A Borrowed Name

1 - The Letter

The letter arrived in the hands of a boy just as the sun was beginning to rise. He was small and lithe, with a leather tunic strapped over ragged shirt and tights, and a feathered hat on his head. He knocked on the door twice, and when it opened, gave a nervous giggle that was akin to scraping at rock with fingernails.

"Darwynn the hired-sword?" the messenger-boy asked, even as he knew the identity of the person looming over him.

Gytha sighed and wearily pawed at a drooping eyelid. The name stung more than usual today.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling particularly grouchy after a couple days of limited sleep.

Those merchants had been far more irritating than predicted, expecting her watchful eye to guard them day and night, and now she was being harassed by an infant instead of resting. She hadn't even stripped herself of her outer armour yet and could feel the youth warily eyeing the sword sheathed at her hip.

When the boy stuttered over his words, she huffed angrily, "Well, child? Out with it," and made to slam the door shut–

"News from Rotheston!"

–her hand stilled. She noticed the feather on his hat. Though skew and bent from the night's harsh winds, there was no mistaking the brown-pheasant-plumage of a messenger.

He anxiously offered a rolled piece of parchment, damp with his sweat, and yelped when she snatched it from his hold. "Your wife, Laela sent me. Paid me extra for the night's run – all as long as I got to you quick," he continued.

"How long ago was this?" Gytha asked, opening the scroll and rapidly skimming the contents.

"Yesterday's morn."

She scrunched the paper up in her fist and shoved it into a slip in her shirt. "Horse?"

"Yes, though I suspect my journey back will be rough on her. She barely made it through to see the sun rise. Why do you ask?"

"She'll do," Gytha stated, shoving a couple of coins into the boy's palm. His sharp face, thin and rattish, crumpled in confusion before realisation struck his rosy cheeks pale.  It was too late, Gytha had already raced down the inn's stairs. She could hear the messenger crying out behind her, but ignored him in favour of sprinting to the stable.

The horse wasn't hard to find, also dressed in messenger-brown, two pheasant feathers tied to the back of the saddle. She mounted it quickly, noting she was maybe a slight too large, and sported an amused smile when the mare confirmed her suspicions with a feisty buck. Stilling her face, Gytha sobered immediately. Now was not the time for silly amusements, she needed to leave.

The fact she had not undressed or hidden her possessions around the inn room to prepare for the night, came as a sudden relief to her and she thanked the sky for such a swift turn of events while she rode.