“I’ll be back shortly,” I told her.
Maerel nodded and gestured with her head to the front doors. “Go. And don’t get yourself killed. You’re still in my debt.”
19
NEIRIN
Smoke tainted the air.I turned my sights to the horizon, searching for the fire’s origin. Hoofbeats sounded on the cobbled road outside the inn’s courtyard, drawing my attention to the open gateway.
Aaron led the group. Beside him rode a man I’d never met; I suspected him to be the local commander by his uniform. Half a dozen soldiers took up the rear of the group, their horses all dark chestnut and of similar stock.
With a hand at the pommel of my borrowed sword, I watched the soldiers. By the time I turned the corner, they were already crossing over the bridge and heading toward the southern fields.
I slowed my steps as I neared the stables. Voices came from within, and a man hurriedly led out a bay stallion and mounted. The horse pranced and others nickered inside their stalls, the ash in the air making them uneasy.
The man pulled his reins, gained control of his mount, and took off down the path after the soldiers. A moment later, two more men exited the stable and followed suit. I would never keep up with them on foot.
Cursing, I turned to the pasture and leaned against the fence. Above the tree line in the distance, clouds of smoke rose,choking out the afternoon sky. A nicker came from the fields, and the russet mare I’d seen Evera with before approached. She stopped at the fence line and tossed her head over, nuzzling at my pockets.
Pushing the creature’s head aside, I paced down the fence line and found the gate latched with a metal lock. I jiggled it, but the iron held strong. The mare followed, searching again at my waist. It was an irritating trait.
I gave a thoughtful grunt, studying the creature. Despite her pestering, the mare looked capable. I hopped the fence, and she let me approach her side. Though I suspected the horse belonged to Evera, the mare could just as easily be the cobbler’s. It didn’t matter; it was unlikely anyone would notice if I borrowed her for a short time.The itch to fight, to be a part of the fray, was too strong to resist.
With trained familiarity, I mounted the mare bareback, and her flanks quivered. I patted her neck to calm her. Riding bareback was something all men of the castle guard were taught. Becoming comfortable with a horse and learning to control one without tack were among the first things we learned as boys.The horses of the guard, however, were highly trained. This mare, at least, had a halter and lead to aid in directing her.
With a click of my tongue, I pressed my heel back to guide the mare. She obeyed, easing into a steady walk. At the far end of the small pasture, I applied slight pressure with my inside leg and a firm tug on the stiff leather reins, turning her cleanly before setting her back on course.
Many horses fear jumps, especially when a rider is on their back. There was no guarantee the mare wouldn’t halt at the fence line, barreling me over her head. I set my jaw and took a clump of mane in my fist, balancing my weight and gripping with just the right amount of pressure with my thighs.
The creature took to a trot with a firm push of my heels. I let off the pressure and squeezed again, coaxing her to quicken, and she did. The muscles that moved along her sides and the pace of her gait became an extension of myself, and I encouraged her on. When the fence line approached, she didn’t falter. I braced as she cleared the jump.
The mare’s hooves raked the cobbled road, and her ears flicked as she gained footing and slowed her gait. I turned her toward the bridge and urged her on at a trot.
Nearing the river, I relaxed and leaned back, signaling her to slow to a walk as we crossed the stone bridge. The mare nickered and obliged. Without the forest obscuring my view, I could take in the extent of the fire’s damage. Several buildings were up in flames, sending columns of angry black smoke to the sky.
I squeezed with my heels, and my mount picked up speed. Drawing nearer, I heard the shouts of men and the metal hum of swords rising over the crackle of embers. The mare’s flanks quivered, and her steps became agitated. I slowed her, wishing for a post or tree to secure her by her lead.
“Stay put,” I said, gesturing with my palms after I dismounted. The mare lowered her head to my side and nuzzled under my cloak. With an edge of force, I pushed her head away, and she took a step back with an irritated snort. In the worst-case scenario, she would return to the stables. Even daft horses knew their way home, and I could walk back and find her later if need be.
With my heart thundering in my chest, I set off on foot toward the commotion. Already, a clarity had come over me. Focus. My palms itched, ready for a fight, and I flexed my hands at my sides.
Ash carried on the breeze, sending paper-thin flakes of black soot into the air. One caught on my cheek, and I brushed it off, smearing a line of charcoal on the back of my hand. Bythe time I reached the fray and drew my sword, my eyes stung. I suppressed a cough and addressed the situation as I’d been trained to do.
The burning buildings were not essential to the livelihood of the town as a whole. Homes for the workers, a few shacks. The fields were all intact, untouched by the flames. The wind was low, which was more effective in controlling the fire than the peasants who carried buckets of water. Their efforts would do little good, in truth. The structures would be burned to ruins.The starting points of the fires were too thoughtful, as if the men who set them held an interest in preserving the land and the stores of grain kept in the silos.
Men ran by me, swords drawn, shouting at one another. Others stood still, looking around with expressions of confusion. The heat of the lapping flames consuming a nearby home warmed my right side to an uncomfortable level, and the subsequent smoke charred my lungs.
Squinting my eyes in the haze, I made out several of the local soldiers. They each wore the same black uniform with an emblem of a raven embossed on their breasts. The routiers and commoners who had come to aid for a share of the coin wore an eclectic collection of armor plates, chainmail, and everyday clothing. I could not determine the location of the commander, nor of Aaron, amid the chaos. Nor could I detect anyone who appeared to be a true threat. Though I could understand why reports came of raiders, as it was difficult in the fray to make sense of each man’s intent and position, there was no doubt that the homes were set on fire intentionally.
Agitation struck alongside a wave of disappointment, followed immediately by shame. Coming here had been an unnecessary risk, a mistake. How quickly my reasoning quelled the desire for the calming release of battle. Had there been afight, had my hood been tossed back, and had someone noticed me by chance …
My conversation with the huntsman came back to me as I adjusted my cloak and took in the chaos. He had mentioned that word of the King’s death had been sent to the commanders of each of Cilicia’s garrisons. Snarling, I cursed under my breath. It was very possible the man who accompanied Aaron knew of me already and was keeping his gaze steady, searching for the silver-haired bastard who had killed the King.
Kicking at loose pebbles, I walked back to where I’d left the mare, ridiculing my recklessness. My monster roiled beneath my skin, a faint reminder of his presence.
If there was no raid, what was the reasoning behind setting buildings afire? Typically, such strategies were used as a distraction or to cause chaos so that outlier buildings could be robbed, so that fear could be instilled among a group of people. Raising my gaze to the hillside, I scanned for thieves or raiders, for the possibility that this was a warning or retaliation. Retribution for something. But I found nothing more than the quiet tree line.
The mare nickered where I left her, yet as I approached, I stilled. An energy hung in the air. Familiar, blood-chilling.
