“Let me show you the city,” Keth’ said. While it wasn’t home, it was a fascinating place, and he was eager to introduce her to some of the more interesting foods.
“Whatever you like,” she said with a smile. It caught him off guard.
He offered an arm and led the way toward the horse and animal market, figuring to stop at the Compass Rose just beyond it. It wasn’t the cheapest, but it didn’t attract lowlifes, and the usual clientele wouldn’t be surprised to see a pair of Shin’a’in.
They were almost to the market when he realized why her smile had concerned him.
There was a glint.
They’d both grown in a year, and she felt like a part of him. Then he realized he felt the same way. Even if he did agree with the Collegium’s rules, and he’d only admitted to understanding them, this was something he wanted more.
“The Ashkevrons do have some fine horses,” Nerea said. “We have better, but not by much, and no others I’ve seen come close.”
“Well, they do buy ours and breed them.”
“Certainly, but it takes more than stock. It takes care and raising.” Her energy never faded. He’d always liked that.
There were a lot of horses here today. It must be some market day. There were wagons, carts, horses with pannier saddles, mounts for nobles and the wealthy, and draft horses for farmers. Some of the wagons contained oats, nuts, apples, and other fare meant for the animals, and several stores had displays of combs and brushes. There were also saddles, tack and clothes for riders, and even a carpenter’s display of stable making. The place smelled of fine horseflesh, and he enjoyed it.
“Some very fine creatures,” she said, smiling. She was relaxed, he realized, and comfortable for now. With food and fine weather, there was nowhere he’d rather be.
Which was odd; this place was not home. He could speak the language well enough to get by, but it still felt foreign.
Rather than ponder it, he decided to just enjoy the day. Her hand was warm as she clutched his. Her shoulder brushed him every couple of steps. He was comfortably fed and had no pressing worries for the day.
It was at that moment that the Star-eyed saw fit to give him pressing worries.
A cart-hitched horse suddenly stepped sideways, reared up, and came down in a limping gallop. His cart knocked a stall askew, spilled some contents—bags of feed—and rode over the collapsed legs of the vendor’s display.
The horse was clearly hurt, right rear leg tipping the ground as the rest clattered on the cobbles. People dove from its path, shouting and screaming. Other animals shied and whinnied, backed and sidled, until carts crashed and tangled in a huge mess. It would take hours to sort out. It had happened in moments.
The chaos spread as other horses and even smaller animals caught the whiff of panic. Their instincts fought their restraints, and the din of it all was astounding.
Then Nerea stepped into the street.
Keth’ knew what she intended and took a half step to grab her, then decided he would only make it worse. He had no doubt she knew what she was doing, but he wasn’t sure the horse did.
Three people buffeted him as they darted past, urgently clearing the street and seeking somewhere out of reach of rearing hooves and twisting wagons.
Then the horse, a very handsome dapple, reached Nerea at a near-gallop still dragging the remains of the cart. She stood calmly, stepped aside just enough to avoid it, and stroked his flank with her fingers.
He slowed haltingly and stumbled two steps forward as the tilting cart’s momentum shoved at him.
Nerea walked around him, fingers tracing his muscles. After the dapple was calmed, she stepped over to a dun mare. Nerea held a hand to her muzzle, and she quieted. Then a roan stallion dropped, relaxed and stepped out of the wreckage of a pushcart yoke. The waves of calm rippled out, where waves of panic had flowed only breaths before.
Nerea turned back to the dapple, walked around, and touched his injured leg. He raised it at once, and she studied his hoof. Taking out her belt knife, she pried something long and sharp out of the frog. Releasing the foot, she patted the dapple’s flank.
And Keth’ smiled, because he knew what could keep her here, near him and near the horses.
He would stay here and finish his studies, because Mind-magic, and Animal Speaking, ran through his people. It was inevitable others would show their talents, and possibly more of them. He’d be needed to teach those children of the Shin’a’in who had Mind-magic and who could not or would not leave the Plains. Nerea would stay here until then and teach the Valdemarans about horses, for wisdom ran both ways.
He also understood why the day had been so sweet, even though Valdemar wasn’t his home. Nor, anymore, were the Plains.
Home was where Nerea was.
“So, how are our lovebirds doing? More importantly, has Nerea started home yet?” Teren asked Lo’isha hopefully, after serving the Shaman some tea.
Lo’isha smiled at him.
“I think that is a vain hope, my friend. She does not look as if she is leaving anytime soon. If she were easy to dissuade, she would have never left the Plains in the first place.”
Teren sighed and leaned against his desk. “What am I going to do with them?”
“Why do anything? They will solve their own problems and have indeed begun to do so.” Lo’isha calmly sipped his tea.
“What do you mean?” asked Teren suspiciously. He had the feeling that he wasn’t going to like this.
“After that incident at the horse market, Nerea has received more offers for work and horse training than she knows what to do with. She isn’t going anywhere,” he repeated.
“What about Keth’? Has he spoken to you at all?”
Lo’isha sat back and steepled his fingers.
“Yes, he has asked me about becoming a teacher on the Plains. He believes his talents lie not with Valdemar but with his—our—people. He’s not entirely wrong. Her talent, of course, is a latent power manifesting itself. There will be others. He can hardly be the only one needing to be trained in Mind-magic. Since the Storms there is now no reason not to. My people would learn better from one who has the proper attitude; magic is not to be meddled with but controlled and tempered.”
“But he is supposed to be a Herald! Anyone a Companion chooses has to be a Herald!” Teren was agitated. He’d thought Lo’isha concurred with him.
“Why? ‘There is no one true way.’ It’s time to change. Not every Shin’a’in with power can trek to Valdemar, and certainly they can’t remain here. At some point, we must have our own schools. In the meantime, he will be an intermediary, learning here, then mentoring others. Perhaps one day he will return to the Plains.”
Teren said, “That’s not what he wants.”
Lo’isha replied, “Nor is it what you want. Nor even what I’d want, if I had a choice. None of us do, though. The Storms have blown the slate clean for us down on the Plains.”
He took a final sip of tea and placed the cup down on a clear spot amid the clutter.
“I believe they have for Valdemar as well.”
Chapter 11 - Fog of War - Ben Ohlander
Gonwyn pressed the bloody, filthy rag down onto where his teeth had been broken by the arrow hit. The helmet’s cheek-piece had saved his life, but pain from the splintered molars flared as he tried to stanch the bleeding. He spat more blood and fragments onto the leafy ground. Distant fighting flared up, the rattle of combat carried across the torn ground. His part of the field might have gone quiet, but fighting still raged in the center and on the left.
He nudged Rath with his heels, and they moved together up the draw,and through the trees. The Companion, fastidious about her hooves, stepped around the windrows of fallen bodies. Tedrel and Valdemaran lay commingled, embraced in death.