The Reward of Anavrea
Book Three of the Theodoric Saga
Written by
Rachel Rossano
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Author’s Note
About the Author
The Crown of Anavrea
Wren
Duty
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Copyright
Published by Rachel Rossano
Copyright 2016 Rachel Rossano
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.
Cover by An Author’s Art (©2013 Laura Miller)
Chapter One
“My Lord Tremain.”
Liam grimaced at the sound of his new title. Drawing back on the reins, he slowed his horse and guided it to the side of the winding trail.
“My lord.” Braxton drew his mount alongside Liam’s, matching the warhorse’s pace.
“How many times do I need to tell you? You don’t have to use my title. We are friends, not–” Liam couldn’t find the words to describe what they were.
“I know.” Braxton waved him off with his hand. “But you have to get used to it soon.”
“That was not my point.”
Braxton merely nodded.
Liam knew his friend was correct, but he was not willing to take on his new role as a titled landowner any sooner than necessary. Glancing over at his comrade-in-arms of ten years, he asked, “So what were you ‘my lording’ me for?”
“The captain says we should be able to see the village and vargar after the next rise,” Braxton informed him.
“Then let us pick up the pace.” Liam urged his horse to trot. “I wish to know the magnitude of the job before me.”
King Ireic Theodoric, monarch of Anavrea, was replacing his nobles, one title at a time. Ever since the attempted coup a year ago, he pursued a strategic removal of power from the hands of his opposition. So, when Lord Alain of Ashwyn died without a legitimate heir, he chose Liam to take the title and lands.
Liam supposed he was a logical choice. As the third son of noble parents, he chose to enter the military. There he served his country and king with honor. Then the rebellion occurred. He found himself on the opposite side of the conflict from his parents and many of his childhood friends. The king triumphed. The title and lands handed to him were a reward for exceptional service.
“There is the vargar.” Braxton pointed toward the far rise as they crested a hill. Liam reined in his horse so he could take in the view.
Before them, the valley dropped away and spread out in a green and brown patchwork of fields and hedgerows. The road they followed wound slightly to the east on its route to the village huddled beneath the shadow of a massive fortress. The village was smaller than Liam anticipated. This close to the wild northern border he expected the village would be closer to the stronghold of the lord protecting them.
The castle loomed above the clustered cottages on its perch at the top of the next rise. Its thick walls of black stone soaked up the late afternoon sunlight. The same light painted everything else vivid shades of bronze and gold.
“Ashwyn Vargar,” Braxton murmured.
“Aye.” Liam sighed. The cacophany made by the following company of men made Liam cringe. “Come,” he said as he urged his horse forward, “Let us get this over and done.”
The orange disk of the sun touched the western horizon when they reached the village. Young farmers, none of them looking older than thirteen, joined them on the road as they approached. Strangely silent, they observed Liam’s armed company, but made no inquiry as to who they were or why they had come. On the outskirts of the town, a group of younger children tumbled onto the path in their eagerness to greet them. They clapped and cheered for the soldiers and horses, but gave me and my livery strange looks.
When they reached the open space at the village’s center, Liam’s party was met by an odd group of five: three men, a woman, and a lad.
Liam halted his horse and dismounted. All five villagers hobbled toward him. The three men depended heavily on canes to stay upright, and the young man supported an ancient woman.
The oldest-looking man spoke first. “Greetings, noble lord.” His voice wavered more than his body. He bowed as best he could and the others did likewise
“Greetings.” Liam dipped his head to them. “I am Liam Tremain, newly made Lord Ashwyn of Ashwyn Vargar.”
“Welcome to your new home.” The wizened man paused to cough before continuing. “I am Micas, the village elder. I regret we cannot welcome you as we should, for the men of our village are away.”
“Where have they gone?” Liam glanced around at the gathered crowd. Women and older girls with babies on their hips appeared on the doorsteps of the hovels and cottages. The young farmers the company passed on the road filled in the crowd. Not one male looked between the ages of fourteen and sixty.
“Lord Klian of Onlus of the neighboring estate came a week ago and pressed them into his service. We do not expect to see them until after the harvest.” The old man stopped to cough spastically.
Liam dismounted and approached Micas. Braxton and a few of the closer men did likewise. Dimly aware of his friend moving into a defensive position behind his right side, Liam turned his full attention to the man before him. “You are not well. Surely another can speak with me?”
“I can speak.” The young man supporting the ancient woman spoke.
Still unable to make a sound above a harsh rasp, the old man flailed a hand in the young man’s direction to silence him.
“Let the boy speak,” the woman croaked. “If the young lordling does not mind speaking with a boy, let Urith speak for us. He knows enough.”
“Yes,” Liam agreed. One of his tenants dying because of his arrival would not make a great beginning. The old man appeared to be coughing up his lungs. “Return to your rest by the fire and let this young man answer my questions.”
Before Micas managed a nod, the other ancients shuffled back toward their respective residences. A middle-aged woman came forward to take care of the woman Urith supported. The boy transferred his charge with great care.
A thin youth, gangly with his first gr
owth into manhood, Urith looked thirteen. However, he met Liam’s gaze with the even regard of a seasoned man.
“You might want to tell your men to set up camp,” Urith advised.
Liam returned his gaze with a frown. “Why?” The vargar towering behind them promised at least shelter for the night.
“Getting the keys to the vargar will take a few hours at least.” The boy shrugged.
“You mean that someone has barricaded themselves inside the vargar?” Braxton asked.
The boy motioned toward the vargar. “No one is in there. It’s closed up, been that way since two days after Lord Alain died. The keys are hidden to discourage Lord Klian from taking up residence. I can take you to the keeper of the keys, but we will not be back until long after dinner. Your men will be hungry.”
Liam smiled at the boy’s practical observation. Turning to Braxton, he handed out orders. “Tell the wagon master to set up camp by the front gates. Then gather nine men and meet me here. Urith will explain the details of the situation for me.”
Braxton met his gaze evenly, but Liam could the see the glimmers of his distrust.
He is too protective for his own good. Just because I almost got myself killed that one time, he doesn’t trust me to protect myself.
After a moment, Braxton turned away and called out orders.
As he turned back to Urith, Liam caught a flash of fear in the boy’s face.
He is not telling me everything, Liam realized.
Claiming his horse, Liam walked him over to the well in the village center. He looped the leads around the post at the end of the watering trough before picking up the bucket and rope.
“Tell me about Lord Klian.”
Liam lowered the bucket and emptied it twice before the boy spoke.
“He is master of the land to our east.”
“Doesn’t he have men of his own to tend the fields?”
“Yes, my lord.” Urith shuffled his feet in the dust. “But he believes he is the rightful master of Ashwyn and as such can claim our services as his vassals.”
“So, he will not be pleased that I possess the title in his stead.” Liam rubbed his horse’s shoulder as the beast drank. What have I walked into, Kurios, he prayed. “How long remains before the end of harvest?”
“Four weeks, my lord.”
Liam frowned. “Without the men he took, will we be able to bring in the crops before they rot in the fields?
“No, my lord.”
“What if we added about fifty unskilled laborers who have never used a sickle before in their lives?” He glanced at the boy. Urith frowned as he mulled over the suggestion.
“Possibly, my lord. But where will you find so many?”
“After the harvest, Lord Klian will certainly allow the men to return home. Don’t you think, Urith?”
“I suppose,” Urith agreed reluctantly.
“Then that is what we will do.” Liam crouched down with his back against the wall of the well. “Come.” He patted the ground next to him. “Tell me about the keeper of the keys and how he came to have them.”
Within an hour, Braxton returned with nine men, armed and equipped with mounts. Urith remained closemouthed about the identity of the keeper of the keys. Instead he expounded further on Lord Klian and the late Lord Alain.
Liam grew uneasy. Urith’s description of Klian made him seem even nastier than most of the criminals Liam interacted with during his stint in the service of the king.
With Urith riding behind Liam on his mount at the front of the column, they headed off to meet the keeper. The boy led them west into the forest that bordered the fields a quarter-mile from the village. The trail showed signs of being used by foot travelers, not horses. Low hanging branches forced them to dismount and lead their mounts for brief periods. An hour after leaving the village, the foliage thinned.
A strange tingling settled in the small of Liam’s back.
Braxton creaking saddle sounded unnaturally loud in the gathering dark and silence. As the trail widened so two horses could walk abreast, he drew alongside.
“We are being observed, my lord. Do you wish me to investigate?”
“What do you say?” Liam asked Urith. He felt the boy stiffen in surprise.
“It is most likely Oran, my brother.”
“Then we will wait for him to show himself.” Liam met Braxton’s silent protest with a shake of his head.
Braxton grimaced and pulled forward to take the lead. Urith loudly called out his instructions to Braxton from his place behind Liam, making his ears ring. Liam just ground his teeth and promised himself he would give Braxton a talking to after they returned to camp.
Braxton might think he was protecting his lord, but his paranoia undermined the trust Liam wanted to establish between him and the people.
Thankfully, the yelling was not necessary for long. Just as the sky grew dark, they reached the edge of a large clearing. Above them, the moon shone bright, illuminating a medium-sized farm house and barn. Light spilled from the first floor windows, and smoke wisped from the chimney.
Walking his horse to the fence that ran between the house and the barn, Liam swung Urith down and then dismounted. He signaled his men to do likewise and then tied his steed to the rickety fence.
Liam expected Urith to run inside and give warning of their arrival. Instead, the boy waited for them to be ready.
“Swords are not to be drawn unless we are attacked,” Liam ordered. “Any man who disobeys will be punished severely.” He eyed Braxton, who simply nodded coolly.
Liam knew Braxton would do what he believed to be necessary regardless of instructions.
Liam knocked firmly on the building’s rickety door before realizing how precariously it hung. The hinges were in as poor condition as the fence. The light from inside seeped through the cracks in the wood. He could hear the hush that fell over the room on the other side. Someone spoke and a few moments later a dark-haired young woman opened the door.
She looked him over from head to toe. As her eyes fell on the crest embroidered across his chest, she stiffened. Despite her small stature, she projected a great intensity.
“You have come. Enter.” Her calm voice contradicted her tense body language as she opened the door and stepped back to let him pass.
Liam noted that her head only came to his shoulder as he moved into the room. He could easily subdue her physically if he was inclined. Hardly the best person to entrust with the security of a vargar.
The room beyond was warm and bright. A rough table stood at the center of the small space, surrounded by four children. The food spread before them made a meager meal for so many. Except for a set of twin girls around ten or eleven-years-old, there was no likeness between the children. The oldest, a boy of perhaps seventeen, was fair in complexion and hair. His blue eyes stared moodily at the food before him. The twins were dark, Ratharian dark, with the olive skin, black hair and eyes that came with the nationality. The youngest, a brown-haloed little one of five, slipped from her seat and ran to bury her face in the skirt of the young woman.
While he was observing the small group, Liam’s men were filling up the limited space. By the time Urith entered, it was crowded. The boy crossed straight to one of the empty places at the table and sat. The older boy glared at Urith, but one twin smiled at him. He obviously belonged to this mismatched group.
“As much as I wish to offer you and your men our hospitality, my lord,” the woman began, drawing attention to herself. “I am afraid our small home is not large enough.”
Silently agreeing, Liam motioned to the last eight who had entered to exit. They did so with a clamor, closing the door behind them. Braxton and Jaren, one of my other men-at-arms, remained standing against the wall behind him.
Liam turned back to the woman. “I am sorry to invade your home in such a fashion, but I have come seeking the one who keeps the keys of Ashwyn Vargar.”
The young woman lifted her chin as she met his eyes. “I am
the keeper of the keys. By what right do you claim the keys?”
It seemed a fair question. “I am Liam Tremain, newly made Lord of Ashwyn Vargar. I received the title and lands from King Theodoric four months ago in Ana City.”
Liam wondered for a moment if she would require more from him. She studied his face in silence as he spoke and after he had finished.
~~~~~~
He was taller than she had expected. Lord Alain had barely surpassed five and a half feet. For some foolish reason, she pictured his replacement in the same physical mold as he had been. But there he stood, filling her kitchen, wearing the crest of Ashwyn, and claiming the keys. His dark eyes flashed as he made his speech. His strong face impressed her as honest, but impressions only went so far. There wasn’t much more she could ask of him as proof. Now if she could be certain that he was not one of Lord Klian’s men.
Not that Klian bothered with intrigue. If he knew she hid here and possessed the keys, he would have ridden into her yard and taken them and her back to his castle. With that as an alternative, she should take the risk and give this man the keys.
“Have you eaten, my lord?” she asked instead.
Confusion passed over his features before melting into a smile. Her stomach tightened at the sight. “No, I have not.”
“Ryana, Rowana, fetch our guests dinner,” she instructed the twins. They obeyed without meeting anyone’s gaze. Jayne picked up the trembling Trina and turned toward the stairs to the loft. One of the lord’s men moved to block her path.
“Trina needs to be put to bed.” She spoke more calmly than she felt.
The man did not move. Instead, he frowned down at her. “How do I know you will not leave another way?”
“You don’t.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
“The child is tired and frightened. Let me put her to bed. I promise to return.”
The man opened his mouth, but Lord Tremain spoke first. “Let her pass, Braxton.” With visible reluctance, Braxton obeyed.
As she passed him, Braxton whispered, “I will be listening.”
She couldn’t stop the shudder that followed.
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