Blood from a Sapphire

Fantasy: Consecutive Substack Story 1123

Photo by Ricardo Cruz on Unsplash

It was a single horse, with a rider slumped to his neck as though they were racing in a tournament, though the horse ambled as though it had walked its last mile.

There was no banner, no colors.

Sennor quietly sent three soldiers to approach from their forest position, instructed Keelor, Grawnnor and Fenttor to approach from the west side rear so as to give less of a hint of the company’s defensive position.

Sennor knew it was neither a Qittka messenger nor one of their own merchants. A Synbanarr, not the lowest criminal, would ever ride a horse to such obvious exhaustion.

The Qittka did not resort to war tricks.

The man must be lost.

Fenttor approached first.

Sennor winced. Fenttor was the more blood boiled of the three, and loved horses more so than the average Synbanarr.

He might cut the man down before they extracted information.

The man slid from the horse and limped, stooped, into the woods near the road obviously at Fenttor’s command.

Sennor allowed his heart to slow.

Fenttor put his hand on the horse’s flank and hummed in the Synbanarr equine song. He had to calm his fury at the rider, though Fenttor saw no whip, nor nothing to suggest the horse had been mistreated beyond being pushed past a humane distance.