Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [37]
Galrion set off across the meadows to the neighboring farms and the horse he had in mind to steal. It was an easy theft; he’d often ridden this way and stopped to admire the sleek bay gelding, who remembered his kind words and pats. When Galrion approached, the bay came right up and let him take its halter. Since there was no lead rein and no time to steal one, Galrion tore a strip of cloth off the bottom of his shirt and prayed that it would hold. The bay was well trained, responding to the touch of this improvised rein along its neck. Galrion set off at a gallop down the east-running road. If the King’s messenger wasn’t already with Gerraent, he would reach the Falcon on the morrow.
After a few minutes he slowed the bay to a walk to save its strength. Alternately walking and trotting in short bursts, they traveled all night and reached, just at dawn, the border of the King’s personal demesne. Galrion turned south, heading for the wild heath to avoid the well-traveled road. On this roundabout route, it would take longer to reach the forest, but he had no choice. By noon, the horse was weary and stumbling under him. Galrion dismounted and led it along until they came to an unkempt woodland on the edge of pasture land. He found a stream and let the bay drink. It was when the bay began grazing on the grassy bank that Galrion realized he was starving. In his hurry, he’d forgotten to bring any coin, not so much as a copper. He could no longer ride up to a noble lord’s door and expect to be fed simply because he was a prince.
“I’m not quite as clever as I need to be,” he said to the horse. “Well, I wonder how you go about stealing food from farmers?”
The horse needed to rest, and Galrion was weaving with exhaustion. Letting the improvised halter rope trail for want of a proper tether, he left the horse to its grass, then sat down with his back to a tree. Although he told himself that he would rest only for one watch of the day, when he woke, it was late in the afternoon, and he heard voices nearby. He jumped to his feet and pulled the dagger out of his shirt.
“I don’t know whose it is,” a man was saying. “A stolen horse, from the look of this bit of cloth.”
Galrion crept through the trees and came upon a farmer and a young lad, who was holding the bay by the halter. When the horse saw Galrion, it nickered out a greeting. The farmer spun round, raising his heavy staff.
“You!” he called out. “Do you claim this horse?”
“I do.” Galrion stepped out of cover.
The lad started urging the horse out of the way, but he kept frightened eyes on his father and this dirty, dangerous stranger. When Galrion took a step forward, the farmer dropped to a fighting crouch. Galrion took another step, then another—all at once, the farmer laughed, dropped the staff, and knelt at the prince’s feet.
“By the sun and his rays, my liege,” the farmer said. “So you’re out of the palace. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“I’m out indeed. How do you know so much?”
“What’s better gossip than the doings of the King? Truly, my prince, the news of your disgrace is all over the marketplace. Everyone’s as sad as sad for your mother’s sake, her such a good woman and all.”
“She is at that. Will you help me for her sake? All I ask is a bit of rope for this halter and a meal.”
“Done, but I’ve got a bridle to spare.” The farmer rose, dusting dead leaves off his knees. “The King’s warband rode by on the east road today. The tailor’s daughter saw them when she went out to pick violets.”
The farmer was even better than his word. Not only did he give the prince the bridle and a hot dinner, but he insisted on packing a sack with loaves of bread, dried apples, and oats for the gelding—more food, no doubt, than he could truly spare. When Galrion left at nightfall, he was sure that the King’s men would hear nothing but lies from this loyal man.
It hardly mattered what the farmer would have told them, if indeed they did ride his way, because by mid-morning of the next day, Galrion led his weary horse into