The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (2 page)

CHAPTER
1

The Geddy Valley, half a mile north of the small town of Albergeddy, on the northeastern border of Ealdihain. Two hundred forty leagues west of Bailryn.

“Is that a giant following us?”

Gialyn Re’adh had heard footsteps—heavy footsteps. As he turned back to his father, he all but tripped on the hard-packed dirt road. Again, he yelped, “Father… a giant!” while stabbing his still-pointing finger in the direction of the two men—one man and a
giant
—following a hundred paces behind.

“What was that, boy?” Daric
, Gialyn’s father, turned his head and squinted back along the road. The two strangers were a fair way off, but not so far that it wasn’t clear one of them was… unusual. “No, it isn’t. Don’t you know
giants
have two heads, boy?” The older man laughed and cast a wry eye in Gialyn’s direction. “And don’t point. It’s rude.”

Of course, Gialyn knew his father was joking
. Giants only have one head. Not that anyone had seen one in three hundred years. Now that he thought on it, it was a ridiculous thing to say. It couldn’t be a giant, could it?

“It is just a tall man,” Daric said. “Enough now
. Stop staring.” He waved Pepa—the family horse, a shaggy pie-bold mare—forward and, despite taking a last look for himself, urged Gialyn to pay attention to the road.

Gialyn could
n’t resist another look, either…. One was older, of a regular build. A thin, light-coloured cloak covered his day clothes, and he had a cane or staff in one hand. The other man was huge—
if he is a man
—well over eight feet. He carried a pack the size of a small cart on his back. He, too, wore a light-coloured cloak, similar to the one the older man wore. Maybe they were military cloaks or the two of them belonged to the same clan.
On the other hand, maybe they just bought them from the same store.

“I have seen
tall
men before, Father,” Gialyn said, “but he is wide with it. And he doesn’t look Surabhan to me.”

Daric glanced back. “They might be here for the
Spring Feast. They’re not local. I would know a man that size if he lived in the Geddy. I would guess they have come up from Beugeddy. Stop looking!” Daric flicked Gialyn’s hair. “Pay attention to the road, boy. How many times do I have to tell you? I
do not
want you leading Pepa into a trough. This is the first time I have something to sell at market, even if it is only beets and beans. I don’t want them spread all over the road.”

“Sorry, Father.”

“Honestly, boy, your head is in the clouds. Giants are
much
bigger. Even the women are ten foot tall, or more! If there were any left, they will be a thousand miles south, well beyond the Eurmac.
Giants
…” Daric shook his head.

Gialyn loosened Pepa’s harness a little. He took the waterskin from the cart and splashed some water over the horse’s neck. He took one final look as he placed the skin back in the cart.
Maybe he’s not a giant, but he is big. I bet he’s come to the feast to perform—one of those strongman acts, maybe. Now that would be something to see.

It was hot. Gialyn was beginning to wish he had taken his mother’s advice and worn his yellow shirt. Yellow would be cooler. Unfashionable or not, it would be more comfortable than the black one he now wore. He tugged on the collar and swept the sweat-matted hair from his forehead.
Gods, I have a full day of this, and it isn’t even noon yet.

Holding his collar open with one hand, he guided Pepa with the other. Barely ten minutes from home and already the poor thing looked tired. She was a young horse, her first time pulling the cart, and what with the heat… Gialyn swiped the flies from around Pepa’s eyes and again tried easing her harness a little. It was the best he could do for her.

The track was hard underfoot. Spring had begun early, and what little rain they had slid off the hard surface. The heat of the packed dirt made Gialyn’s feet itch with sweat inside his boots. He was glad it was only another mile to the town green.

Gialyn wiped a bead of sweat from his neck and glanced across Pepa’s
crest at his father. He chuckled to himself. Daric—a tallish, dark-haired man of middle years with a slender but strong build—walked three paces ahead, talking as though his son was paying attention. Gialyn wondered how long he would keep it up. He wasn’t trying to be rude; it was just hard to hear his muttering while he faced the other way.

“…can get the horse fitted
… done, we will be able to plough the… Next year I will be… Of course,
Tanner
keeps me… Damn that…”

The mumbling went on, until…

“Are you listening to me, boy?” Daric shouted.

“Yes, Father. Uh, sorry
. Get the horse fitted, ploughing…”

His father gave him one of his sideways
stares before he resumed his place out in front. Daric appeared oblivious to the heat, swinging his pack from one shoulder to the other. The older man whistled while he walked, casting an eye over the fields. Now and then, the man would turn back to pet Pepa, encouraging her to keep straight. The young horse had a tendency to wander if he saw something that interested him.

Gialyn knew his father wouldn’t complain about the heat; he never did. He would turn anything into a lesson on duty or honour or responsibility.
He might have left the guards
—
left Bailryn
—
to move to this backwoods of a town, but he is still the same man, still a soldier.

The
town green was on the outskirts of Albergeddy—although, in truth, it wasn’t really a
green
at all, more a field that fit the purpose. Gialyn guided Pepa along the lane as it splintered from the main road. After taking a final look at his
giant
, he led her through the narrow gates and on to the green.

The “
town green” sloped gently to the south. A long line of wild berry bushes ran along the edge on three sides. The centre was fenced off into pens of varying sizes. Half already contained livestock, mostly goats. The Spring Feast organisers—most, if not all of the town council—pitched a dozen large white tents around the outer rim of the field, with long tables set up in front for displaying country-fair produce of every kind. A play area—probably for the younger children—was set up near the food stall. The shooting range, for the archery tourney—an annual favourite, so Gialyn had heard—was at the far end of the field, safely out of the way.

Groups of small children ran around Pepa’s cart as Gialyn led her towards the produce tents. He laughed at their “tutting” and “arghing” when they discovered the cart was half-f of beets and beans. He laughed again when Daric produced a basket full of sweetroll that Mairi—Gialyn’s mother—had prepared. Daric gave them one each; there was just enough.

“Best move on before they tell anyone else,” Daric said, chuckling.

Vin, the local leather merchant, waved Gialyn over. “Why do they bother building a place for children to play if they’re just going to let them run around causing a nuisance?”

For a moment, Gialyn wondered whether Vin was talking to him or his father.

“Pepa doesn’t mind, Vin,” Daric said. “And it is supposed to be a
family
day.”

Gialyn knew his father was none too keen on Vin Calande; he thought the man was always too eager to complain.

“It’s not right,” Vin said. “They should do something about it. Now if I were on the council… Do you know they have a
girl
in the archery tourney this year? Yes… Theo Tanner’s girl, Elspeth. Have you ever heard anything so daft? What is the betting her father had something to do with it? So what if he is the emissary? That doesn’t give him the right to change rules. It is just not proper, girls shooting arrows,
phaw
. There will be women on the council next, you mark my words!”

“I didn’t know there was a rule against girls competing, Vin. Are you worried she might win?” Daric said.

Gialyn tried not to laugh.

“Well, it
’s just not—”

“Sorry, Vin, have to get the table set up in the shade before my beans sweat too much.”

“Uh… oh… right. We will talk later, I expect.”

“Not if I see you coming, we won’t,” Daric whispered so only Gialyn could hear. Though he suspected his father wouldn’t mind much if Vin
had
overheard.

Gialyn led Pepa around the back of the tents. He unhitched her and handed the reins to Gobin the blacksmith. As usual, it would be Gobin’s job to take care of the horses for the day while their owners manned their stalls.

“Has Vin been chewing your ear as well?” Gobin asked. “The man just cannot shut up about young Elspeth and the bloomin’ archery. If you ask me, I’d say good luck to her. What do you think, Gialyn my lad?”

“I do not know, Mr
. Gobin. I thought the idea was to find out who is best, man or woman… or girl.”

“Well said, lad. You have the making of a council member here, Daric. He has a good head on his shoulders, this one.” Gobin nodded at Daric while patting Gialyn on the shoulder.

“Ask him his opinion if it were anyone but Elspeth, Gobin.” Daric cast one of his sly sideways glances at the blacksmith.

“Aye… bit of young romance blossoming, is it?” Gobin smiled and gave him a wink. Gialyn felt the heat flushing his cheeks. The blacksmith loosened Pepa’s straps as he spoke
. “Thought she was too busy sharpening her knives to notice the boys.” He laughed at that. “If you do end up courting, don’t be getting in any arguments, my lad. With that one, you’ll probably come off the worse for it.”

Gialyn pulled the last crate of beets from the cart as Gobin led Pepa to the makeshift stable, still laughing to himself as he walked.

“Where do you want this?” Gialyn asked his father.

“It can go under the table for now. Keep it in the shade.”

Daric had reserved his space in the tent. That, apparently, wasn’t easy; newcomers were not often welcomed. Gialyn watched as his father placed his produce into small punnets and then arranged neatly across the top of the table. The proud look in his eye lasted until he noticed his neighbour’s stall. Mrs. Caulthan’s vegetables were easily twice the size and greener. “Oh well, it is our first season.” He gave Mrs. Caulthan a friendly nod.

“Can I go now?” Gialyn asked.

At the same time, Theo Tanner bellowed at Daric, “Good day, Mr. Re’adh.”

Theo Tanner was a large man—very large. He was nearly as round as he was tall. He was the emissary for Albergeddy, which meant responsibility for running the mine and collecting taxes. His broad grin split his round face and caused even more chins to appear. The big man was in his usual garb. Not even this heat would stop him from wearing his coat of office. His thinning grey-brown hair plastered to his forehead
and droplets of sweat trickled from his temples. Gialyn thought he looked ridiculous. None of the noblemen coming and going through the streets of Bailryn—the kingdom’s capital—would wear a coat like that in this weather. The man must be a fool.

“Afternoon to you, Mr
. Tanner.” Daric bowed.

“I see you made it,” Theo said. “A bit late, but never mind that. Nothing much has started yet.”

Daric looked surprised; Theo was never this talkative. Indeed, Gialyn couldn’t remember the last time the emissary had spoken to any of them, apart from once when he welcomed his mother to the town granary.

The fat man continued. “Did you know my daughter is in the archery tourney this year?”

Theo picked up one of Daric’s beets, sniffed at it, gave it a squeeze, and put it back. He didn’t look impressed.

“Yes,” Daric said, putting the beet back into the correct punnet. “Quite a fuss, so I hear.”

“
Really!”
Theo scowled over the word. “Who is making a fuss?” He folded his arms, pulled his shoulders back, and stared defiantly at Daric.

“Did you think there wouldn’t be, Mr
. Tanner? First time a girl has ever entered for the archery prize.” Daric folded his arms, too, and stared right back.

Gialyn backed off a pace, looking between the two, wondering who would answer first. He knew it wouldn’t be his father; he had
that
look in his eyes. The look he’d seen him give a thousand times. Whether it was a drunkard at the palace gates or a disobedient sergeant, the look was always the same. You may as well argue at a stone once Daric Re’adh’s mind was set.

Finally, Theo broke. “Yes, I suppose you are right
. A little animosity is to be expected, especially when she wins.” He picked up another of Daric’s beets. “Did you warm the soil before you planted these?”

“Sorry, what? Warm the soil?” Daric looked puzzled.

“Early beets, Daric,” Theo said in a lecturing tone. “You must warm the soil; lay some hay down to drag out the last of the frost. Not saying they won’t grow without, but they’ll be more like Mrs. Caulthan’s if you do.” Theo shot a smile and a bow over to Daric’s neighbour.