Read Online Crucible by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page B

head, his thin wisps of hair caught in a breeze.
    â€œBut you’ve enough to eat,” Cera pressed.
    â€œAye, and wood enough for warmth,” Ondon said. “We took your example, and we’ve crammed people together in the larger buildings, brought them in from the separate farms,” he hesitated. “Except one,” he continued. “Man named Ager. Keeps to himself.”
    â€œOh?” Cera lifted an eyebrow, inviting more.
    Ondon shook his head regretfully. “Used to brew a cider, sweet and smooth. Perfect for a cold drink on a hot day. But he went with our Old Lord and his sons to war.”
    â€œA soldier?”
    â€œNay, Lady. He was one of the Old Lord’s herders,” Ondon said. “Tended to the
chirras
.”
    Cera’s interest was piqued. She’d found a blanket of
chirra
wool in her chambers when she’d arrived, as soft a wool as she’d ever felt. She’d been told that the Old Lord’s great-grandfather had brought them down from the north and tried to start a herd. Most had died of the heat, but some had lived and thrived. The wool came from the under layer of wool and was rare as hen’s teeth. But the herd had been taken as pack animals for the army. “Does he have any of the animals?” Cera asked.
    Ondon shook his head. “None survived that I know of, Lady. Poor Ager came back broken. He’s not who he once was. Took over the old charcoaler’s hut in the woods and set to drinking himself into a constant stupor.” Ondon sighed. “Not doing it with cider, either. He’s brewing drink that’s cheap and hard, and he’s drinking it as fast as it ferments.”
    Gareth looked back over his shoulder. “I think I remember him. Tall fellow, dark hair? He’d gift the Lord with a barrel of cider every year.”
    â€œAye,” Ondon said. “He’s a gift for brewing, but his heart was in those
chirras
. No one else had the touch with them that he did. Managed the entire herd for the Lord and saw to the crossbreeding and every birthing. But the war hit him hard. Harder than most.”
    â€œI must talk to him,” Cera said. “If there is a chance to revive the herd, he’d be the one to know how, yes?” Excitement sparked through her. “Where is he?”
    â€œNot far.” Ondon eyed her with a frown. “But, Lady—”
    â€œNo ‘buts,’” Cera interrupted. “If there is any chance, I will take it. He might leap at the chance to rebuild the herd.”
    â€œMaybe.” Ondon’s doubt was clear, but he shrugged. “It’s not far, down a small path where the road curves to the north.” He clucked to his pony to pick up the pace. “I best go with you. To make introductions.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    The hut was in the deepest part of the woods, a cold burn pit in front of it. Ondon heaved himself down, the pony cart creaking in protest. “I’ll see if he’s up for visitors,” he said, taking his cane from the cart and limping toward the door.
    Cera dismounted, along with Gareth and Alena. The forest here was just as lovely, the sun dappling the colored leaves. Cera admired the bright foliage as she heard Ondon moving around inside, talking softly.
    Ondon emerged to stand in the doorway, shaking his head. “He’s not in good shape, Lady. Best we come back another time.”
    â€œNonsense. I must speak with him.” Cera marched forward and pushed past Ondon into the hut, forcing him to step back in her eagerness.
    The smell of an unwashed body and the sharp scent of hard drink hung in the air. There was little light exceptwhat came through the door. Cera saw a cold hearth, a rickety wooden table, and a man slumped over it, bottles and unwashed dishes all around.
    The man roused, moaning.
    â€œAger?” Cera stepped closer, trying not to wrinkle her nose.
    â€œI don’t think this is a