The Warden

Chapter 1

Holding the emerald green rose, practically effulgent with color, just beneath his nose, Masis Domrae took another long, deep pull, marveling at the apple-pie aroma.

How did she do it? Masis wondered, again.

Lady Luck or the Luck of the Land was a rare flower, practically extinct. Most thought so at least. In spite of their rarity and the fact that they normally only bloomed in mid-winter, adding to all of that they couldnt be cultivated in a hot house, Calla, the family Domraes housekeeper, Masis second mother in all but blood, had found one just for today, a day Masis had looked forward to for quite some time.

Shes a wonder and no doubt, he thought, peering about his room verifying that he had forgotten nothing.

His bed sat beneath the large windows, occupying nearly the entire wall. Shutters thrown open, the casement stood opened fully to allow the early morning breeze to clear away the nights stale air. Rumpled and tossed aside, the bed linens lay exactly as had he had left them upon arising. He normally gave them a cursory straightening, in part to prove to himself that he didnt fall into the high-born stereotypes of entitlement and arrogance, and in part to prove to the staff the same.

Today he hadnt bothered. He had flung himself from his soft, embracing mattress, not lying in its folds as he usually did in the morning counting the tree rings in the ceiling above him, not batting an eye that he lived in a couple of giant trees molding and shaped by magic. Skipping his morning routine, had had found his sportsmans apparel neatly laid out on the round table that grew out of the well-polished floor and on top the entire assortment, he had found the rose.

Laying the flower aside, Masis checked himself over one more time. Gloves tucked into his belt that hugged smartly about his middle. His fingers tugged the bottom of his jerkin, insuring none of the deep brown leather puckered above the belt. Stomping down, Masis wriggled his toes before checking that his breeches were neatly tucked into the boots that came up over his calves.

Giddy energy thrummed through him as he checked the cuffs of his shirt for the fifth time. Today promised sport. It promised competition and hopefully victory.

He had planned it. Hopefully, prepared for every contingency. And if he had learned anything from watching and helping his father, the duke, the Forest Lord of Asthurn, over the years, today would come off without a hitch, or at the very least with only a few broken bones.

Four weeks. Four weeks of anticipating, formulating, stressing, and frustrating had led to today. Four weeks of bemoaning the creeping pace of time had left Masis jittery, his fingers twittering when his hands lay idle at his sides, his feet tapping not to music, but the unused impulse bound in his legs. Four weeks waiting for a day that seemed to linger in the future, the Planning Day for this quarter of the year and thus a day with no work, a day when all the lieutenant foreman and lesser nobleman under his father came to Hyrbn and with them his friends. Four weeks praying to Werold, Wilo, Mona, and Mani that the day would be fair.

Those twenty-eight days had tried his two decades of patience nearly to its limits. It had only just held.

Now, staring out the window, the forest encasing Hyrbn stretching out before him, Wilo no more than a few fingers risen, the few stray clouds appeared more as wandering sheep rather than ravening, dark wolves menacing the light. Mingled with the greenwood bright bursts of color revealed the groves of morning blossoming trees with their bright reds and oranges, magentas and blues. They like the Lady Luck he had just picked up had probably been magicked by some mage long ago, back before the Waning—a time that marked the decline of mages and their kind—back when trees were shaped and other creations made by any with a passing fancy.