4th of Summer, 513 AV
The slow clop of hooves accompanied the steady beat of Roland’s heart as the man sat hunched in the saddle. The warm evening air breezed gently on his unshaven face, and he breathed it in long tired breaths. The horse beneath him panted, its coat—once shimmering and incandescent—now brown with mud and stinking of sweat. The road was wide and well-traveled, adorned with deep ruts from wagons and the wear of many feet. The horse plodded on, weary though it was.
Roland’s stomach growled. He had eaten that days rations long before, and hunger already clawed at him cruelly. Despite the pain of his hunger, Roland’s eyes drooped. With every bob of the horse’s movement he lurched in the saddle and jerked his head back up from where it curled to meet his chest. His inexperience with riding had hurt him enough on this journey, and to keep himself in the saddle he tied his legs down to the sides every morning. The insides of his thighs ached painfully, and he knew that he would be stumbling around bow-legged when he made camp.
That time appeared to be fast approaching. The sun sank lower in the sky with every moment, casting a pink haze across the horizon. The few white clouds became streaked with color in the brilliant sunset. Cracking his neck, Roland turned to view the beautiful spectacle, sighing inwardly. As wonderful as the sights were, life on the road had not suited him.
Twice between Sunberth and Syliras he had narrowly avoided bandits, and at night he often heard the sounds of hunting beasts calling. Following the road, he had skirted the wide plain that stretched into the distance. Tall and short, the grass rolled in the waves of the wind, reminding him eerily of a vast green sea.
Now, if his estimates were correct, Roland was only a few nights away from the safety of Riverfall. The city he hoped would be a place for him to start over. A new job, a new home, hopefully a life apart from the home he had left. Bitterly he thought of Sunberth, and his father. The man had driven Roland away in his efforts to keep him there. It was too late for Roland to leave an innocent man—the lean hands that shakily gripped the reins had done more than enough wrong in their time. They were the hands of a thief, a burglar, and…
Roland lifted his eyes to the darkening skies. Now was not the time to think of what had been, or what he had done. He was a young man still, with freedom to live life as he chose. And he had chosen to leave. In Syliras he had chosen to continue west, toward Riverfall. If his journey would end there he did not know, but at least he could find rest there. At this point, rest was all that Roland could have asked for. Ahead, the road passed by a thicket of bushes and trees. With an unpracticed hand Roland pulled at the reins, forcing the exhausted horse off the road and into the cover.
A tree with gnarled roots that breached the surface of the earth covered a small clearing barely large enough for the gildling. As the horse neared the area, Roland leaned over in his stirrups and unbound his right leg. The horse shuffled at the shift in weight, and the man tipped farther than he would have liked. With a shout he lost his balance, and the saddle moved slightly around the horse’s body. His left leg still bound, he was half out of his saddle on the right side. The horse stamped, sending small clumps of dirt into Roland’s face with a whinny. “Trust me,” Roland growled in pain. “This is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.” His left leg stretched painfully, straining the ropes that kept it in place, and the muscles and tendons in Roland’s leg.
Swearing, Roland stretched out a hand and brushed the trunk of the gnarled old tree with his fingertips. The muscles of his core burned with effort as he tried to curl himself up back onto the horse. The beast quivered under him, and shied away. Bushes clung to Roland’s coat and hair, scratching his face and neck. With a shout, Roland covered his face with his arms. Glowering at the horse, he wished he knew how to calm it. With an effort, he managed to swing his other leg up onto the saddle. He hooked his right foot into one of the loose straps on the saddle. Tensing his abdomen, Roland curled up until his hands found purchase on the molded leather of the saddle. It was a move he had pulled many times on the roofs of Sunberth, though never had he tried it on a moving animal.
The horse turned its head to look back at the troubling man clinging to its back in such a manner. Intelligent eyes seemed to glance at him in tired amusement. It made a huffing noise that reminded Roland of laughter. Frowning, the man pulled himself back up onto the horse’s back with a grunt of exertion. “Who’s laughing now?” he panted, looking triumphantly at the horse, which had now turned its head back to the front. He leaned over and undid the other leg. With a snuffle, the horse lurched forward into the clearing. Blue eyes wild, Roland fell again with a cry. His legs free, he tumbled into the bushes.
A few minutes later, Roland sat hunched in the crook of one of the tree’s gnarled roots. The horse was tied down to another one, its saddle still tied on. Roland was too bruised and exhausted to make the effort to remove it. It lay in the clearing, clearly uncomfortable. Despite himself Roland felt sorry for it, though he himself was hardly comfortable. There was no room for a tent or fire, so Roland had just wrapped himself in a blanket from his pack. Roots thick and thin dug into his back, no matter which way he turned. So together they would both suffer through the night.
The horse was asleep before Roland was. The man looked at the steady rise and fall of the creature’s sides, straining against the saddle and blankets that were strapped to it. “Not much farther now,” Roland whispered, adjusting his position so that he turned away from the horse. Inexperienced as he was, Roland gained no enjoyment from riding. But imagining what the journey would have been like on foot, Roland shuddered. The speed of the horse had been essential in evading danger, and reaching safety before his food ran out. Like it or not, he likely would have been dead before he’d even reached Syliras.
Sighing, he silently thanked the horse for its effort. His legs were sore, especially his left, but he was alive. Though the next day he would not strap himself in, Roland vowed to himself as he drifted off to a troubled sleep. That was more trouble than it was worth.
The next morning, he was awakened by a rough nudge on his shoulder and a sickening smell. Gagging, Roland turned his face away from the open mouth of the horse. He pulled himself out of the confines of his blanket, standing with a yawn. Leaning against the tree, he balled up his blanket and looked at the pale sky. It was cold, for a summer morning. And early. The horse tugged at its restraining rope, apparently eager to be off. Grumbling, Roland stuffed the blanket back into his pack and untied the horse’s lead.
Careful to keep a tight hand on the rope, he put a foot in the stirrup and forced his tired bones up into the saddle. True to himself, he did not tie his legs in. He did not wish to repeat the previous night’s frustrations. Reins firmly in hand, pack tied down, and the saddle hopefully tightly strapped on, Roland gave the horse a light kick and started it forward. After a moment’s hesitation, the horse started out of the thicket. As he left the trees a cool morning mist settled on his clothes, dampening and chilling. With luck the sun would break through the mist by midday.
Roland allowed the horse to graze lazily for a minute on the grass at the edge of the road, while he turned and dug into the saddlebag for the morning’s rations. The dried meat was stringy and too heavily salted, but it helped to calm his pained belly. A sip from his waterskin set his dry throat at ease. Another yawn creaked past his lips. The previous night had been far from restful. In between waking and sleeping, he had spent his time struggling to find a comfortable place for his body between the roots. But wherever he turned, something dug into his thin ribs, or poked against his bony back. With another yawn, he yanked on the reins and dug in his heels. It was going to be a long day.
The morning wore on slowly. As he had hoped, by midday a strong sun broke through the mist and dried Roland’s garments. The heat felt good against his back as he faced west, and beneath his feet the horse whinnied in content. “It doesn’t take much to please you, I guess,” Roland murmured with a tired smile. They rode on in silence for a few hours, the young man looking blearily ahead. The hot sun made it difficult to stay awake.
Compared to the previous night’s accommodations, the hard saddle felt like a soft cushion. The warmth of the sun wrapped him in a blanket of its own. The steady steps of his horse bounced him, not uncomfortably. Roland blinked fiercely, struggling to stay awake. These roads were far from safe, he knew. The wilderness was home to many ferocious beasts, as well as murderous bandits that would kill you for the mere pleasure of it. But even as he thought these things, his chin slowly lowered, and his eyes fluttered shut.
Immediately he found himself lying in his bed in Sunberth. It dismayed him to be home, but there was a crackling fire blazing at his back, and his mother was there. She sang softly, a breezy melody that reminded him of wind whistling through grass. In the distance, he heard the clop of hooves. Dimly he wondered if maybe a trader was passing by under their window. If his father was around with his friends, it was unlikely the trader would make it by un-harassed. That could bode well for Roland; perhaps there would be a full meal on the table that night. Eagerly he listened, unwilling to leave his bed to watch. A warning neigh echoed throughout the house. It sounded strangely close.
The warmth of the fire steady at his back, he raised himself from the covers. The stench of horse was strong in his nostrils. Another warning whinny called to him, and the house rocked beneath his feet. Roland’s eyes snapped open just in time to see the club that arced toward his head.
Pain ricocheted through his brain, and light danced before his eyes. The sound of harsh laughter reached his ears as he toppled from the saddle. A dull thump announced he had hit the ground, but he could not muster his limbs to act. Cruel voices called around him. “The horse!” “Grab it!” “The reins, you idiot!” A frightened neigh sounded, and the thud of galloping hooves. “After it, petcher!”
Struggling, Roland turned himself onto his back. Gasps of air escaped his lungs, and he had trouble breathing in. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. Before he could right himself, someone had a heavy foot in his chest. Looking up past the sturdy riding boot planted in his sternum, Roland saw a bronze-faced man grinning down at him with cold, humorless eyes. “Dozing in the saddle, tsk tsk,” he mocked. He twirled a club in his hand, expertly swinging it back and forth.
Shadows danced across Roland’s face, and he twisted his neck to get a look. Astride a rough, tawny horse sat a menacing man. The sun blazed behind him, so that Roland had to squint to see his greasy black mustache. Dark eyes glared down at him above a thin nose. A pale scar streaked across his face, parallel to his eyes. It cut viciously through his nose, and Roland found it a strange that it was still attached. Nonchalantly, the bandit dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The beast stepped lightly forward, maneuvering itself through the other men so that the man was now in front of Roland. The man examined Roland with a practiced eye, sizing up the victim as Roland had seen his father do.
The other men looked at their leader expectantly, waiting for the command they longed to hear. The man fingered the pommel of a long scimitar that lay across his saddle, his dark eyes flashed him. “Kill him,” he commanded simply, pulling the horses reins so that it turned and started walking away in the direction Roland’s horse had gone. “Search him when you’re done.” The man with the club nodded, looking down at his prey with an evil glint in his eye. Panic seized Roland’s heart as the man lifted his club.
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by Roland Eir on August 18th, 2013, 8:48 am 
