“A sell-sword!”
Claywick nodded at Caladna’s exclamation. Her hair was piled up precariously, a few strands shaken loose by her daily work tending to the orphanage’s wayward children. Her fists were propped on her hips, one held a wooden spoon and the other a small pot; her tone implied they would be handy weapons. She waved them gently, though, at the boy and girl playing at her feet, a silent reminder that they should vacate the kitchen while she fixed dinner. They obediently left, taking their play outside with the others. Claywick also knew the signal was for him, and he moved towards the cupboard to gather dishes for setting the tables.
“That’s what he said, love”, Clay replied. “Being a weapon crafter is not enough for him, he says, if he wants to have enough one day for his own home and family.” He counted out and stacked the plates, their clinking filling the tense silence for only a moment. His wife growled as she also gathered up the gravy fixings.
“Family! So, he’s found a girl as well, and he’s barely out of his own swaddling!” She peeked in oven to check the chickens and shift the embers. “And who would risk marrying a sell-sword?”
With plates properly laid, Clay returned to the cupboard to bring out her platters and serving bowls. “Calvin’s fifteen now, Cally, and many his age are already married with their own babes. At least he’s thoughtful about the notion of settling down.”
“Sell-swords don’t settle, Clay. Not until they give up those ways and stay close to home.” She’d turned to him, her steely gaze carrying the rest of her thoughts. He looked into her eyes and nodded. It had not been until he had given up hunting for bounty that he’d finally admitted his love, allowing it to join her patient desire for him. Now, the woodworkers bench provided all the toil he needed to be prosperous and dependable for his wife, their son, and the flow of children in and out of their orphanage.
Once the tables were set, Clay moved close to Caladna, peeking over her shoulder to watch her arrange the carved chickens on their platters. He drew in her scent and murmured, “Fresh baked bread… a most appealing perfume.” She turned to him, their faces close. With a crooked grin and hungry eyes, she took in the details of her huge husband’s bearish face. She picked a small wood shaving from his shirt’s broad shoulder and smoothed the wrinkle.
“You should shake that out before you come to …. dinner….”
He nodded, agreeing with her unspoken request and gave her a slow gentle kiss, as a prologue. She melted against him for just a moment, then shook herself back to the task at hand and pushed him away with husky chuckle and a waggling finger. “Is Calvin coming home to dinner?”
Regarding his wife with a warm, respectful smile, Clay stepped back to let her resume dinner preparations. “Yes, but he might be late. He says he has some business with Bellem Grey.” He looked for another way to assist her. Seeing the loaves of bread were not yet sliced, he slid the bread knife from it’s slot in the knife block and set to work.
“Grey?”, she asked, pouring the gravy into its crockery boat. “What business can that old fellow have? He’s been retired from the Stair …. since Calvin was born. He should have no need for a weapon….”. She paused to look at Claywick. “You don’t suppose he’s going out artifact hunting again, do you?”
Clay shrugged as he set the last of the bread baskets on its table next to a butter crock. “There has been talk in the craft house about folks rummaging around in Cardolan. I guess we’ll have to ask Cal when he gets here.”
Dinner proceeded with Caladna’s usual motherly generalship. Older children were directed to gather the young ones to wash up and take their places. Plates were passed around each table to be served by those she’d strategically seated closest to the platters, bowls, and baskets, with everyone getting their anticipated feast when their empty plate finished its lap. Conversation gradually stopped as everyone happily ate, Caladna smiling at the thought that a silent table meant good food.
Calvin was not very late and bounced into the kitchen from the door to the back porch. Everyone cheerfully greeted him. He was a handsome fellow, with his mother’s beauty and his father’s brawn. He returned everyone’s hellos and scraped an extra chair up to the table corner next to his mother, where he snuggled in to dinner. Caladna had saved his plate beneath her own and set it around the table. She lifted a fork and knife from her apron pocket and handed them to him. “What’s Old Grey been up to these days?”
The young man shot a glance at his father who returned it with curiosity lifting one brow. “He needs a companion for an excursion south”, Calvin replied, reaching for his full plate from his mother. “I thought it might be fun and maybe educational to go along.”
Caladna held onto his plate as she continued to interrogate. “Wearing your swords, and the armor your uncle made for you, no doubt?” They locked gazes in a pregnant moment before she released his plate. His surprise revealed that he did not know his mother was aware of his uncle’s assistance; her confidence revealed that mothers often know more about their children than they might guess. All eyes were on Cal as he took the full plate and set before him, neatly laying his fork and knife across it. Looking around the table, he explained, “Can’t be too careful, you know. And besides, the old fellow couldn’t really defend himself in a fight.”
His father cleared his throat to draw at least some attention from his son. “Sell sword, then. Grey is your first contract, eh?”
Calvin swallowed as he turned to face his father, carefully constructing his answer. “Yes, he is going to Herne and back, a short distance over a well-known road. He does not wish to travel alone.”
“Then why is it a contract instead of just a favor?”, his mother asked, feigning sweetness. “That ‘old fellow’ is neither a fool nor capricious with his coin. And what’s this about your own home and family?”
Calvin blinked at the sudden shift in topics, caught off balance by a mother’s mastery of conversation with her boy-child. The silence at the tables was deafening, until Claywick descended on it. “Now, love, let the boy answer one question before piling on others.” Caladna did not respond to her husband, preferring to keep her attention solely on her son. She waited for his next words.
Beginning to bristle now, the young man’s brow creased, and his cheeks flushed. “First, I am not a child, father. Second, I sought out good information about the nature of travel between Bree and Herne before I agreed to the contract. Third, there are several young women in this town who have shined their eyes on me. But before I seriously pursue any of them, I will have my own personal fortune better settled.”
The children sheepishly returned to their dinner while mother, father, and son silently waited for another question or comment from each other. Caladna finally sighed, leaning over her plate with a chicken leg. Before delicately nibbling on it she quietly commented, “At least you’ve asked about the road to Herne. Probably the most sensible thing a mercenary could do.”
Calvin, tight lipped, picked up his plate, striding with it to the back porch. Claywick followed him, but Caladna turned her attention back to the orphans, who were quietly eating and exchanging uncomfortable glances. They were little calmed by her tight smile. Her stomach became uneasy as, looking at them, she imagined telling Calvin, “If you are going to get your self killed, at least you have the good sense to do it before leaving a widow and fatherless children.” She could never, though, bring herself to say that to her son.
