The Oreans

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Beginning

You need not worry. That may be a sign that you are about to recover.

Divan repeated the healers words quietly to the reflection before him and felt better for it. He might be inflicted with a peculiar malady, but it was not really much of a hindrance. He had an employment, which was much coveted by every man in the kingdom and a friend wherever he went.

Still ...

Splashing water on his face, he rubbed it hard to peel away the grime of the days ride, giving extra attention to his hairy chin. His beard had re-grown over the past few days, and he decided to leave it at that until he had fulfilled his promise to Alen. Denying vanity had always worked to lessen the guilt for not often conforming to the commanders wishes; it might this time for leaving the boy.

He took the small bucket and poured its entire content on his head, then watched as water dripped towards the basin. If only the mist in his memory could go with it or at least clear a little, then he could go back to Rosienne now and rejoin Alen and Adrien. He was sure the boy knew by now that he was an Orean. Likely, Alen was already attending camp as a trainee. How he wished he could be there and monitor the boys progress himself from the beginning.

But then, hadn't the healer said he might need to wait only a little more? Once he saw a familiar place or face, he could be cured at once. Arce might offer him just that soon. A week from now he would be there. If he had not been held up by occasional torrential rains, he should have been there now. Or at least he should have been closer by a dozen miles if he had not had the headache.

A series of knocks interrupted his musings, and he hastily dried his head.

"What is it?" he called out as he went to open the door. The innkeeper, an old man with a stubby graying beard and thickset frame, stared upon him with tiny black eyes, making Divan consciously rake his hair with his hand. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Sir, will you come with me to the stable?" the innkeeper said anxiously. "It seems my hand has made a mistake."

"Why?" Divan asked.

"See for yourself first, sir."

"Just a moment then..."

Grabbing his coat from behind the door and closing it behind him, he followed the innkeeper. The bar was empty now saved for a maiden who was cleaning the shelves. Only hours ago, all the tables were occupied, and he had to have his consultation with the healer in his own room.

"This way please, sir."

Ignoring the drizzle, the innkeeper headed out the backdoor towards the outhouse not far where his horse was kept along with those that the inn rented out. Divan wrapped himself before going after him. Before they could enter it though, a lanky boy with a mop of brown curls whom he recognized as the stable hand came to meet them with a contrite face.

"Sir, please don't punish me," the boy stammered beseechingly. "I didn't mean it to happen."

Bemused, Divan told the boy to explain himself.

"You've left your horse over there, sir, haven't you?" the boy reluctantly said, pointing to an empty quarter.

Divan could not decide at once. He looked around in search for the familiar black stallion that had kept him company for over a year now. It was not there.

"What happened to my horse?" Divan asked, dreading the answer.

It was the innkeeper who answered: "We were closing down when a guest said he was leaving and wanted a fresh horse in exchange for his own. Calo, this boy, brought him here and let him choose for himself. Tell him yourself, you foolish boy. "