Heart of Mist Book I_The Oremere Chronicles by Helen Scheuerer

Author:Helen Scheuerer [Scheuerer, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780994165558
Publisher: Talem Press
Published: 2017-08-25T05:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Swinton was up at dawn. He saddled Xander and Indigo, having sent Jasper upstairs to wake the captain. Fiore was worse for wear when he emerged from the tavern.

‘I know, I know,’ Fiore said, rubbing his temples and taking the reins from Swinton’s outstretched hand.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You didn’t need to. Your look of disdain said more than enough.’

‘There was no look.’

‘There’s always a look.’

The men mounted their horses and started down the road.

‘Where’d you get to, anyway? I looked for you. Don’t tell me the lovely Georgette had her way with you after all?’ Fiore said, gnawing at a freshly baked roll.

Swinton laughed. ‘Something like that.’

‘Good lord, where’s Dimitri and what have you done with him?’

‘Enough, Fi. We’ve gotta get a move on, or we’ll lose all that time we gained over the past few days.’

‘Fine, fine. But I expect some level of detail over lunch.’

‘There’ll be no time for lunch.’

‘Dinner, then.’

Swinton urged Xander into a canter. ‘Dinner, then,’ he called back, leaving Fiore in his dusty wake.

The scenery of the East Farmlands swallowed them whole. Swinton loved it out here, the plummeting, fertile hills, the grazing cattle, the sheer open space with the villagers and farmers few and far between. Most of all, he loved the straight, orderly rows of corn plants. Their leaves were such a vibrant green, reflecting the golden glow of the afternoon sun, and contrasting with the rich, dark soil at their roots. The cool breeze whipped his face as they rode. The air out here was fresh, unlike the stale scent of the capital and the rotting fish smell of the docks at Port Morlock. They rode at a gallop. Swinton wanted to gain as much ground as he could before another sunset. He figured they were about a day’s ride from Valia River, and he wanted to get there before the following sundown.

‘You’re going to kill poor Indigo at this rate,’ Fi shouted from behind him. ‘Not every horse has had the same relentless training as your Xander.’

Swinton waved him off. There would be time for Fi’s comments by the fire with a flask of wine, but for now, they needed to make haste. Swinton had chosen Indigo for Fiore himself, with Carlington’s help. He’d known they’d need a special horse to keep up, and Indigo had definitely been the best stallion for the job. They rode into the evening, well after the sun had dipped below the horizon, and it was only when Swinton felt Xander’s energy flagging beneath him that he called for them to stop.

It was still warm enough in the season that they didn’t need a tent. They could build a small fire and sleep beneath the stars. Swinton left Fi to cool and water the horses, while he scoured the nearby ground for firewood. When the fire was crackling, and both men had kicked off their boots, they rested against their packs and chewed on dried meat and hard cheese. Swinton’s whole body was aching, and he longed for a hot bath to soothe his tired muscles.

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