“It seems that our time of peace is ending.
“It’s been days since the royal carriage rumbled past and they pounded their challenge to our gates,” he said. “I’ve sent messages to every village and town in the Hills, spreading the warning. Word has come back from all but the farthest reaches. We’re here to share what information we have and decide on a course of action.
“There’s no sign of warriors at our borders. All the villages there have promised to restore the signal fires, to warn of movement.”
That caused a stir.
“No movement?” Old Lewald asked sharply. “Not the main roads, nor the back trails?”
“Not a sign,” Jerrold confirmed.
“So they sent a new Lord High Baron to ‘subdue the rebels abhorrent to our realm’ without warriors?” Old Lewald snorted. “What happened to those that were with them at the gates?”
“They were seen galloping back down the road, wagons empty.” Rasfel spoke up. “Disappeared somewhere between here and the border. No word or sign since.”
“Magic,” came a dark mutter from the crowd. Unease swept through them all. Talk flared up and Jerrold let that go on for a bit. Best to let them get it out of their systems. The Lord of Light and the Lady of Laughter knew, it still wasn’t out of his. The not-knowing ate at his gut.
But his mother was still sharpening her dagger, and he had a job to do.
“Let’s focus,” he said at last. “I ask the Captains to report on preparations.”
One of the portly Vestor twins stood up. “The stores have been checked, plus all the caches in all the shelters. Enough dried food for a year for all. We cleaned out any that went bad. Water barrels are being filled and the wells in the caves are clean and pure.”
Another voice. “Haven’t moved the livestock yet, but ready at the first sign. We’ve sent out more hunters, for fresh meat to add to stores.”
“Weapons?” Jerrold asked.
“Every man and woman are equipped. We’ve fletchers working on more arrows and bolts.”
Mother Bercie spoke up. “We’ve stockpiled healing supplies, salves, medicines, and bandages. We’ve small kits for any warrior, make sure your people all have one.” She looked up and scanned the faces. “All those caring for the little ones know the hiding places.”
Jerrold nodded grimly. “No plan survives the enemy’s attack. But we are as prepared as we can be, it seems to me.” He turned to the leader of the scouts. “Rasfel? You’ve had eyes on the new Lord High Baron. What have our watchers seen?”
Rasfel had a sheepish look on his face; he ran his hand through his black hair before he spoke. “Well, in truth, our new Lord High Baron seems to be setting up residence in the gatehouse.”
Jerrold frowned. “How so?”
“In the time since they’ve been there,” Rasfel said, “we’ve seen the Lord give his son sword lessons in the courtyard. His wife sits in the sun, sometimes, nursing twins. They’ve a maidservant and a scribe to aid them.”
“Scribe?” Mother Bercie questioned.
“We’ve taken to calling him that since he carries a small book at times,” Rasfel shrugged. “All he can be, really, with that gimp.”
“Careful you don’t assume too much.” Mother Bercie said.
“Seen no others?” Jerrold asked.
“Nay,” Rasfel shook his head. “Cirda is one of the watchers,” he said, nodding at Jerrold’s eldest. “He can confirm.”
Jerrold turned to his son.
Cirda stood, tall and grown-up, and to Jerrold’s pride, squared his shoulders and spoke clearly. “The son is hunting pigeons. Both women forage in the old kitchen garden for what they can find, digging roots and taking dried leaves.”
“That garden always was protected from the deepest snows,” Mother Bercie mused. “But it’s not been tended in years. Left to run wild years ago. Can’t be much there in the dead of winter.”
“They all take turns trying to pull stones from the main well.”
That caused a grim murmur to run through the crowd. Dropping stones into that well had been a favorite practice of the Wyverns. Crida hesitated but Jerrold gestured for him to continue.
