He had dropped his bags to catch her.
“Is that your shield? Your face looks so skinny. Why aren’t they feeding you more? Is Eric all right? Dad said he hadn’t seen him since they were conscripted. Is anyone picking on him?” The questions kept tumbling out of her at such a pace that Will couldn’t hope to remember them all.
“William?” his mother’s voice called tentatively from behind him.
Disentangling himself from Sammy, he turned to face her. She looked old, too old and fragile to be the woman who had raised him, and the expression on her face brought his guilt roaring to the surface. “Mom.”
She took several hesitant steps toward him and he had to caution her, “Watch out. There’s a clay jar full of milk in that bag. It was expensive—” Ignoring his advice, she stepped over the bag and put her arms around him.
Neither of them spoke for a while, but eventually she told him, “Make no mistake, I’m still furious with you. Especially so, since you brought Johnathan back and didn’t even have the decency to let me see your face.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
She stepped away and took note of the bags scattered around him. “Sammy, help me. We should take these things inside.”
“Let me, Mom. I brought it.”
“Nonsense. Go inside and take off that thing you’re wearing. It reeks to high heaven. I’ve never smelled such a stench. You need a bath before anything else.” The disgust on her face made it clear she thought his gambeson should be taken far away and burned.
There was nothing he could do but agree. He knew well how stubborn his mother could be. She and Sammy buzzed around him like flies, ushering him into the house and forcing him to strip down while they built up the fire to warm the front room. Sammy let out a gasp when he removed his padded armor and tunic—not because of his near-nakedness though; she had grown up with two brothers.
“Whoa! Look at your muscles!” she exclaimed.
Erisa intervened. “Sammy, take his clothes outside and wash them. Twice.”
Two hours later, he was clean and sitting by the fire in one of his grandfather’s old robes while his clothes were drying by the fire. His uncle had returned by then, and Will spent a considerable amount of time telling them about everything he had been through over the past couple of months.
His mother started to cook, but Will went over and told her to take a break. “You’ve been cooking for the three of you for the past few months. Let me.”
She looked at him curiously. “You’ve hardly had a moment to yourself in ages with all the training. Wouldn’t you like to rest?”
Being in his grandfather’s house again had brought back quite a few memories. “I haven’t been allowed to cook since I left. I miss it.”
Erisa didn’t argue any further, so Will set about his task. He had spent entirely too much on the pork tenderloin he had bought, partly because of his guilt, but he had also been imagining what he would do like to do with it. He cut the meat into four thick chops and melted some of the lard in the pan before adding them. “I saw some wood sorrel outside,” he said without taking his attention from the pan.
His mother smiled and stepped out. She returned a few minutes later with several good handfuls of green sorrel leaves and stems. They looked a lot like clover, but Will knew from experience the taste was entirely different. Sorrel had a sour flavor that suited pork and fish.
While the meat finished, he bruised the leaves and put them in a bowl. Then he nodded at Sammy. “Mash them as much as you can, then add a little water and strain them through a piece of cloth.”
As she started that, he took the meat out of the pan and sautéed some cabbage briefly before removing that as well. Then he added flour to the drippings and made a roux. “A little milk at the end and we have a nice cream gravy,” he said, speaking to himself. Once the sauce was done, he added the cabbage back in and finished cooking it.
“There you have it,” he told them as he divvied up the food. “Pork tenderloin with a sour sorrel sauce and creamed cabbage.”
Everyone was smiling as they ate, and Sammy made no effort to hide her delight. “Is this magic?” she asked. “I’ve never had anything so good.”
“The old man would have probably called it passable,” said Will dryly. “If I had thought to bring some honey and mint, I could have made something even better. Of course, it’s too early for mint.”
“Actually, I’ve been growing some indoors,” said his mother. “It’s always handy.”
Once the food was done Sammy cleaned up and the conversation returned to serious matters. “Have the reinforcements arrived yet?” asked his uncle.
Will scowled. “No, and from what I overheard there won’t be any.”
“That’s insane,” growled Johnathan. “Doesn’t the king realize that won’t be enough?”
“They seem to think the attack here is a diversion,” said Will. “Lognion is sending the bulk of his army to Thornton to fend off an attack there. Supposedly the Darrowan fleet is going to make a landing somewhere near there.”
Unable to contain himself, Will’s uncle got to his feet and went to stand by the door. “The fool! I haven’t risked getting close, but I’ve seen enough to know this isn’t a diversion. There are several thousand men camped around Barrowden, and they’ve spent the winter clearing and widening the road. The Patriarch is obviously planning to march the rest of his army through here in the spring.”
“Someone has to warn them,” said Will, thinking aloud.
“Shouldn’t that be you?” asked his mother. “You’re going back this evening, aren’t you?”
His uncle shook his head. “How? He can’t just go up to one of the officers and tell them he used magic to get here and return. Even if they believed him, he could be arrested for being a warlock.”
“I’m not a warlock,” insisted Will.
“A sorcerer then,” said Johnathan, waving one hand dismissively.
“I’m not that either,” said Will. He was beginning to understand why his own questions had irritated his grandfather so much. “But you’re right. I could be arrested as an unlicensed wizard.” An idea came to him then. “I don’t have to report it in person, though.”
“What do you mean?” asked his mother.
Rising, Will headed for the door that led to the back room of the house. “I’ll write a note. I think I know someone with enough power to get the information into the right hands.” Opening the door, he was surprised to see that the room had changed. The bookcases were still there, heavily laden as before, but the top of Arrogan’s desk was covered with clothes. “Where’s the parchment and ink?”
It turned out that his mother had taken to using the desk as a worktable while mending their limited supply of clothing. “I put everything in the cabinet there,” she said, indicating a cupboard built into a stand next to the bed. While Will brought out what he needed, she cleared away the top of the desk.
Will found the inkwell, several quills, blotting sand, and a small but valuable stack of parchment. Considering its cost, Arrogan had only let him practice his writing with actual parchment on a few occasions. Usually he had to make do with slate and chalk. He hoped the person who eventually saw his note wouldn’t discredit it simply because of his poor penmanship.