Verice mounted the horse next to hers. He’d braided his hair, and now wrapped it around his head and put on a helmet. “Narthing, you have point. No ceremony.”
“Aye,” Narthing called from the front of the group. “Mount up,” was the command, and all obeyed. Warna felt dwarfed by the maels around her as they took to their horses.
“Forward,” Narthing called, and the group started out, hooves chiming on the stones as they walked toward the great gates. Warna admired the huge doors, which swung open silently, pulled back by the great chains she could hear rattling overhead.
But as her horse’s head cleared the gate, some force pushed her hands back, as if she was against a wall. “What is—?” she exclaimed. Her horse continued on, but her body was forced back, pushed back by some kind of barrier. The pressure slammed her knees and chest, and she felt the horse walking out from beneath her—
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her from the horse before she fell. She gasped, clinging as Verice turned his horse away from the gate, cursing under his breath.
“What happened?” she asked. The warriors milled about her, some stopping her horse. Narthing was calling commands to halt.
“Nothing,” Verice growled in her ear. “Let’s get you back on your horse.”
She became conscious of his arm, holding her up, pressing her body against his. She flushed. “Thank you for the rescue, m’lord.”
Verice said nothing, just lowered her to the ground as her horse was brought back.
Warna re-mounted, settled herself in the saddle and grasped the reins tightly.
Verice hovered, whispering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite understand.
She urged the horse forward at a walk, and the animal plodded forward patiently, passing through the massive gate without a problem.
Confused, she concentrated on staying in the saddle as they rode forward, at least until she happened to look up. Then the view took her breath away.
She’d caught a glimpse of it when she’d tried to throw herself from the balcony of the keep, but it had only been a glimpse, and she’d been...distracted. But now, the walled city below the castle was spread out before her. The whole thing gleamed white and shining in the sun. The odd thing was, there seemed to be green within the walls.
It didn’t take long before they were at the walls, answered the challenge, and through the gates. Warna discovered, to her delight, that there were trees, and even gardens, some with flowers, some with vegetables. The buildings weren’t piled on top of one another, like in the towns she’d seen in Farentell. These storefronts and homes seemed crisp, somehow. Everything planned, and in its place. It was lovely, but it felt so different from her home.
The people were the same, going to and fro with tasks and chores. Warna’s group didn’t draw much attention as they passed down the wide street at a trot.
She glanced over at Verice, who rode straight and tall, his helmet hiding his face.
He met her eye for a moment, then looked away.
They continued on for a while, then Warna grew conscious that the group seemed smaller than when they’d started. When two more warriors pulled away from the group, she knew she was right. She stopped staring around, and focused on where they were going.
Two more warriors stopped at a fountain, announcing that they would water their mounts. That left two riding beside them. Verice continued on, slowing their pace. “It’s not far,” he offered quietly.
Which was good, because Warna hadn’t been in a saddle for some time, and she was starting to feel it.
“Here,” Verice stopped in front of a bakery and dismounted. “Best sweet buns in town.”
Warna dismounted as well. The warriors with them took the horses, seemingly headed to a smithy down the way. Verice took her lidded basket from one of the horses, and motioned her to a door.
He ushered her in to a small room with a long counter. The three women inside looked up from their work. The oldest one smiled and walked forward.
“Lord Verice,” she dusted flour from her hands, and curtsied, even as she darted Warna a glance filled with curiosity. “We were told of your coming, Lord.”
“Which door?” Verice asked.
The woman laughed. “You know him, m’lord. Tis through the necessary.” She paused, with a twinkle in her eye. “Might be wishing to grab a cloak.”
Verice shook his head, which just made the woman chuckle. He shifted her basket to one hand, and headed through a side passage, down to a door. Warna followed.
They passed through a cloak room, and here, Verice gathered up a heavy woolen cloak. “Here,” he said. “Put this on.”
“But,” Warna objected.
