Kellaras remained in the saddle, still awaiting their invitation. He had expected some difficulty here, and well understood Hish Tulla’s reluctance. ‘This forest surely invites it, milady. Wilderness has indeed become a refuge.’
‘And yet,’ she replied harshly, ‘you come to bring word of the war beyond. If I could make the trees iron, captain, and each branch a blade, I would raise every wilderness into an impregnable fortress. Ringed in the blood of unwelcome visitors, it would surely grow vast.’
In her bold words, he heard the echoes of his own earlier thoughts, and was in no way inclined to challenge her sentiment. And still, he found himself shaking his head. ‘Milady, it is by unnatural privilege that you find yourself in this refuge, and herein, you face no daily struggle to survive. You would arm your imagined defenders of that privilege, as if the war they are to fight is for you alone, rather than, indeed, their own survival.’
A grunt from Gripp Galas. ‘He has you there, my love. The arrow flew true and sharp, pinning the leaf to the trunk.’ The old man waved. ‘Do dismount, captain, and be welcome in this house.’
Hish Tulla’s shoulders seemed to slump beneath the furs, and she stepped towards Kellaras. ‘The reins, then, captain. My husband has been cleaning the stables, with something like manic zeal. Winter has him pacing. He will hear your tales, as will I, if I must.’
As Kellaras dismounted and Hish led his horse into the stables, Gripp stepped closer and said, ‘Come into the house, captain. The guest rooms are presently closed up, but we’ve plenty of wood, and some heat will take the damp from the chamber. I will send you a servant and see that a bath is drawn. We will dine at the seventh bell.’ He turned to lead the way to the house.
‘Thank you, Gripp,’ said Kellaras, following. ‘The promise of warmth already loosens my bones.’
The old man, once Lord Anomander’s most revered servant, cast a glance back at Kellaras. ‘Simple promises,’ he said, ‘of no consequence. Pray we spend this evening in such easy company.’
To that, Kellaras said nothing, and yet the silence found its own timbre, and the captain was not so benumbed with cold to fail in sensing the sudden tension from Gripp Galas, as the man preceded him towards the estate’s front door.
As they stepped into the antechamber, Kellaras could hold to his silence no longer. ‘Forgive me, Gripp. I am not here of my own accord.’
Gripp nodded but made no other reply. They swung left from the main hall and strode down a chilly corridor, dark for most of its length, until they reached a T-intersection where a small lantern glowed on a niche set in the wall. To the right and six paces in, the aisle ended at a door. Gripp pulled on the handle and the portal swung open with a loud squeal. ‘Guests,’ he muttered, ‘have been few and far between.’
Kellaras followed him into the chamber. Although unlit, he could see it well enough. Sumptuous and welcoming, with two additional rooms just beyond the main one. Gripp set about lighting lanterns.
‘It is a measure, perhaps,’ ventured Kellaras, ‘of our wayward notions, that the celebration of a marriage must have a specified duration. A ceremony, a wedding night, a few days allowed beyond that. And then, why, the return to an uncelebrated life.’
Gripp snorted as he scraped cinders from the hearth. ‘Our commander once made a similar observation, I recall.’
‘That he did,’ Kellaras said. ‘Anomander so dislikes the notion of an uncelebrated life. In marriage or otherwise.’
‘No wonder, then,’ Gripp said, glancing over, ‘that he left us an entire season.’
Kellaras shook his head. ‘He did not send me, Gripp.’
‘No? And yet, did you not say, you have been ordered here?’
‘I have. Forgive me. Perhaps following supper, and in the company of your wife.’
Gripp’s gaze flattened. ‘That’s not a temper you should test, captain.’
‘I know. But to speak to you here, alone, would be a dishonour.’
Gripp straightened, dusting his hands. ‘I’ll have the servant bring wood and get this started. Oh, and the bath. I’ll send Pelk – she could scrub the stripes off a hyldra, and make you beg for more.’
Kellaras’s brows lifted. ‘Gripp, I have no-’
‘Abyss take us, captain, the woman’s bored half out of her mind. Be a mindful guest, will you? I’d be most obliged.’ Gripp strode to the door.
‘This Pelk – is she-’
‘Indulge me, Kellaras, I beg you. You’d thought this house quiet, here in winter’s hoary hold. But I tell you, as a man surrounded by women, I’ll appreciate even a night’s inattention, barring that from my wife.’
‘Ah. Very well, Gripp. We will see what comes of that.’
From the door, Gripp eyed him uncertainly. ‘The bath or my wife’s attention?’
Kellaras smiled. ‘The bath. In the other matter, I shall bear your shield.’
Gripp Galas nodded, in the manner of a man whose deepest fear has just been confirmed. A moment later the door closed behind him.
Freeing himself of his heavy woollen cloak, Kellaras walked to the lead-paned windows. The chamber overlooked the courtyard behind the house, where the snow was smeared with dirt on the cobbles, and woodchips made a path from a storehouse up to the servants’ entrance of the main building. He watched small dun-coloured birds hopping about on a heap of kitchen leavings.
A moment later he saw Gripp Galas appear, still in his thin, sodden shirt. Wood-splitting axe over one shoulder, he crossed the courtyard, heading for the timber shed.
A short while later there was a scratching at the door, and Kellaras turned away from the window in time to see a woman enter the chamber. She was in her middle years, short-haired, solid of build, and stood upright, straight-backed, as she studied the room.
Kellaras cleared his throat. ‘You must be Pelk.’
Flat eyes shifted to him and she nodded. ‘Apologies, sir. There’s some dust. The fire will do for the damp, but the bed needs airing, and drying heat. Gripp’s bringing some wood.’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘If you listen carefully, you can hear the axe.’
Pelk snorted. ‘He’d fell a hundred trees and rebuild this house from scratch, just to keep himself occupied. I’d wager he wears a smile right now, as the splinters fly.’
Kellaras cocked his head. ‘You are a veteran of the wars, Pelk.’
She had set about wiping down surfaces with a grey rag. ‘Those times are done,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Were you a Houseblade in Lady Hish Tulla’s company?’
‘For a time. Mostly, though, I trained her. Sword, spear, knife, and horse.’
‘I am sure I am not alone,’ ventured Kellaras, ‘in admiring your lady’s … comportment. The pride in her stance, I mean to say.’
She was now studying him in turn, revealing nothing.
He cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me, Pelk. My point is, I can now see from whom she took her guidance.’
After a moment, Pelk grunted and resumed cleaning.
‘There was mention of a bath.’
‘Water’s on the coals, sir.’
‘I take it that you will lead me to the chamber.’
‘We have to go outside and then back in, I’m afraid. A wing’s been closed off, you see. Locked up and sealed.’
Kellaras collected up his cloak again. ‘Tell me, Pelk, are there any other guests here at the moment?’
She paused near the hearth, but did not turn to face him. ‘No. Just you.’
Kellaras hesitated, and then returned to the window. ‘It is just the season,’ he said.
‘Sir?’
‘Gripp Galas. He has led a busy life. He’s not used to having little to do. But the season wears on all of us.’
‘I’m sure,’ she muttered, leaving Kellaras to wonder what she had meant by that, given that her tone was utterly devoid of sympathy. Then she swung to face him. ‘It’s time. Will you require my attentions in the bath?’
‘Not necessary, but I would welcome them.’
At last, something enlivened her gaze, and she was deliberate as she assayed the man before her. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘it’s the season. Follow me, then.’