Chapter 45 - Back to the Stables

Wherein the holidays are over; Bosra and Rose return to their daily occupations.

Early on Thaumday morn, the heavy clip-clopping of shod hooves heralded the coming of a rider. Going by the amount of clips and clops, Bosra figured there was more than one horse involved. One of them neighed loudly, to the point it was yelling, as they came to a stop in the front yard.

Since Reggie’s Livery Stable was still short on capable stable hands, Bosra went out to see what was what for herself. She was surprised to see the young Knight she had defeated in a duel at the Winter Wake Gala sitting astride a slender grey roan.

"Good day to you, Bosra of the Golden Bow, blessings be upon your brow." 

"G'morn, knight." 

Ilyas, son of Azat, dismounted his palfrey and tied the horse to one of the rings set in the stable wall. His other horse – a destrier, a stallion bred for war – did not have enough space for a full charge, but went for the much more slender riding horse, anyway.

The knight only managed to keep the beast from mauling his palfrey by yanking the slipknot reign fastened under the fetlock of the destrier and thus destabilising him. He seemed as exasperated by having to take that measure as the horse was for suddenly losing his footing. 

"As you can see," the knight gasped, trying to regain composure from this strong-man feat, "my beast is in need of training. It is a gift from our King Adevald – peace of Heaven be upon his brow – and to my dishonour I have been unable to make headway in having him accept saddle or bridle."

"Hmm." Bosra saw that. The beast readjusted and was backing up to have another go at the slender, light-treaded riding horse. 

"If you will have me beg of you on my knees, I will. Please... train the beast that I may ride him in honour of our Sovereign and the Divine."

He was dramatic, but Bosra kind of liked it. She waved his offer of kneeling away. "I'll do it. You pay." Rent didn't pay itself, and at some point she might like a new pet.

"Yes. Of course. Tell me what you would have for this task."

"Riches. Or a monstrous pet." She didn't think 'ethically sourced' was going to be a problem with this paragon of justice. 

He bowed, taking this task upon himself with an air of gravity. "It shall be done. I leave for a short jaunt into the countryside on the morrow. When...?"

"Shall your beast be trained?" Bosra grabbed the lead rope from Ilyas’ hands and yanked on it, before the monster could maim a perfectly good horse. The monster snorted. Ilyas blinked, not fully understanding what had happened.

"A month? A year?" The knight sounded despaired again. 

"We'll see." Bosra noticed she’d gotten the beast’s attention. He was probably debating coming at her next.

"All I need to do is be able to ride him at the enemy." That bloodthirsty savagery was therefore a plus, went unspoken.

"Hmm." Bosra took the second lead rope, the one that was attached to the beast’s halter, from Ilyas. Giving the stallion all of her attention, she had to admit he was a magnificent monster of at least 19 hands tall, weighing 250 stone, if not more. His coat was a glossy black-blue. His long, trailing mane would have to be braided. The brand on his backhand pronounced him a Pure Sovereign Breed.

It wasn't hard to see. Short thick neck, wide chest, hooves like dinner plates, and legs like a bundle of steel wire. He had bulbous, wide-open eyes, big nostrils, and a heavy jaw. If he struck, he would be able to behead anyone smaller than himself.

He was all muscle and forward energy. That needed to change. As wild as he was, he wasn’t a useful creature.  

"Gimme a season. Then we'll see." She might actually teach the PSB something if she found out what made him connect to her. Right now, this beast would fight himself to death before he would learn anything. 

"Alright. A season. Riches at the end of it."

"Hmm." Bosra trusted the Knight would keep his word.

"Anything you're not interested in, when it comes to animals?" Ilyas inquired.

"No small stuff, and no yappy dogs," she stated firmly, once again yanking on both ropes to keep the PSB from causing a bloodbath. "When it's grown, it should at least come to my hip."

The knight nodded his understanding. "Thank you for taking him on."

"Don't thank me yet. Haven't done anything."

"Alright. I surrender him to your care."

"I accept." Words like that mattered to knights, Bosra had noticed during her years of dealing with them. 

Satisfied with that answer, Ilyas untied his palfrey and mounted the far slimmer, far more gentle creature with a practiced leap. He saluted her, bumping his fist upon his heart. 

She touched her forehead in response, flicking an invisible cap.

He nodded again, turned his grey roan palfrey and rode off without looking back. 

Bosra looked at the black beast and was just in time to catch the lunge coming her way. "Didn't think so, pretty boy."

She drove him into a stall with a full grate in the door. No need for anyone to get struck while she figured out where to keep him and how to get some good manners out of him. 

The early morning class at Bardic College was always boring. Two weeks break from routine hadn’t changed that. The teacher was late, but an administrative aide took note of attendees. A quick count told Rose there were at least seven students less than before.

When class started, the teacher rehashed what had extensively been discussed in the weeks leading up to the holidays. Every so often he called upon a student. What one answered didn’t matter, but if you didn’t rise promptly and said something – anything – he would mark down the final paper. This meant Rose couldn’t sleep through this lecture, and was in the fugue state of being bored while being attentive.

At least there was no time for Brittany to harass anyone.

Next up was a practice class. Rose had, over the last few days, endlessly debated what instrument to bring. The enchanted lute would stay home, she couldn’t risk it. And she had not managed to get decent sounds out of the key-fiddle, so that left her new alto or her mended violin.

This morning, just before dashing out the door with Bosra, Rose had decided to take her old violin. It sounded like a cat  being skinned alive whenever she set bow to strings, but in the upside-down world of Bardic College, she figured this might score her some points.

And it did.

When she was struggling her way through a jig and it sounded like cats being strangled for their intestines – to make more strings for her violin – the teacher was rapt and crying. "Finally!" he exclaimed when she was done. "You've made real steps, Rosa. Keep this up and you'll make it big."

He was barely done talking when the door opened and one of the heretofore missing students walked in. Rose wondered with what sob story this had been allowed by administration, because normally, if you weren’t on time for a class, you missed it.

Hank – or Farm B’boy for those who were part of Brittany’s court – was an outsider like her. Or had been. He looked... different.

He wasn’t wearing glasses anymore, he had his hair done completely different, and he was suddenly buff. He looked like every young woman’s dream, wearing a cheesy smile that was more ill-suited than his clothes. There were slashes in his pants and he was wearing a sleeveless mesh shirt over a skin tight, sheer black t-shirt. 

"Afternoon y’all, Hank the Hunk is in da House." Hank greeted them with a lightning bright smile. His crooked teeth must have magically been fixed, because gone was his snaggletooth.

A cheer went up. Rose wanted to puke.

"Take a seat, Mr Jones," the teacher smiled widely. "It's an honour to have you back with us."

Rose blinked. The teacher sounded sincere, enthusiastic even. What was this nonsense?

Only a handful of others acted confused, too. 

Brittany vaulted out of her seat and raced down the aisle to snog 'Mr Jones' in front of everybody. 

"Doesn't he look marvellous?" Brittany asked. "He's the discovery of the year! He had his debut on New Year’s Eve!" She hooked her arm through his to claim him. He beamed an indulgent smile down at her.  

Shell-shocked, Rose wondered if she had accidentally entered an alternate reality.

Her sense of horror increased when Hank the Hunk sat down next to her and smiled his newly minted, voltaic smile at her. "You could have this too, you know," he offered with a whisper, as another student was torturing a string instrument for credit. "I've got contacts now to make it happen."

Rose cocked her head for a second, disbelieving. Hank smirked at her, wiggled his eyebrows too in a goofy gesture that was exactly like the classmate she had come to know. Instantly she knew he was being compassionate. He was one of the others who had been constantly bullied by Queen Brittany.

He had been a friend. Now he was a stranger. 

She couldn’t decide how to politely tell him to shove his offer.

He patted her arm and moved over to his new crowd, uncaring that he disrupted the presentation currently taking place at the front of the class. 

The teacher grinned and nodded at ‘Mr Jones’, as if distinguished by simply being in his presence.  

Something was incredibly wrong with the world. Next thing Rose knew, cows could fly and shit smelled like lilacs.