Home > Red Heir(6)

Red Heir(6)
Author: Lisa Henry

He lifted his hands in the air, palms splayed. “Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m not sure all the lice are dead yet.”

Grub’s face became even more pinched, if that was possible. “Get on,” he snapped finally. Loth did, making a show of swinging his leg over easily and settling right against the little monster’s back, wrapping his hands around his waist just to be obnoxious. That, and Grub still had his cloak, and Loth was feeling the chill.

They set off at a brisk pace, and Loth was pleasantly surprised to find that Grub did, in fact, know how to ride. Loth wondered idly who he really was. Political prisoner he’d said, just before Loth had accused him of stallion shafting and all hell had broken loose. The son of a baron or a duke maybe, Loth mused, kept in the lockup to ensure his family’s loyalty. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He wondered if there wasn’t a way to use it to his advantage—if they were wealthy, Loth was sure he could swing it so they rewarded him for the return of their lost lamb somehow. It all depended on whether the family were well situated, or one of those that boasted a name and nothing else.

Well. One way to find out. “Did you learn to ride as a child?”

“What is it to you?”

Okay, then. Still sulking.

Loth recalled that old saying about honey and flies. (He’d always wondered why you’d want to catch flies anyway, but that wasn’t important right now.)

“It’s just that you ride well,” Loth commented. He manfully resisted the urge to make a horse joke—it wouldn’t serve his purposes right now. “Almost like nobility. Didn’t you say you were a political prisoner?”

“What does it matter?”

“Call me curious. Surely you have a family eager to see you again?”

Grub’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s none of your business,” he said shortly. He twitched the reins so the horse moved into a trot, and Loth had to stop talking just to make sure he didn’t lose his seat. Really, there was no point in pursuing the conversation further anyway.

He settled in behind Grub, and since it didn’t seem like he’d be getting in the boy’s good graces any time soon, he made himself comfortable, settling his chin on the lad’s shoulder so he had a good view, and letting his hands run up and down his sides just to watch him squirm. He stopped that after a few minutes though, because the ribs jutted out disturbingly and reminded him that somewhere along the line, Grub had been treated far worse than an ordinary prisoner. Loth wasn’t in the habit of entertaining disturbing ideas if he could help it, so he pushed the thoughts away. Still, a part of his mind niggled at him, asking the question.

What on earth had Grub done?

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

They made good time, and Loth learned over lunch that Calarian was a vegetarian. “Oh? Is that the elvish word for terrible hunter?” he asked innocently, not missing Ada’s smirk.

“It’s a lifestyle choice. I’m all about animal welfare,” Calarian poked at his plate of greens with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Yet you ride a horse,” Loth observed, because hypocrisy was only okay when he was the one practising it.

“Yes, well. Questing involved a lot more walking than I expected,” Calarian said with a sniff.

Loth ate his own meal, noting that a bigger portion seemed to have made its way onto Grub’s plate this time. He obviously wasn’t the only one who’d seen those ribs. They finished their meals in short order and struck out once more. Grub’s foul mood seemed to have dissipated, and he rode with his head tilted back, obviously enjoying the weak rays of sunshine on his face. He almost smiled once. Loth, for his part, behaved on the back of the horse. It was only fun teasing someone if you lulled them into a false sense of security first, he told himself. That was the only reason. It wasn’t because of that smile, no.

They stopped once or twice for Scott to pull out his map and squint at it before leading them forward. Loth had to admit he had his concerns when they rode down one path for an hour, before Ada pulled her horse up next to Scott’s and hissed at him under her breath. He then consulted the map, and wordlessly led them back the way they came, but Loth wasn’t too worried. As long as they had the map and Ada, they’d get where they were going, and so far it didn't seem like anyone was following them.

He was drawn from his thoughts by a low caterwauling, and at first, he glanced around to see if they’d picked up a stray cat, but no. The sound was coming from Dave. He could make out stray words as Dave... sang under his breath. If it could be called singing.

“What on earth?” he asked Ada in an undertone.

“Dave fancies himself a bard,” she sighed. “He doesn’t let the fact he can’t carry a tune in a bucket stop him.”

Loth listened closer.

“Riding through the woods with the princes, there were two of them, saving the kingdom, something something, a hero and an orc, a pretty elf and a cranky dwarf…” Dave groaned out as Ada scowled at him. He grinned cheerfully at Loth. “Startin’ the ballad. Scott says there’s gotta be ballads, and I’m the bard. I’ll be famous, I will.”

“Well, you’re certainly memorable,” Loth agreed because discretion was the better part of valour where seven feet of orc was concerned.

“And I’m certainly pretty,” Calarian agreed, tossing his shimmering mahogany hair over his shoulder.

They passed the afternoon like that, listening to Dave attempt to remember what he’d written, Scott interjecting with instructions like, “Don’t forget to mention that I’m handsome, will you?” and “Fearless. Make sure to mention fearless,” while Ada and Loth rolled their eyes.

When they stopped for a break, Grub took the chance to dismount and pull Loth’s scarf up so it covered his ears. He paused mid-movement. “Why does this scarf have pockets?” His voice was muffled.

“They’re very handy.”

Grub regarded him flatly and pulled the scarf away from his mouth. “They’re for stashing your pilfered items, aren’t they?”

“They’re for sentimental trifles, things I want to keep close.”

“Like whatever your sticky fingers have pinched most recently, you mean.” Grub pulled a silver chain with a locket out of one pocket, and a handful of foreign coins from another, holding them out in his palm like an accusation.

Loth reached out and snatched the scarf away. “Rifling through someone's pockets is just downright rude.”

“Says the pickpocket?”

Loth decided that he’d preferred Grub when he’d been hungry and silent. “Technically, I’m a scribe,” he corrected, fishing through the small pouches that ran the length of the scarf and pulling out a battered quill, waving it triumphantly. “See? Tools of my trade.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “You stole that, didn’t you?”

“You have such a suspicious mind!”

“And I’m sure you have very talented fingers.”

Loth leered. “I’ve never had any complaints. Want to find out firsthand?”

Grub flushed slightly. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

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