The Fire Seer and Her Quradum (4 page)

Her eye went to a skinny gray horse in a distant corral. “What about that one?”

“The black or the roan?” asked the seller.

“The gray.”

“Oh.” He lifted his head. “You can look at him.” They headed to the corral. “He’s a gelding, friendly and about six years old. The marks on him won’t affect his utility for work. They’re cosmetic only, and if you give him good feeding...”

Taya, who was now close enough to get a better look at the horse, stopped listening. She was shocked at the horse’s condition. A scraggly mane hung limp along the gelding’s narrow neck, and his body was worse: so thin she could see his ribs and hipbones. Black scars crisscrossed his left flank. But for all his apparent weakness, the horse caught her eye, walked to the fence, and extended his head over the railing.

Taya hesitated. She ought to have nothing to do with this creature. No wonder the seller had overlooked him: clearly he was in the slaughter pen, slated to be killed for meat. And yet he reached his head over the fence as if appealing to her for help.

Unable to resist his charm, she stroked his bony face and then opened his mouth to check his teeth. She half hoped he’d protest or show some temper, which would give her an excuse to reject him, but he stood quietly, tolerating the scrutiny. The cups were gone from his lower teeth, which meant the seller was lying about his age. He was closer to nine or ten years old.

And yet that didn’t rule him out as a prospect. She circled the fence to the corral gate, and he followed her on his side of the fence, meeting her there. She let herself into the corral and shut the gate. Then she ran her hands all over the gray’s body, lifting his feet and checking for sore spots along his back and legs. No obvious lameness. His problem seemed to be underfeeding and whatever had caused those scars. “Where’s he from?”

“The mountains,” said the horse seller. “Came down with a bit still in his mouth, in just the condition you see. No sign of his rider; I suspect the fellow came to an unfortunate end. They’re savages up there.”

“Have you tried to put some weight on him?”

“Haven’t had time,” said the seller. “But I’m sure he’d perk right up for you.”

She ran her hand across the scars, black and ugly against the dappled skin of his flank. “How do you suppose he got these?”

“In battle, I think,” said the seller. “See this one? That could be a cut from a battle-axe. And up here, looks like an arrow wound, though it’s older than the other.”

Taya didn’t trust the seller, but she had a feeling he was right about the wounds. This horse had seen battle.

She had a good feeling about the gelding. He stood quietly, and despite his thinness, he seemed to have a wiry strength underneath. She believed he could be ridden. Trusting to fate and the Mothers, she grabbed a hank of his scraggy mane and vaulted up onto his back.

The horse raised his head as if surprised by this. It was as if he’d never been mounted before—and yet he was quiet enough about her presence on his back. Both of them went still, taking stock of one another. The horse wore no bridle or saddle. She had no idea what he might do with a rider on his back, or even if he’d been ridden before.

He turned his head briefly to look at her, and then faced forward as if waiting for direction. She squeezed lightly with her legs and he moved into a lanky walk. She shifted her weight to see if she could direct him in a wide circle, and he turned so sharply she almost slipped off his other side.

“Careful,” called the seller.

The horse’s sudden movement had startled her, but as she experimented, she realized the horse was not out of control; rather, he was exquisitely responsive to her body position. She needed only
look
left to turn him left, or look right to turn him right. Larger shifts in her weight gave her sharper turns or sent him sideways. She guided him around the corral in figure-eights and then clucked, asking him for a trot. He launched into one, making a feeble attempt to arch his neck. On request, he even gave her a smooth, ground-eating canter. She brought him back to a walk just by stilling the movement of her seat.

“Flood and fire, Taya, what are you doing?”

The familiar but unexpected voice brought her up short. She looked outside the corral and saw that Mandir had arrived and was sitting there on his blood bay.

“I’m trying out horses,” she said.

“Why waste your time on an old nag?” said Mandir. “I can see from here he isn’t worth a copper stick.”

Taya was beginning to think the horse was worth more than he seemed. He wasn’t young, and he was scarred, and he was weak from underfeeding. But he was well trained, and he had a lot of heart, and wasn’t that what mattered most?

She’d best make a deal quickly, before the seller caught on that she liked the horse. She slipped off his back and left the corral so as not to look attached. The horse followed her as far as he could, up to the gate. “I’ll give you a silver stick for him.”

“A silver, for a warhorse who only wants a bit of good feed to be back in his prime?” The seller snorted. “He’s worth a gold stick, at least.”

Taya shook her head. “Not at his age, or in his condition. It’s going to take months of rehabilitation before this horse will be ready to do a day’s work.”

Mandir dismounted from his blood bay and went to the gate, where he checked the gray horse’s mouth. “Taya, this horse is ten years old if he’s a day.”

“He is but six,” said the seller.

“How do you know?” said Taya. “You said he came down from the mountains without a rider.”

“Grasses are tougher in the mountains,” said the seller. “The teeth show more wear than they do here.”

“What nonsense,” said Mandir. “Taya, this horse is worthless. Anyone can see he’s used up.”

Taya found herself in the awkward position of wanting to persuade Mandir that the horse wasn’t worthless, while simultaneously not wanting to appear to the seller to be too interested. She opted for middle ground. “One silver and two coppers,” she offered. “But only because I feel sorry for the animal.”

“Eight silver sticks,” countered the seller. “He’d be a bargain at that price. You could feed him up, get him looking his best, and resell him for twice as much.”

Mandir shook his head. “He’s not even worth
one
silver. Look at those scars on his side. Good feeding will never erase those. We don’t even know if he’ll put on weight.”

“He will,” said the seller. “I have it in mind to return him to condition myself and sell him to a prince.”

Mandir barked a laugh. “And that’s why you put him in the slaughter pen where there’s no grass for him to eat?”

Taya hadn’t noticed, but Mandir was right—there was no grass in the old gray’s corral, nor any sign of barley or cut straw. “You haven’t been feeding him,” she accused.

“Of course I have!”

Mandir took her by the elbow and led her away from the corral. “That horse is good for nothing but the dogs. There are other horse sellers not far from here. I’d be happy to take you to one of them before I ride out.”

“Mandir—”

“One silver and two coppers!” cried the horse seller. “I’ll sell him to you as a personal favor. Since he seems to like you.”

Taya started to turn, but Mandir squeezed her arm, and she understood. He wasn’t trying to stop her from buying the horse. He was helping her to negotiate a fair price.

“Not interested,” called Mandir.

“One silver!” cried the horse seller. “One silver, and I’ll throw in a bridle and saddle.”

“Now we’re talking,” Mandir growled under his breath.

“I accept,” said Taya quickly. “One silver for the horse and his tack.”

∞

Mandir wasn’t sure if he’d done Taya any favors in helping her get the old horse for a fair price. She seemed inordinately pleased with an ugly animal of questionable utility, and he feared she might come to grief over the affair. The horse could sicken and die. He might go lame and have to be slaughtered.

On the plus side, she was out only one silver stick.

He’d seen the way her eyes lit up when she rode the old nag, and he’d known then he had to help her buy it. At least she wasn’t being sent anywhere right away. She could stay here at Rakigari and take care of him until the Coalition demanded her skills elsewhere.

“I don’t know if you got a bargain,” he cautioned her. “His condition may never improve.”

“I think it will,” said Taya. “I have a good feeling about him. Look how he leads: so quiet and respectful!”

“Because he has no energy to fight you,” said Mandir.

“And he’s really not that old,” added Taya. “Even if he’s ten, we had a mare at my parents’ farm who lived to be almost thirty.”

“Horses can live that long if they’re gently used,” said Mandir. “This fellow hasn’t been.”

“I wish we weren’t leaving right away,” she said wistfully. “I’d love to give him a week of good feeding first. But if I ride him gently, and we stop frequently to let him rest—”

He turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

“I meant to tell you,” said Taya. “I talked to the elders this morning, and I’m going with you to Tufan’s.”

Mandir was so shocked he could only gape at her.

“I couldn’t let you go alone,” she added.

“I told you already it was a bad idea for you to go. What about the fellow who was already scheduled to go with me?”

“I talked to him, and he was happy to let me go in his stead.”

“Of course. He’s seen the place already; he knows what it’s like.”

“I can’t say I
want
to go,” said Taya. “But you’re going to need someone at your side that you can trust.”

The old gray horse stopped suddenly, bringing Taya up short. They’d come to a patch of thick grass, and he sank his face in it to the eyeballs, ripping up large mouthfuls and eating them right past the bit he was wearing. The horse ate like he thought he’d never see grass again.

“You’re going to have a clean-up job later on that bridle,” said Mandir.

Taya put slack into the reins and let the horse eat.

Watching her, Mandir felt a strange sensation in his chest—pleasurable and yet painful. Taya had such a good heart. She cared about everyone and everything. He loved her so much it hurt.

She turned to him with an achingly vulnerable look. “Do you really not want me along?”

The old Mandir wanted to get angry, to tell her that of course he didn’t want her along; she’d be useless on a mission such as this. She was stubborn enough that hurting her feelings might be the only way he could persuade her not to go. And an even older part of him wanted to cling to her skirts like a boy.
Please go with me. I’m afraid of Tufan and afraid of myself.

Taya deserved better than either of those responses. “I do want you along—badly. I love you, and I don’t want to be separated from you. But it’s not safe for you at Tufan’s. Tufan is terrible to women, and—well, he’s terrible to everybody, and I don’t think you should be exposed to that.” Having finished his awkward speech, he could almost hear Neshi’s voice in his head:
was it so hard, telling her the truth about how you feel
?

“I understand your concern,” said Taya. “And I think I need to be there.”

“I suppose it’s your decision.”

“Then I’m going,” said Taya.

Chapter 4

For two days they followed the Lioness downstream. When they reached a tributary known as the Taksha River, they changed direction and followed the Taksha into the interior of the valley.

Taya named her gray horse Soldier, figuring that since he had battle scars, he had probably been used in combat. Out of respect for his weakened state, she and Mandir took the journey at a leisurely pace, asking the horses for only brief trots. They allowed the animals frequent rest breaks during the day, and at night they chose campsites rich in grass.

Soldier thrived under this regimen; he was growing stronger every day. What luck she’d found him when she did! If she had not, the horse seller might have slaughtered a perfectly good animal.

They followed the tributary for three days. On the fourth morning, as they saddled up for the day’s riding, Mandir said, “We’re getting close to Tufan’s. Should reach it by evening.”

Taya glanced at the dry grassland and scrubby trees that surrounded them. “How can that be, when we’re in the middle of nowhere?”

“That’s where Tufan lives.”

“Why, when he’s a prince of the realm and can live anywhere he wants?”

“Tufan likes to be in control of whatever environment he’s in.
Total
control. He left the palace because he couldn’t handle being under the king’s thumb. He doesn’t like being around his brothers either, because they share authority with him.”

“How can he support a household? There’s not much farmland here.” The soil was thin and gray, not the rich loam one found along the Lioness after the inundation. This tributary, it seemed, did not overflow its banks.

“He ships everything in.”

“The king allows this?”

“He encourages it,” said Mandir. “It’s worth it for him to pay Tufan’s expenses so that Tufan can live on the outskirts, away from the palace. This way he avoids the embarrassment and aggravation of having Tufan in civilized society.”

“If Tufan is so awful, why doesn’t the king just get rid of him?” said Taya, “Exile him to the mountains or something.”

Mandir shrugged. “He’s the king’s son. I imagine it would be hard for a father to do that to his own flesh and blood.”

“And yet he allows Tufan to abuse his children, who are also the king’s flesh and blood.”

“We’re illegitimate,” said Mandir. “We don’t count.”

Taya grimaced. Mandir seemed glum about this mission, as if it were a punishment he had to endure rather than a happy opportunity to save a boy, probably Mandir’s own half-brother, from an unfortunate fate. She didn’t think his reluctance stemmed from a lack of caring about the boy. Rather, he seemed to believe they had little chance of success. And yet by law they had every right to remove the boy from Tufan’s household. If the boy had the Gift, the Accords of Let gave them the authority to take him from anyone, even from a prince of the realm.