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Fadon sniffed the air again but still came up with nothing. He frowned at the Servant, whose penetrating gaze was disconcerting, his stance and presence blending in with the scenery around the envoy as if he’d been conjured from air. That ingratiating quality in most representatives of the Owl was missing.
Fadon mentally shrugged. Maybe the Owl had gone back to the old ways, embracing their original pious reverence.
He grunted and gave the robed man a curt nod, mounting his horse as Jon did the same, leaving Servant Demos and the river behind.
As he and his men rode on toward Providence, Fadon said nothing about the matter of the Servant. He and his Second would speak in private when they had the opportunity. For now, the Ongahri warriors covered the remaining distance, crossing the river, and entered the city’s gates, which were open and, remarkably, unmanned.
Providence, even though populated by a large number of people, seemed mostly a quiet farming village. Silos, barns, roads made of packed earth, and a multitude of crops dominated the area. The Ongahri’s arrival coincided with the villagers’ annual harvest festival, which was apparent the closer Fadon and his men got to the empty main entrance. Garlands of fall leaves wrapped around posts and hung on doors, and in the distance beyond, music played.
They slowed their mounts when two men came running up to greet them, their eyes wide, faces flushed. The eldest, a heavy-set man with a sword strapped to his side, raised a hand.
“Welcome to Providence, my lord Ongahri! I am Claudius, head of the guard.” He bowed, of all things, and Fadon, sitting astride Apollo, the reins loosely in his hands, could feel Jon’s silent laughter beside him.
Fadon nodded at the man in thanks. “Where should we take our mounts, Claudius?”
“Oh yes, of course! Young Phitz here will lead you to the stables, my lord.”
The young man beside Claudius gawked at the warriors, but more so at their horses. Ongahri horseflesh was legendary, their size and speed incomparable to even the thoroughbreds of Jarmari in the west.
When Claudius elbowed the young Phitz, the latter sputtered and looked faint, but quickly sorted himself out and bowed. “Yes, my lords. Come with me.”
Claudius stepped aside and was about to say something, but his head turned in the direction behind the Ongahri. Fadon turned as well and saw that Servant Demos had arrived.
How was it possible he’d walked here so quickly? he wondered.
Shaking his head and putting the strange Servant out of his mind, Fadon raised a hand to his men and started forward, following Phitz to the stables.
The merciless sun was fading from the cloudless sky, leaving in its wake streaks of purple and orange, along with blessedly cool air. Phitz led them toward the left of the main square. Multiple stables enclosed a paddock, where several horses grazed.
Fadon dismounted and walked Apollo into one of the stalls, getting him settled in. Grooms stood nearby, ogling him and his men, but quickly went to work brushing down the tired beasts and replenishing fresh hay and water.
Before he could ask Phitz where the Constant’s home was, Servant Demos appeared, his white robes pristine against the backdrop of thatch and timber.
“Captain Trajan,” he greeted Fadon once he was closer. “Phitz will show your men their quarters, while you and I meet the Constant.”
Fadon bristled at the stiff tone, raising his chin as he sniffed the air. The stranger still held no scent, but honestly, Fadon was so hungry that his nose only smelled the drippings of meat redolent in the air from the festival.
Ignoring Demos, he turned to his men, who were carrying what few possessions they had brought, in addition to the Fealty gifts for Constant Linden and his daughter. “My men are hungry, Servant, as am I. Feed us, then you will show us the quarters. The Constant can wait.”
Demos motioned to Phitz. “Boy, get some men to take the Ongahri’s things to their rooms while they eat.” Then he left the paddock, expecting to be followed.
Damn Owl Servants.
Jon cleared his throat. Fadon’s eyes narrowed at him as he caught Jon’s grin. Bastard, thought Fadon. Jon threw back his head and laughed.
“Only you would find this humorous.” Fadon shook his head in dismay, leaving the stable once their things had been taken away.
Crowds of people, so fragile in stature, stared stupidly at the Ongahri as they walked through the main square and toward the country festivities. Fadon couldn’t help but make a comparison to a pack of wolves in the midst of little white rabbits, and from there, the thought of rabbits possibly being on tonight’s menu made his stomach howl much like a wolf.
The gawking continued, and whispers and gasps followed them as they walked. Women covered their children’s eyes, their faces pale. A few fainted, falling to the ground like delicate drooping flowers. Gods, he hoped the Fealty Bride had more backbone than this timid lot, Fadon thought, sending them all a look that had them staggering back.
He prayed the Owl knew what they were doing by picking a bride from this village of cowering people. Otherwise, Ander’s bride wouldn’t last an hour on the journey to the Mor.
Chapter 8
Sierra
I was drinking a hot cup of Amos’ apple cider, having escaped Mother’s constant watch, when I saw them arrive.
