Read Online Lord of Mountains: A Novel of the Change by S. M. Stirling - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: S. M. Stirling
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put it on dog biscuit. Though it makes it taste a lot better. The dog biscuit, not the honey.”
“Boiled turnip without salt would make dog biscuit taste better,” Huon said, and they both chuckled. Then: “Let’s take a swim. My hands and face are sticky and we’re going to be awfully busy the next couple of days. I doubt there’ll be baths.”
“Have we got time?”
“If we don’t take too long,” Huon said, with a glance at the sun and a mental estimate of the distance to Castle Maryhill. “It’s only twelve miles, maybe fourteen. Steep, but steep downhill and the road’s good.”
They stripped and ran splashing into the edge of the pond, then struck out; it was big enough to swim comfortably, though only the center was more than waist-deep. There were fish in the water, some sort of small catfish, and after a while they started trying to catch them with their hands, whooping and splashing and falling.
Wait a minute,
Huon thought.
That’s someone
else
laughing.
He stood up dripping, appalled at his own carelessness. Lioncel was an instant behind him. He could lunge for their weapons—
Girls
! he thought.
For a moment he simply thought that. Then he realized that the water right here was only up to his thighs and squatted abruptly; Lioncel did too. The girls laughed again, not giggling but outright laughing. They stood side-by-side next to the saddles, but they didn’t seem to have touched anything. Huon blinked and started seeing details; one of them was about his own age, he thought, and the other a year or two older. The younger one was taller and buxom and the hair that flowed out from under her kerchief was the color of dark honey with brighter sun-streaks. The older was more slender and dark-haired like him.
They were both brown as berries with the summer sun, dressed in the short-and-long tunic combination of countrywomen, with coarse burlap aprons belted on and their under-tunics drawn up a bit for ease of movement, which exposed their calves and bare feet. Both of them had baskets woven of osier-withies full of apples, which explained what they were doing here, picking the last fruit to come ripe in the orchard.
Peasants, of course,
he thought, and tried to put authority into his voice.
“What do you two think you’re doing?”
It was hard to project authority when you were squatting on your hams in slightly muddy water and were buck-naked except for your crucifix on its chain. He felt the blush running up his face.
At least it doesn’t show as much with me as it does with Lioncel
, he thought.
The other boy was very pale except for his face and forearms. Then Huon rated himself for cowardice; he was the elder, he should be dealing with this.
The older girl answered through her laughter: “We’re watching the pretty little page-boys at play!”
“We’re not pages!” Lioncel burst out indignantly; it didn’t help that
his
voice broke in a squeak in mid-protest. “And you girls ought to be ashamed of yourselves! We’re squires, fighting-men!”
Huon pushed himself back, bobbing in the water until he could stand up, dripping, with the level about at his belly-button. Lioncel followed, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his damp hair out of his eyes.
“Oooh, Oriabelle, they’re
fighting-men
,” the dark girl said. “I’m so
scared
.”
“Let’s bombard them, Ava! With
trebuchets!
”
The honey-haired girl named Oriabelle picked an apple out of her basket and took a bite out of it, then threw it at him—fairly hard, and it would have spatted on his forehead if he hadn’t caught it. The other girl threw at Lioncel, who was distracted, and it
did
hit him; the peasant girls seemed to think that was extremely funny.
“
We
ought to be ashamed of ourselves?” Oriabelle said. “Ava and I are
working
. You’re going around naked as frogs! We ought to run off with your clothes and leave you to ride home that way!”
Dark Ava giggled this time and did a
“Boiled turnip without salt would make dog biscuit taste better,” Huon said, and they both chuckled. Then: “Let’s take a swim. My hands and face are sticky and we’re going to be awfully busy the next couple of days. I doubt there’ll be baths.”
“Have we got time?”
“If we don’t take too long,” Huon said, with a glance at the sun and a mental estimate of the distance to Castle Maryhill. “It’s only twelve miles, maybe fourteen. Steep, but steep downhill and the road’s good.”
They stripped and ran splashing into the edge of the pond, then struck out; it was big enough to swim comfortably, though only the center was more than waist-deep. There were fish in the water, some sort of small catfish, and after a while they started trying to catch them with their hands, whooping and splashing and falling.
Wait a minute,
Huon thought.
That’s someone
else
laughing.
He stood up dripping, appalled at his own carelessness. Lioncel was an instant behind him. He could lunge for their weapons—
Girls
! he thought.
For a moment he simply thought that. Then he realized that the water right here was only up to his thighs and squatted abruptly; Lioncel did too. The girls laughed again, not giggling but outright laughing. They stood side-by-side next to the saddles, but they didn’t seem to have touched anything. Huon blinked and started seeing details; one of them was about his own age, he thought, and the other a year or two older. The younger one was taller and buxom and the hair that flowed out from under her kerchief was the color of dark honey with brighter sun-streaks. The older was more slender and dark-haired like him.
They were both brown as berries with the summer sun, dressed in the short-and-long tunic combination of countrywomen, with coarse burlap aprons belted on and their under-tunics drawn up a bit for ease of movement, which exposed their calves and bare feet. Both of them had baskets woven of osier-withies full of apples, which explained what they were doing here, picking the last fruit to come ripe in the orchard.
Peasants, of course,
he thought, and tried to put authority into his voice.
“What do you two think you’re doing?”
It was hard to project authority when you were squatting on your hams in slightly muddy water and were buck-naked except for your crucifix on its chain. He felt the blush running up his face.
At least it doesn’t show as much with me as it does with Lioncel
, he thought.
The other boy was very pale except for his face and forearms. Then Huon rated himself for cowardice; he was the elder, he should be dealing with this.
The older girl answered through her laughter: “We’re watching the pretty little page-boys at play!”
“We’re not pages!” Lioncel burst out indignantly; it didn’t help that
his
voice broke in a squeak in mid-protest. “And you girls ought to be ashamed of yourselves! We’re squires, fighting-men!”
Huon pushed himself back, bobbing in the water until he could stand up, dripping, with the level about at his belly-button. Lioncel followed, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his damp hair out of his eyes.
“Oooh, Oriabelle, they’re
fighting-men
,” the dark girl said. “I’m so
scared
.”
“Let’s bombard them, Ava! With
trebuchets!
”
The honey-haired girl named Oriabelle picked an apple out of her basket and took a bite out of it, then threw it at him—fairly hard, and it would have spatted on his forehead if he hadn’t caught it. The other girl threw at Lioncel, who was distracted, and it
did
hit him; the peasant girls seemed to think that was extremely funny.
“
We
ought to be ashamed of ourselves?” Oriabelle said. “Ava and I are
working
. You’re going around naked as frogs! We ought to run off with your clothes and leave you to ride home that way!”
Dark Ava giggled this time and did a
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