The Lord Son's Travels (29 page)

Chapter 29

It
hadn’t taken very long for Adrien to discover all he could about the little
burg of Cat’s Paw.
 
There wasn’t
much there to see.
 
He had arrived
early enough to see the men still working in the fields, readying the crops for
what looked to be the final harvest of the winter.
 
In these climes, a good farmer could plant an early field of
wheat or rye, and reap in time before the heaviest of the summer rains
began.
 
Every man in the town old
enough and healthy enough to swing a scythe would soon be out on the land,
cutting down the grain for the women to gather and prepare for flour or winter cattle
feed.

That
was still a few weeks in the future for the residents of Cat’s Paw.
 
Now while most of the men labored in
the fields, others were engaged in disciplines such as blacksmith, carpenter,
trader, or healer.
 
Children did as
they do in all places and times – running about freely, wrestling,
screaming joyfully, having as much fun as they could before being forced into
the strict roles of adulthood.
 
A
few of the older ones glanced sideways at the stranger; a few of the youngest
tailed him unabashedly across town.
 
They roamed freely, with no adult calling fretfully for them for the
Lady’s light be careful! so Adrien assumed that Cat’s Paw was as peaceful as his
first glance had assured him.
 

The
women were either at home, tending to their houses and families, or gathered at
the trader’s open tent, bargaining for needed items.
 
This was an important aspect in life in small towns in all
the nations of the Eastlands.
 
The
trader was a person, usually male, who acted as a mediator in trades between
the households.
 
In a small
isolated town like this, there were bound to be items scarce in one house and
bountiful in others, according to the skills or inclinations of the
residents.
 
Here in the comfort of
the shade of the trader’s tent, a wife could trade a day’s worth of baking for
a day’s worth of canning, or fresh vegetables from a garden, or even a promise
of a night’s worth of mending.
 
A
woman blessed with a talent and love for sewing need never lift a pot lid again
in her own kitchen, while a woman with two green thumbs would never have to
touch the community oven to bake her own bread for her family.
 
As Adrien noted as he passed by the
chatter-filled tent, the trader also operated as the center of the main
communications network of town.
 
He
promised himself to send Elenna with a bagful of something to trade and open
ears to pick up on news of the world.

He
saw his companions crossing the fields to the south on their way into
town.
 
Adrien waited patiently at
the edge of town, near the beginnings of the cultivated land, as Baldwan picked
his way carefully among the growing plants.
 
They caught the attention of a few of the farmers, who after
a few minute’s study, assumed they would be new guests at the inn, and turned
back to their labors.

“Ah,
life in the big city!” Elenna called out as soon as they were in speaking
distance.
 
Adrien walked alongside
their mount until they were clear of the field’s edge.
 
The two new arrivals let their eyes
float over their companion’s head to gather in all the new sights of the
village.
 
It wasn’t very long until
they had seen their fill and returned their attention to Adrien.
 
He led them along the edge of the
residential area, where the lowering sun had triggered the village children to
move closer to home.
 
Through the
open shutters of the tiny wooden huts, they could catch the sounds of the
goodwives starting their evening meals.
 
Soon the sun would be too near setting to provide light for work, and
the men would be home tired and hungry from their long day of labor.
 

“Did
you learn anything of interest?” Brendan inquired languidly.
 
He really didn’t care too much.
 
It was nice to spend an evening away
from the demands of the troops.
 
It
wasn’t easy leading so many green men on a mission as potentially fraught with
trouble as this trip to Titaine.
 

Adrien
was worried about leaving his men alone for so long.
 
“I don’t see a need to remain any longer,” he answered after
a moment’s consideration.
 
“Perhaps
a stop in the inn to check for any useful gossip, but we should be back at camp
before moonrise.”

Elenna
frowned her disappointment.
 
“I
dressed up for this?” she muttered to herself.
 
Though she was also disillusioned by the sheer ordinariness
of the village; so simple it was in ways boringly familiar even to her.
  
They exited the group of houses
to cross the center of the city.
 
In front of them, well lit and rather lively from the sounds, was the
inn Adrien had noted earlier.
 
From
the depths of its rooms flowed laughter and jovial voices, the deep clinking of
ale-filled glasses banging together for someone’s good health.
 
Brendan sniffed delicately, then more
deeply in appreciation for the scent of fresh cakes emanating on the breeze to
their silent tableau.
 
They paused,
all three tempted slightly by the treats offered within.
 
Then the talking stopped abruptly, and
a new sound filled the air.

“Is
that music?” Brendan asked with uncertainty.
 
He glanced towards Adrien, who only shrugged.
 
Elenna froze, her face screwed up into
a frown as she concentrated completely on the faint notes escaping from the
open windows.
 
Frantically she
motioned to Brendan to be silent, as she leaned her head towards the source of
her unease.
 

“Elenna?”
Adrien started, and finished abruptly as Elenna swung her leg the best she
could over Brendan in an effort to leap from Baldwan’s back.
 
He hunched over to escape her fits,
mumbling his complaints, as she nearly crawled from her seat. Adrien rushed
forward to offer his assistance, demanding she explain the commotion.
 
She swung down into his arms, then
immediately escaped.
 
Without a
word she whirled away towards the building.

“Elenna,
you can’t go in alone!” he finally barked at her, turning an anxious eye to the
building.
 
Thankfully one was
outside to observe her wild behavior.
 
He ordered for her to return.

At
his tone she paused only for a second.
 
Her eyes were wild as she exclaimed, “Its not just music.
 
It’s Lynard Skynard!”
 
Of course this made no sense to her
friends, but the young lady raised on her father’s old LP collection could
barely keep from flying inside to accost the musician.
 
Adrien and Brendan could understand
enough to hurry their steps to escort her inside, slowing her racing feet
enough to make a proper entrance.
 
She nearly pulled them through the entry hall through the double doors
that marked the entrance to the public room.
 

Even
the entrance of a nobleborn Lady couldn’t distract the crowd inside from the
performer at the end of the hall, though a few curious eyes turned their
way.
 
If Adrien had guessed the
population of the town accurately, half of them must be somewhere in the
crowded room, gathered in groups of two or three to eagerly observe the
evening’s performer.
 
Though all of
the guests held glasses of something, with steaming plates of meat or fresh
baked cakes in front of them, the audience was as silent as a room full of
ghosts.
 
At the far end of the door
through which they had appeared, a lone man stood in a cleared area.
 
He strummed what appeared to be a
guitar carved by novice hands.
 
It
was unpolished and slightly misshapen; the sounds it produced would have shamed
any high school garage band.
 
The man’s
voice wasn’t too phenomenal either, but by the reaction of the residents of
Cat’s Paw, he was the greatest talent ever to raise his voice in song since the
Days of Legends.
 
He wore the brown
britches and shirt of any commoner resident of the Eastlands; only his
instrument and strange way of singing would set him apart from the crowds he
entertained.
 
He had heard the door
open during his song, and the small reaction that had stirred among his
listeners.
 
As he took a deep
breath before starting his next tune, he glanced up at the recent
arrivals.
 
A trio stood in the
doorway, obviously visitors to the town.
 
The men were tall and wary; they had the look of guys who had seen
trouble before, especially the dark haired one.
 
He stood tall, surveying the room with a rough glare of
superiority.
 
This wasn’t his
normal crowd, the singer supposed.
 
The blonde one didn’t have the confidence of his friend.
 
He looked concerned as he hovered over
the person in the middle.

The
singer smiled involuntarily when he caught a glance of their companion.
 
In the dark her dark green eyes glowed
like a cat’s.
 
He stiffened when
she focused sharply on him.
 
Her
small round mouth opened to share a thought with her companions.
 
Whatever she said made them both
stiffen.
 
She was tall but shapely
in her silken beige dress; so out of place in their small country inn.
 
He couldn’t remember seeing a more
beautiful sight since he first came to the inn, and anything more lovely than
this woman would be very easy to remember.
 
She had her hair pulled back from her face, the bits of
candlelight sharply defining the angles and planes of her smooth pale skin.
 
He guessed in the darkness of the inn
that her was black in color, a rare shade in these parts.
 
A polite cough in the silent inn
brought him back to his work.
 
He
coughed himself, smiled, and started on an old Radiohead song he had learned as
a kid with his first guitar.
 

“I’ve
got to talk to him!” Elenna urged again, as the singer broke his eye contact
and returned to his playing.
 
She
fairly danced in apprehension, ignoring the stares she was attracting.

Brendan
shook his head.
 
“This could be a
trick…”

“Bren!
 
He’s from my home!” she snapped
back.
 
She could still feel
Adrien’s restraining hand on her arm.
 
“Let me go!”

Adrien
leaned closer to whisper delicately in her ear, mindful of a few observers who
had turned away from the singer at Elenna’s commotion.
 
“Do you remember the Lord of the
Southlands?”

“It’s
not him!” she nearly hissed.
 
“Somehow a couple of us were pulled here!
 
Maybe he knows how!”
 
Without warning she twisted her arm to slip free of his grasp and
whisked a few feet into the crowds.
 
Adrien winced, cursed quietly, and attempted to follow her.
 
The woman managed to wiggle easily through
the throngs, but the large man had difficulty pardoning his way to the front of
the room.
 
Before he had reached
the halfway point Elenna was standing in front of the performer, daring him to
lose his concentration.
 
When he reached
the end of his song the singer begged the crowd for a few minutes to rest his
voice, then focused on the beautiful lady as the disappointed audience returned
to their own enjoyments.

“Dude,
can you play some Pearl Jam?” the elegant young woman asked seriously, and he
burst out loud in joyful laughter.
 
He couldn’t stop.
 
Every time he thought he was under control, he would turn again to the
noblewoman in front of him and suffer new fits of rapture.
 
After a minute, she smiled herself from
ear to ear.
 

“You’re
really from back there?” he demanded when he could speak clearly again.
 
She nodded.
 
“How did we…”

“Beats
the hell out of me,” she shrugged.
 
He glanced around.
 
A few
people were regarding them with interest.
 
More of the crowd had noted the presence of a Lady and Lords amongst
them.
 
Adrien reached them almost
the moment a few of the women began to whisper of the forward Lady.
 

“Woman!”
he muttered furiously in her ear.
 
He barely allowed the singer a glance.
 
“You endanger us!” he lectured.

“Rian,
this guy’s from my home!” Now the former Lord Son turned to examine the
performer in detail.
 
He was young
and skinny; certainly not much to fear in battle.
 
His hair was light blond and longer than a usual man’s style.
 
His eyes were friendly as they waited
for Adrien’s next move.
 
The Bard
didn’t look like he could be any trouble, but Adrien still regarded him with
suspicion.
 
He hung over Elenna
like a protective hawk, barely following his mother’s rules on etiquette with a
muttered good wishing.