‘You can go,’ Orfantal said as the stable boy came round to stand beside him.
But Wreneck shook his head. ‘I’m to make sure you’re on the horse, and that the trunk’s properly loaded. And that they know where to leave you.’
‘But didn’t Grandmother arrange all that?’
Wreneck nodded. ‘Still, I’m to make sure.’
‘All right.’ Though he would not say it, Orfantal was glad of the company. He did not recognize any of the riders, after all; they looked dusty and in bad moods as they rode up and reined in, their hooded gazes fixed upon Orfantal.
One gestured to the trunk as the wagons trundled up, and another rider, old and scar-faced, dismounted to collect it. When he crouched to lift it he had been clearly expecting something heavier, and almost tipped on to his backside when he straightened. He shot Orfantal a quizzical look before carrying the trunk to the first wagon, where the driver reached down and heaved it up to position it behind the backboard of his bench.
Wreneck’s voice was strangely timid as he said, ‘The Citadel. He is nobleborn.’
The lead rider simply nodded.
Turning to Orfantal, Wreneck said, ‘Let me help you on to the horse. Her left eye is bad, so she angles to the right. Keep her head tight and stay on the left side of the track — no horse on her left, I mean, as that spooks her.’
‘I understand.’
Wreneck’s scowl deepened. ‘You’ve never ridden this far all at once. You’ll be sore, but her back’s broad enough and you got a wide saddle here, so if you need to, you can sit cross-legged on her for a break.’
‘All right.’
The stable boy almost threw Orfantal up astride the nag, checked the stirrups once again, and then stepped back. ‘That’s it,’ he said.
Orfantal hesitated, and then said, ‘Goodbye, Wreneck.’
The boy turned away, flinging a wave behind him as he set off up the hill back towards the estate.
‘We ain’t going so fast,’ the lead rider now said. ‘She’ll walk, won’t she?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Sir?’ The man snorted. He took his reins and nudged his mount forward.
Orfantal waited until his mounted companions were past and then kicked his horse into their wake, keeping the beast on the left side of the track. Behind him the oxen jolted into motion at a switch from the driver.
The three wild dogs ran off, as if fearing stones or arrows.
Wreneck paused on the slope and turned to watch them leave. The tears ran down cool on his cheeks and flies buzzed close.
Back to that evil hag now, and no Orfantal to make life easier, to make it better than it was. She’d forbidden him to play with the little boy, and that was mean. She’d told him if she saw him even so much as talking to Orfantal, he’d lose what was left of his job, and then his ma and da would starve and so too his little sisters.
He’d liked playing with the boy. It had reminded him of happier times, when the war was over and things seemed to be getting better for everyone. But then the stables burned down and they’d all heard that Sandalath was being sent away, and then Orfantal too, and the food in the kitchen wasn’t as good as it used to be and half the staff was sent off.
And this was a miserable day, and Orfantal had looked so… lost.
He should have defied her. He should have wrapped the runt in a big hug. They could have played together all morning while they waited. But he had been afraid. Of her. Of what she might do. But maybe this was better — if he’d showed any kindness then this parting would have been worse for Orfantal. A part of him railed at the thought, but he held to it. To ease his mind.
The dogs returned, and, heads slung low, trailed him all the way back to the estate.
It was dusk by the time the caravan arrived outside Toras Keep, setting up camp in the clearing on the other side of the track opposite the keep’s gate. Blistered and sore from the ride, Orfantal clambered down from the horse. The scarred old man who’d loaded the trunk now came up to take the reins from his hands.
‘Likely her last journey,’ he said, pulling the mount away.
Orfantal stared after them. Riding the animal for so long, he had almost forgotten that it was a living creature, the way it had plodded without surcease. He thought about its life, wondered what things it had witnessed in its long journey through the years. The eyes looked sad — Wreneck hadn’t even told him the mare’s name. He was sure it had one. All living things did, at least those living things that worked for people.
He decided that the mare had once served a warrior in the wars, and had saved that Tiste countless times, yet had looked on helpless when betrayal came to strike down that brave warrior. This was why its eyes were so sad, and now all it longed to do was die, and in so dying re-join its master to haunt old battle grounds and ride through the mist on moonless nights so that villagers heard the heavy hoofs yet saw nothing, and no tracks were left in the mud come the morning. Still, villagers would know that a bold spirit had passed them in the darkness, and they would take up small stones from the path to ease its nightly travels. He’d seen such stones even on this track, in small heaps left to one side, because everyone knew that death was a restless place.
