The Four Swords - Chapter 112: Second Rule of Babysitting by Lord Holden

Chapter 112: Second Rule of Babysitting by Lord Holden

My mother’s face was scrunched tight in an expression I knew all too well. Balor needed to tread carefully with my mother but I doubt he has enough smarts to realize it.

“Madam. Do you realize who you just assaulted? Do you know who my father is? My uncle?” Balor sassed toward my savvy mother.

“I know exactly who you are. You are the son of arrogance and the nephew of pride because those are the only beings in this world who would proclaim their own importance.” My mother said as a matter of fact.

“How dare you speak to me in such a way! Who are you to say such things?” Balor asked rhetorically but he bit off more than he could chew. My mother does not care for such literary devices.

“You are speaking to a woman twice widowed that brought three beautiful children into this world. Two, of which are still with us. I have known suffering. I have known hardship. But I choose to bring some joy into this world instead of bitterness and contempt.” The room stilled at my mother’s talking down.

“However since you seem to only think of political status, I am the widow of Lord Kedrick, late Swordsman of the clan of Bear. I am the mother of Lord Holden, current Swordsman for the clan of Bear. I am Lady Evalyn of the court of Ensis. I do not demand your respect; I earn it!”

There are many times in my life where my mother would embarrass me with her wordiness. This was not one of them. I could not be more proud of the way she handled our petulant guest.

My mother surveyed her audience realizing she drew the attention of the entire party. She let out a short breath as if she had saved that air for more of Balor’s back talk.

“If the rest of you might excuse us, I think this young man,” my mother indicated toward Balor with her spoon but stopped just short of hitting the back of his head again. Balor still ducked out of caution. “And myself both could use a good dose of humble pie. That speech of mine got my feathers all puffed up and I caught myself preening. I think it best we go and make sure our farmers all have some refreshments while they’re working.”

“What are you talking about?” Balor retorted with his ever present attitude.

“You and me. We will make a great team. You’ll pull the water from the well and we will carry it around to my neighbors to remind our community that we are here for each other. Hard work and service are always good things for a bitter heart.” My mother recited her motto from my childhood.

Sir Gavin stood from the table and gave a slight bow to my mother out of respect. “Might I join you both, Lady Evalyn?”

Of course the Golden Child wanted to shield his clansman from a bit of hard work. I wish he would just let Balor fail on his own.

“A willing heart is a great gift! Thank you for your offer, but I think this act of a service is a gift that will help raise this boy into a man that Ensis can be proud to claim as their own,” my mother retorted.

“I’m already raised!” Balor shot back in a tone too whiny for a man to use.

Cali could not contain her laughter and half a chuckle escaped her pinched lips. My mother caught sight of it and smiled.

“It seems that the jury disagrees. Up and up!” My mother motioned for Balor to stand. After he did so, she waved him toward the back door.

For the first time in what felt like years, I was free of my most bratty charge. Maybe my mother could take over the rest of my babysitting job. Second rule in my future babysitting pamphlet will be to always involve a mother in tough cases.

The room filled with air. It felt good to not hear the constant whine we had been bombarded with.

“I suppose we should debrief about what we saw with our gnomish friends?” Sir John tried to direct the conversation without fully taking authority from me in my own home. He was a wise man.

“Indeed.” I agreed without fully knowing how to begin a conversation on the topic. There were quite a few opinions around the table that might put importance on different parts of the vision.

“Did anyone recognize any figures in the visions?” I began.

I looked around the room to a handful of my companions shaking their heads. I could not blame them. No faces were clear and one figure was never more than a silhouette. It was unlikely, but I had to ask.

“Does anyone have any insight into what they saw or thought these visions might mean?” I asked. The table once again fell silent. I hoped it meant my counterparts were considering the importance of the question.

“I have a thought but it might be a stretch.” Sir Jacobson offered.

“By all means, you have the floor.” I countered. No one else seemed to have thoughts on the matter.

Jacobson shifted in his chair, grounding himself before he spoke. I wish he believed in himself more.

“The first two lines of the poem did not reveal any visions. This seems strange, given that this poem seems to be the key to our war with the Norads,” I nodded in agreement with Jacobson’s words. “Maybe that is because that part of the poem has already happened? What if lies were already told in a castle tower and they’ve already started forming a wedge?”

I looked around the table. Having experienced the gnomish prophecy ritual about as much as anyone else around me, I could not have any more insight into it. Sir Jacobson’s assessment made sense.

“I suppose that could be true, but does that help us proceed with a plan of action?” I offered. Knowing part of the vision might be in the past did not give me much confidence in what could happen in the future.

“I guess it could mean we focus on the third line. ‘A most foul brute near her power’ is the person we need to identify. It would be easier if we knew which ‘her’ we were dealing with.” Sir Jacobson added.

“I’m confused. Aren’t the visions all linked to Alina?” Cali offered.

“They might be, but she doesn’t have the most power right now. I guess I mean to say that this brute could be near Queen Valerie or even the Autarch…” Sir Jacobson’s passion waned at the mention of our enemy. This vision just got more complicated.