The Warrior's Bond

The horses slowed on the long incline leading to the D’Olbriot residence just as a new notion struck Temar. It was time the settlements of Kel Ar’Ayen had names, to honour those with the vision to found the colony, who’d shed their life’s blood in its defence. Saedrin’s stones, he wasn’t about to let Den Fellaemion just be written out of history as subsumed into Tor Priminale!

He snorted with inadvertent contempt as the carriage pulled up in front of the D’Olbriot gatehouse and the driver banged on the roof once more.

“Did you say something?” Ryshad opened his eyes, swallowing a curse as he inadvertently leaned on his injured hand.

“No, but we are back,” Temar opened the door before turning to Ryshad with a faintly embarrassed smile. “What is a fair recompense for the driver? I have coin, but—”

“A couple of silver Marks will give him something over for Festival.” Ryshad scrubbed his unbandaged palm over his face. “Dast’s teeth, I’m weary.”

“You have had a busy day,” Temar pointed out.

“I should have taken more water with my wine,” said Ryshad ruefully. “At least you kept your wits about you.”

“Avila and Messire’s surgeon were firmly agreed on that,” Temar shrugged. “As little alcohol as possible after a blow to the head, they insisted.”

“Ryshad, Fair Festival!” The chosen man on duty in the gatehouse waved at them. “One of Fyle’s lads brought the news, and the Sieur said to broach a barrel for the barracks on the strength of it!”

“Fair Festival to you, Naer,” Ryshad gri

“Is the Demoiselle Tor Arrial within?” Temar interrupted. “You really must let her see that hand, Ryshad.”

Naer shook his head. He was as tall as Ryshad, Temar realised, with the same lean build but substantially more years thickening his waist and thi

“Are the Sieur and Esquire Camarl here?” Ryshad asked.

The swordsman shook his head again. “They got back from the courts just after sunset but went out again as soon as they’d changed. I think they’re dining with Den Murivance.” The swordsman looked at Temar with ready amusement. “The Demoiselles of the Name are holding a musical evening, Esquire D’Alse

“Thanks.” Ryshad looked thoughtful as they walked away. “I wonder how well Master Burquest argued today.”

“Tell me about Den Murivance,” Temar invited. “What is their status compared to D’Olbriot? What is their interest in Kel Ar’Ayen?”

“I imagine the key there’s the embarrassment of eligible and marriageable daughters blessing their House.” Ryshad took a deep breath of the cool evening air but it still turned into another yawn. “Any one of whom would make a wife with rank to reinforce your claim to restoring your Name. That would certainly settle the rumours that the Sieur’s pla

They were heading for the residence, black shadows adding their own solid pattern to the complexity of the gardens. At every turn of these paths within hedges within walls Temar felt increasingly pe

“Den Murivance is extremely wealthy,” continued Ryshad. “They’ve significant holdings from Lequesine to Moretayne. The only reason they don’t have quite D’Olbriot’s prestige is the last three Sieurs have been more interested in commerce than politics.” He looked at Temar with a wicked smile. “So, did you find Gelaia easy on the eye this morning? A white-feathered fan means a girl’s open to offers, did you know that?”

Temar struggled for an answer. Looking away from Ryshad’s gently mocking gaze, he saw two figures coming down the path, their sudden hesitation catching Temar’s eye. “Who are they?”

“Visiting servants?” Ryshad peered into the gloom but the men had halted in the dimness where the flaming torches of the gatehouse fell short of the glow from the windows of the residence.

Temar shrugged and continued walking. The two men did the same, passing Ryshad with eyes firmly fixed on the ground. Their steps crunched with increasing haste.

Ryshad stopped and looked at Temar. “I didn’t recognise them, did you?”

Temar shook his head. “And I have this old-fashioned habit of actually looking at servants.”

“And they look at you, more to the point, and bow.” Ryshad frowned. “All the visiting servants have been told you’re entitled to every courtesy, in no uncertain terms.”

They turned to see the two unknown men disappear abruptly behind a thick yew hedge.

“They’re cutting round the residence to the stableyard.” Ryshad was scowling.

“Honest servants with permission to go out would surely leave through the main gate?” Temar’s own suspicions were growing.

“Dast curse it,” Ryshad said crossly. “It’s probably nothing, but sometimes sneak thieves take advantage of Festival comings and goings. I’ll go back and tell Naer to verify anyone trying to leave. You get over to the stables and tell whoever’s on watch to get his thumb out of his arse. Tell them to shut the gates.”

Temar didn’t need telling twice and ran down the shadowed path on light feet, settling his sword on his hip out of old habit.

The stableyard opened on to the lane ru

Temar ran up to the liveried sentry on duty in a cubby hole by the gate. “You — has anyone passed in the last few moments?”

The sentry stood smartly upright. “No, Esquire, no one.”

Temar had never seen him before but the sworn man knew to recognise D’Alse

The sentry immediately blew three sharp notes on a whistle hung round his neck. Four sworn men appeared from the new building.

“Ryshad says there’s rats in the garden,” the sentry explained. “You two, start looking. Iffa, rouse the barracks.” The remaining man helped him swing the heavy gates closed.

“What’s to do?” A voice called down from the parapet high above their heads.

“Ryshad reckons he saw sneaks in the grounds,” yelled the sentry.

“There’s no sign up here.” But the voice was already moving away in the darkness where the trees beyond hung black shadows over the walls.

“You’d best get yourself safe inside the residence, Esquire,” said the sentry with faint apology. “The ladies are having a musical evening, aren’t they?”

Temar nodded but didn’t reply. No, he’d go and find Ryshad. He had a blade after all, and he knew how to use it, more than could be said for whatever fashionable nobles were hiding inside the house. Shrill whistles sounded, some high on the walls, some closer at hand, answering trills from the gatehouse.

Heavy boots thudded and a liveried guard skidded to a halt in front of Temar. “Identify yourself! Ah, Esquire, beg pardon, but shouldn’t you be inside?”