The bells of the Southmarch tolled slowly and mournfully. I watched from the wall as the parade of black-cloaked figures and the single solemn wagon made its way slowly to the cemetery.
From my lookout on the wall, all I could do was lament that I wasn't in the parade. I should have been there. I had a right to be there.
A voice caught me off guard.
"Quart, you know you shouldn't be here." Old Nan said.
I looked over to see that she had wrapped herself in a mourning shawl, her silver hair framing her face. She was our family lead attendant. She should have been down there as well.
"You know your brother ordered you to remain in your home." She said.
I knew she was correct and that he had ordered that. But I chose not to follow that order. I had the right to see him off.
"He was my father, as well."
She paused for a moment, as the bells rang again.
"That, he was," she agreed softly. "But not in a way that matters to your brother."
"Yeah, I know, Quart the Quarterling, the slave bastard." Old Nan gave me a complicated look, filled with sadness and possibly regret.
I knew what I was. I knew what my sibling believed I was. But father had always been kind. He helped with my studies, saw to my training. He never treated me differently from his other children.
From my vantage point, I watched as my three older half-siblings trotted along behind the carriage. Each wore a face full of grief, receiving a flow of steady condolences from the villagers.
I yearned for that as well. I wanted someone to think about my grief, my feelings. Instead, I was supposed to hide away, be out of sight, out of mind. That would soon be the reality. My brother had seen to that.
"Is it true?" I asked Old Nan. "That Dale is sending me away today?"
Old Nan nodded slowly.
"Your father made arrangements before he took sick. He knew of Dale's temperament. Your mother's parents in Bramblehold will take you. It's what your father believed would be best for you."
Bramblehold, I remembered it from my studies. It was a Halfling town, a place where the free Halflings lived.
"Will they take me?" I asked. "Dale says they never forgave me for killing their daughter with my human head. That's why they don't write."
"They couldn't write, Quart. Slaves don't learn to write. You know that."
I wanted to respond, ask why they had been slaves, but I was distracted by the lowering of my father's coffin. I watched as my siblings slowly lowered the polished coffin into the ground.
"Rest well, Father," I whispered, wiping away the lone tear that had found its way to my cheek. I had done my crying after his death, and I was surprised I still had tears to give. At sixteen, I was old enough to control my emotions.
I wanted to wait and watch until his coffin was fully covered, but I didn't have the time to wait. Old Nan grabbed my hand and started walking me towards the south gate. She handed me a small pack, some shirts, a wooden comb, my small collection of books and finally a small knife.
"I wish we could pack more, but your brother forbade it," Old Nan stated.
I could already picture it. "We don't have any resources for the son of a slave whore." I mimicked my brother's voice in my head.
The walk was short, and I could already see a small transport wagon stationed just outside the south gate.
Old Nan quickly directed me towards the wagon.
"The driver will take you along the south road," she said. "Then you will cut east towards Bramblehold. Stay on the main path. Do not wander. The world is not kind to halflings."
"I'm not a child!" I said automatically and a little too defensively for someone my age.
She raised her eyebrow and gave me a look I had seen many times. I swallowed.
"I know," she said softly, her eyes showing the same kindness they had always shown me.
She adjusted the strap on the pack she had given me.
"Listen to me now, Quart." Her voice dropped lower, steadier. "I am old, I do not think we will see each other again."
I knew she was right, but she didn't need to say that now, and here.
"Don't say that," I said weakly.
She ignored my feeble protest.
"I have watched you since you were small enough to fit in my hand," she continued. "I have seen the way you endure, the way you think and the way you tinker."
She brushed her rough thumb along my cheek, her thumb brushed through my short brown hair, smoothing the messy strands that always seemed to stand up no matter how much I flattened them
"The world will try to tell you what you are," she said. She then gave me a hearty smile. "Don't let it. Go and show them you are Quart the brave, Quart the enduring. I may not get to see the man you will become, but I have no doubt you will become a great one. "
"I will," I promised,
"Next time you see me, it will be my turn to tell you stories."
The driver cleared his throat softly. We were out of time. I didn't know what would happen if I were still here when my brother returned, and I didn't want to find out.
The wagon lurched forward. I wanted to look back, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't let Old Nan's last memory of me be this mess of a face.