Tobin cried, all dark thoughts swept away for the moment.
‘Not looking like that, you can’t!’ his nurse exclaimed, sloshing water into the basin on his washstand. ‘How did you manage to get so dirty this early in the day?’
His father winked at him and went to the door. ‘I’ll meet you in the front court when you’re presentable.’
Tobin forgot all about his scraped shins and sore elbow as he dutifully scrubbed his face and hands, then stood as still as he could while Nari combed the tangles she called rats’ nests from his hair.
Dressed at last in a fine new tunic of soft green wool and fresh leggings, he hurried down to the courtyard. His father was waiting, as promised, and all the rest of the household with him.
‘Blessings of the day, little prince!’ everyone cried, laughing and hugging him.
Tobin was so excited that at first he didn’t even notice Tharin standing off to one side, holding the bridle of a bay gelding Tobin had never seen before.
The horse was a few spans shorter than his father’s black palfrey and fitted out with a child-sized saddle. His rough winter coat and mane had been curried until they shone.
‘Blessings, my son,’ Rhius said, lifting Tobin up into the saddle. ‘A lad old enough to ride to town needs his own horse to go on. He’s yours to care for, and to name.’
Grinning, Tobin twitched the reins and guided the bay into a walk around the courtyard. ‘I’ll call him Chestnut. That’s the colour he is, just like a chestnut shell.’
‘Then you could also call him Gosi,’ his father told him with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because this isn’t just any horse. He’s come all the way from Aurënen, just as my black did. There are no finer mounts than that. All the nobles of Skala ride Aurënfaie horses now.’
Aurënfaie. A flicker of memory stirred. Aurënfaie traders had come to their gate one stormy night – wonderful, strange looking folk with long red scarves wrapped around their heads and tattoos on their cheeks. Nari had sent him upstairs too early that night, but he’d hidden at the top of the stairs and watched as they did colourful magics and played music on strange instruments. The demon had scared them away and Tobin had seen his mother laughing with her doll in the shadows of the disused minstrel’s gallery. It was the first time he’d ever realized he might hate her.
Tobin pushed the dark thoughts away; that had been a long time ago, nearly two years. Aurënen meant magic and strange folk who bred horses fit for Skalan nobles. Nothing more.
He leaned down to stroke the gelding’s neck. ‘Thank you, Father! I’ll call him Gosi. Can I go to Aurënen someday?’
‘Everyone should go to Aurënen. It’s a beautiful place.’
‘Here, take these to make a name day offering at the temple.’ Nari passed him up several little packets tied up in clean cloth. Tobin proudly stowed them away in his new saddle pouch.
‘I’ve a gift for you, too, Tobin.’ Captain Tharin pulled a long, cloth-wrapped parcel from his belt and handed it up to him.
Inside Tobin found a carved wooden sword nearly as long as his arm. The blade was thick and blunt, but the hilt was nicely carved and fitted with real bronze quillons. ‘It’s handsome! Thank you!’
Tharin gave him a wink. ‘We’ll see if you thank me after we start using it. I’m to be your swordmaster. I think we’ll wear out a good many of those before we’re done, but there’s the first.’
This was as good a gift as the horse, even if the blade wasn’t real. He tried to brandish his new weapon, but it was heavier than he’d thought.
His father chuckled. ‘Don’t you worry, my boy. Tharin will soon put you through your paces. You’d best leave your weapon with Mynir for now, though. We don’t want you getting into any duels your first time abroad.’
Tobin surrendered it grudgingly to the steward, but soon forgot all about it as he rode out of the gate and across the bridge behind his father and Tharin. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to stop at the far end and wave goodbye to them. As they continued down through the meadow, he felt like a warrior already, heading off to see the wide world.
Just before they entered the trees, however, he felt a sudden chill crawling between his shoulder blades, as if an ant had fallen down his tunic. Turning, he glanced back at the keep and thought he saw the shutters at the watchtower’s south window move. He turned away quickly.
Leaves like round gold coins paved the forest road. Others like hands of red or orange wavered overhead, together with oak leaves shiny and brown as polished leather.
Tobin amused himself by practicing with rein and knees, getting Gosi to trot at his command.
‘Tobin rides like a soldier already, Rhius,’ Tharin remarked, and Tobin’s heart swelled with pride.
‘Do you ride your horse at the Plenimarans in battle, Father?’ he asked.
‘When we fight on land, but I have a great black war horse called Sakor’s Fire for that, with iron shoes that the smiths sharpen before every battle.’
‘Why have I never seen that horse?’ Tobin demanded.
‘He stays at Atyion. That sort of mount is only suited for battle. He’s strong and fast and has no fear of blood or fire, but it’s rather like riding a crate on square wheels. Old Majyer here and your Gosi are proper riding mounts.’
‘Why can’t I ever go to Atyion?’ Tobin asked, and not for the first time.
The answer often varied. Today his father just smiled and said, ‘You will, someday.’
Tobin sighed. Perhaps now that he was old enough to ride his own horse, ‘someday’ would come soon?
The ride to town was much shorter than Tobin had imagined. The sun had moved less than two hours across the sky when they passed the first cottages beside the road.
The trees grew thinner here, mostly oak and aspen, and Tobin could see herds of pigs snuffling in the mast beneath their branches. A mile or so further and the forest gave way to open meadow, where herds of sheep and goats grazed under the watchful eye of shepherds not much older than Tobin. They waved to him and he returned the gesture shyly.
They soon met more people on the road, driving carts pulled by goats or oxen, or carrying loads in long baskets on their backs. A trio of young girls in short, dirty shifts stared at Tobin as he rode past, and talked to each other behind their hands as they followed him with their eyes.
‘Get home to your mothers,’ Tharin growled in a voice Tobin had never heard him use before. The girls jumped like startled rabbits and fled across the ditch but Tobin could hear laughter in their wake.
A river flowed down out of the hills to the town and the road bent to follow its bank to Alestun. Fields laid out in broad strips surrounded the town. Some were tilled for spring; others were yellow and brown with autumn stubble.
His father pointed to a group of people at work in a barley field, gathering the last sheaves of the harvest. ‘We’ve been lucky here. In some parts of the country the plague has killed off so many folk the fields have gone to ruin for want of labourers. And those who don’t die of the illness starve.’
Tobin knew what plague was. He’d heard the men talking about it in the barracks yard when they thought he couldn’t hear. It made your skin bleed and black lumps grow under your arms. He was glad it hadn’t come here.
By the time they neared the wooden palisade of the town, Tobin was round-eyed with excitement. There were more people than ever here and he waved to them all, delighted to see so many folk at once. Many waved back, and saluted his father respectfully but a few stared at him as the girls by the road had.
Just outside the