Chapter 18

 

The canopy of large trees above Milo and Adric covered them with cool shade. High, fluting calls echoed above them, and below, something buzzed and then stopped. Adric took shallow breaths. His back ached, and he wished more than once that Milo had not let the horse free when they arrived in the village.

They were getting closer to the palace. Adric was sweating even though he was cool. Milo wanted to find someone to take them in, but Adric hoped they could get past the guard on their own. They agreed that if someone passed, they would ask for help into the palace. They were posing as brothers looking for work, and indeed, Adric had never felt closer to anyone.

“Shhh.” Milo grabbed Adric’s arm. “I hear something.”

Adric cocked his head. He heard it too–the rhythmic clip-clop of horse hooves. He moved to the side of the road, grass tickling the bottom of his bare feet. Through the trees he could see a single horseman leaning over his mount.

“Remember,” Milo said. Adric nodded. He would not say anything about who he was. He would let Milo do the talking.

The horseman rounded the bend. He was an older man, a guard that Adric had seen but never spoken to. He never traveled alone. Usually he had one or two valets to help him with his equipment.

Milo put one foot into the road and waved. “Excuse me, sir,” he said.
The guard stopped. “What?”
“My brother and I are looking for work.
“Plenty of work in Anda.”
Milo shook his head. “We’ve just come from there.”
The guard examined them. His eyes were round, and thick jowls hung around his mouth. “You’re runaways?”
Milo lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Why would I help runaways? I could turn you in and maybe get a reward.”
“No, please don’t!” Adric took a step forward. He couldn’t bear to return to Rogren. “We’ll do anything, any kind of work.”
The guard nodded, then clucked to his horse. “Not interested,” he said.

“Wait!” Adric cried. Milo put his hand on Adric’s arm to stop him. “You need a valet, don’t you? You never ride without a valet?”

The guard patted his horse and peered at Adric. “And how do you know that?”
“We’ve seen you,” Milo said. His voice shook. “In Anda.”
“Two peasant boys can’t valet.”
“I can,” Adric said. “I can polish a sword, clean boots, maintain your armor, and take care of your horse.”
“Unusual skills for a peasant lad.”
Milo’s grip tightened on Adric’s arm. “We’re from town.”
The guard let his reins drop and twisted in the saddle to face the boy. “What are you names, lads?”
Milo spoke up before Adric could answer. “I’m Milo, he’s Ric. We’d be grateful for the work, sir.”
“Will you run away?” the guard asked.
Milo shook his head. Adric glanced at the palace walls, at home. “We have no need to,” he said.

 

 

 

The White Mists of Power
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