Owlsight

The rider had already given some subtle signal to his mount; it was ten paces back up the path before she got out the last word of her reply. The rider called back over his shoulder.

“I am Wintersky k’Vala - and thank you for taking the message for me!” His beast leaped into a gallop, and he vanished into the forest.

She didn’t wait any longer herself; the Mayor needed to hear this right away. She tore off her smock and left it in the middle of the garden, pelting down the path toward the river as fast as her feet could carry her.

She intercepted the Mayor and the blacksmith on the path leading to the river. They were their way back from their weekly inspection of the mill that kept the vegetable fields nearest the village irrigated - the ones on the other side of the river, being at a lower level, could be watered naturally. She waved her arm wildly at him as soon as she saw him and increased her speed; he stopped immediately, a look of worry jumping into his eyes.

She might have been running, but not long enough to be the least winded. She didn’t wait for him to ask what was wrong. “A message came from the Hawkbrothers, sir!” she called, as she came to a halt on the path in front of him. “The new ones, the ones with Darian Firkin! They’re coming here tomorrow to meet you!”

The worry changed immediately to pleasure. “Finally!” he exclaimed. Then the worry returned. “But tomorrow? How can we make proper preparations with such short notice?”

“The Hawkbrother - he said he was Wintersky k’Vala - said he was told to tell you that this isn’t a formal meeting, that you aren’t to make a big fuss over it - ” But she saw she might just as well have been talking to a wall and stopped trying. The Mayor was off in a tangle of plans and preparations, and probably wouldn’t believe that the Hawkbrother had said any such thing. In fact, he broke into a trot, heading straight for the village square, probably with the intention of gathering every person of importance in Errold’s Grove to see what they could put together for a “proper” greeting committee.

The blacksmith was right behind him, too, but heading for his home. The news was about to spread through the village by the fastest means possible. He was going to tell his wife, who would promptly start the news going in all directions. Wives were better than Heralds and Companions at getting any news of any kind spread.

Which meant that Keisha could go back to her garden with a good conscience.

I only hope it‘ll continue to stay my garden, she reflected, worried. Darian can’t possibly want the cottage back. No, surely not. He’s living with the Hawkbrothers.

Everyone in the village was awake before dawn. From the great oven of the village baker (who was also the miller) came the scent, not only of bread, but of roasting meat. From dozens of hearths rose equally appetizing smells. From the other huge oven at the threshing barn came the aroma of cake and pie. Errold’s Grove was going to give a feast for Darian and his Hawkbrothers whether they wanted one or not.

As soon as the first dawn light pierced the morning sky, groups of children streamed past Keisha’s cottage, heading for the forest, their voices shrill with excitement. They came back within a candlemark, laden with boughs of greenery and bunches of long, trailing vines. Keisha followed them and joined the older children in decorating the square with the greenery, while all the tables and benches that had just been taken back into houses after the Faire were brought back out again and set up in the square itself.

By midmorning, most of the preparations were complete; food that didn’t need to be warm had been brought to the Temple for later serving, the bowers and decorations were up, banners and flags flew from windows looking out on the square, and a small boy, giddy with pride at his important assignment, was up in the Temple tower, watching for the first sign of the Hawkbrothers.

Keisha’s only symptom so far was a knotted stomach and a faint headache; those she could bear easily enough, so she remained with the rest of the village, waiting in the square. After two false alarms, at midmorning the shout went up from the tower.

“They’re coming!” the boy shrilled. “Oh, there’s a lot of them! And they’re riding on deer!”

Keisha’s stomach lurched, and she faded back into a doorway, while the Mayor gathered up his cronies and hustled them up onto a low platform left over from the Faire at the end nearest the Temple. Moments later, the visitors rode into the square.

A spontaneous cheer burst out, making their mounts start. The visitors seemed pretty startled, too, at least to Keisha’s eyes, but they kept their composure in spite of all the noise. She saw two of the ones in the lead - a thin, but good-looking young man about her own age and a dignified, craggily handsome older man with long, silver-white hair - put their heads together for a quick consultation. The young man gestured discreetly at the platform, the older man nodded, and they led the entire group toward the waiting Mayor.

The Mayor stood nervously clasping his hands as they approached him and his group. The cheering died down when the visitors dismounted and made the last few steps afoot.

The Mayor had probably memorized a grand speech, but his efforts were entirely set at naught, for the first words out of his mouth were “By Haven, Darian! Is that really you? You’re - bigger!”

The younger man laughed and held out his hand, clasping the Mayor’s firmly. “Boys have a habit of growing up, Lutter,” he replied, his warm, deep voice very amused. He shook the Mayor’s hand. “What are you, Mayor now?