Derian nodded, noticing that no matter how close the islands were to each other, they were still far enough from land that he wondered if anything without wings could leave them. Otters and beavers might, but wolves?
He held his thoughts, moving to a safer topic.
"How about horses? Are there wild herds?"
Varjuna shook his head. "Not there, though there are some in a preserve near u-Bishinti. We do not let our domestic horses roam, of course. The farmers complain enough about the deer and rabbits."
"Sounds like home," Derian chuckled.
But u-Bishinti, when he saw it spread out in the green vale outside the city, was nothing like home.
Prancing Steed Stables was a good working stable, but its stables and storage barns were built for function, not beauty. Even the building where Colby Carter had his offices had begun life as a hay barn, and over half of it still served as a tack room. Probably the most ornamental thing about it was the portrait of Roanne that decorated the wooden sign that swung outside of Colby's office.
Derian felt a familiar tightness in his chest as he thought of the chestnut mare and his absent family, and concentrated on the complex rather than remember. Varjuna had chosen to approach via a road that provided an overlook, and Derian knew from the expectant quiet with which the other drove that Varjuna was waiting for him to comment.
"It's incredible," Derian said, glad that Barnet's language lessons had included a few superlatives.
"Begun in the days when the Old Country rulers were still here," Varjuna said, "but we've added to it and maintained it. Frankly, I think even they'd be impressed."
"No doubt," Derian agreed.
He guessed that the small step-pyramid temple roughly central to the complex was one of the original buildings. Its surface tiles were silvery white and grass green, colors he had learned were associated with Air and Earth—even as horses were.
However, the elaborate exterior ornamentation was not reserved for the temple. Buildings that just had to be stables, judging from what he could see through the doors and windows now opened to the pleasant warmth of the spring day, also came in for a fair share of tile or enameled brick. Even the trim on the hay barns and sheds was carved with ornamental complexity.
"We have our own smithy," Varjuna was saying complacently. "Two, actually, one devoted almost exclusively to shoeing, another for work on tack. We have a leather shop, though not a tannery. The smell upsets the horses—people, too."
He grinned and, clucking to the bay, started the descent.
"How many horses do you have here?" Derian asked.
"Hundreds," Varjuna said casually, "if one counts new foals, young horses being trained, brood mares, and the like. There are those which have been brought in to be tested. They stay in that pale grey stable to the right."
He pointed with his driving whip.
"Tested?" was all Derian could think to say.
"For special gifts," Varjuna explained. "The Wise Horses have the gods' ear. That goes without saying, but many a lesser animal is gifted as well. Then, too, we keep an eye open for good prospects for breeding or for such mundane uses as riding and driving. Of all the temples, we are probably the only one that earns far more than it takes in taxes."
He paused, then added in the tone of one who is doing his best to be fair, "The Temple of the Cold Bloods does very well in earnings, too, as does the Temple of Sea Beasts."
Derian would have liked to ask about this, but they had dropped closer to the pastures, and his mouth was all but hanging open at the wide selection of magnificent horseflesh idly grazing. Any one of the horses would have been the prize of a noble's stable, and yet from how they were set in this outlying pasture Derian had the feeling that these were the least prized of the animals.
For the first time, Derian found himself really thinking about meeting a horse who was to other horses what Blind Seer was to the usual wolf. At first he felt exhilarated, then, suddenly, very shy.
"We also have quarters here," Varjuna was saying, "for those of us who are kidisdum of the horses. Happily, the living areas are set where the winds from the bay keep off most of the flies. There comes many a hot day in summer where I give thanks to whoever laid out the general lines of this complex. If you look up there… "
Again the whip pointed.
"You'll see them. Dormitory arrangements in most cases with communal dining—as you must have learned in the Temple of the Cold Bloods that's pretty typical—but since I am ikidisdu I get a nice place all for myself and my family. Can't see it from this angle, but our house overlooks the entirety of u-Bishinti and even offers a glimpse of the sea."
"It's a city," Derian said, awed, "a city dedicated to horses."
"A town at least," Varjuna said, obviously pleased with Derian's reaction.
"Is there something like this for each type of animal?" Derian asked.
"Oh, no!" Varjuna laughed. "Only for the horses. There has been talk from time to time about setting up facilities for cattle and sheep, but the dominant theological opinion is that the gods are more inclined to speak their will to the wild varieties of animals. Horses have always been viewed as an exception, though. Maybe it's because we don't raise them in order to eat them."
"Maybe," Derian echoed, completely overwhelmed. "You're going to have to explain to me which animals talk to the gods and which don't."
Varjuna nodded. "There will be time for that, especially if you choose to stay with us. I hope you realize that part of the reason for taking you here is that I'm going to do my best to try to persuade you."
"That's fine," Derian said, and for a long moment he didn't really care if Varjuna meant for life or just for as long as Firekeeper was out visiting the wolves. "That's just fine."
As they drove into the complex, Derian lost his overview, but it hardly mattered. There were more horses to look at, and he could hardly decide in which direction to turn his head. There were mares with spindly-legged foals at their sides; herds of last year's colts and fillies, not yet seriously into their training; mixed herds of more mature animals. Here and there were horses evidently well past their prime, but still well cared-for. This last warmed Derian's heart toward Varjuna and his people. Derian well knew how expensive horses were to feed, and most of the time his parents sold the older animals—but one or two were given honorable retirement.
In arenas and on tracks, horses were being trained for both riding and driving. Derian swallowed a grin when he saw how carefully the grooms and trainers didn't stop work. Only a few of the older men and women waved, and these most casually. None stopped to gape at the red-haired stranger.
"So they knew I was coming," he said to Varjuna, and Varjuna had the grace to look mildly embarrassed.
"Perhaps you have no idea how important your arrival is," the ikidisdu said.
Derian decided to tackle this directly.
"I don't have any idea at all," he said. "Harjeedian says little and until this morning's reception we saw only him, his sister, and a few servants. The servants weren't talking, and Harjeedian and Rahniseeta seemed mostly interested in preparing us for today."
"You heard nothing on the ship?"
"Nothing."
Varjuna shrugged. "I am ikidisdu of horses, but I don't make policy. It is a jaguar year, too, so we are very much out of the loop."
Derian nodded, though he didn't quite understand why this should be. Didn't Fire need Air and Earth or whatever it was the horses represented? He didn't know how to ask that in his limited Liglimosh, so he kept silent.
At last Varjuna drew the carriage to a halt in front of the temple. The stableboy, who had been riding nearly forgotten in the back, leapt down and took charge of the pretty little bay and the vehicle. Varjuna took charge of Derian.
The sun had dropped appreciably lower by the time Varjuna had finished showing fountains from which water was piped directly to the various barns, box stalls with walls padded so that the horses would not damage their coats,
barns piled high with choice grain, hay, and bedding. And, of course, a sampling of the magnificent horses. With a sudden shock of guilt, Derian recalled Firekeeper, waiting back at the main temple in Heeranenahalm.
He realized he had better get back to her before full dark had fallen and she was inspired to prowl.
"I need to go back to the city," he said to Varjuna.
Varjuna looked instantly disappointed.
"I had hoped you would dine with my family."
Derian looked apologetic.
"I really must return to Lady Blysse. She will be expecting me."
Varjuna spoke almost as if reciting a proverb, "Wolves are difficult to keep waiting."
Derian grinned. "Impossible."
"There is so much more I'd like to show you," Varjuna said. "If I promise to return you by a more rapid road than before, can you tarry a bit longer?"
"Only a bit," Derian said. "I really should be back before twilight."
Varjuna nodded crisply. "I can do that without even raising a sweat on the horses. I don't want to send you away without introducing you to at least a few of the Wise Horses."
The sensation of nervous anticipation came back in full force.
"Lead on," Derian said. He swallowed an urge to say, "You mean we haven't seen them already?," because he knew they hadn't.
"The Wise Horses are free to use any of the pastures," Varjuna said, "and some enjoy mingling with the lesser horses. Actually, they're a great help in keeping order among the young uncut males. They seem to be able to control them—talk sense to them, as we like to put it. However, they like their privacy as well, so we have facilities… "
Derian didn't hear another word he spoke. He had seen his first Wise Horse, and the sight took every bit of attention he had to spare.
He had expected the Wise Horses to be outsized, as Blind Seer was to the more usual wolves, but though the Wise Horse that was walking across the smooth stretch of spring pasturage toward them stood easily as tall as a warhorse, it was no larger. What was incredible about it was the delicacy of its lines.
The nostrils that flared to catch Derian's scent were almost dainty, the ears sharp and perky, the bone structure—while amply strong to carry the muscles that rippled over it—was without the least trace of heaviness. In the arch of the neck, the straightness of the leg, in every line of the horse's frame there was raw power, but no clumsiness.
No wonder, Derian thought, these people think that the horse is some sort of wedding of Air and Earth.
Only after his horseman's eye had finished drinking in the horse's incredibly perfect lines did Derian notice what another person would have noted from the start. The horse's markings were a mixture of black and white. These were not the orderly pattern of stockings against a solid coat that Roanne had borne, nor yet the splashing of blaze or star or stripe as adorned so many ordinary horses, nor even the occasional splash of white across the belly that might mark an otherwise solid coat.
The Wise Horse was colored with a wild defiance of what humans would have called order. His coat was more black than white, the head solid black but for a thin white blaze. Behind the ears, running along the mane, was a patch of white nearly half the length of the neck. It mixed snow into the long flowing hairs of the mane. There was white patched along the horse's flanks as well, including four white stockings, each well over the horse's knees, the hind set going right onto the rump. Thus the horse's tail was particolored as well, and the mixture of white and black somehow made it seem longer and fuller.
"High Stepping Horse!" Derian swore softly in Pellish. "Your image before me!"
He dashed sudden tears from his eyes, feeling as if he was being disloyal to Roanne's memory, but aware that he had never seen a more beautiful horse in all his life.
"This is Eshinarvash," Varjuna said, and Derian mentally translated the name as meaning something like "Wind Runner."
"He is the chosen ambassador of his people to us this moonspan."
"Ambassador?" Derian said, speaking the first word that came to his mouth.
"Go-between," Varjuna said, obviously not certain Derian had understood him. "We can't expect the entire herd to come when we have a question. The designated ambassador keeps watch, and if another must be summoned, takes care of the matter."
Varjuna lowered his voice slightly. "It gives the younger stallions something to make them feel important. There are only so many mares, after all, and not all of them care to breed."
Derian wanted to press his hands to his ears, unable to grasp any more. Instead he laid his hand flat so Eshinarvash could sniff it. He felt the lips, curiously dry, move over his hand, and the horse blow softly.
"Don't have any carrots or sugar," Derian said, reverting to Pellish.
He leaned forward and blew gently into the horse's nostrils, giving him his scent as Colby had taught him to do. Eshinarvash breathed back, and then pulled away, but only far enough to lip Derian's hair with apparent curiosity.
"He likes you," Varjuna said, not as a man would about a pet, but as a man might translate for a friend with laryngitis, "and he's never seen hair the color of Fire before."
Derian pulled his hair away, but reached up to scratch the horse behind his ears. Even with his height, he had to stretch.
"And I have never seen a horse so magnificently colored," Derian replied. "I've seen the occasional patched or piebald, but usually they're poor creatures, from wild stock. They lack the shine—the elegance."
"And what stock do you think these are?" Varjuna said with a laugh. "No human puts stud to mare among the Wise Horses. They work these matters out for themselves. I'll tell you something strange, though. Time and again someone decides to put a Wise Horse in with the mares, hoping, you know, to improve the strain, but never has the stud leapt the mare—not even when she presented and flirted. They're aware of the differences between them, and the Wise Horses won't breed the lesser."
"I'll believe you," Derian said, "though it's more the pity. What foals this one would throw!"
"Much like his sire," Varjuna agreed. "The black and white patterning runs true in that family."
"Then all the Wise Horses aren't black and white?" Derian asked.
"Oh, no. Chestnuts, greys, bays, but almost always mixed with white. The patterning differs, too. Eshinarvash comes from a line that does these wonderful patches, like clouds against the night sky, but there are those who are more spotted than patched. Then again, there are occasionally solid ones—duns and greys—but even these aren't solid, not really. They have the heavy barring along the spine and usually darker points."
"I'd love to see a herd of the Wise Horses," Derian said dreamily.
"You can," Varjuna said, "but only if you stay with us. We don't have time if you're to get back to the city on time."
Derian reluctantly let his hand drop from Eshinarvash's crest.
"You're right. Thank you, Eshinarvash, for letting me make your acquaintance."
His knowledge of Blind Seer kept Derian from being completely astonished when Eshinarvash dipped his head in evident acknowledgment. Varjuna was definitely pleased. However, the pleasure on his face shifted to mild astonishment when Eshinarvash reached up and tugged on a heavy piece of rope set on the edge of the fence. This opened the gate, and the Wise Horse walked through.
Eshinarvash came over to Derian and stomped his forehoof lightly against the turf.
Derian glanced at Varjuna, certain that something more than another neck scratch was being requested.
"He's offering," Varjuna said with a certain amount of awe, "to take you back to the city himself."
Derian shared the other man's awe and took a step back. Varjuna misinterpreted this as uncertainty.
"Can you ride bareback?" he asked. "The Wise Horses suffer a saddle from time to time—it protects their back and our behinds—but we do not keep such here."
Derian nodded. "I can ride bareback. I just wanted to make sure it was acceptable that I ride one o
f them."
"Whatever is acceptable to the horse," Varjuna said, "is acceptable to their keeper. Use the fence rails as a mounting block, or I can give you a hand-up."
But Eshinarvash already had the matter under control. He knelt with contained grace, bringing himself close enough to the ground that Derian could get astride with ease. There was nothing humbling about the gesture—it was more like a parent bending to take up a child.
Without further delay, Derian accepted the invitation, glad that he had not restricted his riding to relatively smaller horses like Roanne, but in his employ for Earl Kestrel had ridden warhorses as well.
"Tell Eshinarvash where you wish to go," Varjuna said, "and he will take you there. He knows the city well enough to find any of the temples."
Derian was careful to speak Liglimosh, though he wondered if the horse might actually understand all languages.
"I need to go to u-Nahal," he said, "in Heeranenahalm."
Eshinarvash blew out through his nose in acknowledgment and began to walk.
Varjuna called hastily, "I hope we will see you again."
"Me, too," Derian replied, setting himself more firmly and hoping Eshinarvash wouldn't mind his rider gripping his mane.
Then the Wise Horse moved from a walk into the smoothest canter Derian had ever had the pleasure to experience and carried him across the mellowing green of the late-afternoon fields.
Their route took them to the west of the main city, through farmland, orchards, and forests that showed ample evidence in their cleared riding trails and well-maintained bridges that they were anything but wild lands.
Game parks, Derian thought, maybe for hunting.
He remembered the jaguar, Truth, and the thought that her kind might hunt here unsettled him and made him scan the tree limbs wherever they extended over the trail. He reminded himself that his mount was a Wise Horse. Even a more usual horse would shy at the scent of predators—a thing that had made Firekeeper's association with horses difficult. Certainly a Wise Horse would be at least as sensitive.
But what if the yarimaimalom don't want us here? he thought, remembering how the Royal Beasts had reacted to the efforts at settling the lands west of Hawk Haven's portion of the Iron Mountains. What if we're upsetting their orderly existence? Certainly Firekeeper is finding her ideas upset. What if these yarimaimalom are finding their own ideas upset?
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