Dust snorted agreement as she continued, pace increasing to a trot. Vren kept up.
They weren’t challenged again until they reached the main gates. The snow-covered lands they were passing through sprawled with wooden trellises supporting mature grapevines, heavy with fruit.
At the gates they were met by two vore and a human, a short man, broad of face and brown of skin. He had dark hair, dark eyes, a goatee and a wide smile.
“Dust!” the man called even as the vore was surrounded by wagging tails and furry bodies.
“We did not think to see you for some time,” the human said to Dust. He offered one hand to Vren. “Welcome. I am Aramal of Athelbryght. Be welcome in the Chosen’s name.”
Aramal was deeply tanned, broad of face, with a wide smile. Vren took his hand. “My thanks. I am known as Dithen, traveling with Dust. We have news for the Chosen.”
“Then let’s get you both inside, where it can be shared.”
Aramal didn’t ask any questions as they walked toward the main house. The vore walking with Dust were quiet too, although Vren knew well enough that they had their own way of communicating.
“The Chosen will be in the kitchens, close to the hearth for the warmth. I’ll send word to the fields. We are preparing for a harvest, so all hands are in the sheds.”
“Harvest?” Vren asked, looking out over frozen fields.
“Icewine,” Aramal said. “The very best. But the grapes must be picked at just the right time, and that’s now.”
“So of course, we arrive,” Vren said with a chuckle.
“Such is always the way,” Aramal agreed. “But if it weren’t difficult, it wouldn’t be worth the doing.” He pushed open a heavy wooden door. “Latarie, Dust has arrived with news.”
“Hush, she’s sleeping,” came a soft voice. A lovely woman came into view. “Come in, come in, don’t let the cold air in.”
Dust and Vren stepped into a small stone kitchen where the hearth blazed high, filling the space with heat. In the center of the room was a large, well-worn, wooden table surrounded by benches and chairs; the walls sported shelves full of bright dishes and crockery.
At the far end of the hearth stood a rocking chair, moving back and forth very slowly. In the chair was a figure bundled in colorful shawls and blankets, with thick socks and slippers visible on its feet.
Dust went over, whining softly, and shoved her nose into the midst of the wrappings.
A hand emerged, frail and veined, to rest lightly between Dust’s ears. “Dust?” said a quavering voice as one scarf dropped away to reveal an ancient-seeming woman, frail and pale, with hair as white as the snow outside. Long, her hair was braided and wrapped neatly around her head, arranged so that just the points of her ears peeked out.
Vren drew a breath. Elven. She was elven. He’d heard of them but never seen one.
“Dust,” the old lady crooned. “How is my Princess Dusty?”
Dust whined and the old lady laughed. “You don’t like me telling that tale, do you? Do you remember how little Berla named you all, the first time she laid eyes on you? Red told me the tale, you know.” The old woman paused. “But we aren’t supposed to call her Red. Not in front of…” her voice drifted off and her head lifted and turned toward the newcomers, though her gaze seemed to look right past Vren.
“Chosen, Dust and Dithen here bring news,” Aramal said.
“Dithen? Do I know you?” The Chosen focused on him, her brown eyes sharp.
“No, milady,” Vren bowed his head. “I am newly come with Dust from Edenrich.”
“Well, you are welcome,” the Chosen said, her voice a bit stronger. “Drop your pack and pull up a chair. Latarie, get this young man some kavage, and make it strong and hot.” The Chosen smiled at Vren, her hand still stroking Dust’s ears. “If I know my Dust, she kept you moving at a fast pace. Wear a soul out, she will.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Vren said. He sat and accepted the mug Latarie handed him.
For a time all was quiet. Vren drank his kavage as the Chosen crooned softly to Dust. The door soon opened and others entered, stamping boots and taking kavage of their own.
“Make it quick, Dithen,” Aramal said, friendly enough but determined. “We’ll talk more after the harvest is done.”
Vren spoke then, fast and firm, and gave the basics.
“Well,” Aramal said when the marcus finished. “So yet again the Xyians war over land ill used and a city falling apart at the seams. Bad cess to them all, I say.”
