The Eighth Warden Bk. 05 Ch. 19-20

"We're going after them, with the army and wizards for support," Pavan said. "I'm telling you because you have the right to be there--you declared blood feud--but you're supposed to be recovering right now, and a military operation is always a lot of work. It's going to be ugly. They're on the run, we've already captured their families, and if it's anything like last time, they're not going to surrender."

Declaring blood feud had been impetuous, but at the time, it was the only thing Leena could think of to give her the strength to move forward. Looking back, it seemed foolish. There were others better suited for the task, and her role was to protect her brother.

"I trust you and the others," she said. "I don't need to be there to see it happen."

Pavan and his band of soldiers and Travelers could eliminate this particular band of Snake cultists, but Leena knew from her experience in Cordaea that there were others. If she was going to protect Udit, her time would be better spent trying to recuperate for real, rather than hiding how much Traveling she was still doing. She would need to be at full strength if she was going to figure out the puzzle Bobo had presented.

#

Other than a single winter in the capital, Ansel Tarwen had lived his entire life in his family's manor house, in the village that bore his family's name. It was a comfortable routine, varying by season but seldom changing in any significant way.

He knew the sounds of his home like he knew the back of his hand--the baker calling out the special of the day, the sweet songs of mountain birds in the summer, the clatter of a pair of oxen hauling a wagon down the main road through the village.

The sound of his sons arguing.

"I'm telling you, a four-crop rotation will work out better in the long run," Branth insisted.

"I don't care what it'll do in the long run!" Toman said. "We've been using the same system since Grandfather's day, and now you've gone behind our backs and thrown off the whole schedule!"

Ansel raised his hand to quiet them. "What are we talking about here?" he asked. "How many acres?" He hadn't seen any changes in the planting schedule for Tarwen Valley, and he'd inspected those fields himself.

"Twelve hides, out in the Hole," Branth said. Deserter's Hole was a small glen branching out from the main valley.

That wasn't nearly as bad of a problem as Toman had made it out to be, but he'd been in a foul mood ever since the new round of rumors about Corec had begun filtering into the valley--rumors that made it sound as if Ansel's youngest son had claimed a wide swath of the free lands, everything from Four Roads to South Corner. Branth had set the matter straight, but even the truth was well beyond what Ansel had suspected.

He forced his attention back to the matter at hand. Branth had been trying to get him to switch crop rotations for years, but it had always seemed like too much effort. Luckily the experiment was limited to a small area, but Toman was Ansel's heir, and Branth would have to get used to his brother making the decisions.

"Tell me exactly what the impact is," Ansel said. "We planted less wheat than normal?"

"Less wheat and less barley, in a year when prices are supposed to be higher than ever in Telfort," Toman said.

"Prices are just a guessing game until harvest comes around," Branth said. "And next year, we'll be able to add a third cash crop. That'll make up for the difference."

"And the clover?"

"We can use the empty fields for grazing rather than having them lay fallow. That'll let us raise more sheep and cattle, and we won't have so much land going to waste every year."

Ansel drummed his fingers on his desk. Branth had planned his little rebellion carefully, but Ansel had to at least appear to support his older son.

"All right, here's what we'll do," he said, but then paused. A new sound had drifted through the open window of his study, this one less familiar--a large number of horses being ridden at a trot, then slowing to a walk as they drew closer. Even a natural walking gait had a mechanical rhythm to it when a dozen or more horses were traveling together.

"Who's that?" Branth asked.

"I'm not sure," Ansel said. It was too many horses to be one of his own mounted patrols.

"Soldiers or knights crossing through the mountains?" Toman suggested. That was possible, especially if they were trying to clear out any hillfolk refugees who hadn't received permission to stay.

"Maybe," Ansel said, standing up from his desk. "We'd better go greet them." He didn't want any incidents between the king's men and the refugees he himself had taken under his protection.

Leaving the study, they found Mr. Melvin coming to fetch them. "Sir, a visitor for you. He says he's with the Royal Guard."

Ansel exchanged confused glances with his sons. Why would the Royal Guard come out to the Black Crows? They weren't soldiers--they were the king's own bodyguards.

They found the man in the sitting room. He was wearing an officer's uniform and was bracketed by two more members of the Guard. The rest must have remained outside with the horses.

"Welcome to Tarwen Barony. I'm Ansel Tarwen, and these are my sons, Toman and Branth."

The officer gave him a careful nod. "I am Captain Tark, Lord Tarwen," he said.

Ansel frowned. He'd heard the name before--Tark was the head of the Royal Guard. What was he doing so far from the palace?

"It's not often we get visitors from Telfort," Ansel said. "Might I ask your destination?"

"I've come to speak with you, my lord."

"Oh?"

"Your youngest son, Corec, stands accused of dark magic and treachery against the throne."

Corec had warned of someone asking about him, but Ansel wouldn't tolerate the slander. "My son is no traitor," he said. "Speak plainly--what sort of treachery do you claim?"

"That's a matter you'll have to discuss with the king," Tark said.

"Whatever you think Corec did, you've got the wrong man--he's hardly been in the kingdom the past eight years. As for the magic, he's already been punished for that in Hightower, and I've declared it to be legal within Tarwen Barony."

Ansel wasn't certain whether he actually had the right to issue that order. In the western cities, it was the dukes who'd proclaimed magic to be legal, after Marten's great-grandfather had forbidden the Church from burning mages. Those dukes hadn't followed any official process--the kings since that time had simply never revoked their edicts.

Tark's shoulders tensed. "Is he here?" the man asked. "In the barony?"

"He doesn't visit home often," Ansel said. "The last I heard, he was in the free lands." Everyone in the region knew that much, so he wasn't giving anything away.

The captain nodded. "Then His Majesty requests that you return with me to Telfort so he can discuss the matter with you in person. He remembers fondly the conversations the two of you shared during your previous visits."

Two of Ansel's senior armsmen, likely attracted by the commotion in the village, entered the house and took positions to either side of the sitting room's entrance, pretending as if that was their normal post. Tark's men eyed them, appearing uncomfortable having armed men at their back.

"I am His Majesty's loyal subject, but what purpose would this trip to Telfort serve?" Ansel asked. "I've already told you, Corec's no traitor--this is all some sort of misunderstanding. Besides, you can hardly expect me to leave my barony in the summer." In truth, Toman and Branth could handle things on their own for a short time, but Ansel wanted to see how Tark would react.

"The king insists," the man said. "He would like to resolve the issue without any stain coming to the Tarwen family name." It may have been couched in polite terms, but that could only be interpreted as a threat.

"I'll go," Toman offered.

Ansel turned to look at his son. "What?"

"I'll go," Toman said with a grin. "I haven't been to the capital in a while, and this way, Branth can deal with the mess he made of the crop rotation." This close, Ansel could smell a whiff of whiskey coming from his breath. It wasn't even noon yet. Ansel had never taken Toman to task over his drinking--he only drank to excess when he was arguing with Vena.

Ansel turned back to Tark. "Give me a moment with my sons, please." He led Branth and Toman around the corner and down the hallway so they wouldn't be overheard.

Branth had a look of disgust on his face. "You'd stab him in the back that easily?" he asked his brother.

"I'm not doing anything of the sort," Toman said. "You said yourself that Corec wants us to tell them everything."

"He also said it could be dangerous," Ansel pointed out.

"Dangerous unless we answer all their questions," Toman said. "I know. You've told me a dozen times. But the king has ordered you to attend him, and we can't ignore that. I'm your heir--he'll accept me in your place."

Ansel hesitated. It was his own responsibility to go, but he wasn't certain he could control his temper if the king continued making false accusations. Would Toman be able to clear up whatever the confusion was? He seemed eager to make the trip, and the change to his routine might do him good. It would at least get him away from his wife and children until he got over whatever nonsense had set him off this time.

"All right," Ansel said, "but promise me you'll be careful. Make sure the king understands there's no way Corec would have acted against him."

"How hard could it be?" Toman said.