[Continued from here]
The
pair of advisors stayed up well into the night sorting out equipment, route,
and rules. Sometimes Nereus would come out with a snippet of information, which
Beranwen would try to remember. "Quinton forgets his left from his right
sometimes." Was one such snippet. Or, "He's afraid of foxes. Or, at
least, he thinks he is. Don't let him run off if he sees a fox."
By
the time Beranwen got to bed, her head was swimming. There was a saying that
owners become like their pets - she rather thought advisors became like their
lords. Nereus' mind would zip between ideas faster than she could keep track
of, doubtlessly a trait picked up after years of keeping up with the
unpredictable mind of Lord Winstanleigh. By the end, she was too tired to even
try to keep up. And just before he had released her to bed, Nereus had looked
her in the eye with the serious, solemn look he had, and said,
"And
if you remember nothing else, remember this. You are his lifeline. You never
ask him what to do. He's depending on you to know. If you don't know, pretend
that you do. Don't let him see if you're uncertain, or worried, or he'll be
worried too, and he panics quickly. Be strong, and be certain."
Strong
and certain. Well, they were two things she knew how to pretend to be. Growing
up with young boys made her certain about almost everything.
She
realised that, under the confusion and overload of information, she was quite
looking forward to tomorrow. It would be a day out of doors on horseback, which
were always the best kind of days. It would be a break from cleaning the floors
and sweeping the fire grates. And it would be an adventure. For one glorious day, she would be an advisor, and would
get to tell her lord what to do. And after that, who knew? Maybe she could go
to the city and train properly. Class and background didn't matter to the
College - there were never enough good advisors to go around. She could get out
of the back halls and step up in the world. She could make something of
herself.
It
occurred to her that she'd had no time to tell her father where she was going.
He'd have questions the next morning, when she went to ready the horses.
Already feeling like her brain was sliding out of her ears, she wondered if
she'd remember what the answers should be.
In
the forest, sheltered in a hollow under a fallen tree, lies a man with no legs.
His legs lie a good distance away, out of sight, carried there by someone or
something while the man was unconscious. Now, a small rat is attempting to
separate a finger from the man's hand. A particularly hard bite causes the man
to stir, and the rat scurries away, panicked.
On
waking, the man makes no noise. Raising his head slightly, he notes the absence
of everything below his waist, considers that for a moment, and lays his head
back down.
There's
a noise like someone with no voice trying to speak. It turns into a grumble, a
clearing of a throat. The man coughs, and grumbles again. Finally, when his
voice seems stronger, he takes another look at his lack of legs.
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