Northbound
The sky had the pre-glow of dawn; the sun would soon rise and paint the world with shades of red and orange before returning everything to the proper daytime colors. Lady Fesia was the first to arrive at the North Gate, her palfrey; unaccustomed to being saddled and ridden so early, paced with impatience.
A trio of city guardsmen arrived next, each aback horses of their own. They nodded to her in greeting but said little else, doing their best to blink away sleep and taking turns yawning deeply or drawing from their canteens. One of the men occasionally coughed into his fist.
Her squire was next to arrive, trotting in on his rounsey. “I’m sorry that I did not arrive on time,” the young man told her. He was a boy of thirteen, tall for his age but still sporting the cherub cheeks of youth; there was a nervousness about him that few others in his family shared. The boy was one of Lord Verod’s nephew’s; the son of a younger brother. He was a dutiful and obedient lad, but little else could be said of him.
“You will be more prompt in the future,” she told him coldly.
“Yes,” he said; “Of course. I am sorry.” He’d only been enlisted into her service for a week. Fesia was certain that he’d been assigned to her as some sort of cruel jape. It was a partnership that she believed benefitted neither party. In him she had a clumsy untested nervous boy, and in her he had a woman. It would do the boys notoriety no good to be trained by a woman, undoubtedly his father knew this.
A trio of city guardsmen arrived next, each aback horses of their own. They nodded to her in greeting but said little else, doing their best to blink away sleep and taking turns yawning deeply or drawing from their canteens. One of the men occasionally coughed into his fist.
Her squire was next to arrive, trotting in on his rounsey. “I’m sorry that I did not arrive on time,” the young man told her. He was a boy of thirteen, tall for his age but still sporting the cherub cheeks of youth; there was a nervousness about him that few others in his family shared. The boy was one of Lord Verod’s nephew’s; the son of a younger brother. He was a dutiful and obedient lad, but little else could be said of him.
“You will be more prompt in the future,” she told him coldly.
“Yes,” he said; “Of course. I am sorry.” He’d only been enlisted into her service for a week. Fesia was certain that he’d been assigned to her as some sort of cruel jape. It was a partnership that she believed benefitted neither party. In him she had a clumsy untested nervous boy, and in her he had a woman. It would do the boys notoriety no good to be trained by a woman, undoubtedly his father knew this.