Free Self-Made Scoundrel by Tristan J. Tarwater Page B

him there a breath longer than he would have liked to before he released him, watching as he gasped for air.
    Faster than thought, Ceric punched Dershik so hard he almost fell down the stairs. “You stupid fapper, you don’t get it. I have to stay here. To be by them. I need them.” It sounded like a plea, like it was begging. But it just made Dershik more angry.
    “I hate you. You’re just as bad as our father, keeping secrets from me, sneaking about and taking everything people give to you, just piling it up for yourself! Chew Her Hems, you greedy slave!”
    “If the world wasn’t run by asses like you and father, I could take for myself!” Ceric shouted, his face red, his eyes shining with anger and tears.
    “Well, take this,” Dershik spat, making an obscene gesture at him. “I hope you die as miserable as I am now, and as lonely. To Her Hems with you.” Dershik tried to ignore the look of anguish on Ceric’s face, but even when he turned and walked away from him he saw it, the pain, how lonely he felt. He tried to push it out of his mind and he remembered words he had said as a younger man, a less angry man. “We have enough to deal with as it is, we don’t need to fight each other.” And what had he just done? He considered going back to Ceric and begging for his forgiveness, but if Ceric said the wrong thing he might blow up at him again. Worse, Dershik could run into their father and he didn’t want to see him, not now.
    Dershik walked through the keep, ignoring the greetings of anyone he came across. Through the kitchen, under the overhang, past the clucking chickens and the herb gardens. The stable was open of course. Ripple had been put out to pasture now, retired, and Eddy waited to be saddled and ridden, the blue roan stallion already pawing at the ground. Dershik shooed the servants away and saddled the horse himself, leading the snuffling beast out toward the gardens that lay to the north of the keep.
    Servants shouted as he galloped the horse through the field, trampling the ornamental flowers. Dershik just laughed and whooped, standing in his stirrups and shouting encouragement to the beast. He rode the horse till they reached the woods, still in eyesight of the keep but far enough away they couldn’t see him. There was a small stream here he knew of and so he tied the horse up close to drink, pulling out the food he had taken from the kitchen and shoved in the saddlebag. There were a few carrots there for the horse and Dershik handed them over, scratching the horse on the cheeks as it snorted with happiness.
    Dershik was about to sit down and enjoy his stolen food when something caught his eye. He blinked, wondering if the failing light was playing a trick on him, but he scrambled up from the ground and walked over.
    A large tree about as wide as his torso, off the path but close enough to the stream he could find it. It was unremarkable except for the fact that close to its base, it was hollow. Big enough to hide a few things. Dershik put his hand inside. A pack would easily fit in here. A set of boots. And the stream could be followed. The recent memory of the accusations he made to his brother still stung. And he knew their father was serious about going through with his fashioning of a Throne instead of a Seat. The tree was here, as well as a way out. Dershik could give one more thing to his brother, especially if it meant taking away from the Baron who would take from them all.
     
    “You seem to be in a better mood,” Jerila said one evening. They ate supper in their room and Dershik held Deril in the crook of his arm. Dershik brought a spoon of stew to his mouth, the baby waving his arms at the food in acknowledgment.
    “Maybe because the weather’s getting better. I like the summer,” Dershik said. A chubby hand smacked him on the cheek, scratching his beard. Dershik looked down into the dark blue eyes, sticking his tongue out at Deril, who cooed. “You’ll like the summer