boy. Piven might be able to help him.
Greven shook his head. It was a glorious Blossomtide day, and this meeting had nothing to do with that old fear. Still, he needed to summon his courage to force himself across the threshold of the inn.
Minton Woodlet was not a direct route to anywhere in particular but it did serve as a logical stopping point for anyoneheading to or from the island of Medhaven. As he cast a glance around the main front room of the inn, he saw only strangers—all travellers, he assumed—aside from the familiar faces of the people who worked at the inn.
‘Ho, Jon,’ someone said and Greven looked over to the counter where the innkeeper was drying and lining up cleaned mugs for the day’s service.
‘Hello, Derrin.’
‘They’re out the back, in the courtyard. Warming their bones, they said.’ Derrin smiled. ‘They said they haven’t seen you for donkey’s anni. Family?’
Greven shook his head. He wanted to say as little as possible about these people he feared. ‘People I knew when I was very young.’
Innkeeper Derrin nodded. ‘Plenty to chew the cud over then,’ he said. ‘Shall I send you out a pot of dinch? They’re taking their time over a morning meal.’
Greven nodded. ‘A strong one.’ He moved to the back of the chamber and through a doorway into the back of the property where a picturesque walled courtyard opened up. A small, circular fountain in the middle was the focal point. Around it skipped two children, the boy older than the girl, who was presumably his sister. And sitting at the back wall, talking quietly, was a couple in their middle age. They both stood as Greven walked towards them, and Greven was taken aback to see that they appeared as nervous as he felt.
‘I’m Lark.’ He pasted an expression of puzzlement on his face. ‘You asked to see me?’
‘Clovis and Reuth Barrow,’ the man replied. ‘These are our children.’ He held out his hand.
Greven prided himself on being a good judge of character. The face of the man standing before him struck him as sensitive. Despite his broad chest and height, Clovis Barrow didn’t seem to be in any way threatening. In fact, it was the dark-eyed woman in whom Greven sensed real strength. He shook both of their hands.
‘Welcome to Minton Woodlet, though what interest it could possibly hold for you I don’t know.’ He forced a gentle smile. ‘This is a very sleepy hamlet.’
His amiable tone broke through the initial tension. ‘Will you join us?’ Reuth said. ‘We’ve just finished breaking a late fast but—’
‘Dinch is on the way,’ Greven said reassuringly. Curiously, they sounded more unsure about him than he felt about them. Why would they be so hesitant?
‘Please,’ Clovis said, gesturing to a third chair at the small table.
‘Forgive our mess,’ Reuth added, trying to clear away the debris of four meals.
Greven sat, watching his hosts fuss. They were both roughly the same age—the woman slightly older, perhaps—and now that he looked at them more closely he would put them at approaching fifty anni, older than he’d first thought. The woman was silvering at the hairline while the man’s hair and beard were streaked with grey throughout—and yet their children were young. Second marriage, Greven guessed. But what had this family to do with him? He waited, preferring to let them do the talking.
‘I know you must be wondering why we asked to see you,’ Clovis began.
‘I am,’ Greven replied.
‘Please don’t fear us, Mr Lark,’ Reuth assured, looking at her husband and nodding encouragingly.
‘I don’t,’ Greven lied.
‘We’re not here to cause trouble,’ Clovis continued.
‘Thank you,’ Greven said, determined to give little of himself away.
Reuth looked up as the door into the courtyard banged. ‘I think your dinch is here, Mr Lark.’
‘Call me Jon,’ Greven said, ‘since apparently we’re all old friends.’
The man and wife nodded, glancing nervously
Greven shook his head. It was a glorious Blossomtide day, and this meeting had nothing to do with that old fear. Still, he needed to summon his courage to force himself across the threshold of the inn.
Minton Woodlet was not a direct route to anywhere in particular but it did serve as a logical stopping point for anyoneheading to or from the island of Medhaven. As he cast a glance around the main front room of the inn, he saw only strangers—all travellers, he assumed—aside from the familiar faces of the people who worked at the inn.
‘Ho, Jon,’ someone said and Greven looked over to the counter where the innkeeper was drying and lining up cleaned mugs for the day’s service.
‘Hello, Derrin.’
‘They’re out the back, in the courtyard. Warming their bones, they said.’ Derrin smiled. ‘They said they haven’t seen you for donkey’s anni. Family?’
Greven shook his head. He wanted to say as little as possible about these people he feared. ‘People I knew when I was very young.’
Innkeeper Derrin nodded. ‘Plenty to chew the cud over then,’ he said. ‘Shall I send you out a pot of dinch? They’re taking their time over a morning meal.’
Greven nodded. ‘A strong one.’ He moved to the back of the chamber and through a doorway into the back of the property where a picturesque walled courtyard opened up. A small, circular fountain in the middle was the focal point. Around it skipped two children, the boy older than the girl, who was presumably his sister. And sitting at the back wall, talking quietly, was a couple in their middle age. They both stood as Greven walked towards them, and Greven was taken aback to see that they appeared as nervous as he felt.
‘I’m Lark.’ He pasted an expression of puzzlement on his face. ‘You asked to see me?’
‘Clovis and Reuth Barrow,’ the man replied. ‘These are our children.’ He held out his hand.
Greven prided himself on being a good judge of character. The face of the man standing before him struck him as sensitive. Despite his broad chest and height, Clovis Barrow didn’t seem to be in any way threatening. In fact, it was the dark-eyed woman in whom Greven sensed real strength. He shook both of their hands.
‘Welcome to Minton Woodlet, though what interest it could possibly hold for you I don’t know.’ He forced a gentle smile. ‘This is a very sleepy hamlet.’
His amiable tone broke through the initial tension. ‘Will you join us?’ Reuth said. ‘We’ve just finished breaking a late fast but—’
‘Dinch is on the way,’ Greven said reassuringly. Curiously, they sounded more unsure about him than he felt about them. Why would they be so hesitant?
‘Please,’ Clovis said, gesturing to a third chair at the small table.
‘Forgive our mess,’ Reuth added, trying to clear away the debris of four meals.
Greven sat, watching his hosts fuss. They were both roughly the same age—the woman slightly older, perhaps—and now that he looked at them more closely he would put them at approaching fifty anni, older than he’d first thought. The woman was silvering at the hairline while the man’s hair and beard were streaked with grey throughout—and yet their children were young. Second marriage, Greven guessed. But what had this family to do with him? He waited, preferring to let them do the talking.
‘I know you must be wondering why we asked to see you,’ Clovis began.
‘I am,’ Greven replied.
‘Please don’t fear us, Mr Lark,’ Reuth assured, looking at her husband and nodding encouragingly.
‘I don’t,’ Greven lied.
‘We’re not here to cause trouble,’ Clovis continued.
‘Thank you,’ Greven said, determined to give little of himself away.
Reuth looked up as the door into the courtyard banged. ‘I think your dinch is here, Mr Lark.’
‘Call me Jon,’ Greven said, ‘since apparently we’re all old friends.’
The man and wife nodded, glancing nervously
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