him she knew someone who could guarantee his safety, surely he'd come back with her. Shette's thoughts lingered on Ehren— she could well remember his expression at the thought of being taken off his search, just as she well remembered everything else about his clean, strong features. She tried to imagine the look on that face when Ehren realized she'd brought him a chance to discover who was behind his king's death.
Shette quickly saddled and bridled the mule, who stood patiently albeit with mournful expression. She didn't realize how distracted she'd been until she tried to mount and the saddle slipped halfway down his side, dumping her on the ground. Clang craned his head around to look at her, his floppy ears perked as though he was surprised to find her there.
"Fine," she muttered, getting up and dusting herself off. She jerked the saddle back into place and tightened the girth again. Then she walked him in a circle around the wagon, stopped suddenly, and pulled the girth as tight as she could get it. After that, the saddle firmly resisted her hefty tug, and she gave the mule a satisfied smirk. "Gotcha," she told him, and climbed successfully, if not gracefully, into the saddle.
It was Laine's saddle, and too big for her. The stirrups were as high as they got, and her toes still barely touched the flats of them; she clutched the swell of the pommel as the mule lurched into motion, certain she was going to slide off to one side or the other. This was a far cry from her father's sturdy little mountain ponies, and she hadn't ever been all that interested in riding them .
She gritted her teeth and urged Clang onward until he broke into a reluctant, shuffling trot. There was no telling when Laine would come out from behind the smithy, and she wanted to be out of sight by then.
Not that you're doing anything wrong , she told herself. Just going for a ride on a busy public road. What could be wrong with that?
But the road didn't stay busy.
In short order the travelers thinned out. She rode alone for a good long stretch, wondering just how fast one anxious man could walk. The road was more boring than she expected— hard and level and maintained by magic.
The Eredon River flowed off to her right, mostly a broad and majestic current of water only occasionally cut by the ripple of shallow water over rocks. Sprawling willows hung over the banks, vying for root space with shrubby growth that sometimes hid the water from view entirely. The left side of the road was much the same, with more sycamore than anything else; not far from the edge of the road, the water-cut rock rose high again, covered with greenery anywhere there was a speck of dirt or a crack in the rock. There were plenty of little animals scurrying through that growth, as well as the fast darting shadows of birds, but they somehow made the road seem all the more empty.
Shette began to regret her impulsive dash into Loraka.
She was considering a foray into canter when the lonely road got suddenly lonelier. Her escort of twitter and scurry had vanished. What had Ehren said? Something about a gang running the border?
You're only scaring yourself. Shette settled more firmly into the saddle, waiting for the flitter of nerves to pass.
They didn't.
"C'mon, Clang, let's move a little faster," she told him, working up to a good bold thump against his sides with her heels.
He stopped short.
" Clang ! I mean it! Let's go!" Shette tried to assume the voice she'd heard Laine use, the I'm about to have stringy mule soup for dinner voice.
"Mule in't stupid," a lazy voice drawled from the brush beside her.
Shette jumped, startling Clang more than the voice; he snorted and raised his head high. A man stepped out in the road ahead of her, looking as unsavory as the voice beside her had sounded. Guides help me, there is a gang . A third bandit, a short, stout woman, hopped down from the rock she'd been sitting on, ten feet up along the side of the lurching mountain that
Shette quickly saddled and bridled the mule, who stood patiently albeit with mournful expression. She didn't realize how distracted she'd been until she tried to mount and the saddle slipped halfway down his side, dumping her on the ground. Clang craned his head around to look at her, his floppy ears perked as though he was surprised to find her there.
"Fine," she muttered, getting up and dusting herself off. She jerked the saddle back into place and tightened the girth again. Then she walked him in a circle around the wagon, stopped suddenly, and pulled the girth as tight as she could get it. After that, the saddle firmly resisted her hefty tug, and she gave the mule a satisfied smirk. "Gotcha," she told him, and climbed successfully, if not gracefully, into the saddle.
It was Laine's saddle, and too big for her. The stirrups were as high as they got, and her toes still barely touched the flats of them; she clutched the swell of the pommel as the mule lurched into motion, certain she was going to slide off to one side or the other. This was a far cry from her father's sturdy little mountain ponies, and she hadn't ever been all that interested in riding them .
She gritted her teeth and urged Clang onward until he broke into a reluctant, shuffling trot. There was no telling when Laine would come out from behind the smithy, and she wanted to be out of sight by then.
Not that you're doing anything wrong , she told herself. Just going for a ride on a busy public road. What could be wrong with that?
But the road didn't stay busy.
In short order the travelers thinned out. She rode alone for a good long stretch, wondering just how fast one anxious man could walk. The road was more boring than she expected— hard and level and maintained by magic.
The Eredon River flowed off to her right, mostly a broad and majestic current of water only occasionally cut by the ripple of shallow water over rocks. Sprawling willows hung over the banks, vying for root space with shrubby growth that sometimes hid the water from view entirely. The left side of the road was much the same, with more sycamore than anything else; not far from the edge of the road, the water-cut rock rose high again, covered with greenery anywhere there was a speck of dirt or a crack in the rock. There were plenty of little animals scurrying through that growth, as well as the fast darting shadows of birds, but they somehow made the road seem all the more empty.
Shette began to regret her impulsive dash into Loraka.
She was considering a foray into canter when the lonely road got suddenly lonelier. Her escort of twitter and scurry had vanished. What had Ehren said? Something about a gang running the border?
You're only scaring yourself. Shette settled more firmly into the saddle, waiting for the flitter of nerves to pass.
They didn't.
"C'mon, Clang, let's move a little faster," she told him, working up to a good bold thump against his sides with her heels.
He stopped short.
" Clang ! I mean it! Let's go!" Shette tried to assume the voice she'd heard Laine use, the I'm about to have stringy mule soup for dinner voice.
"Mule in't stupid," a lazy voice drawled from the brush beside her.
Shette jumped, startling Clang more than the voice; he snorted and raised his head high. A man stepped out in the road ahead of her, looking as unsavory as the voice beside her had sounded. Guides help me, there is a gang . A third bandit, a short, stout woman, hopped down from the rock she'd been sitting on, ten feet up along the side of the lurching mountain that
Similar Books
