“Welcome, Mirya,” Burkel said. “Welcome, Selsha. We’re glad to see you.” He was a stoop-shouldered, gray-haired man who wore a short, spadelike beard at his chin. Before Marstel’s coup he’d sat on the Harmach’s Council, but he’d never been comfortable as an adviser to the harmach.
“Well met, Da Burkel,” Mirya replied. She set the wagon’s brake, clambered down, and helped Selsha to the ground.
Selsha ran over to Niamene and hugged her. “Niney!” she cried.
“Selsha!” Niameme kneeled and returned Selsha’s hug warmly. A pretty young woman of twenty-four years, she’d come to know Selsha well during the time she was betrothed to Jarad. Selsha looked on her as something of a big sister, which tickled Niamene. “I hope you’ll like staying with us for a time.”
“Come in out of this damp, both of you,” Elise said. While Burkel retrieved a chest with Selsha’s clothing from the wagon, his wife ushered the Erstenwolds inside. The farmhouse was warm and comfortable, with a cheerful fire in the hearth and the smell of a good stew rising from the kettle above it. In short order they were enjoying a hot midday meal of mutton stew and coarse bread, a rare treat for Mirya and Selsha-with Erstenwold’s to mind, she never cooked for herself or Selsha in the middle of the day, so they usually made do with some cheese and smoked fish.
After they finished, Burkel glanced at Mirya, and then looked over to his daughter. “Niamene, I’d wager that Selsha would love to see more of the steading.”
Niamene gave a nod of understanding. “Let me show you around the farm, Selsha,” she said. “I’ll show you all the places I loved to hide when I was your size.”
“Really?” Selsha said. She bounced up from her place at the table, and followed Niamene to the door. They threw on cloaks and went outside.
Mirya watched her go, trying to still the pang in her heart. She knew she’d miss Selsha terribly, and in countless ways that she couldn’t even begin to guess at yet. But she couldn’t bear the idea of being the cause of any danger to her daughter, not again-the Black Moon misadventure had taught her everything she’d ever need to know about that. She looked over to Burkel and Elise, and sighed. “Thank you both for taking her in,” she said. “I’ll sleep better of nights, knowing that she’s safe here with you.”
Elise waved her hand. “Think nothing of it, Mirya. She’s a darling girl. It’ll be a pleasure to the both of us.”
“She might be more of a handful than you think.” Mirya smiled, and steeled herself for what she had to say next. Drawing an envelope from a pocket in her skirts, she handed it across the table. “Listen, if anything should befall me, this is for you to give to Selsha when the time’s right. It’s … it’s about her father. She knows nothing about him now, but if worse comes to worst, she has kin in Phlan. She won’t have much of a claim on them, but I’d hope that if she ever needed it, they might help her in some way.”
The Tresterfins looked at each other. After a moment, Elise reached out to take the envelope. “Of course we’ll see to it,” she said. “But Mirya, what do you mean to do?”
“It would be better if you didn’t know,” she answered. She paused, gazing out the thick glass window in the house’s kitchen door as she considered her next words. She could make out the barn behind the house, and a few skeletal apple trees, but blank gray fog hid the world beyond the Tresterfins’ farm. “I mean to do what needs doing. Marstel, his wizard, the Verunas, the Chainsmen, the Cinderfists … they’ll not stop until every decent person in Hulburg is coinless or enslaved. The Hulmasters haven’t forgotten us, but this isn’t their fight alone-it’s ours too. I’ve a mind to do my part.”
“That’s a dangerous pastime,” Burkel said. “You’re already under suspicion because of your friendship with Geran. And even if you’re not concerned for yourself, you know that if you-and any others of like mind-strike back at the conniving sellswords and thieves who are running things these days, the first thing they’ll do is knock us all to the ground and put a foot on our necks. It’ll be blood, Mirya.”
“I know it,” she said in a small voice. “But we’ve got a foot on our necks already, haven’t we? It’s a hard world out beyond the Highfells, and I don’t fancy the idea of being driven out into it without a copper to my name. Better to make our stand here, and fight for the Hulburg we remember.”
They fell silent for a long moment. Outside, Mirya heard Selsha laughing in delight at something Niamene had said. Burkel looked to his wife again, and sighed. “I can’t say I haven’t had thoughts like yours,” he told Mirya. “Are the Hulmasters coming back? Do you know?”
“I’ve seen Geran,” she replied. “I trust him, and Kara too. They’ll not leave us to Marstel and his wizard one moment longer than they must.”
“All right, then. What can I do?”
“You’ve got the hardest task of alclass="underline" you’re to do nothing other than keep Selsha safe and out of sight. In the days ahead we’ll sorely need people we trust who aren’t under any suspicion at all, people who can show their face in town without fear and pass messages without seeming to do so. Beyond that, I’ve no idea yet.”
The Tresterfins exchanged one more look, and Elise gave Burkel a small nod. The former councilman tilted his head. “So be it. You know where to find us when you need us, Mirya. And don’t have a worry for Selsha. We’ll look after her like she was our own.”
Mirya smiled. “I know it. That’s why I asked you.” She stood and went to the back door, opening it up to look outside. Selsha and Niamene were looking at the goats the Tresterfins kept in the pasture behind the house. “Selsha, come inside a moment! I’ll be heading back into town!”
“Coming, Mama!” Selsha shouted. She ran to the door, breathless with excitement.
Mirya smiled at her and ushered her inside, determined not to let her daughter know that she had the slightest worry for either of them. “I want you to be your best for Aunt Elise and Uncle Burkel,” she said. “Mind them as you’d mind me-no, better than you’d mind me. There’s to be no arguing over chores or any such thing.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Then be a good guest, and don’t forget your lessons!” She leaned down to catch Selsha in a fierce hug, squeezing until her daughter squeaked in protest, and kissed her cheek when she was done. “I’ll be back to visit in three days. Fare you well till then.”
“Fare well,” Selsha answered. “I’ll be fine, Mama.”
Mirya sighed and straightened up. Leaving Selsha behind was harder than she’d thought, but she knew it was for the best. She’ll only be three miles down the road, Mirya told herself. I can see her every day if I’ve a mind to. She turned to give Elise Tresterfin a quick embrace, and gave the older woman a grateful smile. Then she hurried out before any tears might appear. Burkel followed her out to lend a hand with the wagon.
After they said their good-byes, Mirya drove her wagon-now loaded with several casks of Tresterfin cider-slowly back to Hulburg. She passed a few travelers heading away from Hulburg, mostly Winterspear folk who’d come to town on some errand or other and were now heading back home. Most of the wagons hauling provisions up to the timber and mining camps in the Galena foothills were well on their way, having left early in the morning. About a mile outside town she passed by a small band of soldiers in Council Guard tabards riding out to patrol the road, but they didn’t bother her. She guessed that most of the merchant company sellswords had orders to leave her be, since the Hulmasters were in exile. With Geran and the others out of sight, she wasn’t of any special interest to them.
That might change soon enough, she reflected. It wouldn’t be wise to count on being ignored for too much longer.
Another hour saw her safely back to Erstenwold’s, where she had her clerks store the Tresterfin cider, stable the horse, and put away the wagon. The afternoon was drawing on, so she devoted herself to catching up with a dozen small tasks around the store-setting out the orders that would go out the next morning, totaling her ledgers, putting together her own orders to leatherworkers, blacksmiths, ropemakers, brewers, cheesemakers, and smokehouses all over the vale. Erstenwold’s had seen better days, but for now she could still make a decent living from the store, and pay a half-dozen clerks too. At six bells she shut the storehouse doors, sent the last of her clerks home, and locked up the store.