Blood of War (40 page)

Jurel trained a flat glare at him. “Didn't you hear me? Your ears all packed up?” he said in imitation of the idiot standing in front of him. A few snickers greeted this. “I said I'm here to see how everyone is.”

Ingirt laid a hand on her son's shoulder, her eyes imploring. “Valik please, don't do this. He's done no wrong and you know it. Please.”

Begging. Ingirt begging. Perhaps Jurel could die now for he was certain he had seen everything.

Merlit chuckled. Valik trembled with pent rage. Jurel glared.

The eyes that regarded him, those hateful eyes, narrowed, and a small smile appeared at the corners of Valik's mouth. A snake eying a mouse.

“Of course mother dear. Where are my manners?”

And suddenly Jurel felt like he was thirteen all over again for Valik's tone, that oily sneaky tone that was as much an omen as earth tremors near a volcano, was well-remembered.

“You'll stay here and dine with us, won't you Jurel?”

Squirming just a little bit, Jurel managed a sickly smile and shrugged. “If you would like.”

“Oh I would, I would.”

What was he to do? As the farmhands eyed each other speculatively, confused by their master's sudden change of heart, he made a decision. If Daved had accomplished anything it was ensuring that his son had a good set of manners. And there was no doubt in Jurel's mind that before the night was over, he would sorely regret it.

Chapter 33

Valik himself gave Jurel a tour of the farm, and Ingirt and Trig stayed close. Whether because they were happy to see Jurel or because they thought witnesses were necessary Jurel could not tell. As they strolled the compound, Valik kept up a syrupy, friendly patter of conversation that grated at Jurel's already taut nerves. It was during this time that Jurel found out more about the farm and its remaining denizens than he wanted to hear.

There were perhaps half as many folk left as when Galbin was in charge. Valik said it was because the farm had never needed so many people, that Galbin had been wasting money and valuable resources keeping so many clothed and housed and fed. “The rest have to work a little harder but after all it's an easy job and they get far more from me than other earls would provide. Did you know that? I'm an earl. Yep, found the paperwork in my father's stuff.”

Oh, but he was a smug bastard. There passed an instant, one that Valik did not know about, when he almost lost his teeth.

But Jurel had the notion that Valik simply wanted to keep the extra for himself. As for the whole business of Valik's ascension to the noble cast, well, perhaps he was or perhaps he was just blowing hot air. Either would not surprise Jurel terribly much. The farm was a large one as farms go and Galbin had always had money. It was not so hard to think that Galbin had been a nobleman—albeit a minor one—but true to form, Galbin had never put much stock in the title; it was the first time Jurel had ever heard of it (he wondered momentarily if Daved had known) and true to form, Valik would wave his title under everyone's noses.

As they wandered, they passed folk about their daily tasks. Most contented themselves with shooting cautious, curious glances toward Jurel before going on their way. Those few who dared to speak, to presume to ask questions, were harshly reprimanded by Valik, “Have you not enough to do that you can accost your lord's guest? I will tell Merlit to find ways to fill your time. Now begone!”

Jurel was dismayed by what he saw that morning. The main barn was a shambles. Besides the damaged roof, the stables were filthy, the food troughs looked more like middens, and although the stench of manure had always been present, it was much stronger than it ever had been. Indeed, it seemed as though the place had not been properly cleaned in months.

Valik proudly showed him the project he had begun—or rather the project he had assigned others to begin. The smithy was being moved from the workshop to the area of the barn that had been damaged by the storm. He showed Jurel where a hole had been dug under the broken section of the roof, showed where the forge would go, and where shelving was being prepared.

“And I can save time and money because there's already a place for the chimney,” Valik crowed pointing to the hole in the roof.

“Why are you moving the smithy at all?”

“The existing smithy and workshop will be torn down. I'm having a guest house built. It's only proper after all. Every nobleman should have a guest house.”

Of course. Because the farm saw so many visitors. In Jurel's ten and more years on the farm, only merchants had come calling and they never stayed longer than it took to fill their carts. The only guest Jurel could remember spending the night was an old itinerant healer who had been more than content to sleep in a hayloft.

That did not even begin to touch on the real problem. The animals that remained would suffer under the constant heat and fumes that spewed from the forge, and if there was ever a fire—the workshop had been rebuilt when Jurel was six because of one—well what would happen to them then? Did Valik have an evacuation plan? Did he care? Of course not. Why should he?

Their next stop on the tour was the silo. Again, Jurel was sickened. Trig had been generous in his assessment. The stocks were dangerously low. What remained would barely see them through to the next reaping. What remained was crawling with pests and mold. Jurel asked Valik what they would do when the food ran out.

“Oh I've already ordered some from Tack. Shipment should be in within the next few days.” He waved at the stores that remained. “My employees will have all this—I know, I know. I'm too generous.”

Aghast, Jurel did his best to hide his disgust. Never had Galbin ever had to buy stores; even during that dreadful drought, when a goodly portion of the crops had withered to dust, Galbin had been able to see them through. The farm had always provided them all with more than they needed.

The living quarters were in a state too. The windows had all been removed, replaced with rough boards. “Why should peasants need windows?” Valik asked in surprise when Jurel commented on it. The floors were bare earth, the boards having been torn up and stored for future construction. “They work all day in the dirt. Surely they can sleep in it,” was Valik's explanation. The cots, previously feather stuffed and surprisingly comfortable, could barely be called pallets. Old straw poked from under ratty blankets. The back rooms, the ones that had been reserved for families had been removed. There was still a wall that separated the two rooms because, as Valik pointed out, there were still women. The men and women were strictly prohibited from intermingling.

“Why just last week, I threw out a randy fool and his hussy when there were rumors that she was with child,” Valik said with growing heat. “I'm not going to feed bloody useless mouths on my farm. Let some other sucker do that. They can come back when their kiddies can make some useful contribution around here.”

Suddenly, Jurel perceived what was wrong with the farm beyond its atrocious state of disrepair. As they walked from place to place, he had only seen three children, the same three that had been there when he had lived there, the same three who had been too young to join with the older group. Two of them could have been no more than five yet they were bustling with their own list of chores. The third was perhaps two or three years old and followed her mother around like a puppy, watching everything her mother did while the woman explained and described the duties that would be expected of her when she grew older.

It seemed that children were not allowed at the pond, or in the fields anymore. Unless duty took them there. Galbin must have been rolling over in his grave.

Next, they stopped at Daved's cabin.

“This is Merlit's place now. He's my right hand. I would have probably preferred to have Shenk but
some
one gutted him,” said Valik with a stony glare.

Jurel ignored it. He was too busy trying to come to grips with the fact that his home was now occupied by a cutthroat. It might have been better if this place had become a brothel. He warred with himself. A part of him wanted to enter his home. A part of him wanted to see if there was anything left of his old life. Another part snorted, told him that there would be nothing but heartache if he went in there. His experience in Killhern decided him. He would keep his curiosity unsatisfied and this last memory intact. Yet when he turned away, there was a sickening wrench in his guts. A terrible feeling of life and memory slipping into an endless abyss. He struggled to choke back his tears, to harden himself ever more.

“I've seen enough.” His voice was gruff, harder than he had intended.

“What's the matter?” Valik asked, all solicitous, all oily, smarmy, full of insincere worry. “Are you feeling a little squeamish? A little scared? As I recall you had a tendency to be a little on the chicken side.”

Once again Jurel battled the urge to punch him in the mouth. Trig shuffled uncomfortably and Ingirt dropped her gaze to her feet.

“I'm fine,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Why don't we head on over to the house and have some breakfast and a nice drink. Will that help?”

Valik continued his grating chatter, reveling in the discomfort he caused as they made their way to Valik's house. He pointed out more projects and 'improvements' that he had commissioned.

“I've finally found something to make the men useful through the winter months. The woods are to be cut down and I'm going to have the pond dammed and drained. That should be almost done by next summer. I'll have another whole field up there though I'm undecided what to do with it yet. I thought of raising horses. Nice sleek things. Ones fit for a man of my stature. Maybe I'll build a proper stable and make it my riding field.”

Jurel stopped listening at that point. Instead, he focused on the well. It was the same well, made of the same stone that he always remembered, but the opening was covered with a hinged steel lid and it was secured with a heavy lock.

“Of course,” Valik said when Jurel pointed it out. “I always thought my father was a fool for letting just anyone take his water. He was a fool about a lot of things.”

Ingirt hissed. Glancing over his shoulder, Jurel saw some of the fire that seemed to have been snuffed out by her idiot son quickly smothered under her new meekness.

“Now I charge my employees by the bucket,” Valik continued, ignoring his mother. “It's a fair price I charge and all I have to do is dock their pay. Keeps them honest.”

Coming here was a bad idea.

Too late to do anything about it now. He was there, he was bound to his course. He would see it through and leave as soon as propriety allowed. After he saw certain people.

The house—Galbin's house; Jurel would never be able to think of it as Valik's house—was a revelation. New paint gleamed so that it looked to be made of pearls or alabaster depending on how the light came. The roof was newly tiled with baked red clay. The chimneys—three now—had been rebuilt with brick and the shutters were the same color. The front door had been widened; it was big enough to accommodate a horse and wagon. The veranda, which had always been made of wood, was constructed of granite, with delicately wrought iron rails, inlaid with gold star-burst patterns.

“You like it?” Valik asked. “I'm just starting. This place is so rustic. So pathetic. By the time I'm done with it, it's going to be a palace.”

Jurel could offer no more than a grunt.

They entered the wide doors—which had been opened by two servants who bowed when Valik sailed by. The servants were dressed in red and blue livery. Jurel stared wide-eyed at them as he passed but they kept their gazes firmly fixed to the floor. He recognized neither of them.
They passed several more servants on their way to the dining room and Jurel could not help but shake his head sadly. Valik ignored everyone as he strode, every inch the lord of the manor. They passed under three gold and crystal chandeliers, fine things, of good craftsmanship, the light of the dozens of candles each supported sparking through the dangling crystals underneath. Each one likely cost more than one of the farmers earned in a lifetime. The floors reflected the candlelight, gleaming with new and newly polished wood, mahogany inlaid with lighter oak to create a repeating pattern of stars similar to the ones that decorated the veranda railing. The walls were still wainscoting and plaster, but somehow Jurel knew that would not last much longer.

They were met at the dining room door by one of the servants, a darkly complected young man with fidgety fingers. He bowed and extended a hand.

“Your table is ready, My Lord. Service will begin at your word.”

“Of course the word is given, you dunce. Why isn't everything waiting for me? Do I have to do everything around here?”

The young man went pale and kept his eyes lowered. “My apologies, My Lord. We were not certain when you would be returning. I will see to it at once.”

“It had better be sitting on the table before Pol has time to settle my napkin, you idiot. Get out of my face.”

Jurel cast an apologetic glance in the young man's direction which went unnoticed. The young man was already scuttling away.

“Fools. The whole lot of them,” Valik growled. “Can't find good help anywhere these days.”

Valik took his place at the head of the table, in a chair of gold-gilt wood with red satin cushions. Ingirt sat to his right, and Trig sat to her right. Valik indicated the other end of the table, once Ingirt's place.

“Oh, I didn't tell you yet,” Valik said, lifting a golden wine goblet. “You remember those three kids that we fought down at the pond—and by 'we' I mean, of course, Trig, Darren and me. Come to think of it, even Wag wanted to join in, even though he was just a little pipsqueak. Do you remember them? Sure you do. Anyway, it seems they're all grown up now and they were working on that neighboring farm. I got some very interesting information. It seems that farm, and a couple others, are owned by my family too—that is to say, by me. My grandfather rented it out to some friend of his for a ridiculously low price saying that he couldn't farm all that land by himself. Of course I increased the rent to a more suitable level. Much to the dismay of the current tenants.” Valik laughed. “Anyway, those three were still working there and when I found out about it, I knew I had to make things right. So this past month, I called them here and told them that under no circumstance were they to remain on my land for another night.” Valik laughed again. “Oh you should have seen their faces. It was priceless.”