The Dragon of Despair by Jane Lindskold Page B

rain but that driven directly by the wind from coming into the house.
    The furniture had clearly been made locally and consisted of three-legged stools and a couple of rough board tables. Sand-scoured pots and pans hung on the wall near the hearth, and a series of shelves held a few serving utensils.
    Despite these rude accommodations, the house was comfortable. Some effort had been made to decorate it. Bed quilts hung along the walls like tapestries, and a family shrine held its position of honor in one back corner, a squat candle burning in a holder in front of it.
    Remembering how fire had taken Barden’s settlement, Derian found himself wondering if some similar homey touch had slain those first colonists.
    He shivered at the thought and a pretty woman who Derian guessed was only slightly older than he was hurried over to him.
    “Hello! I’m Dawn, Ewen’s wife. Let me give you something hot to drink and a seat by the fire. I well remember how wearing a long day on the trail could be.”
    Derian let Dawn urge him into a seat, but insisted that Dawn make the tea from the supplies in his pack. It was too early in the spring for these people to have been able to much augment the stores they would have hauled across the mountains, and he wasn’t about to take advantage of their generosity.
    The eagerness with which Dawn accepted his gift confirmed Derian’s guess that she was housekeeping on a slim margin. As she prepared the tea, she made introductions all around. Firekeeper was introduced as Blysse. Neither she nor Derian insisted on the title “Lady,” a thing Derian thought wise given Ewen’s disdain toward the king, a reaction that might extend to the Great Houses.
    As Derian had guessed, the cabin was home to other than Dawn, Ewen, and their three small children. Five other adults and assorted children apparently took their meals in the cabin. All assisted with preparations for the evening meal and showered Derian with questions.
    It was clear to him that although most had been out west only a few moonspans at most—and the majority for a moon or less—they viewed the land on the other side of the mountains as a foreign place, a curiosity. Ewen had chosen his fellow colonists well. At least in this sample, Derian saw no sign of homesickness, only excitement regarding their great adventure and, especially among the younger men, a slight condescension toward him as one who wasn’t taking part.
    I wonder how they’ll feel when winter comes , Derian thought, irked by a particularly thoughtless comment regarding his own journey. It’ll be different when new supplies can’t be gotten in by cutting back across the mountains, when the only faces they see are those in this small community, and when the snow is hip-deep. For them, this is springtime in more ways than one.
    Dinner when it was served was quite good. Indeed there was more meat in the stew than a city family might see in a week and broiled fish was included as a side dish. In contrast, for bread there was mounded journey cake, served dry but for a small pot of jam and smaller pats of strong-tasting soft cheese.
    “We’ve a few cows,” Ewen explained, “but they’re nursing now. We chose breeds known for their hardiness rather than great givers of milk. Time enough when we’ve been longer settled to bring out finer stock.”
    Derian agreed. He knew little about cattle—Prancing Steed Stables had moved away even from draft oxen, except by contract.
    “Feed must be a problem,” he said, thinking of what he’d packed just for his own animals.
    “Cows aren’t as choosy as horses,” Ewen replied, “and goats less than either. We opted for more goats than anything else. We’re also planting oats for when winter comes and hope to import some. Oats are good for people as well as animals, as is corn. For a time, we’ll be doubling up with the creatures, though we’ll be eating mush and porridge rather than grain.”
    “Hunting’s good,