Icebound - Chapter 8
#10 of Icebound
Chapter 8 of Icebound
Shadowdale, 1372 DR. 3rd day of The Fading.
That evening Aiden lay in bed, gently petting Scruff on the back of the head. Everything that had happened in the past month was incredible, really.
Mages throwing lightning bolts from the sky. Being attacked by a monster in the woods. His own mother, who had never in his life indicated that she knew anything of magic or witchcraft, had cast a healing spell of some kind on him. Probably several.
Scruff twitched and turned his head to the side, staring at the doorway. The sound of boot steps on wood echoed from the hall, and a few moments later his father stepped into the doorway. His father looked like he'd aged ten years in the last few weeks. Bran wiped one hand on his blue trousers and ran the other one through his iron-grey hair, staring at his son lying in bed.
"Well, it looks like you've been through hell," Bran started as he walked over to the chair next to the bed, and collapsed onto it. "You scared the dickens out of your mother and I. We were afraid we'd lost both of you when you didn't come back at the end of the second day. We went looking. Your mother even had Alistaire try a scrying spell. We thought you were dead."
Aiden thought that over. He hadn't known that her mother's elven friend was a mage as well. The thought disconcerted him, as his only experience with magic before today was being controlled by a wizard and being forced to kill his brother. He was still wondering about that. His own mother was a mage. Or a cleric. Or something. Suddenly he realized there was a whole lot that he didn't know which he probably should.
His father continued, "You shouldn't be too much longer in bed. That arm of yours won't be healed for months though, broken in two places.," Bran said. "Your mother and I need to talk. Try to get some sleep. You look like you need it."
Bran reached over and folded his hand over Aiden's, then reached down and patted Scruff on the head. Bran stood up slowly, the floorboards creaking as he put his weight on them, and walked out of the room. A minute later he heard his mother and father talking from the kitchen. After the past few days, he was kind of tired, and decided to take his father's advice.
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Sunlight filtering through the curtains above his head woke him the next day. The smell of cooking eggs, bacon, apple juice, and fresh bread tickled his nose, making his stomach rumble. He was thoroughly relaxed, and his arm barely hurt at all. His mother must have tried another healing spell while he slept. There was no other way it could have felt that well, considering the agony he'd been in over the past few days.
He looked at his arm. It was splinted and wrapped, so he couldn't tell how much it had or hadn't healed. Not that looking would tell him anything of broken bones. It felt much better though. He tried moving his fingers. They were stiff and his arm was sore, but moving his fingers didn't actually cause his arm to hurt any more. That decided him. He was going to get out of bed.
He grabbed the edge of the quilt and threw it back, swinging his legs down to the sanded wood floor. Resting his foot on the ground was fine. Apparently his sprain was gone as well. He stood up slowly and carefully, just in case. The dresser was only a few feet away, and he padded over to it, trying to keep from getting any splinters in his feet. As he reached out to it, the odor of the pine dresser filled his nose, mixing with the oak and cedar of the house. He'd never smelled it before, and sniffed. Strange.
Putting on trousers and a tunic was only mildly awkward this time. His remaining boot wasn't there. Not that he wanted to wear only one boot anyway. Perhaps his parents had taken it to the cobbler to get a replacement pair. The slippers he had under the dresser would do well enough.
The smell of cooking eggs and bacon drew him into the kitchen. His mother was turning eggs over on a cast iron skillet above the stove. The faint smell of hickory smoke wafted over to him from the closed stove. His mother must have heard him as he came in.
"Go sit down, dear," his mother said, without even bothering to turn around. "Your father should be out soon. We have some important news."
He hesitated a moment, somewhat disconcerted. He still couldn't get the thought out of his mind that she could cast spells, yet there she was cooking. It was like watching a king washing dishes.
Aiden sat down at the table, then felt a heavy weight on his leg. Scruff stood next to him, head on his leg, staring up. "Morning Scruff," he said, scratching the wolf-dog's ears.
Surely enough, his father walked in just as Leda was putting the eggs on the wooden plates. They all sat down and ate for a while in silence, before his father began speaking.
"While I went up to the keep yesterday, I received news that my homeland of Cormyr is under attack by some strange threat to the north of them. Something about an ancient city, as well as goblins, orcs, and bandits. They sent a message, requesting any assistance Shadowdale could offer."
Bran looked out the window that overlooked the nearby field. Morning sun glinted from strands of wheat like newly-minted gold.
"My bum knee just isn't up to trekking all the way down the North Ride and over the mountains to get there." Bran sighed heavily and looked down at the table, then back up at Aiden.
"You're nearly a grown man now, and you know all that your mother and I can teach you. After your arm's healed, I want you to go in my stead. Join the Purple Dragons. The pay isn't bad. If you do well, they might even award you a knighthood. I think the training would do you good. They also have healers in the army, so you're less likely to be killed than if you're attacked by bandits, or worse, in the woods out here." He glanced at Aiden's arm and gave him a pointed look at the last comment.
"If the Zhents intend to take over Shadowdale, you're no safer here than anywhere else. Your mother doesn't like the idea of sending you off that much, though she's fine with it on one condition: that you take Scruff with you until you get over the mountains. Now, they won't let you keep a dog in the Purple Dragons...", he said while waving a hand to dismiss the idea, "...military regulations and such. Too much trouble." Bran frowned and glanced at his wife. "Your mother says he'll come back here on his own." Leda nodded, and Bran stuffed a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, clearly finished talking.
Aiden thought a moment. Bran had never hidden his background, though to Aiden's knowledge Bran hadn't any contact with the Purple Dragons since he had retired. His father hadn't shown any indication before that he should join the Cormyrian military.
He didn't want to disappoint his father. Bran had done everything he could to defend the town he lived in and to raise his sons as best he could, and Aiden knew it. On the other hand, Norin was dead, and nothing could bring him back. It seemed like everything in the town reminded him of something that he and Norin had done together. Maybe it would be better if he left, he thought ruefully.
"I'll go," he said.
His father nodded, looking relieved. His mother looked worried. They continued eating in awkward silence.