The Shattered Path

Chapter 8 - The Farmhouse

"I'm a simple man, my lord. I hope whatever happened here last night will have no bad happenings on my kin. Our life is simple. We live under the Light of Ravyn." Jenkin gestured to the sun emblem with crossed swords on Aerham's soiled tunic, and his eyes lingered, taking in the details and betraying his lack of intimacy with the symbol. "And we respect the lands as Lineas has taught us, of course. We pay our taxes and ask no trouble."

They were only farmers and Aerham took no offense to the shortening of the name of his goddess. It was true that the Brotherhood referred to its religious soldiers as Ravyn's Might rather than Ravyneira's Might, but that was part of a long standing tradition. As farmers, this family likely put Lineas above all other religions. Ravyneira was not a jealous goddess, and she didn't demand sole homage from those whom her Brotherhood protected.

"I assure you, sir, your family will be safe from any repercussions. In fact, I apologize on behalf of the Brotherhood of Light for what happened here. When the Lord of Light learns of it, there will be justice. I assure you." Aerham was eager to report the events to Uth Arthgrin. There would be justice.

Laeda quickly dumped sausages and eggs from a wooden platter to a ceramic platter of the same size. Wiping her fingers on a white apron, she moved to the table, setting the platter in the center. Her round face was too wide to be pretty, but she carried herself well, strong and proud. Deep wrinkles creased beneath her brown eyes, revealing her age to be near that of her husband, but she did not appear as weary.

The air was heavy with butter, grease, and sausage spices. Two chips marred the rim of the ceramic platter, likely the best dinnerware that Laeda had in her kitchen; although such dinnerware would have never been placed upon his own father's table. It was heaped with buttery eggs, which had been beaten and fried, and greasy sausage links. She had made certain there would be enough food for their guest, enough to feed six or seven men, and with the coin Gendis had given them, they could now afford it.

Jenkin lifted the platter, taking a large serving spoon in the other hand, and shoveled a large portion of eggs and five sausages onto Aerham's plate. Jenkin buried his own plate and placed smaller portions on the other three plates, setting the platter in the center of the table before asking, "Well, my lord, what of the coin the man gave me? Seven silvers? You won't be taking those back?" His brow creased with concern. "It's a lot of coin for such as us, my lord." He swallowed hard before adding, "And no services were performed."

Seven silvers would have bought a week at the Emerald Lion, including meals and wine. Uth Garenthil was loose with his purse, indeed. No farmer could turn down such an offer, especially if he knew saying 'no' meant they would still take his daughter. That amount was a good deal of coin for a commoner, yet a pathetic gesture for what they had tried to take.

Laeda set wooden cups next to each plate and poured into each.

"I apologize, m'lord, but water is all that we have," Jenkin explained.

"Water is the best drink," said Aerham, echoing the words of his father.

A small boy, maybe five years of age, ran from one of the back rooms. He was dressed in a brown cloth gown and wore no shoes on his feet. His black hair was cropped short around his head. He yelled to his father and hugged him, before climbing into one of the chairs. He studied Aerham's chain mail sleeves and the large emblem on his white tunic. After filling his eyes, he turned to his father.

"Papa, what is a rampart cushion?" He had obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation.

"A repercussion is a..." began Jenkin, lowering his brow in thought. "Oh, look at the sausages. They smell great. How many do you want? Fifty? One-hundred?" He smiled at the boy.