Night of The Eye

How well I know my servitude.

'You know,' said Guerrand slyly, 'I don't believe familiars are supposed to be so ill-humored. If it were up to me, I might have chosen a sweet-tempered toad-'

Now there's a useful creature, snorted the bird, his flat beak bobbing. Easily eaten by predators, they do nothing but croak and p-

'Or,' interrupted Guerrand with a chuckle, 'some usefully vicious predator, like a hawk.'

Trustworthy, to be sure, Zagarus said with a roll of his beady eyes.

'Or a cat.'

Too sneaky. Zagarus jumped from a high, flat merlon down to the lower level. Face it, Guerrand, we're stuck with each other, 'till death do us part,' as they say in magic circles.

Guerrand laughed again. He'd never tell Zagarus the truth-that he wouldn't have it any other way. If the crotchety sea gull had been a dog, Guerrand would have said his bark was worse than his bite. Zagarus had been Guerrand's companion for some years, since the young would-be wizard had first stumbled upon the incantation for summoning a familiar in one of his father's books. That casting had been his first successful attempt to wield magic.

If I could have chosen my master, said the sea gull, pausing to nibble at an itch beneath one wing, believe me, it would have been someone who took less than ten years to become a cavalier.

'You know the reason for that,' said Guerrand softly.

Zagarus felt a decidedly uncharacteristic twinge of regret. We always tease each other, Guerrand. What's wrong with you today?

Guerrand set down his book and stood, looking vacantly out to sea. 'I guess I'm confused and more than a little sensitive these days.'

The gull's gaze fell on to the book of tactical combat Guerrand had been reading. Confused? It looks like you've already made your decision.

Guerrand's eyes filled with anguish. 'The whole situation is so tangled, I can hardly sort through it sometimes. What I know is this: Cormac has vowed to throw me out if I refuse. For myself, rank poverty doesn't concern me overmuch, but Kirah would insist on going with me, and I have no means of supporting us. I won't have her picking pockets in Gwynned.'

Guerrand rubbed his face wearily. 'There is also the question of family honor.' He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his breeches and began to pace. 'The family needs me. How can I not agree to Cormac's ultimatum? I am honor bound to help the family.'

Even if you're not responsible for its decline?

Guerrand's dark head bobbed. 'It must be hard, perhaps impossible, for a sea gull to understand family loyalty. You leave your clutch mates at a tender age and never see them again.' The human knew from the silence that he was right.

Explain to me once more why it's so important for Cormac to get this land in the dowry.

Guerrand shrugged. 'Part of it, I guess, is pride. He gave over Stonecliff once, and he doesn't want to let it slip through his grasp again. Beyond that, the land is very valuable for its position at the mouth of the river.'

So he's marrying you off for land.

Guerrand scowled. 'Now you sound like Kirah. The Berwick's are tremendously wealthy. Though part of the bargain is that I become a full-fledged knight, I'll likely never have to raise a sword thereafter. I'll be joining the Berwick's family business as an officer at one of their trading stations somewhere. I should think of it as gaining comfort and an opportunity to travel.'

Now you sound like Cormac.

There was a stony silence as both realized the truth of that.

What happens to me? asked Zagarus, breaking the silence at last.

Surprised by the question, Guerrand turned to look at the bird. 'Why, you'll come with me, of course. You well know the reality about familiars. We'd both probably die if we were separated for more than a few days.'

So I'm to live inland.

Guerrand looked exasperated. 'Hillfort is on the river. It's a major inland port. Besides, it hasn't been decided where we'll live, but all the Berwick holdings, by necessity, are near ports.' His glance traveled the outline of the grim castle. 'I'd be happy enough to get away from here, though.'

Zagarus abruptly squawked and flapped into the air to perch atop the roof of the keep. Guerrand spun around quickly and saw Milford, Cormac's weapon master and Guerrand's tutor in the fine art of hacking people to bits. Had the man heard him speaking aloud to his familiar? Guerrand swore silently to himself, irritated that Cormac chose this time to dispatch his man for a lesson. But there was no escaping Milford now.

The burly, bearded warrior planted himself in front of Guerrand. 'It's a fine view from here, young squire, but you can't sit about enjoying the air all day. You've got a piece of work ahead if you're to wear a cavalier's sword before your wedding.'

So Cormac is already spreading the word, even before I've given him an official response, Guerrand thought. He had bent to Cormac's will for so long that Guerrand knew he should have expected it. With a feeling of defeat he could not shake, Guerrand dutifully stood and followed the veteran.

Guerrand was in an uncharacteristically foul mood. He kicked a large stone in the road that led to Thonvil. First he'd had a miserable session with Milford, and had seemed unable to fend off the easiest of blows. He'd actually been grateful when the session came to a premature end by a summons from Rietta.

Unbelievably, things took a downturn from there.

He was on his way to the silversmith's. Rietta had taken it upon herself to order a wedding present from him to Ingrid, his 'intended.' If that wasn't bad enough, he hadn't the money to pay for it.

This ploy was a common trick of Rietta's. She would commission some piece of work from a local craftsman. It was considered quite an honor to be doing work for the lord or his lady. She would send a servant to retrieve the piece, with a promise that the bill would be paid the first of the month. The first would come and go without an exchange of money.

Occasionally a merchant would send a bill to the castle, but it was always ignored. The more aggressive ones would journey in person to the castle, only to be turned away at the door and never used again, a bit of a mixed blessing. The merchants didn't talk about it among themselves, for the shame, and for fear that Rietta would somehow persuade Cormac to shut down their businesses.

Guerrand knew the ploy too well. Several merchants had confided in him, knowing they could trust the lord's brother. Some even hoped he might be able to help them, but Guerrand was certain that Rietta would only deny blame, and Cormac cared too little for the welfare of the villagers to intervene.

Why does it have to be Wilor? Guerrand thought. He had known the silversmith as long as he'd known anyone. Wilor and Rejik DiThon had been of an age. Unlike Cormac, Rejik had treated his subjects with respect and even befriended many of them. Both men had told Guerrand stories of their youthful exploits.

He hated that he was being forced to participate in a scheme he felt powerless to stop. At first when Rietta had asked him to go to the silversmith's he had refused, insisting that if she wanted the trinket, she should go herself or send a servant.

'You're not showing the proper gratitude for my thoughtfulness, Guerrand,' Rietta had said. 'Placing an order is one thing. However, it would be most unseemly for the lady of the castle to be seen in the village, purchasing items like a common woman. What's more,' she had sniffed, 'I have no servants to spare, what with the preparations for your wedding. All you have to do is show up for the ceremony. The least you can do is help out in this small way.'

In the end, Guerrand agreed to go so that he could admit to Wilor the silversmith that he had no money, but he would pay him in full after his marriage.

Guerrand snorted now, remembering her words. Yes, all I have to do is be married to the Bucker Princess for a lifetime, such a small thing for the family. She and Cormac, despite their fighting, are well suited, he thought.