The Stair Of Time (Book 2) by William Woodward Page A

got to his feet.  “Andaris Rocaren, meet Handel Dunarin.  Most folks just call him Gramps.”
    Andaris grinned and walked the rest of the way to the table as Handel, his agility belying his age, sprang to his feet.  He’s even bigger than Gaven! Andaris thought, craning his neck to look up at him. “Nice to meet you, Gramps,” he said, holding out his hand.
    Handel eyed the proffered appendage with momentary doubt, as though expecting some trick, back and belt bristling with weapons, a steel-quilled porcupine with the heart of a bull.  After nothing untoward occurred, he smiled and, vigorously enough to make Andaris’ teeth rattle, gave the extended hand a good and thorough shaking.
    “Honor’s all mine, y oung’n’!  Very glad to make your acquaintance!  Heard a lot about you, as ya might s’pose.”  Gramps glanced around, scanning the yard for prying eyes, lowered his voice and said, “Gaven here invited me to come along, at least as far as the entrance, so there’d be someone to watch the horses while you boys are inside, and someone to fetch help if ya don’t come back out.  Provided it’s okay with you, that is.”
    Gramps ’ chest swelled with remembered pride.  “I know the territory as well as any man alive.  I can still swing a sword and drop a deer clean at a hundred yards if’n I needs ta.”  He reached back with a wrinkled hand and touched, almost caressed, his ash bow, the top of which protruded above his right shoulder beside a couple dozen blue-fletched arrows.  “This was my father’s, and his father’s before him, and one day soon it’ll be Gaven’s.”  Gramps’ leathery face lit with mirth, transforming him, giving Andaris a glimpse of how he’d looked in his youth.
    He must have really been something, he thought.
    “But not today , boyo!  I’ve got months left in me.  Mayhap years!”
    Andaris had heard some pretty tall tales regarding the man, most often conveyed with great bravado by a partially to fully inebriated Gaven.  By all accounts, he was quite the colorful character, having lived a superlative, if somewhat contradictory life defined by high adventure, noble deeds, and roguish pursuits. 
    Now, a nyone who’d known Gaven for more than five minutes knew he possessed a flare for embellishment.  That said, given the astonishing breadth and scope of the tales, Gramps would still make for a very welcome travel companion.  In other words, even if his accomplishments had been exaggerated by half, which they hadn’t, and even if it had been twenty years since he’d seen anything but gray in his beard, which it had, he was still twice the man you were apt to find for hire at your local Tavern.  You know the sort—the drunken louts with the surly dispositions who do nothing for no one unless it involves a pouch full of gold and an opportunity for future debauchery, the sort of men who make you feel obliged to sleep with one eye open, a sword half drawn, and a warding spell cast.
    In addition to his s terling credentials, Gramps’ had lived alone since the death of his son, Belfar Dunarin, and so had no one and nothing to tie him down.  Beyond Gaven, that is, and he was leaving.  All things considered, it was a very easy decision to make, especially since Andaris’ consent was little more than a formality.  For all intents and purposes, he was Gaven’s grandfather.  If he wanted to go, he would go.  It was as simple as that.
    “Well,” Andaris began, “it would certainly be better than having to walk back to Rogar, which is where the horses would go if we left them to fend for themselves. And even if they didn’t, I like the thought of having someone on the outside.  You never know when an extra sword will come in handy.”
    Gramps c lapped Andaris on the back.  “You said I’d like ‘im, Gaven, and you tweren’t wrong!  It’ll be good to be away from that confounded farm, to feel the road beneath my legs again.  And if’n I die along