Page 157 of Of Empires and Dust

A small blonde head appeared from behind the tower of baskets, with bright green eyes and a smile that seemed far too genuine for the current state of the world. “We brought you food,Master Hammersmith.” She puffed out her chest a little, raising her chin. “I made the carrot cake myself. Swear I did. And the bread. It’s got seeds and walnuts!”

“Is that right?” Even a grumpy old man like Erdhardt couldn’t keep a smile from his face at the pride in Lina’s voice. He hauled himself to his feet, his knees arguing, his back aching. “And is all this for me?”

“No,” she said, laughing.

“I think it is.” Erdhardt pretended to take the entire stack of baskets from her.

“No, it’s not.” Lina giggled, twisting to keep the baskets from him. “Just one!”

“Oh, all right then. But what happens if I eat the whole cake in one sitting? Will you make me another?”

“You couldn’t eat the whole cake! Not on your own!”

“That’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.” He ruffled Lina’s hair gently, then turned to Mara. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

The woman shook her head. “Nonsense, Erdhardt. We all have our parts to play. I’m no good with a spear, but I can keep you fed. Gods know you’re no good at that yourself. Here.”

Mara handed him the iron pot, which was far heavier than she’d made it look.

“Lamb stew. It will stay fresh enough for a few days if left sealed in the cold. But I don’t suspect it will last that long.” She grabbed the top basket from Lina’s tower and placed it on the step beside Erdhardt. “Bread, sweet carrot cake, blackberry jam, and scones.”

“Mara—” Erdhardt made to protest but was cut off by a sharp‘tssk’.They’d done this dance many times in the months since arriving in Salme.

“I have other people to feed, Erdhardt. And I don’t have all day to stand here and argue with you over blackberry jam.”

“You’re a good soul, Mara Styr.”

“You look too far from yourself, Erdhardt.” The woman gave a slight bow, then carried on with Lina in tow.

Erdhardt slung his hammer through the loop on his back, grabbed the basket, and brought it, along with the pot, into the squat wooden house he called his own, and laid them both down on the table. There was little else inside. A bed, a chest, a table, a wardrobe, and a chair, with a fireplace set into the eastern wall. He’d no need of much else and rarely spent time within the four walls unless he was sleeping.

This place was not his home. He would never have a home again. That had died with Aela. She’d been his safe place, his warmth, his comfort. His only task now was to protect the people of The Glade, to watch over them as The Father would. After that, he would find his wife in Achyron’s halls.

It was a simple plan, but it was a good plan.

The thought of Aela made him lift his right hand and stroke the obsidian earring, carved into the shape of a feather, that hung from a still-healing hole in his right ear. He had been wearing it since the night she’d died.

A knock sounded at the door.

“You’ve not slept either then?” Anya Gritten stood in the wide-open doorway, blood and dirt mashed into her leathers, her face much the same, her red hair brown as bark.

Erdhardt grabbed a clean rag from the counter and tossed it to her. “There’s a bucket on the steps.”

As Anya cleaned her face and hands, Erdhardt pulled Lina Styr’s sweet carrot cake from the basket and cut two slices. He stepped out onto the porch and offered one to Anya.

The young woman refused, but he set it into her hands anyway. She was as bad as him for refusing kindness.

“No fork?” she asked, setting herself on the steps.

“No fork means no cleaning.” Erdhardt sat beside Anya, giving her a weak smile.

“Spoken like a man.”

“Spoken like awiseman.” Erdhardt bit into the carrot cake, letting out an involuntary sigh. Lina Styr made a damn good cake. “Many injured?”

Anya nodded, her mouth full of cake. “More than I’d hoped. Some that are far beyond my ability. Parlim Sten’s legs were both broken, shattered like glass. I stayed with him for hours, tried to keep him with us. But in the end, all I could do was give him Altweid Blood and hope it eased his journey.”

“I’m not sure how you do it, Anya. Your mother would have been proud. It’s far easier to take a life than to save one.” Images of Verna Gritten’s broken and twisted body flashed across Erdhardt’s mind. He’d known the woman his entire life, and now she was simply gone.

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