Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  The farther down the street he went, the more he became cognizant of how many new faces and shops there were in town. To his shock, two more side streets had been added since he left. Essentially, it was the same place, and yet it wasn't. By the time he reached the main square, most of his surprise had worn off and he unconsciously began to cata­log the changes.

  "At least the gazebo is still here," he grumbled to himself.

  On the opposite side of the square, a small silver shop bore the name gibb & sons. Akin and Fergus had never bothered to change it after their father died. Mathew remembered Akin as a tall blond man with slender fingers. Fergus, the older of the two sons, was dead. Seeing his name in the cemetery had come as a blow, much like the others he had been close with. Because so many of the graves bore the same date of death, he assumed that a bat­tle must have taken place after the invasion. A good num­ber of the tombstones were inscribed with women's names. It was a morbid piece of conjecture, because he knew the people of Devondale would not have given then-town up without a fight. Elgarian women had never shown any hesitation in fighting alongside their men. Whatever the tragedy, it drove home once again how important it was to recover his ring.

  These people must not have died in vain, he thought. He would explain that to Lara and the others and make them understand. Father Thomas's words about him being El-garia's last hope took on renewed meaning.

  Mathew looked at the old oak tree where Akin and Fer­gus used to play their violins on Sixth Day afternoons. He thought of his friends, so much alike in their appearance and mannerisms, and wondered whether Akin had contin­ued to play after his brother's death. Once he saw Lara, he would go to see his old friend.

  Thankfully, the square still looked very much the same. There were no flowers in the beds the day he left, and there was the lawn near the town council building where he had fenced the last bout with Giles Naismith.

  "Giles." Mathew said the name aloud. The fencing strips were all gone, as were the tables where they had eaten dinner after the competition was over. He could al­most hear the music and see his friends dancing. That night had ended badly when Thad Layton stumbled into the dance carrying the body of his dead child. The boy had been mutilated by the Orlocks. Mathew shut his eyes, willing away the gruesome image. An odyssey of nearly four years had now brought him full circle.

  At the end of one street several new buildings had been erected. Mathew continued walking toward them. On the next block, at the coiner of a building, a sign read blak-ley's metal products. It was just above where Randal Wain's shop should have been. He didn't remember see­ing Randal's name in the cemetery, and wondered what could have happened to him. Memories of trying not to listen while his father negotiated a price for his first sword with Randal brought a smile to his face.

  Mathew reached down and touched the weapon's pom­mel. The Kaseri steel had never lost its edge over the years, and its balance was the best he had ever found. In two weeks he and Father Thomas would be in Vargoth. It was comfort­ing to have the priest with him, though the job of fencing master might be moot in light of what Delain had told them. All he had to do was break into Teanna's palace, find the ring, and get out alive. He had no clear idea how they would accomplish that, but they would find a way—they had to.

  Lara's father's shop was on the next street. The closer he got, the more Mathew felt his pulse racing, so he de­cided to stop and rehearse what he was going to say one more time. But then he saw two people who were familiar to him coming down the street. Fortunately, neither had seen him yet. He ducked into an alley and waited for them to pass. Alone again, his tried the words in his mind until he felt foolish. It was just delay, and he knew it.

  Mathew stepped out of the alley and crossed the street. Daniel's house was on the next block. Collin probably had his own farm by now. Either that or he was living with his brother or his parents, assuming he was still in Devondale at all. Collin had always wanted to see the world. Mathew guessed it was a fifty-fifty chance that he'd be gone. The prospect of missing him hurt, because he very much wanted to see him again. None of Delain's people had known anything about Collin Miller, or anyone else in De­vondale for that matter. If they had, the names of his dead friends in the cemetery might not have come as such a shock.

  The dye shop was a nondescript affair. As Mathew got closer he saw several people inside. A horse and wagon were tied up out front. He slowed down and walked past it, glancing in the window and trying not to be obvious. Lara's father was standing on a ladder talking to a man Mathew had never seen before. Amanda Palmer was be­hind the counter. The heavyset lady she was waiting on was Ella Emson, wife of the town blacksmith. Having seen Lucas's grave only a short while ago, Mathew's first instinct was to go in and tell her how sorry he was, but that would involve complications he couldn't afford. He watched Martin Palmer get down off the ladder and hand the man a small parcel. The man paid him, came outside, got on his wagon, and proceeded down the street.

  He decided to wait until Ella was gone, hoping she wouldn't be in one of her talkative moods. The longer he waited, however, the more doubts crept into his mind. He tried convincing himself that everyone would be better off without his showing up and disrupting their lives again.

  "This is impossible," he said finally.

  Ella finally emerged from the shop and headed toward the square, clutching a bundle under her arm. A big, solid figure from his past, she had always been pleasant and well-meaning, particularly after his mother had died.

  How bad would it have been to have said a few words to her?

  Bad, he decided. The answer presented itself almost as soon as he had thought of it.

  The fewer people who knew that Mathew Lewin was alive, the greater his chances for success would be. One word to Teanna or Alor Satar and the mercenaries would be scouring the countryside for him.

  Mathew walked back to the shop, opened the door and stepped in.

  19

  Devondale

  Lara's father was seated at an old rolltop desk making an entry in his ledger. He was a man of medium build, fifty-two years old, with salt and pepper brown hair. He glanced up when he heard the door open and half turned in his seat. "Good morning, young fella," he said over his shoulder. "Give me a moment and I'll be right with you."

  "Hello, Master Palmer."

  Martin Palmer's pencil paused and he turned around, staring at the newcomer. Several seconds passed and he said nothing, then a small crease appeared in the middle of his forehead and he slowly got to his feet.

  "Martin," he said absently. The frown deepened and he took a step forward. "My God ... Mathew?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Lara's father recovered himself, crossed the room in three strides, and seized Mathew in an embrace. "My God, my God. Let's have a look at you, boy." He held Mathew at arm's length. "We thought you were dead."

  "I'm sorry, sir. I know what a shock this must be, but the deception was necessary. I'll tell you all about—"

  A sharp intake of breath followed by a loud crash stopped Mathew in mid-sentence. Amanda Palmer stood there in the doorway with her hands over her mouth. A glass bowl lay in pieces at her feet. Mathew immediately went to her and they hugged. She was as much in shock as her husband had been and her green eyes were filled with tears. They were almond-shaped, like Lara's. She took Mathew's face in her hands and kissed him, stepped back and then pulled him back to her again and kissed him once more. Mathew smiled and returned the embrace.

  Martin turned the sign hanging from the knob over, in­dicating the shop was closed.

  It took Mathew fifteen minutes to recount what had happened after Fanshaw Castle, and the Palmers had a hundred questions. He answered them as honestly as he could. They were clearly happy to see him and overjoyed when he told them that Father Thomas was also back. "But why didn't he come with you?" Martin asked. "I think he wanted to give me some time to see Lara alone."

  Martin cleared his throat. "Oh, yes. Quite right. Unfor­tunat
ely, she's not here now. She's gone to Becky Enders's house to deliver a package. She should be back shortly."

  Mathew sighed. "I've been trying to figure out what to say to her. Is she all right?" "Lara? Yes, yes. She and—"

  Martin abruptly broke off the rest of his sentence when his wife stepped on his foot. A look passed between them. "Is something wrong?" Mathew asked. "Nothing at all," Amanda said. "Will you stay to dinner with us, Mathew?"

  "Yes, indeed," Martin added. "That's a wonderful idea. I'm going to break out that bottle of that Nyngary Red we've been saving. I put it around here somewhere. Mother, do you know where it is?"

  "It's upstairs in the cupboard," she said patiently. "The cupboard? Well, of course it is. I'll just pop up and get it. You wait right here, Mat. It won't take me a second."

  Amanda watched her husband disappear through the back door of the shop and shook her head.

  "He's very happy to see you, Mathew. We both are." She reached up, brushed the rebellious lock of hair off

  his forehead, and gave him a warm smile. "Lara will be as well."

  Mathew opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. When Amanda didn't say anything else, the si­lence closed in.

  "Is . .. uh, Lara still living upstairs with you?" he asked, glancing up at the ceiling where Martin could be heard walking.

  "No, Mathew. She has her own home now. It's on the outskirts of town. I'm sure there's a lot you'll both want to talk about. She shouldn't be long. By the way, where is Father Thomas now?"

  Mathew felt his stomach turn over. It wasn't so much Amanda's words as the way she had said them. Until that moment it had never occurred to him that Lara might have found someone else and settled down to a life of her own. What a fool he was. He was dead, and dead men didn't have any claims on the living. He felt face go red at his own stupidity.

  "I think he went to see if his house was still in one piece," he answered, averting his eyes.

  Part of his brain registered Martin coming down the steps and reentering the room, and part caught the look of sympathy on Amanda's face. Suddenly, he didn't want to be there anymore. Coming back to Devondale had been a mistake. He knew that now.

  "Here we are," Martin said, holding up the bottle of wine. "I think we should .. ."

  His voice dropped off when he saw Mathew's expres­sion, and he turned to Amanda. She responded with a slight shake of her head.

  "Where did you say Lara's house was?" Mathew asked.

  "It's on the South Road a little over a mile past Westrey Bridge," Amanda answered.

  Mathew thought for a second. "But that's Askel Miller's farm."

  "Yes, it is, Mathew."

  Another silence followed. Martin Palmer went to stand next to his wife and he put an arm around her shoulders. Both of their faces were somber. Mathew could feel his stomach tightening as he fought to gain control of his emotions.

  "Perhaps it would be best if I come back a little later," he said. His own voice sounded strange to him. "Does Collin still live in town? I'd like to see him before we leave."

  Martin nodded. "Mm-hmm."

  Beyond that he didn't elaborate, nor did he need to. The unspoken message struck Mathew like a blow. Lara and Collin were married!

  He looked from Martin to Amanda, who had a hand over her mouth.

  "I see," Mathew said.

  "You see nothing," Martin said. "And I need something stronger than this wine. Amanda, why don't you run up and fix dinner? Mat and I need to have a little talk."

  Martin reached under the counter, and retrieved a bot­tle of brandy. A little more rummaging produced two glasses and an arch look from his wife. Once again some­thing passed between them, which was more or less unique to people who were married. Mathew didn't care; it suddenly felt like his ears were on fire, and he very much wanted to be gone. Collin and Lara, he thought.

  It was Martin who broke the silence "Mat, if you'll excuse us for a minute, I need to speak with my wife— in private."

  "That's fine, sir. But I really do need to be running along and—"

  "Martin," he corrected. "We've known each other long enough to be on a first name basis by now. Will you do me a favor?" "If I can."

  "You can. I'd like you to promise you'll be here when I return."

  "Well, it's just that—"

  "I'd like your word on it, Mat. I've never asked you for anything before, and I'm going to take it real bad if I come down and you're gone."

  Mathew's eyes locked with Lara's father's. Martin's face was as serious as he had ever seen it. It was also a small enough thing for one friend to ask another.

  "All right."

  Five minutes turned into ten as Mathew waited. Below in the shop, he could hear the raised voices coming from the floor above. He couldn't make out the words, but what they were talking about was obvious. Had he not given his word, he would have left as soon as they were gone. Now he had no choice but to wait.

  Collin and Lara.

  It cut like a knife. He took a deep breath and hoped the Palmers would hurry. The last time he saw them had been the day of his father's funeral. It seemed so very long ago. He didn't remember much about that day except sitting in Lara's room with her and talking until he fell asleep from exhaustion. The Palmers' house was actually behind their place of business, at the end of an alley. They'd given Lara her own room above the shop for her sixteenth birthday.

  Mathew fidgeted and waited and fidgeted some more and still neither Martin or Amanda had reappeared. The loud conversation going on above him gradually subsided. But he could still hear them talking and wished that they would hurry so he could leave. Strangely, every once in a while he thought heard the sound of a child's voice.

  He remembered that Harry, one of Lara's brothers, lived in Mechlen, a town not far from Devondale, and ran a dry goods business. Garrick, her other brother, owned a farm to the west of town. Neither had had any children when he left. He supposed that was no longer the case.

  If the Palmers didn't finish their discussion in the next few minutes, he decided, he would call up to them and tell them that he had to go. He still needed to see Akin and Daniel before he left town.

  Mathew was reiterating what a bad idea coming back had been when the door at the front of the shop opened.

  "Why are we closed at this time of day?" a familiar voice asked.

  He turned to see Lara standing in the doorway, and all of the words he had so carefully rehearsed promptly de­serted him. She saw him at the same time and froze. Nei­ther of them moved for several seconds.

  Lara's lips parted slightly. "Mathew," she whispered.

  Somehow he managed to take a step toward her, and then another. The mass of chestnut-colored hair was im­mediately familiar, as were the contours of her face and figure. She had the slightest cleft in her chin.

  Say something, you fool, his mind shouted.

  "I've come back. I wanted—"

  The rest of Mathew's sentence was interrupted by a perfectly thrown right cross that landed flush on his jaw and knocked him backward.

  "You son of a bitch!" she shouted. "Four years and not a word!"

  Mathew shook his head and felt his jaw. "I couldn't," he said. "It was too dangerous."

  "Four years," she repeated, taking a step toward him.

  Mathew took a half step back and raised his hands de­fensively. "I'm sorry."

  "Sorry? Sorry?" she shouted. "I thought. . . you let me think that you were dead and all you can say is you 're sorry? It's been four years since I've seen you and you come waltzing in here with not so much as a letter in all that time. You—You—"

  "I didn't mean to hurt you," Mathew said, rubbing his jaw.

  Lara stamped her foot in frustration. "Oh, Mathew."

  This was not exactly going the way he had planned, and saying he was sorry again would probably just get her more upset. The footfalls coming down the steps told him that Lara's parents were returning. At the moment, the last tiling he wanted was a publi
c scene.

  "Look, I didn't ask for any of this," he said. "I know you didn't, either. It was a mistake my coming back. I see that now, but I thought..."

  Mathew paused while Amanda and Martin Palmer en­tered the room. Amanda was carrying a young child in her arms, a little boy. Mathew paused and smiled at him, and the child gave him a shy smile in return.

  "At any rate," he continued, pulling his eyes away from the boy, "I can see what a shock this has been. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose that sounds stupid, but I want you to know that I wish you all happiness."

  As he was speaking, Lara's expression softened and she moved closer to him. Mathew's jaw was beginning to throb from where she had punched him, and he half ex­pected to have to duck. To his surprise she reached up and brushed the lock of hair off his forehead, as her mother had done.

  "You are such an idiot," she said, throwing her arms around him and pulling him to her.

  Confused, Mathew returned the embrace and looked over his shoulder at her parents. Martin tapped the side of his head and Amanda gave him a warm smile. She was be­coming teary-eyed again. The intensity with which Lara held him communicated itself through his body, and images of the last time they had been together surfaced in his mind. His next thought was of Collin. Loyalty to one's friends wasn't something that came and went with the seasons. If Lara was married to Collin now, there was nothing he could do, or ever would do, about it. Feelings of loss and anger at missed opportuni­ties threatened to overwhelm him and it took all his willpower not to let them show.

  "Well," Mathew said, drawing away from her. "It has certainly been an education seeing you all again." He ten­tatively moved his jaw from side to side. "Thank you for your kind invitation, Amanda, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I'll be leaving town shortly and I have a number of other calls to make." He turned to Lara and added, "Would you tell Collin that I said hello?"