A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

sound of Lira’s laughter warmed me more than the tea. I consulted the map and figured we had another five hours of travel ahead of us.

I climbed up on Steven’s back with ease and reached to pull her up behind. She did so effortlessly and wrapped her arms around my waist for support. I turned back to gauge the sun’s angle and paused as I looked upon our little tree in the hidden valley.

“I could stay here forever,” Lira said with unexpected certainty. “It’s like our own little world here, so quiet, away from all the things that…”

She cut herself off then and sighed. A contented smile formed on her face.

“All things must end,” I said as I patted her leg.

According to my pocket watch, Steven made the final leg of the trip in three hours, thirty and seven minutes. This was some thirty or so minutes earlier than she expected him to be capable of and roughly thirty or so minutes earlier than I bet her he could achieve. The won silver would buy him a whole bag of apples when we returned home.

Sylvia Springs Winery, named after Crylwin’s late Ama, on his mother’s side, was settled at the northern end of Alerhold Township, which was a loose collection of homes and farms that lined Ceren lake. Alerhold was far from a town in size or scope and could barely be referred to as a village, but the Cyllians were particular in their classifications. Alerhold had a town square; thus, it was a town. The fact that the town square was all but abandoned didn’t seem to matter much.

Ceren Lake, which served the town, was the last stop for the Ellish. From there it broke into a dozen smaller streams, feeding the many miles of farmland in south Belen. Ruks had lived here for centuries, carving out homesteads and caring little for the world that changed around them. They had survived the wars by quin or by design, either too unimportant or too far away from any place that mattered. It was safe to say they were ignored if not entirely forgotten, and that was how they liked it.

The gate to the vineyard was open as we approached, bent open I should say, and hanging on a broken barrel hinge that had been sloppily repaired one too many times. To the left and right were rows of tall rootstock and wooden scaffold where dried vines stretched across them. As the name would suggest, the winery was not a family tradition. Edwin had purchased Windshear systematically, building by building. So too was his plan for Alerhold. After purchasing the winery, he made efforts to buy some of the surrounding land. But tennentships weren’t required here, not on a homestead far removed from civilization. Here he was met with famed Rukish stubbornness. Some asked outrageous prices; most didn’t dignify his request with a response. After his wife passed, it seemed he abandoned that dream altogether, just as he abandoned the winery.

There was no one to greet us as we walked Steven through the broken gate and the low river-rock wall. Tall weeds filled the inner courtyard along the walk to the main house.

I tied Steven to a barren trough underneath the porch and looked around

“Not quite what you expected?” Lira asked.

“Not exactly.”

I took a step up the stairs unto the long porch that extended around the main house and wrapped my knuckles on the door. I heard a commotion inside and then silence. I knocked again.

“Gods’ teeth, I’m coming, I’m coming!” a voice shouted from behind the door before being cut off with the sound of something crashing to the floor. The door swung open under a litany of curses. A man as thin as wire stood in the threshold, reeking of liquor and burnt leaves. He narrowed bloodshot copper eyes at me in a menacing way.

“Yes?” he said, fixing his gaze on me and then at Lira. “I’m not buying….” He trailed off and took a hand to smooth his thinning black hair greasily over the top of his head. He noticed my sword and the stars on my collar.

I extended my hand; I wore no gloves. “You must be?”

“Renic,” he said hesitantly. “Renic Matherly.” He kept his hand to his side. “What business have you here? The fort is north up in Forhd. You lost, friend?”

“We were lost,” Lira said, her voice carrying like a cool breeze. “But thankfully, we found our way. Tell me, is this Sylvia Springs?”

Renic eyed her suspiciously. “It is. But I’m afraid the winery is closed for—”

“Oh, splendid,” Lira continued, a smile etched on her face as if carved of stone. “I thought we might never find it. It’s been such a long road; I’m sure my lord would love a good meal and a soft bed.”

“Lord?” Renic scoffed.

“Why yes,” Lira said, placing her hand gently on my chest. “This is Lordson Faerin Monroe, your new master.”

“Master? No, no misses, I serve the Lord of Windshear, Edwin Monroe, not some half-breed with a fancy—”

Lira sighed as I grabbed the man by his shirt and tossed him back into the house. He crashed into a pile of empty bottles. I stepped over him; he held his arm over his head as if expecting a blow. He didn’t bother standing.

“I release you from my service,” I said calmly before bending to his level and showing him the writ of ownership.

“My…My…apologies, my lord,” Renic stammered. “I meant no offense.”

“None inflicted,” I said with a smile. “Now get out.”

I stood and gestured to the door.

“But my lord, I, I don’t have anywhere to—”

“Take it up with Monroe,” I said. “It’s a long walk to Windshear. Maybe you’ll have sobered up by then.”

“Misses,” he said, his copper eyes pleading. “Take pity, I’m sorry. Tell him I’m sorry.”

Lira stepped forward, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a single copper and handed it to him. “I do so hate being called misses.”

I watched him wander out on the road, his