Draka eased himself onto the edge of his wooded porch with a hand on the thick piling holding the frame of a roof he knew he needed to repair soon. Graying clouds slid across the sky faster than he liked and got darker as they went. Vigora was leaping and dancing across the dust in the road that separated his ramshackle house from the small shack which, now that he looked at it, was leaning far enough that it might fall over. He was still hesitant to use the outhouse beside it even with the well pipes running into it and a large one to drain it out the back. Worn from ages of winds and trampling had caused the bricks covering the drain pipe to smooth and crack away. Some of the pipe had gone with it where one such crack had shifted the end over by nearly a meter. Lord knows what might have crawled into it during disuse.

  He straightened his left leg to keep from bending his swollen ankle with a hiss. He had twisted his ankle before while fighting in the loose sands of the desert near Pharaohs’ Land. That was when he had gotten his first pair of boots from the physician who told him to keep them tight to keep the swelling from causing his toes to lose blood flow and fall off. At least that was what he was told. It wasn’t the first or last time that such a thing had happened to him. This just happened to be the first time that it wasn’t a misstep or a bad landing that had caused it. It was his temper. And that only made the pain worse.

  Draka leaned against the piling and waited for the throbbing to stop from standing to feed Vigora. He had set the feedbag behind the piling. Once the pain eased a bit more, he planned on wrapping it and carrying it back inside. Until then, he let his head rest on the piling, his thin hair tossing in the afternoon breeze. She didn’t make things easy for him, but once she saw that he was hurting while holding the bag, she lifted her nose with her ears facing outward.

  His stomach growled loud enough that Vigora stopped her circling and dancing to look at him. He sighed. If he was to only get a copper for pelts worth their actual weight in gold, he could only imagine the extortionate prices of food stuffs at the vendors. ‘One fish, please.’ ‘That’ll be a thousand gold and your firstborn child. Take it or leave it.’ Another long sigh. Third day in Talkro and he was still angry for that more than when they were ready to attack him.

  Not a single squirrel or bird larger than his palm had come anywhere near the house and he knew better than to test another hunt in the woods behind the shack. It was an open field of rolling misshapen rows of dirt surrounding the house up to the road, patches of twiggy whatsit plants here and some crabby grass there. Farmland, untilled, left of whoever lived here years before. And no rodents to be found. At least not from the back of the house where some wood had been piled against the old bricks and crumbling cement. He had waited most of the day hoping that perhaps a vulture or crow might pass by. Not even one. All he had was Vigora’s half full feedbag.

  A bit of mana would do some good, Lord. But he was no ancient Hebrew from the Bible. Just a hungry northern convert. He leaned his head back to look at the bag. He could barely see the grain inside with how the leather draped over it, but that was enough to make his stomach bubble and growl again. Vigora began prancing, having accepted that to be a new norm in a new home.

  What would it taste like? She seemed to like it. Constantly begging for it as if he didn’t feed her regularly to keep up with all her energetic mischief. Oranges didn’t surprise him. The potato made him wonder. Perhaps his neighbors might spare him one. No, that was a terrible idea. They were as intent in driving him out as the rest of them, albeit in a polite manner. What if he gave it a try? The thought made him wince. Two days without food was beginning to eat at him. Water had staved it off yesterday. And sleep helped.

  Draka rolled his eyes and labored to his feet. Loosening the boot had been a bad idea. He looked like he was walking on a large ball. With each slide of his foot and hop to the good one, he winced and ground his teeth. This was unbearable. Thankfully, sort of, he hadn’t the energy or ability to clean the mess of his temper yet, which left one of the few bowls not cracked or shattered near the doorway. He snatched it with his wounded leg lifted behind him and hopped instead of limping back to beside the bag. He scooped up some of the grain with his bowl and set it on his lap.

  Vigora’s prancing stopped abruptly, her ears facing him when she looked at him. Her tail swished, her front hooves bounced on the ground. Draka scooped up a handful and bit down with a crunch. Tasteless and hard as chewing rocks. His teeth strained against each bite.

  This had been a terrible idea but might get him through until he had the strength to hunt again. Or ride to the village on the other side of the river at the eastern end of his land, the opposite direction of Talkro. They were a bit friendlier when he had crossed through, but it would be well into the night if he left now. It would have to wait.

  Vigora’s nose plunked into the bowl before he could get another handful after a hard swallow. He flicked her nose. She lifted her nose enough to bite the end of the bowl and snatch it out of his hands. If he could, he would yell and growl, stomp and slap her nose to give it back. He nearly leapt all the way to his feet before the pain that shot from his ankle made him fall back down. She whipped her head a few times with the bowl sticking from her mouth, cupping her nose, before launching it down the road, where it shattered at Balor’s feet.

  Balor leapt back with a shout. Behind him, the smaller, younger, lankier version of him cackled. The dark haired woman beside him covered her mouth to hide her giggle and the possibly older, blonde woman on his other side had wide eyes below crushed brows.

  “Were you eating your horse’s food?” The blonde woman asked, narrowing those wide blue eyes. She thinned her lips, creasing the shallow dimples that would deepen with age.

  Draka’s eyes pled to the Lord in the sky before he fell onto his back with a long breath. Why am I being tortured like this, Lord? Am I Job or Jonah?

  Vigora sidestepped to in front of him and lowered her head with her ears lying back, her tail stiffly out behind her. She ran her hoof across the ground and huffed.

  The four stopped in their tracks and Balor held up his palms. The others were dish eyed and frozen.

  “We come in peace, horse, promise you me,” Balor took a cautious step forward. A bit louder, as if Draka were on the other side of the house, he said, “This is my wife, Aurelie, my eldest, Maudeline—Aurie and Maud, they be called by friends—and my son, Alden.” After a glance to the side in thought, “Don’t remember if I ever introduced myself, but I’m Balor Clevlan.”

  Draka pulled himself back onto his rump and tilted his head at them with narrowed eyes. He lightly patted Vigora’s side to signal that it was alright for them to approach, never taking his eyes from them. Vigora pranced proudly to the water barrel at the shack and began drinking, her eyes fixed on them as well. Her tail had relaxed but her ears were still tucked back. She was ready to defend him at a moment’s notice. He wondered if they understood her with how hesitantly they continued toward him.

  Aurie, the blonde, pressed the back of her hand on Balor’s chest. She wore the common plain dress that Draka had seen all throughout his journey after passing the southern mountain peaks. There was soot from the hearth remaining on her forehead from her smearing it away, probably in a hurry to get ready for their visit. Her face was heart shaped with high cheekbones and a shallow sharp chin. She had thick straw yellow brows and protruding upturned icy blue eyes. She had her hair pulled back with a ribbon that had missed long strands tucked behind her ears. No earrings or necklace of any kind, which had seemed odd to Draka no matter how many times he noticed it. In the eastern steppes and deserts, all wives had at least two earrings per ear and just as many necklaces. Even if they were wooden beads braided into twine, they always had them. And their hair was always covered. Here, not so much, like his homeland. If not for his introduction, he would never have assumed that she was married but for a thin iron band on a finger on her left hand.

  “Cockbiting ass!” Draka stifled wanting to smile at that. Never been called that before and it will never fade from his memory as long as he lives.

  Her head whipped toward Balor, thick lips sticking out nearly even with her pert nose from a stiff jaw, “You didn’t tell me he was that injured.”

  Balor shrugged at her as Maud’s mouth hung open in fascination with Vigora. Her dress was lighter than her mothers and tighter at her waist along the curve between her arms and hips. Her long brown hair was thicker and hung in waves over her ears, yet somehow away from her soft cheeks and thin long neck. She, too, had thick lips like her mother, perhaps a bit thicker, but her eyes were round bright green emeralds that beamed beneath thin, pecan brows. If her eyes had been darker, she might be a slightly smaller version of someone…

  “It’s even more pretty up close,” Maud said at almost a whisper, mesmerized. “White like snow.” Vigora raised her head proudly to look toward her. Her hands clasped her mouth at the sight.

  Her youthful round faced, brown eyed, redheaded brother only shrugged, his eyes fixed on the steel that glinted with each small breezy wave of the cloth over the doorway. Draka had set his sword there, just in case, but had paid it no mind until he saw the boy staring at it. A boy just past the age of finding a woman where Draka was from, but years too early in this part of the world. His red whiskers on a dimpled chin said as much.

  “Stay away from it,” Aurie hissed under her breath. Well, she’s still upset about them jumping over her. Poor fellow must be avoiding arguments with that woman with all the fervor of a coward from battle.

  Balor drew in a long breath before approaching Draka where he sat. Draka made like he would stand, instead adjusting himself to straighten his back while keeping his one leg straight. The gesture was noted. Then Draka gestured for him to explain why he was bringing his family to the ‘offlander’s’ house. That gesture was also noted, this time with a disparaging sigh.

  “We just wanted to see how you were settling in and…” Balor hesitated.

  Aurie finished his sentence with, “to find out how to cook your apparently legal plowing deer and, now, to do something about that foot.”

  Foot’s fine, Draka thought with a flick of his brows at her. It’s the ankle I want to cut off.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Probably shouldn’t have ridden so fast down our road, hmm?”

  That received a glare.

  She stepped toward him and stopped in front of him with a wave of her hand for him to scoot to the side, as if he had any room with the piling being right there. “I remember where Addy used to stash her rags, since I imagine you’re like every other man and have none of your own.”

  “Don’t be so harsh, my love,” Balor called to her, then looked to Draka with a sympathetic shake of his head and wave of his hands.

  “Can I enter, your nobleness, or shall I step over you? That foot needs washing and warm wrapping before it gets infected further.”

  Draka used his good leg and piling to lift himself. With a hop and limp, he blocked the door. He knew better than to let a strong-willed woman see the mess he had yet to clean. He had shoved the loose hay of the ripped mattress into a corner to sleep on and slid the debris away from dragging his foot across the floor to get to it. Otherwise, nothing else had been touched. He hadn’t the energy or the constitution to do more.

  “Really? We come here to show you some neighborly friendliness and you deem yourself too high and mighty to show us some hospitality?” Aurie stomped at him.

  Draka couldn’t help seeing Vigora’s mouth open and curl into a smile like she was going to laugh at the woman’s similar expression of contempt.

  Draka closed his eyes and stepped toward the side with the sword, brushing the cloth away from the doorway so that it covered its polished steel. Aurie was wide-eyed at the sight. Draka searched her face for the signs of the fury he had received from other women at such a sight, but her cheeks weren’t growing red, her forehead didn’t crease, and her eyes didn’t blaze. Instead, she looked about to cry.

  “I have some at the house.” She walked toward Balor, brushing Alden on the way. “Have him ride there and help him. I’ll get everything ready. Alden, come with me.”

  “Yes, ma,” Alden was leaning to one side, still trying to get a look at the sword, when he spun on his toes to follow her back down the road.

  Draka waved his hand at them with a shaking head and a weak smile.

  “Oh, no, I insist. You’re welcome to our table, friend,” Balor smiled widely at him.

  “Welcome?” Aurie spun back to Draka with one hand on her hip and the other pointing a finger that could poke through steel. “You get your uppity ass to that house and let me treat that foot, or I swear I will grab my broom and swat you all the way there like a spoiled child. And, while you’re there, you’ll show me how to cook your plowing meat, since you can’t tell me.”

  “I’d listen, I was you,” Alden piped.

  Draka raised a brow at her. How do you signal, ‘challenge accepted?’

  “Truly, I insist you join us for supper,” Balor looked worried he’d refuse. This must be important to him. Draka nodded agreement to the both of them.

  “Tarry for a few, I need to make him a salve as well,” Aurie’s tone had shifted with that. Less haughty, more soft and maternal.

  Balor watched as his wife and son made their way down the road, then turned back to him with a grin and thumb over his shoulder, “Wait until you taste her cooking. And she taught Maud everything she knows. My women can truly fill a man’s belly, trust you me.”

  Almost on cue, Maud giggled excitedly from beside Vigora’s water barrel. Her head was tilted and Vigora was licking and nibbling a wad of her dark hair from the side with glee. Maud rubbed the bridge of her nose and laughed. “I wish I could take it home with me forever!”

  Balor’s expression made Draka chuckle. The man looked like he was just asked to buy a castle by the one person he couldn’t say no to.

  Draka felt a bit better for that, despite the hunger and ache, and limped slowly down the steps toward them. He tapped Vigora’s nose for her to let go of Maud’s tangled hair bunch and nodded at Maud for her to mimic him as he put a hand to the bridge of Vigora’s high forehead.

  “Like this?” Maud reached and rubbed the same spot. Draka quickly pulled his hand away to pat Vigora’s side on her shoulder with a grinning nod. He showed Maud to only brush her hand with the grain of the coarse white fur. Maud hummed just as gleeful as Vigora was. If he didn’t build a stable for her, he will be hard pressed to keep her from greeting the girl every morning.

  “Is that the saddle there?” Balor pointed with a shifting foot. Draka nodded and Balor practically leapt to grab it. “Aurie will have my hide if you walk all that way. You know, I saw horses in Alcer Castle once. Well, from far away.” He hefted the saddle from the floor of the shack. When Draka pointed at the blanked folded beside it, Balor yelped, “That, too?” Draka nodded appreciatively. He balanced the saddle with one hand on a knee and draped the blanket over it with a flop.

  “You know, that’s where I met Aurie. Her family is from there. Good people. Her father was…” He carried them to Draka but pulled it away when Draka reached for it, “Just tell me.”

  Draka was stone faced with a raised brow as he tugged the blank off the saddle and threw it up and over Vigora’s back. Then he pointed at the saddle with an exaggerated nod. Balor stepped up to her, straining to lift the saddle high enough to go over her, though not fast enough to keep the belts and buckles from tucking under it. Draka shook his head, signaled for him to heft harder and faster. As if he had said it out loud, Balor did it.

  Vigora looked sideways at the two of them. Draka reassured her with a rub on her side. She turned back to Maud’s affection and tucked her nose to nip at the side of her dress, nearly lifting it to the girl’s thighs. Draka nearly fell over to swat her nose, but Maud only lifted her knee giddily to keep from revealing more than her thin ankles. She shoved her hand into a deep pocket where Vigora was nipping and revealed a pear.

  “You want this?” She held it out, stem up and her fingers wrapped around the bottom. “Can I feed her this?”

  Draka shrugged in surrender. The damned thing didn’t need more encouragement, but it was too late now. Before Vigora’s nose lifted for her to take a bite, Draka covered Maud’s hand with both of his. He slipped between her and the horse. Her eyes were wide with shock. Then, in the single moment that they met, they beamed at him. He downturned his to the pear as he softly pulled her fingers so her hand was flat. He felt the tremors in them, like wind through thin leaves during a storm. Nervousness, he figured. He let go of her hand. She let out a sigh of relief as Draka put his to his mouth and chomped to show her that Vigora might accidentally bite them off. She nodded that she understood and held it up for Vigora once he stepped aside to see Balor’s far-too-ecstatic grin at them. Draka’s brows pinched as he listened to Vigora’s rushed chomping.

  Oh, dear Lord, no.

  After he buckled the saddle, Draka found himself glancing at the distance to their house and then to Maud even as he put the bitless harness over Vigora’s schnauze. Ankle or not, she should ride there and not him. A man never lets a woman walk when there is a horse. It would make him look like a brute otherwise. But when he gestured for her to climb on, which she met with a glistening smile, Balor shook his head. Such odd customs here. Draka braced himself for another bout of ‘I insist.’

  “You better ride, friend. I insist.” There it is.

  Draka sighed in defeat. He grabbed the saddle and, with a wince and breathy grunt, pulled himself up enough to swing his pained leg over. Even the stirrup hurt when he tucked the foot into it. He looked down at them. Should he ask? He was still uncomfortable with the thought of having her walk.

  Balor seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and was too eager when he smiled, “She can ride, too, if you like.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Maud took a step back from them, the same fire in her eyes as Aurie. “I can walk.”

  Wait for it.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I give my blessing to this. It’s just a short bit, especially on this magnificent creature,” Balor reached for her hand to pull her toward them.

  Okay, maybe not.

  “I insist.”

  God help me, I might make that into a drinking game if he keeps this up.

  Maud stepped into her father with her head down but eyes on Draka, whispering barely loud enough for him to hear, “What are you doing?”

  “Why not?”

  Maud’s eyes narrowed at her father, her teeth gritted as she whispered, “It’s improper.”

  “Is it?” Balor’s eyes narrowed at her the same way.

  “Father, please. I’m not doing it. It makes us look like…”

  Like what? Draka tried to think. What would it mean to Isa? She was his closest friend in Hebsulem before it fell and she always took everything he did the wrong way. Once, he bought her a ring, but he’ll never forget her excitement when he gave it to her for staring at it whenever they passed the jeweler’s in the market. He meant it as a mere gift between friends. The look of horror and the long silence after he told her that still haunted him. Twenty years and that still stung at how na?ve he can be without thinking around these people.

  Maud looked as if her closest friend had stabbed her in the heart. “May I ride with you?” She refused to look up at Draka but he knew she was speaking to him. This was beginning to feel like that ring all over again.

  He shrugged in answer, confused as to why she was suddenly sad with the idea. She seemed happy with Vigora, what else would she want to do with her? He held out his hand with a halfhearted grin to look as offput as she was. She looked over her shoulder at Balor as she took it with both hands. Draka lifted her, surprised at how light she was, and turned her to be sideways across his lap.

  She never looked at him the entire way to the house. Not even a glance. Just sat in bitter silence. While Balor gleefully spoke of how his ancestors had settled Talkro over the ruins on the outskirts of some city called Strasbourg after the ‘Great Fires’ with emphatically waving hands, Draka knew something was wrong. This meant something different than mere politeness to her. To Balor.

  She smelled of pears and embarrassment.