“I promise not to pick them all,” he told her.
Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. “Your eyes are laughing. This is serious.”
“Yes, princess, I know,” he apologized. “I’m just not used to taking orders.”
“All right,” she conceded. “I can see that. The boys don’t like it when I tell them what to do—but they don’t usually laugh either.”
“Possibly because they don’t need your directions as much as I usually do.”
She tilted her head at him, then grinned. “You like it. All right. Go harvest. Remember to get a stick and loosen the dirt around the plant ’cause it’s the root we need.”
With the first plant as a template, Phoran found two or three others that were probably tingleroot. He took the whole plant though, so Rinnie could make certain that’s what he had. His search took him around a pile of boulders higher than his head, and he found a whole grove of tingleroot. Or something that looked like it to his untrained eye.
He was in the process of loosening the dirt around a stubborn plant when Rinnie’s squeak of surprise brought him into a crouch. He waited to hear something more, not wanting to charge out and make an idiot of himself.
“Hey, little girl, where’s your crazy brother this time?” It was a deep voice, a man’s voice, and the tone had Phoran setting his harvest on the ground and loosening his sword.
The stranger’s tones quieted, like a cat stalking a bird. “Or is it Lehr’s footsteps I’ve been tracking instead? Tracking the great hunter himself, the hero who slew an ogre. Did he leave you here while he went off hunting? Did he leave behind such tender meat for me?”
The avarice in the man’s voice tightened Phoran’s hand on the hilt of his sword. Phoran knew that he was going to hurt this lout now. Kill him if he was given enough excuse. Rinnie was a child; only a sick man sounded like that around a child.
“It was a troll, and my mother killed it.” Rinnie sounded calm, only a slight quiver betrayed her fear. But then she knew that Phoran was listening to them, knew that Phoran wasn’t as incompetent with steel as he was with plants.
“What are you doing here, Olbeck?” she said stoutly. “Shouldn’t you be in the middens with the rest of the swine?”
Something happened. Phoran heard it in the stretch of time between Rinnie’s comment and Olbeck’s next words. Maybe he’d struck at her, and she’d dodged his hand.
Phoran worked his way quietly around the boulders and the evergreen tree that grew next to them. He didn’t want to give Olbeck warning that she wasn’t alone and give him a chance to take her hostage before Phoran could get between them.
“My father will have your family out of that farm now,” he said. “I told him that Toarsen is here. Don’t you think I’d recognize the Sept’s brother? I’m the steward’s son, bitch. I know that Toarsen and his brother don’t see eye to eye. My father will tell Avar that his brother has been sniffing around here and planning treachery. Avar will believe him. Maybe he’ll have your father beheaded.”
“You are so stupid, Olbeck,” said Rinnie in disgust. “I wonder that you can put your clothes on right-side out every morning—or is that something one of the boys who follow you about does for you?”
“That may be,” Olbeck agreed silkily, and there was a sound of ripping cloth. “But you’re—” And then he used some words that Phoran hoped Rinnie didn’t know the meaning of.
The sound and Rinnie’s surprised cry were too much. Rather than working his way into a better position, Phoran rushed out from behind the boulders and used his shoulder to knock the stranger two or three paces down the hill—away from Rinnie, who was huddled on the ground. He didn’t take time to assess her condition before he stepped between her and the stranger.
Olbeck was nearly as big as Kissel, and Phoran found the cool resolve he’d discovered in the heart of the battle with the Path. He smiled.
Regaining his balance, Olbeck drew the sword that hung at his hip.
“Don’t hurt him,” Rinnie whispered frantically. “If he dies, it’ll go hard for my family. He’s the Sept’s steward’s son.”
“That’s right,” said Olbeck with a sneer. “Who are you? One of the twelfth sons of a fourteenth that Toarsen likes to hang about? The Sept will crush you and your friends when he comes, summoned by my father’s letter.”
Phoran hadn’t drawn his sword. He’d prefer to keep swords out of it if he could. It was better for his cause if Tier’s noble guests remained a curiosity rather than a news item. Killing this scum might just send news of Tier’s unexpected guests all the way to Taela. If Phoran ever managed to rid himself of the Memory, he didn’t want the whole of the Empire knowing where he’d been, not if he could help it.
“Rinnie’s right; you are stupid aren’t you?” he marveled out loud. “You do realize that if you were correct in what we’re up to here, you’ve just given me the ultimate provocation to kill you? That’s obviously the only thing that would keep your mouth shut.”
“He doesn’t think you can kill him,” Rinnie said in a small voice. “He’s had some training in sword work, and it impresses the other boys.”
“Since he’s outnumbered now,” said Lehr, coming around the same boulders that Phoran had crouched behind, “he’ll likely run.”
Lehr had Tier’s sword in one hand and was breathing hard. “Go back to Leheigh, Olbeck. You aren’t welcome in Redern anymore, I hear. No more are you welcome here. If your father has problems with us, I expect that he will come himself. Run back to your father, coward.”
Olbeck snarled wordlessly at Lehr, and Phoran saw the intent in his body before he charged—not at Lehr, but straight at Phoran. He probably thought that he could bull through Phoran to get at Rinnie.
Phoran dropped him cold with a fist to the chin.
“Stupid sot ran right into it,” he said, rubbing his knuckles to dull the sting. “Are you all right, Rinnie?”
The memory of the sound of ripping cloth kept him facing away from her.
“Yes,” she said. “I wish I were a Guardian like Jes. Lightning only works if I have hours.”
“Too bad,” agreed Phoran. “If someone deserved a bit of lightning to strike him down, it was that man.”
“Here, Rinnie, take my tunic.” Lehr pulled the article in question over his head and tossed it to her. “Nice right cross, Phoran. Did you kill him?”
There had been enough force to have broken his neck. Phoran bent down and rolled the big man over with a grunt of effort.
“Not so lucky,” he said. “Likely he’ll be awake in a minute or two. I could kill him for you—we could hide the body.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, Rinnie was right. Olbeck dead by human hands or missing around here is even more of a problem than Olbeck alive. Too bad about the lightning, Rinnie. That would have been an answer. I suppose we’ll just leave him.”
“Why isn’t he welcome in Redern anymore?” Rinnie, safely covered by Lehr’s tunic leaned lightly against Phoran’s arm and stared down at her attacker. She sounded collected, but she was trembling like a bird. Phoran thought again about killing Olbeck.
“Remember Lukeeth, the mercer’s son?”
“He’s one of the boys who follows Olbeck.”
“Not anymore. Olbeck killed him. Storne says it was murder, but Olbeck claimed it was self-defense. He got away with it, but his father agreed to keep him out of Redern. Get your herbs—I assume that’s what sent you hurrying out of the house this morning. We’ll leave him here.”
Rinnie nodded and turned and began picking up the scattered bits of plants. Phoran saw her wipe her cheeks when she thought no one was watching. He saw that Lehr had noticed, too.
“Likely, I broke his jaw,” he told him as consolation. “He’ll remember this every time he tries to eat for a long time.”