The Dieya Chronicles - Incident on Ravar Read online

CHAPTER 2

  With graceful strides and boundless energy, Adrianna climbed Warthgow Keep’s well-worn stone steps two at a time, her leather armor whispering its familiar creak. She entered the sleeping chamber she shared with Balthus and strode to the open window. Drinking in the warmth of dawn’s streaming rays, she inhaled deeply. The Season of Flowers always made her feel so alive – as if the waking earth awoke something in her as well. She felt invigorated and knew it wasn’t just the season. It was also the excitement of this morning’s departure.

  She scanned the room with a practiced eye. Balthus had assured her that he had cleared the room of their belongings, but with him it never hurt to double check. On a shelf she spied his helmet, tethered by an old cobweb and covered with a layer of dust. Adrianna shook her head as a resigned, yet amused smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She grabbed the helmet by one of its bull horns and made her way to the Keep’s main hall.

  The stone walls still held the winter’s freeze and a chill flowed over her as she entered the large room. The wall hangings, once a riot of colors and scenes, had faded over the years. Now they served only to hide the patches in the stonework. A smoky fire crackling in the hearth did little to dispel the cold.

  Feet propped up on a rough-hewn wooden table, Balthus leaned well back in his chair. A heavy arctoskin rug covered his large, muscular frame. One powerful hand was curled around the generous mug of Mostaries ale resting on his stomach, and the other dangled to the floor. Adrianna smiled at his unceremonious position.

  Balthus was staring at the flames. Fire always fascinated him and he could watch it for hours. He claimed it rejuvenated his mental prowess. She claimed it was just cheap entertainment for the feeble-minded.

  They had wintered in Warthgow Keep at the request of Baron Warthgow. Bandit raids had plagued the area the previous winter and the Baron had hired their swords and skills as a safeguard against more assaults. This winter, however, particularly harsh weather had followed a bountiful summer and bandit raids had been few.

  Adrianna had enjoyed the respite but was glad to be moving on. As the quiet winter edged toward spring, Balthus’ tales had begun to grow longer and taller, a sure sign that he was ready as well.

  “Good morning,” she said to her longtime companion. “The luses should be saddled and loaded by now. It looks like we’re ready to leave.”

  With obvious effort, Balthus tore his gaze away from the fire and smiled at her. His smile broadened into a grin. Adrianna wore her black leather armor with the silver studding, black knee-length boots and black gloves. Her dark hair trailed down her back in a single braid. “Ah, I really love you in black,” he sighed. “You’ll make a fine looking widow.”

  “And I’ll be one soon if we don’t get you moving and work off your winter fat,” she teased.

  “Fat?” Balthus lifted the mug, pounded his rock-hard abdomen and shook his head. “You must mean what’s between my ears.” He set the mug on the table and stood, arctoskin rug falling to the floor. He too wore his leather armor and was ready to ride.

  Balthus spread his heavily muscled arms and stretched. “Do we really have to go?” he moaned around a yawn.

  “Do we really have to go?” sputtered Adrianna. “This was your idea! I don’t understand you. You hate to leave a place once you arrive, then you love being on the trail once we’ve left...” She scooted under his upraised arms and hugged him hard. Looking up, she continued, “…and then you hate the thought of arriving.”

  Balthus enfolded her in his arms and smiled down into her dark eyes. “It’s because I’m one with the world.”

  “More likely you’re one with yourself and hate being distracted by the world.” She gave his hair a sharp tug.

  He grinned at her barb and rubbed his head. “I know, I know.” He released his embrace. “But we should be getting on to Duke Lothogorn’s.” He buckled his sword across his back as they walked toward the door.

  “His letter requesting our presence just arrived yesterday,” she said. “He cannot expect us to drop everything to run to his aid.”

  “He most certainly will. Lotho saved my life once by deflecting a sword thrust that would have finished me. I owe him.”

  A sly smile crossed Adrianna’s face. “The way I heard it, he got up to help during a tavern brawl and passed out on one of your attackers.”

  Balthus straightened. “Nonsense! We battled foes for hours, holding off all comers.”

  “I bet you can’t even remember what that fight was about.”

  “Of course I do. It was about someone being most unreasonable about something or other.”

  “You weren’t singing that night by any chance, were you?” she asked with a grin. “Anyway, it will be good to see Lotho again.”

  “Yes, it’s been a while,” mused Balthus. “It must have hurt his pride to ask for our help.”

  “The message said his castle was besieged. Why would anyone do that? Do you think it could be a ruse just to get us to visit?”

  “Every word Lotho speaks is true; just don’t believe anything he tells you.”

  “Is that for my safety or yours?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered as he swung open the door.

  He took the bull-horned helmet from Adrianna and jammed it on his head. Light brown curls trailed out from under the edges and Adrianna made a mental note to trim his hair.

  “Perhaps we should again thank Sir Warthgow for his hospitality,” said Balthus.

  “No need. He’s still abed from last night’s farewell banquet and knows we’re leaving early.”

  “Yes, he did his share of damage to the wine cellar, didn’t he?”

  “And you helped,” she said.

  “I do what I can to be the perfect guest.” He shrugged. “Besides, if we didn’t drink it up, two things could happen. The wine might go bad and the steward get punished, or someone could drink too much and awake with a painful head. I have saved someone from a bad fate.”

  With this perfect Balthus logic, Adrianna knew the topic was closed.

  Crossing the courtyard to the stable, they fell into step, their matching footfalls echoing off the stones. The sun’s warm glow banished the night’s chill and Adrianna linked arms with Balthus as they walked.

  He acknowledged her touch with a squeeze. “Looks like the start of a beautiful day,” he said.

  Adrianna glanced at the morning sky and inhaled deeply. She patted his arm, content with the day and its promise.

  They entered the stable and a skinny ten-year-old boy bounced down from the loft. “Sir and Lady,” he said, attempting a small bow, “your luses are ready.”

  Balthus examined the mounts closely. They were both dark brown with tan stripes running down their flanks. He grabbed the nearest one’s halter. It tried to pull back but he held it firmly. He reached into his pouch, then placed a clenched hand near the luse’s mouth. Its nostrils flared as it picked up the scent of sweetroot and nuzzled his hand. Balthus opened his fist and the luse’s long tongue snaked out and wrapped around the treat. He rubbed the filed nub of the creature’s single horn while it crunched noisily. Balthus continued to accustom the luse to his touch by stroking its neck and flank while he made sure their packs were secure.

  Adrianna stooped and checked her own mount’s front toes. If a luse was going to give them problems, it would begin at the split toe. Adrianna adjusted the saddle girth and nodded to Balthus. “They look good.”

  The stable boy’s eyes gleamed with pride, but his gaze returned to admiring the hand-and-a-half sword strapped to Balthus’ back. “May I see your sword, Sir?” he asked.

  “Sword? Where is that sword anyway?” Balthus said, turning around.

  “Why, it’s on your back, Sir.”

  “And that’s where it will stay, boy!” bellowed Balthus.

  The boy jumped. “But when I grow up, I want to be a wa
rrior too!” he stated.

  “What’s your name, boy? Dorio, isn’t it?”

  The boy grinned, pleased that Balthus remembered his name. “Yes, Sir.”

  Adrianna folded her arms and watched, interested to see how Balthus handled the lad.

  “Listen, Dorio,” growled Balthus. “Do you know what a warrior is? A warrior is someone who has survived the fight, nothing more, nothing less. It’s better to avoid all of it if you can because one day your luck has to run out.”

  Dorio furrowed his brows in confusion. This new information didn’t make sense in his ten-year-old’s understanding of the world. He changed the subject and pointed to the mounts. “Sir Warthgow said to give you the stable’s best luses. I chose these,” he said with pride.

  “Best? I need the easiest! Traipsing all over the countryside is hard enough on my butt without having to mind a spirited luse.”

  Dorio’s face fell.

  Adrianna cleared her throat.

  Balthus glanced at her, then at the boy’s expression. He squatted and inspected his luse’s front toes. “Good work on the toenails.” He examined the inside of the luse’s small floppy ear and nodded. “Yes, you did choose well.” He turned to Dorio. “Luses are just as important as swords in many battles, and I can see you do an excellent job caring for them.” Balthus patted the animal’s flank. “Perhaps, if you worked at it, someday you could be the King’s stableman. My thanks, Dorio.” Balthus flipped the boy a copper.

  The lad beamed as he deftly caught the coin.

  They walked their luses out through the yard to the front gate and Adrianna smiled as they mounted. “Perhaps the world just lost a warrior – but gained a stableman.”

  Balthus just harrumphed.