The Captivity of Choice

By William R Herr

What stalks within the darkness?

Kira has completed her training, and is ready to take on the duties of an officer, but will she be able to do so? The other officers see her as a curiosity. The men hate her for their defeat. Only the East Carwich guard will follow her, but how long can that last? Worst of all, in the quiet

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mechanicsburg Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781495186981

William R Herr

Visionaries, migrants, soldiers, and thieves-Will, as his friends call him, surrounds himself with all of these, and more. Obsessed with "the wisdom of the lowest classes," he views the world as a perennial outsider, in the company of men and women most would not want to meet in a dark alley. His work reflects this, as he winds dramatic irony and sarcasm together with romance and drama to paint a picture of the world that others prefer not to see. William R. Herr was raised on the road, and continues to live there. When not travelling the United States behind the wheel of a tractor-trailer, he can be found in Central Pennsylvania, either writing, editing, or arguing with college students over hot cups of coffee. He lives with his wife and an extremely vocal Irish Stafford-shire Terrier named "The Duke."

Book preview

Part 5

Springtime’s child is play and toys.

Summer’s child is rage and joy.

Autumn’s child is rhyme and song.

Winter’s child is here and gone.

—Hammatian folk-rhyme

Chapter 1

Secrets

"Her kiss is cold as snow, sharp as a two-edged sword.

Her feet go down to death. Her steps lead paths to nothing."

—Proverbs 5:4

The shadows twisted within the mist in a dark ballet as they sought an object for their attention, and glided past the silent walls of East Carwich. The town was a tomb, guarded by the cairns of the fallen, and their quarry lay farther to the south across the rocky fields and low scrubs of the high plains. They avoided the light and noise of an encampment, and instead narrowed their attention to a small group of soldiers who crept under the cover of both night and terrain. There, the inexperienced Tenant Kira led a group of ten men on maneuvers, under the watchful eye of Guard Rinkins.

To the north and west, another squad of ten men moved in a slow half-crouch along a frozen creek-bed. Tenant Bacon directed them from a standing position, at the rear, and scanned the underbrush. Kira saw his uniform: it stood out in stark contrast to the white of the snow against the pale light of the moon.

You sure you want to do this? Rinkins’ voice was a harsh whisper against the northerly breeze.

The shadows found and surrounded them. They drifted between the soldiers, and sang below the threshold of reason.

Bring us. Bring them.

Catch them.

End them.

Kira nodded and ran her fingers over the spear-shaft at her side. The spearhead was gone, but its presence reassured her. She whispered, Yes. He feinted west, to draw us out. It was a trap. He wants us to know his position, because it is defensible. We have to attack where he is not. She turned and scanned the men, then hissed, Berks, over here.

Guard Berks crept to her side, and shot a nervous look to Rinkins. Rinkins whispered, Don’t look at me, soldier. This ain’t my show.

The shadows pooled at her feet.

Bring us.

Call them.

End them.

Kira placed her hand on Berks’ shoulder and pointed down the line of brush that gave them cover. I need you to move down there, silent. Wait until you are at least a hundred paces away, and then be as loud as you can.

Berks looked momentarily confused. You want me shouting?

No, but I want you to smash into anything you see. Kira scanned the terrain as she spoke. Make enough noise for ten men.

Won’t that get me captured? Berks looked again to Rinkins.

A smile played across Rinkins’ face, and creased the scar on his cheek. I think I see what she’s doing, Berks. Them’s the orders. Get to it.

Berks took a breath, and released it. He turned to Kira. Yes, Tenant.

Kira looked to the remaining nine men. The rest of you, get ready. Tenant Bacon moves in a two-man spread formation, so you will have half of his force to face. He wants to kill us quickly. Take them fast, so we can get back to the fire. Catch them. End this.

The men nodded, and grinned. They tightened their grips on blunted swords, and waited for opportunity. The shadows careened away, and watched from a distance.

Kira counted the billows of Rinkins’ frosted breath as Berks moved. When she thought she must freeze or move, Berks began to beat the bushes with his sword. She tightened her grip on the spear shaft, and whispered, Wait for it.

Tenant Bacon’s response was immediate. His men charged directly toward Kira’s position in an inverted wedge.

Kira’s men looked first to her, and then to Rinkins, as Tenant Bacon’s forces approached. Their bodies tensed. Kira hissed, Be still. He is trying to bait us with a feint. Wait for it.

At the last possible moment, she heard Tenant Bacon growl with frustration. He shouted, Now. Charge! His men wheeled to their left and sprinted past her position, toward Berks. She grinned as her men tightened their grips on their weapons. She waited through two heartbeats, and said, Go.

Kira and the men sprang from the cover of the scrub, away from Rinkins, and onto Tenant Bacon’s rear flank. His charge lost cohesion as his men realized their error, and wheeled to counter-attack. Tenant Bacon shouted orders as his men fell around him. Berks charged from his cover and felled two men in the confusion, then turned and ran as two more turned to chase him. Kira stabbed forward with the spear-shaft, and felt it impact against a shoulder in the haze of combat. Men grunted and swore as dull weapons rained around and against them. In seconds, the battle ended.

Kira stood back and surveyed the carnage. Tenant Bacon sat up in the snow, with his men’s bodies scattered around him. Two of Kira’s men had fallen in the battle. Tenant Bacon stood, and said, Tenant Kira, are you pleased with yourself?

Tenant Bacon’s men groaned and rose from where they had fallen. Kira smirked as Berks and two others rejoined the troops. I am prepared to accept your surrender.

Around her, the shadows coiled and waited.

Within a large tent at the center of the encampment, Gidon watched as the Countess Elna Damarc stood beside a sheaf of parchment and thumbed against it with distraction. Her man-servant, Finn, stood in silent attendance. Gidon allowed himself to dwell on her features as she looked away, and marveled to himself that this woman had somehow entered his service. Her features were both broad and delicate, and trimmed with the finery of artisan wool and golden thread that befit her position, but they offered no insight to the wheels that turned within her mind—machinations that she most often kept to herself. Finn was easier to understand, if only because his manner was more gruff. He was a man with duty and loyalty, something that Gidon could understand. But the Countess? Was such understanding even possible with her?

The Countess looked up from the sheaf, and Gidon quickly shifted his attention. Beside her, Seer Renault sat upon a chair and puffed at his pipe. He glanced behind himself to the large tent’s entrance, where the gambler Bergeran grinned at the doorway. Bergeran was another enigma to ponder; a man whose sole purpose for existence, it seemed, was the pursuit of chance entertainment. Over the past seven days he had thrown himself almost entirely into the Countess’ service, as both messenger and informant, but how long could that last? He and his escort, the minstrel Lady Tertoillaine, were not bound to the mission as Gidon was. They could leave whenever they wished, assuming the blight left them any destination to which they could ride.

The Countess spoke, and Gidon pushed his thoughts aside. Our position is not secure, Captain, and your men know it.

Nothing ever is. Gidon rubbed at his neck. However, we are not at full strength. Kira must complete her training, and some of the men are still injured.

Seer Renault pulled the pipe from his lips. I must agree with the Countess here, Gidon. If you do not offer orders to your men, to establish some sort of direction, their attentions and loyalties will falter. It would not take much, currently, to push them into revolt.

They are bound. I took their Tenants’ oaths.

They are bound to their Tenants, but not to you. The connection is strong, but not unbreakable. One misstep on your part, an order which crosses a blurred line of legality, and they could return to Rubal’s service if they wished. At the moment, he nodded to Bergeran, I would suspect that only the lyric attentions of the Lady Tertoillaine has kept their interest long enough to forestall any outright rebellion.

Bergeran straightened at the mention of Tertoillaine, and said, She is a minstrel without peer, Captain, but her talents can only assist you so far. I must agree with the Seer and Countess. Move soon, or move alone.

Gidon sighed and let his hand drop from his neck. They were right, of course. He had a mission to complete, even if it had become more complicated over the past many days. The blight still spread, and it was his duty to face it. So, what do you suggest?

The Countess folded her hands before herself as she stood. Your mission has not changed, Captain. If you intend to install the returned True King to the Broken Throne, we must march south—regardless of the cold. I assure you the weather will be, if not pleasant, at least better near Castle Grayrest. Then you can face Vestal and offer your fealty, if that is what you desire.

Gidon snorted. What I want does not matter. If the College of Seers insists that Prince Vestal is the returned True King…

Renault puffed on his pipe. They do.

Gidon nodded. … then I have no choice. I do not know that he deserves any fealty, after Kira’s treatment, but that is not my decision to make. He looked back to the Countess, and her face mirrored porcelain and stone. But I will not give her to him. That I promise.

The Countess nodded. Then that will be our greatest conflict, until it has passed. Her refusal to him was a great insult, both to Froeken and to the royal family. One does not tread upon the whim of a throne, without consequence.

Bergeran coughed. Captain, may I offer a suggestion?

Gidon turned again to the lean gambler. Of course.

Bergeran stepped forward. In my home city of Rondeau, we have a saying: ‘Do not borrow trouble.’ You know where you must go, and you know your path. I would suggest that you trust your men, and the advice of both Seer Renault and the Countess Damarc. He nodded to the two, as he spoke, and the Countess graced him with the barest nod of her own. Move south, before we are entrenched behind nothing but walls of snow. We have no fortification here, beyond the weather. Give your men a direction, and they will walk into Mea’s fury for you.

Gidon sighed. He knew his duty, but the prospect of leaving rankled at him. This camp, on the edges of East Carwich’s ruins, had become something of a home to him. To leave it behind and once again cast himself into the hands of fate felt like abandonment—of both the town and the cairns of men who once stood at his side. But, as always, he had no choice in the matter. Very well. Kira’s training should soon be complete. When she is ready, we will travel south.

The Countess offered a cold smile. Then it is done. I will issue orders for the necessary transport.

Renault removed the pipe from his mouth, and placed it in a pouch at his belt. I will do my best to ready those men who are not yet fit for combat, and make their accommodations a bit less comfortable. Within a day, I would wager, they will beg to be released to your Tenants.

Bergeran chuckled. That is an unfair bet, Seer. I have tasted your cooking. He returned his attention to Gidon. For my part, I will ask Tertoillaine to alter her repertoire to something more befitting your decision. I might also spread the occasional rumor, to help ready their minds for the journey. Grayrest is only a few days south, so the prospect of a hard winter’s march should not be too unappealing for them.

Gidon drew a deep breath, and released it. Was it all as easy as that? Did he need to do nothing more than offer a decision, and allow others to manage the details? Some part of himself understood that this was how command normally functioned, but he still felt he should have a hand in the proceedings.

Renault seemed to read his thoughts. Captain, if you value my counsel, please value this: you cannot be all things to all people. Let us smooth your path. We are all bound, and loyal. He spared a quick glance to the Countess, as if to reassure himself of his own words. Some, more than others. Until we understand more of what we face, this is the only course you can take.

Gidon grimaced. Very well. But stop calling me Captain. My name is Gidon, nothing more.

The Countess offered an icy smile. As you command, Gidon, nothing more. However, there are further questions, if you are willing.

Such as?

Your sword. You used it in the battle of East Carwich, and I am told the men hold it in awe. I have heard of weapons such as they describe.

Gidon nodded and drew the blade. Yes. It was given to me, prior to my mission, by my Ustadin—that is, my teacher. It is called a true blade.

The Countess appraised the weapon from a distance, but did not approach. Yes, I have heard of them. The northern tribes call them gold-steel.

Renault peered from beneath his eyebrows. Gold-steel?

The Countess Damarc’s eyes did not move from the blade, and its keen edge. If Gidon did not know better, he would have thought she feared the weapon. Not for its color, or its content, but for its use. Until recently, they would refuse to accept a coin unless it balanced upon the flat edge of one of those blades.

Not a difficult task, I would believe.

One would think so. However, even the flats of the blades would often eat through the coins, destroying them. The practice all but impoverished my merchants in the northern trade-cities. It was necessary for me to outlaw the practice.

Renault nodded and twisted the pipe in his fingers. Do you know why the weapons act in that manner?

I do not. My own coinage was generally satisfactory, but my merchants and tradesmen do business throughout the southern kingdoms, and carry many denominations from many cities. Froeken coins often failed the test, as did those from Fundr. Gjallan coinage was often acceptable. Regardless, the practice had to end.

I see. I see. Do you know the method of the blades’ manufacture?

I do not. They are traded from the northern tribes, where they are created. It is rare to see one outside of the possession of the Elder Men. She returned her attention from Seer Renault to Gidon. Cherish that blade, Captain. It is valuable beyond measure.

I will, and do, Countess. Thank you.

The Countess looked around the tent, and her face conveyed the ice and stone of dismissal. If you will all forgive me, there are matters I must discuss with your Captain, alone.

Renault rose from his chair. Very well. Bergeran and I can, I suppose, find duties to attend elsewhere. He glanced back to the chair. Although, I must admit your lodgings are far more comfortable than my own.

The Countess nodded, but did not otherwise respond. After Seer Renault and Bergeran left, Gidon turned to her. They were alone, except for the sense of restrained power, Finn, and the shadows that crawled along the corners of the tent. You needed something further, Countess?

The Countess waited in silence, and Gidon realized she hesitated to ensure privacy. Finn glanced between them, then wordlessly followed Renault and Bergeran. Whatever she meant to say, she meant it only for his ears. Shadows crept forward across the floor, toward them both. After an eternity of pause, she said, Release me.

The shadows laughed and whispered, just below the threshold of reason.

Confront them. Attack them.

Become.

Gidon blinked in surprise. Release you? I have taken no oath.

The Countess drew a long breath before she responded. I avowed myself to you, and your cause. It has cost me a measure of my power, and limits my ability to act on your behalf. I ask now that you release me from those vows.

Gidon almost stepped back. Had she? He searched his memory, and brought the image of her, pleading for her niece’s life, to the forefront of his thoughts. Yes, he supposed she had, although he had not given it much thought. I remember, Countess, but why? How is your power limited?

The older woman folded her hands before herself as the shadows danced under the light of a candle. Until I declared myself your avowed ally and counsel, Gvaldnir lent me his sight. I had limited access to what he saw, and some knowledge of his actions and methods. It was my secret power, the source of the fear I used to maintain loyalty, and now it is gone. She glanced to the floor for only a moment, but in that moment she conveyed her own embarrassment. When her eyes returned, they had regained the mask of lace and granite. I have amassed enough power that the loss of his gifts cannot limit me; however, my obligations to you, because of the vows, do. Release me.

I still do not understand.

More shadows entered the tent, and crept about its edges as they chanted.

Attack them. Confront them.

Dust and bones.

The Countess Damarc moved with grace and precision to the chair that had previously held Renault, and lowered herself onto it. Yours is a tenuous position, and you are bound by oaths I cannot obey. While you command the Princess Kiranae, you adequately hold my favor. As I do not foresee that she will leave that command, your position with me is secure. She felt at her hair, as if to reassure herself of its perfect order. I must therefore negotiate on your behalf with such potentates who may be swayed to your cause. Gjalla is west of us, and bound to the south by Bardag and Lauda. They are dependent upon trade for their survival, and will favorably consider any requests I may send them. Those requests would not, however, be in keeping with a man of your… She paused, as if searching for the proper words. …a man with your restrictions. If my actions reflect upon you, personally, I cannot manage my own kingdom. Please, therefore, release me.

Gidon lifted his hand again to his neck. The stress of the moment had renewed its complaints, and he rubbed at a knot with his fingers. Had the Countess only assisted him this far because of her hasty vows? And if that was true, could he risk allowing her free action, unbound? I do not know, Countess.

The Countess nodded with passionless comprehension. You do not yet trust me. Gidon started to object, but she silenced him with a raised hand. It is good that you do not. You have been too trusting until now. You are surrounded by men who, until your arrival, were your sworn enemies. Any or all of us could, given the provocation, turn upon you. Maintain your distrust, but release me, regardless.

Gidon considered. I do not see that I can, Countess. By your own words, you admit that you cannot be trusted. He saw something flash behind her eyes, and added, I mean that without any disrespect. I value your counsel, and those were your own words. Did he see her demeanor return to ice, or had she simply added him to a mental list of future victims? What is it that you cannot do, if avowed to me?

"I cannot do many things, Captain. I cannot rule my own land while subject to a common soldier—no matter how well-heeled he may be. I cannot threaten withdrawal of my support, to secure aid. I cannot threaten the starvation of a kingdom to ensure their cooperation. Indeed, my iman is bound by your own until I am released. As well, there is a second, more delicate matter."

Gidon’s eyes narrowed. Another matter?

The Countess nodded. Yes. The affront to the honor of my house, as well as to the kingdom of Bardag, has not been answered. I cannot do so, while subject to your command. You currently maintain control over Lauda’s forces, and Bardag is paralyzed by the implications of Kiranae’s flight. It is up to you, then, to answer the insult, if you do not release me. You must confront them, and soon.

The shadows glided in darkness left by flickering flames, and waited.

What is it that you expect me to do? Gidon felt his pulse quicken. I am here to find an end to the blight, and nothing more. Once that is over, perhaps.

Would you allow the insult to one of your own officers to go unanswered?

No. Gidon looked around for some means of escape. That is, she was not one of my officers at the time of the insult.

The Countess nodded, but her eyes remained fierce. Of course, you must do what you think best, Captain. No doubt, her torture by the man you plan to install as True King is not as important as the mission, itself.

No, that is not what I meant.

Then what did you mean, Captain? Please enlighten me as to why you will not allow me the autonomy to conduct the necessary business of maintaining your position? Explain to me your unwillingness to defend the honor of your sworn officers. Explain how it is not cowardice to allow abuse to those you consider innocent? Her eyes flashed. Release me.

The mist curled and pooled at Gidon’s feet as he stood to face the Countess. The shadows renewed their chant from within its coils in slow monotone, little more than the whisper of wind through leaves. Their voices drifted across the surface of Gidon’s thoughts, even as he dismissed them.

Confront them. Attack them. Kill them.

Rise and feed.

Gidon stammered as his thoughts flew about him like a cloud of crows. I do not want to hold you against your will, Countess—that was never my intention. However, you gave your vows willingly, and in the name of Mea the mother, herself. I never asked for them. His thoughts coalesced as he spoke, and he became more certain. I have given vows before Mea, as well. It would be simpler to abandon them, to confront and attack those who offend both my honor and your niece, but I define myself by the value of my word. You are defined by your word, also. No, I will not release you. Not right now, at least.

The Countess stiffened, as the shadows crawled away from the tent. But you will, in the future?

I promise you, Countess, you will not be bound to my service indefinitely. One day, hopefully soon, I will release you. On that day, you may hold my own dagger, with which you will take my life. Until then, I have to use every tool at my disposal.

Am I a tool, then?

For the moment, yes. It may not be polite, but it is true, and I would not abandon my own vows with falsehood.

Gidon watched as the Countess glanced away to the walls of the tent. When her eyes returned, they held a quality he could not identify.

Captain, the walls of my chosen prison are fine, are they not?

Gidon released a pent breath. She had reason to resent him. She was a prisoner to his will, even if he did not wish her to be. Yes, Countess. They are the finest that I can provide, and will always be so, until the day you leave my service. Is there anything else?

Her face betrayed nothing. That will be all, Captain. Please keep this matter in your mind.

Gidon bowed. Of course, Countess. A wave of relief washed across him as he ducked through the tent-flap, but a question tickled at the back of his mind. The Countess was not one to be steered. Indeed, he could feel her influence on every action he undertook. Even when he allowed himself to eat, or to sleep, he knew it was only because this counselor—this woman who protested her own captivity—allowed that it was necessary. Somehow, simply speaking with her gave rise to urges that frightened him, a sense he was born to rampage, to confront and attack all that stood before him. Under his breath, he asked, Who is the captive of whom?

On the outskirts of the camp, Tertoillaine hummed a half-forgotten melody to herself, to pass time before dusk and her performances to the men.

Go to sleep.

Sleep and dream;

Never to wake til the morning come.

Bergeran walked to her side. A dirge for the morning? Have you become melancholy in your fame?

She smiled, and turned to the gambler. She was happy to see him, even if she would never allow him to know. It is only a snippet of song, a lullaby that my mother often sang to me, when I was young.

The man’s maddening grin widened. You, young? I would have suspected that you sprung fully formed from your mother’s womb, with harp in hand. He glanced about himself. But enough of that. You are up early.

Only because you abandoned me, again. She let her eyes drift back to the wagons as the conversation moved. But I will forgive you. Is the Countess so beautiful that her tasks are more important than me?

I would never admit to that, Elly.

Her response was automatic. I hate that name.

Regardless, the Countess is the face of the Damarc cartel. Bergeran turned back to Tertoillaine. The cartel is, in essence, a beautiful thing. And, also, you have no right to jealousy.

Tertoillaine sniffed. A girl has every right to jealousy, whenever she pleases. I am so bored, jealousy is the only entertainment left to me.

Please, Elly, you have the full attention of every soldier in the camp, at any time you wish.

Not when that new Tenant walks past.

Bergeran laughed. Somehow, I do not think that you need worry about Tenant Kira. If she is hunting, she has eyes for a different quarry than yours.

Yes, I noticed. She toyed with her hair. Still, she does get to wear that wonderful uniform. It leaves so little to be imagined, even if it reveals nothing. When she is present, she has everyone’s full attention, including my Tenant Bacon.

You think that Tenant Bacon has eyes for her? I could arrange for them to be alone, if you like.

If you do, I will scratch your eyes out. The young minstrel tossed her head. Then his. She sniffed. Then hers.

I know your skill, Elly, as few do not. If you cannot hold his attention, it is because you do not want it. You have nothing to fear from Tenant Kira.

Why does she get all the attention? Tertoillaine pouted. Men fight over her, but she does nothing to provoke it. Captain Gidon fell at her feet and begged to die for her, and she is barely a woman.

Bergeran smiled, but his eyes narrowed. Perhaps I should challenge your pretty Tenant Bacon to a duel for your hand, then. He waited for her reaction. It would be painfully dramatic, and all eyes would be upon you. One or both of us might bleed our lives into the snow for your amusement.

Tertoillaine felt a flash of worry, but quickly replaced it with guarded disinterest. You will do no such thing. You might scar him, and then where would I be?

Bergeran’s grin widened. Ah, but his family name would still be just as pretty, would it not?

The man knew her so well. Tertoillaine offered a mischievous smile. He does strike a stunning reputation.

Bergeran laughed. Do not concern yourself any longer, then. Lure his hand, if you can, and I will dance at your wedding.

I shall have to hide the silver.

You will have to hide more than that. Tertoillaine shot her eyes to his in suspicion, as he continued. He will, eventually, want to meet your family. He will ask about your peerage.

She pushed her shoulders back, and brushed the hair from them. Yes. Should I be the sole heir to a high family, one that was killed in assassination?

It was a sad, sad tale. Bergeran sighed. Lost and alone, with nothing but your wits and your noble heritage to guide you, you built around yourself a fortress of intrigue and beauty. He lifted his hand, and let it drift across his chest. So sad, and yet it draws the heart.

She felt her nose crease with amusement. You are a scoundrel.

You have no idea, Elly. Bergeran returned his attention to the wagons as they drew to a halt near the center of camp. Ah, I think I see our young Captain. Fare well, my sad, beautiful orphan. I leave you to sing dirges to your solitude. He bowed, low to the ground, with his right arm outstretched for emphasis.

Tertoillaine shooed him away with her fingers. Go. Abandon me.

Bergeran smiled. One of the keys to effective escape, Elly, is to desire it. I will never abandon you, while you hold the keys to such entertaining travel.

As guardsmen scrambled to unload the wagons, Gidon wove between the smaller tents at the edges of the camp. Captain Gidon. Someone called from behind him, and he turned. Short paces behind him, Bergeran ran to catch him. His breath was heavy as he drew to a halt at Gidon’s side.

Gidon surveyed Bergeran. You look as if you ran a good distance.

I did. Bergeran waved to a cluster of tents a hundred paces away. Gidon noticed Tertoillaine as she stood and stared into the distance. From that tent over there. This running about makes very little sense to me.

Gidon turned to continue his track, but Bergeran restrained him with a hand. He rested against his knees and breathed deeply. Please, Captain, one moment while I catch my breath.

Gidon waited until Bergeran regained his breath, before he spoke. I saw you arrive with the wagons. Have you been running errands for the Countess again?

Bergeran nodded. More often walking, or riding. She entrusts her business dealings to only the most reliable of messengers, Captain.

Gidon looked across the expanse of tents. And when she cannot?

Bergeran smiled. She gives them to me. He shrugged, and kept pace as Gidon walked to another guard post. I do not mind being a messenger, when she requires. The position allows me a certain level of freedom.

Bergeran moved to Gidon’s right side, and together the two resumed Gidon’s meandering track. Gidon said, What was important enough that you would run, then?

I would not call it important, so much as a request, Captain. Gidon scanned the many fire-pits and tents of the encampment, as they walked. You currently control the provisioning of steeds within the camp, and my sad pony, while serviceable, does not meet my needs.

You want a horse?

Bergeran grunted. "I want a steed, Captain. My pony has a bump upon its back, which I can feel with every bounce and jostle. It bruises me in the most inappropriate of