Page 13 of Seducing the Sorcerer
The horse lurched up with all the grace of a bladder being inflated.
“Aye,” Fenn said to it. “Should think so. Got us in a heap of trouble, you did.”
But all the same, he patted its neck. It might be peculiar and irritating and prone to collapse at inopportune moments, but it had had a fright. And anyway, instead of the woods, they’d sleep in a stable tonight. And Fenn would get a meal tomorrow, likely. And maybe new clothes and a wash. Gods, maybe even a job. Though it was true the circumstances were dicey. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having Morgrim for a master while he worked off this broken spell.
He walked over to Jasper very slowly. Would it be better not to sleep tonight? But to instead spend the time trying to get the horse to fly again so he could escape? Ah, but even supposing he could get the horse in the air, what if it wouldn’t come down again? He wasn’t keen to repeat that experience in a hurry. And he definitely didn’t fancy being pursued by an angry sorcerer wanting to claim damages.
And even if he did manage to land somewhere safe, then presumably he’d have the horse lumbering around in front of him again, getting in his way. No, it would be better to stay. For now. Try to make the best of things.
Gods, but he’d be glad to get his head down. Now all the excitement was over, his legs felt like bits of string and the wet courtyard was whirling like a giddy-go-round. Jasper led him through the double doors and across another rain-washed yard—this time a stable yard—to a row of stalls.
Fenn took in the set-up with an experienced eye and approved. There was a good slate roof with a wide overhang for protection from the weather, and half-doors so the horses, had there been any, could have looked out. There was a pump and a trough for water and good deep drains with sturdy iron grates built flush so the horses couldn’t trip.
Jasper showed him into the first stall and, as Fenn stepped out of the drizzle, his tired heart leapt because although it was empty, it was clear it was still used for horses. The floor was thick with fresh hay and not a cobweb to be seen on the wooden walls. That good slate roof was keeping everything as dry and cosy as anyone could wish. A halter and lead rope hung on a peg. A new felted wool horse rug lay over the dividing wall to the next stall, and there was that smell: hay and oats and leather and fresh manure and linseed oil and horses. The scent of a living stables.
“You got horses,” Fenn breathed.
“Yes, sir. Just the one.”
There was a bucket of water in one corner and a full hay-net hanging in another. Good. If the sacking horse was thirsty, it could drink. If it was hungry, it could eat. Tired as he was, Fenn picked a handful of hay from the ground, twisted it and gave the horse a rub. It wasn’t like drying a real horse. The sacking was sodden and remained so. But perhaps it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a real horse, after all.
Jasper was looking at the hay-strewn floor in dismay. “Are you sure this is all right, sir? There are other rooms in the gatehouse. I can—”
“Where is it? The horse what lives here?”
“At grass. On the old mustering field.”
“Where’s that?”
Jasper pointed west. “Other side of the courtyard. Shall I make up a room in the gatehouse for you, sir?”
“No. This’ll do. What kind of horse is it?”
Japer was piling hay more thickly in one corner. “She’s the master’s saddle horse.”
“He rides?” Fenn could better imagine the sorcerer sailing about on a puff of black smoke, glaring while folk scrambled out of his way. “Him?”
“When he can. He’s very busy.”
“Fine horse, I bet.”
Jasper said, in an awed tone, “She was a gift from Queen Aramella. Cost three hundred gold talents, I heard.” He finished with the hay. “I’ll fetch you a blanket.”
A fine riding horse, given by the queen, the self-same young woman Morgrim was supposed to be pressuring into marriage. Interesting. Maybe she liked him after all, though it was difficult to believe. Although, the sorcerer moved well and wasn’t bad looking. Quite handsome, actually. If you liked the type of bloke who might screech and rake you with his talons if you crossed him.
Jasper hung the lantern on a hook and ran off across the stable-yard. Fenn’s eyes were closing, despite the situation. He couldn’t wait for a blanket, and he didn’t like to use the felted horse rug because it was so new and fine. He stepped out to the nearest drain, had a piss down it, then went back to his stall and removed wet jacket, neckcloth, boots and socks. It was safe enough. No one here was likely to pinch them.
He sank onto the pile of hay. It had sharp ends, as hay did, but it was a sight better than the ground. The worple horse nosed his hair and he pushed it away gently. Its damp sacking felt softer than before. He could almost imagine it was the velvet nose of a real horse.
“All right, mate. No moths here, so rest easy. And no stepping on me. Got it? Even if you ain’t got hooves.”
The horse blew warm sacking-scented breath into his ear. Its bulk was dark above him and he now felt strangely reassured that it did not seem inclined to leave him.
Distantly, a bolt screeched. It sounded like the bolt on the tower door. Fenn tensed as quick light footsteps echoed through the night. Morgrim? Changed his mind about wanting Fenn to stay? Coming back to fire off a few more questions? But the footsteps grew fainter and no angry wizard eventuated.
Jasper came back, not only with a black and brown chequered blanket, but also with a pink silk eiderdown, frothy as a dawn cloud. Fenn thanked him, touched that Jasper would lend him such a quality bit of bedding. That was sweet, that was. And thoughtful. Jasper bowed and went away again, leaving Fenn the lantern.
Fenn got comfortable, then tapped the crystal to turn the light off and lay in the dark with his eyes closed, so tired he was nearly delirious. Outside, the rain was still coming down and every heavy drop was the sound of a stealthy footstep, every swish that of a heavy black robe.
