Path of the Spirit Runner

Perspective

Perspective~

Sethlyan Callan

Dundarien, Aleron

“We heeded Walter’s command to stand down. We went back to our homes and set about living our lives. Years pass quickly when you live quietly.”

“The cauldron cooled for a while,” says my friend. “We needed the slow simmer of time.”

“And simmer we did. We’d tasted rebellion once. We’d pushed the bowl away, but we remembered its savor.”

Seth rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen a knot that eluded him. A full week of helping ready Dundarien for the conclave had him tired and irritable. Gaven fidgeted beside him, faring no better. The last place either of them wanted to be was standing on the dais for another long afternoon of welcoming hordes of Hawks.

Besides the forty-and-eight landed lords with voting voices in Clan Aleron, there were captains, delegates, bishops, and stewards to be greeted with equal enthusiasm. Over two hundred families would attend this year’s conclave, and Seth was sure he’d already shaken more hands and smiled more smiles than should be expected of a sober man.

“Stop your squirming,” the silver-haired man beside them admonished after the latest guests were out of earshot. “It comes with the territory. Another hour and your duty’s done.”

Adan Tavish was the Chief of Chiefs of Clan Aleron and the Rhi’Aleron. When he spoke, Hawks listened. Seth straightened and forced another obligatory smile.

As Lord of Dundarien, Gaven had no choice but to be there, but Seth was standing in for his father as Adan’s Second, a surrogate role he’d been called to fill with increasing frequency as the years passed. Symon had never fully recovered from the wounds he took at b****y Bend, and these days he seldom left Windermere.

Seth scanned the great hall for faces he hadn’t yet greeted.

The long, cavernous hall was three times the size of Glenayre’s. Its black hammerbeam roof trusses hung over their heads like a thundercloud, the curved beams and braces connected by a web of fine tracery. Dark paneling lined the walls to twice a man’s height, and an equal expanse of grey stone rose above the paneling to brush the bottom of the thundercloud. Tall windows lit the hall like so many guards’ watch lights, stationed between portraits of Buchanans of the past and swords and shields from ancient battles.

“Snap out of it, Callan,” a hearty call hailed from the crowd. Seth searched out the familiar swagger and grinned. He left the dais in two long strides and grabbed Aengus by the shoulders.

“About time you got here, laggard.”

“There are more Gruders to ready at Medloch than Callans at Glenayre. It takes a while to get them all moving in the right direction.”

Especially when you’re doing it alone.

“Damn them, the guards let you in after all,” said Gaven. “Did you bring some of that Gruder honey?”

“Don’t go too hard on them. I didn’t give my real name,” said Aengus. “Yes, there’s a barrel of both heather and yellow thistle. Ought to keep your sweet tooth satisfied for a while.” He stepped back and gave Gaven a looking over. “Maybe I should’ve left the second barrel at home. You’re getting fat, man.”

“Am not.” Gaven stood tall and sucked in his stomach. “It’s all muscle.”

“Ah, my Storm Hawks.” Adan’s laugh resonated from the dais. “You do know how to keep each other humble.”

Aengus took to the steps and clasped Adan’s arm.

“The Gruders of Medloch Manor are present and counted, Chief Tavish.”

“So you are, Lord Aengus. And the Gruders of Rothcraig Hold?”

Aengus hesitated only a heartbeat. “Chief Gruder sends his regrets. He finds he isn’t well enough to make the journey this year.”

“Not well enough.” Adan’s lips tightened. He knew better. They all knew better, but he let it pass.

“You and yours are in good standing here. Clan Aleron welcomes you into the hospitality of the conclave,” he gave Aengus the customary greeting. “Seth. Gaven. You’ve done your duty. Be back in time for dinner.”

# # #

Seth dangled a leg over the edge of Gaven’s aerie. He took another sip of Callan gold and passed the flask to Aengus. Dangling a thousand feet over the sheer face of Mount Yonah wasn’t the wisest place to get tipsy, but it wasn’t the first time the three of them had climbed up for a few hours of peace and privacy.

Sitting well away from the edge, Aengus took a swig and passed the flask.

“Dear Brother Donal did not come, because to travel—” He waved his finger and timed the delivery. “One must be able to stay on a horse.”

Gaven spewed out a spray of aurello as he choked on a laugh.

It would make an excellent comedy if it weren’t such a tragedy. Aengus’ notorious brother had gone from using laudanum to ease his migraines to smoking opium to shut out the world. His addiction left Aengus managing both Medloch and Rothcraig estates and leading Clan Gruder in every way except the title of Chief.

“Seara,” said Gaven. “Did you bring her?”

“She’s here,” Aengus said without comment.

Aengus’ wife had been a fragile, needy sponge from the day he wed her. Through the years, her sporadic association with Donal had left her an addict, too. Seara escaped into numbness and left Aengus to raise six children on his own. Some were his. At least one was his brother’s. They all called him Father.

“As useless as ever, I suppose,” said Gaven. “I tell you, it’s too much for a man to do alone.”

“I’m not alone,” said Aengus. “Peg’s a treasure. And I hired a nanny.”

Aengus had been working hard, turning Medloch profitable and keeping Rothcraig solvent. His idea to brand specialty honeys had turned Aleron’s greatest swordsman into a beekeeper, but it was good to hear he was doing well enough to hire on help.

“You found a nanny brave enough to take on the Gruder brood. No small feat,” said Seth.

“She’s a Da’Rhynn educated in a Jorendon orphanage. She’s bright.” Aengus shrugged. “And accustomed to hordes of children running rampant through the halls.”

“Important qualifications for a post at Medloch.”

“And her brother is showing promise at beekeeping.”

“You took in her brother, too. You’re hopeless,” said Gaven. “Stray pups and orphaned Da’Rhynns.”

“And wayward wives,” said Seth. “Why, Aengus?” he asked, not for the first time. “Why don’t you set her aside? Find someone else. You certainly have cause.”

“My wife. My responsibility,” said Aengus. “Donal made her what she is. She’s trying the best she knows how.”

Arguing it was pointless. They’d tread that ground many times before.

“How’s your father?” Aengus asked, declaring the topic of Seara closed.

“Cynical and bitter. Same as he’s been for years.”

“Lord Symon’s a hard man,” said Gaven.

“And I, in my mediocrity, have failed to liberate Rhynn, though I’ve had ten years to get the job done. Rogart would’ve had Jorendon reduced to cinders by now, and we’d all be speaking Aurelic again.”

“I didn’t realize destiny dumped the task on your shoulders,” said Aengus.

“Oh, it wasn’t meant for me. The wrong son made it home from the war.”

“Sweet Mother, you’re both depressing as hell.” Gaven turned up the flask again. “It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”

Gaven had always had a knack for perspective.

“You’re right.” Seth slapped his thigh. “Cheer us up with some good news, man.”

“All right.” Gaven leaned back on his elbows. “We have healthy children. Twelve and counting between us. Aengus’ eldest got through his first year at Ellard without causing a scandal. Seth finally got the daughter he wanted. Rosalee will have our third by summer, and Avalee’s hair has grown back enough she looks like a girl again.”

“Her hair?” said Aengus. “Did I miss a story?”

“Rory cut it off for her,” said Seth. “Gets in her way when she pulls back on the bowstring.”

“They’re growing up friends, as we did.” Gaven stood on the ledge and stretched out his arms. “What more could a man want? The crops are planted. The herds are calving. And the honeybees are buzzing at Medloch.”

Aengus feigned a grimace. “Almost makes you want to give him a little shove, doesn’t it?”

Chapter 11