Nerilka's Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

put it, into the safety of the Hold. So he would leave my mother and sisters in danger at Ruatha yet ask his oldest son and heir to bring his mistress to safety? And the two children he had sired on her.
    Oh, it was no scandal really. Mother had always ignored the matter. She’d had practice over the Turns, and indeed once I had overheard her say to one of the aunts that relief now and then from his attentions was welcome. But I didn’t like Anella. She simpered, she clung, and if Father couldn’t pretend interest in her, she was quite as happy on Mostar’s arm. Indeed, I think she hoped to be wed to my brother. I longed to tell her that Mostar had other ideas. Still, I wondered if her last son was my father’s issue or Mostar’s.
    I chided myself for such snide thoughts. At least the child had a strong family resemblance. With my belt knife, I separated the slip of hide into its two messages and slid Campen’s portion under his door. I bore the discreet half down to the kitchen where sleepy drudges were folding up their pallets before starting their chores. My presence provoked tentative smiles and some apprehension, so I smiled reassurances and told the brightest of the lot what to put on Lord Tolocamp’s morning tray.
     
    Campen met me in the Hall, distractedly waving his portion of our father’s orders. “What am I to do about this, Rill? I can hardly ride out of the Hold proper and bring her back in broad daylight.”
    “Bring her in from the fire-heights. No one’ll be looking there today.”
    “I don’t like it, Rill. I just don’t like it.”
    “When have our likes or dislikes ever mattered, Campen?”
    Anxious to get out of range of his querulous confusion, I went off to inspect the Nurseries on the southern side of the level. Here, at least, was an island of serenity—well, as serene as twenty-nine babes and toddlers can be. The girls were going about their routine tasks under the watchful gaze of Aunt Lucil and her assistants. With all the babble there, they would not have heard the drums clearly enough to be worried yet. Since the Nursery had its own small kitchen, I would have to remember to have them close off their section if Fort Hold did surrender to the disease. And I must also remember to have additional supplies sent up—just to be on the safe side.
    I checked on the laundry and linen stores and suggested to the Wash Aunt that today, being sunny and not too chill, was an excellent day to do a major wash. She was a good person, but tended to procrastinate out of a mistaken notion that her drudges were woefully overworked. I knew Mother always had to give her a push to get started. I didn’t like to think that I was usurping any of my mother’s duties, even on a temporary basis, but we might be in need of every length of clean linen ever woven in the Hold.
    The weavers, when I arrived in the Loft cots, were diligently applying themselves to their shuttles. One great roll of the sturdy mixed yarns, on which my mother prided herself, was just being clipped free of the woof. Aunt Sira greeted me with her usual cool, contained manner. Although she must have heard some of the drum messages over the clack of heddle and shuttle, she made no comment on the world outside.
    I had a late breakfast in the little room on the first sublevel, which Mother called her “office,” as grateful as she must often have been for this retreat. Still the drums rolled, acknowledging and then passing on the dire tidings. One didn’t hear it only once, sad to say, but several times. I winced the fourth time Keroon’s code came through, and hummed loudly to keep the latest message from adding to the misery already in my heart. Ruatha was close by. Why had we no messages from them, no reassurance from my mother and my sisters?
    A knock on the door interrupted these anxieties, and I was almost glad to learn that Campen awaited me on the first story. Halfway up the stairs, I realized that he must have returned with