Saber'd had himself a wonderful time on the moor – beautiful weather, clear skies, and lots of the chill blowy wind that set the grasses to waving like breakers on the shore – lots of the wind that Saber loved. He'd even found an eagles' eyrie, high up on the single mountain on Rider land.
He'd been brought out of a light doze, more of a dreamy half-consciousness than any real sleep, by the shriek of an eagle. For a moment, in that half-slumber, the raptor's cry brought an image to the front of his mind, of sun-brilliance glinting off a thousand silver shards, but then he woke up fully and he couldn't remember what that silver was, or why the light was so bright – surely it couldn't be the sun, Polaris was too pale and mild for that, especially here on Antir – and in the rush to get on Aderyn's back and set galloping after the eagle, even that flash of image was gone.
Aderyn was a fast runner, built more on racer's lines than most other Antiran ponies, and Saber (as befitted someone with his sort of surname) was a talented equestrian. Skillfully, he guided his mount over the rolling ground of the moor, following the eagle's flight. The eagle was weighed down with something in its claws and it was only for that reason, swift as Aderyn was, they were able to keep up with the dark brown bird.
Saber pulled up as he saw the eagle alight on a spur of rock on Ceisddan's craggy side. He pulled out his macrobinoculars to see the eyrie in more detail. It was very high up on the mountain, just below the snowline, and Saber could see the eagle he'd followed perched on the edge of the nest. There was another eagle in it, an adult who sat in the middle and greedily tore at the meat that her mate offered.
Saber lowered his macros, satisfied. A nesting pair. He rode around on Aderyn for an hour, using the pencils and sketchbook kept in his saddle-bag to sketch some of the landmarks around him. He used up one whole page for a rough but accurate rendering of the spur of rock, and a map to it from the river (which was where he'd camped)
He then started for his camp, trusting in his extraordinarily acute sense of direction to lead him safely back. By the time he devoured a campfire-cooked breakfast and packed up, it was very nearly noon. And it would take him two hours to ride back to Caer Rheidyr. The euphoria of finding the eagles was half-squashed under his apprehension. His mother did not like his wanderings anyway, and if she could find some reason to curtail it, she would.
He came within sight of Caer Rheidyr, coming over the same hill his uncle Adian had topped the dawn Saber had been born. Aderyn galloped to the gate, his pace quickening at the thought of a hot mash. Saber dismounted near the stable, handing his pony's reins to a stable boy who materialized silently at his young lord's elbow. He tucked his sketchbook under his arm and, figuring that since he'd catch it for being late no matter what, he might as well take the time to bathe. He entered the castle by one of the many secret entrances, in this case a sliding wall in the gardens, and emerged from the maze of corridors that he called the underwarren into a hallway near his rooms.
He ducked into his rooms quickly, before a passing servant could spot him, shucking off his clothes and hurrying through his shower. He ran out of his rooms, shoes in hand, half-hopping as he forced his leg into his trousers. He was just jamming his feet into his shoes when he stopped short, on a step on the wide curving main staircase that led into Caer Rheidyr's Great Hall.
Since he was five years old and had been taken away by the mysterious raiders, Saber had not a met a stranger. All his day-to-day contact was with people he'd known for most if not all of his life, save Gilbert Keyes, his governor – and it had taken Saber months before he stopped stiffening whenever the slender, harmless-looking tutor came within three feet of him.
And now there were strangers in the Great Hall.