“And they arrive tomorrow,” Harold said, turning away from the fire. “Sir Caulder sent word ahead. I took the liberty of telling them to meet us outside the tavern, since this is where you have been staying.”
Fletcher couldn’t help but smile at the news. The short time he and Berdon had spent together after his release had been fleeting. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the gruff blacksmith until that moment. For a second Fletcher felt a lump in his throat, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He forced them back and stood up.
“Okay, then,” he said, holding out his hand. “Equal partners.”
Uhtred’s bearded face broke into a grin. He ignored Fletcher’s hand and wrapped him in a bear hug. Fletcher patted him frantically on the back, the breath whooshing from him.
“You’re family now.” Thaissa smiled as Uhtred released him.
“As if he wasn’t already,” Othello laughed. He took Fletcher’s hand, and this time Fletcher winced in pain at the dwarf’s powerful grip.
“Congratulations,” Sylva said, grinning. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Well, that’s settled then,” Thaissa said. “Harold, do you have any more bad news, or can we relax now?”
“Good news actually,” Harold said, the hint of a smile suddenly playing on his lips. “For three of you, at least, and Cress when she returns. Believe it or not, I have brought a gift.”
The king had a leather satchel with him, left by one of the bodyguards before he had gone outside. Now Harold lifted it with a wince—the bag was heavier than it looked. It jingled as he placed it on the table.
“Your winnings from the mission. One thousand five hundred gold sovereigns, for destroying the goblin eggs and rescuing Lady Cav—or should I say, Lady Raleigh.”
“I had forgotten about that,” Sylva said, looking at the bag in awe. The top was open, and heavy golden coins sparkled within.
“Enough for each of you to hire a small army,” Harold said with a smile. “Speaking of which, that is another thing I have come here to discuss.”
He turned to Fletcher, the smile on his face fading somewhat.
“Fletcher, you are now a noble, with your own land. Legally, you have a responsibility to protect that land. Up until recently, Lord Forsyth owned Raleighshire and defended its borders from the orcs with his own men, a band of warriors camped at the old mountain pass. Soon, you will have to replace them.”
“How soon?” Fletcher asked, the weight of responsibility suddenly descending upon his shoulders.
“I do not know,” Harold said. “But it will be a few months at the most, before Lord Forsyth sends for them. You have the means now, at least. I sent word this morning to Corcillum’s central barracks that you will be needing men. There should be some volunteers there tomorrow. It is up to you to hire, train and outfit them.”
Fletcher tried not to think about the many tasks that faced him now. He didn’t even know where to begin.
Harold patted Fletcher on the shoulder and gave him an apologetic smile. Fletcher forced one in return. The king had a way of turning his life upside down whenever he showed up.
“Now, you should all get some rest,” Harold said, clapping his hands together. “Tomorrow is a new day.”
CHAPTER
34
THEY LOOKED LIKE BEGGARS. Their clothes were little more than rags, their belongings pushed on rickety handcarts and makeshift sleds that rattled along Corcillum’s cobbled streets. Fletcher barely recognized the men and women who slumped in exhaustion beside the tavern.
Then he saw him. Berdon. The man stood head and shoulders above the rest, his long red hair and beard tangled and unkempt. He was carrying two children on his back and dragged the largest cart behind him, but still he walked tall and proud.
He barely had enough time to let the children down before Fletcher’s arms were around him, face buried in Berdon’s shoulder. Beneath the shirt, Fletcher could feel his father’s ribs. The journey had not been easy on his adoptive parent.
“Easy there, son,” Berdon said, cupping Fletcher’s face in his big hands and smiling down at him. “It’s good to see you.”
“I thought I’d been through the wars,” Fletcher said, smiling through tears. “But you look like you’ve had it worse.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Berdon said, wiping at his own eyes. “We watched every minute of that mission of yours. Those orcs and goblins made the highway robbers look like milksops.”
“Robbers?” Fletcher asked, looking at the band and suddenly noticing their numbers were far lower than he remembered. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Not with Sir Caulder around.” Berdon winked, motioning over his shoulder with his bushy eyebrows.
Fletcher looked up to see the cantankerous old man striding toward them, still skinny as a rake but no worse for wear. The children were imitating his lopsided gait, and he feigned a swipe at them with his hook, sending them squealing to their parents. He grinned and patted Fletcher on the back with his good hand.
“All right, lad, nice to see you made it out in one piece. More than you could say I did when I fought them last, eh, boy?” He knocked his peg leg with his hook.
“I’m sure there are a couple of orcs out there who are missing a limb or two thanks to you,” Fletcher replied with a grin.
The people of Pelt were already being welcomed into the tavern, where the Thorsager family was waiting with warm food and fresh clothing. Fletcher caught a glimpse of Janet, their spokesperson, ignoring a greeting from Thaissa and stomping into the tavern without giving her a second glance. He grimaced at her behavior and put it down to tiredness from their long journey.
“Right, so where are these recruits Harold informed me of?” Sir Caulder growled, squinting around. “His message said there would be plenty of them for me to whip into shape. They should be out here, helping us get this baggage sorted!”
“We haven’t gone to collect them yet,” Fletcher replied. “They’re in the barracks, a few streets from here. Although, in all honesty, I’m not sure if any will show up.”
“No time like the present,” Sir Caulder barked. “We could use some likely lads to help sort this mess out. Well, come on, don’t dawdle.”
Berdon chuckled at Fletcher’s expression of incredulity and gave him a gentle nudge.
“You go on, son. I’ve been to this tavern before; I’ll make sure everyone gets squared away.”
Fletcher stared at Berdon.
“What, you didn’t know?” Berdon laughed. “When you were in prison, the Thorsagers and I were busy petitioning the king for your trial, remember? Uhtred and I have spent many a night in there, sharing our sorrows over a beer. Of course, that was before the Anvil attacks started and it closed down.”
Fletcher felt a twinge of shame. He knew so little of Berdon’s life now.
“All right,” Fletcher said, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “But you tell Uhtred I will need the transports and our dwarven volunteers ready to set out, first thing tomorrow morning.”