Hunters and Prey, Pride and Shame

“Did you check the stables?”

“Aye. He’s not there. I checked every stall.”

“The loft?”

“Aye, there too. But if he’s up there he’s buried in the hay; we’ll never find him.” Taellish-ral shrugged. “I don’t think he’s up there hiding.”

“Neither do I,” Feldrish agreed, shifting her weight until she could peer around the low stone wall.
A great pile of manure rose up to form a mound two rods in height on the wall’s other side. The air was thick with the smells of horse, hay, straw, and the sweet lightness of the wildflowers growing in profuse clumps in the stable’s rich nightsoil. Later in the day, they would help shovel the ripe stuff into wains and then spread it across the grass-thick fields to the north. But for the moment the two girls waged a fierce contest of ambush with their twin brother, Gröndik-rak.
“No,” Feldrish whispered. “Gröni can out-wait the shadows when he’s a mind to. But we got him good last time. He’ll be out for blood now and not in a waitin’, hidin’ mood.”

“We did catch him good, didn’t we,” Taellish-ral giggled softly.

“Mayhap he’s in the orchard.” She pointed with her wooden sword to a shaded corner of the manor’s walled compound where a dozen apple trees shared the space with as many cherry trees. Their green boughs waved in the morning’s breeze setting the dappled shadows below to dancing. A good spot to hide in wait . . . and steel a juicy snack.

“Let’s find out.” Feldrish grinned back at her sister. “You sneak around the smithy and I’ll slip along the wall, through the garden. We’ll meet at the cider hut.”

After the two girls had slipped away, each intent on trapping their brother in another great ambush, a lump of manure-laden straw shifted, sending a small cascade of old horse turds tumbling down the mound’s face to spill over the low wall’s crest. Several brown balls came to rest where Feldrish had just knelt. A head, black-haired and straw-crowned, push itself clear and two coal-black eyes followed the girls until they were lost to sight behind the pile’s bulk.

“Not in a waitin’, hidin’ mood is it now?” Gröndik-rak smiled as he slipped over the holding wall and shook loose of straw and bits of horse apples from his hair and tunic. “Ah, sisters, we’ll see who gets who good this time.”

As light as a shadow he glided after his twin siblings, his own ashwood sword held loosely in his right hand.

“And how are the children?” Count Gröndik asked, surrendering his reins to his groom who led the lathered chestnut courser away. Its coat caught the day’s last light in waves of sweat, foam and red.

“They’re well,” Malik answered, her gaze following the weary stallion. “You rode hard by the look of him.”

“Aye.” Gröndik tugged his gloves free and massaged his neck. The gloves were stiff from a mix of dust and sweat that spoke of many leagues ridden since firstlight. “Hidoc was a beehive with herds coming and going. But the rumors seem to be true enough. What leaves for the west is drayage, and a lot at that. I counted over ten score wains leaving for Hòdra-Róc as I left this morning. Only half were full. The rest were for hauling equipment back from the war. The legions will be returning within the year I’d guess.”

“You must have crossed at Stoklin and ridden straight here if you left only at firstlight.” Malik turned, accompanying the count to the manor house. “Is there some news to make such speed?”

“None beyond what I went to discover,” Gröndik answered, coming to a halt with one booted foot poised upon the first step of smoothed stone leading up to the manor’s thick doors. “Of that we’ll talk later, in private.”

Malik’s brows arched, but she remained silent, only nodding her head as she met the count’s bloodshot regard.

Continuing up the steps, Gröndik chuckled. “Whenever you say ‘they’re well’ like that it sounds more like you’ve had your wits pulled three ways at once.”

“Were it only three.” Malik shook her head and paused on the top step.

Gröndik felt the faint tingling of Malik’s spell and turned back to face his fellow shadow warrior, a question writ in his expression. He knew the spell cloaked them in silence, their words unheard by anyone outside of the magic’s sphere.

“They are well,” Malik said in a wry voice and pursed her lips. “Excellent in fact. But the questions. Gods above and below. When they’re not waging war against any and all, they’re poking and prodding any with an ear with question after question. Poor Haldigrin tries to hide when he sees them together heading his way. Ha!

“But that’s not what concerns me.” Malik frowned and met Gröndik’s look squarely. “It’s Gröni. Well, mostly at least. Lately, his questioning circles and circles, playing coy with his intent. But it’s plain enough. He’s confused between what his heart says and his senses catch.

“I don’t believe he’s put it in so many words . . . or any words yet, but he questions who he is. Mayhap not tomorrow, or next year or the next, but at some point, if he continues as he is, he’ll come to question whose son he is, whose brother he is. He demands truth.”
“And Tae?” Gröndik asked.

“Aye, but in a different way,” Malik sighed. “She has her own guile. A mind as sweet as honey, and hard as iron she has.

“But it’s Gröni whose mind always pushes, always questions seeking answers to feelings so quiet they could be an emotion’s shadow.”

After a moment Gröndik nodded, then spoke in a soft voice. “I’ll see Haldigrin about beginning their lessons on their House’s history. He’s as fine a story teller as I’ve heard when the tale lies close to his heart. It’s been all horses ‘til now. Mayhap a tale years in the telling will shield him from this swarm of young minds and their questions as well as steel those same minds against the day when they must come face to face with life’s larger truths. Feldri too.”

“Twould be impossible to separate those three.” Malik smiled. “What one does, they all must do. ‘Tis stronger than blood what binds them together.”

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