Taming the Elements: Elwin Escari Chronicles: Volume 1 (28 page)

Elwin crept up to the porch window and peeked in. The new part of the house extended the dining area to fit a much larger table. At least two dozen people he had never seen sat at a long table. Hands extending from dirt-stained sleeves reached for fresh bread at the table’s center.

“Who is in my house?”

He had been about to turn and walk away, when he looked at the table’s head, which was wide enough to seat two people. His mother and father sat side by side.

The smile on his mother’s face lit the entire room, but dark circles hung beneath her eyes. He couldn’t hear her words over the other conversations, but her laugh carried through the window.

Elwin went to the door and knocked. It felt like the right thing to do. The conversation and laughter died off, and he heard his mother say, “Well, who could that be at this hour?”

He found himself shifting his weight from foot to foot in anticipation. His heart started racing and his palms felt sweaty.

The door opened without hesitation. His mother’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth like she always had after being surprised.

“Hi, Mama,” Elwin said, like he had when he was little.

She stared at him without speaking for several moments. Tears filled her eyes, and she pulled him into an embrace. He hadn’t heard him leave the table, but he couldn’t mistake his father’s strong arms holding him.

Elwin felt the worries melt away, and he cried happy tears into his parents arms.

By the time Wilton tethered his horse next to Feffer’s aside the Escari’s house, only a hint of pink remained in the sky. Wilton had several experiences with Drenen, but they were mostly in passing. Whereas, Feffer had practically grown up with Elwin. So upon approaching the farm, Wilton let Feffer take the lead.

It would make everything easier in the long run.

The last time he had come to this farm, he had been a boy of ten. It had been the day his Da bought the wolf’s pelt. He remembered it being smaller, but some of the wood on the house seemed fresh. The smooth seams between the old and new wood could have only come from the work of an expert carpenter. Wilton had always admired Drenen Escari. He was a man of many talents. A part of him regretted not getting to know the man better.

Maybe this farm would be spared from war.

Wilton shook his head against the thought. He knew that war
would
see these lands. It was inevitable.

Dangerous thoughts. With effort, he pushed them from his mind.

Following Feffer onto the porch, he recognized the porch swing but Feffer’s name had been scratched into the side next to Elwin’s. That hadn’t been there before. The scrawls made his memory of the swing seem wrong somehow as if he invaded someone else’s mind. Black fog seemed to swirl in his vision as he forced the memory into his thoughts.

He had sat on that swing while his Da bartered for the pelt. Drenen was at a major disadvantage in making that deal, since both parties had the knowledge that Melra Escari hadn’t wanted the wolf’s pelt in her house.

Father hadn’t used the disadvantage against Drenen. In fact, he bought the pelt for far more than its worth. On the road back, Wilton asked his Da why he had given so much.

“It is never a loss to give too much to a friend in need. A man should give his life for those he loves, son. A life given over to vanities is a wasted life.”

Wilton had not understood at the time, but now he did. Now, more than ever. The wolf had taken a good portion of the Escari’s livelihood. So his father had made a sacrifice for his friend. That was another lesson.

Sacrifices must be made
, he thought,
and when it really counts, the price is always high.

“Are you coming?” Feffer said.

Wilton had the feeling Feffer had called his name a few times. Mrs. Escari stood in the doorway with an inviting smile.

“Please,” Melra pointed to his blades. “You don’t need those at the dinner table.”

Wilton hesitated to leave his blades, but he unfastened his belt and left both blades beside the door next to Feffer’s longsword.

To the right, a couple of sofas and chairs boxed in a large, stone hearth that had a sizable fire. Straight ahead twenty-two men sat at a dinner table. There were three empty chairs next to the table’s head to the far left, where Drenen stood.

Meat, potatoes, and greens rested on a wooden plate in front of each empty chair, along with a wooden mug filled with cider. He licked his lips when he smelled the spices wafting from the cider.

Feffer took the seat next to Elwin, leaving him the third seat from the head. Wilton felt his hand shake as he pulled out the chair. He hadn’t eaten a meal like this in some time. His heart began to beat faster as he sat. He tried to keep his breathing calm, but the man next to him smelled of dirt and sweat. The stench threw off his rhythm. He stared at the meat to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Please,” Melra said, “we can make introductions as we eat. I am sure you boys are famished. ”

Glad for the excuse to remain looking down, Wilton began to cut into his meat and potato. Focusing on each action, he placed a bite in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He continued eating each bite with the hope that the routine action would calm his racing heart.

When Drenen introduced his name, Wilton made a polite smile without quite meeting anyone’s gaze. The farmers around the table made small talk with Elwin and Feffer, but he continued to focus on his meal. After a few bites, his tongue began to taste the food. The meat was spiced to complement the cider.

Feeding so many would have been cheaper without the added expense. The cider was freshly made as well. Melra and Drenen were good people. They didn’t deserve the coming war. He felt tears well in his eyes, and forced his thoughts back on his food.

But he didn’t like having his back to the door. On its own volition, his hand went to his sword belt, and he was struck by a moment of panic at his missing sword. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the raqii dath resting by the door. He wiped at the sweat on his brow with the sleeve of his forearm.

He jumped at the mention of his name.

“Wilton,” Drenen said, “as I understand it, you are a thief-catcher. Willem is really proud of you. What is it like working for Lord Zaak Lifesong, himself?”

The pride in Drenen’s voice was like a punch from a hand he shook and trusted.

Like with any assault, Wilton felt the instant rush of his heart and the tensing of his muscles. All the farmhands stared at him with wide eyes.

Did they know?

He tried to rest his left hand on the hilt of a sword that was not there. His heart started beating faster. Why were his weapons so far away? He remembered black fog swirling around him. Pain wracked his senses, and he could see dark eyes staring into him.

His mind began to calculate getting out of the room alive.

First, the wiry man with long hair across from him would need to fall. Wilton had seen a quickness in his step when he had returned from the privy that suggested training with a sword. Next, the smelly man to his immediate right would be dealt with. He seemed clumsy, but his size and proximity would be the second greatest threat. Drenen was no small man and would likely be the next to die.

A part of his mind cried out at the thought, and he realized his hand held the steak knife in a reverse-grip as he would his raqii dath when facing multiple opponents.

What are you doing?
A voice said in his mind.
This is Drenen, your Da’s best mate.

The war did not need to see the inside of this home. At least not this night. He forced his hand to loose the knife. It took a moment for his fingers to respond to his will. The knife clanked off the wooden plate.

Wilton stood, knocking his chair backward.

“Excuse me,” Wilton said, “I need to use the privy.”

On the way out the door, he grabbed his belt and fastened his weapons. Perhaps staying the night at the Escari farm was not the best idea. He longed for the cover of darkness.

Untethering his horse, he leapt into the saddle and spurred his mare to a gallop.

“Home,” he told her. “I have to see my home one more time.”

Elwin sat next to Feffer on a cushioned sofa. After the others had cleared the table, his parents had extinguished the lanterns, which made the fire in the hearth the only source of light.

His mother placed a kettle atop the fire, then she joined his father on the sofa across from him and Feffer.

“Tea won’t be long now,” she smiled.

“You look tired, Mother,” Elwin said.

“Elwin,” she teased, “that is no way to speak to a woman. You will never attract the ladies if you insult them.”

He shared a smile with his parents.

Feffer laughed. “I think Elwin only has eyes on
one
lady.”

“Feffer,” Elwin warned. He should have never told him about Zarah.

“Really,” Father said. “Who is the lucky lady?”

“Well—”

“I told you not to say anything,” Elwin said.

“No,” Feffer said. “You told me not to say anything to
her
.”

“I know what I said,” Elwin told them. “I was there when I said it. You couldn’t say anything to her, because new recruits aren’t allowed in the castle. I said not to say
anything
.”

“It’s someone in the castle?” his mother smiled.

“Yup,” Feffer said. “It’s Zarah Lifesong.”

Elwin could feel the heat of the fire in his face. He covered his eyes. “I will never trust you with another secret.”

His father raised his eyebrows and whistled. “As in daughter to Lord Zaak Lifesong, second to the throne, until there is a proper heir?”

“That would be the one,” Feffer said.

“She is
third
to the throne,” Elwin said. “Jasmine is second, after Zaak. And I can’t stand her. She’s a prat.” A beautiful prat. But a prat, nonetheless.

“Son,” Father said, “you do stare into the stars.”

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

The three of them laughed. Elwin’s cheeks burned hot enough to boil the kettle, but he jumped when the kettle whistled.

His mother stood and prepared four wooden cups of tea, cooled with cow’s milk. “We have honey, if anyone would like some?”

Only his father didn’t.

His mother handed Elwin his cup, and he sipped it despite its heat. “This is better than what they give me in the castle.”

“Oh come now,” she said as she sat, “you expect me to believe that?”

“I promise,” Elwin said. “They use sugarcane instead of honey. This
is
better.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Is that flour I smell?” Feffer asked.

Elwin’s mother smiled. “It is. I will be rising early to bake my pastries for the festival. And I expect some help loading them.”

“We will,” Feffer said. His grin reminded Elwin of the boy he had grown up with.

“Father,” Elwin said. “I’ve never seen you hire this many farm hands. Where did they come from?”

“The town has grown a bit, Elwin. People from the coasts fear being attacked, so many have moved inland. Several people of other nations are beginning to be displaced by the war, as well. People are working for food as much as coin. That is why we have so many here. I am making up jobs just to help people out.”