New Story: Part 3

She awoke to a furious pounding.

She had reflexively reached for her long sword and sprang for the door in a fighting position before she was consciously aware that she was awake. She flung the door open, sword at the ready, and a small boy jumped back as far as the railing would allow. His dark brown eyes bulged, an expression of both fear and wonder.

“Peyton.” She grumbled, both annoyed and relieved, as she relaxed her stance.

He was Spanks’ son, no more than eight or nine seasons, and the spitting image of his father. She’d been a resident at the inn the night he was born, and had lent her aid in the birthing. She’d passed this way again in his second season, and many times afterward. They’d forged a bond, she and Peyton – he’d come to know her as a favored cousin. She was fond of the boy, who was currently hyperventilating against the guardrail.

“It’s alright, boy. Come here to me.” She set her sword aside. His eyes were still locked on the weapon as he inched toward her. “Is there trouble?” Her voice was still gruff from sleep, a tone that the boy mistook for scolding.

He shook his head, his eyes lowering shamefully to the ground. “Ma said you’d come in the night.”

She paused, then cupped his face in both her hands and gifted him with a sleepy smile. “I’m excited to see you too, lad. Now go, let me dress, and I’ll be down for breakfast, hey?”

His eyes lit, and he threw his small, strong arms around her waist and buried his face in her nightgown. She tousled his hair and patted his rump as he darted out the door to wait for her downstairs.

Jael came trotting down the stairs moments later, adjusting her damaged tunic and fastening her dagger belt as she started toward the kitchen. There she found Peyton waiting anxiously at the table, an empty seat all but pleading for her to sit next to him. Martha stood at the hearth of a small fire, stirring what smelled like oat cereal. Spanks stood behind her, leaning against the counter, stroking her back absentmindedly. Suddenly her heart ached and swelled for the family she didn’t know, the family she missed, the family she’d never admitted she wanted.

Swallowing the thoughts, she took her place next to the boy, sharing with him the stories of her travels. He was full of questions, all of which he asked through mouths-full of oat cereal while his father chuckled.

“How’s the shoulder, lass?”

“Well.” She extended the left arm, rotating the shoulder around for emphasis. “A little stiff, but all seems to be mending.”

“Ye heal fast.” He observed, leaning closer to examine the dressing of her wound. “That cut on your face is gone, too, I see.”

“Aye.” She shrugged and took another bite of cereal. It was her first hot meal in weeks, and she savored every single bite. Martha had always been a good cook – one of the many things you’d never guess from looking at her.

“So, lass, how soon do you leave?” Spanks leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight.

She slid her bowl aside, wiping her hands on her trousers. “Another day or so. I need new armor. And I was thinkin’ of lookin’ for a new mount as well.” She turned her gaze over to Peyton. “You wouldn’t mind helping me pick one out, would you?”

“Sure!” Peyton all but jumped from his chair. “Can I, Poppa? Can I?”

“Depends, boy. What about the stables?”

“All clean and ready. I did it this morning.” He added proudly.

“And if someone comes in while you’re away?” Spanks questioned, a fatherly sternness in his voice. Jael chuckled to herself at the display.

“I could really use his help, Spanks. The boy has an eye for a good mount.” She reached over and mussed Peyton’s hair again. “Must’ve gotten it from his father.” Returning her eyes to Spanks she added, “If we return and there’s work to be done, I’ll do my part, hey?”

“Can I please, Poppa?” The boy turned on the full power of his soft, chocolate brown eyes, pleading with every inch of his body. Spanks couldn’t help but laugh out loud, and Martha even managed a chuckle over her cereal.

“Aye, boy, go with Jael. Find her a good ride.” He patted his son’s cheek and dismissed him from the table. To Jael he said, “You remember where ol’ Jardynn’s is? He’s got some beauties, he does. New brood of colts last spring.”

“Thanks.” She stood and gathered her things, headed for the door, but Spanks stopped her before she stepped over the threshold.

“What happened to Grump, lass?” He asked softly.

Before she could stop them, tears sprang to her eyes. She shook her head before she dared let them fall, and Spanks understood. He stroked her arm tenderly, an offering of consolation, then stood aside to watch her head into town, taking the boy by the hand.

As she and Peyton walked, Jael tried to clear her mind of the grief she now felt in the pit of her stomach, in the front of her heart. The life of a traveler was, more often than not, a lonely one. In Jael’s years on the road, she’d had but one steady companion, and that had been Grump. He was a silver stallion, swift in the run, and pleasant, uncomplicated company while Jael wandered the land. She’d fondly named him “Grump”, for he had been a ridiculously moody creature – nipping at strangers, agitating other horses when they’d stay at the inns – much like an old man who hadn’t quite lost his boyish, mischievous spirit. They’d faced many confrontations together, and the encounter in the forest had been their last adventure. At the same time she’d earned an arrow to the shoulder, Grump had suffered two: one to the neck and one to his right hindquarter. He’d put up a good fight and ran them to temporary safety, but in the end, it had been Jael who was forced to end his suffering.

She took in a shaky breath of regret as Peyton skipped alongside her.  Had they been in another time, another place, she would have honored her old friend by burying him properly. But there had been no time. She’d needed to flee on foot, the blood of her favorite horse still fresh on her dagger.

It was done, she told herself sternly. And it was time to press on. She’d never reach her deadline without a new horse, so she allotted very little time for grieving. She would keep moving forward, as she’d always done before, and keep her destination in the forefront of her mind. And reaching that destination meant finding another companion. She had plenty of coin to cover the expense, a down payment on bringing the item to headquarters. The coin jingling in her small satchel, she picked up her pace to match Peyton’s, and soon they’d reached the thriving market square.

“Lad, yer father needs new linens in my room. Go buy two sets, and meet me at Jardynn’s, hey?” She reached into her pack and handed him a small bag of coin.

“What’re you gonna do, Jay?” He asked absently as he fingered the bag of coin, counting and calculating in his mind.

“I need armor. I won’t be long.”

“Poppa thinks you should try mail. It’ll be lighter, and easier for the ride.”

She considered this, and smiled. “Yer father’s a smart man, Peyton. Off you go, I’ll be right behind you.”

“’Kay.” The boy started toward the linen shop, then turned and called back. “Jay?”

“What is it, boy?”

“I’ve really missed you.” He flashed an impish grin, then darted off, disappearing through the crowd of busy market-goers. She stared after him for a moment. Smiling, she fixed her attention to the bustling market, taking in her surroundings, making a mental note of anything that seemed out of place.

It always surprised her how busy the little square could be. Shops lined the cobblestone streets, and traveling merchants dragged their carts through the square, heckling passersby as they made their way through market. The night before had been moist, and the squish of boot and hoof resonated beneath the voices of all the people. The old, the young, families and loners like she, all congregated in and around the small town square, looking to find their fortune – or spend it. With one final look to the outside, she ducked into the blacksmith’s.

The man behind the counter was a gruff looking man. She could tell even from the doorway that his hands were severely calloused, his arms were almost too muscular, and that he didn’t deal kindly with time-wasters. His work was mostly reliable, though the armor that hadn’t served her as well as she’d expected was of his own hand. She hoped she could strike a deal with him for that.

“What do you need?” The man grumbled from behind the counter, his eyes still on his work. She slapped the damaged armor down in front of him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers.

 “I need armor that does a better job than this chest plate did.” She spoke frankly. His eyes sharpened, scrutinizing her face. She smiled arrogantly. “Remember me?”

“Baneheart, yeah?”

“Aye.”

“You were here –”

“Less than a year ago,” she interrupted. “This armor should have lasted much longer. It’s still useable, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

The blacksmith grumbled, unable to dispute that. She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I thought I’d try chainmail this time. Torso only.”

“Don’t know that I have any to fit a female.” He grumbled, examining the damaged armor.

“Shall I take my money elsewhere, then?” She never tore her eyes from his, challenging him without a word. He grunted, knowing he couldn’t let her money walk back out into the square.

The man disappeared momentarily behind a black, soot-ridden curtain. He returned with a sample of chainmail in his hand, fit for a man of fifteen seasons or so. It would be beginner’s mail, light but strong and sturdy. As he spread it out over the counter, Jael ran her fingers over the steel material. It would definitely make riding easier, she mused. As well as running and swordplay. She could keep the damaged armor in the event that she came under heavy fire, but ride freely and protected the majority of the time. It was decided. Feeling no need to try it on, she declared, “I’ll take it.”

“Name yer price.”

She tossed a small bag of silver down on the counter, what she’d set aside for a new dagger. It would just have to wait – the chainmail was a much better purchase. The blacksmith picked up the bag, tossed it up and down in his massive hand, and nodded his approval.

“But only because the armor was faulty.” He stuck out his hand and waited.

“I hope the chainmail serves me better.” She replied, meeting his hand with a firm handshake. “Until we meet again, blacksmith?” He grunted, maybe even smiled, though she couldn’t tell behind his thick brown beard. She departed with the damaged armor in one hand, new chainmail in the other.

It was a short walk to Jardynn’s. As she approached the back entrance of the stables, she heard two voices near one of the mares. One she recognized as Peyton, and he was arguing with who she assumed was the stable hand. She kept her footfalls soft, listening to their conversation. Peyton was crouched at the mare’s side, running his small hand up and down the animal’s leg. The other boy, perhaps fifteen seasons or so, stood defiantly with his arms crossed tightly at his chest. His blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and dirt smeared his green tunic.

“I’m telling you, her knees are fine.”

“And I’m telling you she’s favoring the front right, where there’s a bit of swelling.”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“Peyton,” she scolded as she stepped out from behind a tack-rack, “mind yer manners, lad.”

“But he –”

She held one hand up, silencing him. He lowered his head and waited, scuffing his toe in the hay-ridden dirt.

“Tell me about this one’s knees,” she addressed the stable hand, running her fingers along the neck of the mare in question. She nickered absently, as Peyton reached into his small pack for a carrot. Jael smiled at the boy’s preparedness.

“She sustained a minor –” he emphasized, glaring at Peyton, “—injury two summers ago. She was never lame, and her run is far improved.”

“Far improved, eh?” She bent down to examine the knee for herself. “It would appear my young companion is right. There’s still a small amount of swelling.” She straightened her back, waiting for an explanation.

“You believe this boy-child? You stupid woman!” The stable hand shouted, throwing his hands up in a youthful display of exasperation.

“Aaron!” A man’s voice bellowed from the other end of the stables. The horses whinnied, clearly startled. The young man cringed and bowed his head as his master approached. “I’ll not have you address customers with disrespect, understand lad?” He towered over the boy, ears red with irritation.

“Aye, sir.” He raised his eyes to Jael. “Sorry, miss.” With a nod from the rancher, Aaron dismissed himself, mumbling unhappily under his breath. He spared Peyton a single, hateful look. The boy, on the other hand, looked smug.

“Good to see you, Jardynn.” Jael shook his hand, and he clapped her on the back soundly.

“Glad ye thought of me when the time came for a new mount.” He was of monumental size, standing two heads taller than Jael, and perhaps three times her girth. He had dirty blonde hair that would have fallen to his shoulders had he not tied it back with a leather strap. A great bushy beard hid his tanned face, but his most dominant features were his white, colorless eyes. Black dots sat in the center of where the iris should have been, giving him a mystical, nearly frightening expression. Strangers feared him, but Jael knew better. He was a good man, a kind soul, and a talented horse trainer. She was always glad to pay him a visit when she passed through.

He led her to across the stable, a firm hand still across her shoulders. She glanced over her shoulder and motioned for Peyton to follow. As Jardynn introduced her to some of his prized animals, Peyton spoke to Jael in code, subtle gestures telling Jael which horses were worth a second look, and which weren’t worth the purchase. They approached the final stall, Peyton now leading the way.

“He’s three seasons old. Took some effort to break him in, but he’s a good, sturdy stallion. Excellent in the run.”

He was gorgeous, she admitted to herself. His hide was burnt tan, sleek from grooming, and his mane was blacker than midnight. He nickered and approached Peyton’s waiting hand, and Jael peeked to see that sugar cubes waited in his palm. A sign that this was her horse. She let him smell her empty hand, and then ran her fingers across the length of his warm neck. He nudged her left shoulder, lingering where her wound had been, and she kissed his velvet nose.

“I’ll take him, Jardynn. Name yer price.”

The man paused to consider. “Tack included?”

“Aye. And oats for the road.”

He stated a figure, and she sucked in a sharp breath. It was more than she’d intended to spend in this town, and would cost her a comfortable night’s sleep in the next. No matter, she decided, shaking Jardynn’s hand in agreement. She enjoyed sleeping beneath the stars, and would be glad of the time getting to know her new companion. He stomped impatiently in his stall, nodding his head frantically and whinnying, as if he knew he was leaving with Jael. He stomped the same rhythm repeatedly, a sort of excited dance as they walked him through the stables.

Now Jael knew. The horse’s name was Cadence.