Elsbeth felt herself flush.  “But Bruster is our ally.  You fostered in Elbany.” 

     “Even so.  I am a foreign prince and should not be privy to Elbany’s secrets.”  He looked at her sternly.  “You won’t be privy to many, if you do not learn not to speak of them.” 

     She dipped her head, as she knew a fosterling should.  “As you say, my lord.” 

     He nodded, seemingly pleased.  “Not all young men accept a rebuke — however justified — with good grace.  You should do well in your fostering.”  He paused.  “No harm done.  Or at least, not much.  Bruster hasn’t warred with Elbany in living memory.”  He grimaced.  “Too busy fighting amongst ourselves.  As you know.  It could be argued that Bruster, as Elbany’s ally, should know such things, should we be required to come to our partner’s aid.  Which does not give you the right to have told me.  That can only come from your lord.”  His braid slid over his shoulder and he fingered the end thoughtfully.  “I wonder if Elbany counts this advantage too high.”

Elsbeth hardly heard his words.  Watching his fingers tousling the tuft at the end of his braid had unexpectedly and thoroughly distracted her, wondering what it feel like against her own palm.  Her imagination had galloped rapidly away into what his hair would be like unbraided, flowing over and among her fingers.  She looked away, listening again in her mind to what he had said and forming a coherent answer.    

“Because no one fights on horseback?  But surely even the logistical advantage is worthwhile.  We can travel more quickly, and bring more supplies, than expected.”

“But that’s true of anyone fighting in their own land,” Murrow said. “Invading forces have to carry their supplies with them or lose time in looting them from unfamiliar territory.”

“Our horses allow us to travel and resupply more quickly than usual,” Elsbeth argued.  “Perhaps it’s not as great an advantage as the lords would like to believe, but it’s still an advantage.” 

“Perhaps they’re not thinking boldly enough,” Murrow said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We do not fight on horseback.  They’re too costly to lose in battle.  So we ride until we close, but not too close, to the enemy, and fight on foot.”  He pulled out his sword.  “But what if there was no time?  Or if someone was chasing you?”  He slapped her horse’s rump with the flat. 

Once more the mare jumped to a gallop.  This time Elsbeth was ready and kept her seat. 

“You might as well learn on our journey, fosterling!” she heard Murrow shout.  “Draw your sword!”