Seeds in the Wind

Seeds in the Wind

by Billy Wong

Smashwords edition

Seeds in the Wind Copyright © 2018 Billy Wong

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Credits and author page

Sample of Iron Bloom

Chapter 1

Alfred watched his son toss the leather ball up towards the metal hoop, nailed to a tree behind their manor. It fell far short, landing on the grass over a yard from the trunk. No, that's not how you do it, Alfred said. You're supposed to throw it overhand, not underhand.

What's overhand and underhand? four year old Brad asked.

He should've expected him not to know those terms, but since his wife did most of the child rearing, he sometimes forgot to refrain from overly advanced language. He took the ball and held it in lowered hands with palms facing up. See, like how you were doing it, this is underhand. He threw it towards the hoop, purposely using less strength so it failed to reach the goal. You get less speed and power that way, so it doesn't work as well. Retrieving the ball, he raised it in front of his face and snapped his arms up and forward while releasing it. It sailed through the air, hit the rim of the hoop and fell in. A bit of a close call due to the wind. There was a touch of a chill in the autumn breeze, and Alfred hoped the thin tunic his son wore would suffice to keep him from catching cold. The boy didn't complain, but kids tended not to notice such things as much. He got the ball and gave it back to Brad. Here, now you try.

He walked forward a few steps and threw—again, underhand. It struck the hoop from below and bounced away. Closer, Brad said.

I told you that isn't the right way. Why don't you try the other way?

It looks harder to aim. This way I can make it go more straight.

It's not hard. He demonstrated again, this time sending the ball clean through. You just have to get used to it, but you can actually control your shots better like this.

I don't think there's anything wrong with throwing underhand, Alfred's brother George said from behind them. If that's how he prefers it, why not let him be? There isn't just one right way to do things.

He laughed. And what would you know about sports? The closest thing you enjoy to a sport is probably speed reading. A throw like that wouldn't fly in competition. It's too slow and coming from so low, would be much easier for someone to intercept.

George spread his hands sheepishly. Well, he is four. Maybe it'd be better just to let him get used to handling a ball and improve his technique later.

Alfred frowned. While the comment was innocuous enough, it reminded him how George seemed none too eager to improve his own situation. After their father passed away and Alfred inherited the title of baron, he had expected George to go elsewhere and make something of himself. Instead he stayed around for the purpose of helping govern, when there were plenty of lords who didn't require a sibling's aid to do so. Alfred suspected he lacked confidence in being able to get along on his own and felt more secure remaining on this familiar land. Yet with his brother being so smart and well-studied, he thought he could do better for himself, and not have to settle for being assistant to a small baron. Still, he appreciated George helping to raise Brad and teach him things he might not otherwise have been exposed to yet.

When will you teach me to use a sword instead of a ball? Brad asked.

You're a bit young for blades, we should probably stick with balls for now. Besides, if you can't even throw a ball the manly way how can you expect to wield a sword?

Brad frowned, then finally threw the ball overhand. It hit the tree above the hoop and glanced away, but Alfred was pleased. Now that wasn't so hard, was it? See, it did come closer to the goal. All you have to do is keep working on it and you'll be a champion ringball player in no time.

Thanks Dad. Does a champion mean I'll get lots of money?

He chuckled. As a kid, probably not. You can be the envy of other boys and have girls fawning over you, though.

Fawn...ing?

His petite wife Janice stepped around the side of their house, clad in her apron with a small basket in hand. Isn't he a bit young to be hearing those kinds of jokes?

I didn't mean anything serious by it. Boys and girls start teasing about that stuff pretty young, you know how it is. He and Janice had played at being a couple on occasion when they were little after all, long before any mature interest sprang up between them.

She grinned. That's so, but I still think it's better to let him discover by himself. You wouldn't want to be too intrusive a parent like you used to complain about your own, do you?

I hardly think a few words of encouragement from me falls into the same category as stifling him with a plethora of restrictions. Heck, he barely set any of the rules for Brad considering she did all that. Alfred hugged her. Still, I guess it might be more exciting to let him learn about life on his own. He glanced down into the cloth-lined basket she held. I see you brought us treats.

Boys, I have some sweet buns for you! she called. George ran over first but took the smallest bun, leaving the bigger two. Brad chose the smaller remaining one, leaving the largest for Alfred. As his brother and son moved away to sit and eat on the flat rocks out back, Janice said, Are you all right? You've been looking stooped lately, with bags under your eyes.

Was he already stooped at the age of thirty? He supposed tiredness might affect his posture. I haven't been sleeping too well, that's all. This long drought wears on me, especially since I can't do anything about it.

You shouldn't let it worry you so much. We still have enough water to drink and cleanse ourselves, do we not?

Yes, but the farmers who live in this region... they're suffering because they can't produce enough, and I want to lower taxes on them to ease the burden. However, if I do that we'll have less to pay for our defenses. Without properly equipped and motivated soldiers, we'd be too at risk of being overrun at any time.

She fell silent for a while. Don't lower them, then. Or do, do whichever you think is right, but don't dwell on it so much. I know as a ruler you have hard choices to make, but it does nobody else any good for you to beat yourself up over it.

You might have a point, but thinking less about something isn't as easy as wanting to.

Janice touched his arm. Maybe you should take a break. You don't have to deal with those thieves yourself, Ralph and his men can handle it just fine.

He probably can, but a little stress is hardly reason for me to show weakness as a leader. Seeing the concern in her eyes, he embraced her again. Sorry about worrying you. It's normal for our family, you know. My father bore the weight of rulership and still lived a good long life.

I suppose... but sixty years doesn't sound that long to me.

His dad had fallen ill with a strange disease—although he couldn't say for sure if the strain of his position had nothing to do with his inability to recover. Before he thought of a response, George asked, Aren't you going to eat your bun? It must be getting cold by now, and Brad doesn't want to start without you. Come over here and dine with your son. He gave Janice a kiss on the forehead and went to join them, grateful for respite from the conversation. Her doubtful gaze lingered on him for a bit, but then she turned and headed back into the house.

As he sat by his son, Brad said, Your bun has more dots than mine.

Those are seeds, he replied with a smile.

Seeds? Like the things flowers come from?

Yes, but they're sometimes used in food too, to add flavor—I mean, taste to it.

Brad's features sagged downward in a frown. Does that mean if we eat them, the flowers won't grow? I don't want them now.

Alfred chuckled. Seeds don't only come from flowers, they can come from lots of things called plants. Besides, you've had buns like this plenty of times. Eating a few seeds won't do the great big world any harm, enjoy it.

I guess... can we trade then? Since yours has more and they taste good.

He eagerly gave his bun in exchange for Brad's, and they happily munched down.

A while later, Commander Ralph arrived as requested with a dozen soldiers in tow. In charge of the fort to the west, the stocky red-bearded veteran had long been one of the most trusted subordinates to Alfred and his father before him. Alfred donned his mail shirt, buckled on his father's sword and went out front to meet them. Are you sure this is enough men? he asked, looking around at the group armored similarly to him if cheaper. Half of them carried swords, the rest axes or maces like the one Ralph wore. We don't have a solid grasp on the bandits' numbers.

Ralph gave a big, exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. What, you think there's an army of thieves out there? The most we've heard of being seen at a time was about eight, and even that might be a high estimate. Besides, even if there are more and they outnumber us a bit, the sight of stout men trained and geared for battle ought to strike enough fear into common vagabonds to more than even the odds!

Some of the soldiers seemed scarcely more than boys, faces soft and smooth like those of babes. But if Ralph trusted them as comrades in arms, Alfred should hardly presume to know better than him. Maybe he was just getting old as Janice implied. He gazed back towards where she and Brad watched from the porch. Take good care of Brad for me. And George too, less he go blind reading too many books. She waved him goodbye, and Brad mimicked her with a smile.

They set out towards the south forest where the bandits were rumored to hide out, as they'd robbed many a traveler using the road which ran through it. Along the way, he and Ralph made small talk and shared news of their families. Your son's turning fifteen soon, isn't he? Alfred asked. Any plans so far?

I've a thought to send him off to military school. If he makes it, maybe he can be a real officer instead of a glorified watchdog in a place like this.

Though some lords might have viewed it as an insult, Alfred didn't mind. He appreciated Ralph's candor, and wouldn't be very flattered by someone pretending his family was more than minor nobility relegated to watching over the outlands anyway. Yeah, but it's calm around here. If he made it big, he might have to see real action someday.

That's expected. Nothing for a man to fear. But a hitch in his voice told Alfred he couldn't quite escape feeling fatherly concern. What about you? Obviously that little scamp of yours will follow in your footsteps, but did he show any special talents yet?

He's only four, a tad early to pass judgment on that. But he seems like he might be an ace ringball player in the future.

Heh, I remember when I first tried sports. Never was any good at them, until I learned how to wrestle. That I'm halfway decent at.

A young soldier listening in on them chimed in. The commander is great at wrestling! Whenever we practice, he always ties us up in knots.

Ralph gave his trademark shrug. They're just basic tricks. I have a lot more experience using them, that's all.

Alfred recalled grappling with Ralph before, and discovering his humility wasn't just for show. While a strong man, Ralph's skills had been rudimentary, and the techniques Alfred's father taught proved capable of easily subduing him. But it'd been years since he used them. He still practiced playfully sometimes with Janice, but never against a strong, serious opponent. He wondered if he could still call upon them effectively in case of need.

They continued on and eventually turned off the road, in the direction the brigands had been reported fleeing in. Chatter among the group ceased, as the soldiers focused on staying alert and communicated only through gestures and whispers when needed. Alfred too kept his guard up, hand ready to snatch the sword from his scabbard at a moment's notice. Hours passed without finding anything, and it became harder to pay as much attention. Are they even out here? a slim soldier muttered impatiently. Maybe they're in the other direction. But Ralph asked them to give it a bit longer and they pressed on.

Eventually, Alfred's nose picked up the rich scent of roasting meat. There are people cooking nearby. Unless somebody else is out here, it's probably them.

They drew their weapons and moved towards the smell. A dry, dusty clearing opened up before them, inside which stood three small tents. They shouldn't be outnumbered then, unless those tents were really crowded at night. Creeping closer, they could make out a campfire between the tents, and rag-clad figures surrounding it. Three of them looked to be men, but there were three women as well, and two much smaller individuals—children. Alfred bared his teeth in anger. What disregard for their safety to bring them out here. One of the women, an older one with a broad face and deep wrinkles, must have heard them as she sprang to her feet drawing a knife. You! You're...

The other adults present stood too, some brandishing weapons, but none with apparent confidence as their nervous stares flickered from one soldier to another. Submit yourselves to justice, Ralph said in a firm tone, and we'll spare your lives. Resist, and our blades will have no qualms spilling your blood.

A tall man in his fifties, who might have been the woman's husband, waved a large cudgel with flared nostrils. Surrender to you? And then what will become of our family, our grandchildren when we are locked away. No, we should fight and show you lapdogs of the king we will not bow to tyranny!

Lapdogs of the king? But Alfred's family barely had any contact with the royalty of Casaria, as far back as he could remember. In any case, the scowls of the adult members of the clan indicated their ire was real. What do you mean, tyranny?

You tax us so much while we barely make a profit, so that we starve and our young ones who need proper feeding to grow suffer the worst. Do you think we became robbers out of choice? You forced us into this, and it's a joke you purport to punish us in the name of 'justice.'

Taking in the thin, frail-looking faces of the young boy and girl, he swallowed with guilt. If his tax policies had driven them to this point, he lamented it without a doubt. I didn't know it was this bad, he said lamely. We must pay taxes to the king as well, and without taxing the people of the land we wouldn't be able to meet our responsibilities. But if you really couldn't afford it, you should have talked to me and... He hesitated. He'd thought about granting an exemption, but could he really do that? If he let one family disregard a law, how would he justify refusing such a favor to any other? And if he did start allowing numerous exceptions, he would certainly fail to live up to his obligations and get in trouble with the crown himself. Other families have been able to get along under the same circumstances. Dissatisfaction with the law is no excuse to harm others and pass the burden onto them and their children.

You think it's easy living out here? snapped a younger man, a son or son-in-law of the elder couple most likely. The soldiers tensed, grips tightening around weapons. We just did what we had to, to feed our young. We just...

Ralph averted his gaze. I do sympathize. But regardless of your reasons, your crimes cannot be ignored. Come peacefully, and I promise to ensure your children are taken care of.

You wish to even take our grandchildren away? the patriarch boomed. What gives you the right?! We'll decide how we live, by force if necessary!

You're outnumbered more than two to one, and if I assume correctly aren't even trained. Meanwhile we have Lord Alfred, son of the famed warrior baron of Eskee on our side. You don't stand a chance, so don't force us to hurt you with nothing to gain for it.

The attempt to reason with him enraged him even more. Just because his father was a great warrior doesn't mean he is! We'll see if we stand a chance! He stepped forward, raising his weapon. Not wanting this to escalate into slaughter, Alfred darted in. His pulse quickened as the cudgel swung towards his head, but gritting his teeth he managed to duck under it. He slammed his pommel into the old fellow's solar plexus, made him gasp as the wind was driven from him. He staggered and fell on his rump, the club thumping onto the dirt while he grabbed his chest. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief, not having been overly confident in his skills seeing him through that.

Don't fight anymore, Father, one of the young women with tangled hair said, hugging him with tears in her eyes. I think—she sniffed—I think we should surrender.

The older woman dropped her knife. There's no point in throwing our lives away. We yield. With that, the rest of the family gave up their weapons.

I won't punish you too harshly, Alfred said. But you have to come back with us to stand trial, and can never do this again.

They headed towards town, the family watched over by the soldiers after being disarmed. That was a neat trick you pulled there, Ralph commented while they set up camp for the night. Reminded me what a warrior your father was, that his tutelage alone does you so well.

It wasn't that impressive. I hardly deserve such praise for knocking down an old man with no formal training.

He's a big old man though. Good accuracy and follow-through, to drop him in one.

Now it was Alfred's turn to shrug. Meh. It's not like I don't have any experience. Images flashed through his mind of the live training his father had put him through in the field, blood spraying into his face as he hacked through the fur and hide of beasts.

"Glorified hunting trips under the supervision of your dad hardly count. But it's a