‘Is that it, old man? That meaningless garbage? Is that fair trading for a silver coin?’
‘The earl and the legend will be together at the wall. And men shall dream, and men shall die, but shall the fortress fall?’
The old man turned and was gone.
‘What was your dream last night, Rek?’ asked Horeb.
‘You surely don’t believe that idiocy, Horeb?’
‘What was your dream?’ the innkeeper persisted.
‘I didn’t dream at all. I slept like a log. Except for that bloody candle. You left it on all night and it stank. You must be more careful. It could have started a fire. Every time I stop here, I warn you about those candles. You never listen.’
2
Rek watched in silence as the groom saddled the chestnut gelding. He didn’t like the horse – it had a mean eye and its ears lay flat against its skull. The groom, a young slim boy, was crooning gently to it as his shaking fingers tightened the girth.
‘Why couldn’t you get a grey?’ asked Rek. Horeb laughed.
‘Because it would have taken you one step too many towards farce. Understatement is the thing, Rek. You already look like a peacock and as it is, every Lentrian sailor will be chasing you. No, a chestnut’s the thing.’ More seriously he added, ‘And in Graven you may wish to be inconspicuous. A tall white horse is not easily missed.’
‘I don’t think it likes me. See the way it looks at me?’
‘Its sire was one of the fastest horses in Drenan; its dam was a war horse in Woundweaver’s lancers. You couldn’t get a better pedigree.’
‘What is it called?’ asked Rek, still unconvinced.
‘Lancer,’ answered Horeb.
‘That has a nice ring to it. Lancer . . . Well, maybe . . . just maybe.’
‘Daffodil’s ready, sir,’ said the groom, backing away from the chestnut. The horse swung its head, snapping at the retreating boy who stumbled and fell on the cobbles.
‘Daffodil?’ said Rek. ‘You bought me a horse called Daffodil?’
‘What’s in a name, Rek?’ answered Horeb innocently. ‘Call it what you like – you must admit it’s a fine beast.’
‘If I didn’t have a fine sense for the ridiculous, I would have it muzzled. Where are the girls?’
‘Too busy to be waving goodbye to layabouts who rarely pay their bills. Now, be off with you.’
Rek advanced gingerly towards the gelding, speaking softly. It turned a baleful eye on him, but allowed him to swing into the high-backed saddle. He gathered the reins, adjusted his blue cloak to just the right angle over the horse’s back and swung the beast towards the gate.
‘Rek, I almost forgot . . .’ called Horeb, pushing back towards the house. ‘Wait a moment!’ The burly innkeeper disappeared from sight, emerging seconds later carrying a short bow of horn and elm and a quiver of black-shafted arrows. ‘Here. A customer left this behind in part payment some months ago. It looks a sturdy weapon.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Rek. ‘I used to be a fine bowman.’
‘Yes,’ said Horeb. ‘Just remember when you use it that the sharp end is pointed away from you. Now begone – and take care.’
‘Thanks, Horeb. You too. And remember what I said about candles.’
‘I will. On your way, boy. Be lucky now.’
Rek rode from the south gate as the watchmen trimmed the lantern wicks. The dawn shadows were shrinking on the streets of Drenan and young children played beneath the portcullis. He had chosen the southern route for the most obvious of reasons. The Nadir were marching from the North and the fastest way from a battle was a straight line in the opposite direction.
Flicking his heels, he urged the gelding forward towards the south. To his left the rising sun was breasting the blue peaks of the eastern mountains. The sky was blue, birds sang and the sounds of an awakening city came from behind him. But the sun was rising, Rek knew, on the Nadir. For the Drenai it was dusk on the last day.
Topping a rise he gazed down on Graven Forest, white and virginal under the winter snow. And yet it was a place of evil legends which normally he would have avoided. The fact that instead he chose to enter showed he knew two things: first, the legends were built around the activities of a living man; second, he knew that man.