Beneath the Twisted Trees by Bradley P. Beaulieu

Author:Bradley P. Beaulieu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2019-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 34

ALONG THE SLOPES OF AN ESTATE known as Stormhaven, Kameyl strolled between two chest-high rows of grapevines. In her left hand she held her ebon blade, Brushing Wing, still in its wooden scabbard. Grapes hung from the vines like clutches of pearls half hidden by lazy, fluttering leaves. In a rare concession to the demands of fashion, Kameyl wore a fetching dress of bronze and blue. She quite liked how it matched her skin tone. And besides, it wasn’t every day her favorite cousin crossed the threshold into manhood.

Hearing footsteps approach, she glanced back to see Rezzan sprinting to catch up after having a last word with his weeping mother. A tall boy, he’d inherited the family frame. His sea green silk kaftan was embroidered with thread of crimson and burnt umber along the cuffs and neck. His trousers were stuffed into tall, elkskin boots with matching threading. The golden circlet on his brow kept his long hair back from his face. The style of his raiment was common enough among the houses of Goldenhill, but the royal bearing in him would be plain even if he’d worn sirwal trousers and a vest. His father had fostered it in him since before Rezzan was old enough to sprint along the vineyard’s endless rows of vines.

Rezzan finally caught up and fell into step alongside her. As the hubbub of the massive gathering behind them dwindled, so did the tightness in his frame. He wasn’t normally the nervous sort, but it was an important day.

Kameyl was nervous too. She wanted him to do well. War stood on the horizon, and Sharakhai had need of all the good auspices it could get. There would be many brave deeds done in the days to come, many heroes made; who could tell besides Thaash himself whether Rezzan would be one of them?

“Don’t concentrate on the cut,” Kameyl told him as they trudged along a sharper incline.

“I know,” Rezzan replied. “I’m to concentrate on the fig falling.”

She glanced sidelong at him as they walked. “Have you decided who you’ll give them to?”

Rezzan shrugged. “Almost. I’ll know once they’re cut.”

It was a decision Rezzan had been putting off for days, but Kameyl let it be. Cloud his mind now and he’d likely bungle the whole affair. Soon they’d reached the top of the low hill where an ancient fig tree stood. After considering the branches carefully, Kameyl drew Brushing Wing and sliced one free, a branch with three plump figs on it. She caught it neatly in one hand.

As she slipped her shamshir back into its scabbard, Rezzan waited expectantly, but Kameyl held on to the branch. “There’s something we need to discuss.” She jutted her chin toward the desert, and Rezzan followed her gaze. Beyond the cluster of Stormhaven’s amber stone buildings, beyond the patchwork of Goldenhill’s rich estates, beyond a swath of rocky land and a sweep of amber sea, a dark line dominated the horizon. The line was made up of warships. Hundreds of them.

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