5: Walter's Bailey

A few days later Tad found himself at the back of a line of horses, looking over a very fine estate. It wasn’t the largest he had ever seen, and in fact compared to some of the royal estates near Newholy it was quite small. You could almost see one end from the other. A low stone wall, all of which he could see seemed in good repair, bordered a few square miles of sweet grassy hill perfect for horses. The main house a simple rectangle three stories tall with big evenly-spaced windows, topped with thatch at least a yard thick. Most “people of quality” would scoff at the idea of using such lowly materials, but a skillful thatch was as good as shingles, and was warmer in winter months.

Near the house were two other buildings: the large one was a barn and tack-house and the smaller one was likely a workshop of some sort. Even a modest estate required a lot of maintenance. Between the buildings was a large courtyard paved in some kind of crushed rock, and the whole affair was trimmed with flower beds and smallish trees in decorative stone vases. Behind the buildings was the edge of what looked to be an acre or two of vegetable garden, most of it out of sight on the other side of the hill.

A low inner wall encircled the buildings and the garden. In the broad zone between the two walls was grassland, turning brown in the autumn sun. Several horses cantered by, gazed at the visitors for a few moments, then turned suddenly and sped off in the other direction. For a few moments Tad thought he could see sunlight rippling over their coats like wind in the grass, but the animals crested the hill and were gone.

The party was stopped, still mounted, on the road facing the gate. A sign declared it as “Nearshore”, which struck Tad as being odd because there were no bodies of water in evidence.

The sisters’ affliction, which had become known as “the magic rash”, had led them here. “I’m pretty sure this is the place,” said Nadia with relief, “but it looks like someone important lives here. It might be rude to just barge in.”

“If there’s a town nearby, we can ask people who live here, then decide how to approach.” Offered Nolan.

“We could just go up and ask. You know people do that sometimes, right?” Everyone looked at the gnome Earkey as if he had just sprouted horns. “What -- is that a bad idea for some reason? Go knock on the door and ask ‘Who are you?’”.

“The point is to be welcomed inside,” instructed the bishop. “We will find out who lives here from the local baron, and I will gain an introduction.”

“Baroness...,” corected Aidan, “Rotholda used to be Baroness here. If she’s still in office I’m sure we can get in to see her today.”

But the conversation became irrelevant when an older man on horseback, wearing the yellow stripes of horsemaster on his high black boots, cantered down the drive to greet them. “Good morning to you travelers. Is there some assistance I can offer you?” Nadia leaned over her in her saddle and whispered conspiratorially in Tad’s ear, “I think what he really means is, ‘how may I best be rid of you?’” Her breath set off an alien thrill down his spine.

“I am the Bishop Ambrose, disciple of Saint Engel the Zelous, and these are my companions. We were just curious as to who lives at this estate.”

“My Lady Calanth resides here, but she is not accepting visitors today. If you wish an audience, you may leave a card.” The wizard produced ink, paper, and a suitable writing surface almost before the thane’s utterance was finished, and handed them to Ambrose.

The Bishop had just begun the greeting when Nolan put his hand on the clergyman’s arm, giving him pause. “I think we met a Lady Calanth, several years back. On the road to Vohanis?”

“Princess Calanth, Duke Fredrick’s neice?” exclaimed Nadia happily. “I remember her. Didn’t she give you some advice on finding a husband, dear Sister?”

“I would never inconvenience a princess for advice on husband-hunting.” said the darker sister rather darkly.

“Oooh let me write the letter, Ambrose.”

“Too late, Rider Nadia. I am already well in to it.” And indeed his pen was advancing at an alarming rate. “But I will include your name. I am certain she will remember you.”

While the cleric worked on his letter, the Horsemaster (whose name was Lewis) and the sisters got to talking about their horses. “I have never laid eyes on an Arducian charger up close,” said Lewis with a wondering gleam in his eye, “they are magnificent mounts.” Nadia had taken over part of the road to post her mount and then show off a few vicious hoof attacks. “But they are smaller than I expected.”

“They’re faster than the Asperan heavies, and more maneuverable. For skirmishing I like these much better, and they are unbelievably tough,” said Aidan stroking her Grassfire’s neck, “but it’s still true there’s nothing like a wall of Asperan heavies to put terror into the enemy.”

That exchange launched a spirited discussion of mounts and tactics that were mind-numbing. The horsemaster and the sisters could have talked for hours, Tad was sure, but the Bishop’s pen was mercifully swift.

“A letter for your mistress, Master Lewis. We will be in Walter’s Bailey awaiting her pleasure.” And with a few swift courteous farewells the group advanced on the town of Walter’s Bailey.

A sharp crack across his back jolted Tad’s whole spine arrow-straight. It wasn’t so much that it hurt (which it did some) but that it came without warning. Aidan was just as good at sudden attacks as Nolan was at subterfuge. “You are not a sack of potatoes, boy. Sit up! Ride your animal, do not slump on it!” Far from putting a pause to his education, leaving Corak had only effected a change in his curriculum.

His fighting lessons with the sisters were shorter than his schooling in Corak but more bruising, and he practiced daily with his small crossbow. While on the road he had to keep perfect riding form, and after the light gave out in the evening he would read from his book by lantern light. Mr. Brightstar and the Bishop didn’t just make him read, they asked him about why people did the things they did. Most of the time, Tad didn’t have a clue about what answers he should give.

Tad was looking forward to a day in town, even if it was just for overnight. It would mean errands instead of beatings, and a soft bed instead of the hard ground. It wasn’t so much the ground he minded: he was usually asleep the moment he laid down. But sleeping outside brought unwelcome dreams, fully of bloody claws and the voice of his mother calling to him in a voice full of dirt.

But the party did not arrive in Walter’s Bailey that day. The town was just in sight when a boy slightly younger than Tad riding a smallish horse at a dead run caught up to them from behind, bearing a letter for Ambrose. With a practiced flick the Bishop shook out the folded paper with one hand.

“The princess is ill, and her doctor would like a consult. We are all invited to stay, of course.”

“We might as well have just stayed at the gate, it would have saved us the effort,” grumbled Earkey. “I could taken a nap.”