Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

The word came to mount up. There was a rustling and a clopping of hooves as men led their horses out and gathered the reins in their hands before grasping their stirrups and stepping up into the saddle. They took their spears in their right hands and rested the shaft on the stirrup and then arrayed themselves, four riders abreast across the road. Athanar rode down the side of the line, casting a sharp and critical, though approving, eye over them. Behind him half a pace, Coenred rode to his right and Thornden to his left.

Quin found himself at the rear of the column of riders. Hylath was on his right and just to his left was the stable hand, Léof. “Hullo,” Quin said, turning his head to speak once Athanar rode back towards the head of the line. “I’m glad to see you’re coming, too. Meet Hylath. He’s been in Athanar’s guard for six years.”

Hylath looked across at Léof and nodded. “We have met in the stables. You’re fairly young yet, are you not, stable master? Why not, as we ride, you tell us about yourself, and how you came to be here?”