Cameron Reol rode into the village of Hamla, some twenty five days removed from Dagoth Castle, on a cool spring morning. He wore his usual light tanned leather armor with shield slung over his back. Bulging from the side of the saddle bags were all of his worldly goods, which happened to entail three pairs of soft leather breeches, two long sleeve wool shirts and a pair walking shoes, as well as a travel worn map. The lamb skin vest that he liked so much was under his armor, where it could usually be found. Twelve gold coins jingled from a pouch that hung from his right hip. On the other hip sat his sword, two handed and well used from the look of the handle and scabbard. He wore his hair short, so as not to fall in his eyes, which were bluer then the sky. To say that he drew a lot of attention as he rode along the dirt streets of the village was something of an understatement. Not due to the fact that he was all that impressive of a scene to witness, truth to tell he wasn't, but due to the fact that not very many travelers came through the villages boundaries. Travelers that carried blades were even rarer. He rode from the center of the village, passing up children at play who stopped what they were doing to get a better look at the mysterious man who rode in their midst. A wheel right stopped his work on an old wagon side to look up and catch a view of the stranger that trotted by his Shoppe.
"Horse need shoeing there, sir?" the wheel right called out to him in a hopeful voice.
"No, he doesn't. But thank you for the offer nonetheless." The wheel right frowned and went back to what he had been doing previous, leaving the stranger to ride on his steady track north. The local bread Shoppe owner paused from sweeping his walk long enough to give the man a pleasant nod and a smile. He knew that any man this far out in the southern part of the country may be in need of food for his journeys. He sighed with disappointment when the rider just continued on his way.
It was like that the entire way out of the village for Cameron. Any man that offered a service was more than happy to offer it to him. But each time he declined the offer. After a bit he tucked the pouch of coin into his belt line but it was too late. News of his arrival in the village spread faster than he was even cantering. Leaving the bulk of the village in his wake, he entered the farm land in the north and turned up the first one that he found, reining the horse along the dusty path to the house and barn that were looming into view. Wooden fences lined the sides of the path where some cattle grazed. At least they didn't try to sell me any service, he mused as he rode on.
He came to the house at the end of the path and saw more children running about in the broad yard, chasing some duck s that looked none too pleased to be there. When the children saw him, however, they stopped what they were doing and ran for the house calling for their father. Cameron smiled a little at the sight. They didn't trust strangers, he thought. Smart children.
"What could I do for you?" said an older man that strode out of the house wearing over-alls and little else. His skin was bronze and toned from long hours spent in the fields, planting his crops. The old man stopped fast when he saw the blade and the shield on his back.
"Get in the house," he told his children, who whined and stomped about when he gave the order, "You do as I say, ya hear, and get in that house now!" They looked up at their father with teary eyes but did as they were told and marched back into the front door without another word.
"You a soldier of some kind?" the farmer asked him, lowering one brow suspiciously. His eyes went back to the sword and then up to Cameron's face. Cameron smiled slightly, as if somehow amused by that question.
"I'm no soldier, and I didn't come here to cause you or your family any trouble. I was just wondering if you needed any help around your farm. Feeding animals or planting seed or chopping firewood. I'll work for just about any pay. Pride was never one of my strong suits."
The farmer shook his head back and forth slowly, a solemn look on his face, "I would love to give you some work young man, but I barely have enough income as it is to keep myself and my family from going hungry. I just don't have anything to spare to take on a hired hand, much as I'd love to." Cameron nodded his understanding, snapped the reigns of his horse and rode out of the farmer's land, moving on to the next one, hoping that he would have a spot open for Cameron to fill in.
As the day progressed, however, he found the same answer lurking at every farm, with every family. The last winter had been rough, and with the new tax increase enforced by the Eastern Alliance there was nothing to go around. The last of the farms to the north that he visited was the worst. The man was barely thirty, younger then Cameron, and had to support five children. He feared that come next winter it wouldn't matter because he wouldn't have anything left to harvest.
Cameron listened to the man; his voice tainted with sorrow and failure, and went to his coin pouch. He took out six of the twelve gold coins and placed them in the man's palm.
"You take these and buy what you need to survive this season. I'll hope that you will be better off when the next season finds you."
"I can't take these from you," the farmer insisted, trying to give the coins back to him, "You were the one that came to me looking for employment."
"You will take them. I can survive, if needs be, "he gripped the hilt of his sword and grimaced, "I'll hire myself to one of the armies as a man at arms. They always seem to have the need for a fighting man in their ranks."
"You don't seem pleased with that prospect," the farmer noted.
"I really didn't want to ever rely on the sword again," he told the farmer, "Not after... I just didn't want to rely on the sword again."
"Then why do you keep the thing with you?"
Cameron started at the question. Why did he keep the blade with him? He often wondered that in the back of his mind. If there was nothing left for him with the sword, why hold onto it? It caused him nothing but grief since before he could remember. Maybe that was why. The sword had been the most constant thing that he ever known. In all the deeds he had done and people he had met in his life, the sword was his one constant. It never let him down, always doing what it was made to do.
"I'm sorry for intruding, asking things I've no right to know, sir," the farmer told him, making Cameron realize he was gritting his teeth against the memory. He smoothed his face and smiled.
"There is no need for you to apologize. I seemed to lose myself there," he mounted his horse once more, fit himself in the saddle and bowed his head to the farmer, "I hope that things work out for you."
"And I hope the same for you," the farmer said, then called after him, "Could I get the pleasure of your name?"
"Cameron," he stated, "Cameron Reol."
"The One God watch over you, Cameron Reol," the farmer shouted after him as he trotted the horse down the path back to the highway. His thoughts were dark. He had hoped that he would find work in Hamla doing something, but it seemed that these people were no better off than anyone else in the eastern lands. Taking the coin pouch in hand he squeezed it tight, frowning. Six coins could carry him another month at the most, if he spent it wisely and didn't go on another drinking binge like he did in the last village. Casteel, a village that was almost directly west of Hamla by eleven days had a large surplus of fine ale when he got there. It was too bad that he stayed there for four days, most of which he failed to remember. He had vowed that he would not be returning to Casteel anytime in the near future. He supposed that he could trek south of Hamla. If he wasn't mistaken there was a village there by the name of Lemall. It was large, as villages went, larger than both Hamla and Casteel combined. But that really wasn't saying much.
Cameron turned his attention to the end of the road where he saw a cloaked rider on a white charger standing there, seemingly waiting for him. He stiffened some, thinking it the prelude to an attack, but forced himself to relax. That was absurd. Why would one of the peasants in the village want to attack him? For the gold that he carried? He thought that the mere sight of sword and shield on his person would more than ward the villagers away, yet he readied himself just in case.
"Greetings, there!" Cameron called out when he was thirty paces from the charger. The cloaked figure stared at him from under the dark hood. He smiled when he knew that the figure was watching him, trying to appear at ease. He thought it was a poor attempt. A scent on the wind caught his attention. Like roses when they bloomed it had a sweet, faint fragrance. A woman, he thought? Out to meet me here alone?
"What can I do for you this fine morning?" Cameron asked, reining his steed to a halt. The cloaked figure rustled and a pair of gloved hands came out from the folds of the cloak. They cast the hood back from her head and Cameron let his guard fall. It was a girl that couldn't be any older then eighteen years. She was pretty, with golden red hair pulled into a pony tail that was hidden from view, running down her back. Her eyes were light green and she had delicate features, with slim cheeks and a small, pronounced mouth. Cameron could have almost mistaken her for a noble if it weren't for the fact that they were in the middle of a small farming village. She smiled at him brightly, making her eyes light up. Cameron smiled back at her. He almost laughed at the thought of this young girl setting up an ambush for him.
"Hello," she said pleasantly, "My father heard there was a man north of the village that was looking for a way to earn coin and thought he would offer him a job. Would you happen to be that man?"
"I am looking for some way to earn myself coin. But food and shelter for a time would be just as welcome. You see Starn here," he patted the brownish horse's neck and the animal whinnied in response, "He isn't as young as he used to be. A couple weeks of rest and I think that he would be good as new." He met her gaze and she smiled again at him. Cameron began to wonder if she was even as old as he originally took her for. He gave an indifferent shrug. If her father was paying coin for help he didn't care if she was eleven going on seventy so long as he got paid.
"I'm Kirstin Telba," she said politely, holding out one gloved hand for him to shake. Instead he took the hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing her wrist lightly. She blushed light red as she tried in vain to repress giggles. He smiled at her.
"My name is Cameron Reol. I'd be happy to follow you to your father. He has himself a working man if he truly wants one." Still blushing, she reined the white horse about and cantered back to the south, looking back once to see if Cameron was following her. He snapped the reigns lightly, allowing Starn to go at his leisure. It didn't take Kirstin long to fall back into stride right along side of him. She eyed him up and down, her green eyes alight with life. Her brow furrowed when she truly noticed the sword that hung on his belt.
"Is it real?" she asked him.
"Is what real?" Cameron turned to look at her, a quizzical look on his face.
"The sword. You see, I've never seen a sword before, except maybe a wooden one that my brother made when he got it into his head that he was joining the knighthood when he grew up. Is that a real sword?"
"Yes," Cameron answered her with a smile. He patted the hilt without even knowing it, "That is a real sword. Real as you or I."
"Have you ever killed a man with it?" she questioned, and he felt the blood drain from his face. He struggled to regain his composure, not to look so shocked at the question, so he took on a casual tone.
"No," he lied, "I've never taken another man's life with this sword," he prayed that she would let the subject drop. She did. For a time they rode side by side through Hamla, breaking off at the middle crossing in the village square and heading to the east. It seemed that everyone in the village that was out that day knew her. And she was polite and courteous enough to return each greeting without fail. Perhaps she is a noble after all, Cameron thought, and smiled in spite of himself.
"We're not far from father's house now," she told him as they left the last of the buildings behind. There was clearer, open farmland ahead of him. A giant windmill was peeking up from the side of a green hill where cows were grazing. A thick wooden fence ran the length of the road, keeping the cattle from getting out and warning the passer by not to enter. The wind came again, from directly ahead, letting a touch of Kirstin's perfume reach his nose.
"What do you have a sword for?" Kirstin suddenly blurted out, turning to face him, "I mean, if you aren't in the army, why would you carry such a thing around with you?" She waited for him to answer as they rode along, never taking her eyes from his face. After considering how to respond without sounding rough, he spoke.
"There are things in the world that a travelling man needs to defend himself against. Or do you think that men are the only enemy that one can face when you travel?"
"Well, I know that. But what have you fought with it?" Her eyes gleamed with excitement and she smiled broadly. One of her hands came to rest on his arm and she leaned a bit closer.
"I've slain demorn when I needed to."
"Demorn," she whispered more to herself then to him, "I've heard of them but my father says that it's improper for a lady to know of such matters. Would you please tell me about them? About the demorn?"
"Perhaps your father is right," he told her without bothering to look.
"Oh please," she moaned, "Don't take up my father's tone about these things. I'm not a little girl. I can handle it." Cameron shrugged.
"Very well," he said, "The demorn are creatures not so dissimilar to humans in their appearance, but far more brutish with thick muscles that few men possess. To overpower one of the brutes would be a fool's dream. The defeat of one of these beasts would require finesse. They stand better than six feet at the smallest, perhaps better than seven when the beasts reach full maturity. Their faces though are a mask of welts and natural scars that are said to come from the birthing process."
"Birthing process?" Kirstin flushed, a touch of embarrassment warming her face, "What do you mean by the birthing process?"
"Well you see," Cameron continued, "It is said that when the female is about to give birth the males that are in the clan usually become impatient with her incessant screaming and end up tearing the youth from the mother's womb with their natural claws, scarring the child in the process."
Kirstin paled visibly, putting a hand to her breast, "And what of the mother?" she asked quietly.
"The mother dies either in the rending of her womb or of loss of blood shortly after that," Kirstin sat back on her charger and remained silent for some time, not bothering to look at Cameron. He had lied about the birthing. He had not a clue as to how the demorn birthed their young, but if that horror story was enough to beat her curiosity down then he was satisfied with it. He just hoped that she wouldn't tell her father about this. It may reflect badly on him.
Without a word she turned up a wide dirt path that led to a large three story house and pole barn that stood better than ninety feet in the air. Behind the pair of buildings he saw a silo and the windmill that he spied from over the hill. All were painted bright red, some flecking off as age took its toll upon the buildings. A small amount of farm hands were already wandering around the front yard, tending to the many errands that a farm this big would offer. Cameron stayed just behind the white charger, allowing Kirstin to lead him to the front of the main house where a triangular eve hung over a fancy planked walk. Twin doors that were more glass than wood stood bright in the center of the walk, partially open to let the cool breeze of the summer in. Kirstin dismounted from the steed gracefully, giving the all too easy impression that she had ridden horses for most of her life.
"Well," she asked, turning back to look at him, "Are you coming in to meet father?" Cameron slid off his horse with an equal amount of ease and took sword and shield off his person before following the girl into the great house.
When he entered, he got the impression that he just stepped into a museum straight from one of the great cities to the north. There was a fine, if thin, red rug that trailed the center of the floor, keeping bare feet from cooling on the hard wood that lurked underneath. Shelves and stands of all makes and color adorned the sides of the front hall, showing off the vases and statues that were part of a collection that must have taken years to collect and a fortune to achieve. Paintings, some better than one hundred years in age, hung from the walls on either side of him, from bright and cheerful to grossly morbid in their blackness.
Name of the One God, Cameron thought with a frown, Kirstin must be nobility of some sort from all the finery that her father surrounds her with. Not to mention the servant labor that was his to command. What did he have need of one more man for?
Kirstin's giggling brought him back to reality. She fell back from the hall and took hold of his arm, gently guiding him from the hall and into another, to the right some thirty paces down. It was much of the same, with the fineries and the like. He saw a stairwell off his right, heading up to a stained glass window at the top of a landing but she led him past that. A man servant of middle age with balding hair pushed the door open to a room for them and Kirstin had the presence of mind to stop and chat with him before the nervous servant reminded her that her father was expecting her in the sitting room. Kirstin entered through the door and then another off the left of the room. Cameron caught sight of a stone fire place in that room, better than ten feet in width running nearly from wall to wall. She stopped at the door, rapping at it three times, and waiting for permission to enter.
"Come in," came a deep, calm voice from the other side of the door. She swung it open and bid Cameron to enter. He gave her a smile, bowing before her with all the grace he could muster.
"I believe the old expression is "Ladies' first." Kirstin blushed light red against her cheeks and smiled warmly before she let her eyes fall from Cameron's. She slipped into the room, still smiling.
"Father, I found the man that you heard was in the village. It turns out that he is looking for employment," she absently batted at a tangle of gold-red hair that hung before her eyes, waiting for her father to voice his thanks.
"Did I not send Huros to look for him, daughter?"
"Well yes, but..."
"Then why is it that you brought him to me and not my son?"
"Well as it was I was only trying to help out and since Allia wanted to be ridden I thought that I would..."
"Disobey your father and ride about in the village without an escort at your side. That was foolish, my daughter. What if there had been highwaymen about? You cannot be safe in these dire times. With taxes as hard as they are, and the planting season going worse with every passing day, I would not have you ride Allia alone."
"I'm sorry father. I didn't mean to worry you and I won't do so again," She lowered her gaze from her father, wringing her hands against her waist, waiting to be dismissed.
"You are forgiven, daughter. Now leave me to my business," she started to leave but the voice of her father caught her, held her there, "And my daughter?" she turned to look at him, "Please change into something more appropriate. At least before your mother sees what you have done to those clothes."
"Yes father," a slight sigh escaped her lips and she left through yet another side door without looking back at either man. A click of the door closing told Cameron that they were alone.
"You may enter," came that same calm, commanding voice. Cameron walked into the room, looking at the man who would be hiring him out. An older gentleman in his later fifties. And gentleman he was with a trim black grey beard that went evenly from one side of his face to the other. He wore mostly black; a fine button up shirt of velvet and vest that matched the color. Slacks that were cleanly pressed showed just as black in the lamplight of the room. Even the sandals that he wore were polished finely. Here was a man that meant to impress quickly. Or it could be that he needed not to impress any with the confident air that hung about him. If Cameron had mistaken the daughter for nobility in the village outskirts, there was no mistaking that this man had regal bearing in his blood. No one raised to it, born of it, could hide that fact, no matter how they tried. And this man didn't try. He seemed more content to live the life that the One God had handed him.
"So you are the wandering warrior that has been stirring up some talk inside Hamla's tavern."
"I meant not to attract any attention, my lord. I was only on my was through, seeing if there was a place that I might earn coin for some time seeing as how my own has been dwindling to nothing recently."
"You speak frankly," the older man said evenly, "I like that." He crossed the distance of floor between them and held his hand out in greeting. Cameron took his hand and shook it. Strong grip, he thought. But that really wasn't surprising.
"My name is Cameron Reol."
"I am Devlin Telba."
"Pardon my asking," Cameron ventured, "but I couldn't help noticing the refinement in the way you present yourself, or that of your young daughter. If I may be so bold, were you of a noble house at one time?" Devlin smiled at the question and waved a hand for Cameron to follow. The older man brought him to a leather couch stretched neatly before a heavy desk near the back of the room. Behind the desk sat the stuffed carcass of a mountain lion, poised to strike on a rock, fangs bared for effect. Devlin sat at the desk, telling Cameron to have a seat on the couch. He did. A bottle of brandy was produced and a pair of crystal goblets to go with it. He poured the amber contents of the alcohol into the goblets and held one out to Cameron. Reluctantly, but not wanting to offend a future source of income, he took the goblet from Devlin's hand.
"A common misconception," Devlin suddenly stated when he was comfortable in his seat, "I was the son of a nobleman, chief advisor to the mayor of Davinfall no less. But my father resigned from the position when he found that his wife was quick with child. It seemed that he did not want his child reared around politics so he chose the simple life of farming."
Cameron took in the room with its large paintings and cushioned furniture and shook his head, "It seems that I took up the wrong line of work."
Devlin laughed at the comment, but it was a polite laugh only. He leaned closer to Cameron and studied him, sipping at the goblet in hand. Cameron also tipped the goblet to his lips but failed to drink. He knew that he would like the liquor too much, and he surely couldn't afford getting drunk in his employer's study.
"Rumors from the village say that you are a fighting man, that you carry with you a sword and shield. I need not see these things to know you are. The leather that you favor, the way you walk and take detail in. There is no doubt that you are experienced in your art." The master of the house waited to see what the impact of his words would have. Cameron made sure that his face was carefully devoid of emotion. He jiggled the goblet in his hand, letting the lantern light dance off the amber surface.
"I was a fighting man a long time ago. But those days are long done and I would be more then grateful if that was all the farther that you pressed the matter. I keep the weapon with to defend myself on the road should the need arise. As you said, there are many highwaymen in these dire times and one needs to know how to keep oneself safe." Devlin sat back on his chair, a slanted smile on his lips. Nice parry, Cameron thought.
"Pity," Devlin sighed and set the goblet down on the desk, "I have need of a fighting man. I would need him as guard to my son and my daughter when they get the whim to leave my land and travel to Hamla. I fear for their safety."
"You wish to hire me for their bodyguard?" Cameron raised an eye brow.
"You may call it that, or call it a protector or guardian or however you need to keep it straight but yes, that is why I was having my son seek you out. Though even they know not of it yet."
"I refuse to believe that you would trust this stranger so easily," Cameron countered, waiting for the older man to respond.
"I know you to be trustworthy already. If harm was what you meant to do to myself or to my daughter when you had her on the road alone earlier, you would have," Devlin stood up and walked around the desk coming close to him, "I offer you five silvers for a day of work, and that work would be to watch over my children, to guard them as though they were your own. And to watch over the manor grounds when the need arises," he added in.
"Problem with thieves?" Cameron asked.
"And poachers," Devlin confided, "Stealing in during the night and taking my cattle. It has caused me much loss already."
"What about the village militia?"
"In Hamla? Good sir you saw the size of my beloved village when you rode in. There is no coin nor room nor food to spare for these men to function with any degree of effectiveness."
"Five silvers, eh?" Cameron commented.
"Add in the room and board as free as long as you are a hireling," Devlin added in, his eyes widening waiting for Cameron to take the bait. Cameron shrugged. He had been called far worse than a hireling in his time. He held out his hand to the owner of the house.
"You have yourself a body guard."
"Shall we say for one year's time unless you fail in your duties in any way that I feel merits termination?"
"Agreed," Cameron said and they shook on the matter, settling it, "Now what say we finish this brandy before I would ask you have a servant show me the layout of the house and the grounds," he hefted the goblet in the air, clinking it against Devlin's in a toast, "There is nothing worse than good alcohol wasted."
Half the bottle of brandy later the owner of the house called down his family to his study so that they might better know the man that would soon be an all too common place sight. Devlin's younger bright eyed wife Mirrian mouthed a polite hello, all the while casting him a warning glance from the thick leather that he opted to wear. Cameron wagered that fighting men weren't a common sight in Hamla, if the villagers ogling were any indication to the matter. He took Mirrian's hand and kissed her outstretched wrist, which seemed to put some of her doubts to rest. She whispered to her husband that at least he was well mannered and he laughed lightly, stroking his beard.
Huros, Devlin's son, was the spitting image of the older man. He had the skin tone and black hair with steel eyes. The youth was taken with the fact that Cameron had been hired on to be his body guard.
"Do you fight well, master Reol?" Huros asked him, framing the question as not to offend.
"I fight well enough to frighten away those that would call themselves highwaymen."
"Do you think that you could teach me swordsmanship?"
"Huros, the man is here to make sure that you are safe in the village, not to be an instructor in the art," his father admonished him, the tone settled the conversation. Cameron smiled and faced the elder Telba.
"If it pleases you, lord Telba, I would not mind at all sparing some time to show your son how to handle the blade. I am sure that he could pick it up well enough," Cameron eyed the beaming youth from head to toe, "He looks the part."
"Perhaps," Devlin said softly, "But I must discuss the matter with my son in private for a time."
"I'll go to see if the maid has finished with dinner yet," Mirrian chimed in, her voice sounding almost birdlike, partially matching her features. She stopped and turned to face Cameron, "Would you be joining us at the table, master Reol? I'm sure that there are many things we'd love to hear. About your travels."
Cameron waved off her invitation, "I will have to eat at a later time. My first order of business will be to see how the grounds and fences are laid out, get to know the land."
"Very well then," Mirrian said, spinning on her heel, skirts twirling out about her, "I will have Sara leave something in the food closet for you later tonight." She walked a steady pace until she was gone from sight down one of the seemingly endless amount of halls that adorned the manor.
"I will get Karnov to show you the lay of the land," Devlin told Cameron, "Of all the men that I have working here he has been here longest. Whatever it is that you need to know, Karnov will have no problem telling you."
"Thank you," Cameron answered and watched Devlin walk gracefully after his wife, his son in tow so that they might speak in private, but not before Huros got one last beaming look at Cameron, hope etching his face. Cameron smiled back at him. He turned to head east, to the entrance and stopped when he saw Kirstin standing there. He nodded his head in greeting and she returned the gesture, but she didn't look very pleased. Spurned from her father's scolding I'd wager, Cameron mused, and walked toward her. He paused to look at her closer suddenly, something catching his attention that hadn't been there before. It was no doubt that her appearance came from her mother with her golden hair and slender feminine frame, but there was no trace of her father in those features. None that Cameron could make out.
"Are you going to stand there all night?" Kirstin asked him, "I'm sure that father's already found Karnov and has him waiting for you at the front steps." She began to step past him and halted before him, "Is it true that father hired you on simply to safe guard Huros and myself?"
"Does this surprise you?" Cameron questioned, his tone even.
"It does. Hamla is peaceful, save for the tavern fights that Karnov or Edgar tell me of, so why would father want to hire you? Because of the poachers?"
"Does your father speak often to you of the poachers?"
Kirstin blushed when she realized that she had said too much, "Please don't tell my father that you heard me say that. I'm not supposed to know. I simply overheard him speaking with another man that came to the house this week last."
"Another man?"
"He looked the part of a soldier with his fancy blue vest and dark grey breeches. He had a symbol on his arm, that of a golden arrow that was piercing an oblong circle from the side. He rode a fancy horse, much larger than those that father raises here. Do you know him?"
"Know him?" Cameron asked her, "No, I don't know him. And I don't think that your father would much appreciate you snooping about and eavesdropping on things that are his affair."
"Please don't tell him," she whined, clutching at the hard leather at his chest, finding nothing to hold onto, "I will just be punished for it."
"I won't tell him so long as you tell no one else of it. Do we have a deal?" He held his hand out and she took it, smiling with relief. Mirrian's call made her start and she slipped past him.
"I had better go to the dinner table," She hurried away down the hall, quickly pulling at any tangles that were in her hair, skirts sweeping the floor. Cameron shook his head and exited the manor to the south. Sure enough, waiting for him at the foot of the wooden steps was an old, sun wrinkled man that had only a circle of white on his head. Over-alls were his choice of clothing, stained from the labors of farm life. There were no shoes on his gnarled feet.
"Karnov's the name, master Reol."
"Please," Cameron waved a hand before him as if he were swiping at the words spoken to him, "I would much appreciate it if you would just call me Cameron."
"All right then," the old man smiled, "Cameron it is. Lord Telba told me that you want to see the land. All that he owns. Thinkin' that you can find where the poachers are most effective?"
"I'm just seeing what I can see," Cameron said cautiously. The old farmer nodded his head.
"Well let's get goin' while there's still a touch of sun for us to see by." Cameron followed the old man down the main path to the road and wondered for the first time about the soldier that came calling. Eastern Alliance? Here? Why would King Steelbreeze care less what happened in this little village unless that was the tax collector coming to reap? But it wasn't the right season for tithing to the state. He shook his head and continued to follow Karnov down the road. Cameron you fool, he pondered, what kind of trouble have you found this time?
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