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Old 01-26-2007, 12:03 PM   #89
Anguirel
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Location: The 1590s
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Tell Me Ma When I Go Home

Drenda had not found himself discontented with Brodda's ambiguous reply to his own nondescript question. A connection had been established, that much was clear. He had smiled coldly and served Brodda with a cup of mead, as was customary when a lesser member of court left the company of a greater one. On their next meeting, he thought, he would talk business, and it would be more private; he knew where Brodda kept his house, not far from the eastern quarter of the settlement where Uldor stayed when he grew weary of his father's hall; the area was a focal point for all the yes-men of Brodda's sort.

He could offer Brodda quite a lot in terms of service, he supposed. He was young, but unimportant, and could hear where others tended to be more noticeable. He was useful enough if things came to quarrels; he was, at least, taller than most Ulfings, the Chieftain's sons included, and he knew himself to be an excellent hunter.. And he was the son of Drenduld, noble in blood if scant in wealth. All he asked was an opportunity and support of a certain kind.

Drenda left the hall in a hurry and proceeded to the stables, where a score of horses stood, lazy and tethered, a couple of bored grooms slipping in and out, clamping their noses pinched shut at the smell of ordure. The steeds of the ambassadors were not to be found here; they answered to no binding, and had consented only to be led aside to a paddock where they fated, of their own will, for the return of their Elven masters.

The boy selected his own bay cob, the most valuable thing he owned but a poor creature compared to most of these enormous, brash, snorting beasts. He saddled the animal and rode out, heading for his mother's house.

***

"Well? How did your little meeting go?"

Gausen never took the Chieftain's Hall seriously, scarcely recking anything of her allegiance to Ulfang as one of the tribe, and her attitude irritated her son, making him feel like a small boy chided for stealing food.

"It is as I thought, mother," Drenda replied stiffly, "but to a much greater degree. Caranthir's rider has asked for seven thousand soldiers."

Gausen whitened behind her black veil, and then threw it off, her eyes candles in inky pools of darkness.

"Seven thousand? That must be, what, a quarter of all the males in these lands...well, well. You will go, of course," she said, speaking more quietly now, "as if there had ever been any doubt about it." Her fine son's laudably high passions would never keep him from a sword for long, and this she had always known.

"Aye, mother, and not as any foot-soldier, either, but truly as my father's son, if my designs go to plan. Look, I spoke with Lord Brodda..."

"You men speak much, and very portentously too, I'm sure," Gausen interrupted, feeling her son writhe like a rattled cat, "but such concerns mean nothing to me. I'll see you settled and wealthy in my own way, before you go off and get yourself killed. If you deny me the chance to be a mother to you, dearling, then I shall ensure I am a mother to your son."

Drenda tossed his head, rather resembling a horse in his annoyance. "Mother, you know, I really have other things to think about than wives. I mean, not that I couldn't have any woman I asked for, but..."

"Don't be silly, dear, or arrogant; I know you deserve a Chieftain's daughter, but you can't afford to be too casual, starting out with so little. I have obtained the name of a certain farmer, with one daughter he wants taken off his hands. The girl's name is Tora. She won't bring you much in the way of money, but she's a firm enough thing, sober and sensible by the sound of it..."

Drenda gave a deeply exasperated snort. "Look, mother, I thought you were the one here who got ahead by touting out your body. I am Drenduld's son, and I..."

"None of that!" Gausen's teeth were bared now, in what was almost a snarl. "What time I choose to spend with the Lord Uldor is my own affair, and in any case it is purely a matter of friendship. You owe a great deal on that horse of yours."

"And?" Drenda was less certain than he sounded. His mother's ability to leap onto a new, more pressing subject often startled him.

"I have a little put aside, boy, and I will honour your accords about that horse - I know the dealer well - if you will go and speak with this girl's father. He's a simple man, and your blood should clinch the agreement."

Drenda thought about it, but not for very long. He really needed that horse if he was to keep his station at Ulfang's Hall intact, and the debt was becoming insupportable.

"Done," he said. "Now where does the old man have his house?"

Last edited by Anguirel; 01-26-2007 at 01:50 PM.
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