Page 37 of The Princess Tied

In the meantime, be less of an asshole. If he wanted to get a seat at that discussion.

When they reached the outcrop overlooking the town of Fodann, Rocky was lame.

The rest of the road meandered down a slope then past livestock yards milling with black-and-white sheep. After the yards, the road headed straight to the town. There was an outer wall of stone and a wide, guarded gateway. The battle, two years ago, must have saved the town from being pillaged.

Shades had been lucky the townsfolk hadn’t killed him. Perhaps the Kostanians weren’t as bloodthirsty as he’d heard?

He waited for Shades and Ruth to catch up.

From here he could see over the town’s walls to where a patchwork quilt of multi-colored roofs spread out. The town had grown to these few thousand houses over hundreds of years, Shades had said. On a few larger houses the roofs were of shale, but most looked to be thatched or covered with timber, with the cracks between stuffed with grass to stop the wind getting in.

It was neither a big nor a rich town.

Po was with him, though she’d dismounted to stare at Rocky’s poor hoof, as she called it.

The haughty princess had a liking for animals. John leaned over to watch her gently trace her hand down the horse’s foreleg before she urged him to lift it. When Rocky bared his teeth and nudged her, she tsked and backed away.

“Shades.” He beckoned as the pair walked up, then rested his hand on the saddle pommel. “Does Fodann have a blacksmith or a horse doctor?”

“A blacksmith, yes.” Shades was tall enough to look John in the eye.

This was another person taller than him. The parasol he held removed some of the impressiveness of his height. If they needed to hide from the Storyteller, Ruth and Shades would be hindrances. On the other hand, squashing enemies would be far simpler.

“Good.”

“Your horse has problems? Rest might fix it.”

“Maybe.” John dismounted. He tugged on the reins to get Rocky moving. “I don’t have time to wait. I’ll get some advice.”

He led the horse down the road, with Po astride Pearbottom and ambling at his shoulder. “Po, you’ll come with me to this blacksmith. Ruth, I’ll give you some coin for supplies. You and Shades, can meet us at the smithy at midday?”

He was putting a lot of trust in Ruth, but it was worth the risk and he doubted she’d let him down.

“Yes.”

They discussed details as they walked. Looking for signs as to where the Storyteller had gone was also wise. Shades knew the town and they parted at the gates, after John received directions to the blacksmith.

As was expected of such a man practicing this trade, the blacksmith was well-muscled and dressed in leather to protect him from the sparks flying as he pounded red-hot metal on the anvil. While he examined Rocky’s lame leg sweat poured off him, making him gleam.

The man had been gruff and rude.

John engaged in his usual counting to one hundred, to stave off the killing instinct. It hit him harder with some, and this bald fellow had aggression rolling off him.

“Will need to re-shoe him.” He wiped his fist across his nose, snorted, and blew snot to the side that flew across the packed-dirt yard. “You mustn’t ride the beast for three or four days, then ease him into it again.”

Po had visibly flinched at the flying snot, but she stayed silent.

“When can you do it and how much?”

“Tomorrow.” But his small eyes checked John over. “Fifty silver.”

“Today. Now, and twenty.”

The blacksmith scoffed. “Fifty and in an hour. I have other work.” He waved at the forge that roared behind him. Embers glowed, ardent red. A bar of metal did lie unattended on the anvil, as if about to be turned into something useful.

Ruff glide-hopped about the yard, and a tan hound sprawled beside the entry, lifted the fold of skin above one eye, lazily watching this foreign animal.

They bargained awhile until they reached a price better suited to John’s needs—an hour’s time and thirty-five.