The younger woman turned to the elder, who appeared to be her mother, and blushed. Her hand flew over her mouth to cover a giggle. The elder womansmiled warmly.
“By Ganora’s mercy,” the elder woman chuckled. She turned to her daughter. “Olga, go fetch some hides fromthe neighbors.”
The younger woman nodded and quickly left the house. The elder woman patted the spot on the mattress where Olga had just been. I took the signal and sat downbeside her.
“Your husband has brought great joy to our village,” the elder woman said. “I lost my sons to the giants, as did many others here. Hearing that they were brought down, and not just by anyone, but one of our own—why, I’ve never seen so manysmiling faces.”
“I see.” I gestured to the opening of the stone dwelling. “You would think the Duke himself came tothe gates.”
“Oh, not at all, dear,” the elder woman chuckled. “Duke Hyton is wise enough to not comeup here.”
The elder woman, named Sigrid, and I began to talk. The soldiers outside of Bloodstone Fortress were not the only ones who harbored ill feelings toward the Hytons. Everyone in the Beast’s Pass, and likely all of Bloodstone, hated Duke Hyton for sending their sons to die in thefirst battle.
Through Sigrid’s watery-eyed story, I learned the Duke had sent only enough of his soldiers to fight one or two giants, but anyone in the Northern provinces knew there were at least three times as many destroying their homes and leaving trails of blood and screams intheir wake.
According to Sigrid, Duke Hyton could have prevented the great loss, the famine, and the poverty if he cared enough about the Northern provinces to actually prepare for thefirst battle.
Olga returned to the dwelling with arms full of deer and rabbit hides. Some of them were freshly tanned while others looked worn, as if people had given Olga the hides off their backs. The three of us began sewing the hides together in a crude, but sufficient tunicfor Riyan.
I moved my needle through the hides as the women gushed about the Hero of Lycaster being right outside their homes. A few more women trickled into the tiny dwelling, eager to do a favor fortheir hero.
We set up our operation so Sigrid and I were on the bed, Olga sat on the floor, and the three other women sewed the end of the tunic outside the doorway. As we sewed, all the women talked about the giants, about Riyan, and about lifein Bloodstone.
From what I heard from the women as they sewed, Bloodstone was similar to Ravenwood—dead sons, hungry bellies, and nothing to give them hope…except Riyan. To hear them talk, you would think that Riyan took on the giant army himself. No praise of the Hyton army, the General, or the Duke left the lips of the women of the Beast’s Pass. If what those women said was what everyone else in Bloodstone believed about the battle, then Duke Hyton’s plan to endear himself to the people of the North using Riyan had failed. Riyan alone held the glory of the victory, not the Houseof Hyton.
We completed the hide tunic after an hour. The length of the tunic stretched from Sigrid’s bed all the way out the door and was held together at the top with a long rope. The other women gathered up the tunic between them and walked out into themain road.
Olga lifted her mother off the bed and walked outside the dwelling. I followed the women outside and found Riyan playing with the group of giggling children. The children climbed up and down his arms and legs and he would grab them, drop them, and catch them mid-air as they shriekedin delight.
My stomach fluttered when I noticed a big-eyed toddler sitting in the palm of Riyan’s hand. I walked over to pick up the child, balancing him on my hip as I gestured to the tunic in thewomen’s hands.
“Sir Bloodstone, the people of the Beast’s Pass offer their gratitude for your actsof heroism!”
Riyan looked from the laughing boy he dangled upside-down by the leg to me. The dimple appeared again ashe smiled.
“You made this?” Riyan gently placed the child on the ground, who scampered over to his waiting mother. Riyan lowered his shoulders to look the women of the Beast’s Pass intheir faces.
Olga walked up to Riyan’s face with her mother still in her arms. Sigrid smiled warmly and reached up, gently touching the right side of Riyan’s face with both hands and giving him a kiss onhis cheek.
“Thank you for avenging my sons,” she said with tears in her eyes. She kissed him again. “For Ivar.”
The giggling boy on my hip grew heavier as Sigrid kissed Riyan for each of her sons. Ivar. Fenris.Asvin. Leiv.
Four. Sigrid had lost four sons. Riyan’s eyes shone and his muscles tightened with each name. His big blue eyes watered and he started to say something, but then more women rushed forward in a small mob. The women, young and old, frantically thanked Riyan, each one standing on their toes to kiss everywhere on his face they could reach and crying out the names ofthe lost.
Harald. Aemund. Brynd. Einar.Vigon. Candyr.
Names of boys that never grew into men. Names that never knew honor under theDuke’s reign.
Until Riyan gave itto them.
My lip trembled and my tongue tingled behind my teeth. I wanted to add honor to two more names, but I did not want to cut through the crying mob. I did not want anyone to see or hear what I neededto do.
I gave the sweet baby boy on my hip a final nuzzle before I handed him back to his mother. I pulled the small discs of bread out of my pocket as I noticed two large wooden statues guarding the gate into the magical realm like sentinels. I silently walked down the path in the center of the village to the carved statues of two females and stood in front ofthem alone.
The statue on the left was carved with a faint smile on her lips and her hands held out as if giving a gift. The statue was decorated in chains of summer blossoms and had what I could only assume were bunches of deep-red elskaberries at her feet. The idol was none other than the Great Sorceress herself, although the people of the Beast’s Pass had depicted her as much more loving than she was inreal life.
The statue on the right, however, bore no traceof affection.
