“Don’t I want to hit as hard as possible?” Bran asked again, his youthful face flushed.
“What happens if you miss?” Avena asked before Bran could deliver his next attack.
“I won’t,” declared Bran.
“You do all the time.”
“Let the weapon work for you,” Ōbhin said, feeling those eyes on the hill watching. “It wants to move in certain ways. Adapt to it. Fighting your weapon means you have to face two opponents.”
“And sore arms,” Avena said. She shook her right arm. “When are you going to teach us fancy things?”
“When you stop flinching when Bran swings at you.”
Avena shifted. “He’s bigger than me.”
Ōbhin nodded. “Fear is something you must manage. Too much, and you cower. Too little, and you impale yourself on your opponent’s blade trying to deliver the deathblow.”
Or face down bandits with only a belt knife.
“Enough for today,” said Ōbhin. “I assume you know how to treat blisters. I imagine you’re both forming them.”
Avena flexed her hand. “I’m fine. I’ve spent days with a broom in hand.”
“What ‘bout Bran?” asked Smiles. “The only tool that he’s held for a full day is the one danglin’ between his legs.”
Bran went crimson.
Avena gasped. “Smiles! I should have your wife wash out your mouth.”
“You dress like a man and swing a club, then I’m gonna talk like one ‘round you.” He winked at her. “Though you make a prettier one than Bran.”
“I should have my Miguil box your ears, too,” she said, though there was a slight curl to her lips, the start of a pleased smile.
“Do you need ointment, Bran?” Ōbhin asked.
“I’m fine,” Bran said.
“No shame in attending to your injuries. You can’t fight if you can’t hold a rod.”
“I’m fine!” he snapped with petulance.
Smiles and Fingers both burst into laughter. Bran flushed more. Ōbhin shook his head. “They’re just jealous that you got something bigger to hold.”
“Wot are you sayin’?” Fingers grunted.
“That your wife needed to borrow a bigger tool from the miller,” Smiles said.
Fingers tackled him and the two men crashed to the ground and rolled on the grass. Avena gasped, rushing forward then paused when she heard them laughing as they spilled apart. Fingers shook his head, staring up at the sky.
“That’s your wife that he . . .” Avena drew up a deep breath. “And you . . . They . . .” She threw a look around. “You are all coarse and vulgar, do you know that? My Miguil would never—”
Bran burst into guffawing laughter, braying almost like a donkey as he bent over.
“What?” Avena asked, glaring at him, her gloved hands on her hips, the old leather cracking in places. “What are you implying? Do I need to talk to your mother?”
Horror fell on Bran’s face. “That’s low. I’m a man now. You don’t have to talk to her.”
Avena arched an eyebrow.
Fingers and Smiles laughed louder on the ground. Ōbhin almost joined them, but the eyes returned. His hand fell down to his sword hilt as he faced the hill again. It provided a perfect vantage of the estate. A longbowman could even fire from there and have a fair chance of sticking them.
Ōbhin frowned at that thought popping into his mind. He considered the tracks he saw. The watcher had a staff. Or a bow. Handsome Baill? Has Ust sent him to spy on us? Is his ego that wounded? After a moment’s consideration, Ōbhin knew the answer.
“Fingers, back to the front gate. Smiles, with me.”
“With you?” asked Smiles. “Wot we up to?” He rose, wiping grass off his back and rear.
“Patrol.”
“The hill?” Avena asked. “You feel it?”
He gave a short nod.
“Probably just some boys from the Breezy Hills neighborhood,” Fingers said. “Wouldn’t pay ‘em no mind.”
Ōbhin shrugged. “Humor me. Besides, Smiles needs a walk. His wife’s fattening him up. Let’s sweat some weight off.”
“Jilly does make sure I got a full plate come supper,” said Smiles, patting his stomach. “Good woman.”
“Come on,” said Ōbhin.
Avena fell in at his side. He glanced at her and felt that stubbornness roiling from her.
“What?” she demanded, eyes hard.
“Did I say anything, Smiles?”
“Nope. Good sign of a leader, that is.”
“Oh?” Avena asked as they headed for the gate across the grass.
“Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed,” Smiles said. “Leastways, not in public.”
A tinge of pink touched Avena’s cheeks. “I just . . . I mean . . . Come on, let’s go see these boys Fingers was talking about.”
It didn’t take long to climb the hill. Ōbhin thought he saw movement beneath the tree as they passed through the postern gate unlocked by Smiles’s key. Is someone fleeing? He kept a grip on his resonance blade just in case. Avena’s face grew paler as they climbed the narrow trail between the thorny blackberry bushes. She quivered, swallowing. The stink of fear bled off of her. Sour. Queasy.
What had she seen last night?
Smiles’s good nature slipped. He shifted.
“What?” Ōbhin asked.
“Just . . . a chill breeze off the lake, I reckon. Gets windy up ‘round here.” The man rubbed at his arms, pale flesh pebbled with bumps.
Something did feel . . . deathly. They’d buried Carstin at the top of the hill. Had his soul lingered? Had he failed to find harmony with the Seven Tones and merge with the universe? Had his sins been too great? Did he clutch to that laundress he’d met? The last words he spoke were about the new woman.
How can I possibly find her if I don’t even know her name?
“He was here,” whispered Avena as they neared the top.
“Who?” Ōbhin asked.
“Him.” Her brown eyes landed on his. Pale sweat wreathed her brow.
Ōbhin swallowed.
