Ten Arrows

Chapter 8

When it comes to mornings, six bells is quite a bit earlier than I'm used to. In fact, during some particularly adventurous days, six bells is when I start thinking about heading off to bed. Nevertheless, I did manage to rouse myself at five bells just so that I'd be completely awake and spry for the Crown Knights who were unfortunate enough to have to escort me around my territory today.

My cook, Mosond, appeared to be a little annoyed with me for forcing him to attend to breakfast at that unaccustomed hour. He decided to share his annoyance with me in the form of some spectacularly spicy sausage on top of a black bean pudding, garnished with quail eggs, a yellow, buttery sauce, and some fried, shredded roots I couldn't recognize. It was hotter than Hades, and required three cups of good, strong tea to put out the flames once I'd finished.

He cooks some of his best meals when he's angry or irritated. It's one of the things that makes irritating him so much fun.

I looked through some of my messages as I sat there, sipping the last of my morning tea. One was another letter from Cyrus, which I'd received sometime in the night. I quickly opened it and inspected its contents.

Have just left Farvatii, and have opted to travel to Vereet by boat, skip some of the sights. Bought a nice souvenir, but paid more than I should have for it. The weather still sucks. Oh, and so does the food. - Cyrus

Grunting to myself, I tucked the letter into my inside vest pocket and perused some of the other items as I drank the rest of my tea.

By the time six bells had arrived I was fully awake and ready to walk out my front door. I was wearing a freshly pressed grey cotton doublet, black trousers and walking boots, a natty black shoulder-cape with wonderfully patterned white trim, a heavy shoulder-satchel, and a pair of thin grey leather gloves that I'd been looking for an excuse to wear lately. I was also sporting a brand new cane. It looked identical to my previous one, save for the fact that the handle on it was a silver crook instead of a stylized cat head.

Once I was outside, as I'd been expecting, I was greeted by two Crown Knights. Unexpectedly, however, Peyla was also standing there with them.

"Oh dear," I said, hanging the crook of my cane on my forearm. "My most sincere apologies for dragging you all the way out here at this ridiculous hour, Peyla. The gods themselves are probably still asleep."

She smiled and shrugged lightly, causing her single silver-white braid of hair to shift slightly on the shoulder it had been draped over. "After you left, the Prince strongly suggested that Preceptor Borshank and myself should personally check in on you and the collection of tribute today. I think he suspects you might attempt further shenanigans."

"Oh, I definitely figured he'd suspect that. It's just that I was just hoping it would be Borshank that got sent down here at this ungodly hour instead of you."

Peyla chuckled. "You know, you're not exactly his favorite person at the moment."

"Who? The Prince, or Borshank?"

"Take your pick."

"I'll be crying myself to sleep tonight, I assure you. Did you want some tea before we go? Or maybe a bit of vimroot oil . . . a quick candle perhaps?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine." She favored me with a disapproving look. "You know, you Haraelians are really quite cavalier when it comes to things like drugs, I've noticed. Quite different than it is in Norsh."

"Well, I don't usually indulge in anything stronger than vimroot, personally. I'm not even certain you could call that a drug. It's scarcely stronger than tea."

"Where I come from, vimroot is banned altogether. Has been for more than twenty years. Getting caught possessing some is usually enough to get the luckless user thrown in jail."