Page 8 of Valdemar

“A brace of giant suckling pigs ought to feed up that mob of highborn you got living with you for one meal at least,” the Squire continued, unperturbed. “Do ’em a world of good to be reminded of what dangers you’re keeping ’em out of.”

• • •

By the time they had walked and climbed back to Inglenook Hall, even his father was willing to admit that it would probably be a good idea to head back. Restil was really pleased to hear him say that; his stomach still felt wobbly after that unplanned use of magic, which he’d had to draw from his own inner supply because there hadn’t been time to tap into a ley-line. Stanzia had not, for a wonder, chewed through his reins or jerked them loose, although the amount of horse spit on the hobbles suggested he’d tried to chew through those.

His hands shook a little as he undid the hobbles and put the bit back in Stanzia’s mouth. And it took two tries to get the saddle back on the stallion’s back. Then he had to pause a moment before he could buckle the girth.

He glanced over at his father, who was leading Aura over to a feedbox to mount her. That seemed like a good idea to Restil, who did the same.

Stanzia was finally displaying the empathy that the Valdemar Golds were known for, sniffing at his face, nudging his shoulder in concern, and behaving like a perfect gentleman. Restil and his father rode out of the barn just as the first of the butchering crew appeared with crudely butchered chunks of pork. They all cheered at the sight of the two of them, and Kordas waved back.

“Father, the horses aren’t tired—” Restil pointed out.

“True.” Kordas put Aura into a canter, and Restil followed suit.

They were well within the city walls and halfway to the manor when Restil caught sight of a horse and rider galloping toward them. At first he was alarmed, until the rider saw them, yanked off his hat, and began waving it, a huge grin on his face. By this time it was obvious that it was Beltran, and Restil felt a lot of his exhaustion melting away.

They halted their horses and waited for Beltran to reach them. But instead of saying anything, Beltran reached into his belt pouch, pulled out something, and in the last couple of paces, showed it to them on his flat hand.

Restil felt his eyes widen, and his father uttered the happiest profanity Restil had ever heard.

“Copper! By the gods, copper! How? Where?” Kordas demanded.

“Right in the iron mine. And tin! They brought Ponu down to have a look at it, and he says it’s rare but this sometimes happens, and we are incredibly lucky, and both veins are very rich and will hold us for some time.” Beltran tilted the nugget into his master’s hand. “Who knows, maybe the Cataclysm churned three different seams of metal together. But there’s plenty, and that solves one of our big problems.”

“All three together,” Kordas murmured. “I wonder if the Hawkbrothers knew, and just didn’t tell us? I’m getting scared, now—too much is going right.”

“Well, today really was a lucky day,” Restil replied. “We don’t always get lucky days. I say, ride that feeling while it’s galloping.”