The High King's Tomb
Page 116

As if the horses understood his words exactly, they flowed out of the stable as quickly as they entered, but for a shaggy bay gelding who remained behind.
“That’s the trouble with whistling them in,” Lady said, “it’s not very specific. They were just too far off to hear my song.”
Karigan had never heard of singing a horse in and was sorry the demonstration had not worked. She did know a Rider or two who could summon their individual horses with a whistle, but an entire herd? She was impressed.
“Could you teach me to do that, sir?” Fergal asked, apparently impressed as well.
“Why sure, lad.” Damian stood beside the bay, scrutinizing him. He was a stocky specimen with a star between his eyes, and he was coated in dry mud. “It will have to be later though. My foxy Fox here needs curry and comb, and brush and pick before we ride. Gave himself a mud bath, he did, and us a delay.”
Karigan leaned against the stall door, Condor resting his chin on her shoulder as she watched Damian work on Fox. The gelding stood there unmoving without cross-tie or halter. He half closed his eyes in contentment as Damian stroked him with the currycomb. Damian must have trained his horses well to enjoy being groomed, for Karigan had known some in her life that were intolerant of it, or at least had sensitive areas that when touched, incited a kick or bite.
In the meantime, Fergal further surprised her that morning by grabbing a shovel to pick up piles of manure left behind by the horses.
“Damian is taking you out to the plains to look over the herds,” Lady told her.
“That…wasn’t them?” Karigan asked.
“That lot? That was our domestic stock. No, he’s going to take you to see where the wild ones run. That is, after all, the stock from which he picks Green Rider horses.”
“Wild horses,” Karigan murmured. “I didn’t know.”
“There are wild horses,” Lady said, her gaze distant, “and then there are wild horses.”
“True enough,” Damian said. Without a word or even a tap on the leg, Fox lifted a hoof for him to pick out. “I don’t choose just any horses for my Riders.”
In no time, Fox’s coat gleamed and his tail and mane were combed neat and unmatted. Damian slipped the bridle over his nose. It had no bit. “Fergal, lad,” he said, “give me a leg up if you would.”
Fergal did so and Damian sat upon Fox bareback. “Thank you, Fergal. Used to be able to vault right up, but I’m not as young as I once was, am I, Lady.”
“You are ancient,” she told him and they laughed as though this were a cherished joke. She brought him her basket and placed the handle over his wrist. He leaned down and they kissed. “Now don’t be too late in coming back, Master Frost. I’ll have supper waiting.”
“Oh ho, I shall not be late for that!” He turned to Karigan and Fergal and said, “Mount up my friends. It’s time we went riding.” He squeezed Fox’s sides and they plodded out of the stable. A whistle issued from without—this time a quick, sharp tone—and Ero the wolfhound emerged from the tack room and trotted outside to join his master.
Karigan led Condor out of his stall and as she prepared to mount, Lady said, “If you are lucky, you might even see the patron of your messenger horses.” Without explaining, she left the stable with a wave and an, “Enjoy your day!”
With that intriguing comment to gnaw on, Karigan placed her toe into the stirrup and swung up onto Condor’s back.
WILD HORSES
As they rode, Damian wanted to know the fates of some of the horses which he supplied to the Green Riders over the years. Karigan found herself passing on the sad news of those who died in the line of duty, horses and Riders both. Tears glistened in Damian’s eyes. She told him also of Crane, who lost his Rider, but chose Ty as his new partner.
“Is Crane still the fastest?” Damian asked.
Karigan chuckled. “Ty does not believe racing is befitting for a Green Rider. That said, they’ve not lost a single race yet.”
Damian rocked on Fox’s back with laughter. “And I know who’d not take any nonsense about not racing—that Red, she’s a wicked one. And mind you, a devious gambler.”
Karigan smiled at the thought of her captain as “wicked,” and found she could not disagree.
Damian grew serious again. “I rarely meet the Riders who become partners with my equine friends. Old Condor there, he’s seen some action by the look of those scars on his hide. And I know you are not his original Rider.”
“No, I’m not,” Karigan said. “F’ryan Coblebay died a couple springs back.”
Damian nodded. “Usually it’s Red who travels here to deal for new horses, though I met Crane’s Ereal once. I’m sorry for her loss, and for that of the others.”
Karigan closed her eyes but doing so only brought back the nightmare memories of two arrows arcing through the night, thudding into Ereal’s body one after the other.
She cleared her throat, wanting to steer the conversation in a less painful direction. “How long have you supplied Riders with horses?”
“Oh, all my life, as my family has down the generations. Since Captain Faraday Hartwood Simms led the Riders some eight hundred years ago or so.”
“Really?” Karigan, knowledgeable in the ways of trade as she was, was shocked. “Your family must be extraordinary traders.”
Damian flashed her a disarming smile. “You will soon see why you Riders come to us for horses, lass, and I can assure you, it has little to do with our prowess in trade. We must step smart now, we have some ground to cover.”