Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law (4 page)

Jesher
regarded Shan with deep disappointment, making the boy squirm. When
he spoke, his tone was grave and hard. "How dare you?" He shook his
head. "A son of mine, throwing stones at horses."

"I didn't
Papa!"

"Only because
Brin stopped you. What's the penalty for harming a horse?"

"To be cast
out," Shan muttered.

"That's right.
Think about that before you ever lift a weapon to a horse again,
son."

Shan hung his
head, and his mother Shella entered the tent. He cringed as Jesher
broadcast his crime, and his mother cast him a glare with her
usually soft brown eyes.

"Stupid boy. I
should have Mishal punish you properly."

Shan flinched,
remembering the times when Mishal had been set to guard him when he
was a toddler and he had defied the mare's authority. A few good
nips that had left bruises for days had taught him the error of his
ways, and the big, fifteen-year-old palomino mare still terrified
him. Shella cuffed him and went back to stirring her pot, to his
relief.

The sound of
galloping hooves cut his humiliation short. Jesher went out to see
what the commotion was, and Shan followed. One of the sentries who
had been posted far out in the plains to warn of danger leapt from
his sweating steed to confront the headman.

"The horse
thieves from the west are moving this way, and they claim to have a
wizard who uses fire," he stated.

"Who told you
this?" Jesher demanded.

"Travellers,
two traders going east. They lost two horses already, and they say
the thieves are no more than a day behind."

Jesher
scowled. "That gives us no time to move the herd. If the Arrad are
heading this way, we must prepare to fight."

The ring of
curious people who had gathered to hear the news muttered amongst
themselves as they drifted off. The sentry went to tend his tired
horse, as a replacement left the village to take up his post.
Jesher turned to re-enter his tent, Shan following.

The headman
regarded his son with a frown. "Now is the time you need a horse,
Shan. Without one, you can't be a warrior."

"I don't want
that ugly black thing!" Shan cried.

Jesher turned
away.

"His feet are
too big! His legs are like tree trunks -"

Jesher swung
back. "Then I hope yours are swift indeed, for they'll have to
carry you well, without a horse. Any who can't keep up with the
herd are left behind, boy!"

Shan shrank
from his father's wrath, turning to flee the tent when his mother
poked her head inside. She scowled at him.

"You have a
visitor."

Shan sidled
out under his parents' frowning gaze, and his mother cuffed him as
he passed, muttering, "Without a horse, you're nothing, boy."

Outside, Shan
gaped at the ugly black colt that stood before the tent, his ears
pricked. Curious people and horses gathered around, the people
murmuring in low, amazed voices. For a young horse to come into the
village was unheard of, and Shan looked around desperately, but
there was nowhere to run. The colt stepped forward and butted him
in the chest, sending him staggering back into his mother, who
pushed him forward again. Shan gulped and stared at the colt.

"You are
mine."

The ritual
words of choosing came into Shan's head, translated from the silent
language of horses by the Stone's magic. The touch had formed the
bond, and the black colt had claimed him. Shan glanced at his
father, who met his eyes with a cold stare. He had no choice
now.

"I-I accept
you," he blurted.

A ragged cheer
went up from the spectators, and his father's broad hand clasped
his shoulder. "Good boy. He's a fine horse, son."

Shan accepted
the praise for what it was worth, precisely nothing. Everyone had
joked about the colt while he was growing up, and no one thought he
was a fine horse. His father gave him a push towards the colt.

"Go and get to
know him."

Humiliated
beyond words, Shan trudged through the village, followed by the
colt. In the grassy pasture's solitude, he swung to face the
animal, frowning.

"Why did you
have to choose me?"

"I like
you."

"You're ugly,"
Shan growled.

"I know." The
colt tossed his head. "But I'm strong. One day I'll be herd
stallion and make you headman."

"Really?" The
boy perked up a bit and measured the colt with his eyes. "You're
only two. Why did you choose so young?"

"I'm strong
enough to carry you, so why not?"

"What's your
name?" Shan asked.

"That you'll
find out at the ceremony, after you get your mark."

Shan smiled.
"You know a lot."

"I have a wise
mother, who taught me well. She's a lead mare."

"I know."

The colt
dipped his head and fixed Shan with a soft brown eye. "Do you want
to go for a run?"

"You want to?"
Shan was surprised, horses were not generally inclined to volunteer
for unnecessary work, and the black colt had always seemed dull and
lethargic.

The colt
snorted. "There's something I want to show you."

Shan swarmed
onto the colt's back, winding his hands into his thick mane. He had
ridden all his life on Mishal and even Nort, the herd stallion. He
gripped the rough flanks of his new lifelong companion as the colt
trotted across the pasture. Soon the horse broke into a slow
canter, a comfortable gait that allowed Shan to relax and lean
back. The colt's big hooves ate up the distance, and they crossed
the pasture far more quickly than Shan would have thought
possible.

The boy made
several pleasant discoveries about his new steed on the short
journey. The colt's gaits were more comfortable than Mishal or
Nort's, his broad back made a wonderful seat, and the heavy
drumming of his big hooves was far more daunting than the clatter
of a lighter horse's feet. Shan was a tall, slender youth, often
bullied by bigger boys, but now he had a horse that more than made
up for his lack. He was already as big as most of the
three-year-olds, which could only mean that he would grow into a
far larger horse than they.

By the time
the colt slowed and stopped far out in the plains, Shan had decided
that he preferred his horse to the bay. The boy slid from the broad
back and looked around.

"What did you
want to show me?"

"This." The
colt stepped forward and lowered his head.

Shan parted
the long grass and found a cylinder of grey stone. It looked
ancient, seamed with tiny crystals and covered with writing that he
could not read. One end had a jagged edge, as if it had been broken
from a larger piece, the other end was capped with dull grey metal.
Shan ran a hand over the lines of tiny carved letters, a shiver
passing through him.

"What is
it?"

"I don't
know," the colt replied, "I found it a few days ago."

The boy tried
to lift it, but failed. It seemed unusually heavy for its size, and
he pondered it for a moment.

"Do you think
it's important?" he asked the colt.

"Yes. I think
you should tell your father to come and fetch it."

"Why?"

The colt's
skin shuddered as if a dozen flies had landed on it. "Something bad
is happening to the world. This has something to do with it."

Shan stepped
away from the grey stone. "It's bad?"

"No, not this.
Tell your father to fetch it and keep it safe."

"It's just a
piece of stone."

The colt
tossed his head. "So is the stone you use to give you the power of
speech, and this one is just as important."

Shan swarmed
onto the colt's back again. "I'll tell him, but he's busy preparing
to fight the Arrad. I doubt he'll have time for a piece of old
stone."

The next
morning, at sunrise, scouts sighted the Arrad out in the plains,
and rode into the village shouting the warning. Jesher's warriors
were ready, and had only to don their armour and call their horses
from the bachelor herd. Jesher's grey stallion arrived outside the
tent, and Shan's father mounted in a lithe leap. Shan watched with
envious eyes as the warriors rode out to meet the threat, decked in
war paint and battle finery. He longed to go with them, but a stern
glance from his mother squashed that notion before it bore fruit.
Instead, he went down to the herd to speak to his new friend. A few
boys his age called rude comments about the ugly black colt as he
passed, and he did his best to ignore them.

A day spent in
the herd's tranquillity was good for the soul, and having his own
horse to talk to made the day pass swiftly. He dozed beside his
colt in the lazy haze of mid-afternoon when an old lead mare
whinnied a warning. Shan jumped up to scan the plains, unable to
find any sign of danger. With all the warriors away, a hunting cat
could be a threat, able to stalk and bring down a foal. The herd
began to move, and Shan mounted at the colt's urging. When several
hundred mares grew nervous, it was best not to be on the ground
amongst them. Safe aboard the colt, Shan tried to find the danger.
The herd drew together as the mares, which had scattered to graze,
headed for each other, forming a packed mass. Foals at foot pressed
against their mother's flanks, yearlings huddled together. Other
lead mares, who kept to the outside of the herd, picked up the
warning and nipped younger mares into order.

"What is it?"
Shan asked the colt.

"Danger." The
colt paused, ears twitching as he listened to the horses' silent
communications. "The stallion returns, but in defeat. The bad ones
follow."

"We've got to
warn the others!" Shan said. "Go to the village."

The colt
surged against the mass of mares around him, trying to push them
aside with his chest, then nipped necks and quarters when that did
not work. The mares nipped back with flattened ears and glinting
eyes that warned the two-year-old that he did not have the
authority to barge his way through older mares. Shan yelled at
them, and some mares moved aside, but others still refused to give
way. He smacked a mare that was pressed to the colt's flank, making
her hop aside and lash out with a back foot. She missed, but he did
not try that tactic again.

A tall black
mare moved in from the edge of the herd, nipping those in her way,
her head weaving wickedly and her ears laid back in warning. Shan
recognised the colt's mother with a sigh of relief. Shisab cleared
a path through the herd and nipped her son hard on the neck, then
turned and forged through the mares again, leading the colt out.
Released, Shan leant over the colt's neck as he galloped to the
village, where women stood gazing at the herd. As he reached them
he shouted the warning, and an old woman shot him a scornful
look.

"We know, boy.
Do you think our mares haven't told us?"

"What must we
do?"

"Go help your
mother pack. We'll be moving out soon."

The tent
village was already in the process of being dismantled, as
horseless boys pulled down the tents and packed them away. He raced
to his mother's tent to perform the duty for her, finding her
waiting impatiently for his help. She cuffed him when he jumped
down and set him to work.

Within an
hour, everything was packed and ready to go. The women called in
their mares, which soon arrived to carry their burdens. Each mare
brought another, one who had never chosen a rider and therefore
could not be ridden, but was willing to carry baggage on the long
haul to the winter pasture far to the south. Mishal brought a
shaggy bay, and Shella loaded the mare. Once the baggage was tied
to the bay, Shan's mother went to speak to her mare while they
waited for the stallion's return.

Shan packed
his few personal possessions aboard the colt, glad that he would
not have to ride behind his mother this time.

"What about
the stone?" the colt asked, turning his head to look at Shan as the
boy pulled the ropes tight around his chest.

"We don't have
time now. It's not going anywhere."

"We must take
it. It's important."

"I can't even
lift it. How can we take it?"

"Get someone
to help you."

Shan glanced
around. "Who? The women won't help."

A thunder of
hooves came from the far end of the village as the stallion
galloped in, flanked by several warriors. Shan recognised Brin
amongst them as his father jumped from Nort's back and Shella ran
to tend to his wounds, some of which were burns.

Jesher
shouted, "Start moving out! Head for the winter pasture. We're
outnumbered, and the wizard has fire. Go!"

The women
mounted their mares and started away, soon forming an orderly herd
with the lead mares on the outside and the yearlings in the middle.
Mishal pawed the ground as she waited for Shella. The shaggy bay
had already gone ahead to join the herd. Shella bound Jesher's
wounds with clean cloths, ignoring the headman's impatient protests
and Nort's stamping.

Shan ran over
to Brin and tugged on his leg to get the warrior's attention. Brin
was part of Jesher's guard, and waited for the headman.

"Brin, I need
your help!"

The warrior
slid from Task's back. "What's wrong?"

"I need to
fetch something from the plains, but it's heavy."

"Leave it,
there's no time."

"No, we must
take it. The colt says that it's important."

"The colt,
eh?" Brin's eyes narrowed as he looked at the black colt. "Why's it
so important?"

"I don't know,
nor does he, but it is."

"How far is
it?"

Shan gestured
to the plains. "Not far. I just need you to lift it."

Brin glanced
at Jesher, who submitted to Shella's attentions with ill grace.
"Okay, come on then."

Shan leapt
onto the colt's back and galloped out of the village, heading for
the spot where the piece of stone lay. Shan glanced back at Brin
several times and decided that the colt was not so slow, for Task
stretched to keep up. When they reached the stone, the colt propped
to a stop, almost unseating Shan, who slid from his back. The boy
bent to pull the grass aside, and Brin eyed the gnarled grey stone
with a jaundiced gaze.