Rising Ch.4

A sheepish smile crossed Methaniel’s face, showing a boyishness that Ahma found shocking in so hardened and fierce a man as he. “Of course. I am rather absentminded today, it seems.”

“Not at all, my Lord.”

“Very well then,” Methaniel cleared his throat. “Do you know how to ride?”

Ahma’s smile brightened despite herself and she nodded energetically, causing the thick braid of her rich brown hair to bob across her folded wings.

“Very good,” Methaniel chuckled. “A ride, then. Up through the Kithicohr wood, to the cliff overlooking the Northern Pass. I went there often as I could in my boyhood.”

“Are you sure you want me to accompany you, my lord?” Ahma asked. It struck her as odd, somehow, to accompany him. She had thought he would want privacy in a personal place such as he described.

“Quite sure,” said he, then swept her briefly with his eyes. “You will need riding clothes. A cloak to ward the chill. Thick gloves for the same. The day is fair, but winter will pierce you to the bone clad as you are.”

Ahma nodded. Her chocolate eyes shone with barely contained excitement at the prospect of this impending adventure.

“Go now. See that Rema gives you something appropriate for riding and a sturdy cloak,” Methaniel instructed her. “I’ll meet you in the stables. Check on the Seamstress while you are down there. If she seems overrun, instruct her to obtain more assistants till everyone’s new clothes have been taken care of.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Ahma replied. She curtsied and left his room, walking down the stairs and toward the back of the Manor to find the Seamstress.

Rema and her girls were busy indeed. The seamstress seemed to flutter all about the room, doing this and that, grabbing garments, retrieving threads, rolling out a length of cloth. One of her assistants sat at the loom while the other did her best to keep up with the seamstress.

The commotion calmed when the three took note of Ahma. Rema placed her work down and walked to her, nodding slowly. “A good morn to you, Miss Ahma.”

“And you, Rema,” Ahma replied with a kind smile. She flicked her golden bangs from her eyes. She tended not to braid the shock of gold bangs back as tightly as she did the rest of her brunet hair. “The Master has sent me to retrieve clothing more appropriate for riding.”

“Ah, yes,” Rema nodded her graying head. “Sent word to me to have something of the sort ready for you he did, yes. Had to make the same alterations we did for the dress you wear now, of course, but it’s done it is.”

“Really?” Ahma’s fair brow rose. She wondered if the Master had planned this, but surely he wouldn’t have taken her so carefully in mind if he did. Perhaps he just wanted it to be taken care of for the future.

Ahma thanked the seamstress. A dress was brought out to her along with a pair of wonderfully warm riding gloves and a heavy cloak. Ahma had rarely ever worn a cloak; her wings made them a bit inconvenient. Given how quickly a winter could chill the bones, however, she was willing to try it.

“Master Methaniel instructed me to ask if you needed more assistants, with how busy you are making more clothes for everyone.”

Rema looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing critically around the room at the piles of garments waiting to be started or finished. Finally she bobbed a yes. “Much as I hate to admit, we do. A lot of work, yes. One more pair of hands should do. We are behind and that won’t do, not at all.”

“Okay, I’ll pass word to Marta to send along a girl who knows her way around a needle.”

“Most kind of you,” Rema smiled. “Hurry along, Miss Ahma. Mustn’t keep the Master waiting, no.”

Finding Marta was easy enough. Ahma told her of the Master’s instructions and Rema’s need for an extra pair of hands. Marta sent a girl along, and another just to be sure. Ahma bid her good afternoon and went into the vacant servants quarters to change.

She slipped on her riding dress, a simple but warm garment thicker than her beautiful blue dress and more suited to a day out in the cold. The material was a thick white cotton that, while breathable, helped to keep her body heat in. Over the cotton dress she wore a plain brown bodice that pushed her bosom upward and inward securely. The back of the bodice settled just beneath her wings. She was quite thankful Rema had the foresight to send a dress with a bodice; riding could have been an awkwardly embarrassing activity otherwise. Her skirts hung down about her legs, and she wore a pair of under britches to keep her long, slender legs warm. Her feet were clad in a pair of small, soft boots. While humble and plain, the boots were much more practical and comfortable than the small, thin slippers most of the servants wore.

After making sure her clothes looked presentable and orderly, the Wingling girl slipped out of the Manor, feeling immediately grateful for the cloak and the warmth it provided. The day was blustery, the chill winds shifting this way and that, but the weather was not overall unpleasant. Aside from the wind, the cold was fairly mild all in all. Ahma cut through one of the gardens and reached the stables on the west side of the manor. 

Weak sunlight filtered through the stables, illuminating the few pens and the racks of riding harnesses, saddles and various other gear and tack. Few people with riding talent resided at the Manor, and as such the stables had never been an especially busy place. With Master Methaniel absent and his father deceased it had indeed been nearly lifeless, with a single stable hand tending the handful of horses. 

Ahma had badly missed the stables in the last six months. When the elder Master had lived, the two of them often ventured to the stables to care for the horses or take them on short rides just outside the city. After his death, however, she had avoided the stables for fear of getting the stable boy punished for her own absence from her duties. The Wingling girl hummed softly, the sound lilting and sweet, echoing in the narrow confines of the stable. She reached to pet several horses, caressing one here, another there, stopping to dip her hand in a bag of oats and feed it to one especially friendly mare.

The last pen in the stable housed a horse beyond compare. The sight of it took Ahma’s breath away. 

The horse was a white stallion, his coat shining in the weak sunbeam pouring into his pen. His mane and tail were thick and healthy, and glinting an unusual burnished gold of such rich color it was striking against his pale coat. He stood far taller than her at the shoulder, easily twenty hand spans high. His body was thick and powerful, muscles bulging with frightening power under his coat. He turned a dark equine eye her way. He gave a soft snort as he studied her. Surely this was a horse to take to war. Ahma shuddered to think what those massive hooves could do to a person. He was the largest horse Ahma had ever seen.

“Amazing, is he not?”

Ahma whirled to find Methaniel standing just behind her. Heart pounding, she could only nod. For all his large stature, the man was silent as a cat.

“He is of Fenlon stock, the land beyond the mountains to the west. We see little trade with them, and most of it consists of horses such as this one,” Methaniel explained. He stepped past her and reached out to fondly rub the horses muzzle, which the stallion allowed most happily.

“These are the biggest horses in the known world, and they are bred so meticulously and carefully, they are passing rare. It would shock me if more than five hundred are alive at any one time. No other horse can compare to them in matters of intelligence, loyalty, power, or speed.”

“Speed? From a warhorse, my lord?” Ahma glanced at him curiously. “I’m no stable master, but I do know that warhorses are valued for their power, not their speed. How can such a big horse possess speed?”

Methaniel smiled brightly at her, casting a glance at his mount and nodding. 
“Perhaps some day, I will show you.”

Ahma returned his smile, folding her hands in front of her and looking down, feeling unexplainably embarrassed. “I would like that, my Lord.”

“Well then,” said the Master, his attention turned once more to his horse. “What say you, Lanion? Shall we go for a ride? It would be nice to ride together without a battle looming ahead for once, wouldn’t it?”

The horse, Lanion, gave a soft whicker in reply and shifted anxiously in the pen. 

Methaniel smiled and patted his horse’s neck comfortingly. “Good. In a moment we’ll be off.”

The Master led his attendant to her own mount, the friendly mare Ahma had fed oats to.

“I assume if you know how to ride, you know how to saddle a horse up?” Asked Methaniel.

“Yes, my Lord,” Ahma said with a shy smile. “It’s been awhile, but I think I can manage it.”

“Very good,” Methaniel replied, and left her to it.

Ahma quickly rubbed her mount down, talking to the mare quietly and introducing herself. The mare kept amiably still while Ahma saddled her and attached her bridle. Ahma smiled all the while. It was truly a joy to be around horses again. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it. It brought back memories, bitter and sweet all at once.

Snow crunched under her boots as she led the mare out into the stable yard. Methaniel had already mounted up Lanion and led the snorting stallion in slow circles, patting his long, muscled neck.

Ahma boosted herself into the saddle and praised the mare gently for how agreeable she was.

“I thought that mare would suit you,” Methaniel smiled.

“This is Nemia, I believe. She‘s a darling,” Ahma replied.

Methaniel led them out the gate of the manor and through the streets of Durinum City. Many folk milled about, taking advantage in the ebb of the snow and cold to do as much business as they could before the weather grew inhospitable again. The crowd parted as Lanion slowly marched forward, awed by the enormous horse and his tall, proud rider. Ahma followed closely, hoping the crowd would not somehow separate them.

It was past noon when they arrived at the northern gate. The guards nodded them through as soon as they recognized Methaniel for the nobleman and knight he was. The two horses trotted along once they cleared the gate, seeming to enjoy the ride out in the open reaches outside the city as much as their riders did. A rough road wound away from the city, off toward the northern pass. Deep, muddy tracks from passing wagons mixed with half melted snow. 

Ahma and Methaniel rode side by side, their pace slow and relaxed as they basked in the simple pleasures of the outdoors and a slow ride. They did not speak, but Methaniel wore a thin smile when she glanced at him, and his face did not seem as severe as it normally was. 

Half an hour later they struck off from the road, heading east into the forest. Trees stretched overhead. Many had shed their leaves and greenery for the winter, instead donning their white coats of thick snow piled about on their branches and pooled about their feet. The large majority of the trees clustered about the woods were pines, their soft green needles peppered with white. Various other evergreens broke up the nakedness of the forest. The packed snow crunched softly under the weight of the horses hoofs. Methaniel led them carefully forward, allowing Lanion some rein to pick his own way through the snowy ground. The horse’s steps were careful but sure, and if there were any hazards beneath the blanket of snow he avoided them. Ahma led Nemia closely behind. 

The forest was quiet and still around them. Now and again a clump of snow would fall from the branches overhead upon their passing, showering them with a light fall of chilling powder. Ahma couldn’t stop herself from laughing melodiously when the first pile of snow plopped onto the Master’s head, and Methaniel’s own wry grin spread wide when the same happened to her moments later.

The majority of the snowy underbrush and the thick, bare trees began to thin ahead of them. They stepped out of the forest line and halted at the ledge just beyond. Ahma’s breath caught in her throat.

She could see why this would be one of his favorite places. The view was spectacular; the Northern mountain chain stretched across the sky, a jagged line of snow-capped peaks, like the bottom of some giant maw poised to swallow the world. Their slopes extended downward, filling the majority of the view, shades of earth and snow and small patches of stubborn greenery dotting their length. Small trees clung to the slopes, most as bare as the others save the clusters of evergreens spread about the mountain slopes. At the foot of the mountains, valleys and gorges opened, yawning expanses ranging in width from a horses leap to the breadth of the royal capitol itself. 

The sky hung over the white capped mountains, so pale and sallow as to be almost gray, set against the white of frosted snow and the brown of winter ravaged earth. The view was moving, a strange sight that spoke of death and winter and majestic beauty all at once. She wondered what a glorious sight it would be in the full of spring, with such a flood of greens and plants and colorful flowers spread along the mountains and valleys. The Northern Pass wound along just below their feet, leading far into the mountainous reaches and beyond.

“This is amazing,” Ahma murmured.

Methaniel nodded, gazing out over the land, his big hands absently stroking Lanion’s sleek, pale coat. They sat in silence, their mounts remaining placid and calm. Ahma pulled her cloak closer as an icy breeze began to blow off the mountains.

“When do you return to the front?”

Master Methaniel turned his gaze to his attendant. His face remained expressionless, neutral as it so often was. “I’m not entirely sure. Certain…circumstances prevent me from leaving home right now. I need to take stock of some things…assess the situation before I decide my course of action.”

Ahma bit her lip softly, but she had to ask. “Does…this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?”

The Master turned his eyes upon the mountains. His face remained unreadable. “I cannot speak of this.”

“I understand, my Lord,” Ahma murmured.

Silent moments followed in which both took enjoyment from the view, the peace, the ease of this place. The horses had found a patch of ground under the snow and were idly munching at it.

“Master,” Ahma ventured at last, her eyes downcast. “When you were at the front…that is…do you know of two Wingling men? They should be in your unit.”

Methaniel turned to her and nodded slowly, his lips twitching into a momentary smile. “Ah, yes. Fahl and Kahr. Your brothers.”

“So you do know of them,” Ahma stated, relief obvious on her face.

“Indeed. good men, both of them. My closest lieutenants, actually.”

“Lieutenants?” Ahma gasped. “How did that come about?”

Methaniels face turned over the wide expanse before them, his eyes distant. He looked as if the memory pained him. “Not long after my father passed, I was serving at the front far to the south, garrisoned at Fort Balor, which guarded a stretch of land that is now enemy territory. I could have led my fathers unit then and there, but I felt I was too young, too inexperienced. I handed the command to another man, and took my place as a soldier below him with all the rest.”

Methaniel squeezed his eyes shut. “It is a decision I deeply regret. The commander was…inept. The decisions he made as the Naemer army advanced upon the fort bordered on sheer idiocy. He had no real idea what he was doing, I’ve come to believe. As a result, we were soon cut off from our supply lines, and reinforcements were out of reach.

“The Naemer knew that we had enough food to last till reinforcements came, so they began a siege,” Methaniel continued. “It was a massacre. We were undermanned and acting under a man who hadn’t the sense to command us properly. Everyone was in disarray. The Naemerians outnumbered us horribly. If it hadn’t been for the fort’s heavy defenses, the slaughter would have been absolute.

“As it was, our numbers dwindled rapidly. The commander tried to flee and took an arrow through the heart. During a brief lull in the assault, I took up command. Fahl and Kahr had become friends with me long ago, and they were instrumental in rallying support to me. It was too late, though. The damage had been done.