Scarburg Meadhall

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc woke up once again earlier than most, but he felt refreshed and ready for anything. Even though the hunt for Erbrand and Lithor could not have been called successful, there was a job to be done today with the local lords, and at least here, the enemy was clear and could not hide from them.

Hilderinc used the moment before most of the soldiers managed to get up, he went to the hall, and shoveled up his breakfast quickly before it became too crowded. It was a part of his loner-side taking grounds during this brief moment: perhaps he did so unconsciously, with the expectations of yet another day spent among the still mostly unfamiliar men of Scarburg and old, too well known men of Athanar's household. There were two sides working inside him: first one, the habit he had acquired during the last eighteen years of his life as a soldier under various lords, to smoothly fit into a new environment; and the other one, more lonely side shunning too much contact, the side which had made him a "queer fish" in the eyes of some fellow soldiers.

But no trouble was on his mind when he entered the stables. Several men already were inside, tending their horses. Hilderinc headed to the one chestnut stallion he had arrived on to Scarburg; the horse had not been in his possession for very long, but now it was his own. Coenred was standing nearby, and Hilderinc saluted him as he stopped near the Captain.

"Hilderinc," Coenred greeted him. "Good that you are here. As soon as everybody arrives, see to that all men assemble in the courtyard, fully ready. We ride out with all equipment. This is not like yesterday."

"Aye, sir," Hilderinc replied. "It was rather unfortunate that we could not catch the fugitives yesterday, but at least the local lords cannot hide from us," he remembered his early morning thought.

"We cannot allow a failure today," the Captain said. His mood seemed somewhat grim to Hilderinc, but the soldier thought that it was no wonder.

"We most certainly won't, sir," he replied. "Yesterday, the fugitives were just in too much of an advantage. With all the time they had, they have fled us easily. After all, if even the first scout did not catch up with them, no wonder that even your search party did not."

Coen frowned. "Scout? What scout?"

Hilderinc hesitated. He remembered the rider he spotted during the morning trials the previous day.

"A scout... a man who left on horseback during the morning trials. Master Thornden said that he was not the one to send him away, so I thought it was a scout whom you or lord Athanar have already sent out after Erbrand back then..."

Just as he spoke the words, the clear implication of what he said formed inside his head. It was clear that Coen had no idea about any scouts being sent, in fact, he was in no position to send anyone out during the trials; and Athanar would surely have told him about a scout he had sent out before him. And who then could have been this rider, this man who rode away? Who could have left the Hall at that time? The thought hammered Hilderinc with full strength - was it possible that whomever he and Thornden saw riding away was one of the fugitives? He was in utter shock, so he could not speak at first, just looked at Coenred's own reaction.