Outside Garinor’s house stood a tall brown horse, tied to a nearby post. A two-person saddle had been set upon the beast, and it didn’t seem to like how it felt on its back. The horse kept shimmying back and forth and turning its head back as if to try to scratch an unreachable itch.
The guardsman guided Garinor to the horse without a word. His looming presence kept the boy quiet and, as it was obvious what was to come next, Garinor didn’t ask any questions. He had never ridden a horse before, which became apparent to the guard when the boy tried to hoist himself up in a very awkward manner, accidentally catching his foot in the stirrup and nearly falling off again. The guard bit back laughter and steadied the youth, helping him into the rear seat.
The guardsman practically sprang into the saddle without any effort at all. He grabbed the reins and it was only then he turned his head and spoke. “Throw your arms around me and clasp them tightly. We will travel with haste.” Once Garinor’s arms reached around and took a firm hold, the guard snapped the reins and they launched forward.
The turbulence was hard on Garinor. He clung to the guard desperately, fearing what would happen to him if he lost his grip and fell. He wondered if the guard could even breathe, he was squeezing so hard. Part of him didn’t care too much, though, for this man had wrenched him from his home without even a hint as to why, except it was the command of the king.
Despite the panic created by all the mystery, Garinor soon lost himself in the delight of riding on the horse. The pace was so fast, it was as if the horse were enchanted. The scenery passed by quickly and blurred as they went. The wind didn’t batter his face because he was sitting behind the guard, but he could feel glancing blows on either side of himself anyway. He tightened his grip around the guard’s midsection and checked himself repeatedly when he felt like he was going to tumble off.
He felt like they rode for hours, but it was only about twenty minutes before the first major change took place. He no longer watched cottages darting by, but an open field and, later on, packs of trees. At this point, he felt the guard lean forward and the horse gathered even more speed. His presence before the king must be dire indeed.
Garinor had no quarrel with the king. Most young people, Garinor included, hardly thought of the king at all. The region was relatively peaceful and there were no particularly hard times. People were not oppressed or forced into living lives that didn’t suit them. It was such a fair and kind existence, until this moment where his whole life was suddenly being taken away from him.
The boy’s grip faltered. He didn’t know if it was the thundering of the horse underneath him or if his arms were tiring from his grip around the guard. He didn’t realize something else entirely had happened that had broken his reverie.
The guardsman seemed to be gasping. Garinor noticed the guard had hunched over more and the horse sped up a little. Garinor had the feeling the guard wasn’t intentionally leaning further forward, but he couldn’t help himself.
He felt his grip slipping from the man’s midsection. His hands were damp with sweat from his fear, and he scrambled to get a better grip on the guard. But try as he might, his hands just felt more and more damp. Finally, he lost his grip entirely as the horse leaped over a dip in the path and Garinor found himself supine on the dirt, gazing up at the sky with sparks of pain flashing across his eyes.
And his hands. He could see them as the flashes went away. His hands were indeed wet, but not only from sweat. He saw blood, too. Garinor managed to tilt his head toward the horse as it continued to run ahead, and the guardsman fell away to the dirt road, motionless.
Panic seized the boy. He knew the blood on his hands wasn’t his. It was from the guard. But why? What had happened? Had someone attacked? If so, he wasn’t safe. Something was terribly wrong.