Realms of Valor - James Lowder [0]
Microsoft Word - Realms of Valor.rtf
The Lord of Lowhill Douglas Niles Pawldo emerged from his burrow to bask in the air of a rare summer morn: not too hot, neither windy nor cloudy, with just a kiss of warm breeze to carry the scent of ripening grapes and lush, well-watered pastures. A mile away, the waters of Corwell Firth gleamed in the sunlight, the barely rippled surface casting a million diamond-spots of reflection between encircling arms of verdant land. The stout halfling stood before his sturdy, whitewashed wooden dwelling. In typical halfling fashion, it was buried halfway into a grassy hillside, but the burrow was unquestionably the largest house in Lowhill The air of affluence extended to the occupant of the burrow as well. Pawldo's long hair, slightly gray, curled below his ears and just touched the edge of his elegant silken collar Even this early in the day he wore well tailored, expensive clothing Any observer would know immediately that he was a halfling who knew the finer things in life. Below and beyond a stretch of lush pastureland, nestled against its sheltered harbor, Corwell Town awakened to the businesslike bustle of the Ffolk going about their human activities. The curraghs of fishers already bobbed beyond the breakwater, while the clanging of hammer and tongs told of an early-rising blacksmith tending his forge. Carts of fresh produce and milk, some drawn by small ponies and others by long-legged, shaggy hounds, rumbled into Corwell through its open gates. High on the knoll overlooking the town, Pawldo saw the squat form of Caer Corwell, the wooden-walled fort that served as home to Earl Randolph and, for those weeks when Tristan and Robyn visited, as the summer quarters of the high king and queen themselves. He thought of his good friends with a flash of pleasant anticipation, remembering that in a little less than a fortnight the royal family would return to Corwell for their summer holiday. Finally the stocky halfling's eyes drifted closer to home, to the cozy warren of cottages and burrows built around this small, rounded hill. Barely a mile removed from Corwell Town, Lowhill provided a pastoral setting for the little halfling community of which Pawldo served as honorary lord mayor. Nearby bloomed the lush vineyards, and to these fertile hedges Pawldo now sauntered, inspecting with pleasure the clumps of unripened grapes growing plump and sweet in the sun. To his bare feet, covered on the tops with a coat of silky hair, the grass felt softly cool and inviting. Pleasantly reminded of the many good wines he'd sampled from these very vines, he settled himself to a comfortable seat on a patch of shady grass. I'll have to cart a load of last year's vintage over to Kings-bay, Pawldo reflected. The prospect of that trip interested him, in a lackadaisical sort of way. He wouldn't go today or tomorrow, and probably not the day after that either, but it was something to think about. In fact, he remembered a cute little barmaid there, a cherubic-faced halfling wench with whom he could certainly strike a profitable deal. Indeed, if she remained as friendly as he remembered, he would be strongly
tempted to wile away a few days in that pleasant fishing town. Not too long, he reminded himself, since the king and queen will arrive in Corwell for the Midsummer holiday, and I'll have to be home by then. After all, this was not just any summer holiday-this marked the tenth year of Tristan's reign and the tenth year of his marriage to Robyn. All in all, the occasion called for some kind of appropriate acknowledgment. At this thought, the halfling's round-cheeked face darkened in a momentary scowl. He wanted to give them a wondrous gift, something appropriate to the grand occasion. Yet, whatever his gift to the royal couple would be, Pawldo doubted that he could find something sufficiently unique or fabulous in either Corwell or Kingsbay. What to do? This question had nagged at him, off and on, for the last several weeks, yet the stout halfling had not let his lack of solutions