Finally ready to get on the road, Alton discovers that Revanth is missing. He seeks out the owner of the tavern, also the magistrate, to complain.
“There is, I’m afraid. I have places to go. I need my horse.”
“He’s worth a lot of money, is he?” The older man’s expression changed subtly.
Alton frowned, leaning over the much shorter man. “He’s worth more than your scurvy life, old man. He’s the war horse, for a knight of the realm. The mud in his hooves, is ten times the cost of this flea ridden tavern. If you know where he is, I’ll have him back. If, by your ineptitude, you’re hoping that the thieves will spirit him away, let me assure you.” He took a step closer. “There’s no place he can go where I can’t find him. And when I do, I’ll make it my business to come back…
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