Nash rode through the day without stopping; it was a three-day ride at a normal pace that he intended to do in two. It was nearing midnight when he arrived in Woodhurst. He dismounted and relinquished his horse to the sleepy stable-hand that greeted him.
“Good evening, sir,” the stable hand said with a yawn and taking the reins from him.
The noise from inside the tavern section of the Drunken Stag Inn leaked out to the street as someone left. “How long will the revelry go on?” Nash asked the boy.
“Only another hour or so, they stop serving at midnight,” he answered while trying to stifle another yawn.
Nash gave the boy a silver, “Is that enough to board my horse for the night?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said with a smile, “More than enough.”
“Keep it,” Nash said as he walked to the front door of the Inn. “I hope they have a room available,” he thought to himself. He could sleep anywhere when necessary, but he was beginning to feel his age, and a bed was what he wanted tonight, especially after such an arduous ride.
Nash wasn’t surprised that he woke before the sun rose. He woke at the same time every day for some reason. His bones creaked a little as he got out of bed, and his usual pandiculation began. He walked to the wash pan and splashed the cold water onto his faces. Looking in the mirror, he noted how he was aging before his time. “I need to retire,” he said to himself as he moved to the open area of the room. “Using my skill is slowly killing me.” Time stopped for those around him, but it never stopped for him.
He sat down on the floor and began his morning stretches. Rituals like this were something his father had taught him when he was young, and he did them every day, no matter how he felt.
The boy at the stable was feeding the horses that were staying there. He was surprised to see Nash up so early. “Should I saddle your horse, sir?”
“Yes,” Nash replied. “I’ll be on my way as soon as it is done.”
“Be careful, sir, I just gave grain to him,” the boy informed Nash.
Nash nodded to acknowledge that he heard him, and the boy went to saddle the horse up. It was only a few minutes later the boy led the horse out and handed him to Nash. “I brushed him down for you last night,” he said. “He’s a beauty.”
“He is,” Nash agreed, not really caring. He mounted, waved, and spurred the horse to a slow trot. He maintained the slow speed until he was clear of the populated area of town. There were only a few people out, but he did not want to draw any attention to his passing. Once clear of the buildings, he brought the horse up to a fast trot that Nash felt he and the horse could handle for several hours.
The border to Praetha was only marked by a carved pole on the side of the road. “Enemy territory,” Nash thought as he rode on. He estimated that it wasn’t quite noon, and he knew from previous excursions that it was approximately a six-hour ride from here to the castle. He slowed, stopped, and led his horse on foot for half an hour to give it a break. They stopped at a stream where the horse drank until it was full and grazed while Nash ate some hardtack from his pouch. He would be at the castle in time to secure a room at the inn and enjoy a meal before attempting the heinous deed before him.
Once sated, he remounted and rode at a normal pace the rest of the way to the castle. He nodded politely to anyone passing by who looked his way. There was no need to be mysterious or noteworthy in any way.