The Heir of Jeragoth

Bertrand walked up to the rail of the large riding arena behind the castle. Gormin and several other guards and some of the servants stood there to watch Alana ride. Gormin turned to Bertrand and said quietly, “That’s one thing she didn’t get from you. You can barely hold your seat on a horse.”

Bertrand cast him a baleful glare. “Very funny. Who’s that riding with her?”

“Gellmy,” Gormin replied.

“Who the hell is Gellmy?” Bertrand asked.

“Francis Gellmy, the Foreign Minister’s aide,” Tabor said.

Bertrand frowned. “Isn’t he a bit old to be riding with an eight year old?”

Gormin shrugged, “Aside from your brother, he’s the only one who can keep up with her.

Bertrand grinned with pride. “She is good, isn’t she?”

“Winner of every competition since she was six,” Gormin said.

Bertrand nodded. “Well, now it’s time for her to put it to good use.”

Gormin’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re taking her on the drive? She’s a bit young for that.”

“She can handle a horse better than most people I know.” Bertrand replied. “She can handle the drive. Besides, I was her age when I went on my first drive.”

“I suppose,” Gormin said. “But what about protecting her?”

“Iliard will be back tonight. We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“All right then,” Gormin replied.

A gasp went up from the onlookers when Alana executed a front flip off her horse onto the back of Gellmy’s horse. Bertrand chuckled. “I think the rest of the competitors will be relieved that she won’t be in the next competition.”

“I think you’re right,” Gormin said with a grin. “Are you going to tell her now?”

“Nah,” Bertrand replied. “I’ll tell her at supper. She looks like she’s having fun.” He turned to leave, turned back again and said, “Have Cranerock investigate Gellmy.”

Gormin looked surprised for a moment then nodded, “Sure.”

#

Bertrand, Mirasol, and Bertrand III were all seated at the table when Alana rushed in. Mirasol frowned at her running headlong into the room. Alana stopped short, regained her poise and slowly walked to her seat on the side of the table.

Like most dinners, there wasn’t much talking. Alana used to try to make conversation but gave up. Most dinners she was resigned to stare at her brother, who lately was beginning to pack away the food, the days of his funny faces long since replaced by his ravenous appetite.

“Father and I are going on the drive in two days,” Bertrand said to his mother, between mouthfuls of beef. He looked at Alana with a self-important smirk.

Alana stared at her plate and picked at her food. She had lost count of how many times she had asked her father if she could go.

“Actually, Alana will be coming on the drive with us this time.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at Bertrand the elder in surprise. Alana reacted first. “Really?”

Bertrand smiled at her, “Really.”

Alana launched herself out of her chair and threw herself at her father. “Thank you Papa.”

Mirasol carefully set her knife back on her plate without making a sound. “Aren’t you carrying her indulgence with horses a bit far?” she said. “We should not encourage a lady,” and she said the word as if it were dirty, “too heavily in the equine arts. Your daughter will have no need of them as a wedded baroness.”

Alana clenched her hands tightly. She hated when her mother talked about her like that.

“Alana will be going on the drive. I don’t see how that hurts anything.” Her father retorted.

Mirasol very calmly replied, “She has already sullied the Candril name with...” Her father’s face transformed before Alana’s eyes into a mask of silent rage. Mirasol, nonplussed, continued, “...with her obsession with horses and boyish attitude.” Bertrand calmed down, but continued to glare at his wife.

“All the barons are complaining that she wins all the riding tournaments,” he said.

“All the more reason to curtail this riding infatuation,” Mirasol responded.

Her brother was boring holes into Alana with his eyes. She stared back at him, trying not to look smug.

“Well,” her father said, “I’ve already made plans and spread the word so that is how it will be.” That would be the end of that.

“As my Lord commands,” Mirasol said with cloying sweetness. Young Bertrand looked fit to be tied. “Bertrand, dear, you will have to take care of your little sister,” she said, turning her head regally to look at him. He started to protest and his mother’s eyebrow rose slightly.

He mumbled a low, “Yes mother.”

Having her brother following her around would ruin the ride for both of them, Alana thought. More likely, she would have to follow him around. He would keep telling her to stay out of trouble and not do anything. Doing nothing was the farthest thing from her mind.

#

It was very early Spring in Candril. This was the first drive of the year and the smallest. They would be moving about ten thousand head of cattle from one of Baron Candril’s private fields to the teleportation arch in Candril city. From there they would be teleported to Seldonia city, then Narsacalius and on to the rest of Ranwar through the continental portals. There wasn’t any great need to move cattle this early. They did so to work the kinks out of the system for the much larger drives that would follow.

Baron Candril’s riding party was assembled inside the outer gate to the castle grounds. For as many times as Alana had been out of the castle grounds with Uncle Iliard, she had never stepped through these gates, nor ridden the switchback trail down the hill to Candril City below. She couldn’t sit still.

Iliard rode up to where she was seated atop Wind Dancer. She noticed his eyes flicked over her well used saddle and tack. He seemed satisfied.

“Well it’s not quite like adventuring on your own,” Iliard said as he looked forward out the main gate at the small section of city visible a mile ahead and nine hundred feet below, “but ten days on the road will be a fairly good introduction.”

Her brother, who was seated atop his horse Hunter, on the other side of Alana, still looked dejected about having to watch over her. Iliard saw this and asked with a smile, “May I help you with your chore.” He tried to make the last word sound like Mirasol had said it. Alana burst out laughing. Even Bert had to smile.

Bertrand overheard the exchange and said, “I don’t see why that should be a problem.” His son livened up visibly.

“Really, father?” he asked, and then to his uncle, “Sure, you can have her,” he said as he raised his hands from his saddle horn as if to sweep off bugs. Iliard laughed and shook his head slightly.

“I think you’re raising a mighty fine young lad here, brother,” Iliard said while still looking at his nephew. Young Bertrand sat a little straighter in his saddle at the compliment. His father looked at him and smiled a rare and true smile of admiration. Alana thought that nothing at all on this ride would burst her brother’s bubble of happiness now.

Baron Candril rode back to the front of the group and they all set their horses to walking out the gates and down the lengthy switchback to the valley floor. The town riders would be waiting for them down there.

Once they reached the bottom of the hill, there were about twenty riders in all. Alana looked around at all the riders. She noticed that only a few of them, mostly the older riders, were wearing the same kind of long, dark brown leather coat that her father and uncle were wearing. Everyone else, including her brother and herself, was wearing a heavy canvas coat. “Uncle Illy, why do you and Papa have different coats? Is it because you’re important?”

Iliard chuckled. “No, not really.” His eyes got a distant look. “A Seldonian long coat is earned. You have to do something exceptional on a drive or be a rider for a very long time.”

“What did you and Papa do to get your coats?”

Iliard grinned. “A long time ago, when we were both a lot younger, your father and I were out on a drive just like this one. We were out in the middle of the plains when there was a sudden thunder storm. It rained so hard we couldn’t see a foot in front of us. The rain caused a flash flood and lightning scared the herd into a stampede towards the water. Your father rode out into the storm, in front of the herd and managed to prevent most of them from getting swept away in the flood.”

Alana stared at Iliard wide-eyed. “That was very brave.”

“Yes it was,” Iliard replied.

“What about you, Uncle Illy? How did you get yours?”

Iliard cleared his throat and shifted in his saddle. “I…”

“He saved my life,” Bertrand said from behind them.

Alana stared at her uncle. “You did?” Iliard’s face turned red.

“Yes, he did,” Bertrand said. “On that very same day, in fact. After I got the cattle turned around, my horse slipped in the mud and I lost my seat. I fell into the water and started to get pulled downstream. Iliard rode up, threw me a rope, tied it to his saddle horn and pulled me out.”

Alana’s eyes gleamed with admiration. “I hope I can get a long coat someday.”

Bertrand chuckled. “Maybe when you’re a little older.”

“How old were you and Uncle Illy.”

Bertrand thought for a moment. “I think I was about seventeen which means Iliard was twelve.”

“Twelve! Bert’s eleven. Maybe he’ll get his long coat early.”

Bertrand laughed. “Well that’s possible, but we’re hoping nothing like that happens on this trip. We want everyone to come home in one piece.”

It would be three day’s ride out to the herd. Alana looked out over the rolling plains. They looked much different from ground level. From the top of the highest spire in Castle Candril, a hundred and fifty feet above the hill, she was a thousand feet above the plain. She could see as far north as the Great Forest and all of Candril city to the east. West and south the plains stretched for thousands of miles out of sight. Here on the plain, she couldn’t see over the next rolling rise. She saw only a few trees sparsely scattered here and there. This was mainly grazing land. Trees and rivers were few and far between. Alana also noticed how many of the riders kept looking at her when they thought she could not see.

“Why do they keep staring at me?” she whispered to her uncle at the first mid-afternoon rest stop. She was still on horseback while Iliard had already dismounted and was checking his horse over for sweat.

“Two reasons, really,” he answered as he tightened up his saddle bags after removing some hot peppered jerky. He bit off a piece, walked over to where Alana still sat horseback and offered her some. She thanked him as she took it and ripped off a piece with her teeth. That was something else her mother had told her ladies never did. Alana did it as often as she could. She was hoping to learn to spit well too.

“Most of them have never seen you before,” he continued quietly. “The world has known of young Lady Alana Candril for eight years now, but only those who have attended the castle competitions have ever seen you. Second, you’re the best young rider anyone has seen for fifty years.” Alana blushed and grinned. “We Candril’s have always been good riders,” he went on, “but you…have a bit of a reputation now, and rumors being what they are…” Iliard implied but did not finish.

Alana shrugged, dismounted from Wind Dancer and led him over to the watering trough. After he had had his fill, she wiped him down and checked his hooves. When she got back to where her uncle had been, he was gone. She looked around and saw him on the other side of the group talking to her father. Several of the senior riders were with them, as well as a few who were not going with them. The Foreign Minister Remicus was there, as was her friend Francis Gellmy. Alana called out to him and waved. He smiled, put up a hand and shook his head slightly. Disappointed, Alana turned back to finish tending to her horse.

After she made sure Dancer was well tethered, Alana went over to another rider who was eating his lunch. He didn’t see her approach. He was a young man, probably in his middle twenties, with a thin frame and wild, short brown hair. “Hello,” she said, “My name is Alana, what’s...”

He stood bolt upright, tipping his plate into the grass. He bowed deeply and said, “Lady Candril,” then straightened up. “How may I be of service to my Lady?”

Alana laughed. “That’s my mother. That’s not me. I’m just Alana.” She gave him a funny look then kneeled down to pick up his plate. “I’m sorry I made you knock...”

He scrambled to get to the plate before her. “Please forgive me, my Lady. It was my fault.”

Alana stared at him, her brow furrowed. It wasn’t his fault; it was her fault. She made him dump his lunch. Why was he acting like this? This wasn’t the castle. This was the plain. She turned and walked away towards the tables and tent that had been conjured for her family for lunch, got some food, sat down at the table and stared absently at her plate.

“What are you pouting about runt?” her brother asked her. He had come up behind her, plate in hand, and sat down next to her on the bench.

“That rider spilled all his lunch because I...he didn’t see me coming and when I got there, he jumped.” She stared at the rider as she spoke.

“So, what’s the problem?” he mumbled through his beef stew.

She turned to look at her brother. “He called me ‘Lady Candril’ and he was so formal and I don’t understand. This isn’t the castle. Why did he do that?” Alana stared absently at the chunk of lightly steaming bread in her left hand.

“If you’re not going to eat that give it to me,” he said. She handed it to him and he stuffed it all in his mouth managing to get it in there with the previous mouthful of beef stew that had not gotten out yet. He swallowed hard and belched harder. Alana had never heard him belch like that before. Their mother would probably starve him for it. She laughed.

He smiled and continued, “Father is the master of millions of people and thousands of other nobles. Our lands stretch as far as you can see from North Tower, except they stop at the edge of the great forest, but other than that, as far as you can see. High Wizard Faraday let me use his eagle eyes once and I could see all the way to Galiblent City. He said that was a thousand miles east. That rider was right to treat you that way. We are royalty. If I had my way, none of these serfs would sit in our presence.”

“You’re a pig. They’re just people like us,” Alana said as she took another small bite of her stew.

“Yeah well,” Bertrand countered, “Asaeria didn’t make them royalty. This is the way of things and no one, not even you, little dunce cap, can change that.”

Their father and their uncle walked over to join them. Servants, who came in with the conjured tent, brought them lunch. They were in mid conversation and neither Alana nor her brother wanted to interrupt them for fear they would stop.

“...not like he did something wrong,” Iliard was saying. “When Assumka was murdered, he had every right to clean house. Besides he didn’t send people to a disintegration chamber, he just reassigned them.”

“It was foolish to reassign so much experience away from the capital. But Cranerock agreed with him so I let it go,” Alana’s father replied as he grabbed his bowl and spoon and ate like she had never seen him eat before. Now she knew where her brother got it.

He held out his spoon at Iliard and said with a mouthful of stew, “Why he kept Gellmy on as aide I don’t know. That boy has no brains for foreign affairs.” Some stew dribbled out of his mouth as he spoke.

Iliard, noticing Alana’s slack jawed gape at her father, motioned with his eyes to his brother that he should look at her. Bertrand did, quickly closed his mouth, and swallowed hard.

Another man came over to join them. He was middle aged and well weathered. He waited at the end of the table until Baron Candril motioned for him to sit down. He and Bertrand began talking.

Iliard looked at Alana with smiling eyes and said, “I’m glad to see you’re getting a good experience already.”

Bertrand heard this, interrupted the other man and said in response, looking at Alana but talking to his brother, “I don’t give a damn what her mother says. We’re in the cattle business and my children,” and he looked at his son Bertrand, “all my children, will learn all of it and how to run it well.” Iliard smiled and winked at Alana. Her father went back to talking to the other man.

“So Bertrand,” Iliard said to his nephew, “this is your fourth drive? You’re becoming quite the old hand.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been on the Grand Fall drive. When can I go on that?” Bertrand was referring to the largest of drives of his father’s cattle. Many of the lesser barons joined their cattle into this drive. It was the largest single movement of cattle on Gorthus. Millions of heads and thousands of hands trekked across Candril barony, each starting in their own territory, and all coming together at Candril city to process or teleport to Seldonia city for processing. The final leg of the drive, the one which Baron Candril joined, lasted two weeks. Even more so than the annual Barons’ council in Seldonia city, he used this time to hold court with his barons.

“How ’bout it, Bert?” Iliard said to his brother and then took another bite of stew.

Baron Candril looked at him for a moment, effectively cutting off the other man in mid sentence. Then he looked at his son. “The next Grand.”

Bertrand the younger lit up at the words. He sat up a little straighter and cast a sideways glance and a smug look at his sister.

Alana fumed at her father’s choice, her mouth agape. “But I’m a better rider than he is,” she complained to her father. “Why does he get to go?”

Her father, and the man he was talking to, turned their heads to look at her. Her father said, “You just answered your own question by asking it.” He then got up and everyone else at the table stood, as did all the riders who were nearby. His rise signaled the end of lunch. All the hands began preparing to continue riding to the heard. The tent and table were packed up and teleported out.

The other man who had lunch with them, Iliard told Alana, was the Driver. He was the drive master and in charge of all aspects of the drive and its riders. The Driver and her father rode out ahead of the column of riders with her brother right behind, sitting tall on Hunter. Iliard and Alana rode side by side, about three quarters of the way back.

#

“The child is on the drive with her father and the Novadi uncle,” the informant told the Priest.

“Have you discovered anything more about her?” the Priest asked impatiently.

“No, I cannot get closer to her,” the informant replied. “I tried, but was sent away.” His lip curled in contempt. “An apostate half-breed demon works for the baron to keep the child safe.”

The Priest ground his teeth in frustration. He knew that other Priests from Arnitath’s ranks were also searching for the child. He was determined to be the one to find the Heir. Or perhaps he would be the one to destroy the Heir. After all that was the ultimate goal, was it not? He looked over at his informant and said, “You have done well. I will decide what is next to be done.”

#

They arrived at the herd late morning on the third day. To Alana, it looked like a small sea of cattle. It took most of the third day to round them up and get them ready to migrate. Seven days would pass before they got back to Candril city, if everything went as planned.

On the fourth day it rained hard. As it was early Spring, the rain was bitterly cold and chilled Alana to the bone. She dearly wished she had a long coat like her father and Uncle Iliard. Their coats didn’t even look like they were wet.

Towards the end of the day, the storm broke and started to move south. The rays of the late afternoon sun angled through the scurrying clouds as they hurried along their way. However, before the riders could breathe a collective sigh of relief, dark clouds began moving back towards them, seemingly defying the wind.

Iliard looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. “What the hell?”

Alana frowned. “Uncle Illy, how can clouds move against the wind?”

“They have to be driven by a more powerful force,” he replied.

“Like what?” Alana asked.

“Magic, dimwit,” he brother chimed in.

“Or Priestly power, Bertrand,” Iliard countered.

“But why?” Alana asked.

“I don’t know,” Iliard replied as he looked to the north, “But we should…”

Without warning, lightning struck the herd. They began to bolt, charging in all directions. Hunter reared and threw Bertrand. He tried to scramble to his feet as the cows charged closer, but he kept slipping in the mud. For Alana, time slowed. She was only about twenty feet from where he had been thrown. She looked once at her uncle, who was still looking the other way. He could teleport them all to safety but she knew it was too loud to get his attention. The herd was too close to her brother. She kicked and whipped Dancer towards her brother.

Again Bert tried to stand and this time made it to his feet. He looked at the crazed herd and then at his sister, her right arm outstretched downwards towards him, only feet from him. His eyes were filled with terror. He began to run towards her. The first of the cattle reached them as they locked arms, wrist on forearm. Alana leaned as far off the left side of her horse as she could and hoisted her brother, who weighed nearly twice as much as she did, onto her horse and turned Dancer to the south.

As the cattle slammed against their legs, she leaned forward and shouted at the back of Dancer’s head. The wind stole the words. Dancer galloped hard south. Alana could have outrun the herd, but they were already ahead of her and closing in tight. Dancer might spook and throw them. At this speed in the mud, he could also just as easily slip and fall.

Alana saw Iliard standing ahead of them in the distance. He stood calm and stared intently at her. All the cattle parted around him like avoiding a large rock they could not jump. He motioned for her to ride right at him. Bertrand shouted, “Look out!” in her ear, but she ignored him. She knew what was about to happen. She drove Dancer straight at Iliard.

There was blinding flash of light and they were galloping north, away from the herd. Alana pulled Dancer up to a stop. She turned him quickly back to the south. Iliard stood there a good hundred feet behind them, their forward momentum having continued after the teleport. She slowed as they approached him. He shouted up at them. She shook her head. She couldn’t hear anything since the incredible thunder that had boomed right next to them all. She started to dismount but he shook his head and motioned for them to remain on horseback.

Several other riders joined them shortly, including the Baron. He jumped off his horse before it had stopped and ran the last few feet over to them.

“...all right?” was all Alana could make out. She nodded. She looked back at her brother. He looked bad. His eyes were mostly closed and his skin was white. He sagged on the hindquarters and then fell off. Their father was there to catch him. Alana didn’t understand at first, but then she saw it—her brother’s left leg was broken below the knee. Bone had torn through the breeches. The rain washed away the blood as fast as it seeped out. Iliard motioned quickly with his hands in the sign of a “T”. She jumped deftly off Dancer and landed right next to Iliard. Her father stood on his other side. While Alana held on tight to his right arm, Iliard grabbed his brother and vanished.

#

Bertrand III awoke in the castle infirmary. Glaring sunlight shone in through the tall windows across the vaulted ceiling. Out in the courtyard, the trees were just starting to bud. The Priestess, Saranya was walking down the ward, her head bowed over a scroll. She paused in her reading to look down at Bertrand.

She smiled at him. “Ah, young Master Bertrand you are awake.”

“How long have I been here? Where is the drive now? Where is Hunter?” The words fell all over each other in a rush to get out of his mouth. He started to get out of bed.

Saranya leaned over him and gently pressed him back down. He was surprised how little strength he had. He could not struggle against her very light touch. Once she seemed satisfied he was not going to try that again, she pulled up a chair and sat down. She looked over at an orderly standing nearby. “Please tell the Baron that his son is awake.”

That meant the drive was over and he had missed it. He was immediately crestfallen. There would be no way they’d let him ride the Grand drive now.

“Young master Bertrand you are lucky to be alive,” she said firmly. “You should be thankful, not regretful. You could have been trampled, or had a broken neck, or bled to death, but you’re here because of the quick thinking of the people around you.”

He noticed she had a bit of smugness about her. It had to mean she was an adventuring Priestess. Adventurers rarely had the proper respect for nobility. He stared at the ceiling, a good forty feet overhead.

“As it was,” she continued, ignoring his growing grudge, “you nearly bled out. I was able to mend your leg easily enough, but only time will replace all your lost blood.”

“How long have I been here?” he asked without looking at her.

“Bertrand Rascar Candril the third, you shame yourself by not showing proper gratitude, even if you believe the person disrespectful,” Mirasol said from the end of his bed. She had glided in silently. “Leave us,” she said to Saranya without looking at her.

Saranya stood up slowly and bowed her head respectfully to Lady Candril. “As you wish. He is in no immediate danger, but do not agitate him or he’ll relapse into unconsciousness.” When Mirasol didn’t reply, Saranya shook her head slightly and walked down the ward to another patient at the far end.

Mirasol moved gracefully over to the chair and sat gently and ramrod straight. Her porcelain perfect white face was radiant in the light. “My beautiful son, do you still think it’s necessary for you to attend these cattle drives yourself? Surely there are hundreds or thousands of competent underlings who could lead the cattle around and report back to you. As Baron you will have a great many more important things to worry about than riding horses after straying cows.”

“But mother, the drive is our life and livelihood, and ...” he began, but was cut off.

“Bertrand, there is a great deal more to life than you have seen. You are just beginning to flourish into manhood. You still have so many important things to learn and there is so little time.” As Mirasol said this she caressed his brow and straightened his hair gently. She smiled at him and said, “You keep this up and before you know it you’ll want to go adventuring again.”

Baron Candril clattered and clanged noisily into the infirmary. He stopped briefly to quietly consult with Saranya before he came to his son’s bedside. Young Bertrand got a worried expression as his father walked up to the bed and stood at the end of it and stared down at him. He couldn’t look at his father, so looked down instead. “I’m sorry father, I...”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he cut his son’s apology in half. “You didn’t call the lightning. You didn’t spook Hunter.”

His son looked up eagerly, “How is he?”

“He’s dead. Trampled.” Bertrand said. “But you, you did an amazing thing. You had enough presence of mind to run to your sister and enough strength to do it on a broken leg.” He looked proud while saying this. “People are already talking about the rescue and you’re just as much a hero as your sister. You’re lucky she’s such a good rider. How she ever lifted you, I’ll never know, but thank Diasamon and Asaeria both that she could.”

Bertrand’s spirits fell a little. His father was always praising his sister more than he. His uncle only praised adventurers and his brat sister was his favorite.

His father continued, “Saranya says you’ll be fit in plenty of time for the Grand. I guess we better get you a new horse.”

Bertrand tried to lift himself out of bed in his excitement as his face lit up at his father’s words. His mother had to gently push him back down. “I thought you wouldn’t let me go.”

“Why not?” he asked gruffly “You kept as level a head as I’ve ever heard in a stampede. You belong on a drive. You’re made for it.”

“My Lord,” Mirasol began. He looked over at her with narrowed eyes. She only addressed him like this when she was about to disagree. She continued, “Surely there are many more important tasks than riding a horse.”

He responded through clenched teeth, “He isn’t just ‘riding a horse.’ The cattle are the barony. There is nothing more important. Without them we have no livelihood and a whole lot of people get to starve.” Now he turned to face her fully. Young Bertrand knew better than to interrupt one of their arguments. It ended a lot sooner that way. “My son is a good horseman and a shrewd thinker. It’s exactly that combination that will make him a great Baron. He’ll know the riders and then he’ll be able to keep in touch with the people. He’ll know the land and all its beauty and problems—the kind of life you can’t see trapped in this stone fortress.” Mirasol flinched slightly at his last remark.

With that Mirasol stood up, curtsied deeply, and said, “My Lord.” She glided out of the infirmary. Both Bertrands stared after her.

Bertrand the elder turned his head to look down at his son. “She would have you rule from the North Hall throne. Let me tell you, it hurts my ass.” His son laughed.

#

“What news do you have for me, Sedaris?” Baron Tribanius Galiblent folded his wrinkled hands together and focused his icy gaze on his chief spy.

Sedaris bowed deeply, “Very interesting news out of Candril, my Lord. Baron Candril’s daughter has finally emerged from the confines of Castle Candril.”

“Indeed.” Baron Galiblent leaned forward, his eyes glittering expectantly.

“Yes, my Lord. Baron Candril brought her on the First Drive.”

Galiblent leaned back in his chair. “He brought his daughter on a drive? The man must be out of his mind. What possible good could and eight-year-old girl—or any girl for that matter—be on a cattle drive?”

“Well, that is just it, my Lord,” Sedaris replied diffidently, “She was quite useful as it turns out. She saved young Bertrand Candril’s life.”

“Go on.”

“There was a very bad storm out on the plain, my Lord. The cattle stampeded. Young Bertrand was caught in it and thrown from his horse. His sister rode through the stampede and pulled him up onto her own horse then rode them both out of the stampede.”

“How did she manage that?” Baron Galiblent asked in disbelief.

“It seems, my Lord, that Baron Candril’s brother, the Novadi Iliard Candril, was there and diverted the cattle and teleported the two of them, or should I say the three of them including the horse, away from the stampede.”

“But how did an eight year old girl pull a boy who must be twice her size onto a horse in a driving rain storm?”

“I do not know, my Lord. I only know what my source told me. He saw the girl ride through the stampede and lift her brother onto her own horse. Then she rode straight at her uncle, who teleported them all out of danger.”

Galiblent shook his head, “I don’t believe it,” he said dismissively. “The uncle must have helped her somehow.”

Sedaris kept his expression carefully neutral as he answered, “I am sure you are correct my Lord.” He knew his source well. The man never missed a thing and never exaggerated.

“The question I have,” Galiblent continued, not even acknowledging Sedaris’ response, “Is, what is a Novadi warrior doing on a cattle drive? Has he ever gone on drives before?”

“As far as I know, my Lord, Lord Iliard has not gone on a cattle drive since he was fifteen. Of course, I am only going by history since that was over a hundred years ago. But I am assured that he left Candril at age fifteen to join a Ranger stronghold. It is only recently that he has spent so much time so close to home. This is the first time he has gone on a drive since his reappearance in Candril.”

“Yes, that’s my point,” Galiblent said. “Why is a Novadi master riding herd with cattle hands? Why is he spending so much time in Candril? Aren’t Novadi supposed to travel the world doing good?” he asked with a sneer.

“Well, my Lord,” Sedaris answered, “it appeared that Lord Iliard was there to watch over young Alana Candril.”

This time Baron Galiblent couldn’t hide his surprise. “A Novadi warrior playing nursemaid to an eight year old bastard child?”

“Yes, my Lord. That is the way it appears. I did some more digging when I found this out. Lord Iliard has been watching over the child since she was born. There was an incident in the house where Baron Candril was keeping his mistress. An Assassin tried to kill the mother and the child, but Lord Iliard killed her.”

“Her?” Galiblent asked.

“A Tagonic elf Assassin, my lord.”

“This just gets better and better,” Galiblent said, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed excitement. “What is so important about this child that the Novadi order allowed one of its warriors to be her nursemaid?”

“Unfortunately, my Lord, I could not find that out. No one could answer that question. No one seems to know of any reason why the bastard child of a whore would be in any way important. Everything about this affair from the very beginning has been kept very quiet.”

“Well then, get someone to talk about it. I want to find out about this girl and what’s so special about her. Perhaps this has something to do with the famed secret Candril treasure.”

Sedaris bowed slightly and said somewhat hesitantly, “I have tried, my Lord. I have gotten as much information as I possibly can. As you know, with Cranerock there, it is almost impossible to place anyone inside the castle. The best I could get was someone who goes there only occasionally.”

Baron Galiblent leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands flat on his marble topped desk. “I did not ask you if it was possible. I said get it done. Get someone inside the castle. I don’t care how you do it. I don’t imagine you wish to be a guest in your own torture chamber.”

Sedaris faced paled slightly. “No, my Lord. It will be done.”

“Good,” Galiblent said as he leaned back in his chair. “Now, what about the girl do you know, besides her horse riding skills.”

“As you predicted, my lord, she already shows promise of the same kind of beauty as her mother.”

Galiblent rubbed his hands together gleefully. “All the better. Beauty and inexhaustible wealth. A fine combination for my son.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sedaris answered with a deep bow.

#

“Someone sent that storm,” Iliard said to his brother.

“How do you know?” Bertrand asked. “Maybe it was just a freak lighting strike.”

“Come on Bert, you know better than that. The clouds were moving against the wind.”

“I would have to agree with him, Baron Candril,” Cranerock said. “A Novadi master would know if a storm was unnatural.”

“So what now?” Bertrand asked gruffly.

“We find out who sent it,” Cranerock replied.

“Yes,” Iliard agreed. “I also think it would be best if Alana didn’t go on any more drives”.

Bertrand let out short bark of laughter. “Good luck with that. She pestered me for a year to go on this one. How are you going to stop her?”

“I’ll keep her busy,” Iliard answered softly.