The Singing Stones of Rendor, page 26
part #1 of Eidolon Series
Thad, though, was very much alive, focused and unpredictable. Not your typical wilder, if there is such a thing.
Willim continued to pace back and forth. He didn’t see any advantage over Thad, who would be on his home ground. Cassandra pointedly warned him not to confront Thad by any of the henge stones. Drawing him away from the henge would be difficult, especially with an Enforcer lurking somewhere in the surrounding area, waiting for a chance of his own. Bernie Scribner, Beth and Cassandra seemed confident they could deal with L’don Banks. He wasn’t so sure.
That left Thad’s front porch. The one place Cassandra thought they might have a chance. Willim had heard the quaver in her voice as she described the old man’s home. She didn’t seem all that confident of their success. Was she afraid of the consequences if they failed?
He finished another length of pacing. A hand interrupted his contemplation as it came to a gentle rest on his chest.
B’Tris gripped his tunic and pulled herself to him. “I’m scared, Will.”
“We can handle this, if the villagers can overcome L’don.” Willim held her close to his chest.
“That’s a big if. You know L’don better than I do. Do you think he’ll go down quietly?”
Willim kissed her forehead and said nothing. She stepped back and took his hands in hers. “Do you?”
“We can’t count on it, Bee. Someone's going to get hurt.” He rested against the fence. She joined him, leaning into his side. He wrapped his arm around her. “I think the sooner we deal with Thad the better we’ll be able to deal with L’don and A’wyn, if they’re still around.”
“That’s assuming A’wyn is here and with L’don. Cassandra thinks she may be dead, or at least wandering around with some kind of distraction thread scrambling her mind.”
“I want to believe A’wyn is out of the picture, but I can’t afford to take that chance. They’ve tried this sort of trap before. If Thad is involved in this ruse . . . well, there are just too many variables to consider. I’ve been going over this all night and I can’t be sure of anything.”
“But, what about . . .” B’Tris stopped as Willim took her shoulders and faced her.
“Bee, we’ve chosen a course of action. We don’t have time to deliberate any longer. It’s now or . . .”
“Never?” B’Tris’ voice held a note of disbelief. “Do you really think this is our only chance?” She shook her head and raised her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We have little chance if we do nothing.” She took his hands. “What about Maynard? You said he shook weaves off Grindall. He might be able to help us.”
“Maynard is either keeping L’don distracted, or guarding Grindall.” Willim scrubbed his face, trying to ease the uncertainty of the coming hours. “Besides, he couldn’t see or feel those weaves. He’s tone deaf and mute in the weaving arts. In such a fight, he’d be the first to die. As it is, I’m not happy with the idea of taking K’Las with us. I’d leave him here to take his chances if we didn't need him. No one even considers the possibility he can weave.”
B’Tris stopped pacing and nodded to the first ray of sunshine touching the distant peaks of the Wastachi mountain range. “It’s nearly time, Will.”
Willim looked to the east. A green halo trimmed in red and gold clouds crowned the nearby forest. “Gods, I wish we could leave K’Las behind. Did you know he hummed during your test with those forks?”
Pete Turner walked up with his sons and K'las. He handed a small cloth sack of cheese curd to B’Tris. “Yeh remember how to get there, now don’t yeh?”
“Thank you, Pete.” B’Tris broke her startled gaze from Willim and turned to Pete. “Yes, we talked about the route several times last night.”
“Yer headin’ into a hornets nest, if I’m figurin’ right.” Pete drew his two sons next to him. “Folks here ‘bouts got their own notions of the imbuements, most don’t like ‘em, but do it cuz that’s what’s expected of ‘em. They got nothin’ to fight back with. If you get yer fork back, me and a lot of other folks’ll be right happy if yeh stayed and helped us fight them blaggers. Maybe we won’t lose so many youngsters to them Temple priests.”
B’Tris didn’t know what to say. She met Willim’s eyes again. He shrugged. Pete had already placed himself in harm’s way by helping them. His son, Frank, continued to grin under a blank stare. Pete, Jr. seemed hopeful as he glanced from K’Las to Willim and back.
K’Las broke the silence. “Could we Papa? If things go well, could we stay?”
Willim placed a hand on K’Las’ shoulder. “If things go well, we’ll stay.”
“That’s all I’m askin’. Just think on it. Yeh already got lots of folks friendly to yeh. That ain’t a bad start.”
“Even with all the uproar about Grindall and the fork, not to mention Inquisitors? The village all but threw us out last night.”
Pete pointed an arthritic finger at her. “Yeh know, we may be simple country folk, and it may be we see the world a bit differnt, but we ain’t stupid. It ain’t what yeh think. If things go right for yeh, come back here. I’ll tell yeh what’s really goin’ on.”
“There's more?” Willim raised his hand. “No, don't tell me. I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re talking about. The gods willing, we will come back. Then, we’ll have that talk.”
“Fair enough and farewell.” Pete tipped a nonexistent hat as he gestured to his sons. “Come on, boys. We’re late for the mornin’ milkin’.”
B’Tris watched the dairyman lead his sons to the barn where he had hidden their horses. The nearby forest hid the wagons. Willim tugged on her sleeve to leave. She caught his hand and hugged it to her bosom.
She knelt in front of K’Las. “You know what to do. We talked about this last night. Pay attention and be quiet unless you see someone weaving, understand?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“If a fight starts, you run, understand?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“You must not weave. If they see you weave, you will be in danger. Do not weave, understand?”
K’Las nodded.
“Say it K’Las.” She pressed a fingertip against his chest. “Tell me you will not weave today.”
“I won’t weave today, Momma.”
“Good.” She embraced K’Las and held him for a long moment. As she released him she brushed down his tunic and straightened his collar. “Good.”
She stood and smoothed out her skirt and kirtle. Willim handed her her staff.
K’Las shifted the shoulder strap of his kit and joined his parents as they left the dairyman’s farm.
~~~
Jon Warden woke up. Beth sat in a chair beside his bed darning socks.
“Are they gone?” Jon sat up in bed.
“Yes.”
“Which way did they go?”
“The last I saw them, they were at Pete Turner’s farm.” Beth bit off the thread, knotted the ends, and then threw the sock in a basket. She started darning another sock from her lap.
“At Pete’s farm? That’s not the same as gone, Beth. Where are they?”
“Sun’s up. I ‘spose they’re well on their way, by now.” She kept her eyes on her darning.
“Yer not tellin’ me what I want to know, are yeh?”
“What yeh want to know or what yeh need to know?”
“Alright. What do I need to know?” Jon folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t wince. “Wait a minute.”
He shifted again. The ache lingered, but the sharp pains were gone. He tossed the covers aside and raised his knees. It hurt, but not like the hot poker pain he had before. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, putting pressure on his feet.
“What’re yeh doin’. Get back in bed.” Beth stood, sending socks, darning egg and needle to the floor.
“Come here, girl. Help me over to the wash basin.” He took a step and fell back onto the bed. Shards of glass seemed to slice through muscle in his upper thigh.
“B’Tris can fix bones, but she can’t fix muscle and sinew. Now lie down and listen to what yeh need to know.” She helped place his legs back in bed and pulled the blanket across them.
“The tinker best be gone, Beth. I meant what I said.”
“Yer gonna have to listen, Captain, because yeh got some thinkin’ to do, and yeh best be quick about it.
“I’m listenin’. Say yer piece.” His eyebrows knitted into a scowl.
“When I left yeh here last night I went to see the Squire.” She gathered up her darning and sat down. “Turns out he sent for information about Will and Bee last summer when they was here. Them tinkers are just who they say they are. The Trade House sent a letter to the Squire sayin’ so. It seems the Trade House also wants to know what they were doin’ here. Bernie wrote ‘em back sayin’ they just sold some goods and moved on after a couple of weeks. He thought it was peculiar they stayed that long, but he got no complaints about ‘em so he left ‘em alone.
“That don’t mean war ain’t comin’.” Jon’s scowl deepened.
“Yeh know as well as I do how we handle unwelcome Enforcers. Difference is this one ain’t from our Priory. We can do as we please with him since no one knows he’s here. No one but us bumpkins.”
“What about the other one, the woman?”
“I talked to Cassandra. She thinks Thad done her in, or the henge got her. Either she’s dead or lost in the forest somewhere along with her mind. Yeh know how the henge does things to folks, sometimes.”
“What are yeh plannin’ to do with the one here? If we kill him, might be his priory sends more. Maybe a lot more if they think that fork is still here.”
“I’m thinkin’ the Endless Realm Priory don’t know about it, yet. Even if they sent word, it could be a year before they get it. It’ll be another year before they can get back here.”
“What difference does it make, it’s still comin’. Yer not gonna like it when it gets here, Beth.”
“And, it might not come, too.” Beth set her bundle of socks and needle aside, moved to the side of the bed and forced her hand into his reluctant grip. “We have a bumper crop of kids who’ll be up for their imbuements this year. Our little Alara among them. The Baker twins, Ginger and Cinnamon, are up, too, and Bakers already lost two of their seven over the years. Poor Pete Turner has but two left of his six kids, and one of them is addled. He’s ready to fight. These tinkers may be our last chance before folks just give up.”
“War ain’t nothin’ to toy with.” Jon pulled his hand from hers, returning it to his folded arms. “I’m still sendin’ Bert and Maynard after them to make sure they leave.”
“The Squire don’t agree, Jon.” Beth stood, facing him squarely. She recounted the events of last night. She told him how Bert and the villagers kept L'don occupied until nightfall and how B'Tris was tested as a Cherished Weaver. But, she didn't tell him of Grindall's escape. “The Squires tired of waitin’, too, and he’s seen as much war as you have. I told him about how B’tris fixed yeh up. Maynard told us what he saw at that sinkhole and since. These ain’t yer run of the mill weavers. They’re as good as any Enforcer, maybe better since they mend folks more than hurt ‘em. Even Maynard said they never hurt him, just made him listen more is all.”
“What about Thad? How yeh gonna get him to help, especially if he has the fork? Stefan is Thad’s star pupil and only friend. Is he gonna help with this?”
“I ‘spose it all comes down to the tinkers and which Priory Thad hates more, ours or the Endless Realm. If they get the fork back from that old tyrant he just might help since it has some kind of special . . .” Beth waved her hands as if searching for a word other than ‘magic’. “. . . power.”
“I still don’t trust ‘em.” Jon turned his face away, hoping she would stop. She made some sense. He didn’t like the idea of losing Alara, either; or of seeing more kids lost to Priory Enforcers and temple priests. He hated it. He hated war more and he would be in the thick of it again.
“Just remember what yeh said last night.” Beth leaned over the bed and caught the corner of his eye. “You told Will he was a liar. What are we, Jon? For years we’ve been lying to outsiders about who we are and where we came from. Yeh lied to those tinkers. Last night I told them some of the truth.”
Jon growled and fixed his eyes on a knothole in the wall as she came closer. “Yer talkin' fairy tales. Folks here 'bout still tryin' to birth a myth.”
“You still lied, Jon.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Something Snapped
L’don Banks left his room and descended a flight of creaking stairs to the Feisty Wench Pub. He prided himself as a patient man, but the apparent collusion amongst the villagers to delay or distract annoyed him.
Jenny Brewer greeted him as he entered the pub, offering to bring him a plate of rye bread, cheese and pint of ale.
He found Bert Forest, the only other patron in the pub, sitting at a table near the tavern’s entrance with a bowl of pottage and a pint.
“Fair greetings, Mr. Forest.” L’don gave a friendly wave and walked to Bert’s table.
“And a good morning to yeh, Mr. Banks.” Bert lifted his bowl and spooned out the last of his pottage.
“Do you frequent the Feisty Wench regularly?”
“If I’m in Kerner, I’m in the Feisty Wench, if the Squire ain’t got me chasin’ off somewhere.”
“Are you chasing after Grindall? There was a lot of commotion last night about his escape.”
“Nope, I’m goin’ after them tinkers in a bit. Squire says to make sure they leave the county.”
“May I join you?” L’don sat next to the forester. “To find the tinkers, that is. I’ve been trying to find those tinkers for some time, now.”
“I don’t see no harm in it. Are yeh gonna follow ‘em all the way back to the Eastern Realms?”
“If that’s what it takes.” L’don turned to Jenny. “It seems I’ll be leaving soon, Mrs. Brewer. I will settle my obligation to you at your convenience.”
L’don selected a piece of cheese, laid it on his bread and ate. He chased it with some ale. “Would you mind if I went ahead to find the tinkers?”
“The Squire don’t want no more trouble.” Bert stood to leave.
L’don rose and placed a hand on Bert’s shoulder.
“Let go of me, yeh. . .” Bert slumped to his chair, rolled to one side and fell to the floor.
Jenny, standing beside L’don, began to run. He caught her apron strings. She tried to cry out. His weaves silenced her as she folded to the floor, unconscious.
“I don’t have time for these silly delays, Mr. Forest. As for you, Mrs. Brewer, this should cover my room and board.” L’don dropped two silver coins on the table, went to the front door, bolted it, returned to his room, gathered his belongings and left the Feisty Wench.
At midmorning, L’don stood by Turnout Pond cursing the time lost chasing a deception. He now had no doubt the villagers had deliberately misled him. The tinkers had to be in Kerner somewhere. If he found where they had hidden their horses and wagons he would likely find them.
They would obviously head to the henge at some point, but by what route and with whom? He needed to know who was helping them and their strength. Since A’wyn was lost to some unknown circumstance he had little choice but to reconnoiter and hope for the best.
His options limited, he set a quick pace back to Kerner.
Within an hour he crossed Kerner Creek. He turned into the first farm he found, walked up to a gate and found a young boy leading an ox cart his way. An older boy with a vacant expression, followed close behind.
L’don opened the gate and stood in their path. “I’m looking for young K’Las, the tinker boy? Have you seen him?”
The boy with the hollow eyes smiled and pointed to the barn. Dogs began barking in the distance.
“Sorry, mister. My brother’s kinda simple. He don’t talk.” The smaller boy turned and lowered his brother’s arm. “He means for yeh to go talk to our pa.”
“Have you seen K’Las and his folks?”
“Sorry, mister. My pa don’t want us talkin’ to folks we don’t know. He’s in the barn. If yeh’ll excuse us, we gotta get this milk to the bakery.”
“What about those dogs?” L’don barred their way.
“Oh.” The boy looked back to the barn. “I reckon I best go with yeh.”
The boy tied the ox to a fence post. “Frank, you stay here. I’ll be right back.”
L’don followed the boy to the barn. The barking became more insistent the closer they got. A man emerged from the barn, carrying a pitchfork.
The boy gestured to L’don with a thumb over his shoulder. “Pa, this man wants to know where the tinkers are.”
“He does, eh?” The man kept his wooden pitchfork at the ready, as if prepared for trouble. “Well, they ain’t here. Yeh can just keep on lookin’ elsewhere.”
L’don raised his voice a bit to overcome the incessant barking coming from the barn. “My name is L’don Banks, sir.” He extended a hand in greeting. “I would simply like to know the whereabouts of the tinkers.”
L’don lowered his hand when he got no response. However, through the open barn door he saw two horses. “I’m not looking for trouble, sir, but would you tell me where you got those horses?”
“Junior, get inside the barn.” The man lowered the woody tines of the pitchfork in his direction. “Get ready to loose them dogs on this fella.”
“Wait.” L’don raised his palms in resignation as Junior ran inside. “Perhaps you could tell me about my wife. No one in the village seems to know where she is. She arrived a day or so ago. Her name is A’wyn. Have you seen or heard about her?”
