The Granite Shield by Fiona Patton

Author:Fiona Patton [Patton, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Astra Publishing House
Published: 1999-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

11. Llewen

Droxley Manor

Devonham, Branion

Ives-Luis DeCarla and his St. Lucias were staying at Droxley Manor in Devonham, waiting for the rains to cease. The Church Knights had been chasing Rhys ap Llewellynne ap Owain up and down the border for months now and the Earl of Vervickshire had finally come to the conclusion that the entire exercise was a complete waste of time. They should be moving on Gwyneth, not running around Devonham. He’d sent a terse message to Caliston DeFrances, stating just that, and had received an even shorter reply back. He was to stay until he caught the Future Vessel by order of the Prince Drusus. Growling, the Earl had brought his Knights to Droxley, the steady rain dropping his mood even lower. If they were stuck here, he decided they would at least be stuck in comfort. Droxley had an excellent wine cellar, good fields and woodlands for hunting, and a Steward willing to bugger off and leave the manor to Ives-Luis and his people. The Earl sent scouts out seeking word of the Gwynethians and then sat back to await their return. Taking their cue from the Captain, the rest of his Order found comfortable billets in town or in temporary cloisters at the nearby Priory of St. Austin, depending on their temperament, and settled in.

The scouts had returned yesterday to report signs of an unidentified mounted company across the shire border in southern Lochsbridge, but Ives-Luis dismissed the accounts as fear tales. The borders were terrified of Rhys and his Gwynethians. Every piss-poor holding in the western shires wanted the protection of his Church Knights, but the Future Vessel had been in Devonham all summer and there was nothing to suggest he was tired of stealing Jocelyn DeAndrea’s sheep and burning her outposts. It was probably Llewen ap Tuedwur or Llewellynne ap Rowena, and anyway, Lochsbridge wasn’t his problem right now. He had enough to do just patrolling Devonham.

Sitting by the fire in the main drawing room of Droxley Manor, a cup of wine in his hand, the DeCarla Earl belched discontentedly. He needed more troops if he was ever going to catch the little Triarchy bastard. He’d gone over the Sword-Arm’s head to Prince Drusus himself, but His Highness had written that he had no more to send him. Of course now that the Aristok had fully recovered, things would be different. The Prince was overcautious—Essus keep him in health regardless—much like his grandfather Dorian was supposed to have been. Marsellus had the spirit of his mother Kassandra the Fourth in his veins. He’d soon make a grisly end to the Bastard—as all of Branion was now calling him—and his people. Until then, all they could do was chase their tails and hope they got lucky.

The wine sending a warm haze to flutter across his vision, Ives-Luis squinted in the direction of the door as the sounds of horses and raised voices came in through the drawing room windows. When a servant put her head in the door, he glowered at her.

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