Scarburg Meadhall

[Firefoot]

As hesitant as Léof had been to offer his real opinion, he was still unprepared for the looks of astonishment and hostility that instantly sprang to the faces of every soldier at the table. It hadn’t been that outlandish of an idea. And he hadn’t said that he wanted Athanar to leave, only that he thought he would. Evidently it was much the same thing in the eyes of the soldiers.

“You really mean that,” Quin marveled. “You really thought that he might go?” Léof mentally pleaded for Quin to understand. If Quin couldn’t, there was no way any of the others would.

“Impudence,” muttered Scyrr. “After all lord Athanar has done for you…”

Suddenly Léof was furious. After all Athanar had done for him? What exactly did Scyrr think Athanar had done for him? Allowed him to keep a position he had long since earned? A position which hardly any of Athanar’s men seemed to take seriously, even though their presence here had probably doubled the amount of work he had to do? He was treated like a boy, like a joke, and what did Athanar do about it? Eodwine had treated him with respect! Everyone in Eodwine’s household did! Was it any wonder that he might wish for Athanar to leave? For things to go back to the way they were?

He was just about to open his mouth with a heated and very poorly thought-out reply when Coenred interrupted the conversation by saying, “You’ve all lingered enough at table. Those of you who have duties this morning better get to them.” Most of the soldiers then got up and left, ignoring Léof or shooting him one last look of disbelief. As Scyrr got up, he left Léof with one last comment: “You’d better watch your tongue, stableboy. It might get you into trouble.”

Stableboy! Léof shot to his feet, fists clenched and jaw tight. If he’d dared, he would have taken Scyrr on right then and there, but Léof still held it in his mind that Scyrr was several inches taller, quite a bit heavier, and a trained soldier to boot. He wouldn’t stand a chance. So instead he stalked off towards the stables without a word, walking as quickly as he could without running. He thought he heard Thornden call his name, but Léof ignored him. He didn’t know what it was he was planning to do but it was plain that he had to do something. Get out of here for a while.

Upon reaching the stable he jerked Æthel out of her stall and tied her in the aisle. She stamped and tossed her head nervously, but Léof heedlessly left her to fetch her tack. His mind was filled with the things he could do to get back at Scyrr and the other soldiers who had treated him so badly. Put stinging nettle in their bedrolls. Hide their weapons. Damage their weapons. Put their horses out to pasture just before they’d be needed. Injure their horses so they couldn’t ride.

Wait – injure their horses? What was he thinking? Suddenly his legs felt weak and he sat down heavily on the floor in the tack room, bridle clenched in one hand. He was shaking all over. Injure their horses? Léof drew in a ragged breath. And to think he’d been about to take Æthel out riding in this mood! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this helpless, this out of control –

In a moment he would go back out and put Æthel back in her stall, but just yet he didn’t want to do anything. Didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to totally losing it. To putting Æthel in danger with his recklessness. He couldn’t afford to lose his head so completely. The potential results… he couldn’t bear to think of them.