The Red Knight’s gaze turned from Felitïa’s angry stare to Zandrue. He looked her up and down, probably trying to decide whether she was a tanned Folith or a light-skinned Eloorin. She gave him a coy smile and a wink. He grinned, his mind made up. With a nod of his head and a wave of his arm, the group of Knights parted to allow them past, before forming up again to waylay the next group of travellers.

“I don’t like these Red Knights,” Felitïa said once they were clear of them.

“I suspect few people do,” Zandrue replied, gazing around, looking for more of these so-called “knights”. To the left of the gate, another group was interrogating a huge Folith man with tanned skin. Beside him stood a massive roan horse. Big horse for a big man. The man was wearing army-issue chainmail. So these Red Knights were even willing to stand in the way of the army. They seemed particularly interested in the big man’s sword, a very large two-hander, definitely not army-issue. Perhaps that was why they had stopped him.

“Let’s go,” Felitïa said. “I want to get away from the wall.”

Zandrue looked past the Knights and the big man to the huge wall that surrounded Tyl. Along its battlements were soldiers and a few Red Knights—Bloods, as the locals called them. What they thought they were defending against, she had no idea. Tyl was one of the few walled cities in Arnor. Built when Arnor had been at war with itself, it had once been necessary. Now, however, it seemed a waste of resources to keep it manned, especially with the numbers on it now, far more than she remembered from the last time she was here. Who did they expect would attack? The Ninifins? That was laughable.

Felitïa set a brisk pace along the cobblestone streets. She glanced side to side as Eloorin people moved aside to give them a wide berth. Zandrue felt the same discomfort. This was worse than she could have imagined. Plavin-Tyl had always been the worst area in Arnor for Folith-Eloorin tensions, but it had never been quite this bad.

Felitïa made a beeline for the first inn she saw, but Zandrue rode out in front of her and shook her head. "That establishment is for Eloorin.”

Felitïa sighed, but changed direction. They continued on until they found a Folith establishment.

“Let me carry all the bags like I’m your servant,” Zandrue said. “We can’t rely on me being able to pass as Folith.” Felitïa groaned but did as Zandrue asked.

Zandrue regretted coming this way. They should have turned around at Freji when they’d first heard stories about the Bloods, gone back to Quorge and then headed west. Instead, she had decided to press on south, to stay ahead of the winter snows. After all, in Freji, the stories about the Bloods were just that—stories. The Red Knights were a new enough organisation that they hadn’t yet expanded from Tyl into the rest of the province. Zandrue had assumed the stories were exaggerated, and she knew that Felitïa wouldn’t want to go back to Quorge so soon, so on they’d gone.

Lord Harrol Plavin had died at the end of last year. Upon taking over, his daughter Lidda had formed the Red Knights to bring law and order to what she saw as a wild and corrupt province. According to the stories, Lady Plavin was a cruel, heartless despot, who had always been at odds with her father. Many tales claimed she had killed him.

Whatever the truth about Lady Plavin, the truth of the Red Knights had become plain during the long wait to enter the city. Zandrue and Felitïa had seen farmers’ wagons tipped over and the produce flung about the road and trod on by horses, all in the name of ensuring that there were no smuggled items hidden in the wagons—and that was far from the worst they had seen. Three young Eloorin boys had been forced to watch as their father was whipped because he couldn’t state the exact number of apples he had in each of his baskets, and why they didn’t each contain exactly the same number.

“My lady,” the Blood commander had said to Felitïa, “please don’t tell me you’ve been waiting in line with these Eloorin. You should have ridden ahead and been through ages ago.”

If looks could kill, Felitïa’s would have flayed the commander on the spot.

“I don’t like this place,” Felitïa said, once they were settled in their room at the inn.

“The inn or the city?” Zandrue said.

Felitïa glared at her.

“You could always announce yourself. Command the Lady Plavin to disband the Red Knights and execute real justice in the land.”

Felitïa groaned and lay on one of the beds. “Please don’t joke about things like that. Believe me, if I thought it would help, I’d do it, but in the unlikely event she even believed who I was, I doubt she’d comply. I’m not even sure I technically have that authority, and even if I do, she’d fight me over it.”

“Yeah, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Do you think there’s much likelihood of learning anything here?” Felitïa asked.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Zandrue shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s supposed to be a good library, and I used to have a few contacts here, but given the state of affairs, I’ll be lucky if they’re still around. Honestly, I’m not really sure it’s worth it. Let’s just get some sleep. Tomorrow, we can restock our provisions and leave. We can head north-west to Elooria. Or south to Nallin. Either way, we’ll be out of Plavin-Tyl in a week or two. I still think we should hire some muscle.”

“Zandrue, we’ve been over this already. We only have so much money. We can’t afford a mercenary. We’ll just have to take care of ourselves.”

Zandrue sighed. “And as I’ve pointed out, the highways can be dangerous places.”

“We rarely had any problems when I was with Emund,” Felitïa said.

“Yeah, and you were part of a large caravan. With guards. Armed guards. Bandits and goblins ignore large groups and look for easier pickings. Yes, we can take care of ourselves, but from a distance, we look like those easy pickings. If we had a bit of muscle with us, they’d be less likely to bother us.”

“No,” Felitïa said, rolling over to face away from her.

“Fine.” This had been a bad time to bring it up, anyway. She lay down to get some sleep.

And she was ten again. The powerful sun beat down on her bound and sweat-soaked body, while the vultures circled above. The sky seemed to shimmer, like the water she so desperately longed for. “...an abomination in the eyes of All-Father...” The sun was like the gleam in the eye of the Keeper of Secrets. Full of anger, it burned her. “We will protect the purity of the Collog people…” Only ten, and only because she wasn’t one of them. “...for only the sun can abolish the creatures of Night...”

Zandrue rose early the next morning. She hadn’t slept well and there was a lot to do this day. Those memories always came back to haunt her when she encountered the type of intolerance she had seen here in Tyl. It didn’t matter how near to, or far from, Ostanith she was, the memories always felt fresh, like they had happened only the day before.

She woke Felitïa, and the two of them headed to the market to buy supplies. There, they split up. Felitïa went to get feed for the horses. Zandrue picked up the other supplies they needed and headed back to the inn, where she packed their belongings and went immediately to the stables to ready the horses for when Felitïa got back. Several other horses shuffled and whinnied nervously as she passed.

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. You say the same thing every time.” The huge Folith she had seen the Bloods questioning the day before was there talking. At first, it wasn’t clear to whom. There was no one else there. Just herself and the horses—and he wasn’t talking to her.

She walked slowly to the stall where her horse Lucinda was, but kept her eyes on the man, curiosity piqued. Conveniently, her horse was stalled directly across from his, so she ended up right behind him.

“And what do you expect me to do? I start making demands like that, and they just send me to another inn—No! No, you can’t get that sort of attention. They’ve got a lot—You’re impossible!”

Zandrue glanced past him. Just his horse there. He was talking to his horse. The horse, for its part, just stood there, snorted a couple of times, shook its head, but did nothing to indicate it was anything but an ordinary horse.

“I’m drawing attention?” the man continued. “You’re drawing the attention!” He looked back at Zandrue and gave her a small smile before turning back to the horse.

He was out of his armour at the moment, and so Zandrue was able to get a better idea what he looked like. As well as being very tall—well over six and a half feet—he had a well-toned, muscular body. His face was rugged and weather-worn, but handsome. His hair was thick and dark, and his eyes a dark brown to match. On his back, he wore the greatsword the Bloods had been examining. The closer look she got at it now confirmed her earlier thoughts that he didn’t get it from the army. It was sheathed so she could not see the blade, but the hilt was far too fine for those used by the army. The grip was leather, and there was silver etching in the pommel and quillons. No sword was cheap, but the workmanship on its hilt alone meant this sword must be worth a fortune—even more than the sword she was wearing, which was a blade made for royalty. No wonder the Bloods were interested in it.

“No, I’m not moving you to a new stable,” the man said. “You’re not going to get better anywhere else, so—Again, no! I don’t care if the woman behind me smells strange. I’ve already paid for stabling here. You’ll just have to put up with it.” He turned his head to look at her again. “Sorry about the smell thing. He’s just ranting.”

Zandrue swallowed, her throat going dry. That smell comment... It was probably coincidence. She tried to shake off the fear with a shrug, and looked at the huge roan stallion that managed to dwarf the huge man. The horse met her gaze for a moment, but then turned his head aside with a snort. “Do you talk to all the horses like this, or just the ones you like?” she asked the man, still staring at the horse.

“I know how strange it must seem,” the man replied. “Trust me, I’m used to people thinking I’m mad. To answer the usual questions, yes, I can talk to him. I don’t know how I do it, but I do. Can’t do it with any other horse. Just him.”

Zandrue might have thought him mad at first, but now, she wasn’t so certain of that. The smell comment still frightened her. If the horse really could speak... “He’s a fine horse,” she said, approaching the stall and reaching out. “Don’t think I’ve seen much finer.” The horse backed away out of her reach. Intelligent, too. It was in his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “He backs away from just about everyone. It’s rare that he lets anybody other than me near him.”

She turned to face the man. “That’s okay. Animals always hate me. It took ages to get my own horse to accept me. So, how exactly does he speak to you? I didn’t hear anything from him, except for the occasional horse-like snort.”

“He talks in my head,” the man replied. “That’s the only way I can explain it. First time I ever saw him, he just started talking to me. He’s rarely shut up since—though he’s being unusually quiet right now. What’s up Borisin? I shouldn’t complain, of course. It’s nice to have him quiet. There he goes again. He says you smell strange.”

“I could say the same about him. Tell him I’m friendly.”

“Tell him yourself. He’ll understand.”

Zandrue laughed and turned to face the horse again. “You hear that, horse? I’m friendly!”

“I have to admit,” the man said, “it’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy.”

“Oh, I’m undecided on the crazy part,” Zandrue replied with a grin. “However, I’ve seen stranger things in my time. I’m Zandrue, by the way.” She offered him her hand. He took it, and gave it a small kiss. Very dashing! Very good-looking, too.

“Rudiger,” he said. “This is Borisin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Rudiger.” An idea was forming in her mind. Felitïa would hate it, but Zandrue was fairly certain she could find a way around that.