There was a side table next to his chair that held his personal journal. Throughout the course of his search for history, Yennit had recorded everything. The journal contained detailed lists of every important artifact contained within the treasure room, including what he knew of its makers, and the lineage of those who had once owned each item. It held maps of specific areas, like the valley of the Harvens, with annotations regarding historic events that transpired around the region, and their importance. There was a floor by floor layout of Castle Desirmor, pieced together from visits, where he’d ventured about memorizing every nook, cranny, and corner. It showed a direct path to Desirmor’s chambers as well as a rumored secret entrance to the castle’s dungeon area, from a cave behind the waterfall. Yennit wasn’t sure if the passage truly existed, but he included it in his journal all the same.
The book was incomplete in many ways, but he hoped that one day someone would benefit from its insight. He had meant for it to be a keepsake, passed down through his family until the prophecy began and his future scion would use it to fulfill her destiny. That it was Enaya whom the journal was meant for all along was surprising. She knew of his treasure room. He had taken her to see his life’s work many times. Now he could only hope that her road would someday lead back to his manor, and he could pass his journal on to the person for whom it was written.
A soft bell rang out. It was Harriet. Among those that worked for him, Harriet and Mueller were the only people who knew of his secret treasure room. She had pulled a book in the library that held the string, which rang the bell. It was the only way she had of getting his attention once he entered the room.
Something important was happening. The bell was for emergencies. Harriet knew that. In her whole time as his personal attendant, Harriet had only ever rung the bell twice.
Yennit slowly stood. The effects of old age, and the extensive traveling he had done in his youth, had left him close to being a cripple. Standing took effort. Walking was painful and arduous.
Using his lacquered cane for balance, Yennit gradually made it to the door. There was a lever to pull, that automatically swung the door out, just enough for him to squeeze through into the library.
Harriet was waiting for him, stark concern worn plainly on her aging face. He pulled the proper book on the shelf on the library side of the door, and faced Harriet, not bothering to watch his false wall slide back into place.
“What’s wrong, Harriet?” he asked, fearing the news would be regarding Maehril.
“It’s Peters, my Lord. He’s just rode in as if an army of those beasts were chasing him. He’s waiting in the foyer, for you,” she answered. Yennit guessed that Harriet already had an idea about what his head scout might have to report, but he decided not to press her and wait to hear it from the source.
“Bring him to me, Harriet” he ordered.
Harriet complied, hurrying out of the library to find Peters. A moment later she returned, leading a short, sweaty man, who looked barely older than a teenager. Peters appeared young, but he had spent eight years as an Imperial scout and two more working for Yennit. He was good at what he did and fiercely loyal. Though he was known to have a short temper, Yennit had always been fond of him.
“What do you have to report, Peters?” he asked, as soon as Peters stood before him.
“There’s an Imperial squadron less than a league north. They’re coming this way,” Peters reported. He was winded and breathing heavily from his race to get back ahead of the advancing force. “They have at least five trivals.”
Yennit cursed loudly and banged his cane down against the floor boards in frustration. They were coming for Maehril. He had been clear with everyone who had been there the night Maehril had saved the manor from the rover attack. They had been instructed to shut their mouths. Why could gossip never be contained?
“Where’s Maehril?” he asked Harriet, who still stood quietly by the door.
“She’s at the fishing hole with the boys,” she answered, quickly.
Yennit grimaced and tried to think quickly. The fishing hole was a short ride north of the manor. The Imperial squadron would likely pass right by them. The question was whether they were using scouts. If so, it was very possible that Maehril was being captured at that very moment.
“Peters, are you my man?” Yennit asked, grimly.
Peters took a knee, pressing his right hand over his heart. His brown eyes were full of dedication. “To the death, my Lord.”
“And Desirmor? How do you feel about your king? Answer truthfully, now.”
“My brother was fed to the borlicon for striking an officer in a bar fight,” Peters answered severely. Wild anguish and obdurate loathing spat from his tongue. “I long for the day, when I can walk in a world free of his darkness.”
Yennit nodded sympathetically. “Peters, this is the most important task I have ever given you,” Peters’ eyes flared with excitement. “You saw what Maehril did the other night. That girl is the single most important person in the world. Our lives are insignificant to hers. She must be protected, at any cost. Find a few men. Men willing to defend her life with their own. Ride out to the fishing hole. Avoid notice if you can but get to her. That squadron is coming for her. I’m sure of it. Do what you must, Peters, but make certain Maehril escapes. Do you understand?”
Peters stood, his right hand still fiercely pressed against his chest. Despite the zealous enthusiasm that radiated from his sweat-streaked face, Yennit could see pride burning within.
“If I have to stand in front of Desirmor himself to aid her escape, I swear to you, it will be done.”
With that, Peters bowed deeply, then turned and sprinted off to execute his orders. Yennit knew his hopes were slim, but he was certain Peters would give everything he had to protect the girl. Harriet watched him, with a sick expression on her face. Yennit wanted to reassure her, but the wisdom gained from a lifetime of politics and nobility, told him that the situation was dire. Five trivals and five hundred soldiers, just to bring in a girl that hadn’t registered? Something smelled wrong.
“Sound the alarm, Harriet. We need to get as many people away from here as we can. I fear a bloodletting will soon be upon us.”
Harriet nodded and ran from the library.
With a mounting feeling of dread, Yennit returned to his treasure room. His journal was missing some important information. If the end was near, it was time for him to complete his life’s work.
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“Good heaven’s boy, are yer ears full of water?” Cano shouted in exasperation. “Are ya hearing a single thing I’ve been telling ya?”
Jerron gave Maehril a withering look and threw up his hands in defeat.
They had been at it for over an hour now. Cano stood in the dark pond water, up to his chest, trying to teach Jerron to float on his back. Maehril sat on a big rock, jutting out like a raised pier into the small pond, playing both sides. Whenever Cano became impatient over Jerron’s inability to properly execute what he perceived as simple instructions, he glared over at Maehril, as if to say, ‘Can you believe how long this is taking him?” Maehril would make sure Jerron wasn’t looking and snicker girlishly in agreement. Then when Jerron looked over with his big blue eyes begging for sympathy, saying ‘Can you believe how impatient he is?” Maehril waited until Cano looked away and giggled along at how foolish Cano could look when he became frustrated.
“I’m doing it,” Jerron argued.
“If yer doing it right, boy,” Cano mocked with a huff, “then why do ya keep sinking like a stone? Hmmm?”
“Because it's hard to accomplish anything with you shouting at me every two seconds!” Jerron fired back. “Maybe if you’d give me a proper chance, I might be able to figure things out.”
Cano glared at him for a moment, then threw up his hands. “Fine! Fine! Think yer so smart! Let’s see how ya do on yer own.” He looked over a Maehril again, cursing under his breat
h and shaking his tan, bald head. “I’m going to sit over there with, Maehril, and we’re going to watch ya sink right to the bottom.” He splashed his way out of the pond, with balled fists. When his feet touched the dark, brown mud at the shore, he turned and pointed a gnarled finger at Jerron, and shouted once more, “Right to the bottom!”
Jerron stood in the pond with a hard look on his homely face. Most times Maehril didn’t know what to make of him. He was always so gentle, kind, and easy to laugh that when he was taken by a fit of anger, and his temper was as quick and severe as Sevin’s had been, she still just wanted to pinch his cheeks and pat his head.
“Watch this, old man!” Jerron shouted after Cano, briefly flashing Maehril with his set and determined eyes.
He took a deep breath and dipped his back to the water. Once his head broke the plain of the dark pond water, he awkwardly started to bring up his feet and level off. At first, he got scared when the surface would occasionally slip close to his mouth and nose, and thrust his feet back down for balance. Then he gradually began to trust himself, first waving his legs at each panicked spiral, then relaxing and giving over to the sensation of floating. He let his arms spread out on either side, and he breathed raggedly until he trusted himself enough to calm down. In a peaceful drift, his lax body began to turn, pushed along by the bare current and lapping breeze.
“How’s this, old timer?” Jerron stuttered, feeling the mounting excitement of his achievement, but too worried to chance a sudden move that might break the triumphant moment.
Cano observed with his hands on his hips and a pout of measured scorn. Maehril studied his face. She was expecting him to throw a tantrum, then mouth off about luck or a blind squirrel finding a nut, but after a few tense seconds of watching the boy succeed, his shoulders relaxed and he looked up at her with a beaming smile.
“I suppose even a porcupine can find a mate,” Cano feigned besmirchment.
Jerron floated for a minute, then burst out in laughter. He stood up and faced Cano with a face full of mischief. “Don’t you ever give in? Would it kill you to admit that I just did something right?”
Cano simply folded his arms and set his jaw.
“That’s it!” Jerron cried.
He charged through the water at the old sailor, catching him before he could react. Jerron hoisted Cano in the air, holding him above his head like a child playing with a toy doll. Ignoring Cano’s blistering protests, Jerron grinned up at Maehril, then threw Cano out into the pond. Cano crashed through the surface, leaving an impressive splash in his wake, and disappeared, concealed by the dark color of the water.
For a moment Jerron fought to master his laughter, until he realized that Cano still hadn’t come up. He glanced up at Maehril with a concerned frown, then frantically started to walk out into the pond, trying to see if Cano was alright.
Maehril lost it. She began laughing hysterically. Had he truly forgotten that Cano has gills? Her soundless wheezes, a laugh that reminded some of a man catching his breath after an arduous sprint, caught Jerron’s attention.
He looked at her quizzically.
Suddenly, Cano grabbed his legs from the bottom of the pond, and Jerron barely had a chance to hold his breath, before he splashed down into the water. They both came up in a spray of water, Cano enjoying a long chuckle, and Jerron splashing towards the shore in a panic.
“That was mean!” Jerron shouted, rubbing the pond water from his eyes, as he caught his breath.
“No worse than tossing an old man into a pond!” Cano fired back, with a wink at Maehril.
Jerron stayed angry for only a moment more, before he realized that Maehril was still doubled over in hysterics at his expense, and Cano was wheezing along in delight. Their laughter infected him like a common cold. He started laughing right along with them.
It had been much the same the last two days for Maehril when she was alone with the boys. Cano curmudgeonly picked on Jerron for every little thing until the passionate youth lost his temper. Sooner or later, despite some loud, toothless bickering, they always ended up laughing until their stomachs hurt.
Things had certainly changed for her since she awoke the morning after the rover attack. People around the manor kept coming to her, the same wide-eyed adulation expressed in every face, wanting to touch her, to stand in her presence. At first, it had been overwhelming. All of her life, at the Kelmor Inn, she was more a part of the scenery than anything else. Patrons might smile at her politely, but because of her inability to speak, no-one ever paid her any attention. Now her name was on everyone’s lips. They thought she was some kind of living embodiment of the Creator, capable of healing any illness, solving any problem, righting every wrong.
The scope of requests people had made was long and increasingly implausible. There had been those who wanted only to stand near her, closing their eyes and basking in her presence. Some wanted her to touch them, and brought their children along as well, as though all of their problems could be solved by so simple a gesture. Maehril had seen a parade of animals, domestic and livestock. Her touch, it seemed, could guarantee a cow to produce good milk, pigs to grow fat and tender, horses to breed sturdy foals, and sheep to yield thick wool. A pretty young girl asked her to enchant a young guardsmen into falling in love with her. Maehril tried to protest, but she would not relent until Maehril finally, reluctantly, agreed to walk over and touch him. Oddly, she had seen them holding hands in the field beneath her window later that day. That had led to every other eligible young woman working for Yennit to seek out Maehril with similar matchmaking requests. There had been an old man, nearly blind and deaf, who came expecting a miracle, that walked away claiming he was as good as new. A woman, who had never been able to carry a child to term, asked for Maehril’s touch, then ran off, lustfully searching for her husband. One older lady brought a handful of seeds and begged Maehril to blow on them. Another woman, actually brought her dead husbands remains to Maehril and spent a long time sobbing and blathering on about how hard life for her had been ever since his passing. Maehril didn’t do anything but hold her hand and listen politely, but in the end the woman hugged and thanked her repeatedly as if she had received everything she had wanted.
Through it all, Cano and Jerron were never far away. They followed her every move, always watchful and present. Jerron had taken to sleeping in the Manor, just two doors away from her own room. Each night before she went to bed, he stood in her doorway just to make sure she didn’t need anything. Cano would wait for Jerron to leave, then pop his own head in the door to check on her. Though he would tell her he was off to his bed on the first floor, Maehril knew better. Cano and Mueller liked to share a glass of brandy, and smoke their pipes in the peace and quiet of a starlit sky.
She had come to like Mueller. The veteran soldier was quiet, and sturdy. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured thoughts and concise fragments of a soldier's wisdom. He reminded her of Farrus. They were so eerily similar, both in look and composure, that Maehril couldn’t help but wonder if they were long lost brothers, or at the very least, distant cousins. The only real difference between the two men was that while Mueller never so much as cracked a smile, Farrus was quick with a joke or a subtle jibe.
Maehril looked over her shoulder to the clearing beyond the thin copse of trees that hid the entrance to the fishing hole and watched Mueller standing watch. Whenever she left the grounds of the manor, Mueller followed. He had taken to thinking of himself as her personal bodyguard. While Cano and Jerron surely considered themselves her guards as well, it was Mueller who silently staked out a perimeter around her, always vigilantly scanning the horizon for threats. She found his dedication comforting but worried for him. Eventually, more dark creatures would test her, and she knew that there would be casualties. It was a fool’s hope to expect a life free of pain and loss. Bella had warned her of the dangers more times than she could count.
“Well, enough playing around. Are we here to teach ya to swim or aren’t we?�
� Cano asked, when the laughter had died down.
“Alright. Alright,” Jerron groaned, slumping with mock dejection. “What’s next? You want me to swim across the pond?” He looked up at Maehril and grinned jokingly.
“Now we’re talking, boy,” Cano clapped his hands together in delight.
The mirth slid off Jerron’s face as he looked over at the far shore. “Are you serious? I was only kidding around, you know?”
Cano didn’t give him an inch. “If ya can float, ya can swim. All ya have to do now is swing yer arms and kick them big feet of yers.”
Jerron swallowed hard and kept looking out across the pond. “I don’t know, Cano. That’s pretty far.”
“Pretty far?” Cano said in his harmlessly admonishing way. “Not more than a minute ago, ya thought ya had it all figured out. A little swim like that," Cano pointed to the opposite shore, a good hundred yards away, "should be nothing fer a world class talent like yerself.”
Jerron looked up at Maehril for support. Cano was being a bit boorish, she thought. When Cano gazed up at her, she shook her head and made it clear that she disapproved.
“Oh forget it then,” Cano relented. “Why don’t ya take a little time to work on yer floating? We can take the next step tomorrow.”
The Innkeeper's Son Page 59
