In the Caves of Exile (Tale of the Nedao Book 2) by Emerson Ru

Author:Emerson, Ru [Emerson, Ru]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

18

The weather had taken a turn, as it always did this time of year; North to South and all across the Plain. One 5-day what sun there was was blunted by a spring-chilled wind, or wind drove little squalls of rain before it. There were night fogs and now and again, still, a little frost. And then, suddenly, it was warm and the sky a brilliant blue, cloudless bowl overhead. It would stay that way, almost continuously, until past harvest. Summer had come.

The luck was holding, still: Planting Month had come and gone, with the farmers working all daylight hours and through the night when the moon permitted. The results were heartening: throughout the valley grain was ankle-high and the household gardens were up and growing rapidly. The fruit trees the Narrans brought had been planted near the stream, close to what would eventually be the City walls. All anyone could say for them, so far, was that they hadn't died. But that itself was encouraging.

Three 5-days passed: the Narrans kept busy ferrying Koderrans up-river to the new City, which was just as well, since the folk still at Aresada were growing short-tempered after so much privation, lack of privacy, short rations and uncommonly hard ground for sleeping. Ylia's council debated the matter earnestly, and decided that in order to avoid bloodshed it would be best to begin sending people on to the valley as quickly as possible. Most of them would be of more use there anyway, and the weather was dependable enough that folk could sleep on the grass until they could put roofs over their heads.

More people came in from the South, a draggle of twenty-three young men, several women, a handful of children. The old moutain-hunter Verdren had found them, brought them partway and then sent them on, advising them to keep within the western foothills, to stay out of the mountains until they must head east to the Caves, and to travel with caution. And he'd sent word for her: he'd search the foothill villages south of Yenassa, send her any folk he found. Then he'd search north. She didn't expect him to find anyone; then; too, she hadn't expected this most recent clutch of villagers.

At last, only the weavers—Lossana and Lisabetha among them—and Ylia and her women, her twenty new guardswomen, a number of guardsmen under Golsat, the herds and herders were left at Aresada. The looms had stayed busy, and Lossana was reluctantly allowing them to be dismantled and moved as a length of cloth was finished. Ylia was still elbow deep in lists. She and Lord Corry were working up the contracts with Nar.

She wasn't ready to make the move herself, yet; there was too much that needed finishing where she was. And Erken had asked that she remain until the last. “They've a surprise brewing for you, the folk. Don't disappoint them.”

“Surprise?” But he wouldn't be drawn. And she was so busy, the thought of it didn't stay with her long.

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