Jerrol led the road-begrimed horse through the archway into the inner courtyard and the stable blocks fanning out around it. A small lad popped up beside him. “I’ll take him, sir, I’ll see to old Sooty,” he said with an affectionate rub of the horse’s nose. Jerrol relinquished the reins and turned to greet Zin’talia, who was bombarding him with affection. He hugged her. “Enough! Anyone would think I’ve been gone a year instead of a day!”
He smoothed a hand down her silky neck; she was looking pristine and full of energy. “Hmm, no gallops for me today, maybe tomorrow, hey? One of the lads can take you through your paces, or shall I turn you out to pasture?” She flashed her eyes at him and shook her head. “Okay, why don’t you go for a run.” He led her down to the training field, where he released her. Leaning against the wooden rails, he watched her gallop away, frisking all the way, her tail flowing behind her.
He smiled in pleasure at her pleasure as she danced her way back up the field and pirouetted before him. “Now you’re showing off,” he said as he realised they had gathered an audience of lads, young and old, gazing adoringly at her.
Jerrol caught the eye of the stable master as he walked across the yard towards him. “Now she is a real beauty, and she knows it.” The stable master’s eyes followed Zin’talia as she frisked away like a young colt. “But,” he said glaring at the lads, “we have some exhausted horses here who deserve just as much attention if not more, so off with the lot of you,” he barked, scattering the lads back to their duties.
Chapter 21
Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
Jerrol turned back towards the hall, leaving Zin’talia to play, her touch a light and carefree but reassuring presence, the stable master walking with him. “There was a bay mare in the picket, she was from the hostelry outside of Deepwater. I borrowed her the other day; my mount had run out of steam, she ought to be returned.”
“I wondered where she had come from. We’ll take her back,” the stable master assured him, veering off as Jerrol headed for the hall.
The dining hall was sparsely populated: a few guards who had finished their shift, and a sprinkling of Bryce’s men silently communing with their coffee, their thoughts far away. Jerrol selected a plate of bread and fruit before pouring his coffee and choosing a seat at an unoccupied table.
He sipped his coffee, letting his mind drift as he relaxed. The low voices around him were soothing. He listened absently to the men behind him as he cut his apple into wedges and began to eat them.
“You should’ve seen him, proud as punch ’e was, rescuing the ladies. Not that he helped turn the carriage, nor offered us any help on the field. No, that lord won’t dirty his hands, yer can tell,” one of the guards said.
“And after all that the Lady Alyssa weren’t there,” a deeper voice replied.
“He weren’t pleased,” the man said, and the other men with him laughed at the obvious understatement.
“What about going over to Ramila? We’ve got a couple of days, and there’s that speaker on tomorrow.”
“Var’geris yer mean? I can’t be bothered. I’ll go another time.”
“We’re all going. It’ll be a laugh, get some of that Terolian wine in yer, do yer good.”
“Give me gut rot yer mean. I remember the last time,” the man said.
Jerrol slowly turned his head and studied the men. They were all damp-haired from their recent bath, though they looked weary and drained. Suddenly Jerrol remembered where he had heard the name before; Lord Aaron had said it at Deepwater. Var’geris was the name Aaron had said. The way this man said the name, it was quite familiar to him.
Jerrol moved his mug and his plate over to the guards’ table, smiling at the men as he sat. “I couldn’t help overhearing, were all the ladies alright? I’m sure Lady Alyssa will want to know.”
“Yeah, scared stiff and travel-weary, but they hadn’t been touched. Not for lack of wanting, so we heard, but one of those wenches had a dagger or two and knew how to use ’em, she made them think twice. They were lucky,” the guard nodded wisely, “very lucky.”
“You mentioned Var’geris, is that a person?”
One of the men snorted. “Not been to Terolia lately? It’s all you hear, Var’geris this, Var’geris that, apparently it is a new religion sweeping through the nomads. They are falling like flies, never thought to see the nomads bowing to anyone. Not the families, but they are entranced, can’t get enough, so we hear. Makes our life easier, been fewer clashes on the border.”
“But the smuggling routes seem to have taken a new lease of life,” one of his companions said. “We are intercepting more contraband than ever.”
“What sort of contraband?” Jerrol asked.
“The usual: liquor, silk, gems, opiates. All the things the King has a levy on, not large consignments, but enough to be noticeable.”
“Any idea who is behind it, or where it is supposed to go?”
“No, they are slippery little buggers. Got all sorts of tricks up their sleeves; you never know what they are going to throw at you. I expect they will be calling this Var’geris down on us next. They keep saying he will come down on us from on high! What was it you said it translated as?” He nudged the fellow next to him.
“Rising up, to be ascendant,” the man replied.
Jerrol’s stomach congealed. He managed to smile his thanks as he rose from the table. He walked towards the doorway as Birlerion appeared. He jerked his head, and Birlerion followed him out.
“Are you supposed to be up?” Birlerion asked, glancing about as if he expected an unhappy healer to descend on them at any moment.
“Oh yes, Tyrone released
