I had stopped the wagon for the day, another week from Gelvurt by my estimate, and found a nice grove off the beaten trail for Fretz to graze.
Both Daka and Dalton had relaxed as I placed them on the nice, warm grass, but Natakia was of a different mindset.
“Guh, gah,” The small babe complained, waving her hands in the air in protest.
I smiled, “Natakia, you have to relax, my desert flower.”
The parental ritual of cleaning my children was something that had grown easier and easier to do. Sans Natakia, the children had seemingly grown accustomed to it.
Nothing had made them cry more than when I first changed their undergarments.
Still, Natakia never made it easy, requiring me to speak and comfort her throughout, distracting her as I cleaned her. She would cry, but I would tell her stories and speak to her.
The Velbrun midwife had mentioned that speaking to young children was very important to their growth, which made sense. My own tribe had practiced something similar.
“Wah, waaah,” Natakia tried to roll over, but I stopped her, quickly finishing up and reclothing her, before letting her roll to her belly.
She seemed to ball up. Did she not want to look at me? Was my baby ashamed?
I was not sure if my child seemingly feeling shame so early was a reflection on my parental skills or not.
Lydia would probably have known.
The last stop before Gelvurt was a small farming town called Nier.
Near the edge of where the Velbrun influence faded into the border of the Certilia Empire, I knew that this was not the kindest place to strangers.
Bandits from Rusk, barbarians and trolls from the mountains, the area was rife with threats that kept the locals cautious and paranoid.
With the threats of this area, I wondered if my appointment as a local lord was less of a reward and more of a new, strenuous job.
“Ah, Lord Velbrun of Gelvurt!”
I had just finished tying up my wagon when the call came from the open doors of the tavern, a large, jolly looking man hoisting a mug in the air towards me.
With flowing robes, he shook the jug, “Come, have a pint on me, my Lord!”
I looked him over, “Lord Velbrun of Nier?”
He smiled, revealing clean white teeth, “Yes, yes, my Lord! Now come, I had a keg set aside for you!”
Motioning to my wagon, I apologized, “I’m sorry, my Lord, but I need to look after my children.”
The Lord of Nier quirked a brow, but the refusal didn’t seem to quell his good spirits. He crept closer, looking into the wagon and seeing the sleeping forms of the triplets.
Nodding, he stepped back, “I see, I see. Well, bring them in and I’ll have my wife keep an eye on them, eh? I’d like to have a word with you, if you can spare the time.”
I’d only come to make sure I had my directions to Gelvurt correct, something the local lord would certainly know.
While I wasn’t keen on allowing my children out of my sight for too long, I sensed no ill will from the noble, which was somewhat surprising given his Velbrun allegiance.
Lord Velbrun of Nier’s wife was a stouter woman, much like her husband, who seemed to take great care as she started her vigil as I entered the tavern.
“Welcome to the club, Lord Rakta Velbrun.”
I had just sat down, when the jovial expression of Lord Velbrun of Nier had faded to being something on the cusp of serious.
I glanced around, the warm atmosphere of the tavern soaking into my bones, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Lord Velbrun.”
He smirked, “Jorge, Rakta, you can call me Jorge. Been a Velbrun since my mother shacked up with one of their less favored ilk and had me.”
“So the same club we are in…”
“...is a club of the disfavored, given consolation titles and sent to administer the lesser Velbrun settlements.”
It certainly wasn’t a farfetched idea. This close to the border, these settlements had a lot of trouble. Trouble that I, and Jorge, would be required to deal with.
Jorge continued, “Away from the House, away from the larger public where we might scrape up some influence, we’re more likely to die early out here than make a name for ourselves.”
I stayed quiet, feeling like the man had more to say. He certainly had more to say than I did on this subject.
“But you already have a name, don’t you, Rakta the Scavenger?”
The food suddenly arrived, a steaming plate of steak that I had not ordered placed in front of me by a young woman. I wasted little time in digging in, not one to turn down a hot meal.
Instinctively, I did circulate my Vitae to keep any poison from having any real effect, but I doubted Jorge’s intentions were to harm me.
I wiped my mouth, “That’s not the usual name people know me by. You’ve done your research.”
Jorge looked satisfied, but I counted with a quick pulse of my Vitae that there were about six individuals in the tavern, most of which I could see.
If this turned violent, I would have to find my children quickly.
“Well, it certainly piqued my interest. Your group actually did work around here quite a while ago, before the war and, well, people have long memories in these parts.”
We had? I hadn’t remembered doing such a thing. Perhaps we inadvertently did some work here? At the very least, the larger threats to the Certilia Empire hadn’t gotten this far south.
Still, I nodded, “Well, you’re welcome.”
Jorge grinned, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you ever need help over in Gelvurt, let me know, ok? We gotta look for each other down here at the bottom of the barrel.”
Slowly, I realized with a growing horror at the pit of my stomach that this was politics.
Setting my fork and knife down, I frowned, “That is the way of lords, I suppose.”
I’d lost my appetite.
“Geh,” Dalton made a show of throwing the small trinket across the wagon. It was a small copper bear figurine, one that Jorge’s wife had gifted him.
I glanced over, picking the figurine up and placing it near him, “It was a gift, Dalton, you should appreciate gifts.”
It had been a day since we had departed from Niers, Jorge being somewhat disheartened when I had declined to stay the night.
The man was kind, certainly, but I was not ready to…deal with the Velbruns. Not emotionally, much less politically.
Dalton paid no more attention to it, ignoring it and turning away towards Daka and Natakia, both of whom were enjoying their own eagle and cat figurine.
Daka, in particular, held the eagle figuring closely to her chest.
Humming in the back of my throat, I wondered aloud, “Younglings should have plenty of toys. Perhaps I can have some made in Gelvurt.?”
Natakia was petting her figurine. Perhaps a nice pet would be good for the children to grow up alongside? Finding a hunter with a litter of pups wouldn’t be the hardest thing to do.
The hounds of Certilia were certainly tamer than the coyotes of Rusk.
Suddenly, I heard a soft little smack of flesh on flesh moments before the sounds of Natakia’s wails erupted.
Whipping my head towards my children, I saw Daka’s guilty face welling up in tears, her hand moving away from Natakia’s cheek.
“Oh no,” I stopped the wagon, clambering into the back to pick Natakia up as she wailed, “There, there, my desert flower.”
Daka started crying too, her hands flailing, and the stress seemed to disturb Dalton enough to make his eyes well up in tears.
I made small shushing noises, holding Natakia close as I picked Daka up. Natakia seemed to shift away from her sister and I felt a pang in my heart.
“No, no, accident, Natakia! Daka would never want to hurt you intentionally.”
Daka continued to cry and I sat down, rocking in place with them cradled in my arms.
A half hour later, I had managed to calm them down, shifting their sleeping forms back into their wagon seat alongside Dalton who, mercifully, had calmed down himself.
I looked at the two sleeping girls, their limbs tangled together with each other, and felt an old wound stir. As numb as I’d felt since Lydia’s death, the thought of my children being at odds with one another…
It was a familiar pain.
It was four days later that I arrived in Gelvurt with my triplets.
It was an hour after I had tied up my wagon that I was saddled with news of a monster feasting on the local children.
