The scholar looked up, and patiently put down his quill pen. He twined his fingers, and looked up at Loren with every bit of the scorn and barely concealed distaste of a librarian. “If it is not apparent by my attire, markings, and wares, yes. Yes, I am from the Academy of Magic. Did you want to buy something?”
Loren frowned. The day was just getting better. “I might. Please tell me about these books, there are quite a lot you have on sale.”
The scholar sniffed derisively. He gestured towards one of the sagging bookshelves. “These are mostly for history, some empty books for record keeping purposes, the odd legends and fairy tale collections here and there.” He gestured to another bookshelf, equally sagging from the weight of the books. “This one is full of collected bard’s songs, more recorded history, a few spell books allowed to be in circulation by the Academy, and stories.”
“Stories?”
“Yes, fanciful but false tales. A waste of time, if you ask me.”
“Fair enough. What’s your name?”
“I’ll tell you if you buy a book.”
Loren sighed, and her hand went to her side, reaching for her coin purse. She panicked for a moment, thinking that the coin purse had been snatched away by a thief from the press of the crowd. Then she remembered that she had given the entire thing to the old blacksmith. She sighed deeper. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money with me right now.”
The scholar leaned back in his chair, arms crossed on his chest. “Then I won’t tell you my name. Honestly, do you not have a better use for your time than to ask questions with simple answers? You are disrupting my research. If you won’t buy anything, I would suggest you be off.”
Wind, sensing his master’s distaste at this man, leaned his big head into the stall and neighed loudly in the scholar’s face, horse spit flying into his hair, silks, and onto his parchment. The saliva left large wet blobs on the parchment that begun to smudge the ink. Loren ran off laughing, Wind trotting behind her, and left the scholar cursing loudly in the Kespian tongue.
Chapter Four
Loren continued through the market, twitching Wind’s reins. The horse followed dutifully, clopping through puddles and whickering softly to let people know a horse was coming through. It wasn’t a rare sight to have a horse walk through the market, but it was inconvenient when the crowd grew too dense. Wind kept to his path, following the princess, when his big shoulder nudged someone in the back. The horse walked on, and Loren didn’t notice, until the princess was shoved roughly to the ground.
Loren yelped, throwing her hands out to catch herself in the muddy ground. She looked up, trying to see what or who pushed her, and there was a young woman staring down at her. The woman was near the same age as Loren, dressed in old hunting furs many times darned and patched, and dirty brown hair tied back with twine. A short bow was slung over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter with you?” the woman demanded. “Watch where you’re going and keep a better hold over your damn horse.”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Loren shot back, getting to her feet. Heads turned to look. “Shoving people who did no wrong to you, are you crazy? Look, I’m sorry my horse bumped you or whatever it was that happened. No harm done. Alright?”
The woman didn’t accept that apology. She stepped closer to Loren, and smiled. “No harm done? Do you know who I am? Girl, if you pull something like that outside, I’d have an arrow through that pretty face before you could blink.”
Loren stared back at the woman, and laughed. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
The woman scoffed. “No. Why would I?”
A few of the people in the crowd began to snicker. A well-meaning old lady broke off from the crowd to signal a guard. Loren smiled patiently. “I’m the princess of this kingdom. Heir to the throne, and your future queen.”
The young woman paled at that, and stood stunned for a few seconds, eyes wide with shock. She turned to run, but almost ran face first into the polished breastplate of a guard. The guard grabbed the woman by the arms, turning her towards the princess and holding her in a tight enough grip that she couldn’t get away.
“Uh…I’m sorry for what I said?” the woman said awkwardly, wincing at the tight grip. “Maybe we could forget what happened, milady?”
Loren smiled, and turned up her nose in mock distaste. “Guard,” she started.
“Wait, wait! You can’t send me to the dungeons! Ma’trii’s waiting for me at Markin’s, he never moves without me there. He might starve himself if I don’t come back.”
“Who’s Ma’trii? A child?”
“No, a feral wolf. He’s on all fours like a wild wolf, but he’s really smart, like a Beastman.”
Some of the Beastmen in the crowd booed or hissed at the mention of a smart feral. To them, it was impossible. If it ever happened, an abomination that should be sacrificially offered to the gods. Keeping one alive on purpose was looked down upon. Loren held out a hand to calm any dissent and quiet the crowd. She wanted to know more.
“You live with a feral?”
“Yeah, he’s my hunting partner. I shoot, he tracks. He’s a really good tracker too, give him anything and he can find it.”
An idea sparked in Loren’s mind, and she signaled the guard to let go. “He can track anything? I won’t send you to the dungeons, if you help me
