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He had a point, as the city outside the citadel entailed a fairly easy walk downhill to enter, but uphill to return.
Fionna approached the mare who stood taller than the steeds she had ridden before. Livelier too. The horse danced in place as she waited for Fionna to mount.
“You have ridden?” Kormac asked probably noticing her hesitation.
“Yes, but usually they’re shorter and easier to get on.” She grabbed hold of the saddle and geared herself to look foolish trying to lift herself. Magic would have been the simplest solution but with an audience—stable hands and guards watching on the periphery—and knowing their dislike of witches, using her power would be unwise.
Before she could hoist herself up, hands gripped her around the waist and lifted. With a rounded mouth she glanced down at Kormac who’d snuck up to aid her.
“You didn’t have to do that. I would have eventually managed to climb aboard.”
“Better a helping hand to avoid the embarrassment of the envoy failing at what the Sraythian consider a basic skill,” he murmured with a wink.
“Thank you.”
He remounted his stallion, and they took off at a rapid clip. Unlike other places where horses and people jostled for use of the road, the center of the thoroughfare remained empty of pedestrians, intentionally so she realized.
“Your horses have right of way,” she remarked, noticing how people watched and kept out of their path.
“It makes the most sense given their size can cause grave injury to pedestrians, but also to the horse itself should it trip. Broken legs have ended more good steeds than old age. We are also a people who love and respect horses and recognize their value. Outside of the city, they are necessary for travel. It is also our main export.”
“Acca doesn’t do much trade. The swamp that used to flood our land made it hard to produce much.”
“So what do you trade?”
“Our services, for the most part. We also sell enchanted items.”
“Enchanted how?” he asked suspiciously.
“Wards of protection mostly. A farmer might want a charm to keep foxes from his hens. A merchant will often buy a hex warning against thieves.”
“The stories mention witches fighting in wars.”
“That happened more often in the past. We’re not mercenaries. At leastwearen’t, but those trained outside of Mystic Keep, or who leave, will barter their skills.”
“Do you know how to fight?”
She hesitated before answering, knowing how Kormac and his people regarded women. “Yes.”
“Have you killed?” was his next blunt question.
“Yes.”
“It’s strange to me to know you’ve taken a life.”
“Only when necessary. When it’s me against a threat, I will fight to live.”
“I’ve killed many. Some in skirmishes. Others because they’ve transgressed. The latter is harder because while necessary to preserve law and order, I don’t like the one-sided aspect to it.”
“It’s not easing being a leader.” She’d had enough discussions with Amelia to understand the stress of making the wrong decision.
The road down the hill hosting the citadel became crowded as they entered a housing district, stone structures of two stories or more facing the road. People walked on raised pathways that kept them out of the cobbled road.
“Your city is very clean,” she observed. She’d visited a few that reeked and were cesspools of waste. Some people literally dumped it on the streets.
“With good reason. Filth ferments disease.”
“I wish more cities understood that.” They often got requests for healer witches because of a preventable illness running rampant.
