[Ealasaide]

Slipping the hot roll into his pocket, Rochadan left the kitchen by the backdoor. There were two things he needed to do before coming back to collect Sallie from the care of Ædhral and the Cook. The first was to find the owner of the lame horse and have quick word with him about the condition of his mount. The second was to find Ærosylle. He was sure that Finian would have a better idea of where to find the girl than he would, but an extra pair of eyes looking about could do no harm. He cast a quick glance at the roofs of both the inn and the stable in case Ærosylle might have chosen one of those as a hiding place again, but, not seeing her, he circled around to the front door of the inn. With a little luck, the owner of the lame horse would be at breakfast. He pushed open the door and stepped into the common room.

His dark eyes scanning the room, he saw that a few new faces had joined the company of guests since the night before, including two young boys and a woman with her dog. His gaze hesitated for an instant over one of the boys, a sad-looking little fellow, his face and body badly disfigured from burns. "The dragon's fire," murmured Rochadan, his heart going out to the boy instantly. He let his gaze shift to the other boy and smiled. A right urchin, that one, he thought, but I'll bet he does a good job of looking out for his friend. Or he will with time," he added, noticing the slight touch of awkwardness about the two that hinted at the newness of their acquaintance. Catching the older boy's eye, he gave him a friendly wink. If they hung about for awhile and seemed willing to work, he might be able to find a few odd jobs for them to do around the stable. For the moment, though, Finian had already set them up with cider, so he left them to drink it, promising himself to keep an eye on them. The younger boy especially looked as though he could use a break in life.

Seeing Finian now absorbed in conversation with the woman with the dog, Rochadan went on about his business. He found the owner of the lame horse at a table near the bar, his attention completely focused on the substantial breakfast laid out before him. Rochadan walked over to the table and waited for the man to acknowledge him. When he did, Rochadan nodded politely.

"Good morning, sir," he said quietly. "I don't mean to disturb your breakfast -"

"Then don't," said the man brusquely.

Startled, Rochadan hesitated for an instant, then felt his usually calm temper flare. "It's about your horse," he said sharply.

"Useless nag," said the man, and tossed back a swallow of hot coffee. "What about him?"

"When I was putting him into the stable I noticed he's developed a sprain in one foreleg. It could use some attention."

The man leaned back and gave Rochadan a suspicious stare. "What sort of attention?"

"I was thinking he might benefit from having his forelegs wrapped. Just for a few days, to give that sprain time to heal," answered Rochadan, but his mind had already been made up that the horse's injury would be treated properly with the owner's permission or not. "He's not made of wood, you know. If you think he's lame now, keep riding him. You'll see." Horses had been an important part of Rochadan's life almost as long as he could remember. Selfless creatures, they would run for their riders till they dropped if they had to. To see one mistreated made the young stablemaster's blood boil.

The man belched and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded. "Do what you have to," he grunted, but as Rochadan turned to go, he called after him. "I don't expect to be charged anything extra for it!"

Rochadan paused with his hand on the doorknob. "With all due respect," he said calmly. "That's between you and the innkeeper. I'll see to your horse." With that, Rochadan glanced in Finian's direction, only to find him talking with the older of the two young boys that Rochadan had noticed earlier. Seeing the burned boy now alone at his table, Rochadan walked over to him and knelt down so that he was at eye level to the boy.

"Hello," he said kindly. "That's good cider, isn't it?"