cadre of knights bowing and calling him
My Lord
. As far as anyone was now concerned, His Highness, the Royal Prince Razi—poisoner, usurper and black-hearted pretender to the throne—was wending his way to Padua and safely out of the picture for the next month or more. Palace life had at least a chance of getting back to normal, and Razi himself was free to slip around behind the scenes and try to find out the truth about the terrible rift between his father and the real heir to his throne.
Christopher chuckled. “He’s a devious fellow, our Raz, ain’t he? No wonder I can’t beat him in a game of chess.” Wynter turned to him and they traded a smile through the cloud of flies that danced between them.
Razi’s horse neighed suddenly and the man himself gave a loud growl of frustration. “Oh Good
God
!” he yelled. “Let us get away from these God-cursed insects before they suck us dry!”
They worked their way up through the trees, the donkey track getting rougher and the flies more invasive with each mile. Wynter was just wondering if they’d ever get there, when Christopher came to a crest in the hill and pulled his horse to a halt.
Dwarfed by the massive pines on either side of the road, he was silhouetted sharply against the open sky at the curve of the road, and Wynter saw him look down as though into a valley.
“Good Frith,” he said, pulling the scarf from his face. “That is unexpected.”
Wynter and Razi brought their horses crowding up to join him. As soon as they crested the hill, they felt the refreshing effects of a breeze that swept up from the valley, and the flies disappeared like a conjurer’s trick. They removed their scarves and wiped the sweat from their faces as they took in the landscape. Wynter whistled in surprise.
A wide area of cleared land spread out before them, at least forty acres, neatly divided into paddocks and fields, a bright ribbon of stream running straight through the middle. At the very heart of the farm land, nestled into a couple of acres of mixed orchard, sat a large, neatly maintained complex of outhouses and stables, fronted by a handsome log building that must be the inn.
The smell of wood smoke and cooking came up to them on the breeze, and Wynter heard the men’s stomachs growl just before hers did.
“Hot mutton and gravy,” groaned Christopher.
“A bath,” sighed Wynter.
There was a moment’s silence from Razi as he surveyed the complex of buildings. “Stay sharp, you two,” he said finally. “And keep your knives handy. This place is mighty rich looking for a peasants’ haunt.” Then he clucked his horse forward and led the way down the steep slope into the heart of the valley.
“Shall we unsaddle the horses?” Wynter asked as they approached the inn. They were still elevated and could see down into the yard. A long line of mules stood patiently at the hitch, all weighed down with full barrels of tar. Two saddled horses were also at the hitch, and a small goods-cart, fully laden, stood against the yard wall. Dogs were getting to their feet and padding to the gate, looking up the hill towards them.
Razi scanned the area uncertainly. “Not at first,” he said, “we’ll carry everything of value in with us; get the lay of the land inside. If we feel comfortable, we can order a lad to tend the horses.”
The dogs began to bark, advancing and retreating and milling around each other in their excitement. A man came to the front porch, wiping his hands on a cloth. He yelled at the dogs to
settle down
, then looked up the hill and raised his hand in casual greeting. Christopher raised his in return, and the man went back into the inn, leaving the door open. Two more men came to the door, peered curiously up at them and went back in.
Wynter shifted nervously in the saddle and wondered what the three of them would do if this turned out to be a nest of bandits.
A man and a boy came out from what looked like the stables, and stood watching
My Lord
. As far as anyone was now concerned, His Highness, the Royal Prince Razi—poisoner, usurper and black-hearted pretender to the throne—was wending his way to Padua and safely out of the picture for the next month or more. Palace life had at least a chance of getting back to normal, and Razi himself was free to slip around behind the scenes and try to find out the truth about the terrible rift between his father and the real heir to his throne.
Christopher chuckled. “He’s a devious fellow, our Raz, ain’t he? No wonder I can’t beat him in a game of chess.” Wynter turned to him and they traded a smile through the cloud of flies that danced between them.
Razi’s horse neighed suddenly and the man himself gave a loud growl of frustration. “Oh Good
God
!” he yelled. “Let us get away from these God-cursed insects before they suck us dry!”
They worked their way up through the trees, the donkey track getting rougher and the flies more invasive with each mile. Wynter was just wondering if they’d ever get there, when Christopher came to a crest in the hill and pulled his horse to a halt.
Dwarfed by the massive pines on either side of the road, he was silhouetted sharply against the open sky at the curve of the road, and Wynter saw him look down as though into a valley.
“Good Frith,” he said, pulling the scarf from his face. “That is unexpected.”
Wynter and Razi brought their horses crowding up to join him. As soon as they crested the hill, they felt the refreshing effects of a breeze that swept up from the valley, and the flies disappeared like a conjurer’s trick. They removed their scarves and wiped the sweat from their faces as they took in the landscape. Wynter whistled in surprise.
A wide area of cleared land spread out before them, at least forty acres, neatly divided into paddocks and fields, a bright ribbon of stream running straight through the middle. At the very heart of the farm land, nestled into a couple of acres of mixed orchard, sat a large, neatly maintained complex of outhouses and stables, fronted by a handsome log building that must be the inn.
The smell of wood smoke and cooking came up to them on the breeze, and Wynter heard the men’s stomachs growl just before hers did.
“Hot mutton and gravy,” groaned Christopher.
“A bath,” sighed Wynter.
There was a moment’s silence from Razi as he surveyed the complex of buildings. “Stay sharp, you two,” he said finally. “And keep your knives handy. This place is mighty rich looking for a peasants’ haunt.” Then he clucked his horse forward and led the way down the steep slope into the heart of the valley.
“Shall we unsaddle the horses?” Wynter asked as they approached the inn. They were still elevated and could see down into the yard. A long line of mules stood patiently at the hitch, all weighed down with full barrels of tar. Two saddled horses were also at the hitch, and a small goods-cart, fully laden, stood against the yard wall. Dogs were getting to their feet and padding to the gate, looking up the hill towards them.
Razi scanned the area uncertainly. “Not at first,” he said, “we’ll carry everything of value in with us; get the lay of the land inside. If we feel comfortable, we can order a lad to tend the horses.”
The dogs began to bark, advancing and retreating and milling around each other in their excitement. A man came to the front porch, wiping his hands on a cloth. He yelled at the dogs to
settle down
, then looked up the hill and raised his hand in casual greeting. Christopher raised his in return, and the man went back into the inn, leaving the door open. Two more men came to the door, peered curiously up at them and went back in.
Wynter shifted nervously in the saddle and wondered what the three of them would do if this turned out to be a nest of bandits.
A man and a boy came out from what looked like the stables, and stood watching
Similar Books
