‘Take the men back,’ said Laurent. ‘We’re done for today. The slave stays with me.’ A glance at Damen.
It was late afternoon. Their manoeuvres had taken them from the keep of Nesson for the day, so that the nearby hill-clustered town of Nesson-Eloy was visible from their vantage. There was a ride between the troop and the camp, over the lumpy grassed hillside with its occasional scatterings of granite. But even so, it was early to retire for the day.
The troop turned on Jord’s order. They looked like a whole—like a single functioning unit, rather than a straggling collection of disparate parts. Here was the result of a fortnight’s hard work. The sense of accomplishment mingled with an awareness of what this troop might have been, given more time, or a better collection of fighters. Damen moved his horse alongside Laurent’s.
By that time, he had seen it for himself, a riderless horse on the far edge of the thin tree cover.
He searched the rest of the nearby terrain with a tense gaze. Nothing. He didn’t relax. Seeing a riderless horse in the distance, his first instinct was not to separate Laurent from the troop. The opposite.
‘Stay close,’ said Laurent as he spurred his horse to investigate, giving Damen no choice but to follow. Laurent reined in again when they were close enough to clearly see the horse. It didn’t spook at their approach, but continued calmly grazing. It was clearly used to the company of other men and horses. It was used to the company of these men and horses in particular.
In two weeks, its saddle and bridle were gone, but the horse bore the Prince’s brand.
In fact, Damen recognised not just the brand but the horse, an unusual piebald. Laurent had sent a messenger galloping off on this horse the morning of his duel with Govart—before his duel with Govart. This wasn’t one of the horses that he had sent to Arles to inform the Regent of Govart’s dismissal. This was something else.
But that was almost two weeks ago, and the messenger had ridden out from Baillieux, not Nesson.
Damen felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. The gelding was easily worth two hundred silver lei. Every holding between Baillieux and Nesson would have been after it, either to return it for a reward or to stamp their own brand over Laurent’s. It strained credulity to believe that after two weeks it had wandered unmolested back to the troop.
‘Someone wants you to know your messenger didn’t get through,’ said Damen.
‘Take the horse,’ said Laurent, ‘ride back to camp, and tell Jord that I will rejoin the company tomorrow morning.’
‘What?’ said Damen. ‘But—’
‘I have something to attend to in town.’
Instinctively, Damen moved his horse to block Laurent’s path.
‘No. The easiest way for your uncle to get rid of you is to separate you from your men, and you know it. You can’t go into town alone, you’re in danger just being here. We need to rejoin the troop. Now.’
Laurent glanced at their surroundings, and said, ‘It’s the wrong terrain for an ambush.’
‘The town isn’t,’ said Damen. For good measure, he took hold of Laurent’s horse’s bridle. ‘Consider alternatives. Can you entrust the task to someone else?’
‘No,’ said Laurent.
He said it as a calm statement of fact. Damen forced down his frustration, reminded himself that Laurent was in possession of an able mind, and that therefore his, ‘No,’ had a reason behind it other than pure stubbornness. Probably.
‘Then take precautions. Ride back with me to camp, and wait until nightfall. Then slip away anonymously, with a guard. You’re not thinking like a leader. You’re too used to doing everything on your own.’
‘Let go of my bridle,’ said Laurent.
Damen did. There was a pause in which Laurent looked at the riderless horse, then looked at the position of the sun on the horizon, then looked at Damen.
‘You will accompany me,’ said Laurent, ‘in lieu of a guard, and we leave at dusk. And that is as far as I will bend on this subject. Any further opining from you will not meet with a loving reception.’
‘All right,’ said Damen.
‘All right,’ said Laurent, after a moment had passed.
*
They brought the piebald back on a lead that Laurent fashioned by the simple expedient of unclipping the reins of his own horse, looping them and dropping the loop over the piebald’s head. Damen took possession of the lead rope, since Laurent had to give all his attention to the task of riding his own horse without reins.
Laurent did not divulge any further information about his business in Nesson-Eloy, and as little as he liked the idea, Damen knew better than to ask him.
At camp, Damen dealt with the horses. When he returned to the tent, Laurent was wearing an expensive version of riding leathers, and there was more clothing laid out on the bed.
‘Change into those,’ said Laurent.