Fire Soul

Chapter 12

As the clock struck midnight, Gareth and the weary king arrived in the bustling town of Jovette, their journey marked by exhaustion and uncertainty. The men, faces drawn with fatigue, quietly discussed finding lodging for the night to seek respite from the trials of the road. However, Gareth, ever sharp and alert, voiced concerns about staying in the town after their recent altercation with the allies.

With a determined glint in his eye, Gareth proposed a bold plan: to ride through the night without pause, aiming to reach the safety of their homeland within a single day. Yet, the seasoned knights cautioned that while they might endure the journey, their loyal horses might not withstand the grueling pace.

Gareth's mind raced, and inspiration ignited within him like a torch in the darkness. "We'll swap our tired mounts for fresh ones," he declared with authority. "We'll sell ours and purchase new horses from the stable master."

For Gareth understood that in the realm of kings and knights, the duty to honor one's sovereign transcended time and circumstance. Under the moon's silvery glow, the plan was hatched, and Gareth sent the knights to fetch the stable master.

Gareth eased open the carriage door, cautious not to disturb the king's slumber. The night air greeted him with a chilly touch. To his surprise, the king was awake, his eyes alight with a keen awareness that belied the lateness of the hour.

Sensing the weight of unspoken words between them, Gareth carefully chose his words, sparing the king from discussing the events of Rochelier. Instead, he informed Barthol of their audacious plan to press on through the night, a bold endeavor that promised to bring them home ahead of schedule.

The king, regal yet weary, nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on Gareth with a silent understanding. He made two requests: food to sate his hunger and a brief stop for a necessary visit to the privy. Gareth nodded, assuring the king that once the stable master arrived, his needs would be swiftly met, ensuring their progress remained unhindered.

Barthol's simple expression of gratitude, "Thank you, Gareth," lingered in his mind like the fading embers of a dying fire on a cold winter's night. It stirred something deep within him, and with renewed determination, Gareth set about preparing for their journey, heartened by the king's trust and respect, even if just for one night.

The knights succeeded in rousing the stable master, who arrived accompanied by his son. Without delay, they set to work, their faces illuminated by the moon's silver light, exchanging tired mounts for well-rested ones.

The stable master, a gruff man with weathered features, barked orders at his son, his caustic tongue cutting through the calm night air like a whip. It was clear in the way he spoke to the young man that their relationship was strained.

The young man, perhaps overwhelmed by the urgency, wasn't working fast enough for his father's liking, prompting the stable master to scold him in front of everyone. The tension grew almost unbearable as the father's words struck with venomous force, his simmering rage teetering on the edge of eruption.

Despite the young man's earnest apologies, his father's relentless barrage showed no signs of abating. Each sharp word was a blow to the heart, leaving the young man visibly shaken.

Unable to stand idly by, Gareth finally spoke up, his voice firm as he addressed the stern stable master. "You're being too harsh on the boy," he admonished, cutting through the tension like a bayonet.

But the stable master, unmoved, offered a cold reply. "He's not my real son," he spat bitterly. "Just an orphan I took in to help with the horses."

With a dismissive wave, he continued, his words dripping with contempt. "Worthless, slow, weak, and he stutters when he speaks. As my property, I owe him no respect."