The Keep had a wooden drawbridge to protect against invaders. The structure was as tall as five men standing shoulder upon shoulder and just as wide. Lord Stormweather insisted upon inspecting every board and nail himself. Feran tried to maintain patience as his father ran his hands along the same wooden panel for the tenth time.
“If there is a fault you would have found it by now, father,” Feran called, craning his neck to shout up to the man. Lord Stormweather sat upon a wooden seat, held aloft by a system of pulleys and levers. He held up his hand as if to silence Feran before he broke concentration.
“Thomas?” Lord Stormweather called.
A big man at the top of the tower peered down. The armor clanked and jangled as he walked and Feran wondered if the man could have caused more noise if he tried. His large hand was held against his forehead to shade against the daylight. He bent over to make it easier for him to hear.
“Yes, my Lord?” Thomas Crestwood called back, his gravel voice louder than the armor he wore.
“The third board from the left has a crack in it. We’re going to need a patch here. Get our finest wood crafter here to repair it. The woman who made the oak table for the council room,” Lord Stormweather signaled for the seat to be lowered. Feran turned the crank on the mechanism. With a loud groan, the seat lowered inch by inch. By the time the seat reached the ground, Feran’s arms had grown tired.
“Aye, my Lord, I’ll get her. And I will have her grease the pulley as well. She’ll be down there right away,” Thomas bellowed.
Feran watched as Dillan Stormweather came down to eye level with him. He waited until his father was free of the harness before speaking.
“Is all of this necessary? A battering ram will get through any door given enough time. We’d do better to be training for the attack coming our way. Our men need the practice,” Feran feared an attack as much as anyone but there was only so much preparation to be done. They were wasting time here when they should be hunting Leonis down.
“That’s the point. Time. We need all we can get. The Shadow Lords for all their influence are gone. Without them, the masters of the light will rule us if this keep falls. Our first duty is to the safety of the people here,” Lord Stormweather jumped off the seat spry as a teenager.
“There are many who would see it as a blessing, father. I’ve heard stories of the Shadow Lords snuffing out the lives of children. I’ve heard stories of them laying waste to entire villages. Of them torturing captives until they went mad. Is this truly the side we fight for?” Feran had wondered this more than once but never asked his father about it until now.
“The Shadow Lords have been known to be cruel, it is true. They have forced my hand more than once into doing something I am not proud of. But at least with them, we knew where we stood. Our position and our insignificance is our strength. The rat that hides best lives longest. Leonis will have no such patience. Once they take The Daggers, and along with the city, Stormweather Keep, their law will know no bounds. What they deem right, will be law. What they see as an aberration, they will destroy. All in the name of goodness. Don’t believe what they tell you. The people are counting on you,” Lord Stormweather wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag he produced from a jacket pocket.
Feran wanted to say something. He wished he could convince his father there was a better way. A way without the sacrifice of magic. He remembered how easy it was to destroy the chair that a carpenter had taken such care to craft. It would not have been hard to imagine the same outcome with a man. He nodded.
“Come. Let’s inspect the perimeter. There are some entrances the enemy may think to take advantage of and I’d prefer to deny them of the opportunity,” Lord Stormweather tucked his rag back into his pocket.
They walked along the edges of the walls of the Keep. Lord Dillan ran a black-gloved finger along the stones. Occasionally he would stop, press upon the wall, and mutter to himself. Feran followed behind, watching his every move. As a boy, he would have emulated his father and done all of the things he was doing. At least once a month they had gone through this routine for as long as Feran could remember. He now found it to be testing his patience.
“Our defenses are strong, father. We must bring the fight to them before they have the chance to arrive here. It’s our best chance,” the sound of people moving about the courtyard increased as more workers tended to last-minute items.
Lord Stormweather pressed his weight upon the wall once more. He shifted and turned so his shoulder could put its weight into it. It was as if he thought one man might be able to push over a stone wall on his own.
“Our defenses have not been tested in a generation. You must seek out weakness where you can and destroy it. Don’t let it give you any remorse to remove it,” Lord Stormweather moved to the next section.
“Is there no other way? Must my hands be stained with the blood of my own father?” Feran’s voice hitched.
“Hands stained with blood are hands with great power at their fingertips,” It was not the first time his father had said something like this.
“We have good men. Loyal men. Loyal to you, not to the Shadow Lords. Not loyal to the light, or Leonis. They are loyal to you, father. You have shown them how to make their way in this world. Treated them fairly. Why would you deny them protection in the future?” Feran wanted to shake the man.
Dillan pushed himself off of the stones. He grasped Feran by his shoulders. His height dominated over Feran.
“You must come to terms with the inevitable son. You will likely need to kill me just to survive the coming battle. Look around and tell me what you see,” Lord Stormweather waved his arms about in a vague gesture to show Feran the scenery.
Feran knew there was no questioning the order. He looked around the Keep. He saw the villagers bustling about their day, getting ready for business, ignorant of what was taking place outside these walls. He looked at the drawbridge. He looked at the towers of the Keep. They were all the bedrocks of home for Feran.
“I see strong people. Strong walls. A strong defense,” Feran knew he spoke the truth.
“Aye. Now, look at me. What do you see?” Lord Stormweather asked.
Feran looked at his father’s face. He saw the cracks in it. The lines of aging he had noticed earlier. He noticed the weariness in the man’s eyes. But he also saw determination. And the man who had raised him. He saw the man he wanted to become.
“I see a father. My father.”
“I am also a Lord. My time has come. You are young, strong, fair, and given time will also be wise. I wouldn’t allow this plan unless I had faith in what was to follow. You, son. You are the strongest defense we have. I have some skill in magic, but you have more raw power than I have ever seen. The people will look to you. You must not let them down.”
“At the cost of your life? You want to make me a murderer. What will they think of the man who killed Lord Stomrweather? How could you?” Feran tightened his fists and tried to lower his voice.
“It may sound cruel…”
“No, it is cruel. This is the cruelest thing you could ask of me. I won’t do it. You’ll have to kill me instead.” Feran set his chin.
He stalked away, trying to calm himself. Lord Stormweather did not follow.
***
When Sebastian opened his eyes, Norrel leaned over him. Norrel could see the man wince as he tried to sit up and he pushed him back down.
“Stay there. You need your rest.”
“How long have we been here?” Sebastian’s voice sounded like paper crackling in a fire.
“Less than two days but more time than I would like. These Stormweathers are stronger than Leonis realizes.”
“We have to get word to them. We have to escape.” Sebastian tried to sit up again but his head crashed back down onto the straw mattress.
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Now, sit still so I can change your bandages otherwise your ugly face is going to get uglier.”
“I thought you loved my face,” Sebastian smiled but the pain on his face was clear.
“I do. You’re just lucky I have a soft spot for ugly faces,” Norrel kissed Sebastian and for a moment his heart was at peace.
“Pardon me,” the voice belonged to the servant woman who kept bringing them food and fresh bandages.
Norrel let go of Sebastian as quickly as he could and tried to act like he was just tending wounds.
“We were just…” Norrel began.
“Just kissing. There’s no shame in it. It’s not like the Spiral City here. You’ll face no punishment for it,” Ellyn passed a pair of waterskins through the bars.
“Why do they keep sending you? I thought they would try to torture more information out of me. I’m surprised servants of the dark have any humanity at all. You must want something out of me,” Norrel took the waterskins.
“Seems you must have spilled enough already. They’re getting ready to march out at dawn. How’s your friend?” Norrel was surprised to see actual concern in the blue eyes staring at him.
“Honestly, I’m worried. I don’t know what attacked him but his wounds could fester. Is there a supply of herbs or medicines here? Even some violets and lilacs would do. Can you find some?” Norrel hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
“I don’t know. I can look. How did the two of you end up in Leonis’ army in the first place?” Ellyn asked.
“Sebastian here is a true believer in the light. I always wanted to be a healer. I figured I can heal the most people and do the most good behind a company of men who will need the healing.” Norrel said.
“You don’t mind the things Leonis does then? Killing anyone who disagrees with him.”
“I never said that. No one is perfect in the light. But Leonis has brought more people into it than away from it. Why are you here?”
“To make sure you don’t dehydrate.”
“No, I mean, why here in The Daggers? Not a lot of people come here on purpose,” Norrel gently poured some water into Sebastian’s mouth.
“There was a trial. My sister and her friend… No, not her friend. Her wife. They were caught kissing in Queen’s Garden.” Norrel saw pain on her face as she spoke. She didn’t need to go on for him to know what happened.
“I’m sorry. The rest of your family?”
“Most of them died at the trial. I escaped with my mother. The Dread Barrens were too much for her. It’s just me now. You should leave that army of yours. It will only bring you pain,” Ellyn turned to leave but Norrel called her back.
“You’ll remember to look for the herbs? Please, I can’t do much for him but I think you don’t like people to suffer. Can I count on you?” Norrel knew he didn’t have much chance with anyone but her. At least she understood where they came from.
Ellyn nodded and headed out of the corridor.
*****
The soldiers of Stormweather Keep marched through muddy fields and rolling hills. Heavy boots thudded into the ground, the sound of squelching behind Feran. The heavens poured rain upon them for three days. The Stormweathers themselves rode at the front of the column. Behind the column the horses were trotted, no riders upon their backs. Dillan believed a fresh horse could make the difference in a dire battle. Feran did not doubt it was so. After days of planning for the defense of Stormweather Keep, Lord Stormweather decided to leave a strong contingent at the Keep and march towards the enemy. Dillan had argued for staying back and shoring up defenses even more but Feran was convinced meeting Leonis out in the open battlefield would be to their advantage. To Feran’s disbelief, his father took his advice. Most importantly it would slow Leonis down and give the small folk of the keep time to decide if they wanted to stay or seek shelter elsewhere.
The men spent nights sleeping under cover of tents but packed up early each morning to march once again. They knew Leonis had passed through Wilton Castle less than a week prior. If this were true and they could pick up the trail, the Stormweathers might be able to come up behind Leonis and take him by surprise. It would be a spot of luck and Feran hoped it were so. He still believed this battle could be won without the use of magic. If they could hold off an attack for a few days, Stormweather Keep might be able to survive. Feran just wished his father was not so hellbent on his plan.
Each night he and his father reviewed maps of the area and discussed methods of attack and defense. Lord Stormweather spoke to all his men in the council tent but Feran understood his father was speaking directly to him any time he gave a command for future actions.
Leonis’ army was vast but no one knew the exact number of men they had at their disposal. The terrain was still familiar this far east but if they marched much longer they would make it into the unexplored territories. There was no telling who had the advantage there. The Stormweathers had archers and infantry but not much cavalry to speak of. Lord Stormweather preferred to strike fast and evade when possible. If he could harass an enemy into surrender, he did not need cavalry. They were well trained but most of the soldiers were inexperienced. True battle had not occurred since Feran was but a small boy and even then many of these men were green at the time and not in the battle long before it ended.
On the morning of the fourth day of the march, Wilton Castle came into view. It was made of limestone and towered above the grassy plains. It had four defensive towers, a keep, a gatehouse and battlements. The banner of the Wilton’s was not flying on the ramparts. There were no decorations or adornments of any kind. It dwarfed Stormweather Keep. The rain had let up and now only a fine mist blew in the soldiers' faces. Feran was relieved to see the sight but it somehow made him feel lonely. After days of hard marching there might be the chance of a warm fire and a soft bed made of hay at least. The men needed the rest and the walls of the castle were good protection from the enemy. Nothing kept spirits up like a good meal and a decent night's sleep.
As Feran and Dillan approached the gatehouse a guard in chainmail walked out to greet them. Feran expected a well trained soldier; a man with experience and authority. That’s not what he saw shuffling toward him now. The guard could not have been more than twelve years old. He was scrawny and his eyes darted about taking in the column of soldiers. His pale face was full of freckles and his hair was a shock of red. He reminded Feran of the Sumber twins who he had played with as a boy. He wondered if this boy was a cousin or relation of some sort to them.
“You’ll not be wanted here,” he stuck the spear he was carrying into the ground. Feran noticed a sword at his hip as well. The weight of the weapons seemed to be too much for the boy but he tried to look as threatening as possible. Feran almost found himself laughing but the castle made him uneasy.
“I am Lord Stormweather of Stormweather Keep. My men and I ride to do battle against Leonis and his army. I understood Wilton Castle was an ally to the Shadow Lords,” Dillan remained mounted upon his horse.
“Aye, it be true. Well, it be true last week. Today, things have changed. You’ll not be wanted today,” the young man’s voice squeaked as he spoke. It reminded Feran of a mouse stealing into Chef Dewey’s kitchens. Again he felt a laugh rise up turned away by discomfort from the castle.
“What has happened here?” Feran settled his horse but did not dismount.
“I might as well show you. Will my Lord accompany me? Just my Lord if you please,” the boy shifted his weight on his feet, struggling with the weight of his own armor.
Lord Stormweather began to dismount but Feran grabbed his arm.
“I don’t trust this, father,” he spoke in a whisper.
“Neither do I but we must learn the truth. Come with me,” Dillan dismounted, his leather armor groaned as he did so. Feran followed suit.
“I said, just my Lord. If you please,” the boy grasped the hilt of his sword.
“This is my son. He is my equal. If you would have a Lord of Stormweather Keep visit your castle, you must allow us both in. We wish you no harm,” Dillan removed his sword and laid it upon the ground. Feran did the same but he left his dagger where it was. The boy didn’t notice.
“Fine, but your horses and your men are to remain outside,” the boy loosened his grip on the sword but he picked up his spear once again.
Thomas Crestwood ran up to the two men, his big boots clopping along the way. If he were an elephant he could not have made more noise.
“My lord, you cannot go in there without escort. What if this is a trap? You know how crafty the enemy is. The light cannot be trusted. Where are the soldiers? The banners? Is this even Wilton Castle anymore or has it been claimed by the enemy?” Thomas waved his arm as if he could make them appear.
“You’re a good man, Thomas. We must respect our allies' wishes. Remain out here with the men. If Feran or I have not returned in an hour's time, lay siege to the castle,” Lord Stormweather’s voice did not brook argument.
The boy’s face paled but he still motioned them to come inside. He tottered as he stepped, more a boy playing at soldier than a soldier.
“Aye, my Lord. I still don’t trust it. This makes me nervous,” Thomas backed away though he kept one hand on his sword and eyed the young guard with suspicion.
“You’re not the only one,” agreed Feran. He found himself checking he had his dagger in its sheath. He was willing to give up his larger arms but he felt naked without a dagger.
The Stormweathers followed behind the boy. What could have happened in such a short time? And with no word upon the road as they had marched here. It didn’t make sense.
There were no birds in the sky and a strange silence seemed to surround the castle. Feran felt ill at ease. They reached the gatehouse and the boy knocked his fist three times on the gate. The echoes hung in the air for a few moments. Three knocks came back.
“State your business,” said a voice from the other side. This sounded like a boy as well.
“We’ve got us a couple of Lords come to call. Allies. Open it up,” the boy in the chainmail said.
There was a moment of silence once again. Then there was the sound of a chain being pulled. Slowly, the gate rose, creaking and sounding as if the mechanism could use a bit of grease. Moments later the gate was open and Feran could see a blackened field in front of them. He had been expecting lush grass or maybe an earthen field. This could only be described as charred. The smell of fire and ash still hung in the air. Feran wondered why he had not smelled it outside the castle walls.
Inside the gate was another young man. He wore leather studded armor that was too big for him and he wiped the mist off his face as he approached the Stormweathers.
“Welcome, my Lords,” he spoke as he bowed. He almost tipped over but Feran caught him before he went over.
“Thank you. Your companion here says there is something we should see,” Lord Stormweather waited patiently.
“Aye. This way,” the boy bowed again as he spoke but Feran tipped him up before he might topple again. Feran started to think he would be preventing boys from tipping over all morning long.
They were marched through the gatehouse and into the bailey. Where Feran expected to see a field of grass, there was a scorched patch of earth. On the ground were the shapes of men but they were so blackened it was hard to tell for sure. Feran was nearly startled out of his skin when one moved and coughed. The whites of his eyes, the only thing visible that was not charred and blackened skin. A deep red spilled from the mouth as the poor soul coughed once again.
“We missed one,” said the boy who had greeted them outside the castle.
The other boy drew a rapier and jammed the point through the eyes of the blackened man. There was a moment the shape sputtered but then it let out a death sigh. Feran was too stunned to say anything. The boy had done it as if he had done it a hundred times before. Looking at the bodies on the ground, it was possible it was the truth.
“Wonder who that one was,” said the boy with the rapier.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s out of pain now. Let’s hope it’s the last of them. We should probably stick them all just to be sure,” the boy waved his hand and two more boys came, rapiers at hand.
“We’ll get on it,” one of them said and they went about their business poking the ends of their swords into every black lump left upon the ground.
They continued to march toward the battlements. Feran was impressed with the size of the castle but he nearly gagged at the stench. More than once he had to hold his fist to his nose, letting the smell of his own sweat break up the smell of burnt flesh. He only saw the occasional boy wandering around. There were no men to be seen. Where there should have been soldiers standing there was empty space. Where there should have been banners of Wilton Castle there were only empty flagpoles. There was no sound either. It was as if the field was an absence of things that should be there. The only thing to fill the void was the pile of blackened bodies, most with their white eyes still open.
“What happened here?” Lord Stormweather covered his nose with a rag.
“I think it’s best if old Grubb tells you. You’ll get used to the smell soon enough,” the boy marched on. Again Feran worried he would topple over.
“Grubb? Where is your Lord?” asked Feran. He unlatched the sheath of his dagger. He could feel danger in this place and it set him on edge. He wasn’t sure if he was simply being alert or actually frightened. He knew Wilton Castle had fallen to Leonis but this… this was more than defeat, it was cruelty.
“You’re the only Lords around here anymore,” the boy answered.
Feran did not think he could be more shocked than he was in the bailey until they entered the battlements. A group of women and children sat huddled around each other, blank stares on all their faces. Not one of them was armed. There were bits of food and drink all over the floor. The stench was overpowering. It was the stench of the living but there were small children who must have soiled themselves, faces streaked with mud, blood, and tears. Feran wished he could take them all out to a lake to bathe. Many of the women were bruised. One vomited into a bucket. What madness had occurred here?
“What in the name of the first moon has happened here?” There was an edge of anger in Lord Stormweather’s voice. Feran suspected it was anger at the light but he noticed the boys stood up straighter at the question.
A stout boy who had been spooning porridge into the mouth of one of the women stood up. He had a bruised eye and he held the spoon out as if it were a weapon.
“Leonis happened. Name’s Grubb. I’m in charge here. Who in the name of the first moon are you?”
*****
The fires of the kitchens were hot and crackled as they burned. The smells were wonderful and wafted through the whole of Stormweather Keep. Ellyn adjusted her cap, tucking a blonde curl back into it. The pots and pans from breakfast were stacked up high and she scrubbed hard at a stained pan. She let out a sigh and wiped the sweat off her brow with her forearm.
“What’s the matter with you?” Sonia, another of the kitchen maids, although more senior to Ellyn, was peeling potatoes at the table behind her.
“It’s always the same. I scrub this pot in the morning, it gets clean. Midday I will scrub it again, it will be clean. In the evening it will be back once more and I will be scrubbing it again. It never ends. Same pan, same grease. It gets dull,” Ellyn stretched her back for a moment. Hunching over soapy water was fine but it did do a number on the muscles.
“We can’t all be like you, going on big adventures from the Spiral City. Moons, I would like to see the White Tower someday. Is it as spectacular as they say?” Sonia asked, never looking up from the potato in her hands. It amazed Ellyn how quickly she could slice through vegetables and make neat little piles. Sonia was good with her hands.
“It’s beautiful, there’s no denying. I like it here more though,” Ellyn went back to scrubbing.
“Even though you have to scrub the same pot over and over?” Sonia’s pile of potatoes grew as she continued to peel.
“It’s not the work that’s better here. I worked at an inn, got to meet people from all over Ardor there. But I was worked to the bone and there were things there… expected of me I wasn’t willing to do. Everyone here looks out for each other. I’d rather be here,” Ellyn stopped her scrubbing and smiled at Sonia. Sonia’s red hair was tucked under the cap neatly but you could still tell the color of it through the white linen.
“It can’t have been all bad. They fight for the light over there. My mother said she used to worship for the light and it would tell her good from bad. What could be wrong with that?” Sonia dropped another potato into the bucket beside her and it made a loud plunk sound.
“It may be true for your mother. In the Spiral City, more often than not, the light is an excuse for men to tell women what to do. I’m too thick headed and stubborn to see the right in that. I was always saying things not expected of ladies. That’s what my mother told me anyway,” Ellyn set a clean pot to the side, picked up a dirty one and dropped it into the water.
“Men tell us what to do here too in case you hadn’t noticed,” Sonia waved at the pots and pans and potato peelings as if it were proof enough. Ellyn supposed it was.
“Yes but they have the courtesy to make it sound like they are asking. Why should they get to decide everything anyway? It’s not fair,” Ellyn knocked a pan as she grabbed it and began to scrub again.
“I don’t know. Lord Stormweather is a good Lord to us. Still, I wish I could go on an adventure, just once. See the world, do something I never dreamed of,” Sonia set her paring knife down. Her eyes became distant and dreamy.
“Have you ever shot an arrow?” Ellyn left her work aside as well.
Sonia dropped a potato and turned toward Ellyn.
“Of course I haven’t. Why would I?” Sonia looked aghast.
“For the thrill of it. I can show you,” Ellyn laughed with excitement. It had been a long time since she had a friend to shoot arrows with.
“I don’t know,” Sonia held a new potato in the air, unsure what to do with it.
“We’ve got some time between dinner and supper. I have a bow. Let me show you, please?” Ellyn grabbed Sonia’s shoulders, ignoring how it wet Sonia’s uniform.
Sonia giggled and Ellyn couldn’t help but join in.
“If you think we won’t get in trouble with Chef Dewey,” Sonia smiled and there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.
“Leave Dewey to me,” Ellyn went back to the sink. They finished up their shift in contented silence, Ellyn scrubbing and Sonia working with the food.
Hours later the sun was low in the sky but there was light to see by. Ellyn stood behind Sonia, adjusting the bow in her hands. They stood in an open field made for the Stormweather archers to practice at. None were out now as they were all inside eating. Most of them had marched with the Lords and who knew where they were now? Ellyn focused on Sonia.
“You’ll want to square your shoulders. When you draw back, take a deep breath and allow the fletching to just tickle your cheek,” Ellyn demonstrated her own stance.
“Fletching, is that the feathers?” Sonia did as she was told.
“Right. Are you sure you have never done this before?” Ellyn saw that Sonia’s aim was well thought out. She aimed above the target. Most beginners thought you could shoot in a straight line but that was not the best form.
Sonia laughed and dropped her stance.
“Of course I haven’t,” Sonia held the arrow and bow loosely in her hands.
“Now you’ve gone and lost your positioning,” Ellyn adjusted Sonia’s hips and repositioned her arms.
“Like this?” Sonia adjusted her arms just slightly, straightening her elbow.
“Yes. Now, clear your mind, see the target and let it fly.”
Sonia let go with her fingers and the arrow sailed through the air. It made a whish sound as it went and Ellyn was surprised to hear the satisfying thud of an arrow striking its target.
“I did it!” Sonia jumped up and down.
Ellyn looked at the target. She was stunned.
“Not only did you do it, you hit the bullseye. Let’s see if you can do that again,” Ellyn fetched the arrow and ran back with it.
Sonia brushed her red hair behind her ear. Ellyn watched as she took her stance. Sonia lifted the bow and drew back. Her technique was nearly perfect. She loosed the arrow and again, the shot thudded into the target. Ellyn’s eyes nearly boggled out of her head.
“You’ve truly not done this before?” Ellyn had heard of natural talent but perhaps this was beginner’s luck. It would make Ellyn feel better if it was or if Sonia admitted to having had some practice. Ellyn had worked for years to perfect her form.
“That was the second arrow I ever shot in my life. Why would I lie about such a thing?” Sonia was already grabbing another arrow.
“Also your second bullseye. I would never have thought a beginner so capable.”
“Is that good?” Sonia had a worried expression on her face.
“Good? No. Good would be hitting once out of fifty times for a beginning archer. An expert marksman would hit seven of ten times. Let’s see how many you can get today,” Ellyn crossed her arms and focused on the target.
For the next hour Sonia fired arrow after arrow. The light grew dim but she continued to draw back and let the arrow fly. Once every few shots, Ellyn would give her a tip or reposition her feet. It seemed Ellyn’s teaching was almost unnecessary. Sonia hit the bullseye nearly every time. When she missed the bullseye she still hit the target. Ellyn marveled at her natural skill. The two women had lost track of all time when a big man bellowed at them. They turned to see Chef Dewey, hat held in hand, hair matted to his forehead, sweat dripping down his face.
“I’ve never seen the kitchen in such a state. I’ve got meals to prepare and you two are out here pretending at being soldiers. Get back to the kitchens before I have your hides,” Dewey thundered.
Ellyn didn’t think a man’s face could get as red as Dewey’s was. She had to swallow down a laugh before responding to him.
“This is all my fault, Chef. I convinced Sonia to come with me out here. We lost track of time. It won’t happen again,” Ellyn smoothed her dress.
“It most certainly will not. I’m warning you, girl, once more and you’ll be kicked out of the Keep. You are on water duty for the next fortnight. Sonia, you should know better but after all these years of service, I’ll go easy on you this once. See it doesn’t happen again. If you want to play soldier, do it in your free time. Understood?” Dewey marched back to the kitchens.
“Yes, of course. It won’t happen again,” Sonia set the bow and arrow aside.
The two women had to keep from laughing as they followed the big man.