CHAPTER 3I
Rylla sat with her father at the table in the small study. Chartiphon was at one end and Xentos at the other, and Harmakros, the cavalry captain, in a chair by the hearth, his helmet on the floor beside him. Vurth, the peasant, stood facing them, a short horseman’s musketoon slung from his shoulder and a horn flask and bullet-bag on his belt.
“You did well, Vurth,” her father commended. “By sending the message, and in the fighting, and by telling Princess Rylla that the stranger was a friend. I’ll see you’re rewarded.”
Vurth smiled. “But, Prince, I have this gun, and fireseed for it,” he replied. “And my son caught a horse, with all its gear, even pistols in the holsters, and the Princess says we may keep it all.”
“Fair battle-spoil, yours by right. But I’ll see that somethi
