In The Beginning Gail Daley (best books to read all time TXT) 📖

more gently. "So did Catrin. What’s done is done, and we live now, not in the past."

"Uh—breakfast is ready," Catrin inserted. "If anyone is interested."

They stayed another day by the creek finishing the laundry, tending to the wounded man and touching up the dye they applied to the unicorn herd. The man didn’t completely wake up, but Lewys was able to get a couple of spoons of broth down him.

The first night after everyone had gone to bed, Lewys sat up late. Another man might have been ashamed of himself for what he intended to do. Lewys Mabinogion was not. He had a plan to protect his family but he needed more information about his patient before he could decide how much of it was workable. He opened the saddlebags Owen had taken off the unicorn. There wasn’t much in them. One of the bags held a clean shirt, an extra needle gun, a small sleeve weapon, a package of kophie and a battered cup and pot. The other held tools for making needles and small containers of compressed air. The most interesting thing he found was a brass badge marked with three stars, a sword crossing an ax, bisected by a Magi wand etched on its face. It was a Merc Badge. The three stars meant the young man held the rank of lieutenant in the Guild. There were those in the Cadre who despised the Mercs, but Lewys wasn't among them. He had spent a little time as a young man with a Merc troop when he had considered becoming one of the Wild Magi. Wild Magi were a loose group of powerful Magi affiliated with the Mercs, but except in a few cases, not members of the Guild. The Guild actually preferred to use them rather than the Proctors, because they would take the oath to a Merc Commander, whereas the Proctors owed allegiance only to the Shan. The Proctors hated them, but only the most powerful of the Proctors dared to challenge one of them.

The saddle bags also held a gold pendant with a man and woman’s image painted inside and a small packet of letters.

Most of the letters were addressed to Andre Benoit. The oldest of these was dated almost ten years ago and had been written to a schoolboy.

My dear son, Lewys read, Mr. James, the head master from St. Anthony’s visited us today and I am afraid your step-father is very angry with you. Dearest, you must learn to control your dreadful temper or one day I fear it will lead to serious trouble. I am proud of you for standing up for that poor young man, but was it really necessary to half-drown his tormenter in the chamber pot? And did you really need to break a valuable urn over Jimmy Hendricks head? Not but what I do sympathize with your desire to hit him with something. A more horrid brat I’ve yet to meet, and his mother is just the same—but I hear your step-father coming. All my love dear and do try to stay out of trouble for a few days. Mama.

There were several others, all in the same vein. The last one was not written by his mother. Instead, it was written by the Cleric at a church.

My Dear boy, my heart goes out to you at this time. I wish I could be with you to comfort you, but as I cannot, I can only tell you to call upon He who is our greatest comfort in our grief as well as in joy. Your mother did not suffer at all. Dr. Thomas tells us the fall killed her instantly. Your poor step-father is sorely stricken. I hope this mutual sorrow will heal the gulf between you. Call upon me if you should feel the need for my services and I will come. God be with you, Respected Vincent McCauley

There were two other letters. One was from someone named Marie. It was just a note thanking him for the money to get back home to her family and telling him of her upcoming marriage.

The last one was addressed to someone named Hammer Smith, desiring him to come to a village named Cutterston and quoting a price of seven thousand silver coins for unnamed services. Lewys looked again at the dappled unicorn. It was a fine animal, obviously well-bred. A mount such as only a wealthy man or a highly paid mercenary might ride. The man's clothes were good quality, and his weapons well cared for. He was probably a successful Merc.

Thoughtfully Lewys re-folded the letters and replaced them. A handful of letters wasn’t much to base his plan on, but they were all he had. ‘The Divinity helps those who helps themselves’ he reminded himself. It had been one of Anghard's favorite sayings. Just the thought of her somehow made her seem closer. Would she have approved of what he intended? He thought so. Comforted, he turned into his bedroll and went to sleep.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Looking into the wagon Lewys found his patient awake.

"Well," he said, "you scared us a mite son. How do you feel?"

Andre Benoit touched his head gingerly. "If I move will it fall off?"

"Headache? Well, I think we can help you." Lewys rummaged around in Anghard’s medicine box until he found a small leather packet filled with white powder. He poured a tiny amount of the powder into a tin cup, added water and swished it around.

"Here," he said, "handing Andre the cup. "This should do the trick."

Andre accepted the cup gingerly. "Who are you?" he asked.

Lewys looked at him in well-feigned surprise. "Why don’t you know?"

There was a small silence as Andre finished his medicine. "No," he said at last, "I don’t guess I do."

He paused, searching his memory, frowning. "As a matter of fact, I don’t think I know who I am."

"Good Lord," exclaimed Lewys. "I’ve heard of such a thing, but—"

Andre took him up sharply. "What