“They are testing us,” a warrior growled.
“We thought them bandits, at first.” Pernard pulled forth a smaller map of his town and the surrounding farms. “So far, only two farmsteads have been attacked. The families there managed to flee, and they report seeing the banner of the Black Hills on the attackers.”
“I am ordering that you pull everyone in your district within the walls,” Verice said. He held up a hand to fend off protests. “We can replace buildings, breed new herds. It’s the maels and faellas I value above all else.”
“We’ve stout town walls, thanks to your foresight, m’lord.” Pernard said. “It’s the farmers you must convince.”
“I’ll speak to them.” Verice gave the mael a wry look. “And use more than words if there’s a need. Any so stubborn as to stay on his land is welcome to, but I will demand that the faellas and children be brought to safety.”
Verice kept the meeting brief, making sure they understood the important points. Actual details would be worked out later. For now, it was enough that they knew his plans to defend Tassinic.
After enough time for questions, he called the meeting to a close and dismissed them. “We’ll reconvene shortly,” he commanded. “With the guildmasters and farmers and any others that wish to attend.”
They bowed, and streamed out, talking in quiet undertones. He didn’t need to hear what they said; there was a lighter note to their voices.
Satisfied, he turned back to the window for a moment. The singer was still in the garden, humming, again. The sound was sweet.
“Lord Verice, perhaps you’d like to take some refreshment with me before the next meeting?” Pernard came to stand beside him. “There’s something I’d wish to discuss privately, if you don’t mind. Some kav, perhaps?”
“My thanks, Pernard.” Verice gestured out the window. “Perhaps we could stroll in your garden for a bit?”
“You would do me an honor,” Pernard smiled. “The cuttings you provided have done very well. My roses are particularly lovely this year. And, may I ask, how do yours fare?”
Verice’s heart froze. “I’ve no idea,” he clipped out the words. “I haven’t stepped foot in the gardens since—” he cut himself off, trying to control his anger.
“Forgive me, m’lord,” Pernard apologized with a tilt of his head. “I’ll have the kav brought to you.”
Verice gave a swift nod and strode from the room. He stalked the corridors, his thoughts grim.
Damn the Regent. Damn Elanore. Everard had been a rare human, with a sense of honor as strong as his own. He’d sworn fealty to the man, gone down on his knees to do it, a thing unheard of. An elf swearing allegiance to a human king. But Verice had known that Everard had been worthy of his oaths.
Human lives were so short compared to his own. Even worse, it seemed that Everard had been cut down by treachery within his own castle, by his own kind.
Verice growled under his breath. Now here he was, an elven High Baron in a human kingdom, with civil war on one border, and the elven Court on another. Somewhere, his ancestors were mocking him.
He stepped out into the garden, into the bright sun, and caught his breath. The area was walled in, and not large, compared with his gardens back home. But Pernard was clever in his use of the space he had, and the effect was lovely.
An apple tree stood to one side, providing shade over a bench. Verice remembered when Pernard had planted the seedling. To the other side, a small path wound around a series of thick rose briars, made to look as if they’d overgrown the area, but in fact were carefully trimmed. Verice took a deep breath, and forced himself to tread slowly and enjoy the serenity that the colors and scents brought. He’d just steal a few moments before—
“Life is fleeting, life is pain.
What need then to dance in the rain?
What need then to sleep in the night,
safe in the arms of my lover held tight?”
Verice looked around, curious. The song was soft and low, clearly not intended for another’s ears. He didn’t know the words, but the tune was sweet, and the voice…he walked forward.
“What need to love or laugh or sing,
or bind you with my wedding ring?”
He spotted a small foot peeking from under a tattered skirt, sheltered by the roses. It was fair, although bare and dirty. A faella, he guessed, although he couldn’t see her ears. She knelt, half-hidden under one of the bushes.
He continued, barely breathing, not wanting to startle her, but wanting to see her face.
“Close or far, low or high, I shall love you ere I—”
