The Best of Tales Volume 1 by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Author:Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman [Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-1567-6
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

THE EXILES

Paul B. Thompson and Tonya R. Carter

From Love and War

He dreamed of battle. The small bed shook with the shock of phantom cavalry and the tramp of spectral men-at arms. In the midst of this dream melee a deep voice said, “Sturm, wake up. Get up, boy.”

Sturm Brightblade opened his eyes. A tall, burly man, dark of eye and fiercely moustached, towered over him. The torch he carried cast smoky highlights on his steel breastplate and wolf-fur mantle.

“Father?” said the boy groggily.

“Get up, son,” Lord Brightblade said. “It’s time to go”

“Go? Where, Father?”

Lord Brightblade didn’t answer. He turned quickly to the door. “Dress warmly,” he said before going out. “Snow is flying. Hurry, boy.” The door thumped shut behind him.

Sturm sat up and rubbed his eyes. The tapers in his room were lit, but the ashes in the grate were cold. He pulled on a heavy robe, wincing when his feet touched the bare stone floor. As he stood, unsure of what to do next, he heard a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he said.

Mistress Carin, handmaid to his mother, the Lady Ilys, bustled in. Her usually cheery face was pale under a close flannel hood.

“Are you not yet dressed, Master?” she asked. “Your mother sent me to speed your packing. Do hurry!”

Sturm rubbed his nose in confusion. “Hurry, Mistress? Why? What’s happening?”

“It’s not for me to tell you, young lord.” She hastened across the narrow room to a black wooden chest and began tossing clothing out of it. “This, and this. Not that. This, yes,” she muttered. She glanced at the puzzled boy and said, “Well, get your bag!”

Sturm pulled a long leather bag from under the bed. He was big for his eleven years, but the bag was nearly as long as he was tall. As clothing rained on his bed, Sturm gathered each item and folded it neatly into the bag.

“No time for that,” Carin declared. “Just fill the bag, Sturm.”

He threw a single woolen stocking aside. “Where are we going, Mistress?” he demanded. “And why are we going?”

Carin looked away. “The peasants,” she said.

“The people of Avrinet? I don’t understand. Father said they were suffering from the hard winter, but—”

“There’s no time for talk, young lord. We must hurry.” Carin shook her head and dug into the half-empty chest again. “It’s a terrible thing when people forget their place …”

Sturm was still methodically folding every article of clothing when the maid took it away from him and stuffed in the last few remaining items.

“There,” she said. “All done.” She dragged the bag to the door. “Someone will come for that. In the meantime, finish dressing. Wear your heaviest cloak—the one with the fur hood.”

“Mistress Carin?” Sturm’s lost tone halted the woman. “Are you coming with us?”

She drew her short, round body up proudly. “Where my lady goes, so go I.” And then she was gone.

The main hall of Castle Brightblade was in a hushed tumult. Only a few candles burned in the wall sconces, but by their troubled light Sturm saw that the entire household was astir.

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