Chapter Nine of "The North"

Chapter Nine
It was the following morning and Peter awoke with a heavy heart. He dragged himself from his room, he appeared to have slept as he was the day before and even now he had no time to change. And so he descended the stairs of the keep. He stepped out into the street and receieved a lazy nod from both the Camble guards at the door. He tightened his belt and turned to see Alavor coming from the keep, rubbing his face in exhaustion despite having a fair bed for change. It was then Peter remembered of Irlos and their encounter the night before. Alavor gave a quiet ‘good morning’ as he passed and made his way to the courtyard. The men were all busy, and had enlisted the help of the reluctant locals. Pulling horses from the stables and hoisting saddles and reins onto them, whereas some were feeding them, all waiting for Peter’s mark to move out.
Peter then saw the southerner to the side, strangely close by in the shadows leaning against a wooden pillar supporting the nearest overhanging wooden balcony, that to his eyes appeared to be an inn. No doubt a few of the men spent their night there if failing to claim a bed in the garrison, as large as they were. He decided to approach. He wore very different clothes to Peter. Where peter wore shining plate armour Irlos dressed in the fashion much more similar to the men of the capital guard.
‘Morning’ began Peter rubbing his eyes. Irlos seemed restless and ready to go, although he did not show it. He leaned casually biting into an apple. It crunched.
‘Good morning, my lord’ he replied strangely enthusiastically with a juicy mouthful. He was the first southerner Peter had met truly, and he did seem rather odd not straying too far from the stories.
‘Where did you sleep last night’ asked Peter.
‘The inn down on the left. He pointed back down the street. Had some stupid name. “The Jolly Deer” I think It was’ Peter concealed a smile at the silly name yet could not hide his humorous tone.
‘So you plan to ride with us, correct? Now tell me how do you expect to conceal the fact you are from the south without raising suspicions from your companions’
‘I look the part’ he said, and he adjusted his accent slightly. Muffling coughs, clearing his throat ‘and I speak just like one of you’ He winked mysteriously and mounted his horse before trotting over to join the company.
Talar came next just as the southerner departed. ‘Too much wine’ he announced, ‘It seems I never learn’ he said walking towards Peter. ‘Any ideas when you shall depart, my lord?’
‘Soon, don’t worry. Your town has no need to bare false courtesies to us any longer, we shall leave you in peace within the half-hour’ Talar looked shocked and stumbled to find words.
‘False courtesies?’ he echoed, ‘my lord it has been an honour having the future king’s presence here with us’ he said. He bowed lowly and Peter could not help but feel slightly embarrassed. The last of the men were appearing from the keep rubbing their eyes and adjusting their leather bracers. Peter glanced up at the sky as they walked. ‘Another fine day for riding it seems. The rains look distant and far away’ the sky was a deep blue and only small traces of white trails remained in suggestion of clouds or rainfall.
‘Aye’ agreed Talar slowly. He pulled his cloak close. ‘Yet still the sun differs to show us any signs of warmth I’m afraid. Despite its lovely shine’ Peter looked back to his men, all were mounted and waiting patiently, some inside the walls in the yard and others having their horses graze outside. Talar knew Peter was in haste.
‘Farewell, Talar’ said Peter extending a firm hand. Talar took it strongly and smiled warmly.
‘Until our next meeting, my lord’ with that he shivered and briskly ran back to the keep. A stable girl then approached and brought him his horse and he mounted. The girl was no older than Duncan, and had scruffy hair and tattered robes. She was shaking as she handed the reins to Peter.
‘You are scared?’ asked Peter looking down at the girl. She stumbled for words but failed to mouth them. ‘How old are you? And what is your name?’
‘Carla’ said the girl finally, avoiding the eyes of the prince.
‘Age?’
‘Fifteen, my lord’
‘Look at me’ commanded Peter. The girl slowly looked up at Peter, and Peter looked down. ‘Do you know who I am?’ Carla looked Peter up and down, looking at his armour and thinking.
‘You’re Peter, are you not?’ She said in wonder, quickly snapping out of the trance and remembered courtesies. ‘I mean, you are Peter, my lord. It is an honour meeting you’ The girl was shivering but Peter knew it was not from the cold. Peter nodded.
‘That’s right, Carla’ the girl seemed to flourish at her name ‘Then surely you have heard of my family, and our kindness’
‘Yes, my lord all the stories and songs and poems sing of Broderick’s fine rulership, generosity and loving family’ Peter smiled thinking of his family once again.
‘What in red hell are you wearing, Carla?’ asked Peter nodding at the rags the stable girl wore. Carla looked puzzled and looked down at her clothes. She then began to go red realising she looked a fool in front of the North’s heir.
‘Oh’ she stumbled ‘well these are my clothes’ she said quietly. ‘Times are tough, my lord. I shan’t lie. All the clansmen raids and all; hurt trade badly not least of all us here’ Peter looked up and glanced around the town. It suddenly seemed so much darker, less royal and colder. He pulled his cloak tighter. Peter let out a long sigh – for the first time in his life he felt he was seeing the world from the common-folks view.
‘Here’ said Peter. He glanced to see nobody was watching as he reached into a small bag that hung from his side. Out he pulled a small pouch of gold. He dropped it into the hands of the girl’ Carla’s face lit up as she could hardly believe her bright, blue eyes, she looked up at Peter. Peter finally broke the silence.
‘I know you probably blame my father and my family for all of this madness. All the raids and all, the pillaging from the clan lands. And I sympathise for you, I really do’ He then pulled off his right gauntlet and removed from his finger a flashing red ruby etched ring. Coiling trails of metal. ‘Not the prettiest thing, I know’ said Peter ‘But it’s worth more than everything you own’ He reached down and handed it to the stable girl carefully ‘Carla, stable girl of Camble, I want you to remember who the real enemies are. And we will stop them. I will make these lands safe again. I promise you’ And with that Peter edged the horse into a trot down the street. He called back ‘Buy yourself some better clothes, Carla. Don’t want to be mistaken for a Wildman do you?’ She blushed and looked down at the ring, then the pouch, then back up at Peter as he rode towards the gates. She smiled and called back.
‘A wild girl!’