The Smith family farm was not anything out of the ordinary. A large central farm house had equipped to shelter the original owner and all his progeny with a level of both function and comfort. Compared to the snug cottage in town, it appeared a mansion though it was not. Exposed beams, plaster walls, the house was furnished with simple, sturdy goods. Mature trees dotted the space between the home and the other surrounding buildings, limbs swaying in the crisp, Autumn breeze. A barn with hayloft, chicken coop, granary and vegetable garden, each in good repair, were spread out along dirt paths in a close radius to the house.
In the early morning hours the young Baron stood outside the main house at the Smith farm, deep in conversation with a hooded man on a sleek black horse. He was freshly washed, in clean clothes, and his wound was dressed, though he had not slept since waking up early the previous morning. "...and are being marched south towards Cadentia as we speak. Casualties are lighter than we expected, and collateral damage in RhyDin negligible... Your wisdom has seen us through disaster to victory once more, milord."
Only a knight would offer that level of flattery after a night like this one. "Go with God, Sir Clovis." The man turned away and galloped off into the woods with a sharp cry and a snap of the reins, and Alain made his way back in through the door with a broad, thin black book tucked under his arm.
Well, there had been better (or at least more peaceful) nights at the farm, and the trip usually took place in daylight... but all in all, they were at the farm, safe and alive, clean and bandaged, and so Johnny was feeling pretty good about life. Apart from the pain in his now-mended thigh, that was. Now he had the leg in question propped up on a footstool while he sat one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire, and he was drinking strong black coffee.
With Alain having seen to Johnny's leg and Val to help carry the younger children inside and to their beds, Sianna had claimed the first shower and scrubbed herself raw to remove the stench of the evening's activities and let the hot water soothe her swollen joints and aching muscles. The others had all been grateful to be that much father from the city and keeping to themselves, had sought sleep in empty bedrooms or the hay loft. Sianna, however, did not rest or sit. Instead she was cracking eggs into a large bowl. Having heavily doused herself in homemade liniment, the aromas of mint and camphor and geranium blended sweetly with that of the coffee. Dawn was coming, and with it breakfast.
Alain took a seat on one of the benches with a low, stifled groan and grabbed a steaming mug of coffee from the low hand-carved table before him. "The ambush worked," he offered to Johnny with a flicker of his gaze, and raised his drink for a sip.
He glanced from Alain to Sianna to be sure she'd heard the information, then looked back at Alain. Whose resemblance was even more uncanny with the early morning light - not so much in skin or hair, but the underlying structure of their features and build. Johnny was a few years older, with lines of sun and laughter starting to cut his face, but... they could be cousins, if not brothers.
"Ya pick up a goo' few of'em, then?"
The Baron gave Johnny a more lingering look, then. They were thinking the same thing. The silversmith could be his cousin, and frankly, Alain would trade him for the male cousins he could already claim in an instant.
She had heard, and sighed in relief at the news. Adding flour and more ingredients, she began to knead the dough for the scones as she listened. Outside, in the distance, the lowing of freshly milked cows carried on the breeze.
"Fifty-four hired mercenaries and nine slavers, some of them real big shots. We've already brought about forty escaped slaves into the Barony, and there's more still coming." Alain folded his hands. "But it's just a few pieces of good news out of a complete disaster... It never should have come to this, and I'm sorry your family got caught in the middle of our fight."
It was no one's fault, but still his apology removed some of the tension from her shoulders. "Ye could no' prevent it, Alain." Flour was sprinkled across the butcher block and then her hands lifted the shapeless dough from the bowl to begin shaping it into the scones. The firelight reflecting on her face made her stand out against the waning moonlight pouring in the window behind.
"Ya sure weren' th' one responsible for me chargin' headlong inta tha' mess, an' ya saved my skin at it, bro. There's nothin' ya have ta be sorry for." Johnny took another sip of the coffee and shifted in his chair. "Besides, I can tell ya for myself tha' if'n I'd known wha'-all ya were up to, gettin' these folks free, I'da volunteered ta help as I could a while back." He shot another glance at Sianna - apologetic for not consulting her on the statement first, but also very firmly resolved in its truth.
What was she to say to him... 'no?' She could not fault him for being himself, and it was not any different than how he had been the night they had first met. It seemed their coupling had landed them in a fair share of scrapes and scraps, and while the cause was never directly tied to them, neither hesitated for jumping headlong into whatever came their way. Still, her eyes rolled theatrically as she returned his smile with a genuine one of her own.
Alain also looked at Sianna, over his shoulder at her figure in the kitchen, and back at Johnny. "But we're set apart, you and I -- you've a family to look after. You've seen how deadly the fighting is, but it's dangerous for everyone involved. The road guides, the street watchers, the safehouse keepers, they all share the danger. Usually we can protect them, or they can hide, or get away... Not always," he added darkly, punctuating with a sip of his coffee."
Her lips twitched in a smirk as she carried the tray and slipped it into the bricked oven. "Oh aye, we've seen th' fighting... Did no' expect certain parts of it, but I dinna think we thought it would be a walk in th' park." Closing the oven door, Sianna moved to the icebox and pulled out a salt back of pork.
"Nah, never expected somethin' like tha' wouldn' be risky. Wha's tha' ya were sayin' abou' safehouse keepers, though?" Johnny took another sip of his coffee and picked up the thread of conversation that interested him. "How many of these folks are ya ferryin' ou' of th' city say, in a month?"
Alain's forehead sank into his hand; he looked to one side at Sianna. After seeing her anger back at the house in RhyDin (and later against the construct) he wasn't going to proceed without her permission, an affirmative, some sign of interest.
She was wielding a knife, slicing the salt back into perfectly thick strips of bacon, just waiting to be fried to crispy perfection. Still, her head was canted to hear the reply. The anger had not been eradicated, but it was not as wildly uncontrolled at present.
In the early morning hours the young Baron stood outside the main house at the Smith farm, deep in conversation with a hooded man on a sleek black horse. He was freshly washed, in clean clothes, and his wound was dressed, though he had not slept since waking up early the previous morning. "...and are being marched south towards Cadentia as we speak. Casualties are lighter than we expected, and collateral damage in RhyDin negligible... Your wisdom has seen us through disaster to victory once more, milord."
Only a knight would offer that level of flattery after a night like this one. "Go with God, Sir Clovis." The man turned away and galloped off into the woods with a sharp cry and a snap of the reins, and Alain made his way back in through the door with a broad, thin black book tucked under his arm.
Well, there had been better (or at least more peaceful) nights at the farm, and the trip usually took place in daylight... but all in all, they were at the farm, safe and alive, clean and bandaged, and so Johnny was feeling pretty good about life. Apart from the pain in his now-mended thigh, that was. Now he had the leg in question propped up on a footstool while he sat one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire, and he was drinking strong black coffee.
With Alain having seen to Johnny's leg and Val to help carry the younger children inside and to their beds, Sianna had claimed the first shower and scrubbed herself raw to remove the stench of the evening's activities and let the hot water soothe her swollen joints and aching muscles. The others had all been grateful to be that much father from the city and keeping to themselves, had sought sleep in empty bedrooms or the hay loft. Sianna, however, did not rest or sit. Instead she was cracking eggs into a large bowl. Having heavily doused herself in homemade liniment, the aromas of mint and camphor and geranium blended sweetly with that of the coffee. Dawn was coming, and with it breakfast.
Alain took a seat on one of the benches with a low, stifled groan and grabbed a steaming mug of coffee from the low hand-carved table before him. "The ambush worked," he offered to Johnny with a flicker of his gaze, and raised his drink for a sip.
He glanced from Alain to Sianna to be sure she'd heard the information, then looked back at Alain. Whose resemblance was even more uncanny with the early morning light - not so much in skin or hair, but the underlying structure of their features and build. Johnny was a few years older, with lines of sun and laughter starting to cut his face, but... they could be cousins, if not brothers.
"Ya pick up a goo' few of'em, then?"
The Baron gave Johnny a more lingering look, then. They were thinking the same thing. The silversmith could be his cousin, and frankly, Alain would trade him for the male cousins he could already claim in an instant.
She had heard, and sighed in relief at the news. Adding flour and more ingredients, she began to knead the dough for the scones as she listened. Outside, in the distance, the lowing of freshly milked cows carried on the breeze.
"Fifty-four hired mercenaries and nine slavers, some of them real big shots. We've already brought about forty escaped slaves into the Barony, and there's more still coming." Alain folded his hands. "But it's just a few pieces of good news out of a complete disaster... It never should have come to this, and I'm sorry your family got caught in the middle of our fight."
It was no one's fault, but still his apology removed some of the tension from her shoulders. "Ye could no' prevent it, Alain." Flour was sprinkled across the butcher block and then her hands lifted the shapeless dough from the bowl to begin shaping it into the scones. The firelight reflecting on her face made her stand out against the waning moonlight pouring in the window behind.
"Ya sure weren' th' one responsible for me chargin' headlong inta tha' mess, an' ya saved my skin at it, bro. There's nothin' ya have ta be sorry for." Johnny took another sip of the coffee and shifted in his chair. "Besides, I can tell ya for myself tha' if'n I'd known wha'-all ya were up to, gettin' these folks free, I'da volunteered ta help as I could a while back." He shot another glance at Sianna - apologetic for not consulting her on the statement first, but also very firmly resolved in its truth.
What was she to say to him... 'no?' She could not fault him for being himself, and it was not any different than how he had been the night they had first met. It seemed their coupling had landed them in a fair share of scrapes and scraps, and while the cause was never directly tied to them, neither hesitated for jumping headlong into whatever came their way. Still, her eyes rolled theatrically as she returned his smile with a genuine one of her own.
Alain also looked at Sianna, over his shoulder at her figure in the kitchen, and back at Johnny. "But we're set apart, you and I -- you've a family to look after. You've seen how deadly the fighting is, but it's dangerous for everyone involved. The road guides, the street watchers, the safehouse keepers, they all share the danger. Usually we can protect them, or they can hide, or get away... Not always," he added darkly, punctuating with a sip of his coffee."
Her lips twitched in a smirk as she carried the tray and slipped it into the bricked oven. "Oh aye, we've seen th' fighting... Did no' expect certain parts of it, but I dinna think we thought it would be a walk in th' park." Closing the oven door, Sianna moved to the icebox and pulled out a salt back of pork.
"Nah, never expected somethin' like tha' wouldn' be risky. Wha's tha' ya were sayin' abou' safehouse keepers, though?" Johnny took another sip of his coffee and picked up the thread of conversation that interested him. "How many of these folks are ya ferryin' ou' of th' city say, in a month?"
Alain's forehead sank into his hand; he looked to one side at Sianna. After seeing her anger back at the house in RhyDin (and later against the construct) he wasn't going to proceed without her permission, an affirmative, some sign of interest.
She was wielding a knife, slicing the salt back into perfectly thick strips of bacon, just waiting to be fried to crispy perfection. Still, her head was canted to hear the reply. The anger had not been eradicated, but it was not as wildly uncontrolled at present.