“Gods, you look a fright, Mouse. Must you really be so dramatic?” the Empress jeered. Mouse clung to the horse’s ashy mane, her shoulders hunched, and the reins tangled between her fingers. She did not think she was being at all dramatic. In fact, she thought herself quite composed, given that the grey gelding beneath her was nearly sixteen hand tall, weighed ten times what she did, and could kill a man with a single strike of its foot. What was more, Passavant, as her mount was called, was only six years old and had all the spirit of a horse still in his prime.
The Empress shook her head in laughter at the sight of Mouse, tense and terrified atop her charger, and gave Wind’s Whip a kick, trotting the gainly blue roan ahead across the mossy trail. Passavant pinned back his ears at the mare as she passed, but Wind’s Whip paid no mind to the grey gelding other than to blow through her nose at him. Mouse tried to relax her shoulders, to remind herself that if she gave the horse no reason to unseat her, she had little to fear, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not feel at ease as long she remained in the saddle. The ride, she knew, would not be a short one, and by the time they arrived at their destination, she was sure she would be sore in more places than one.
Silver Lake, the royal country residence toward which they now rode, was only a day’s ride from Kriftel, but it had already been late morning by the time they had set out. After leaving Ludger in the Golden Tower and hastening to the stables, Mouse had been given a green tunic and jerkin and a pair of leather boots and told to name her mount. She had settled upon Passavant, a mottled grey close enough to the Empress’s roan to pass for the same coloring, for he was a half a hand smaller than the rest, though from where she sat now, he seemed every bit as tall as all the others. Mouse knew that the fact that they had ridden out in such haste, with such little preparation and under so little precaution was like to signify only one thing: a certain northerner must have made himself known to be nearby. Sigurd, Dietric of Foilund had captured the interest of the Empress some years ago, and now, any time that he was so much as rumored to be in the country, she cast all duties aside and set out at once to meet him. Mouse had never encountered the man before; she did not know much of the Foilunders, and even less of the Dietric. But she had seen the light that danced in the Empress’s eyes any time he was mentioned, and that was enough to engage her curiosity. Mouse hadn’t any idea as to whether she should be excited or nervous to meet the northerners at last, so she decided she had better be both, just to be safe.
They had been on the trail for some hours already, but the summer sun was still high in the sky, and only the canopy of the trees provided any kind of reprieve from the heat. Despite the warmth of the day, all the party were thickly cloaked, dressed in the same huntsman’s green, the women with their hair tucked up under grey woolen caps. Mouse could feel something tickle the back of her neck, a bead of sweat, she hoped. For it were some biting gnat or stinging insect, she would be helpless against it, so loathe was she to spare a hand from the reins.
“Alright, Mouse?” one of the guardsmen asked, drawing up alongside her. Mouse swallowed her discomfort and nodded, though she knew it would do little to convince him. The guard looked her over, no doubt either laughing to himself at how ridiculous she looked or pitying her for how sorry she looked doing something he had probably been doing since before he could walk. He waited for a few moments, but Mouse could not bring herself to make any other reply, and at last, he rode on ahead.
It was like to be a fine day to be in among the trees, observed Mouse, for anyone who liked trees and horses and riding for hours and hours upon end. The path cut into the woods was narrow and the ground soft underfoot, and all about them seemed to be suspended in a kind of quiet serenity. Some of the men rode only with swords, while the Empress and several others wore bows across their backs to create, as best they could, the illusion of a hunting party. Peticru padded alongside them, wandering off, on occasion, in pursuit of a hare, but never strayed far. He was no hunting dog, and his chief concern was remaining close to his master, where he might receive a piece of cold mutton dropped from the saddle from time to time.
Mouse cursed to herself as another low branch licked her face and wondered that she had not been allowed to stay back. After all, what was the purpose of a decoy if not so that the Empress might be in two places at once? With both of them gone to Silver Lake, her absence would be all the more difficult to conceal, and Mouse could not think the Council, nor anyone for that matter, would be glad to hear of it. They had been riding for the better part of the day, and to Mouse’s estimation, could not be far off from the Vellows, though they were still a good way off from their target.
They were just shy of the area where the wood might begin to thin, when suddenly, a crack rang out, as that of a branch breaking under foot. Osgar, who headed the party, lifted a hand, signaling for the others to stop, and Mouse felt her hand go instinctively to the dagger at her leg. Brigands, she thought, twisting her neck about to search for the assailers. They must have been found out, and few as they were, it would not take many to outnumber them. This was why she had been brought along, she thought, because the Empress knew the perils of riding out so openly and understood that her own chances of escape would be better with Mouse along as surrogate to danger. But as it was, the sound turned out to be nothing more than a barefoot, mud-faced boy collecting firewood, and their journey was soon resumed unassailed.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Mouse lifted a shoulder, trying to wipe away a strand of hair that clung to her cheek, as they continued to ride quietly on. Whether their silence was to avoid drawing undue attention or the result of ill tempers, Mouse was certain she could not say. It was clear to her now that the Empress was the bane of her guard, so reckless and seemingly impervious to threats upon her person as she was, and so wont to doing as she pleased. Once her mind had been determined upon a thing, there was no hope of her seeing reason, and it must have been with every grievance and opposition that the guardsmen were prevailed upon to carry out their duty. It was not as if a post within the royal guard came without esteem, but it would certainly take a great deal to compensate for the impositions and difficulties they sustained, and it suddenly occurred to Mouse that perhaps their lot was not so very different from her own.
As they approached the Vellows, the wood began to thin, and though the sun would last well into the evening, it soon became apparent that they would not make it to Silver Lake until long after it had set. It was therefore decided that they should find another place to stay for the night and resume their journey the next day. Mouse had hoped that the journey would last no more than a single day, but it seemed that luck, as usual, was against her.
“Stiftskeller on the Vellows,” one of the men had said, pointing northeast. “It should not be more than an hour or two’s ride from where we stand.” Some objections were made as to the shrewdness of staying at an inn, but the guard went on to explain that it had been a stopping place for many of the Knights of Toth on their way to the border regions before the Westerlands had been joined to the empire, and the owner was known to be respectable and discreet. Osgar, who had vociferously opposed the voyage from the start, grumbled at the notion, but he was reminded that Emperor Lothar himself had been known to stay at the inn on occasion, and eventually, even he was forced to concede that, as no better alternative was known to him within a few hours’ ride, Stiftskeller should be settled upon.
Mouse felt her heart at last begin to lighten. She had been to Stiftskeller on the Vellows before, some years prior, and remembered it fondly as one of her favorite inns in all the land. The vaulted ceilings and craggy stone walls reminded her of being down in the kitchens, with rows and rows of casks laid upon each other, and on cold days, the fires were lit, and hot wine could be had, so long as it could be paid for. Mouse wished it were a cold day, for she dearly loved hot wine, the way the spices tingled on her tongue and warmed her belly, but she supposed it was just as well not to have to ride in the snow.
Once the place had been scouted, its defensive advantages assessed and appropriate accommodation secured within, the rest of the party followed. Mouse, for one, was very much looking forward to being on her own two feet again, and did not care where she slept, so long as it did not smell of a horse’s rear. They took a narrow rode to the back of the inn, stopping only for a brief moment to admire the view of the low sloping hills stretching out into the horizon, before entering the establishment through a door by the kitchens that led directly into a small dining room. The room was dark, with naught but plain tallow candles upon the tables, but it was enough to suit their purposes, and was made better, in the opinion of most, by its lack of windows. Though the journey had been all misery as far as Mouse was concerned, the smell of roast duck that wafted through the place soon overcame her discontent. Sweet summer peas, brown bread, and ale were enough to complete the setting, and all ate heartily. A bard of bawdy songs was said to be performing in the main hall of the inn that evening, and though the music bled in through the walls as they sat about the table enjoying their meal, it was to the great dismay of all that it was not loud enough for any of the words to be made out.
Mouse had wondered if she would be able to sleep at all that night; there was little comfort to be had in lying on a pile of cloaks in the middle of an inn on the Vellows with no more than a dozen guard about herself and the Empress and a lazy blue hound at their feet. But the weariness of the day soon overpowered what worries she had, and upon closing her eyes, she did not open them again until morning.
After a breakfast of cold meat and stewed apples, the party set out once again, refreshed and ready to take to the saddle, all save Mouse, who wondered if she might not simply walk the rest of the way. The morning sun was breaking gently, the grey sky slowly awakening with color, and as they crossed the narrow path leading away from the inn, they all stopped to stare in wonder at the magnificence of the country. The Vellows were considered by many to be one of the great natural beauties of Aros. The lush green hills tucked in closely against one another, with wildflowers springing up across their faces were now bathed in morning shades of pink and violent. Mouse looked out across the gentle ridges, the waves of grass dancing in the breeze, and pulled her cloak tightly about her. Though it was by no means cold, the thick fabric wrapped around her made her feel safe somehow, protected from whatever dangers may lurk within the folds. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of morning dew upon the grass, watching as the Empress leaned down from her saddle to pluck a single mallow from the earth before reaching across and tucking it into Ulrich, the honey-haired guardsman’s cap. The Empress swung herself back low toward the ground, her legs gripped tightly around her mare, to pluck more flowers for her men. Strange, Mouse thought as she watched the Empress slowly circle the guards, tucking small purple mallows into each and every one of their caps, that such a woman should rule an empire.