The Horse Mistress: Book 2 (EBOOK, LGBT)

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TWO

THE FIRST WARRIOR of the Mereni was waiting for us when we arrived, along with the High Priest, Jyrrel. I glanced at Senovo, unsure how he would react to the old man’s presence after Jyrrel had unknowingly triggered Senovo’s shape-shifting ability with a mysterious elixir two nights ago, setting a terrified wolf amongst the guests at a handfasting. The slender eunuch’s face was still a mask, but he did not hesitate as we entered the room.

“Good morning,” Varanis greeted. “I take it Andoc has already left?”

“He has,” Senovo replied, his voice level and pleasant.
Varanis nodded. “I’ve asked the High Priest to join us so we could discuss a proposal of his.”

She gestured for us to join her at the heavy table dominating the room. When we were seated, it was Jyrrel who spoke first.

“I know our two tribes have a long and storied history of conflict,” he began, “but, given we are about to join together against a common enemy, it occurred to me that I might be able to help you in a different capacity.”

“How so?” I asked before Senovo could respond, my wariness not completely hidden. For all that Senovo had expressed his forgiveness for Jyrrel’s unwitting exposure of his transformative ability, I could not help but blame the man for turning Senovo’s life upside down in the space of a moment.

Unfazed by my poorly disguised hostility, Jyrrel merely leaned back in the chair and laced his hands together over his generous stomach. “The ranks of the priesthood have swelled in Meren in recent years,” he said. “Many of the novices have ambition, but they are unlikely to be able to move up the hierarchy with any sort of speed… there are too many others in front of them.”

“And?” I prompted.

“Well,” said the old eunuch, “at the risk of being unforgivably indelicate, Draebard needs new priests. It seems like a situation which could provide mutual benefits to both tribes.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to berate Jyrrel for his gross insensitivity— High Priest or no. Before I could, though, Senovo sent me a quelling glance. His expression was thoughtful, possibilities turning behind his eyes.

“That is indeed an interesting proposal, High Priest Jyrrel,” he said mildly. “How many individuals are we talking about?”

“Half a dozen or so, including two who are willing to leave immediately with the initial delegation. The first two are novice priests, and the others are acolytes.”

I forced myself to put aside my emotions and think about it logically. The ranks of Draebard’s priesthood had gone from almost two dozen to a mere four in the space of one night… soon to be three, if High Priest Rhystel died. Senovo could not hope to perform all the necessary religious duties in the village with only two young and grief-stricken acolytes to help him.

“I would like to speak with them later today,” Senovo said, “but I am certain that Draebard would welcome them, as would I.”

I envied Senovo his ability to compartmentalize his grief. Aware that I’d sounded churlish earlier, I said, “Of course we would. Please forgive my hasty words. Our village suffered a traumatic loss, and I let it affect my judgment.”

Jyrrel met my eyes, his expression one of understanding. Even that was enough to make me bristle, but I reminded myself that this man was a friend of our own injured High Priest. No doubt the news of the attack had affected him as well.

“Horse Mistress Carivel,” he said, “you have no reason to trust me and every reason not to. But—though it may be hard to remember at times—we are all on the same side here. Rhystel is my brother in the eyes of the gods, and I am pleased to help his people in any way I can.”
I nodded, unsure of what I could say that would be appropriate.

“We are pleased to help each other,” Senovo said, rescuing me from committing any more diplomatic blunders. “If I can help these young priests and acolytes to reach their potential, it is my honor to do so.”

The talk moved on to the rest of the delegation. Varanis informed us that her mother, Leader Magoldis, would be traveling to Draebard along with the acolytes and a small escort of warriors—no doubt intending to make a statement about Volya’s failure to appear before her in person to discuss the treaty. Varanis herself would remain behind to organize the larger military force for the planned attack on the Alyrion outpost.

The first delegation would be ready to depart two days hence. Varanis urged us to stay an extra day and travel with the group, but we declined. The Mereni could not know about the fact that everyone in Draebard still thought me a man—Senovo and I would have to travel ahead of them to face the potential repercussions before Magoldis arrived.

With the details more or less arranged, the meeting ended. Varanis and Jyrrel left to deal with their various responsibilities. It was nearly midday, so I suggested Senovo and I get something to eat. “… in Andoc’s honor,” I added with a wan smile, feeling somehow as if the responsibility for such necessary tasks had fallen to me in his absence.

Senovo quirked a half-smile in response. We left the meeting hall, braving the stares and whispers once again. The first market stall we came to was run by an elderly woman, and my thoughts turned instantly to old Gretya, killed in the attack on Draebard. I swallowed, dragging myself back to the present only to find that the woman in the food stall was bowing deeply—nearly abasing herself to us. Well, to Senovo, to be more precise.

“Please don’t do that,” Senovo said, his tone mostly level, though I could tell that underneath, he was stricken.

“Ma’am,” I added quickly, “it’s all right. We only want to buy some food.”

The woman straightened, but kept her eyes averted. “Holy One,” she said in a quavering voice, “please—I saw you after the handfasting. I saw you change. My son is ill. He has the paralyzing sickness. Please, I beg of you… will you come and bless him? The Healers say they can do nothing.”

I was close enough to Senovo to sense the fine tremor that ran through him, but his mask was firmly back in place when he replied. “I have no additional sway with the gods because of my ability. Please understand that I cannot magically heal your son. However, if you wish me to visit him and perform a blessing, I will do so, as would any priest.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” said the stall-keeper, looking up at him finally with tears in her eyes, and patently oblivious to the parts of Senovo’s response that she did not wish to hear. “Here, please—take some food in return for your generosity, Holy One…”

She eagerly served up generous helpings of spiced meat and vegetables for us. I glanced at Senovo again; his face was pale. I took the wrapped portions she offered us and placed a handful of coins firmly on the counter of the stall.

“No, really. I insist,” I told her when she tried to demur.
“Where is your son staying?” Senovo asked, and nodded his understanding as the woman gave him directions. When she was done, he assured her that he would visit shortly, and we took our leave.

“I will visit the sick man as soon as we’re finished eating,” Senovo said as we stood in the shadow of a building, hiding away from prying eyes while we picked at our meal. “Afterward, I should go to the temple and meet with the acolytes and novice priests who wish to come to Draebard.”

“I could come with you,” I offered.

Senovo shook his head, leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Despite the fact that the day was barely half over, he looked exhausted.

“It’s not necessary,” he replied. “I understand what you’re trying to do, and I do appreciate it, but this is my life now. You cannot protect me from it, much as you might wish to do so. I will see the woman’s son, and speak to the novices, and afterwards I will return to our room and meet you there, probably around dusk. If you wish to help, perhaps you’d be willing to purchase our dinner, so that I won’t have to face a repeat of this experience at the end of a long day.” His eyes flickered down to the food in his hand, clearly recalling the stall-keeper’s bowing and scraping.

I nodded, chastened, and pasted on a smile. “Of course. I should visit the horse pens and make plans for taking the black stallion when we leave in the morning.” I swallowed the last of my meal and threw the leaf wrapping away. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Senovo squeezed my shoulder, and I briefly covered his hand with my own. He stepped back as I moved to leave the shadowed alleyway where we had retreated to eat in relative privacy. With a final glance behind me, I made myself stride confidently toward the edge of town where the horses were kept, my head held high.

* * *

The horse pens were a hive of activity at midday, with people coming and going on various errands. I looked around and was pleased to find Previn, the young apprentice who had taken something of a shine to me after my horse-taming demonstration two days ago, hand-walking a sweaty, blowing mare around the perimeter of the pens to cool her down.

“Hullo, Previn,” I called, lifting a hand to catch his attention. His face immediately lit up in a grin.

“Horse Mistress Carivel!” he greeted, leading the mare toward me eagerly. “How are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you,” I said, not completely truthfully. Still, I had to admit that I was better for being near the horses.

“What can I do for you?” Previn asked, quieting the mare when she began to fuss.

I indicated that we should walk together, not wanting to interfere in the boy’s duties. “I was hoping you could answer a couple of questions for me.”

“About Nietre?” he said.

“Just so,” I replied, nodding. “I’m mostly curious if he’s ever been ridden, or harnessed.”

“Oh, yes,” Previn said, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “He was started in the fall of his two-year-old year, just like all of them are. Harnessed with an experienced horse first, pulling a chariot, and then under saddle a month or two later.”

I perked up visibly at that piece of information. “Really? Did they have any problems with him back then?”

“Nah, not that I can remember,” said Previn. “He was pretty normal until he was about four. Started really noticing the mares that spring and it all kind of went downhill from there.” He looked at me with a sly gaze. “You gonna ride him, then?”

I smiled. “I’m seriously considering it.”

“You should! I heard the Leader gave him to you. Made me grin from ear to ear, hearing that.” The same grin split Previn’s features as he spoke, making him look even younger than he was. “Can I watch?”

“Tell you what,” I said. “Finish cooling out this mare, and I’ll let them know I need to borrow you for a bit. Is the Horse Master here? Or is someone else in charge this afternoon?”

Previn pointed at a tall, broad-shouldered young man some distance away. “Logan is looking after things for a few hours. You can talk to him.”

“Very well,” I told him, feeling secretly relieved not to have to talk to the Horse Master of Meren, who had seemed rather hostile to me on first acquaintance. “Meet me at Nietre’s pen when you’re done. Mind you take good care of this mare first, though.”

Previn nodded enthusiastically and led the mare off for a few sips of water from one of the troughs scattered around the area. I walked over to Logan, who eyed me somewhat warily.

“Can I help you, Horse Mistress?” he asked, shooing away the apprentices he’d been speaking to before I arrived.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied. “I was hoping to borrow Previn for a little while, once he’s done with the mare he’s cooling off. I’m to take the black stallion, Nietre, with me when I leave for Draebard in the morning, and I’d prefer to throw a leg over him inside a pen before I try to do it in the middle of the wildlands.”

Logan eyed me skeptically. “You know that horse hasn’t been ridden in years, right?”

“I’d gathered, yes.”

After a second or two more of staring at me, Logan shrugged. “It’s your neck, Horse Mistress. Tell Previn to go polish the saddles in the north tack shed when you’re done with him.”

“Will do,” I said agreeably. “Thank you.”

I was leaning against the fence of the stallion’s pen with my chin resting on my hands when Previn jogged up a few minutes later. “I brought you this,” he said, handing me a rope halter with a long lead rope attached. “I saw you didn’t have one with you today.”

“Thanks,” I said, flashing him a genuine smile. It was true; I hadn’t gone back to Harinel’s boarding house before coming, so I didn’t have any of my own equipment with me… well, unless you counted the grubby strip of linen cloth still jammed in the pocket of my breeches. Which, now that I thought about it, might come in handy today. “Could you find me a straight, sturdy stick a little longer than your forearm?” I asked Previn.

“Sure,” he said. “You want me to get a saddle and bridle, too?”

I shook my head. “Not today. Accepting the rider is a different thing than accepting the saddle. I don’t want to deal with both today, but I really do want to ride him.”

Previn was staring at me with an expression somewhere between worry and awe—apparently they didn’t do much bareback riding in Meren. I cleared my throat, and the lad seemed to come back to himself. He flushed slightly in embarrassment and hurried off to find my stick.

In the pen, Nietre looked up from his hay and pricked an ear after the boy. I made a clucking sound with my tongue, and the stallion’s attention turned to me. Gods above, he was a beautiful animal—so different from the horses of Draebard, with their stout, feathered legs and barrel-shaped bodies. I was desperate to take him out to a stretch of flat road and give him his head. Long-legged and muscled as he was, the horse’s speed had to be breathtaking.

When Previn returned, I took the stick he’d found and tied the piece of cloth to the end. When I entered the pen, the stallion lifted his head high and snorted. As I had done when I visited the previous day, I approached him from the side and moved him a few steps away from the pile of hay, claiming it for myself. This time, though, instead of inviting him back to join me, I used the stick and cloth flag to move him around me in a wide circle.

After a few moments of fussing and bucking, he settled into a steady trot. I revisited the lesson we’d done on the first day, turning him toward me and away from me to change directions, slowing and speeding his gait using my body position and the cloth flag. This time, when I invited him to approach me, I backed up several steps so that he had to pass by the pile of hay to reach me. I was pleased to see that he ignored it completely, walking up to me confidently, but without aggression.
I let him sniff the flag, and then my hand, before scratching and rubbing at the scabs from the heavy halter that had been left on the unruly horse for months before I’d removed it during the demonstration. As he had before, Nietre leaned into the touch, bobbing his head up and down to get friction where the itching was worst. After two days, some of the crusty scabs were already starting to fall off, revealing tender new skin underneath.

When the horse’s expression was soft and relaxed, I put the rope halter on, adjusting the knots to avoid any tender places. I rubbed him all over with the stick and cloth, noting any spots that made him defensive and spending extra time there until he calmed. Once he accepted both the stick and my hand all over his body, I ran through a series of yielding exercises, moving his forequarters and hindquarters in both directions, backing him up and drawing him forward with the halter and rope.

It was still a bit surprising to me that the horse was as responsive as he was, given the years of rough treatment he’d received. I hoped that was a sign that his early training—including his training under saddle and harness—had been skillful. Leading him over to the fence, I climbed up to perch on the top rail. Nietre raised his head to stare at me and released an explosive snort as he backed up a few steps.

“Oh, I see how it is,” I told him. “You’re happy enough to rear up and loom over me with your hooves flailing all over the place, but as soon as I’m taller than you, you turn into a scared little bunny rabbit.”

Previn snickered from his spot a few paces away, outside the fence. “I always thought he was really just frightened, underneath it all,” said the boy. “Didn’t make him any less dangerous though.”

“Most of the aggressive ones are only trying to protect themselves,” I said, pleased at Previn’s insight. “You get the very rare one who isn’t afraid of people at all and just wants to dominate them. Those are the ones you can’t do much with, if they’re bad enough. The scared ones, though—the scared ones can become some of the very best horses if they decide to trust you. Once they finally trust, they trust completely. They’d give their lives for you.”

While I was speaking, Nietre crept forward again to sniff at me as I sat on the fence. I was ready to correct him with the stick and flapping cloth if he forgot himself and showed teeth, but it was important that I trust him to snuffle and nudge at my clothing as he investigated this new development. After all, I was about to ask him to trust me to sit on his back, in the same place a cougar or lion would try to latch on in order to bring him down and eat him.

When he seemed satisfied that it was still me, even though I was suddenly taller, I went back to scratching his head until he was happy and relaxed again. I repeated the routine of rubbing him all over with the stick and flag, urging him to line himself up parallel to the fence with gentle taps of the stick against his opposite hip. I reached over his muscled back to rub the flag along his far side, and waved it smoothly back and forth above his head and neck to see how he would react to something moving around in his peripheral vision where a rider’s torso—my torso—would be.

He lifted his head in mild alarm, ears swept back to listen, but soon calmed again. I wasn’t surprised. He’d been ridden for more than a year with no issues when he was younger. All of his problems originated between his ears, not on his back. I stretched my hand forward, grasping his bony withers and rocking his weight from side to side. The stallion rolled his nearside eye around to stare at me, but obligingly set himself square over all four feet, ready to accept a rider without losing his balance. I leaned down to hook my arm across his back, letting the weight of my upper body settle onto him. His attention was still focused on me intently, but he did not shift an inch.

Straightening, I gathered the lead rope and stick into my left hand and slipped lightly from the fence onto his back.