The Warden

Chapter 6

"Come on then, we have to be off," said Lord Domrae.

Puzzlement's faint presence Masis' only reply.

"Don't tell me you forgot."

Another blank stare.

"We're working with a chipper crew today." Lord Domrae huffed, grunting his way to his feet. "Get dressed and if you hurry, I'll have Calla bundle your breakfast up for you to eat on the way. We're already behind. Wilo is less than a finger from rising."

Jumping at his son, this time too quickly for him to react, Lord Domrae landed a solid blow to Masis' shoulder. Backpedaling quickly, he roared with laughter as an unprepared Masis tried to retaliate, overextended himself, fell flailing from his bed, and ended in a tangled heap of sheets at its foot.

Retreating completely from the room the still laughing father called over his shoulder unsteadily. "I'll expect you downstairs in a few minutes then."

Sheets, sweat strong, constricted about Masis' ankles, tripping him up and drawing out more than a few curses as he tried to kick his way free. His moment of energy had passed and morning's grogginess reasserted itself. The tussle with his father had made him more alert but his racing heart had soon calmed and again eyelids drooped. Leaving his bed linens half on and half off his bed Masis went about dressing absentmindedly rubbing his eyes. No finery for this day. Worn breeches thinning at the knees, cracked and water stained boots, and a shirt that once might have appeared whiter than a mud puddle made Masis look anything but a duke's son. Adding sweat molded gloves tucked neatly into his belt, in place of yesterday's sportsman stood a simple lumberman whose mere appearance made one think of sweat and saw dust.

With no light but a faint horizontal glow from the ajar door, a ready, yet disheveled, Masis clomped from his room and down the stairs. No light-footedness, no urgency in his step, simply slack arms, a nodding head, and occasionally a steadying hand on the wall, all semblance of awareness had fled. Wrestling with his father had been one thing but whether he knew if or not the prospect of swinging an ax for hours sent his mind and body into a fit of sleep withdrawals.

The only pleasant prospect of the morning was first his seemingly effortless victory and Calla's smiling face waiting for him on the bottom stair.

"Master Masis, how good of you to finally join us this morning," said Calla, hands held behind her back. "Unfortunately, your father already had his breakfast...and yours in the process."

"Calla, please, tell me that was spoken in jest," said Masis.

"Oh, no, master." Calla said, eyes wide with mock seriousness. "Your father seemed to have quite the appetite this morning. Several large helpings of eggs, toast, four slices, I believe, and if I'm not mistaken at least six links of sausage, accompanied by your favorite, a strong batch of Chamomile. You took so long coming down, and so little remained, that I cleared the rest and gave it to the dogs."

"Calla, we don't have any dogs," grumbled a groggy Masis.

"Oh, dear," said Calla, feigned shock abundant in her speech. "No dogs? I suppose I must have fed a stray mutt. Oh, at least it wasn't wasted." Her timing perfect as Masis' stomach seemingly growled in protest at her statement.

"Quiet you," said Masis, gently slapping his middle to discourage further outbursts. Shaking himself to alertness, a still bleary eyed Masis attempted to appeal to his once nursemaid. "Calla there must be something that you could give me to tide me over until midday. A scrap of bread, a morsel of cheese, or even an overcooked potato. Please, don't send me with a gloating father on an empty stomach."

"Why master Masis this has to be the first time I have heard you beg. But, unfortunately, the kitchen staff has already started preparations for luncheon and even with my status of housekeeper, the cook will have one of his fits if I go interrupting his staff."