HOME | DD

Description
Moena had other things to wear besides armor, but found herself unwilling to wear softer things. Seraphis had spoken sharply to her about going around in such gear for too long and within the sanctuary of the house.

She felt she could endure another such criticism from him before she actually yielded to his order to remove it before coming inside.

For the time being, she felt it highly prudent to keep it on. And to carry her weapons right along with it. She had seen how low the river had been on her last foray to the Gebnet border. It would be child’s play to slip across the river at the ford. People, maybe not. But cattle certainly might, be they from Seraphis’ herds or from Gebnet.
There were rules to govern the reclaiming of stray animals, but this year, the atmosphere was especially unfriendly.

Other water sources existed; Moena was satisfied Seraphis’ flocks and herds could get water without needing to be driven to the river. Orders had been given to avoid the river. She had to ponder the nature of whatever was being built on that outcrop over on the Gebnet side.

Of course, monitoring the herders to make sure they got the message and were keeping to it was still her charge.

During an early morning hike to check on a tardy herdsman, she came to a halt in a rugged area. Just why, she couldn’t answer and the realization she was standing stock-still was only secondary to something more pertinent and but completely mysterious.

In the peaceful sunrise with clouds colored by as much night as day, Moena felt less at ease than when she lopped off Aithemn’s hand.

She had her spear, but the strong hands holding it could have been hanging numb at her sides and the weapon itself never brought along.

The sheep had cropped the grass on the slopes, revealing the contour of the hill, but there were stones and tough bramble-bushes and coarse, sap-filled plants which sheep did not eat and goats ate only when especially hungry. This was a place regularly worked and traveled, but it felt as weird as the other side of the world just at that moment. Every shadow was a hiding place and every direction Moena wanted to turn seemed like the wrong one. Something was out there.

The odor of spring flowers, closed or in bloom was all around, mingling with the pungent smell of animals. Even among those scents was something peculiar.

Anyone else would have missed it, but Moena was uncannily quick at that instant and with head held still and eyes darting to one side, saw a dark head rise from the cover of flowering thorns. Ordinarily, and this was not anything close to ordinary, such a sudden appearance would have been Moena’s cue to duck.

She felt no fear. All she had to do was note the sneaky character of the intruder and keep that always in mind.

Before Moena could crane for a better look, there was nothing to look at except for the terrain. What breeze there was that morning had stirred straight hair without a hint of a braid.

It was all but the mark of a savage not to wear hair neatly. Moena marked this well.

Uphill, sheep bleated in the orange-tinted heights. Minutes had passed, the time almost lost. The disc of the sun now hung in the sky, beginning its long, slow ascent.

When the wind shifted, she smelled smoke. A small fire such as a herdsman might build to stay warm overnight was still smoldering higher up the slope.

Feeling at last it was unsafe to remain standing there, Moena found her feet and the will to walk and continued up the slope. A stubborn ram took a pace toward her and then turned away, deciding not to challenge. In threes and fours, more sheep in a mass of sixty dotted the pasturage until she was skirting the bulk of the flock. Gray forms jostled and packed together, only to break apart and resume feeding.

A sweat-stained crook was somewhere in the middle of the flock, getting kicked and trampled by the animals unlucky enough to be pushed over it. Without panicking the flock, Moena stepped into the jumble of sheep, satisfied to see the first of the spring lambs among the older specimens.

Moena lifted the crook from the ground, wondering why she expected to find smears of old blood on the end. Around her, the animals lowered their heads to crop the grass without much concern for her presence. As much as the situation was not normal, there was nothing to spook the sheep into freezing in alarm or bolting in a panic.

“Naid!” Moena called out over the noise of the flock, getting an echo in the rocks high above.

Human groans were almost lost in the criss-crossing bleats of the unattended animals. The smoke of the little fire was now visible in the air as gray wisps. There was olive wood in the coals, but lots of dry brush, roots and leaves which stank when burned.

“Is anyone hurt?” Moena called, all the while working her way up a twisting track to the light of the fire which was still faint behind the shelter of rocks.

A herdsman. Moena came upon him with caution, holding both the shepherd’s crook and her spear. While less important in Seraphis’s sight than his cattle herders, the men who tended goats and sheep were still under his care and were expected to be responsible for themselves and their beasts.

“Water!” A distant echo. Moena didn’t look up.

Again, the feeling of being watched of coming upon a dangerous situation that looked ended, but was actually still going on and building up.

“G-get away!” The youngish man named Naif said, using up breath which he didn’t look as if he could spare.

While it seemed much more natural for a stricken man to be on his back, Naid was half-collapsed, keeping his face off the rocky ground with an elbow on the left and a stiff but shaking arm on the right. His face was pale, contorted in discomfort but not agony.

Moena set down the crook and the spear.

More motion. A second herdsman burst into view from over a ridge, toting a jug. “Water! I found the water! I found--”

He saw Moena near his companion and skidded to a halt on the stony soil. At this, Naid looked up with a wasted expression. They were both afraid, but the man toting the jug looked resentful as well, not far from severe contempt.

True anger wasn’t far off.

“He needs water--why did you stop?” Moena came close to the panting, sick-looking herdsman. “Why are you scared? You both know me.”

Then again...

“Maybe not as well as you say.” The water carrier stiffened and gritted his teeth. “Who am I? What is my name?”

“Kaban. And this is Naid, your half-brother.”

That announcement stirred very different reactions in both of them.

“She doesn’t know anything besides our names,” panted Naid. “Kaban and me...aren’t kin.”

“She knows us,” Kaban said, finally discovering his feet. He took a few steps downhill, but stayed well out of reach. “Much more than she ought to.”

Naid’s response wasn’t surprising. “What?”

An extraordinary moment stretched into a long, tense stand-off with Kaban edging his way closer and closer to the other man while not taking his narrowed, suspicious eyes off Moena.

“I think you’re wrong about me,” Moena told both of them.

“Just so,” Kaban said. “But you’re an odd one for these simple lands, Moena. So odd that how could anyone be right abot you? Naid is the bastard child of my mother, though I had reasons of my own for not telling him myself....”

“If you’re not going to water him, let me do it.” Moena set down her spear.

Kaban didn’t come any further down the hill. He set the round jug on its side and let it roll towards her. “Help yourself!”

Its one of those maidens, Moena thought. It must have been one of those maidens. They think I was up here. She arrested the tumbling jug and drew the stopper. It smelled like roots, grit, green grass and moss, but nothing sickening. She drank some herself, but Naid wasn’t immediately put at ease. Ultimately, he dared a swig, ready to spit. Satisfied it was something Kaban had brought and Moena hadn’t chance to tamper with, he drank.

“Is that better?” she asked.

“If I stand up, I know I’m going to feel dizzy and slump down again. I saw her in the firelight!”

“Are you hurt?” Moena asked, expecting a curt answer. She got one.

Kaban dared a few steps in her direction. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“I? None. There are interlopers on this land. I have seen two who resemble me, but an hour ago, I was nowhere near these heights. My cadre can vouch for my whereabouts.”

Trembling, Naid split his attention between the two.

It was getting close to full daylight now. Kaban had his own crook and his grip on it was tight. Down the hill, the bleating of the unwatched sheep was getting farther away.

“Mind those sheep,” Moena said.

“Cadre, huh?” Kaban worked his way slowly down and towards her. “Given your position, they can be persuaded to lie if you need them to.” Kaban rubbed his chin. “Having Seraphis as a foster-father does have its advantages. If Naid and I come to harm, it may be a while before you see justice, but we intend to have justice all the same. Cavorting around naked is a fool’s game and the master needn’t be told about that, I guess. But bringing us poison--”

Too dizzy to find the “poison” Kaban had just mentioned, Kaban came to his half-brother’s defense more strongly now and lifted a small gourd which was still heavy by the look of it.

Snarling, Kaban flung the gourd away where it hit the grass with a sloshing sound and spun away out of sight.

“She...set it down and then slipped away,” Naid insisted, holding a hand to his brow. “I only had a few sips and before I knew it, the drink went to my head. No wine could be that strong! It’s poisoned, sure enough. If I’d had any more, I would be helpless.”

Moena couldn’t stay quiet. “I have been suited in armor for a long time now. My hair is braided. I carry weapons. Was this true of whoever you thought you saw?”

That should do it, Moena thought. In the awkward pause that followed, she was certain.

Faced with this type of reasoning, the mood should have changed, but not instantly. Losses of trust seldom reversed and she knew it.

“No, it wasn’t.” Naid lurched as though he were going to retch. An aborted heave later, he recovered. “No. I don’t understand all this.”

Moena anticipated Kaban’s next move, but let him do it. The hefty herdsman snatched up her spear, gloating when he had the weapon out of her reach. Holding both his crook and her spear, he let go of the former and dared a few intimidating jabs with the latter. “Heh! No more or your tricks and double-talk--”

“I will endeavor to forget this when I report to Seraphis.”

“No need! I will tell him myself. What really happened!”

“Hey!” Fearful he would get in the middle of a melee he would not be able to sidestep, Naid wriggled into as much of a corner as he could find and lowered his head. He need not have made the effort. Moena had her spear back after a stare-down with Kaban and did not draw her blade. She stood up close to him and when he made an unwise grab, she blocked his arm with her own. An instant later, she smashed his ear with a well-clenched fist and sent him reeling a pace.

“So you don’t forget. Never again!” Moena told him firmly.

The clout to the ear wasn’t as injurious as it might have been and Kaban lowered his hand with a scowl. “You’ve made damned sure I won’t forget this. If that helps you, I can’t see how. We’re all right. Why don’t you go away?”

Cowering and still dizzy, Naid didn’t look up. He waited for his turn to be belted, but the blow didn’t come.

Moena composed herself. “Now see to those sheep.”

She knew it wasn’t her imagination. With Naid curled into a ball, one side of his tunic had rolled underneath him and remained there with his weight pinning it down. A patch of his bare back peeped out, much paler than his arms and face. An oval mark that couldn’t have been anything other than a bite mark showed there. He might discover it later, but he had not mentioned it.

She wasn’t going to enlighten him.

Kaban had flung the wine-filled gourd well away, but Moena spotted the round vessel without too much trouble and took the thing back with her to the stead. If the drink inside the gourd was as strong as the herdsman made it out to be, it might come in handy later.

Seraphis was at his customary place in the main hall of the stead house, weary, but perhaps settled enough to eat. Moena related parts of the herdsmen’s account. She chose to omit details out of deference to mealtime and Seraphis’ delicate appetite.

Servants on their way to bring food tried to hide their suspicious glances, but Moena caught every one with a glance of her own. An unwed serving girl was pregnant and trying to hide any sign of it, but Moena knew. The father was in the same room, skilled at looking elsewhere, but Moena knew that as well.

“I suppose,” Seraphis began, “with springtime here again, the herdsmen are getting distracted.”

Moena waited for Seraphis to take the first bite of his food. It was a long wait.

“A shepherd admitted to drinking. There was some other nonsense involved. The flock was unharmed and they resumed their duties. We have a wine-maker in these lands who is very generous with his drink. I don’t believe any poison was at work--the man was especially vulnerable to wine’s effects. He is himself again. And his half-brother.”

“I hadn’t heard they were related. All I know is, they were reliable herdsmen. Not knowing your kin is very often a more favorable condition than knowing them. Naid will feel inferior from now on. That is not good.”

The few servants in the room shifted uneasily, sharing looks with one another.

“I found Naid and Kaban serviceable, not reliable, foster-father. They both warrant watching.”

“An outlandish story,” Seraphis muttered, taking his first hesitant bite of cake. “Vineyards are rare in these parts. Any grapes won’t be ready for winemaking for many months yet. We can hope there isn’t much wine left to create these lapses of duty. And haven’t I told you to remove that hideous armor when you come home? You are excused until you change into something else!”

Seraphis finally got too cross for her to ignore and the panoply she had inherited from old Purdom had to be hung up. She rejoined him minutes later, only to see him looking as if he had eaten something rotten. He quickly hid his grimace and plucked more cake from a bowl, holding it rather than eating.

“Pardon my unwillingness to obey your order, but that armor is the most distinctive garb I own.”

“No more about it--”

“I have heard stories of a lookalike in the pasturage. I have been accused of being places and doing things which aren’t so. More springtime foolishness, I suppose, but if any more accusations are made, it’s bound to erode discipline and the respect the people must show for you. I don’t want to be mistaken for someone else. The armor prevents that.”

“Troubles, troubles and more troubles.” Seraphis threw down his little piece of cake without taking a bite.

Throat-clearings among the servants, but mostly silence in the room. Music was often played during supper, but not in the mornings. It was sorely missed now.

“If Ormis were not sick, I would keep you here at the stead and appoint others guardsmen. You’re getting involved in b-business that sh-shouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, foster-father.” Moena answered promptly, but her attention was elsewhere. The layout of the stead house was simple, but given her customary place in the room, Moena could see through two adjoining rooms and out a far window--provided no furnishings or people blocked the way.

Someone was peering over the ledge of that window. Seventy feet away, but the view was unobstructed. A child was spying in at the window, perhaps unaware she was being observed this deep in a shadowy house. She had to be the homeliest child Moena had ever seen, but just as Moena was getting used to the sight, the first wide-eyed, slovenly little girl of perhaps seven was joined by another who was downright ugly.

Without letting on about the little newcomers, Moena ate her fill. Seraphis looked queasy again and was maybe trying to force a sour belch. He drank water in slow, careful sips and settled his attention on the ceiling.

“May I be excused, foster-father?"

“You may go, but confine yourself to the stead. I want some peace and quiet for a change.” Seraphis spilled his cup and fussed trying to brush his clothing dry. Servants swarmed him and Moena left him just that way, intent on catching the little spies before they escaped or someone else caught them.

Description
Moena had other things to wear besides armor, but found herself unwilling to wear softer things. Seraphis had spoken sharply to her about going around in such gear for too long and within the sanctuary of the house.

She felt she could endure another such criticism from him before she actually yielded to his order to remove it before coming inside.

For the time being, she felt it highly prudent to keep it on. And to carry her weapons right along with it. She had seen how low the river had been on her last foray to the Gebnet border. It would be child’s play to slip across the river at the ford. People, maybe not. But cattle certainly might, be they from Seraphis’ herds or from Gebnet.
There were rules to govern the reclaiming of stray animals, but this year, the atmosphere was especially unfriendly.

Other water sources existed; Moena was satisfied Seraphis’ flocks and herds could get water without needing to be driven to the river. Orders had been given to avoid the river. She had to ponder the nature of whatever was being built on that outcrop over on the Gebnet side.

Of course, monitoring the herders to make sure they got the message and were keeping to it was still her charge.

During an early morning hike to check on a tardy herdsman, she came to a halt in a rugged area. Just why, she couldn’t answer and the realization she was standing stock-still was only secondary to something more pertinent and but completely mysterious.

In the peaceful sunrise with clouds colored by as much night as day, Moena felt less at ease than when she lopped off Aithemn’s hand.

She had her spear, but the strong hands holding it could have been hanging numb at her sides and the weapon itself never brought along.

The sheep had cropped the grass on the slopes, revealing the contour of the hill, but there were stones and tough bramble-bushes and coarse, sap-filled plants which sheep did not eat and goats ate only when especially hungry. This was a place regularly worked and traveled, but it felt as weird as the other side of the world just at that moment. Every shadow was a hiding place and every direction Moena wanted to turn seemed like the wrong one. Something was out there.

The odor of spring flowers, closed or in bloom was all around, mingling with the pungent smell of animals. Even among those scents was something peculiar.

Anyone else would have missed it, but Moena was uncannily quick at that instant and with head held still and eyes darting to one side, saw a dark head rise from the cover of flowering thorns. Ordinarily, and this was not anything close to ordinary, such a sudden appearance would have been Moena’s cue to duck.

She felt no fear. All she had to do was note the sneaky character of the intruder and keep that always in mind.

Before Moena could crane for a better look, there was nothing to look at except for the terrain. What breeze there was that morning had stirred straight hair without a hint of a braid.

It was all but the mark of a savage not to wear hair neatly. Moena marked this well.

Uphill, sheep bleated in the orange-tinted heights. Minutes had passed, the time almost lost. The disc of the sun now hung in the sky, beginning its long, slow ascent.

When the wind shifted, she smelled smoke. A small fire such as a herdsman might build to stay warm overnight was still smoldering higher up the slope.

Feeling at last it was unsafe to remain standing there, Moena found her feet and the will to walk and continued up the slope. A stubborn ram took a pace toward her and then turned away, deciding not to challenge. In threes and fours, more sheep in a mass of sixty dotted the pasturage until she was skirting the bulk of the flock. Gray forms jostled and packed together, only to break apart and resume feeding.

A sweat-stained crook was somewhere in the middle of the flock, getting kicked and trampled by the animals unlucky enough to be pushed over it. Without panicking the flock, Moena stepped into the jumble of sheep, satisfied to see the first of the spring lambs among the older specimens.

Moena lifted the crook from the ground, wondering why she expected to find smears of old blood on the end. Around her, the animals lowered their heads to crop the grass without much concern for her presence. As much as the situation was not normal, there was nothing to spook the sheep into freezing in alarm or bolting in a panic.

“Naid!” Moena called out over the noise of the flock, getting an echo in the rocks high above.

Human groans were almost lost in the criss-crossing bleats of the unattended animals. The smoke of the little fire was now visible in the air as gray wisps. There was olive wood in the coals, but lots of dry brush, roots and leaves which stank when burned.

“Is anyone hurt?” Moena called, all the while working her way up a twisting track to the light of the fire which was still faint behind the shelter of rocks.

A herdsman. Moena came upon him with caution, holding both the shepherd’s crook and her spear. While less important in Seraphis’s sight than his cattle herders, the men who tended goats and sheep were still under his care and were expected to be responsible for themselves and their beasts.

“Water!” A distant echo. Moena didn’t look up.

Again, the feeling of being watched of coming upon a dangerous situation that looked ended, but was actually still going on and building up.

“G-get away!” The youngish man named Naif said, using up breath which he didn’t look as if he could spare.

While it seemed much more natural for a stricken man to be on his back, Naid was half-collapsed, keeping his face off the rocky ground with an elbow on the left and a stiff but shaking arm on the right. His face was pale, contorted in discomfort but not agony.

Moena set down the crook and the spear.

More motion. A second herdsman burst into view from over a ridge, toting a jug. “Water! I found the water! I found--”

He saw Moena near his companion and skidded to a halt on the stony soil. At this, Naid looked up with a wasted expression. They were both afraid, but the man toting the jug looked resentful as well, not far from severe contempt.

True anger wasn’t far off.

“He needs water--why did you stop?” Moena came close to the panting, sick-looking herdsman. “Why are you scared? You both know me.”

Then again...

“Maybe not as well as you say.” The water carrier stiffened and gritted his teeth. “Who am I? What is my name?”

“Kaban. And this is Naid, your half-brother.”

That announcement stirred very different reactions in both of them.

“She doesn’t know anything besides our names,” panted Naid. “Kaban and me...aren’t kin.”

“She knows us,” Kaban said, finally discovering his feet. He took a few steps downhill, but stayed well out of reach. “Much more than she ought to.”

Naid’s response wasn’t surprising. “What?”

An extraordinary moment stretched into a long, tense stand-off with Kaban edging his way closer and closer to the other man while not taking his narrowed, suspicious eyes off Moena.

“I think you’re wrong about me,” Moena told both of them.

“Just so,” Kaban said. “But you’re an odd one for these simple lands, Moena. So odd that how could anyone be right abot you? Naid is the bastard child of my mother, though I had reasons of my own for not telling him myself....”

“If you’re not going to water him, let me do it.” Moena set down her spear.

Kaban didn’t come any further down the hill. He set the round jug on its side and let it roll towards her. “Help yourself!”

Its one of those maidens, Moena thought. It must have been one of those maidens. They think I was up here. She arrested the tumbling jug and drew the stopper. It smelled like roots, grit, green grass and moss, but nothing sickening. She drank some herself, but Naid wasn’t immediately put at ease. Ultimately, he dared a swig, ready to spit. Satisfied it was something Kaban had brought and Moena hadn’t chance to tamper with, he drank.

“Is that better?” she asked.

“If I stand up, I know I’m going to feel dizzy and slump down again. I saw her in the firelight!”

“Are you hurt?” Moena asked, expecting a curt answer. She got one.

Kaban dared a few steps in her direction. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“I? None. There are interlopers on this land. I have seen two who resemble me, but an hour ago, I was nowhere near these heights. My cadre can vouch for my whereabouts.”

Trembling, Naid split his attention between the two.

It was getting close to full daylight now. Kaban had his own crook and his grip on it was tight. Down the hill, the bleating of the unwatched sheep was getting farther away.

“Mind those sheep,” Moena said.

“Cadre, huh?” Kaban worked his way slowly down and towards her. “Given your position, they can be persuaded to lie if you need them to.” Kaban rubbed his chin. “Having Seraphis as a foster-father does have its advantages. If Naid and I come to harm, it may be a while before you see justice, but we intend to have justice all the same. Cavorting around naked is a fool’s game and the master needn’t be told about that, I guess. But bringing us poison--”

Too dizzy to find the “poison” Kaban had just mentioned, Kaban came to his half-brother’s defense more strongly now and lifted a small gourd which was still heavy by the look of it.

Snarling, Kaban flung the gourd away where it hit the grass with a sloshing sound and spun away out of sight.

“She...set it down and then slipped away,” Naid insisted, holding a hand to his brow. “I only had a few sips and before I knew it, the drink went to my head. No wine could be that strong! It’s poisoned, sure enough. If I’d had any more, I would be helpless.”

Moena couldn’t stay quiet. “I have been suited in armor for a long time now. My hair is braided. I carry weapons. Was this true of whoever you thought you saw?”

That should do it, Moena thought. In the awkward pause that followed, she was certain.

Faced with this type of reasoning, the mood should have changed, but not instantly. Losses of trust seldom reversed and she knew it.

“No, it wasn’t.” Naid lurched as though he were going to retch. An aborted heave later, he recovered. “No. I don’t understand all this.”

Moena anticipated Kaban’s next move, but let him do it. The hefty herdsman snatched up her spear, gloating when he had the weapon out of her reach. Holding both his crook and her spear, he let go of the former and dared a few intimidating jabs with the latter. “Heh! No more or your tricks and double-talk--”

“I will endeavor to forget this when I report to Seraphis.”

“No need! I will tell him myself. What really happened!”

“Hey!” Fearful he would get in the middle of a melee he would not be able to sidestep, Naid wriggled into as much of a corner as he could find and lowered his head. He need not have made the effort. Moena had her spear back after a stare-down with Kaban and did not draw her blade. She stood up close to him and when he made an unwise grab, she blocked his arm with her own. An instant later, she smashed his ear with a well-clenched fist and sent him reeling a pace.

“So you don’t forget. Never again!” Moena told him firmly.

The clout to the ear wasn’t as injurious as it might have been and Kaban lowered his hand with a scowl. “You’ve made damned sure I won’t forget this. If that helps you, I can’t see how. We’re all right. Why don’t you go away?”

Cowering and still dizzy, Naid didn’t look up. He waited for his turn to be belted, but the blow didn’t come.

Moena composed herself. “Now see to those sheep.”

She knew it wasn’t her imagination. With Naid curled into a ball, one side of his tunic had rolled underneath him and remained there with his weight pinning it down. A patch of his bare back peeped out, much paler than his arms and face. An oval mark that couldn’t have been anything other than a bite mark showed there. He might discover it later, but he had not mentioned it.

She wasn’t going to enlighten him.

Kaban had flung the wine-filled gourd well away, but Moena spotted the round vessel without too much trouble and took the thing back with her to the stead. If the drink inside the gourd was as strong as the herdsman made it out to be, it might come in handy later.

Seraphis was at his customary place in the main hall of the stead house, weary, but perhaps settled enough to eat. Moena related parts of the herdsmen’s account. She chose to omit details out of deference to mealtime and Seraphis’ delicate appetite.

Servants on their way to bring food tried to hide their suspicious glances, but Moena caught every one with a glance of her own. An unwed serving girl was pregnant and trying to hide any sign of it, but Moena knew. The father was in the same room, skilled at looking elsewhere, but Moena knew that as well.

“I suppose,” Seraphis began, “with springtime here again, the herdsmen are getting distracted.”

Moena waited for Seraphis to take the first bite of his food. It was a long wait.

“A shepherd admitted to drinking. There was some other nonsense involved. The flock was unharmed and they resumed their duties. We have a wine-maker in these lands who is very generous with his drink. I don’t believe any poison was at work--the man was especially vulnerable to wine’s effects. He is himself again. And his half-brother.”

“I hadn’t heard they were related. All I know is, they were reliable herdsmen. Not knowing your kin is very often a more favorable condition than knowing them. Naid will feel inferior from now on. That is not good.”

The few servants in the room shifted uneasily, sharing looks with one another.

“I found Naid and Kaban serviceable, not reliable, foster-father. They both warrant watching.”

“An outlandish story,” Seraphis muttered, taking his first hesitant bite of cake. “Vineyards are rare in these parts. Any grapes won’t be ready for winemaking for many months yet. We can hope there isn’t much wine left to create these lapses of duty. And haven’t I told you to remove that hideous armor when you come home? You are excused until you change into something else!”

Seraphis finally got too cross for her to ignore and the panoply she had inherited from old Purdom had to be hung up. She rejoined him minutes later, only to see him looking as if he had eaten something rotten. He quickly hid his grimace and plucked more cake from a bowl, holding it rather than eating.

“Pardon my unwillingness to obey your order, but that armor is the most distinctive garb I own.”

“No more about it--”

“I have heard stories of a lookalike in the pasturage. I have been accused of being places and doing things which aren’t so. More springtime foolishness, I suppose, but if any more accusations are made, it’s bound to erode discipline and the respect the people must show for you. I don’t want to be mistaken for someone else. The armor prevents that.”

“Troubles, troubles and more troubles.” Seraphis threw down his little piece of cake without taking a bite.

Throat-clearings among the servants, but mostly silence in the room. Music was often played during supper, but not in the mornings. It was sorely missed now.

“If Ormis were not sick, I would keep you here at the stead and appoint others guardsmen. You’re getting involved in b-business that sh-shouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, foster-father.” Moena answered promptly, but her attention was elsewhere. The layout of the stead house was simple, but given her customary place in the room, Moena could see through two adjoining rooms and out a far window--provided no furnishings or people blocked the way.

Someone was peering over the ledge of that window. Seventy feet away, but the view was unobstructed. A child was spying in at the window, perhaps unaware she was being observed this deep in a shadowy house. She had to be the homeliest child Moena had ever seen, but just as Moena was getting used to the sight, the first wide-eyed, slovenly little girl of perhaps seven was joined by another who was downright ugly.

Without letting on about the little newcomers, Moena ate her fill. Seraphis looked queasy again and was maybe trying to force a sour belch. He drank water in slow, careful sips and settled his attention on the ceiling.

“May I be excused, foster-father?"

“You may go, but confine yourself to the stead. I want some peace and quiet for a change.” Seraphis spilled his cup and fussed trying to brush his clothing dry. Servants swarmed him and Moena left him just that way, intent on catching the little spies before they escaped or someone else caught them.