Hey! let's find out if ff.net can handle .doc's again!
Okay, enough of my silliness. Here is the first chapter, and I apologize
for my lack of fluent knowledge on everything contained in this chapter. It
would be handy if someone could proof read my work and knew some of the
terminology quirks. That said, I hope this chapter is amusing enough.
There's more, this is just the first part.
Chapter 1
The young lad had been brought in to work in the stables by Lord Tyron Levonmear after his trip to the north. Eldran, the stable master, wasn't really sure where he'd found the boy, just that he wouldn't have taken the lad if he hadn't been sure the boy had no family. Lord Tyron had said he was here to "help", and at first Eldran had been skeptical about the boy's usefulness. The boy had been hardly old enough to pour his own water! But Tyron had quite plainly hinted that Eldran had asked for new hands, and this was all he was going to get.
At fist the boy had only been good for small things. The lad had become the threader of needles, the fetcher of carrots, the reacher of small places, the doer of small tasks. Eldran had been worried the other stable hands wouldn't accept the boy, but his fears never amounted to anything other than a few more lost hairs.
The boy seemed to be as charismatic as any master bard, and had wiggled his way into the stable hands' good graces (if not their hearts), even the rather stoic ones.
Even the lord's youngest daughter (of two) had found a certain charm in the lad. Maybe it was the way he was always cheerful, or perhaps it was his seemingly endless store of energy and is stubborn will not to give up.
But other than Lady Niniea and those who worked in the stables, Ravyn was virtually a nonentity. No one in the household really knew what he was like; just that he was a boy who worked in the stables. Lord Tyron Levonmear had brought the boy back with him, and promptly forgot he even existed.
As the boy got older, however, Eldran began to notice something: the boy had a way with horses. The lord's family had bred horses for a long while and theirs had gotten to have a great deal of speed and endurance. He also kept horses for hunting, pleasure riding, and menial tasks, but Levonmear Keep was best known for their horses bred for running long distances. Eldran had always been looking for the perfect horse: intelligent, fast, with a good constitution and a strong spirit that could almost be felt physically. Companions didn't count. Eldran had yet to meet such a horse, but he waited and he hoped.
If anyone had known more than Eldran about the keep horses, it had been Tyron's father, Aldranon Levonmear. Aldranon had lived, breathed, and ate (figuratively) horses. His wife Limanine practically ran the entire area, especially if Aldranon was in one of his what everyone fondly called his "horse moods", as well as the household. Besides that she seemed to enjoy it immensely, and none had much to complain about the way she ran things. "Wonderful woman," Aldranon had once said of Limanine, "she's absolutely wonderful."
Tyron, however, had not inherited his father's love of horse flesh, though he did enjoy a good ride now and then. Tyron's fist born son thought of them even less. His second son was too sickly. The fact of the matter was that some of the horses weren't getting enough real exercise, nothing challenging. A few were bordering on extremely lazy.
That was when Eldran noticed the boy had managed to befriend all of the horses of the stable. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement, Ravyn knew the horses, knew when to push or pull, knew what mood they were in. Then an idea occurred to Eldran, one that would change things.
All right then, Eldran thought to himself, today is the day.
For the past month Ravyn had began to learn how to mend and care for tack, how to check and see if the horses blankets were good; how to tell if a horse was tired or overworked, or brimming with energy, or skittish. He'd been currying the horses' legs for years, though he couldn't reach their backs, none of the horses seemed to mind Ravyn at all. Mostly the boy had watched and as he watched he learned, maybe even remembered.
Eldran was going to get that boy up on a horse, no matter what Tyron thought. Eldran threaded his weary bones through the stables. He was fine now, but if it rained his joints had something to protest about. He was hard pressed to admit it, but he was getting old.
The lad slept in one of the empty stalls on a bunch of hay which some of the stable hands liked to call "the nest" because Ravyn made a cocoon of blankets in the middle of it all, letting the center sag in, shaped like a nest. When more stalls were needed, the boy would sleep up in the hay loft, but right now he didn't need to. The boy had his eccentricities, how he wouldn't let anyone cut his hair, how it was long enough for him to tie it behind his head. It was lighter than the color of straw, and went well with his blue-gray eyes and his pale skin. When he'd first come he'd spoken some halted form of Valdemaren and it had taken a while for him to understand them, and they him. He was also fiercely competitive with anyone who he considered a challenge or if anyone challenged him. He was a gracious enough looser, but a terrible winner. He could gloat for days. Not that it happened often.
After opening the stall door, Eldran found the boy fast asleep, though the morning was well underway.
"Ravyn," spoke Eldran in his sternest voice, "what be yeh do'en still abed?"
Eldran watched with a certain amount of amusement as the lad came awake all at once and pocked his head up from the blankets in his nest.
"What?!" he said, then, "er. sorry sir. 'bout sleeping sir. I mean, about the in sleeping."
When the lad was tired he had the habit of mixing his words around.
"Now Lad," Eldran called Ravyn lad more often than not, "I have a special task for yeh today."
If it was possible for a person to look hopeful and apprehensive at the same time, that was certainly how the boy looked now.
"Donn worry 'bout break'en yer fast. Yeh'll get to do that later. Ready yer self quick like and meet me by the doors."
Eldran watched as the boy scurried off to do what he was bidden, it took a moment for him to realize that the tugging on his face was a smile.
Chapter 1
The young lad had been brought in to work in the stables by Lord Tyron Levonmear after his trip to the north. Eldran, the stable master, wasn't really sure where he'd found the boy, just that he wouldn't have taken the lad if he hadn't been sure the boy had no family. Lord Tyron had said he was here to "help", and at first Eldran had been skeptical about the boy's usefulness. The boy had been hardly old enough to pour his own water! But Tyron had quite plainly hinted that Eldran had asked for new hands, and this was all he was going to get.
At fist the boy had only been good for small things. The lad had become the threader of needles, the fetcher of carrots, the reacher of small places, the doer of small tasks. Eldran had been worried the other stable hands wouldn't accept the boy, but his fears never amounted to anything other than a few more lost hairs.
The boy seemed to be as charismatic as any master bard, and had wiggled his way into the stable hands' good graces (if not their hearts), even the rather stoic ones.
Even the lord's youngest daughter (of two) had found a certain charm in the lad. Maybe it was the way he was always cheerful, or perhaps it was his seemingly endless store of energy and is stubborn will not to give up.
But other than Lady Niniea and those who worked in the stables, Ravyn was virtually a nonentity. No one in the household really knew what he was like; just that he was a boy who worked in the stables. Lord Tyron Levonmear had brought the boy back with him, and promptly forgot he even existed.
As the boy got older, however, Eldran began to notice something: the boy had a way with horses. The lord's family had bred horses for a long while and theirs had gotten to have a great deal of speed and endurance. He also kept horses for hunting, pleasure riding, and menial tasks, but Levonmear Keep was best known for their horses bred for running long distances. Eldran had always been looking for the perfect horse: intelligent, fast, with a good constitution and a strong spirit that could almost be felt physically. Companions didn't count. Eldran had yet to meet such a horse, but he waited and he hoped.
If anyone had known more than Eldran about the keep horses, it had been Tyron's father, Aldranon Levonmear. Aldranon had lived, breathed, and ate (figuratively) horses. His wife Limanine practically ran the entire area, especially if Aldranon was in one of his what everyone fondly called his "horse moods", as well as the household. Besides that she seemed to enjoy it immensely, and none had much to complain about the way she ran things. "Wonderful woman," Aldranon had once said of Limanine, "she's absolutely wonderful."
Tyron, however, had not inherited his father's love of horse flesh, though he did enjoy a good ride now and then. Tyron's fist born son thought of them even less. His second son was too sickly. The fact of the matter was that some of the horses weren't getting enough real exercise, nothing challenging. A few were bordering on extremely lazy.
That was when Eldran noticed the boy had managed to befriend all of the horses of the stable. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement, Ravyn knew the horses, knew when to push or pull, knew what mood they were in. Then an idea occurred to Eldran, one that would change things.
All right then, Eldran thought to himself, today is the day.
For the past month Ravyn had began to learn how to mend and care for tack, how to check and see if the horses blankets were good; how to tell if a horse was tired or overworked, or brimming with energy, or skittish. He'd been currying the horses' legs for years, though he couldn't reach their backs, none of the horses seemed to mind Ravyn at all. Mostly the boy had watched and as he watched he learned, maybe even remembered.
Eldran was going to get that boy up on a horse, no matter what Tyron thought. Eldran threaded his weary bones through the stables. He was fine now, but if it rained his joints had something to protest about. He was hard pressed to admit it, but he was getting old.
The lad slept in one of the empty stalls on a bunch of hay which some of the stable hands liked to call "the nest" because Ravyn made a cocoon of blankets in the middle of it all, letting the center sag in, shaped like a nest. When more stalls were needed, the boy would sleep up in the hay loft, but right now he didn't need to. The boy had his eccentricities, how he wouldn't let anyone cut his hair, how it was long enough for him to tie it behind his head. It was lighter than the color of straw, and went well with his blue-gray eyes and his pale skin. When he'd first come he'd spoken some halted form of Valdemaren and it had taken a while for him to understand them, and they him. He was also fiercely competitive with anyone who he considered a challenge or if anyone challenged him. He was a gracious enough looser, but a terrible winner. He could gloat for days. Not that it happened often.
After opening the stall door, Eldran found the boy fast asleep, though the morning was well underway.
"Ravyn," spoke Eldran in his sternest voice, "what be yeh do'en still abed?"
Eldran watched with a certain amount of amusement as the lad came awake all at once and pocked his head up from the blankets in his nest.
"What?!" he said, then, "er. sorry sir. 'bout sleeping sir. I mean, about the in sleeping."
When the lad was tired he had the habit of mixing his words around.
"Now Lad," Eldran called Ravyn lad more often than not, "I have a special task for yeh today."
If it was possible for a person to look hopeful and apprehensive at the same time, that was certainly how the boy looked now.
"Donn worry 'bout break'en yer fast. Yeh'll get to do that later. Ready yer self quick like and meet me by the doors."
Eldran watched as the boy scurried off to do what he was bidden, it took a moment for him to realize that the tugging on his face was a smile.