Page 41 of The Scouts

“Probably.” Verhan picked up a blade of grass and started gnawing on it, his features turning thoughtful. “But after that, I wouldn’t mind settling with Hernan back in the Highlands, you know? No idea what he’d think of that, though.” The serious, worried expression looked somehow wrong on Verhan, who rarely had a care in the world.

“I think he would fit right in. He might be a city lad, but he’s tough. Resilient. And he’s already amongst Dark Elves most of the time. Since he hasn’t run away screaming yet, I’d say he’s good with that.” I chuckled. “Moving to the Highlands would simply mean he’ll have to get used to freezing his balls off and walking uphill.”

Verhan guffawed. “True. And I would get to see a pair of earmuffs on him.”

We moved over to the final and largest enclosure, leaving the best for last. Eight yugzu horses grazed within the yard—every one of them a stunning specimen of the breed. A wooden plaque fixed above the fence read The Rakuyés Stables.

The members of the prominent Rakuyés clan were regarded as something of an aristocracy amongst horse dealers in the Highlands. They bred, trained and sold the finest fast-trotting yugzu in the Elven Country.

Verhan and I leant against the railing with our arms resting on top and stared.

And that was when I saw him. The one.

Gods have mercy.

Glued to the rough-sawn boards that kept creaking under my weight, I stilled. I’d only come here to look, nothing more. But the instant I spotted the young black stallion five paces away from me, I recognised the fact that I had to buy him. My heart and gut agreed, without any doubts whatsoever, this was the horse for Lochan.

The magnificent creature in front of me bore all the attributes of a great yugzu: strong bone structure, lean muscling, well-defined withers and an arched neck. As if realising he had me captivated, he walked nearer to the fence, allowing me to admire him up close. Plenty of spirit shone in his large eyes that exhibited flecks of blue over amber. His inky, glossy coat held an indigo hue. The little bugger pricked up his ears, snorted and flipped his head, sending his lustrous mane flowing.

As a late yearling, he still had some maturing to do. His knees likely hadn’t fully closed, and so he wouldn’t be ready to bear the weight of a rider. But in a year or so, he could be started under saddle.

Truth be told, I loved the idea of gifting Lochan a yugzu—a mount from a breed that originated in the Highlands. One-rider horses, they called them. I suspected Lochan would appreciate forging such a deep connection with his stallion.

I had made my decision. Or rather—the decision had been imposed on me. I merely had the brains to acknowledge it.

Feeling as if someone had dished me a punch to the stomach, I sucked in air. “I need to buy him.” I glanced at Verhan. “Fuck. I’m buying him for Lochan. Otherwise, I will regret it till my dying day.”

My resolution must’ve been obvious because Verhan’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell. But if you’re sure—”

“Damn sure.” I bobbed my head. My cheeks burnt as if I ran a fever.

“All right. There’s no helping it, then. The heart wants what it wants. Mind you, it will set you back some fifteen thousand silvers. At least.”

“I don’t care about the coin.” And I didn’t, not one bit. I had to get that horse, no matter the cost.

“Fair enough.” Verhan’s eyes trained back on the yearling. “No question, he’s already spectacular. And imagine what he’ll be like when he develops his full strength. Lochan will shit his leathers.” He cracked up.

“Not for another couple of years, he won’t.” I smirked. “But yes, that’s the general idea.”

I pushed myself off the railing and headed straight towards the tent on a diagonal from us, Verhan on my heels. The head of the Rakuyés’ clan and horse breeding stable sat on a bench in front of it, soaking in the rays.

He seemed to be in his late forties, but he had to be pushing a hundred for certain. Who could ever tell an Elf’s age, though—especially if one derived from an ancient bloodline? People referred to him as ‘Old Goat’, only not to his face. He had earned himself a reputation for being prickly, stubborn and disagreeable. More to the point, however, he was also fussy about who he did business with.

Old Goat didn’t sell his horses to just anybody. Instead, he picked and chose whom he dealt with based on criteria unknown to anyone but himself. Silver didn’t count among them, given that his clan hardly knew what to do with the coin.

“Good day, sir,” I offered.

Rakuyés quirked an eyebrow as if questioning such a statement. He squinted against the sun, then shaded his eyes with a hand. One look at me and he knew who I was, of course.

“Aren’t you H’agan Morryés’ boy?”

“Aye,” I said. “Ervyn.”

“With the Highland Regiment, I suppose?”

I shook my head. “The Scouts.”

Rakuyés whistled. “Ain’t that fancy. Got your eye on my yearling, I see. A beauty, eh?”