“Good morning.”
“Good morning, brother,” Aaronn greeted. The two talked a bit, then parted for their duty shifts, meeting back in the room much later for a round of wine and a chat.
“I have somewhere I must be tonight,” he said quietly to his friend.
“Oh? And what is her name?” Olran laughed.
“Ye know I do not kiss and tell, brother. Have a good night, and I’ll see ye on the morrow,” Aaronn answered evasively.
“As ye wish,” Olran answered noncommittally as he watched his friend use the secret entrance in his room to access the hidden stairways within the walls of Camelot. As soon as he was gone, however, a determined look passed over Olran’s face, and he quickly assembled his hunting outfit and weaponry, ducking out the same hidden entrance used by his friend.
Emerging from the castle’s walls just at the edge of where Cai planned to plant both flower and vegetable gardens, Olran slipped into the cover of the young rose bushes growing there, being mindful of the thorns. He cast his sharp eyes quickly towards the stables, and a smile appeared as he watched the faint outline of the Black Knight emerging from the stable aboard his horse. Olran noted the direction he was headed as he dashed into the stable, pulling his own dark, grey-blue roan from the stall and quickly saddling him.
“We must gallop quickly and quietly to accomplish our mission tonight, my friend,” he whispered into the huge and ugly horse’s ear, pulling his slightly misshapen head down to do so. “Perhaps tonight, I shall be able to render the service necessary to pay the debt I owe.”
The Jughead leaned into Olran’s chest a bit, a rare gesture of affection from the huge horse, and Olran reached into his pocket, pulling forth a quarter apple. The horse lipped the fruit with anticipation, crunching with delight once the wedge was in his mouth. Waiting until the horse had thoroughly chewed and swallowed the fruit, Olran slipped the bit into the Jughead’s mouth without getting bitten for his trouble, as the horse’s temperament could be uncertain at times. Adding the blanket and saddle, he quickly went through the process of tightening it, gently kneeing the horse’s barrel one last time to make sure it was properly in place. The horse grunted, and a “whoosh” of foul air emerged as the horse lifted his tail, then Olran tightened the girth to its usual setting, and the saddle was properly secured.
“Whew!” the hunter commented softly. “I must see what ye have been grazing on of late. Yer farts would perfume an entire forest!”
For answer, the horse merely grunted as his master mounted and took up the reins, urging him after his already distant friend.
“We must follow at a distance short enough to keep him in sight, but far enough away for him not to notice,” Olran whispered to his horse, and urged him into a fast pursuit, quickly closing the gap between the two men. Once he could see the Black Knight clearly even in the gloom of midnight, he maintained that distance until he saw the secretive man ride into the courtyard of a remote inn. Olran knew the inn served only the local people, closing early at night and opening earlier than most the next day. It was a place where fertilizer and crops were discussed, as well as the best place to sell the product of their labors. Pulling his horse into the cover of the bordering forest, Olran left the road to find an advantageous place to secrete himself so as to watch and ward his friend’s back. He found a tall oak, picketed his horse at the base of it, using its broad back as a platform to access the tree’s lowest branches, quickly scurrying up the trunk and into the canopy, very squirrel-like. Finding a thick branch that provided good cover, and an excellent view of the inn’s front door, Olran made himself comfortable and set himself to watching.
The Black Knight entered the courtyard of the small inn, a familiar place where he found the talk interesting and the brew very good. Tying his horse to the rail outside, he entered the slightly smoky room, smelling the scent of burning peat mixed with that of hard-working men.
No one appeared to notice his presence, but he had gotten accustomed to people acting that way when he was about on Ceridwen’s business. He made his way to the very back of the room, where a small table with two chairs stood empty. When he took a seat, he noted he could see the entire room clearly, including the front and back entrances. It seemed as if the table were purposefully put there for his usage, something that seemed to be confirmed when the innkeeper came to wait on him.
“What may I get for Ceridwen’s man?”
“Ale, if ‘tis cold and not too bitter,” he answered with humor, for it was quite ironic, as he had gone to considerable trouble not to be noticed. “What is cooking in the pot tonight?”
“Rabbit stew,” the man answered pleasantly. “My wife made fresh bread to go with it, and we have sweet butter and honey too.”
“I shall have a bowl when I am done with my ale,” the Black Knight answered conversationally. “Tell me, is there trouble about?”
“As close as we are to the border with Uriens, ‘there’s always some sort of trouble about,” the man chuckled. “However, I did see the Lady Morgause’s carriage pass through here and make the turn for Londinium.”
“How many days ago was that?”
“Just this morning, Sir Knight. I happen to know ‘tis her usual habit to stop at the Royal Hostel between here and Londinium.”
“If yer information proves to be true, I shall return to compensate ye for it,” the Black Knight nodded.
“Ye need not do so,” the innkeeper said in a near whisper. “I am loyal to Arthur Pendragon.”
“Ye are good to declare it so when even now in the peace of Camelot’s reign, there are those who are unhappy with the situation in Britain,” the Black Knight answered.
“I am very happy with it,” the man answered with a grin. “My wife has returned home after many years in Lesser Britain, my inn is making money, and the people are happier in every regard. I would not wish things to return to the past ways.”
“None of us would,” the Black Knight acknowledged.
“I shall return shortly with the ale, and if ye do not care for my brew, I have wine from Lesser Britain or whiskey from Orkney.”
“Bring the ale,” the Black Knight chuckled. When the cup arrived, he found it cold, smooth, and slightly sweet, a pleasant experience in every way. He ordered a second cup before his stew arrived, all the while keeping his eyes on the room. He had no idea he was being watched as well, by friendly, hunter-trained eyes, as Olran had now made his way into the inn by way of an open window on the second story. It did not take the thin archer very long to access the rafters of the common room, and he saw the Black Knight enter and take the seat at the back of the inn. A smile crept over Olran’s face at his caution; it was no wonder that Ceridwen’s man was still among the living due to his caution and observational skills. Still, the hunter watched, his sharp eyes observing every movement in the room.