Brevand held too much hate
behind his eyes for my peace of mind.

“Ready, my lord.” Antano approached. His sat his
solid chestnut mare as though molded to the beast’s back. He
acknowledged me with a slight dip of his head.

“Then let us move out.” Irvaine heeled his stallion
and led the way west. Antano and I flanked him a pace behind while
the crier bellowed orders to the waiting men. The villagers who had
not gathered in the square stuck their heads out windows or paused
in their work as we passed their houses.

Loren hurried out the door of one of the last
cottages we came passed. Behind the house, Quaren worked at
preparing the kitchen garden for spring. He came around the front
of the house to stand at her side. She wiped her hands on a floury
apron before waving farewell. I waved back.

A crowd of villagers and the remaining soldiers
followed us to the village edge. As I looked back one last time at
the village of my birth, I spotted a face that didn’t belong.

Tyront? One of my cousin’s henchmen from childhood,
Tyront and I squabbled enough times for me to lose count. He used
his mouth more than his brain. I recognized his broken nose.

A horn blast from our crier brought my attention
forward again. Something was wrong. I felt it in my gut. Tyront
belonged with my cousin. Orwin should have been far from here,
enjoying his ill-gotten freedom. Why would one of his cronies be
among the villagers?

As we tramped the last bit of village road, we came
in sight of the healer’s cottage. A middle-aged man worked on a
broken wagon wheel in the front yard while a younger man bent over
a churn. Taltana straightened from clearing her garden to watch us
pass. I waved, but she didn’t acknowledge my gesture.

By the time we reached the forest edge beyond the
last field, we were flanked by four additional men. A young squire
charged ahead and disappeared among the shadows between the
trees.

Irvaine came alongside. “He carries word of our
impending arrival.”

I jumped. My mount shied with a whinny of protest. I
tightened my hold on the reins until he resumed his leisurely
pace.

“I am sorry. I didn’t intend to startle you.”

“My mind was on something else.”

“What?”

I glanced his way, encountering his interested gaze.
Turning to watch the trail ahead, I debated telling him. I could be
worrying about nothing. However, if something came of it, I would
regret not mentioning it.

“I saw a face in the crowd as we left the village. He
could be harmless, but ...”

Irvaine tensed. “Orwin?”

“No.”

“Then whom?”

“Tyront, one of Orwin’s childhood companions.”

“How close are they?”

“Inseparable. He rode out with the rest to defend
King Trentham.”

Irvaine grunted. “Have you seen him since?”

“No.”

“Could you describe him?”

“Shorter than I by a hand’s span, his brown hair is
thick and straight. His nose has been visibly broken twice and he
has only one eyebrow.”

“I appreciate you telling me about him. Giving up
information about friends can be difficult.”

I laughed. “Tyront and I have never been friends, my
lord. More like enemies who tolerated each other’s existence. I
broke his nose, both times.”

“And the eyebrow?”