The Borrowed Destrier
"It... it..." the groom looked in the direction of Ian's finger and stammered suddenly. "Oh, Sir, that is Lady Shella Whent's mount, a tall destrier bred from Riverlands stock and Dornish sand steeds, famous for its endurance. Such high-quality war horses are twice as expensive as ordinary destriers!"
The price of a war horse was about 20 times that of a farm horse, 10 times that of a draft horse, and three times that of a palfrey. In other words, the horse that Ian wanted to borrow was about six times more valuable than the one he had left.
"This is perfect for me, isn't it?" Ian smiled. "You know, you can't go hunting without a good horse. This time, I am hoping to win the favor of Lady Eleanor."
"Sir, oh, this is not possible. I have no authority to make such a decision. For such matters, I must consult the steward." The groom quickly shook his head.
The groom's voice was too loud, which alerted another younger groom who was working at the manger on the other side. Hearing the conversation, the man also ran over quickly. He didn't speak immediately, just looked at the two of them, as if trying to understand the situation.
"I'm only borrowing a horse. What's the issue?" Ian frowned. "As for Lady Shella Whent's mount? How old is Lady Shella Whent? Can she still ride a horse? Especially one as tall as this." At her age, she would fall off a pony, let alone a destrier.
Of course, "this" Lady Shella Whent couldn't ride a horse. Her last mount was never ridden by her from the time it was selected until it died of old age. But Lady Shella Whent didn't need to ride a horse. The stable was indispensable! It was a symbol of the Earl of Harrenhal's status!
"I'm only borrowing it for a week. I will return the horse immediately after the hunt. If there is any problem with the horse during this period, I will compensate at full value. Haven't you heard the saying? A Lannister always pays his debts."
"Sir, please don't put me in an awkward position."
"Besides, isn't my horse still with you? This palfrey has been with me for many years. By the way, you don't really suspect that I want to steal your horse, do you?" Though in truth, the groom had guessed correctly.
"Alright, I won't make things difficult for you. You can report to the stable steward now. I'll wait for you here." Ian took out a golden dragon. "By the way, tell him that this is my reward for borrowing the horse."
The young groom who had been standing silently seemed to finally react and approached Ian.
"Sir, the steward is not in Harrenhal at present, but I think he will definitely agree when he learns that you wish to borrow the horse. So I will take you to try the horse first, and we will inform him later." He smiled ingratiatingly at Ian.
The older groom looked at him doubtfully.
"Leave everything to me, father, don't worry." The young groom shook his head at his father.
Lady Whent was old and had no heirs. Harrenhal had not hosted tourneys or hunts for many years, and the horses in this stable had hardly been used.
Because the lady showed little interest, the stable master had barely inspected the stables in recent years. Only he and his father worked here.
The knight would return the horse in a week. Who would discover anything in such a short time?
As for the knight not returning the horse? Impossible! Lannisters always pay their debts! Even three-year-olds knew this!
Golden dragon? What golden dragon? He simply wanted to help the knight. It had nothing to do with gold!
"As you wish." Ian replied as if unconcerned, but inwardly he was relieved. If he had really needed to find the stable master, he might have had to give up the white destrier and borrow an ordinary war horse.
Although that wouldn't have affected his disguise as 'a certain Lord Lannister,' it wouldn't have been quite as perfect.
Ian tossed the gold coin into the air, and the young groom quickly caught it. After examining it carefully, he slipped it into his pocket.
"This way, sir." The young groom smiled happily and led out Lady Whent's horse.
Because it had been well-trained and had a fairly docile temperament, Ian, with his intermediate riding skills, was able to control the horse with no resistance in just one minute.
"My good man," Ian, now mounted on the white destrier, looked back at the old groom who was still fretting, "I promise you, if I am fortunate enough to win the favor of Lady Eleanor this time and become the heir to Maidenpool, I'll summon you to be my stable master there, hahaha."
With that, Ian rode out of the stable.
The guards outside merely glanced at him and made way without question.
It wasn't until Ian disappeared from sight that one guard suddenly spoke to his companion: "Did you notice the knight seemed taller when he left?"
"What nonsense is that?" His companion failed to understand his meaning.
"No, it's nothing," the guard scratched his head. "Probably just my imagination."
Of course, Ian knew nothing of the guard's suspicions. He returned to the inn where he had started, purchased two skins of ale and a portion of dried food, then left Harrenhal through the north gate and set off toward Salt Pan.
To the north of Harrenhal stretched a large area of fertile farmland. It was precisely because of this rich land that the owner of Harrenhal was once considered among the wealthiest in Westeros.
If not for the curse, this would have been the most desirable fiefdom in the Seven Kingdoms.
After passing through winding streams and sun-drenched fields, Ian began to see rolling hills and low bushes. He slowed his pace slightly and continued toward the Kingsroad.
According to Ian's original estimate, it would have taken him three days to reach Salt Pan, but after changing horses, if he hurried, he could shorten the journey to a day and a half.
Of course, he wouldn't do that.
After all, even the most durable horse's endurance was nothing compared to its own explosive power.
A horse with a speed of 40 kilometers per hour could indeed travel 40 kilometers in one hour, but it could only manage less than 60 kilometers in two hours. If it needed to cover 100 kilometers, it would take 5 to 7 hours, and this would only be possible with horses that had been thoroughly trained.
If a horse usually lived a relatively leisurely life, it would be at the end of its strength by this point. Pushing it another 20 kilometers might kill it.
Although the horses in Lady Shella Whent's stable had advantages in bloodline, ate the best food, and received excellent care, Ian dared not overestimate their actual level of fitness.
Therefore, Ian's best option was to maintain a trotting pace of about 10 kilometers per hour while taking adequate rest, and try to reach Salt Pan before sunset the next day.
Besides, Salt Pan was a port town not enclosed by walls, so he needn't worry about being barred by city gates if he arrived in the middle of the night.
At midday, Ian rested for a while in a grove beside the Kingsroad and had a piece of white bread for lunch. During this time, he only took two small sips of ale to moisten his throat.
He didn't want alcohol to cloud his thinking in this world where combat might erupt at any moment.
What's that? You ask why he doesn't drink water?
In this era with no custom of boiling water before drinking, he preferred low-alcohol ale, at least he could be reasonably sure it was a clean liquid.
After a short break at noon, Ian resumed his journey.
Not particularly interested in admiring the scenery along the way, Ian simply rode north in silence.
Suddenly, Ian pulled sharply on the reins, stared toward the end of the road, and murmured: "Where am I?"
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