Lenar might be the Lord here, but he was also Garrad’s son and Jem’s father. True, he’d lost track of Jem when Jem was just a baby, leaving poor Jem to grow up as a street urchin. But he’d not done it with intent, and he loved Jem in his own gruff way. Besides, the two were so alike in temper and look that they might rub wrong but couldn’t avoid loving each other. The three of them treasured their time together, even if it almost always–at least until this last year and Garrad’s illness–had ended in all of them shouting at each other at the top of their voices.
On the first few visits Lenar’s wife, Loylla, had been uncomfortable, but now she either hid it or mostly forgot that this was a plain farm and not the kind of manor she’d spent her whole life in. She was a cheerful daughter-in-law to Garrad, and though she wasn’t so crass as to try to mother Jem, who was little younger than her, she behaved to Jem and Ree as an older sister might. Their little boy, a sturdy two-year-old, played happily with Meren whenever the family visited, and Lenar sometimes grumbled that the boy asked every day if he could go play “wif Mewen.”
Ree thought that Lenar didn’t really understand why little Garrad couldn’t come over every day, either, because it wasn’t Lenar who had to haul the little imps out of—among other things—the chicken coop, the water trough, the barn feeding trough, and every mud puddle they could find. That enviable task fell to Ree. There wasn’t a fence, tree, or building on the farm that Meren couldn’t climb, and if he could help or carry little Garrad with him, he would.
Which was why this warm summer night, while Amelie and Jem laid out the table and Garrad talked with Lenar and Loylla, Ree watched Meren play-wrestle with little Garrad, and made sure he was between the two little boys and the fence. At least today the worst they’d suffer was grass stains on their oldest clothes—worn, patched clothing that was kept just so the two of them could get themselves dirty without ruining good clothing.
A blur of movement at the edge of his vision caught his eye, and he reached out, catching Damncat before the gray-and-white menace could join the fun. “Oh, no you don’t.” He held the cat close and made eye contact. “You want to play with them, I get to trim your claws.”
The cat might not understand the words, but he understood tone and scrambled for Ree’s shoulder instead. One of the other damncats—another gray and white, with the lanky build of an animal partway between kitten and adult—took great care to groom itself. As if, Ree thought with a wry smile, it hadn’t been considering joining in the play fight a little before. One of Damncat’s siring, of course—Damncat sired most of the kittens at the farm these days. He sired smart, troublesome kittens, the best hunters and mousers in the region.
Ree suspected some of them had thumbs, although he’d never quite figured out which ones. There were just too many damncats.
The warm weight of Damncat leaned against his head, and the cat started to purr. Ree reached up to scratch the animal without looking away from the rolling, squealing little boys. I make a terrible wild beast, standing here petting a cat while minding two little boys. Not that anyone from outside the valley would realize that was what he was doing. They’d think I was watching my dinner and playing with my snack.
“Ree!” Jem called from the back door. “Dinner’s about ready.”
“I’ll get the boys in,” he shouted back.
He and Jem shared all the farm chores between them these days, what with Amelie spending each morning at the manor, learning how to be a lady, and Meren too young to help much. But when it came to herding small boys, Ree had the advantage over Jem, lacking the family’s quick temper.
Moving carefully so he didn’t throw Damncat’s balance off, Ree bent and grabbed the straps of a small pair of overalls, and hauled the wearer out. Little Garrad, halfway through a pretend “wild animal” growl.
Meren started to protest but stopped when he saw where his playmate was, safely held in Meren’s Papa’s arms. “Time to wash up and get into your good clothes, boys. Come along now.” Shepherding two little boys was a lot more difficult than dealing with the goats or the cows, Ree had learned. It got worse the older the boys got; he hoped they’d start getting more sense before he couldn’t keep up with them. Having to climb to the farm roof once or twice a day was one thing. Having to do that and save the goats from boys who wanted to ride them and race them was something else again.
Still, he got them washed and into their good clothes—pants and shirts, although they both went barefoot. It wasn’t worth trying to keep Meren in his shoes in summer, and trying to get little Garrad to do something Meren wouldn’t . . . Well, that one had the full measure of his father’s stubborn streak.
He even managed to get the two sets of blond curls tamed and turn the pair of them over to Jem with time to get himself changed.
Everyone else was at the table when Ree entered. They’d set it up with the best tablecloth and the best plates and all, and Melie had arranged some flowers from the garden in a bright blue vase she’d bought at the Three Rivers fair.
It might not be a proper feast, but it looked right homey to Ree. He smiled and took his seat, nodding to Lenar and Loylla. “Did anything come of that last message you sent back east? About being confirmed as a Lord?”
Lenar chuckled. “Either I’m not that important, or some clerk is having fits.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter that much, so long as the taxes go in. I’ve got the records and the receipts from Karelshill, so any investigation is going to look someplace else.” He covered his wife’s hand with his much larger one. “The Empire’s pretty flexible, Ree. If it works and the taxes keep coming, no one’s going to argue with my position.”
Ree nodded and didn’t argue. Lenar had been a soldier before coming back to his old home with enough gold to build himself a manor, and he knew how the nobles and all did things. It would be nice to know Lenar was properly the local Lord, but if he didn’t think it mattered, it wasn’t Ree’s part to argue.
Conversation ebbed and flowed while they ate, Loylla mentioning how fast Amelie learned and how eager she was to know everything she needed to know, and Ree giving Jem a look that said he knew Amelie was learning as fast as she could so she didn’t have to be at the manor house. Not that she disliked Lenar or Loylla but she loved being at the farm, looking after her flower garden, feeding the animals, and milking the goats.
Lenar lamented how fast little Garrad was growing—he’d learned to feed himself well enough that he didn’t need someone to help him, and he didn’t even get too much on his face, although the food on his plate was mostly cut small enough for little fingers and didn’t have any gravy or sauces a child could smear himself with—and Jem agreed, complaining that they’d had to let down the legs of Meren’s overalls again so they were long enough to be decent, and he didn’t think they’d last until the tailor came through to take orders for the next year’s clothes.
“Oh, there’s been some bad hobgoblin problems in Karelshill,” Lenar said after Ree had taken both boys upstairs to sleep; it might still be full light outside, but small boys needed a lot of sleep.
Jem raised an eyebrow. He was looking more and more like his father: a bit less weathered, and without the beard, but still. “Attacks or just sightings?”
There weren’t as many hobgoblins these days, but the ones that could breed did, and some of them were vicious. Ree still needed to patrol the forest, although since he’d had to start patrolling on his own, he never went out without a weapon. The snow bears and dire wolves were the worst.
Lenar sighed. “Attacks, son, bad ones.” He nodded in Ree’s direction and got the frown that said that he was worried about Ree. His voice boomed, too, which is how you knew that Lenar cared. He cared enough to yell at you. “You be careful out there, you hear. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you being like them. What I hear is that something’s organizing them, using them to attack. Maybe softening them up for something else.”