“Last night, you did not come with anything other than that sword,” Sarai said. “Will your things be arriving today?”
“I’m afraid this is all I have,” Stiger said. “The dwarves took all I had. Though, to be fair, I did not come into their hands with any spare clothing.”
“Well,” Sarai said, “you look a sorry sight. Your tunic’s dirty and quite stained.”
Stiger glanced downward at himself and suddenly felt embarrassed. His tunic was still stained with dried orc blood. He would need to wash it.
“I have a spare tunic for you, along with pants,” she said, moving by him and into the bedroom. As she passed him, Stiger thought he could detect the faint fragrance of roses on the air. He had known other women to use rosewater on their hair and had always liked the scent.
Sarai emerged a few moments later with a tunic and pants. She had also brought a pair of sandals. She hesitated a heartbeat before handing them over to Stiger. The tunic and pants were of poor-quality wool, but were well sewn and made. It would do.
“Off you go.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Time to change out of that dirty thing.”
Setting down the sandals, he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. Stiger slipped off his old tunic and pulled on the one she had given him. It fit well, though he found the wool a little itchy. He pulled on the pants, which were also a close fit. Stiger tied the ties tight, then returned to the kitchen.
Sarai stiffened at the sight of him. Her hand went to her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears. She half turned away to conceal her grief.
“This is your husband’s, I take it?” Stiger asked.
Sarai nodded.
“He caught the fever last winter.” She paused. It was clear to him her husband’s loss was still an open wound. “He was gone before I knew it.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiger said.
“So am I.” She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes before handing him back the empty bucket. “Would you mind gathering some eggs from the hen house?”
Stiger took the hint and stepped outside. The same dwarf was still there. Their eyes once again met. Stiger shot the dwarf a wink and started off toward the chicken coop. As he walked, he looked around the farm, making a mental list of what he wanted to accomplish this day.
Chapter Two
Stiger hammered away, driving the nail in while the dwarf held the board securely in place. He pulled the last nail from between his lips and hammered that one in too. Stiger and the dwarf stood back and regarded their work. The old rotten sideboard lay on the ground behind them, along with ten others just like it.
“It looks good,” Stiger said to the dwarf, whose name he had learned was Geligg.
Geligg nodded his satisfaction with their work and said a few words in dwarven. Unable to speak common, Geligg understood hand gestures well enough. When Stiger had asked for his help, the dwarf had readily set his shield down and without hesitation lent a hand.
Stiger was pleased with his work. The barn looked much improved and had lost its dilapidated look. Well, some of it. With Captain Aleric’s approval and an escort, he’d scavenged the wood for the repair from an abandoned farm a mile away. He had learned from Sarai that the family that had lived there had died from fever a few years back. The barn had been old and decaying. The locals had picked over the farm rather thoroughly for any usable material, but Stiger had managed to scavenge ten good boards from what was left of the barn and another twenty from the house for siding.
“When I was ordered to take my company here to watch over you, I had not envisioned my boys being pressed into manual labor.”
Stiger turned to see Captain Aleric standing just behind them. The captain was also studying their work. Geligg immediately straightened to a position of attention, shooting his captain a guilty look. Stiger could readily sense the dwarf’s unease.
Aleric was wearing a simple tunic and cloak. The cloak’s pattern was green, yellow, and brown. He carried a sword that was a little longer than a legionary short sword. The captain’s brown hair had been close cropped and, along with his temples, his beard was beginning to gray. There was a sternness and correctness to his manner that spoke of a professional soldier confident in his ability. His arms and hands were nicked with tiny scars, a sure sign of a lifetime of arms training.
“Do you mind me borrowing them occasionally?” Stiger asked, glancing over at Geligg. He hoped he’d not gotten the warrior in trouble. “There is a lot of work and your boys are just standing around all day watching me. It can’t be very exciting work.”
Aleric spoke in dwarven to Geligg. It sounded like an order, and sure enough, the warrior grabbed his shield and stepped away, resuming his assigned position a few feet from them.
“Exciting is something we experienced soldiers tend to avoid,” Aleric said.
“Too true,” Stiger said. “Boring is better, but at the same time a busy soldier is one who doesn’t get into trouble.”
Aleric gazed around the farm. “You’ve been here just two weeks and this place already looks much improved.”
Stiger placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the farmyard. Yes, it had only been two weeks, but it somehow seemed longer. The farmyard looked vastly different. Stiger had first cleaned up the yard before starting work on the barn and house. He’d uprooted all of the weeds, which had gone right onto the compost pile. Then he had begun removing anything that had been lying around. That included stones and old farm equipment that had long since served its purpose and was now simply junk. Sarai had helped him with most of it, silently toiling at his side. He wasn’t accustomed to working alongside a woman, but this was her place. Who was he to tell her no?
“Orderly is better, don’t you think?” Stiger asked Aleric. He had also stacked the firewood, which had been left in a pile by the splitting stump. This morning he had made it his job to work on the exterior of the barn, replacing worn-out and rotted boards.
“I do,” Aleric said.
Stiger glanced over at the barn, thinking on what needed to be done. He next planned on organizing and cleaning out the interior before starting work on the roof. According to Sarai, it leaked badly. He also wanted at some point to repair the pasture’s fencing, which was a mess. That was a big job and Stiger wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Sarai was kind enough to put me up,” Stiger said to Aleric. “It is the least I can do for her.”
“That is very noble,” Aleric said, turning his gaze from the farmyard back to Stiger. “You gain much legend from helping the widow. My boys can assist you if they wish. However, I want to be clear. They will not do the work for you.”
“I would not expect them to,” Stiger said, fully understanding the captain’s position. “I will only ask for their help when I need to. Otherwise I will do the work myself. Is that fair enough?”
“Most,” Aleric said and then got to the business at hand for his visit. The captain only came by when he had business to discuss. “I will be sending over one of my boys tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Stiger was curious as to why.
“I thought it might be good for you to learn our language,” Aleric said. “It will help you to get to know and appreciate my people better. Perhaps it may also save on any potential misunderstandings, if you get my meaning.”
Stiger gave it a moment’s thought. He had nothing pressing, only the farm work to occupy his mind, which on most days was quite troubled. He decided it would be a good diversion, and also at the same time would bring a convenient extra pair of hands for jobs like the barn. “I think I’d like that. Captain, I accept your generous offer.”
“Very good,” Aleric said. “His name is Theogdin. He will be over sometime after dawn.”
“Is he on punishment detail?” Stiger wondered if Aleric was sending him his problem child.
“He should be, but no,” Aleric said. “Theogdin is one who needs to have a something to do or he gets himself in trouble. He also speaks common, which should h
elp with your instruction.”
“I will do my best to keep him busy for you,” Stiger said.
Aleric gave him a satisfied and somewhat pleased nod.
“Good day,” Aleric said and moved off toward the dwarven camp. Geligg relaxed a fraction after his captain passed. He puffed out his cheeks and shot Stiger a relieved grin.
Sarai exited the house a short while later. She walked over to him and examined his work on the barn. She smelled of freshly baked bread. The smell of it had been on the air all morning.
“It looks good,” she said, glancing over at him and crossing her arms. “When my husband and I came to live here, the house and barn were already a wreck. It took a lot of effort getting the house livable. We never quite got the barn where we wanted it. My husband wasn’t very good at making repairs, but he was a good farmer and taught me to tend the fields.”
Stiger had to agree that Sarai knew what she was doing when it came to farming. There was not a weed in either of her two fields. She was growing potatoes, lettuce, carrots, and peas, which for her were all cash crops. When the harvest came, Sarai would sell them at the market over in Venera, the nearest town. Each field was neat and orderly, with the first shoots of the planted crops having spouted.
Even her personal garden was exceptionally tidy. Sarai had a wide variety of vegetables planted. From this she would provide herself food for the coming summer and fall. Some of her produce would be jarred or stored for winter in the springhouse behind the barn.
“One thing the legions teach you is how to construct buildings,” Stiger said. “Once you learn that, you can easily do maintenance, and that’s all the barn was needing. I will give the interior and roof some love over the next few days.”
Sarai turned to him and her brows drew together.
“I wanted to . . .” Sarai stopped. She began again. “I’m grateful for the work you’ve done.”
“You’re feeding me and putting a roof over my head. The least I can do is help you out.”
“It’s more than I expected,” Sarai said. “The bread should be done soon, but I’ve got some time. What are you planning to do next?”
“Well,” Stiger said, pointing behind them. “I’m gonna carry these old boards over to the woodpile. In a few days, I will get around to breaking them up. We can use them in the fire.”
“Sounds good. Let me help you carry them over.” Sarai bent down and picked up one of the heavy boards.
Stiger almost smiled. She was a hard worker and never seemed to stop. Even after sunset, she frequently kept working by candlelight, sewing, mending things, or preparing food for the next day. Sarai had a fierce, determined spirit. It was something he could well appreciate and respect.
For much of the work he’d done, Sarai had toiled alongside him, only retiring to the house to prepare food for the two of them. Stiger was a terrible cook, and knew that was being kind. Cooking was one thing the legions had failed to teach him. As an officer, it was a simply a skill he never needed to learn.
Sarai, on the other hand, was an exceptional cook. She’d even taught him how to make bread, and Stiger had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. She had promised to teach him how to make oxtail stew. He was looking forward to that.
Stiger watched her for a moment as she carried the board away. She had an inner beauty that shined forth in her attitude and approach to life. He bent down to pick up a couple of the old boards and started after her. Together they moved all ten boards over to the woodpile. As Sarai was tossing down the last one, she grabbed at her hand.
“Bleeding gods,” Sarai said, examining her hand.
“What is it?”
“A splinter is all,” Sarai said with a frustrated breath, “a large one, too.”
“Let me see.” Stiger stepped closer and took her hand in his. The skin on the top of her hand was soft, smooth, and warm. Her palm, when he turned it over, was hard and calloused from a lifetime of manual labor. His own palms looked the same, but that was mainly from sword and shield work.
“That’s a big splinter,” Stiger said, looking at her palm. Using his nails, he carefully drew out the sliver of wood. She did not flinch, nor look away. A small bubble of blood appeared as he took out the last of the splinter. When he was satisfied he’d gotten it all, he looked up to find her eyes searching his face. Their eyes met. She blinked, as if he’d caught her doing something she ought not, and pulled her hand back. She sucked at the wound, eyeing him for a moment more with an inscrutable look.
“I need to check on the bread,” Sarai said and left him, walking quickly to the house. He followed her with his eyes as she made her way back inside. The scent of fresh bread mixed with rosewater remained behind.
Stiger set the shovel down and wiped sweat from his brow. The sun from the warm spring day beat down upon him. The last few weeks had seen the temperature increase almost daily. It was so hot he had brought a bucket of water with him. Sarai had loaned him a large wooden ladle, which he dipped in the water and brought to his lips, drinking it dry. He dropped it back into the bucket, where it landed with a soft splash.
Stiger had finished his work on both the house and barn before turning his full attention to the pasture’s fencing. Much of it had deteriorated badly, which meant Sarai’s horse and cow could not properly graze for fear of having them wander off. She had resorted to tying them to the fencing that was still sturdy enough to hold them. She used a long rope, which allowed them to graze somewhat. Unfortunately, this was not a satisfactory solution, for both animals regularly got themselves tangled.
A good number of the fence posts were rotted, and in places the fence had completely collapsed. Others had shifted with the ground, leaning at odd angles, and needed work to be righted. When he started the project, Stiger estimated that twenty-five posts would need to be dug up and replaced. That did not count another twelve that required resetting. At the time, that had not sounded too bad. It turned out to be a very difficult job. Before digging out a post, he had to dismantle the fencing around it. This took a lot of time. It required careful attention, so the good pieces could be reused when he rebuilt the fencing.
Stiger waved away a fly and glanced down into the hole he was digging around the post. He had spent the last two hours digging and he’d only managed to remove five posts. The day had turned very warm while he’d been at it. Combined with his exertions, he was sweating like a farmer’s prize pig fleeing a predator. Stiger stripped off his tunic so that he wore only his pants and sandals. Shedding the wool tunic brought a modicum of relief. He returned to his digging.
A cloud interposed itself between the sun and the land. With it, Stiger’s mood abruptly darkened. He’d been at the farm for four weeks now. He still felt terrible about Delvaris. Stiger had dedicated his life to service and the High Father, but everything he had worked toward was now gone, stripped away with a simple step through the World Gate. That was a difficult thing to accept. But the more time he spent at this farm, the more he had come slowly to accept his fate.
The dwarves seemed unable to decide what to do with him and so he remained their prisoner. He was a man out of his time.
He resumed digging, tossing aside one shovel full of dirt at a time as he worked his way around the post. Stiger purposely made sure to keep himself busy. He worked from near sunup to sunset. The work helped to ease the frustration with his current situation. But it gave him plenty of time to think, and that was a curse, too. In truth, it felt good to be doing something, anything. That he was helping someone else besides himself made the burden he bore just a tad easier.
Sarai was really the only reason he’d not gone mad with rage at his predicament. He’d been surprised to find he enjoyed her company. She seemed to enjoy his as well. Sarai was the only bright point for him.
They both in a way were shattered people with deep hurts that cut to the soul. Late at night, he heard her occasionally weeping for her husband. Stiger had been tempted to go to her to offer what comfort he could but
did not want to intrude upon her grief. No matter how much he wanted to, he felt he did not know her well enough to take such liberties. It pained him to listen to her.
Grief could be intensely personal, and he’d tread carefully whenever the subject of her husband came up.
Stiger put the shovel aside as the post tilted a little and shifted to the left slightly. He reached down and first pushed, then pulled, jerking it back and forth to loosen the post up, at first straining to free it. The ground did not want to give up the post. He pulled harder. The post resisted a moment more, then came fully free. Breathing heavily, he dropped it on the ground, where it landed with a thud.
“How’s it going?”
Stiger looked up and saw Sarai crossing the field to him. A gentle gust of wind stirred the waist-high grass in waves, rippling around her as she closed the distance. Stiger wiped sweat from his brow. The breeze was a nice relief to the heat.
“As well as can be expected,” Stiger said as she neared. “These posts are proving more difficult a foe than I had anticipated.”
She came to a stop to his front. “It will be nice to let the animals graze freely and not have to check on them throughout the day. Untangling Misty is tricky work. She gets impatient and likes to kick.”
Misty was Sarai’s horse. She used her to ride to market once a week. Sarai was quite fond of the animal, setting aside time each day to brush her down or go for a short ride. She loved the horse, and as far as Stiger could tell, the horse was quite fond of her, too.
“If we don’t get them out here grazing,” Stiger said, “this pasture will become thoroughly overgrown with brush. Then we’ll have a heck of a time clearing it. I’ve already seen a few saplings I will need to pull up.”
Sarai glanced around the pasture and gave a slow nod. “Once we get them both out here, they should make quick work of the grass.”
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 4
