Read Online Crucible by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online

Ceraratha of Sandbriar looked around the one-room stone hut in amazement. “Are you telling me that Heralds, the ‘Arrows of the Queen,’ sleep in this—this
hovel
?”
    â€œIt’s
not
a hovel.” Ondon, the headman of the nearest village, puffed up in offense. “It’s kept to the rule set by the Crown, it is.”
    Alena, Cera’s handmaiden, sniffed, clearly unimpressed.
    â€œThat outer foyer is little better than a stall,” Cera looked around, trying to understand. “And this inner room is—” She stared about at the simple hearth, the wooden bed boxes barely the width of one man, and the plainest of table and chairs, but didn’t continue. The less said the better. She didn’t want to offend the poor man, but honestly. . . .
    Alena, however, didn’t hesitate to voice her disapproval. “There’s no linens, no dishes, no—” She walked to the hearth and blew away the dust.
    â€œThere’s crockery aplenty.” Ondon used the tip of his cane to lift the lid of a wooden chest, revealing a few pots and bowls and crocks sealed with wax. “They bring their own bedding.”
    â€œYou are telling me that Heralds sleep here, instead of at an inn or in a proper house?” Cera asked again.
    â€œIt’s true enough that it’s not the luxury of Haven, Lady,” Ondon said staunchly. “But it’s warm in the cold and cool in the heat, and they fumigate before they—”
    â€œI do not know that word,” Cera exchanged a glancewith Alena. The language of Valdemar still confused her at times.
    â€œFumigate,” the headman repeated. “You know, get rid of the mites and fleas and lice—”
    With a gasp, Cera and Alena both swept up their skirts. “They must
delouse
?” Cera couldn’t hide her shock.
    â€œWe keep it stocked with such food stuffs as will keep.” Ondon’s voice grew more defensive. “And there’s a good well and a fine rack of firewood outside.” His face flushed red under thinning hair. “I know you being from Rethwellan are not used to our ways, but it’s ready at any moment to house a Herald and their Companion.”
    â€œOur lady means no offense,” a voice said from the doorway. “Lady Cera, the Crown maintains the Waystations so that the Heralds show no favor to any. At least, that’s what my grandfather says.” Young Gareth stood in the entryway, leaning on his boar spear.
    â€œWell, your grandfather would know,” Cera admitted. Gareth’s grandfather Athelnor was her Steward, and his grandmother Marga was her Chatelaine.
    Gareth had shot up like a weed since her arrival in Sandbriar, seemingly growing taller as one watched. Stronger, too, due in large part to his love of boar hunting. His voice was a recent change, one even he wasn’t quite used to yet. It tended to crack at odd moments, embarrassing him mightily. She still remembered his squeak and blush when he’d first offered to accompany her on this tour of her lands, the farthest she’d traveled since taking possession in the spring.
    Athelnor had argued against it, but Cera had insisted. They’d finally compromised on long day trips, with Gareth at her side. She needed to learn as much as she could about her lands, and quickly. She faced her first winter in Sandbriar, now war-torn and drained of resources by the Tedrel Wars. In truth, she had far more serious worries than Waystations, but it was unsettling to see Heralds treated so.
    â€œWell,” Cera said as she turned and headed for the door, careful to keep her skirts high, “at the least we could see it well cleaned and fleas-bane hung about.”
    â€œLavender, too,” Alena said. “It would be an improvement.”
    Cera emerged into the sun, and she and Alena mounted their horses as Ondon secured the Waystation door. Gareth was already up on his horse,