At least that would help them travel more discreetly and be the signal for Guardians to come forward, assuming that they recognised the Arifel for what it was. He hoped the Arifel knew how to become invisible. He was certain that was something beyond his skills to teach! The little Arifel popped out of sight, and Jerrol assumed he’d be able to find them if he wanted to.
Jerrol led the way back towards the blackened ruins of the hostelry, with Jennery still muttering under his breath and a surprisingly happy Birlerion; maybe this was all familiar to him. He glanced at them both with a wry smile. Jennery was touching his new clothes with hesitant fingers, a smile of wonder on his face. He’d probably never worn such fine linen before either.
As they approached the ruins, Jerrol saw the smith moving about, dejectedly lifting beams that were still smouldering before letting them fall back to the ground with sodden puffs of ash. The site looked more depressing in the drizzly rain. The smell of charred wood and the tang of ash and water permeated the air along with fine fragments of dust stirred up by the smith’s actions. Towards the front of the house, the ash was a pure white, darkening to a dirty grey towards the rear. Jennery continued round to the stables to check on the horses.
“Not much left,” Jerrol said as he surveyed the ruins. It was a distressing sight. The smith grunted in response as he lifted another beam. “It caught straight away,” Jerrol continued. “You were lucky your neighbours managed to save the barn and the smithy.”
The smith stood up. “I suppose so. In all this rain you would have thought it would stop smoking. You can still feel the heat in the beams.”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Jerrol said.
The smith screwed up his face before nodding at Jerrol. “Appreciate your help last night, you took a risk running back in there. My mother said she invited you to dinner today; I think we’ll have to rearrange it for another time,” he said, his face drawn.
Birlerion glanced sharply at Jerrol before starting his investigation of the ruins.
“Yes, I think you have other things to worry about today. When will you be able to hold the Leaving?”
“Just waiting on the Father; he’s not been round yet. Hopefully tomorrow at the latest. If we could get him to agree to today that would be best, but that would be two Leavings in two days.”
“Will the Father perform the full rite? He seems to be advocating a change in the usual way of things,” Jerrol asked, worried for them.
“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” the smith said, his face grim. “They can talk about progress all they like, but even the Father would hesitate to change the Leaving.” He scowled. “Can you believe those town idiots tried to introduce a new tithe? They graciously granted each grower another ten foot of land, which the family would have to clear, and then they upped the tithe to pay for the additional crops they would be able to grow.
“Even though nothing edible will grow for a year or more at least, if ever, considering the timber draws all the nutrients out of the soil. It would have to be left fallow and mulched first. Nearly caused a riot! They tried to tell us we should be grateful. Grateful for them giving us forest land which is not theirs to give! To cut down the new saplings! Wait till Lord Hugh hears about it.” The smith shook his head, his shoulders drooping as he surveyed the mess. “I’m afraid they’ll pass a law or something. What do we do then?”
“Who holds the council? Surely they have the good of the land at heart? Felling the future can’t be in their interest?” Jerrol watched the smith as he stepped over a blackened beam and kicked a pile of ashy debris.
“The council leader is no longer the real power, he’s getting old. He was going to retire, but he changed his mind when that smarmy envoy turned up.” The smith spat to one side in disgust.
Birlerion paused in his inspection of the ruins at the bitterness in the smith’s voice, but he smoothly bent back down at a flick of Jerrol’s fingers.
“Envoy?” Jerrol prompted.
“Supposedly sent by the King, he had the council hanging off his every word before the end of the first session. He says he’s the King’s voice. He seems pretty flimsy to me, spouting a load of Ascendant rubbish, trying to convince folks that they can self-rule. I doubt the King is sponsoring that message. He’s not going to do himself out of power, now is he?”
“When did he arrive?”
“About a month ago. He doesn’t mix much with us peasants, just sends out his lackeys with his messages, spreading them like a sickness. I never thought to see folks so gullible.” The smith sighed, glancing around the dreary ruins. “The King better start paying attention, or his people won’t have a choice.”
“Have you heard the term ‘veil-shredder’ before?” Jerrol asked.
The smith froze. “Don’t,” he exclaimed, glancing around. “Don’t mention them. They can hear you, you know. Hear what you say – it’s not safe.” He gestured towards the smoking beams. “A warning, don’t you think?”
“Why would you need a warning?” Birlerion asked, brushing the ash off his hands.
The smith curled his lip, but before he could answer his wife called his name. “The Father’s waiting for you,” she called.
The smith turned to Jerrol and stuck out his hand. “Thank’ee again for your help last night. My mother would have been glad of your company. As it is, it’s safer not to keep company with strangers. Lady bless you both. You’d best be watching
