Fire of the Covenant (Sample)

Chapter Two: Piglets

Willoe loved days like today. The sun in early autumn provided just the right amount of heat and the days were still long enough to provide reading light into the evening without the smoky smell of tallow candles. Her body moved as one with the horse and she looked up to enjoy the glimmer of sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves. The forest picnic to celebrate her and Rowyn’s sixteenth birthday was a wonderful idea and she reminded herself to thank Casandra again for suggesting it.

She turned back to see how the others were faring. The contrast made her smile. Just a few paces behind was the dainty Casandra, bubbly and beautiful, riding next to the quiet, always-somber Protector Dougal. Casandra chattered away and, in his usual sedate manner, the Protector listened politely, if not intently. Behind them rode Rowyn and Aeron who, like his sister Casandra, was extremely animated and doing most of the talking between bursts of laughter, Aeron’s loud guffaws stood in sharp contrast to Rowyn’s dour bearing; her brother was sparing with his laughter, so unlike the full-bodied laugher of his closest friend.

“Dear cousin,” Aeron called out to her with a hint of humor in his voice. “Did you really dump an entire keg of Langford wine on Master Jonnes?”

So that was what he was laughing about. Willoe rolled her eyes. “It isn’t that simple,” she tried to defend herself. “I was only showing Casandra what to do if a brigand tried to grab her from behind.” It was something she had learned from Protector Dougal’s private training. “I only twisted away from her and—”

“You knocked the keg off the ledge, it broke apart, and splashed all over the wine master,” Aeron finished for her, and slapped Rowyn heavily on the back of the shoulder, very amused with himself.

Shoved forward in his saddle by the friendly gesture, Rowyn sat back up and pushed his curly red hair out of his eyes. He only smiled at the joke, lips together.

“Who knew Master Jonnes would be standing right next to the ledge?” She had no desire to experience that ridicule once again and spurred her chestnut to trot slightly ahead of the others.

Aeron yelled out, “Don’t get upset, cousin. You weren’t the one that ended up wine-soaked.” He laughed again as she rode a little faster ahead of them.

She slowed the horse to a walk and cut across the narrow forest path through a thicket, leaning forward to avoid the low-hanging branches, to finally emerge near the Great Crossway Road. She was grateful for the leather riding breeches and matching boots as she rode through the brambles and briers.

The Great Crossway would lead them directly to the East Gate of Castle Westhedge. She waited for the others to join her. They would ride back toward the castle on the hard-packed dirt and crushed seashell road. The others continued their conversations while Willoe lost herself in the waning summer afternoon, until she glimpsed a wagon off to the left side of the road. Actually it was more a cobbled-together cart than a wagon, even though it had four wheels.

As they rode toward the cart she could see an elderly farmer behind it and a young boy on the driver’s bench. The farmer had his shoulder leveraged against one of the rear wheels while the young boy snapped the horse’s rope reins. The man stopped and looked over his shoulder at the riders, then turned back and continued to push against the wheel.

It was obvious that the cart was properly stuck and not moving regardless of the farmer’s efforts. As they rode up behind it Willoe could see that the left rear wheel had gone off the road, landed in a rut, and the horse was unable to pull it out.

Willoe pulled off the road a dozen paces behind the cart, dismounted and hobbled her horse. She turned to the others who had by now come up behind her. “We should help the old man.”