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

would have it, through some obscure Cyllian formality, I was technically his superior, someone to be feared and respected. That gave me an idea.

“How far are you?” I asked, noticing the red stitching of house Valerius on his cuffs and collar. “Nearly at your ten?”

He looked left then right. “Speaking plain?”

I nodded.

“This tour makes three—three in three years.”

I kicked at a loose pebble; it bounced down the cobbles harmlessly. “You fight in the war?”

He spat. “Hells, boy. I’m not that old.”

“I didn’t mean it like that; you just look like you know your way around a spear.”

“I spent a few years in the auxiliaries keeping the Marches, earned some scars, and a handful of coins for my trouble. Been a baker most of my life, until that damned Cyllian outfit ran me out.”

I saw a small window forming. “How’s your patron?”

“Valerius? He doesn’t ask much, outside of keepin’ the door for him, but I don’t think he is keen on Ruks running around with iron on their hips if you catch my meaning.”

I nodded. “I’ve met him.”

“Speaking of, you want me to leave that letter with him?”

I raised my eyebrow.

“My lord left instructions regarding any…suitors come calling,” he clarified.

I winced. “These suitors wouldn’t have eyes like mine, would they?”

He winked.

I looked down and kicked at another loose rock. “I figured as much.”

“Sorry, lad,” he said apologetically.

“I understand. I’m Faerin, by the way.” I extended my arm, letting my mark slide out from under my sleeve. It was my last bone to throw, but if quin was really on my side, it would spend. I watched recognition fill his eyes.

“Borton,” he replied, taking my hand in his meaty paw.

“Borton, what did the master say exactly? Was it something like, ‘Should a handsome young man, with half-Ruk eyes, a charming smile and wavy brown hair call upon his daughter that you should…’ ”

I paused.

“Show him the door,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

I chuckled, “Well, bad luck for that fellow to be sure. I’m just a messenger,” I showed him the triangle fold, “see?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “Didn’t know the Sword of Belen Hill was an errand boy now. You’d think all that fame would get you at least two steps off the street.”

“So, you have heard of me?” I said. “You wouldn’t be able to spot me a favor then, would you?”

“Depends on the favor, I suppose.”

I extended the letter. “Get this to the lady when she comes back?”

“I don’t know, lad. If he finds out, I would be on my ass faster than you can say Cyllian six-star.”

I jingled my purse again, throwing my last bone.

“Just a Ruk helping another Ruk?” I pleaded.

Borton eyed the purse, then me. “I can’t take your coin, lad. My ma raised us better than that.”

I looked down at my worn boots. “I under—”

He grabbed the letter and tucked it into his tunic. “My brother was on that line, you know, the Belen Hill Muster. Goes by Jon; you probably don’t remember him, though.”

I blinked. “Jon, taller fellow, scraggly red beard? Sure, I know him; he was the one that helped me convince them we kept the iron in the caves. Only one of us apart from myself that knew the Golmere tongue.”

“Six hells!” Borton cursed. “I thought he made that part up.”

“On my salt,” I promised. “He sold it well too, said we kept it there to keep evil spirits away from the village at night. You know how strange they get about iron.”

“Well, I’ll be,” he marveled. “I thought he was a stone-broken-liar, told him as much to his face. I mean, he was a survivor, of course, and I was happy for it. But I didn’t believe he had a hand in it. Well, it’s not how the story goes, at least.”

“I wouldn’t believe everything in that story,” I said, shaking my head. “He did his part, your brother. Kept chattering to their prime in that dreadful speech, talking about iron wisps in the night. Golmere can be pretty thick sometimes, especially when you get superstitious on them.”

“And that’s when you…?”

I nodded.

This was where the story deviated from what many would call the truth. I did save the men and the village, just not the way they painted it out. Folks had lots of stories on how I did it. The truth is, I had quin on my side then too.

“Well, good omens on ya, lad,” he said, pressing his fingers to his head in blessing. “You hate to see it, good lad like yourself getting not but the door.” He patted the letter under his tunic. “I’ll see that the lady gets this.”

“Borton, I owe you one when next we meet,” I said with a smile as I climbed back into the carriage.

“What’s all that about then, Faerin?” Fedorick asked. “Thought I’d have to come down there and club him one.”

“Just flipping that same copper penny,” I replied. “But I’ll need more than good omens next time. That Valerius is going to be a problem.”

“Who the misses? Or her dah?”

“Both,” I said, looking out the window as the coach pulled away from Lira’s house.

“Father of a pretty girl, being a hard-on to a bastard Ruk that has a shine on for his daughter? Never heard that one before, mate. Let me know how it ends, eh?”

Fedorick had us to the outer wall of the estate in a little under two hours. “I know the secret ways,” he said before bouncing us down every goat trail and smuggler’s lane between Forhd and Windshear. Initially, I thought to take my breakfast on the way; the ride made that impossible.

As we approached the tall walls of Windshear, Penir waved at us above the gate. Fedorick tossed him a small bag from the driver’s seat. Penir grinned as he caught it then frowned once he opened the bag. “I said apple brandy!”

“They were out,” Fedorick replied. He whistled to his team, urging the pair of horses into a quickened pace.

“Out of apple brandy, in