On the seventh morning out of Pullen, and with the rivers behind them, Irenya rose stiffly from her bedroll, irritable with sandfly bites, to be told Julis was gone.
‘What do you mean gone?’ she demanded of Leachim. ‘Where?’
‘Elaaron has sent him off to Elphinvale. We will be needing more horses.’
‘I thought there were plenty at Ilkyrie. Why Elphinvale?’
‘North of Kemet there is a large farm where they breed and train war horses.’
Irenya rolled an aching shoulder and scratched the bites on her hand. ‘Will he catch up with us?’
‘Mercy, no. As we arrive at Ilkyrie, he will be thundering across the plains of Elphinvale.’ He drank the remains of his ale and motioned her to eat. ‘Trotting, likely. I doubt Julis would thunder anywhere.’
She helped herself to hot bread. ‘And he’s going all
