Shadow of Hope XXII
While Borlak waited for Kurn to finish his preparations, the plainsman glanced toward the shelter where the remaining members of the party could be seen. Turning to Kurn he said, “Kurn, might I ask you a question? Have you been acquainted with Erellia long?”
Borlak paused and glanced again at the tent. “Could you perhaps tell me what Erellia might expect, in price, for the lot?” he asked in his soft, low tone.
Kurn turned to regard the man’s demeanor. He delayed responding to the two questions as Borlak asked them long enough for it to be apparent his answer was to the second, “No.” His hands stopped upon the gear of the mount he was working with, trying to determine Borlak’s plain intent. Kurn followed with a flat question of his own, “It matters?”
The inscrutable look on the horseman’s face made it difficult to tell what Borlak was really thinking. “Perhaps you might also know what the party would require in the way of rations?” He looked across the dreary field toward the small gathering there. Continuing on, in his quiet manner, he stated, “I would not choose to disappoint her by fetching too little, either in price or purchase.”
Looking back again at Kurn he added, “I have never really gotten the grasp on understanding womenfolk.” Once again turning his gaze toward the tent, he shook his head and finished by saying, “Left to my own devices I would probably botch up what ever it might be that they want.”
Kurn held back any flippant response to the query, seeing Borlak truly was asking advice on such things and not just trying to make smalltalk. He stacked the last of the five riding saddles to be sold upon one of the two horses.
“Get five pack saddles and bundling and eight days’ food for ten men, if it’s to be had. These riding saddles are new; each of them’s worth two new pack saddles or forty days’ food for a man. The mule, about the same. Beyond that, I doubt the coin matters.”
Not hearing a question in there, Kurn ignored Borlak’s musings. He tied one horse’s reins to the pommel of the next and handed both lead ropes — one with the mule, one with the two horses in line — to Borlak. He explained tersely, “The horses are for carrying things back, not to be sold.”
When Borlak doesn’t immediately acknowledge him, Kurn followed Borlak’s gaze to the tent. He shook his head in an altogether different way than Borlak did and corrected the man with a response that came across as all-too-frequently relayed in these situations, “They’re
not women; right now, this is business and they’re campaigners, just like us. No different. Stop trying to confuse yourself and keep that straight.”
A bemused smile crossed Borlak’s face as he took both the advice and the leads. “They certainly don’t smell like us,” the tribesman cast over his shoulder as he guided the horses toward those waiting at the shelter.
On the dismal walk toward Waverly, Katarina favored Borlak with a gentle smile and slight nod of her head, “I appreciate the offer to accompany you. Bakshish is not a fan of idle herds.” She patted her mount with affection and gave Borlak a grin over her shoulder as she trotted ahead merrily.
The rather small, dainty mare carried the rakish woman with ease. The steed possessed a dun yellow body and black mane and tail, as well as sooty stockings on all four legs. A whinny escaped the mare’s elegantly dished head as some freedom of rein was given and the fanciful pair dissolved into the murk.