RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 9 - NADRILIA

The tenth day of the Month of Growth was the beginning of the Nadrillia, the celebrations marking the end of the historical war with Malend. From all over the county, people flocked to town, to the music, the drinks and the promise of three days of feasting. The taverns and temples overflowed with merchants and priests. Servants and other lower classes slept out on the streets, if they slept at all, and even the count's castle saw an influx of nobles in need of accommodation.

'We'll walk,' Ghyll decided as the Companions were about to go into town. 'With all this hustle and bustle we won't be able to ride.' Thus, they stepped out in their best clothes, while Ghyll and Olle wore the dashing hats they had purchased in Gromarthen.

Near the western tower, they came upon a slight commotion. Surrounded by a crowd of spectators, a big dray blocked the thoroughfare. The carter, a baldpate in a brown smock, sat on the box waving his fists and shouting at the old draft horse.

'Walk, you crappy nag, walk, gor-dashed beast!'

Ghyll saw the man's face growing heated in his efforts to bully the nag past a troop of jesters on the street corner. But the jugglers' flying balls scared the beast and he refused to budge. Baldpate was getting more and more flustered, while his dray with its barrels of beer effectively closed off the street. The sarcastic comments of the bystanders didn't help his agitation, nor did the cursing of the red-capped coachman behind him, who knew his own passenger increasingly impatient. The jugglers in the meantime grinned at all the commotion and went on with their act.

'That's not a cart-horse!'

Ghyll glanced at Damion and saw his indignation. 'Wait!' He was too late. Damion had stepped forward and grabbed the bridle with his left hand. His right hand stroked the nose of the frightened animal, while he seemed to whisper in its large ear.

'Here,' the carter cried, while his face took on the color of Bo's fiery robe. 'Whotchar doin?'

Damion didn't answer, but concentrated on the horse. Strangely it was as if the animal understood him, for it calmed down. Then Damion threw his cloak over the horse's head and gave a gentle tug on the reins. The animal pulled, bystanders jumped away in haste and ponderously, the cart rolled past the jugglers. Damion retrieved his cloak with a flourish, while the traffic began to move again.

'Well done, master!' The exasperated coachman lifted his red cap, while he steered his vehicle past the dray. His passenger, a stout, elderly priest of Eresto, stared haughtily ahead. Damion waved at the coachman and turned back to the brewer's carter.

'You'd better walk at her head,' he said. 'It's obvious your horse isn't used to the crowds.'

'You're right, my lord,' Baldpate said. 'That old nag never leaves the yard, but there's so much work with the festival an'all, that I had to take 'er.' He nodded at the town center. 'Over there on the market, they're all waiting on me freight. It goes well with the drinkin' today. '

'I'm happy for you,' Damion said. 'Go walk beside her and have a blanket or something at hand. If you cover her eyes, she won't be afraid anymore.'

The man jumped from the box, and brought two fingers to his greasy cap. 'Thank ye for your help, my lord. This ain't my work, you see. I'm a brewer's help, not a carter.'

'You did great,' Ghyll said with respect, when Damion rejoined them.

'Bravo,' Uwella said, sour-faced. 'The noble steed understood you.'

Damion was still fuming. 'Madness,' he grumbled. 'That dumb beast never leaves her yard. All she does is going in circles all day; she can barely walk a straight line. You can't take her into town!'