A giant chestnut stallion with showy splashes of white and chestnut on his rump, white socks, and a big white blaze throws his head up and trumpets at her.
“He’s magnificent,” Emlyn breathes, “and I think Master Parth is going to hate me for bringing him another problem beast. Somehow, I don’t think this fellow is going to get on well with Stormflash. A lot will depend on his temperament. Let’s see if he’s all that he’s proclaiming.”
Without waiting for Uthorn to reply, she walks calmly up to the fence and leans against it, seemingly engrossed in her fingernails. Finally, the big stallion gets curious and comes to investigate her. He huffs and snorts all around her, to no effect. When he’s finally still, she reaches up and starts scratching under his chin. When his ears begin to droop a bit, she clips a lead on him and climbs up on the fence. Still scratching all the places he can’t reach, he moves around so that she can continue her scratching.
Once he’s close enough, she slips onto his back. Emlyn continues scratching through his mane, which he seems to enjoy. Gently, she knees him into circling the pen at an amble. Deciding that’s enough for now, she slides off him and unclips the lead. He’s close on her heels as she reaches the fence. Rather than open the gate, she slips nimbly through it.
“Hah! I’m onto you,” Emlyn grins, “You’re an escape artist. You thought you were going to knock me over, run out the gate, and go chase down every mare in the countryside. You’ll have plenty of mares to lord over. Don’t worry. I’ll see to that.”
Turning to her left, she finds a pen with a large buckskin mare. “I suppose you were first on his list of mares to add to his harem,” Emlyn says as she approaches the pen, and the mare snorts and paws, but when she goes to move away, she’s limping.
“It’s a shame you’re lame,” Emlyn says, slipping into the pen, “but if you come here, I’ll see if I can heal that for you.”
Stopping her painful limp, the mare keeps her weight on her three good legs. Emlyn lays a hand on the horse's withers as she mumbles a prayer, and a blue nimbus rolls across the mare, who snorts in surprise. Dancing away from Emlyn, it's apparent that the mare is no longer lame.
The mare is frightened, so Emlyn backs away, not wanting to upset her more, and eases herself out of the pen. Near the back of the clearing is an entire group of large horses who seem to be docilely watching her. They look stout and sturdy and heavily muscled with long, curling manes and tails and thick, fluffy feathers cascading over their hooves. Coat colors seem to run the gamut from roan and buckskin to pinto and paint.
“I think you found your draft horses,” Uthorn nods toward the pen, “Unless I miss my guess, those are all Tinker-folk horses. They’re rarely for sale, and when they are, it’s only the geldings. There’s at least one uncut stallion in there, though.”
“Their proper owners must have been sold on,” Emlyn shrugs, “I don’t suppose their owners would mind too much if we kept them and bred them while we look for them and try to buy them back. I doubt we’ll find them anytime soon. Maybe I should have left a few more of those brigands alive.” Emlyn sighs heavily, “More of them might be able to remember more names. At least dead, they won’t be harming anyone else.”
“It’s not your fault,” Uthorn shrugs, “We’ve all had a peek at that bone pile once you pointed it out to Tressa. Once we saw it, we’ve all been tempted to end the last few oaths or no. At least this way, there’s some hope of finding everyone that was sold.”
“If we can find them, they can have their horses back and cared for better than this. They’ll be lamed in no time if they keep standing around in all this muck.”
Looking around, Emlyn takes stock of the other pens and shrugs. “I don’t see much else of interest here, but take them all back to the Temple in Harito. I can’t leave these animals to starve or wander in the woods. We’ll keep them for a time and return them to their owners if we can find them. If not, we’ll figure out what to do with them or sell them. We can always hold the gold in escrow for the owners if they’re found. Give the former captives the mules. Most of them don’t look like they are in much condition to walk, but I think if they ride, they can make it back to Harito today, and the mule is a nice bit of compensation for their captivity. I’m also pretty sure that the mules belong to this bunch of miscreants, and I’m pretty sure, looking at these horses, that they do not.”
Returning to the camp, she slips among the erstwhile captives who are preparing to depart. As each saddled mule turns toward Harito, she slips a bit of something into a belt or pocket, wishing them well. With the crowd dispersed, she goes to find her mare and gives her a good curry before offering her a winter-bitten apple and plenty of praise for her performance on the road. Emlyn calmly readies her for the day’s journey and starts on the pack horse.
With the horses ready for departure, Emlyn heads down to the creek for a cold bath of her own. Stripping quickly, she pulls a face before stepping into the frigid water. Scrubbing as fast as she can, she washes the grime and sweat away and wades back out... Pulling on her dirty clothes from the day before, she grimaces a moment, but shivers in the chill of both the water and the air. Dressed again, she hurries to the fire and finds that one of the clerics is up and has made tea and porridge.
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Dishing up some porridge and tea, Emlyn goes to find Benger.
Juggling the bowls and mugs, she makes her way into the tent to find Benger pulling on his boots, “Here, I brought you some breakfast.”
Handing over his bowl and mug, she sits on her cot, waiting for her food to cool a bit.
“These thieves have stolen a lot of horses. There’s at least one war horse in their pens, maybe a few more. A whole herd of draft horses and even a few tiny ponies suitable for pulling mine carts.”
Grinning at her over his porridge, Benger asks, “Already looked them over for ones you want to keep?”
Chewing, she nods and swallows before continuing, “I have. Master Parth is going to hate me for that big chestnut stallion, but he's truly magnificent. I’ve not seen his like before. I’ve seen that spotted coat pattern before, but never on any horse his size. There’s a white mare too that has the look of a war horse about her, but she’s too skittish to let me get close to her. I’ve told them to take all the horses back to Harito to the Temple. We can sort them out from there.”
“That seems like a sound plan,” Benger agrees, “If everything here is handled, we should get moving.”
“All the former prisoners are leaving,” Emlyn nods, “Everyone’s loaded onto the mules and pointed back to Harito. I’ve suggested that, since some of them have been missing for months, they hurry home and start writing letters or sending messages to explain to everyone that they’re still very much alive and well. I’d hate to see them lose their houses or businesses because they were declared dead.”
“Seems reasonable,” Benger nods, “Let their friends, family, and business associates all know that they’re free and home safe.”
“The horses are ready,” Emlyn nods, “as soon as you finish your breakfast.”
“I’m rather looking forward to our journey today,” Benger grins, “and your story.”
He wolfs down the rest of his porridge and takes their bowls down to the creek to clean them. While he’s gone, Emlyn flips open his pack and shoves the last of her small silk-wrapped parcels deep into the pack, down in the bottom. She also resets her daggers into her boots and takes a slender, flexible stiletto from her pack, shoves that into the arm of her linen undertunic. She glances at the cracked cat's claw and packs them away. She quickly braids her hair and steps out to meet Benger,
“Your first day in service has been an eventful one,” Benger grins at her as they mount up.
“No less eventful than the rest of my life,” Emlyn says with a wry grin. Picking their way through the forest, they make their way onto the road. Without waiting, Emlyn kicks her mare into an easy ground-covering canter. Once the sun is fully up and the air begins to warm, she slows the mare to a walk, and Benger pulls alongside her.
“I wanted to get some distance from that place,” Emlyn says, “before I dive into my story. What I have to say isn’t for other ears. I need you to give me your word as a paladin that what I say to you will never be repeated to anyone who doesn’t already know my story.”
“You have it,” Benger agrees readily. Nodding, Emlyn continues, “I’m sure you’ve figured out, by now, that my name isn’t Nia. Nia ferch Hayden ap Rhys is the name of one of my childhood friends and one of the earliest casualties of our war. I borrowed her name because I knew, given the circumstances, she wouldn’t mind. It was her assassination that drew me into the conflict and truly set me on the path that led me here. I was born Emlyn ferch Terwyn ap Melfyn, and I am in all probability the last living Renunciate.”
Open-mouthed, Benger stares at her, “Are you making this up?”
“I am not,” Emlyn replies, “Rwy'n ei dyngu. (I swear it)” And the accompanying flash of truth confirms it.
Benger snaps his mouth shut as Emlyn continues her story, “There are three of us who are yet to be accounted for, so I still have some hope that I’m not the last of us, but as much as I would wish otherwise, I have to admit that it’s unlikely. I was born into what was about to become the highest-ranked Great House of my people, just short of the Royal Family. Nia’s family was of a similar status, and we were born not a month apart. She was one of my earliest playmates. We grew up together, and she was, in every way but blood, my sister. We were inseparable. When I took service with Rigan, I don’t think anyone was surprised when she joined soon after. When everyone split over Rigan’s madness, we were originally “The Faithful” and “The Schismatics”.”
“What side were you on?” Benger asks.
“Originally, neither,” Emlyn sighs, “We were a small third group who didn’t believe that we needed to take sides and didn’t want to fight our former brothers and sisters in arms on either side. We tried to be a neutral voice of reason and use words instead of blows to settle our disputes. We were trying to broker a peace between the Faithful and the Schismatics. Many of us had friends and even family on both sides, so we were hoping to resolve the conflict diplomatically.
If the Faithful would agree that forcing us to hunt bards was wrong, it would have gone a long way toward forging a lasting peace between the two groups. Bards, among my people, were sacred, the keepers of our lore and law. By ancient law and even older custom, none were allowed to impede them or harm them, yet Rigan had sent us out, unknowingly, to kill them. Nia was among the leaders of the Schismatics and was on her way home from a parley, where she had been promised safe conduct by the Faithful, when she was murdered.
She hadn’t gotten far from the parley, so we heard the scuffle and came running. It was only a few minutes, and still far too late. We found her and the others looking like porcupines from all the darts. Every single dart was poisoned. We were able to get some of the names of their attackers from the dying. Nia herself was able to give me two names before she died. They were both from the Faithful. All of them were from the same clique within the Faithful.”
“What happened then?” Benger asks, enthralled.
“I stepped down from the Neutral ones, painted stripes on my face, and left for my family’s keep. I took my younger brother, Lefi, and my sister, Arwydd, and we went hunting. Lefi and Arwydd herded them for me, and I captured them. You’d be surprised how many secrets will spill out of some people when they find themselves in a remote place where no one will hear them screaming, hanging upside down, tied between a tree branch and a boulder.
I wrung the entire plot out of them. They never meant to have peace until all of the Schismatics were dead. I knew then that the only way to stop the fighting between the two groups was to eliminate the hardliners from both sides. I had to think for a while to come up with a way to do it, but I finally hatched a plan that wouldn’t completely destroy my conscience or my self-respect. I bundled them onto their horses and sent a paid messenger to all three sides to meet me at a crossroads outside of town. The land there is very flat, and unless you belly crawl for miles, nothing can approach without being seen. Even then, the grass moving is likely to give you away.”
Tell about about religion where you are. Which one? How pervasive? All the good stuff. I might use some of it. Let me know in the comments.