Finding Destiny Read Online Free Page A

summer is nearly over,” Eduor reminded her. “If you are to have a good harvest come spring, you will need as many fields plowed and planted as you can this autumn.”
    “You claim to be a nobleman. Most nobles don’t bother learning real trades, and they don’t like grubbing in the dirt. Do you even know how to plow?” Chanson challenged him.
    He figured honesty was the best policy with this woman. “Not exactly, but I can learn.”
    “Well, we don’t have the time to teach you,” she said. “Not with so many men gone.”
    “ I’ll teach him how to plow.” Sir Zeilas smiled wryly as both Eduor and the villagers eyed him dubiously. “Less than a third of the Knights in Arbora’s service are noble-born, and it hasn’t been that many years since I was a farmer’s son. Just do not expect me to hitch my Steed to a plow.”
    “We would not insult a foreign Goddess with such a request,” the dyara stated formally. “We know your Steeds are not mortal beasts ... and if you can teach this man to plow, you can have the use of Falkon’s fields and beasts for it while he is gone. Maybe he will come to his senses and return before the growing seasons are done, but they should not suffer in his absence.”
    Her tone suggested she doubted that. Turning, Chanson gestured for both men to follow her into the walled village. The others scattered, some heading out into the fields to do whatever they could in the few hours left before the sun set, the rest returning to their homes.
    Like so much else since the sandstorm, the buildings were coated in dust. But they were well made, crafted from stone and plaster. Flat roofs covered most of the workshops and homes, the granaries and the stables, while sunshade awnings made from woven palm leaves covered those rooftops, plus the occasional stretch of street and alley between each structure. Many of the low-walled courtyards sported long palm wood poles, which supported yet more tentlike weaves.
    The mix of shadow and dappled sunlight allowed plenty of light for tasks while giving the locals cool shade. At least, in the places where the sandstorm hadn’t torn the awnings. Some still dangled in place, tattered and letting through large patches of sunshine, while others had been taken down to be repaired. Most of those were being repaired by gray-haired elders and the children they were minding. Other residents were tending clay ovens and cook fires in the courtyards of their simple homes.
    “We are a small village and do not have an inn, but you are welcome to stay in the guesthouse of the temple. If you can prove yourselves trustworthy and capable, I may give you permission to stay in Falkon’s home. He is the last of his family in Oba’s Well, since his sister married and moved to another village north of here,” Chanson informed them. Her mouth twisted for a moment before she added, “No doubt he expected me to care for his things, as if my duties as dyara were light and carefree.
    “You, Mandarite, will be responsible for tending his chickens and goats, plus the two donkeys and one mare Falkon has left behind. She is due to drop her foal soon. Until she does so and has recovered, you will have to get his donkeys to pull his plow. That, or pull it yourselves. You, Sir Knight, had better teach him how to care for the animals properly. Any damage to them will be taken out of his hide.”
    “I know how to tend animals. I can also weed and harvest. It was just the plowing part I never learned,” Eduor asserted. “And my name is Eduor, not ‘Mandarite.’”
    “Well, you had better learn quickly, Eduor ,” she retorted. “With so many gone, we will be hard-pressed to keep everyone fed.”
    Eduor estimated the village held around two hundred people, with about thirty of those infants or young children and another fifty elders too gray-haired to have the strength for a full day’s farming. The rest were either youths old enough for fieldwork or fully grown adults. The