Western Watch (3rd Draft)

Chapter 13

If you dread doing something, best do it quickly.

Lady Samretta Lyem takes the lead line from the groom, a boy of no more than sixteen summers. "Thank you." It costs nothing to be polite. Some of the nobility, such as the Red Hand, would object but time spent on this side of the Saskanna wears away class protocol, she thinks. One more reason to get this affair with the clans finished as fast as possible.

The groom bows before disappearing back into the stable.

No doubt he has other mounts to tend, thinks Samretta as she leads Wildfire out beyond the gate. In the corral a dozen horses jostle each other. They're going to need more stables soon, now that Watch nobles are leaving their mounts on this side of the river instead of ferrying them back and forth each day. She smiles grimly. They've realized this is not some afternoon adventure.

She gives Wildfire a couple of small carrots before putting her arm around his neck and pulling the halter over his nose. The groom has saddled him, but she always puts the bridle on herself.

"Lady Samretta!" Bonswenn waves as she picks her way through grass stubble and piles of horse dung.

Samretta sighs before answering. "Lady Bonswenn, you look well rested and set to go this morning." In fact Lady Bonswenn looks like she'd slept in the barn. Her boots are unpolished and her Watch leathers appear as if they'd been stuffed under a rock for the last week. Errant blonde curls spring out from under her topper, itself festooned with bits of straw.

"You're too kind, Lady Samretta. I must look a mess, but I just couldn't sleep! Please call me Bonny; everyone else does around Auntie's pavilion. This is frightfully exciting, going scouting with you. Auntie says you're the best!"

Samretta forces a smile. I hate you so much right now, Charadell, she thinks. And I have only myself to blame. I told you – assured you – that this ride would be short and uneventful. I said I'd not be going anywhere near the Clans. That earned me a morning with Bonswenn. Part of learning about the west bank and all that it has to offer, Charadell had said. "Well, we best be going then. Where's your mount?"

"What?" Lady Bonswenn spins about. "Where is that groom? He was to have Abby ready for me! The commoners on this side of the river, how ever do you make allowances for them, Lady Samretta?"

"I don't see your sword, either."

"My sword?" Bonswenn's brows furrow in confusion. Her face brightens. "I have this." She pulls out a four-inch knife from a small belt sheath and brandishes it. "But Auntie said there'd be no need for arms because we're not going anywhere dangerous."

"The plains are always dangerous," says Samretta. "Put it away. I promise you won't get an opportunity to use it. Besides, my crossbow will be more useful."

The groom reappears with a saddled mount. Lady Bonswenn whirls to face him. "There you are! About time. Abby had better be groomed to my satisfaction!" She snatches the reins from the groom and climbs into the saddle. "I'm ready!"

No, you're not, but there's little to be done about that, thinks Samretta.

Samretta studies the terrain as she and Lady Bonswenn ride abreast. She knows every building, tree, and rock for miles, but her gaze is intense. They're still well inside Watch controlled territory but it never profits one to take unnecessary chances. Small parties of mounted nobles, both women and men, trot along the road. Commoners dot the fields. Their shouts and the odd curse carry through the already baking air. Keeping watch against the clans, thinks Samretta, though Goddess knew what they'd thought they do if those savages came thundering down upon them. Nothing burned out here. Yet.