The Iron Hound

6.1

"Mail's in!"

Ahn lifted her head, yanking on the saddlepack strap and folding the leather over, fixing it in place.

The cry came from a footman, walking ahead of an encumbered stableboy, a son of Rhidmere, the tailor's boy from what she could remember.

"Wait a moment," she said, raising her voice to grab their attention before they trekked too far.

The footman, black eyebrows shooting up, paused. "Ye need something, lady chronicler?"

"Anything for me?"

She saw his shoulders lifting before he caught himself. He nodded to the boy behind him. "Check, will ye?"

The stablehand lowered the pack with evident relief, crouching beside the bag and rifling through the envelopes. Ahn watched his lack of care with some trepidation, but the buzzing in her stomach left her distracted just enough to keep her tongue from wagging.

Fingers drawing her shawl close, her foot tapped on the frost bitten ground until her ears picked up the incessant noise and she stilled herself.

"Ah," the boy murmured, pulling out a wrinkled envelope. "This one's for you, lady."

She stepped forward, scrutinising the paper. "Thank you," she said, plucking the correspondence from the boy's hand.

He muttered a reply, sorting the contents of the bag before hauling it onto his shoulder again.

"Come on," the footman urged and they walked on.

Ahn dismissed them from her thoughts, intent as she was on the letter in front of her. The fine scrawl in faded black ink told her exactly who it was from.

An impatient snort from behind brought her attention back to her surroundings.

"I'll be with you in a moment, Steren."

She glanced up, suddenly aware she was talking to her steed as she would a person. She'd led Steren from the stables to the West Gate to arrange her belongings, and thankfully she was alone with her embarrassment. Beyond the three hanging gates, nothing stirred. It seemed she had a good wait yet.

Flicking a nail under the seal keeping the envelope closed, she tore it open. A blast of cold air blew through the outer gate and she hugged the letter to her travel coat, turning her back into the wind. The past two days had seen heavy clouds descend from the Carnac mountains, bringing dustings of snow and dropping temperatures to ear-nipping levels.

She stomped her feet in a bid to get her blood flowing as the gust passed. The journey to Halcaston promised to be a pleasant one.

Puffing breath into her cheeks, she pulled the single sheet of parchment from the envelope's clutches.

The first line, written in the same fine handwriting as before, addressed Ahn, full name and title included. Her lips twitched, stretching chilled muscles. He still wrote so formally.

Vigrid's first act was to apologise for his delayed response, citing many sensible reasons, work load, weather conditions, impromptu travel plans. This went on for several paragraphs, and Ahn feared the letter would contain only that. She breathed a quick sigh of relief as she came to the meat of the text. Kombray apparently suffered harsh winters, a situation Ahn would be none too fond of, but Vigrid seemed to enjoy the snows and the peace this afforded him. He had been spending his days inside, translating fifty three salvaged sections of an ancient stele. He went on to explain his findings thus far.

Ahn lowered the letter, her eyes drifting to the greys above. It seemed odd to her that Vigrid's sponsor, a tutelar by all accounts, would be so interested in religions of old. Kombray sat in the Kedery Tutelary. Tutelar Iano Kedery might very well be of the academical persuasion, but she had observed the man on several occasions in the capital, and she struggled to come to terms with that conclusion.