Your loving daughter,
Ceraratha
* * *
The carriage jolted yet again, and Ceraratha braced herself against the wall, the wood rough under her fingers. Alena, her maidservant, lost her balance and jolted against her arm with a murmured apology. Cera was certain they’d be a mass of bruises by the time they reached their destination.
Across from them sat Herald Premlor, looking as jostled and jolted as they were, and almost as frustrated. “The roads,” he said with a grimace. “I fear they’ve not been seen to in the two years since the Tedrel Wars.”
Cera nodded, catching her breath, the fear rising in her breast. It was all happening so fast. They’d been days on the road from Haven, and from her impression, they still had a good distance to cover to reach the land of Sandbriar—her lands—lands that she’d never even seen.
“You’d be more comfortable on your Companion,” she offered tentatively. She might be of Rethwellan, but she knew that Heralds and Companions were . . . special. She’d seen the looks Premlor had cast through the window at the white horse pacing beside them.
His smile was a wry one. “You’ve much to learn, Lady. And I deem it even more difficult talking through the window of a moving carriage. Let’s continue, shall we?” Premlor said. “About the religious laws . . .”
Cera nodded as he started in again. Some of Valdemar’s laws she knew as the daughter of a Rethwellan merchant with far trading ties. Others she had yet to fully understand. She settled back, determined to learn even as the carriage jostled on. For she could not, would not fail her oath to Queen Selenay, the woman who’d offered honor instead of disgrace, redemption instead of shame.
The woman who had set her free.
* * *
The days of travel blurred together, until one morning the carriage halted at the side of the road. Cera climbed down after Premlor, glad to stand on solid ground.
“Your boundary stone.” He nodded at a nearby stone pillar a few feet off the lane. “We are to meet the Circuit Herald here, and she will accompany you the rest of the way.” He lifted his head, looking south. “This would be her,” he said, bowing to Cera. “If you would give us but a moment, Lady.” He mounted his Companion and headed down the road to greet the approaching figure in full Whites.
“Such a height,” Alena marveled as she stared up at the stone, her hand raised to break the glare of the sun.
“Has to be, to be seen,” the driver said jovially, seeing to his team of horses. “Big enough you can’t miss it, true enough.”
“So we are close to Sandbriar then,” Cera said, not unhappy that they might be quit of the carriage soon.
“Another three days at the most,” the driver agreed with a smile. “Two if we push for it.”
Cera stiffened, and her eyes met Alena’s, filled with a similar shock. Three days? Just how large was this Sandbriar?
The two white figures down the road had stopped, clearly talking outside the range of listening ears. That was fine with Cera, who was happy to walk about a bit, stretching her legs. But it wasn’t long before the Heralds returned, riding toward her on their fine white Companions.
“Lady Ceraratha, may I introduce Herald Helgara, Chosen of Stonas, currently riding the Circuit that includes Sandbriar.”
Cera looked up to face a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense face and a slight wrinkle between her brows. The Companion shone white in the sun, looking as fleet and fierce as her rider.
“Herald Helgara, Companion Stonas. Well met on this sunny day,” Cera said, giving both a nod.
“A sunny day that will soon turn to heavy rain.” Helgara’s voice was deep and filled with gravel. “Stonas’ weather sense is sure. We’d best be on our way.”
“Rain will make for rougher going,” the driver said.
“Soonest started, soonest there,” Helgara replied crisply as Premlor prepared to depart. “Let’s be about it.”
* * *
Cera invited Helgara to ride in the carriage with them, not as generous a gesture as it might seem, given the state of the road. Still, it would be easier to talk there than leaning out a window.
Helgara hesitated, then accepted, climbing in after her. The driver urged the horses on with all due speed. Companion Stonas maintained an easy pace beside them.
“Well, Lady.” Helgara studied both Alena and her with a skeptical eye. “I’ve only just been informed of the hunting ‘accident.’ My condolences.”
Cera caught her hesitation and knew she’d a decision to make: go forward with the proper fiction or extend her trust to this woman. It took a heartbeat to decide. She lifted her chin. “My husband was a fool and a traitor to this Kingdom and our Queen.” Cera kept her voice calm and level. “Your condolences are appreciated but unnecessary.”
“Ah.” Helgara settled back on her bench seat. “Perhaps you’d fill in the details for me.”
So Cera talked of what she knew, with Alena filling in such servant’s gossip as she’d heard. Helgara was a good listener, asking minimal questions, taking it all in with a fierce concentration.
The rain started soon after. The driver carried on, and they shared their noontime meal from the basket that had been placed within. Cera found herself giving more information than she’d been asked for, down to the details of her marriage and her late husband’s . . . flaws. She hesitated to speak of the blows and harsh words, lest this strong woman see her as less than capable.
Helgara’s eyes were sharp, though.
The driver had been hustling his team, and they arrived at an inn for the night as the rain intensified. Helgara saw to the rooms and took Cera and Alena up to theirs promptly. A fire burned in the hearth, and the beds looked warm and comforting.
“I’ve not said who you are yet. Best leave that until you are established at the manor house. Time enough to meet your people later.” Helgara looked about the room. “This should suit.”
“Better than the carriage,” Cera assured her. Alena was starting to unpack their bedclothes.
“You were generous with your confidences today,” Helgara said softly.
“You are a Herald,” Cera said. “And worthy of trust.”
“And you trust your servant?” Helgara asked.
“I do,” Cera said. “She has been with me since I was a lass.”
“We will talk more tomorrow,” Helgara said. “Or perhaps I should say that I will talk more. Good night, Lady Ceraratha.”
“Cera,” Cera replied. “Please.”
Helgara paused in the doorway. “In private, perhaps. But you are the Lady of Sandbriar now, and must accept that role and the title.”
“Lady Cera, then,” Cera said.
“As you choose, Lady.” Helgara replied. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Cera said to the firmly shutting door.
* * *
“There’s a decision to be made, Herald,” their driver said as they gathered at the inn’s doorway in the morning. The rain was still falling, steady and hard. “Either we push on harder, or we maintain the pace. Roads might mire up tomorrow if this keeps up, but if we push, we could be there late tonight.”
Helgara got a far-off look in her eyes.
“What of your horses?” Cera asked in the odd silence.
“Good of you to think on them,” the driver said. “They’ll be ready for a good feed and a rubdown, but a day’s rest and they will be well. Worried more about the muck they’ll wade through if this rain keeps up. Hard on them, that is.”
“Stonas says the rain will continue,” Helgara said. “If you’re worried more about the mud than the pace, then lets push on for tonight.”
“Won’t be comfortable,” the driver warned. “But it’ll get it done.”
“We’ll be fine,” Cera said as she stepped up into the carriage.
She and
Alena arranged their cloaks about them as the carriage left the inn yard. Helgara sat opposite, but her posture was more relaxed than the day before.
They hadn’t gone a half-mile when she started to speak. “Cera, you are the daughter of a merchant, with a practical bent like my own. I would speak some home truths to you about Sandbriar. But I am a blunt woman, not well suited to the likes of Haven.”
“Tell me,” Cera said firmly.
Helgara looked down at her clasped hands. “I am not sure that those in Haven have done you any favors by sending you here. The land here about is exhausted. So are the people, who are barely able to scratch by.”
“Was there fighting here?” Cera asked.
“No,” Helgara shook her head slowly. “This was not the battlefield. But the army of Valdemar was large and required much support. Men, livestock, food, all were given freely by the previous Lord, in support of the Kingdom and King Sendar.”
“Were you at the battle?” Alena asked, her eyes wide and curious.
“Alena,” Cera hushed her.
“I was.” Helgara did not look up, her voice flat and unemotional. “Many men died that day, many more were maimed or crippled. Sandbriar paid a dear price for our freedom, including the death of the previous lord and his sons.
“With so many menfolk dead, whatever livestock that is left wanders free or has gone feral. I fear that what crops they were able to put in the ground will not suffice. Last year, the people could glean from the fields. This year . . . I fear there will be hunger. Or worse.”
“The Queen gave me funds,” Cera said, thinking of the fat purse beneath her clothing.
“Good,” Helgara said. “But gold alone will not solve these problems. The neighboring lands are drained as well. There’s no trade with Karse, no activity on their side of the border at all, thank the gods. If you have ties with Rethwellan, use them.”
“My father would assist me,” Cera said. “If there are wares to be sold.”
“Then don’t hesitate to contact him.” Helgara sighed. “But understand, Lady, you are looking at a lot of work with people who are tired and weary and have little hope. Haven didn’t tell you that, I reckon.”
Fear rose in Cera’s heart. This was more than she’d thought, more than she could handle. The fear and grief and, yes, pain reflected in the Herald’s eyes mirrored the lands. How was she to cope with this? Deal with all of this?
“My mistress is not afraid of work,” Alena interrupted with a stubborn look on her face. “Neither am I.”
“No,” Helgara said. “I suspect you are not. But you needed to hear the full truth.”
Under cover of their cloaks, Cera clutched Alena’s hand, more grateful for the support than she could voice. She cleared her throat. “Haven did not tell me,” she said slowly. “But then they were dealing with other issues.”
Helgara grimaced. “True enough. To be honest, they may not have known. The Heralds in the field are stretched thin as it is. We send the tax records back, but the truth is the entire country is struggling to recover. And out here, things are harder than within the cities. Sandbriar bore the brunt of it, you see. All of it. All of the Tedrel Wars.”
Cera took a breath and then another, uncertain of her strength or ability to cope with what was described. Her mouth dry, she focused on the only thing she could. “Perhaps you can give me a bit more information than Premlor provided. Could you tell me of the villages? The people? The land itself?”
Helgara nodded. “That I can do,” she said. And while she talked, describing lands and farmsteads, villages and cots, Cera struggled to keep her fears at bay.
The hours went by slowly, and the chill and the damp grew from the steady rain. As darkness fell, Helgara insisted on riding her Companion. “There are bandits in the area, and our presence will make them avoid us entirely.”
“Bandits?” Cera swallowed hard.
“Aye,” Helgara said, her eyes fierce and unforgiving. “Not that there’s many, but all it takes is a few. Otherwise, I would ride ahead and give the manor a bit of warning of your coming. You may have to sleep in cold beds this night.”
“As long as they aren’t moving,” Alena muttered from under her cloak.
Cera could only agree.
* * *
“Open the gates!”
The cry stirred Cera from her stupor. Night had fallen, and every bone in her body ached.
“Open the gates for the Lady of Sandbriar,” Helgara called again, and Cera heard women exclaiming, and the grating of wood on wood. Cera’s impression was of women, guarding the gate and walls.
The carriage rolled to a stop before a great door, and torches flared as people gathered.
“Herald Helgara?” was the inquiry, but Helgara was having no delays. She threw open the door of the carriage and extended a hand to assist Cera down.
“I bring you your Lady, come from Haven with her maidservant. She needs something hot and then a bed this night. Answers and introductions can wait until we’ve rested.”
“I am Marga, my Lady.” An older woman stepped forward with a curtsy, then turned to Helgara. “You’ll stay the night, Herald? The Waystation is so far—”
Cera stopped, startled, about to protest.
“Nay, I’ll take a bed gladly after I’ve seen to Stonas.” Helgara leaned in to Cera. “No fear. I’ll not leave you friendless this night.”
Cera just squeezed her hand in reply. She followed the woman through the door and down a confusing maze of hallways and corridors, Alena at her side. In her exhaustion nothing made sense, except a door that opened on a cold room, with a large bed and a trundle at its foot.
“I’ve mulled cider,” an older woman said softly. “We’ll light the fire as quick as we can.” Their trunks were bustled in, carried by young boys who looked half-asleep themselves. Cera moved stiffly, accepting the warm cup as she watched the fire leap to life.
She remembered little else, other than crisp sheets, soft blankets, and the bliss of a steady surface beneath her as she slipped into slumber.
* * *
Cera awoke slowly to a room filled with light and warmth. The fire still burned on the hearth, and light spilled through the shutters. She stretched beneath the blankets, enjoying the comfort. Her fingers found the softness she’d felt the night before, and she marveled at the wool coverlet. She’d never felt wool like that, and she wondered idly what animal it was from. Or maybe they had a special weave?
She drew another deep breath and was content for a moment more, until she truly woke. Sandbriar, she was in Sandbriar. With a rush of energy, she threw back the bedding, her bare toes descending to the woolen rug, and blinked at the room about her as she stood.
Her door cracked open, and Alena popped her head in. “You’re finally awake,” she said softly with a smile, as she eased in with a tray. “The Herald and the Steward are in the kitchen talking, and the Cook’s putting on breakfast. I’m to bring you to the Great Hall as soon as you’re ready.”
“What are they like?” Cera gulped tea as Alena dug into their trunks and pulled out a dress for her.
“Nice enough,” Alena said, but there was worry on her face. “But they’re talking more around me than to me, if you know what I mean.”
Cera nodded, dressing quickly and seeing to her hair as best she could.
She followed Alena through the hallways to find herself in what had to be the Great Hall, a dark and shadowed affair with a vaulted ceiling and high, shuttered windows. A small fire burned in the hearth behind the high table, or at least it looked small in the vastness of the large fireplace. There were two settings there. Herald Helgara stood before one, dressed in her white uniform.
Behind her, a portrait hung on the wall, a lovely picture of a man and a woman with gentle faces, and two bright-eyed fair boys. The frame was draped in black mourning cloth and tied bac
k with black ribbons. A garland of dried flowers graced the lower part of the frame. A palpable aura of sadness and grief hovered in the air.
Cera walked around the table to stand before her place.
“I’ll tell them you are ready to be served.” Alena whisked off through a distant door, leaving them standing there.
“Good morning,” Helgara said from the far end of the table, a good ten paces from where Cera stood. The Herald had an odd glint in her eye.
“This is ridiculous,” Cera said.
Helgara laughed, and then covered it with a cough.
Cera leaned over, scooped up her place setting, and started toward the door. “I think we’d be far more comfortable in the kitchens, Herald.”
Helgara had taken up her dishes as well. “As you see fit, Lady.”
Cera pushed through the door and into a warm, bright room filled with the smells of baking bread and frying eggs. She’d caught them all in the process of preparing a tray, presumably for herself and Helgara.
“Good morning,” Cera said politely. She moved to an open spot at the wooden table and started to set down her dishes. “It makes little sense for me to dine alone in the Great Hall. This would be far more to my liking.”
They stood staring at her, although Alena was trying to cover her smile. An older man, a middle-aged woman hovering near him, and a lad with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Various young women, kitchen workers surely, and another stout woman who had to be the cook.
“Lady Ceraratha.” Helgara’s voice was rich and amused, but ever so proper. “Allow me to introduce you to your Steward, Athelnor, and your Chatelaine, his wife, Marga.” Helgara continued about the room, naming all in turn. Cera nodded to each, until Helgara finished, then they all stood in sudden silence.
“I’m famished,” Cera said and settled on a stool. “Is there any porridge?”
The room returned to life as they scrambled to serve her.
* * *
“Herald Helgara has told us of the death of Lord Sinmonkelrath.” Steward Athelnor cleared his throat. “I would extend my condolences, my Lady.”
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