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~ 17 ~

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“You should not have bargained with Lady Bone.”

Orielle brushed a clot of sand from his sleeve as she hid from his searching gaze. “I weighed my choices. I considered what was most important to me.” There, she’d dared her own admission, just as he had with Lady Skuld.

Grim didn’t respond, turning away, and she deflated. He walked away, kicking stones on the shore. She hurried to catch up.

The big chestnut found them as they scaled the mountain, coming out of the trees. It must have waited in safety while they fought wyre and dealt a hard bargain with Lady Skuld.

The ride to the Haven passed without trouble. On the mountain’s other side, they found another creek, clear and twisty. They followed the creek upstream and into a narrow gorge where the water roiled. The mountains stepped back, and the gorge opened to a wide valley, forested at its entrance, but Orielle caught a glimpse of cleared pasture before the trail dropped to run beside the slower waters.

A man leaped down from a tree and landed in their path. Expecting wyre, she jerked Air to her, then Grim’s hand touched hers. He gave a shake of his head. So she studied the man who blocked their way.

He had Grim’s dark hair and narrow features, but his eyes were muddy brown. He wore leathers and a green shirt but no mail. He carried a stave rather than a bladed weapon.

“Son of Holt,” he greeted Grim. “Two years it’s been.”

“Son of Sourrect.” Grim touched his forehead, a brief salute that the other returned. “Two years, three months, odd days.”

The man grinned. “There’ll be some not happy to see you.”

Leaned against Grim’s back, she expected he would tense. Instead, he chuckled. Grim, laughing!

“All to the good. Shake them up, change their minds.”

The sentinel gave that curious lifted chin of agreement which she’d seen from Grim more than once. “And who is this golden lady?”

“Lady Galfrons, from the Enclave, come to parley with the Elder.”

“Enclave.” The word wiped away the welcome. The man glanced into the trees. She saw movement. No one revealed themselves, but she knew other sentinels watched, listened, waited, keeping the guard .

“Does Tobit still serve as Elder? I heard of a challenge.”

“Four challenges, all defeated. This one’s not the first to come from the Enclave,” which was news to Orielle. “He’ll give her a hearing. She’s pretty enough.”

“Like that, is it?”

Grim had lost his humor. She had tired of people focusing only on her appearance, including the wyre with his pretty wizard. “The Elder should listen to me because I’m from the Enclave and for no other reason.”

The sentinel’s eyebrows lifted. He gave a whistle. “Got a mind of her own, don’t she?”

Disgusted with the assumptions, she dug her nails into Grim’s side. The leather prevented damage, but since he’d shed his mail, he felt the prick of her anger. He shifted a little. “We had trouble with a wyre pack. Killed seven. The six will be on the prowl.”

He gave an appreciative whistle. “Precautions?”

“The usual.”

The man stepped aside so Ruddy could carry them on. “We’ll double our sentries. On you go.”

Grim saluted.

The man’s gaze bored into her back long after they passed. “What was that about?”

“Not here.” The upward tilt of his head warned that others lurked in the trees.

“People can eavesdrop on rooms,” she warned him.

“You don’t know a Shield spell? I do if you can’t.”

The Shield, dropped over the conversation, would prevent any spy from reporting—unless the spy could read lips. She’d heard of spies who had that knack. The spell was tricksy but not too difficult, not like the linked wards that guarded a camp. A novice learned it then learned to expand it. She shifted behind him. He wanted her to use magic, then. He wanted others to know. Since she’d already admitted to multiple problems with her training, she confessed, “As long as it’s just a few of us and not a big room.”

“A Shield for two will work.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder blade and wished this day were ended. She felt bone-deep tired, and diplomacy was before her, requiring as much caution as she’d used with the Lady. “I didn’t know the Rho could work spells.”

“The Rho don’t. A Fae taught me.”

“Using the elements?”

“Yes. Quiet now.”

They emerged from forest into tilled soil. On the right, the harvested fields had thick stubble with turned soil at a distance. Hayricks dotted the opposing fields.

The cleared land revealed the waves and ripples of the surrounding mountains, earth formed like frozen water. Horses ran alongside a pole fence. Workers began to dot the fields, toiling to finish the harvest. A wagon rattled ahead of them on the straight road. Over Grim’s shoulder she was smoke pillars, then their chimneys, and then a palisade surrounding the smoke and chimneys. At the corners and on either side of an open gate were towers, manned by archers.

The Haven looked like an armed camp. They trailed the wagon heading for the gate.

“The gate shuts at dusk. It doesn’t open, for anyone, until the Elder gives the word. Don’t be caught outside.”

“Gobbers and the like?”

“Gobbers. The season before I left, a wyre pack besieged us. No danger at the moment.”

“How do you know?”

“No flags.”

As they rode into the village, she eyed the towers and the men watching from the parapet along the palisade.

People stared. Many lifted a hand in greeting, and Grim returned each one. Children ran behind his horse until a different game distracted them. The men who followed didn’t turn aside.

The wagon turned onto a side lane. Grim guided Ruddy on, to an open square with a well. He swung a leg over the horse’s neck and jumped down then reached up to help her dismount.

Three men came forward, calling the name Holtson, slapping his back, giving pats to Ruddy, and staring at her. Grim unburdened the horse by handing her the saddlebags and blanket rolls.

A tall man parted the encircling crowd. A vagrant wind tugged at his grizzled hair, curling over his square head.

One of the men talking with Grim saw the tall man. He sobered and gestured a warning. “Grim.”

And her Grim answered to the name. No wonder he’d been surprised when she used it. If ever a name suited a personality—.

He swung around to meet the tall man who stood a half-head bigger and broader of girth. The man’s wide grin didn’t make up for his beady eyes, the color of a clear sky. And Grim didn’t smile his welcome.

“Grim, son of Holt. You return. Do you come to face justice?”

“Justice? Are you saying I committed a crime? What crime, Tobit?”

“You left without permission, before we cleared the forest of wyre. You endangered the Haven.”

The three men had fallen behind Grim, leaving Orielle beside him. She swung the packs off her shoulder and to the ground.

“We killed all thirteen of that pack. Did you suffer more attacks after I left? Brok, did you?”

The man who had first greeted him answered. “No, no more attacks.”

“Luck that was.” Hands on hip made Tobit looked larger than he was. “You had no right to leave.”

“I had permission. My father granted it.”

“Your father was dead, with a question of the cause of his death never answered. You did not swear loyalty to the next elder, to me. I gave no permission.”

“So, it’s a crime now to leave the Haven.”

“It’s a crime to leave the Haven in danger and a greater crime to refuse to answer questions about a death. You can disobey an Elder, but you will face consequences for it.”

“I heard no edict rescinding my permission to leave. My plans were set for six weeks.”

“You quibble. Justice still needs serving.”

“Forget the crime,” someone in the crowd called, and a murmur of agreement rippled around the square.

But the tall man gave a signal and three men came around him and headed for Grim. “You going to give us a battle?”

“Will I get a hearing?”

“We have justice here. I will hear your complaint, then you will hear mine.”

Fair enough.” Grim turned to Orielle. “Stick with Brok. You should have nothing to fear, but Brok will see you have a meal and a bed for the night.”

“But you—.”

“Brok will explain.” Then he turned and met the three sentries.

She watched Grim led away. When she glared at Tobit, he grinned. “Now, what about you, pretty lady?”

. ~ . ~ . ~ .

The adventures of Orielle and Grim continue in To Charm the Wind.