To Be Grand Maestro (Book 5) (16 page)

The first two statements were critical commands, without them this person would be a passenger trapped in a body that was completely enslaved to the spell-caster. The only way Daniel could think of to give him freewill was to command him to have one.

Leah once had suggested that he also tell the patient to be punctual, have good manners, and see people associated with Daniel as a family rather than a pack of rivals. These were not bad suggestions but some of them took away choice and one assumed each person would want to join the cause. He did not want to compel people to join him, which is what it would amount to if he told them to see him and the members of the Atlantan Guild as a family. While the suggestion about keeping clean could be construed as taking away choice in the matter, maintaining good hygiene will help the person no matter what other choices he made in the future, and assist in his being socially acceptable.

Buck Duadams reined in, Jilly, his brown Ducaunan racer at the crest of the hill. The southern wall of the Benhannon Northland Holding could be seen from this vantage point. A large number of tall trees, yellow pines for the most part, spread behind and to the right and left of him. Ahead was snow-covered ground all the way down to the structure that stretched half a span east and as much to the west with a gate dead center. The only trees forward were on the other side of the wall.

He tightened his fur-lined wool coat against the chill wind and waited for his three companions to catch up. At the age of fifty, he had the stamina of a man half his age, and could out distance a teenager on the long hall, even on foot. His neatly trimmed beard and mustache held only the barest traces of gray in them. The same could be said for his traveling companions. They were all about the same age, lived on or near Mount Arend, which was fifty spans east and about five spans south from where he currently sat saddle. Each had felt the urge to join Sir Daniel’s muster and it seemed reasonable to travel together.

Buck glanced back into the woods just as a wolf was moving from behind one bush to another. It was a member of a pack that had picked up his trail a few marks ago. They stayed out of sight for the most part and made no threatening moves, so he chose not to alarm his companions about them. It was almost as if the wolves were deliberately keeping an eye on the strangers who had entered their hunting grounds.

“That falcon clutching the lightning bolt in a sky of blue above the gate represents the Benhannon family,” Sorel Benrider apparently felt the need to say as he came to a stop. He had a long chin that held the beginnings of a beard and close set eyes, yet possessed an open and honest manner that encouraged people to trust him.

Being the seventh son of a seventh son placed him in an awkward position in his family. To most folks from the vicinity of Mount Arend and among his kin in particular, his order of birth meant bad luck; the kind that smelled of Aakacarns. No woman wanted to marry him for fear of drawing bad luck upon herself or any young ones that might be fathered by him, and so he reached the back half of his middle years without getting hitched, like Buck’s other two companions who had different reasons for remaining single. Even though Sorel could chop a cord of firewood faster than any of his brothers and could get more work done in a day than all of them put together, their superstition persisted and when the urge came to join Sir Daniel’s muster, he set out with his horses. That is when Buck crossed his path and soon learned the man was a talker who often felt the need to share his life story and comment on things that are obvious as a wart on a pretty woman’s nose.

There was not likely a soul in the kingdom that did not recognize the picture symbol of Sir Daniel’s house. “Yep,” Buck agreed, being a man of few words, and having nothing more to say on the subject.

Barossa, the nag from Sorel’s family farm, stood on shaky legs, and needed a rest after carrying his few possessions on her swayback. Sandstorm, his tawny stallion, stood tall, and did not appear to be overly taxed after carrying his rider up and down snow-covered hills all day.

Laurence Laterren, a barber by trade, and Ned Bartimus, a bartender, rode up on their mounts. Those two were townsmen, while Buck had come from a long line of mountaineers, and Sorel was bred from a clan of farmers whose roots in the region of Mount Arend stretched back many centuries. “Finally, civilization,” Laurence called out whole-heartedly. The man had only spent a single night in the wild; one would think he had been out for days. His hair, now hidden under a hat of sable, was neatly trimmed but he had a day’s growth of whiskers on his face. He would probably use his shaving blade after settling in at the Benhannon Holding. “Duadams, we did not meet a single human being on the paths you took to get us here.”

“Yep, that’s the way I planned it,” Buck admitted, his breath fogging in the cold, as did that of his companions. “Besides, there are no towns between there and here accept along the border, and things have been getting a little too hot up there for my tastes.” He knew of a log-fort back in the hills, but did not feel the need to mention it.

Ned began scratching the whiskers on his chin. “Late, I think you best be glad he kept us away from the border. The Pentrosans cannot be trusted,” he gave his opinion, which Buck agreed with.

A fur hat with thick flaps hanging down over Ned’s ears covered his bald head and helped to keep in the heat. The man was always on alert and full of nervous energy, as was his fellow townie. Too bad neither of them was any good at woodcraft. They were unaware of ninety percent of the wildlife around them, some of which were actually dangerous.

“There is that,” Laterren admitted. “Even so, we four cannot be overly concerned about things getting a little too hot or none of us would be here.”

“True enough,” Buck replied, and turned his head toward the gate. “Shall we go join up?” He figured they had spent enough time gabbing about it.

“It’d be a wasted trip if we didn’t,” Sorel commented and followed behind Buck, who led the way down the hill without further comment.

Two men, wearing light-blue uniforms with dark blue stripes on their shoulders and pant-legs, stood guard at the gate. One was deeply tanned and the other pale with hair yellow enough to mark him a Lobenian. The symbol of house Benhannon was clearly displayed on their helmets and a miniature crossbow was clipped to each of their belts. Both men, hands in their pockets, had a sword, dagger, and club. Buck did not see chainmail or shields, not even a sword buckler, and wondered why the guards had nothing to protect them from harm. The cold did not seem to be bothering them, even though their uniforms did not appear to be fur-lined.

“Welcome to the Benhannon Northland Holding,” the yellow-haired one called out as the horses came to a stop in front of him. He did not shiver in the cold but his breath fogged the air just like normal.

“Thanks for the friendly greeting,” Sorel replied, while both guards removed their hands from their pockets and gripped the clubs as if ready to start thumping at the first sign of trouble. Being neighborly is one thing, but throwing all cautions to the wind in these troubled times would be foolhardy, and these men clearly were not fools.

Buck had been the guide through the woods, but the farmer was the gabbiest of the four, and so was now talking for all of them. “We have come to join Sir Daniel’s muster. Arend and the surrounding territory are self-regulated, and not under the jurisdiction of any Lord of the Land. It is our Ducaunan right to volunteer in accordance with the Queen’s call to muster.” The man clearly read a lot of books.

The tanned-one nodded as though familiar with Arend and the legal standing. “You may enter. Continue up the path, avoid straying off onto the crops, and keep going until you arrive at Center Court. Building three is where you will find Lieutenant Keenan. He is the commander of the Benhannon Guard at this location.”

“My thanks,” Sorel replied and took the lead through the gate.

Buck followed the farmer while Laurence and Ned took up the rear. Buck figured ten horses could ride abreast on the path through the trees. A couple of hundred paces in they crossed a glowing red line and emerged from the pines to see a broad variety of crops growing in the field, and not a sign of snow, in winter!

Laterren and Bartimus sped up until they were on the left and right of Buck. “How do you suppose they managed that?” Ned asked a good question.

“I heard a goodly number of Aakacarns have joined Sir Daniel. Mark my words, there are spells at work here,” Sorel called back. The man had good ears, no denying it, and was likely correct about how crops could grow in winter. What else could explain the red line?

The sun would be down soon and Buck was glad they reached the holding before dark. He shrugged out of his coat. Whatever spells were effecting the plants also kept the temperature warm on the path. Ned and Laurence soon followed the example, but Sorel stayed bundled up even though he was sweating. When they reached the end of the growing fields, they crossed another thin line that glowed red. From this point forward, snow covered the path right up to the compound and the cold wind forced Buck to put his coat back on. Laurence and Neb did the same.

“Do you see those four buildings?” Sorel asked, as if any of them could fail to notice inn-sized houses, four stories high, all topaz blue, and having the Benhannon family crest on their white slanted roofs and over the doors. Snow and ice covered most of the grounds. The open area in front of the buildings had been swept clean.

“Look, there is a stable and Taracopian warhorses horses in that corral,” Ned pointed out.

“Yep, some Ducaunan Racers as well,” Buck acknowledged while focusing on the activity around them.

Men and women in uniforms walked purposely from building to building. Some folks had dark blue stripes like the guards at the gate and others had silver stripes. “Can I help you?” a young man from the last group inquired as Buck and his companions reined their steeds to a halt in the center area.

“He is one of the Chosen’s Sentinels,” Laurence informed. “I heard they can be mighty aggressive.” The man made no reply to the comment, although he must have heard.

Seeing as the buildings were not marked, Buck had no idea which was number three. The fact would be obvious if he could identify number one. “We have come to join Sir Daniel’s muster,” he spoke up before Sorel could answer with an in-depth reason for their arrival, one that would no doubt include their legal right to join the muster, and would eventually get around to asking where to go from here.

The Sentinel, a lean man, possessing light green eyes and light skin similar to a Ducaunan, but lacking the height, focused on Buck. The man could be of Battencayan birth or possibly Fon Kayan, or even a mix of the three, not that it matters one way or the other. “You want to see Lieutenant Keenan, he is in that building,” the clean-shaven young man replied, while pointing. “I will take your horses to the stables. Even if none of you is accepted into the Benhannon Guard, you will be at least staying the night. Tell the grooms in the morning that you want to see the horses Sentinel Stagg, that’s me, brought in and one of them will take you inside the stables. Your possessions will be carefully guarded so you need have no fear of theft.”

“Do you think we will be rejected?” Sorel asked after dismounting.

“Not likely, even though you four are about twice the age of the average Guardsmen.” the Sentinel replied while shaking his head. “Experience counts here, and I’m sure your talents, whatever they may be, can be put to use. You came at a good time. Sir Daniel wants to increase the size of the Benhannon Guard.”

“I’m much obliged for the directions and courtesy in offering care for Jilly,” Buck said as he dismounted, grateful for the neighborly reception. This was going about as well as he could hope for. The prospect of having a future beyond surviving one day at a time appealed to him and was part of the urge that drew him to this place.

Each of them gave thanks and handed their reins to the Sentinel, who led the horses towards the stables. Laurence led the way to the porch of building three, but then waited for Buck to walk up the granite steps to the door. A guard, whose hair was hanging in a long braid out from the back of her helmet, granted them entrance. She was pretty, young enough to be his daughter, and the comparison made him sad, reminding him of his losses. She was hardly imposing, yet seemed confident in her ability to handle herself in a skirmish. “I am Kay Worthin of the Benhannon Guard, come this way, have a seat on the couch, and you men can tell me the reason for this visit,” she said, and ushered them into a large common room where folks, mostly men, in uniforms of the Benhannon Guard, sat conversing or sipping from mugs.

Buck sat down on an unoccupied couch, his companions followed the example, and she pulled up a chair in order to face them. The light skin, dark eyes and hair, along with her height, caused Buck to recognize her as a fellow Ducaunan. Not many women from this kingdom joined the military or were accepted in any lord’s house guard. Her left eyebrow arched up, meaning she expected to be answered. Buck had only hesitated in order to give Sorel an opportunity to speak first, but decided to wait no longer. “My name is Buck Duadams, I’m a mountaineer of Arend, and I have decided to join Sir Daniel’s muster.”

“Do you have a wife, children, someone who depends on you for support?” She asked in a professional manner.

Buck did not count on someone wanting to pry into his affairs. His companions were now looking intently at him, seeing as he had told them little of his past, and they were no doubt eager to hear it. He took a deep breath, dredged up the memories buried long ago, and then leaned forward. “Had a wife about twenty years ago and two young ones, a fever took Lois. Bez, my boy, was clawed to death by a bear two years later. I had left him and his sister with folks I trusted while I was out hunting. By the time I got back, they and my boy were dead, and Linni, my girl, was missing. I left my little homestead, went back to the mountaineer life, and have never stopped searching for my girl. She’d be twenty-two by now and might well be a momma with young ones of her own. I found and killed a bear, but don’t rightly know if it was the same one that killed my boy. So, no mam, no one is looking to me for support.” His pain-filled past was not something he expected to share and he could not help the fact that his voice lost strength near the end of the telling.