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Thornden went out and found the courtyard full of people and activity. Wagons were still being unloaded, but he was not surprised to see that many people did not know where to take their belongings. He walked forward, intending to begin directing the men, but then he paused, and his eyes swept about for Coenred. It would be best to speak to the man accustomed to directing them, he decided.
He found Coenred speaking with a soldier who had been directing the work during Coenred’s absence in the council.
“Coenred,” Thornden said, stopping just to his right. “I can show the men where they’ll be staying so that they can finish the unloading.”
Saeryn
Saeryn left the hall by the side door, hoping to avoid all the people out front. She sighed a breath of relief when she saw no one. For so long she had been bogged down with the responsibility of overseeing. Questions were always being asked her. Now everyone was busy, others were in charge, and she had a moment to be alone. A moment to go and ask someone else what she was to do. She only to find Degas.
Where would he have gone after being so insulted and rebuked in his own sister’s hall? Saeryn’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame to think what he had endured, all while he was merely trying to defend and support her. He was so good. And the dear brother had not even lost his calm and flown into the arrogant Athanar’s face. He had grown.
But the question – Where would he be? Her eyes scanned the fields around the hall. She saw the figures of two horsemen galloping in the distance. Neither rode with Degas’ style, but instinctively, she knew that was the answer. Degas had gone riding. How better to escape the people and free himself from the frustration and sting of Athanar’s words?
She turned back into the hall, hurried through to the front door, and went out. She threaded her way through the people (so many people!) and entered the stables. There was less activity there – most of the horses had already been put away. She turned right to find Léof, but a flash of white from withing the first stall caught her eye. She stopped and looked.
“Who’s horse is that?” she demanded out loud.
A man grooming a horse farther down the aisle looked up. He turned to face her and stepped forward. “My lord Athanar’s horse, my lady,” he said. Saeryn looked sharply at him. His polite answer saved him from a sharp reply. She merely nodded curtly and he turned back to his horse.
Saeryn looked about for Léof. A glance showed her he was not in the stables, but before she could begin searching for him, he entered from the end of the stables, carrying two large buckets full of water.
“Where’s Flíthaf?” she asked him.
“Out in one of the paddocks,” he said, setting the water down. He looked tired and harried. The sudden traffic in his stables and extra work seemed to be overwhelming him. Little wonder. And now Saeryn was demanding about his lord’s horse. He looked at her, hoping he had not done wrong. “I turned him out this morning so he could exercise.”
“Of course,” Saeryn said. “Well, someone has presumed to put lord Athanar’s horse in his stall.” She jerked her chin in the general direction.
“It is the best stall,” Léof conceded quietly. Saeryn glared.
“You can put it in another, and Flíthaf will go back there.” Léof nodded slowly. “Thornden is in the courtyard,” Saeryn continued. “Go out and tell him or Coendred, the new chap in charge, that you need help. You can’t be expected to feed and water all these horses on your own. Tell them I said so.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said.
She strode past him, and then remembered her original purpose. She turned again. “Léof. Have you seen Degas?”
“Yes. He came and took his horse out a while ago. He went that way.” He pointed. “He didn’t say when he’d come back.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want your horse?”
Saeryn shook her head. “If I change my mind, I’ll get him. Thanks.” She gave Léof a smile, before turning and walking again out of the stables.
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