Hywell gave him a sidelong look.“You’ve seen our defenses.We could hold Moonwatch with twenty men wielding kitchen spoons.”
The boast gave him pause.Bastion wondered if Hywell was citing history.When he returned to Tynamara, perhaps he would visit the university library and see what records they had.
“How long have you served Lord Kyrith?”Bastion asked.
“Fifteen years,” Hywell said.He gave Bastion a boyish smile.“I taught Lady Nesrin swordplay while Lord Kyrith wasn’t looking.”
“Ah, so you’re to blame,” Bastion chuckled.Laugh lines appeared around Hywell’s eyes.
“I suppose so.I’m lucky my lord didn’t give me the boot for indulging her.”
Bastion shook his head.“She’s as stubborn as her father.I doubt he had a choice.”
Laughter erupted between them, and something shook loose in Bastion.When had he last laughed?
His stomach growled, and Hywell raised an eyebrow.He jerked his head towards the keep.
“Lady Nesrin requested you see to your Thatian before joining her for dinner.The stable is in uproar.”
“Ah,” Bastion said.He gave the captain a tight smile.“My apologies.I’ll see what I can do.”He gave the sea a last, uneasy look and headed off.
As he reached the ground, he needed no guidance in finding the stable.
BANG!BANG!BANG!
People working in the courtyard recoiled with each strike.From the way they shifted, hands jumping to their weapons, Bastion expected to find a fire-breather lurking in the stables.Scowls and whispers followed him like mosquitoes as he strode across the yard and entered alone.
Inside, it appeared that they’d crammed the entire town’s livestock into the empty stalls.Goats and sheep bleated, pigs grunted, and dozens of chickens clucked nervously as they ran to keep out from underfoot.A handful of horses shifted nervously, the whites of their eyes showing as Bastion passed.An orange cat glared from atop a stack of hay bales, its tail swishing in blatant agitation.
BANG!BANG!BANG!
The force of the Thatian’s kicks bounced the stall door against the latch with wood-splintering force.A padlock secured the door.Bastion approached slowly, calling in a gentle singsong.
“Finn… Fiiiiiinn.”
The gelding swiveled around and stuck his head out, ears pricked and eyes bright.Bits of hay clung to his forelock.
“Why are you causing a ruckus?”Bastion asked.He reached into his pocket and retrieved the apple he’d stashed earlier.
Finn dipped his head eagerly, letting out a warm huff against Bastion’s hand, and crunched the apple.Around them, the other animals quieted.
“So, you are both warrior and wild mage,” someone said.
Bastion spun, hand already on the sword at his hip, but it was only Lawrence.
He relaxed, taking in the man's manner of dress.A thick fur draped over his shoulders and hung to his waist, adding to his mass.Beneath it, he wore plain clothing with well-worn boots.The length of the fur partially concealed two short swords at his belt.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Bastion replied.
He pressed the last bit of apple to Finn’s soft lips, wiped his hand on his pants, and peered into the stall.Dried sweat darkened the Thatian’s back where the saddle had been, a clear indicator that he hadn’t been taken care of last night.The stall hadn’t been mucked out either, and his bucket was nearly empty.Bastion frowned.
“Do you know who put the padlock on?” Bastion asked.“His water is low.”
“Cedric!”Lawrence called over his shoulder.When nothing happened, Lawrence called again, louder.“Cedric, come here!”
A moment later, a frazzled hostler jogged through the door.
“Yes, milord?”
