Little Horse
“What’s he like, this—this brother of yours? Brother Wolf?”
Little Horse could hear the hesitation as Clove Scented Smoke on Wind fumbled with the concepts. Little Horse scanned the sky from the vantage point of the bridge pier; still no sign of a gossamer approaching from the west.
“Blade brother,” Little Horse corrected Clove. The apothecary had been sole survivor of a landslide that had reduced his household’s estate to rumble. Since the holding had been one of the clan leader’s farthest-flung households, Clove had little dealings with the holy caste of sekasha and thus wasn’t familiar with the strict mindsets. Nor did he understand the relationships between the clan leader and his bodyguards.
“But you should not refer to him that way, nor should you call him Brother Wolf.” Little Horse leapt down off the tall stone pier to land lightly beside Clove. “Always call him ‘Wolf Who Rules.’ There are others—like my father—who would be quite upset if you infer that he is my brother of flesh and blood.”
“I don’t understand how…” Clove sighed as he touched his face and discovered his spectacles were still perched on his nose. Most conversations with Clove were constantly interrupted as he fumbled with the two small disks of glass joined with a slender piece of wire. Despite Clove’s need for them to see anything clearly, the glasses were prone to falling off. “I wish they would just do the spell on my eyes and be done with it.”
But the healers wouldn’t. Most of the spells that dealt with vision had been developed before the rebellion for the sole purpose of solving the albino emperor’s weak eyesight. The spellwork had been ruthlessly tested on thousands of helpless slaves, most of whom were blinded and then destroyed. After the Rebellion, all such spells carried a death sentence for anyone that dared to cast them. Only in the last thousand years had the ban been lifted—mostly from the efforts of Little Horse’s grandfather—but no one dared to attempt them. The healers were afraid of people like Little Horse’s father.
It left Little Horse nothing to say in reply.
Clove gave a slight laugh as he tucked away his spectacles. “Ah, with my luck, I probably would grow a third eye, right in the middle of my forehead, and start seeing imaginary creatures.”
The apothecary’s sense of humor was one of the reasons Little Horse liked the male. Clove was also the closest person to his age, although at a hundred and forty, he was twice Little Horse’s years.
The bridge had crossed them over to the Stone Quarters. They stopped at a cart selling cold sweet pickled cucumbers on a stick. Mistaking Little Horse for a child of her own clan, the vendor glared at Clove, who was clearly Wind Clan.
“Cause any trouble and I’ll call for the Wyverns,” she warned.
Clove glanced behind him, put his hand to face to push up the spectacles that were now safe in his pocket, and turned back to blink at her with confusion. “Pardon?”
“I am sekasha.” Little Horse had learned that it was useless to explain he was actually Wind Clan. His hair and eyes were Stone Clan brown, seemingly giving lie to his words. No one ever questioned his claim to his caste. Apparently no one would dare lie about that.
Clove blinked at him, clearly not following the conversation.
The pickle seller’s eyes went wide and she carefully handed over the correct change.
The exchange proved that Little Horse been right to tag along with the apothecary to the spice market. Clove was from a small hold, the isolation making him often seem younger than Little Horse, and half-blind without his spectacles. Clove could get into serious trouble by himself while Little Horse had the protection of his caste.
The cucumber was crisp, sweet and cold. After the first bite, though, Little Horse focused on the crowd moving around them. Excitement shimmered inside him. This was what he spent his entire life training for: to protect a clan member against attack. He realized that he should have his hands free. He finished the cucumber in three large bites and tucked the wooden skewer away.
There was so much to keep in mind. Where was Clove? Was anyone looking their direction for more than a moment’s glance? Any change of body language that warned of attack? What was the nearest point of escape?
The crowd was loud jostling confusion. Over the roar of conversation was the barking of the vendors, hawking their wares. The smell of the multitude of spices was overwhelming; every stall flooded thick scent into the market square. Cinnamon. Ginger. Nutmeg. Cumin.
He was having trouble remembering everything he was supposed to be doing and still walk without stumbling. His parents made it look so effortless. He knew he shouldn’t be daunted; they had a thousand years of practice to his handful of decades. Without the protective spells tattooed on his arms, the wyvern scale armor, and the distinctive magically sharp ejae that his caste alone could carry, no one recognized him as sekasha and stepped out of his way like they would for his parents. Nor did it help that he still hadn’t hit his growth spurt and was still a head shorter than most of the adults about them.
Clove made him jump by tapping him on the shoulder. “Little Horse, I never did finish my question.”
“What question?”
“How is Wolf Who Rules your brother if not through blood? Did your mother nurse him?”
“No!” Pony laughed. “Because of his name, it was decided that he be trained as a warrior. My mother was the one entrusted to teach him how to fight. She taught him how to tumble shortly after he could walk and almost everything I was taught as a sekasha. Domi taught him all that he would need at Court and how to protect his Beholden, but my mother taught him everything of the blade.”
“Because of his name?”
“Wolf is a warrior’s name. It means he will see great battles. It’s why the Fire Clan asked that he be raised at Court, close to his cousins.” Little Horse realized he was saying too much. “Everyone expects great things of him.”
The same could be said of Little Horse. Stormhorse was the mythical beast that the goddess of war rode. Because of his name, given by Pure Radiance herself, everyone expected great things of him.
“What is he like? Wolf Who Rules?”
“He’s—he’s—” Little Horse stopped the first thing that wanted to spill out of his mouth. Wolf had always acted as Little Horse’s older brother, making time to play even as he tried to live up to his name. “Fun” was true but not the thing to say to this near-stranger. “Playful” made Wolf sound like a dog. “Great” seemed to be lacking another word like “brother” or “friend.” “Awesome” bordered on overblown.
Little Horse took a deep breath and committed to something. “He’s a good leader.” That seemed too faint of praise. “He protects his people and always makes sure they’re well taken care of.”
“Ah.” Clove seemed satisfied with the description.
Little Horse sensed a change in the crowd before he saw the source of the disturbance. He noticed that the market quieted with a spreading wave of silence coming from the east. His hand went automatically to his hip before he remembered he was virtually unarmed. His parents allowed him to wear a practice sword within the Wind Clan palace. It wasn’t the magically sharp ejae; it was only meant to accustom him to the weight and length of an ejae riding on his hip. He’d left the practice sword at home, bringing only daggers to deal with anyone outside his caste that started trouble.
Goosebumps rose on his arms as he caught sight of black chest armor: a Stone Clan sekasha. The male swaggered through the thick crowd, clearly not bothering to check his stride for the conditions. It bespoke of boorish arrogance. Most of the people within the square were Stone Clan. They still scattered before the holy warrior like frightened chickens.