The Call of the Crown (Book 1) Read Free Page B

you to be concerned about.” Theo waved away Daric’s comments. He looked a little surprised to hear them. “However, I would very much like to have a talk with you, once he has spoken, or even while he is speaking. It won’t matter if I tell you once the messenger has begun his announcement.”
    “I suppose you already know what the message says.”
    “Of course I do. He has to tell me first. It is the law.”
    “And the contents of the message are what you want to talk to me about?” Daric couldn’t hide his annoyance.
    “Have patience, Daric. As I said, it is no reason for concern. We are not at war, the palace still stands, and the Salrians have not invaded. I will come find you once the messenger is on stage.” Theo took a final look at Daric’s produce before walking off.
    “That man!” Daric bit at his lip, almost growling the words. “What I wouldn’t give to have him in my battalion for a week.” He shook his head. “Small town bureaucrats, they are worse than city folk.”
    And he meant it. Daric wasn’t one for repeating himself, but if Gialyn had heard it once… “If a man can’t look you in the eye and tell you what he thinks,” Daric would say, “then best you just walk away.” Conniving politicians were right at the top of Daric’s list of “scheming leaches”—as he called them. Indeed, getting away from that sort of thing was one of the reasons why they had left Bailryn. Although in truth, Gialyn didn’t know half of that story, nor did he want to.
    “Can I go now?” Gialyn asked. “Father?” A distant, glazed expression had settled on Daric’s face, as though he were preoccupied, deep in thought. “Father!” Gialyn leaned forward to catch his father’s eye.
    “Uh… oh yes, yes, go. Wait a second.” Daric fished into his shirt pocket and handed Gialyn two silver coins. “Here, and do not let me catch you buying ale. I don’t care if you’re old enough to carry a sword—no son of mine is going to be drunk in public, least not when I’m nearby.”
    Gialyn grinned. Two silver! “Thank you, Father. Thank you very much!”
    “And, uh … don’t tell your mother I gave you that much. Go on, off with you, and keep out of trouble.” Daric waved Gialyn away before continuing to arrange his beets and beans.
    It seemed strange … somehow, watching his father arrange the food he had grown while standing behind a stall amongst other amateur gardeners and such. It just wasn’t him. Not that Gialyn thought it bad or wrong. It was just…. Well, he didn’t know what it was. He bowed and ran off towards the field—best to be gone quick before Daric thought up something else for him to do.
    The centre field was busy. There wasn’t much in the way of farming in the northern Geddy . The soil wasn’t very good. Beets, beans, and a few hardy vegetables were the best most folk could manage. Of course, Geddy wasn’t a farming town. It wouldn’t be there at all if it weren’t for the Rundair mines. Most of their food came from Beugeddy, shipped up the Geddy River once a week by barge. Despite this, the town folk were prideful of what little they could cultivate, and the soil was no bar to raising livestock; there was plenty of grassland.
    Men gathered by the pens, showing off their pigs and goats and chickens. A few had cows, but not many; they ate too much. Women gathered by the stalls, discussing the best way to make country cake. Foot races were already underway. Groups of small children ran half the length of the field to win themselves some sweetroll or gum root. There was even a travelling minstrel pran cing on a low stage, playing a harp and singing ballads of Ealdihain. No sign of a giant, though.
    Most of the men—those that hadn’t brought pigs and such—gathered at one end of the field. The garden of the Lesgar Inn backed onto the green. Taft, the landlord, had set up an ale tent. Gialyn was surprised men would be drinking this early, but given the weather, he