Delivering Sad News
(Swords with Souls)
Fantasy Fiction
By Dan Watt
(Author of BARD: Bearer of the Gemstone)
(Author of the Plagueborn series)
– Adult content –
Sir Oliver’s fiefdom is immaculate. As Aminah trots down a hill towards the royal guard’s land, she sees patches of crops divided by woodlots and surrounding hedges. Near the woodlots are thatched roof homes. A narrow river runs through its centre. Half way down the visible farmland is a waterwheel connected to a tall building with a stone foundation and wooden walls. She believes it must be a grinding mill. Far too the west she sees the Black Forest and still visible in the midday light, the Westerly Mountain Range. Before today she had only ever ridden past the fiefdom with her grandparents.
She comes to a gate that from a distance looks like a section of a driftwood fence. Strands of Firethorn grow along the boards. Bees dart in and around the tiny orange berries. The gate is hinged to a newly stained black walnut guardhouse. It has a wide porch in front with a wicker chair and a table made of faded cedar under an overhang. Inside the guardhouse she can just see a large cow bell and spear. A short sturdy man with long grey hair tied back steps out of the guard house. He has a jovial face and welcoming brown eyes. The man wears an apron over a cotton shirt and dark blue pants. He has no footwear on. The bronze short sword attached to the belt that holds up his pants is simply crafted, as is the hunter knife on the other side of his belt.
“Sir Oliver?” she asks respectfully.
“No, mam,” the man replies with a laugh. “Just his poor old papa, Aluuin.” He givers her a calculating stare. “Seen you at the markets, haven’t I?”
She peers at his face. “Yes,” she replies, “but I didn’t know who you were.”
“What can I do for you lass?”
She shudders than inhales deeply. Don’t cry, she chastises herself. “My grandpa passed,” she manages to get out.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says and rubs his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “The giant–,” he starts to say than catches himself, “The really tall man? Stian Ostrowski, is it?”
“That’s him.”
“My brother is very fond of him.”
“Crimmthan?”
“Yes.”
“Will you pass on the message to him? The funeral is in two days.”
“I will. Do you want to come to the house? Isal has made some delicious apple and blueberry pies.” His eyebrows lift encouragingly.
“No. But thank you. I must get back.” She glances at the sky.
“My youngest is home. He could ride with you as protection.”
She tries not to scoff, realizing he means well. But she also needs a husband. “Another time. Thank you so much.”
“Ride safe lass,” he says with a grin.
As Aminah takes her towards home, she realizes what a kind man Aluuin is. If the son is anything like him or Crimmthan, he would make a good match. But would she be able to control him?
And what about Sir Oisin? She needed to stop thinking about him. It’s unlikely he would even consider marrying her, or anyone else.
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