Beaker snorted. "Hellfires, they're expected to misbehave! Expect anything out of a horse, and you'll probably get it!"
Tarma grinned, pleased with herself and them. "The big question is, how do you want to play this? Do we demystify our hosts, or do we play this up as some sort of singular mind-magic?"
Beaker chuckled, and ran his hand through his short crop of graying hair. "We don't demystify them unless we decide we don't want to stay here -- and right now, I wouldn't mind settling here for the rest of my life!"
On that cheerful note, the three of them parted company, and Tarma stretched herself out beneath a thick woolen blanket with every feeling of contentment.
But the shrill trumpeting of a stallion woke her at dawn, and sent her tumbling out of that warm, comfortable bed with a great deal more eagerness and enthusiasm than she had expected. She followed her nose to the kitchen, where an intimidated servant gave her hot bread and milk, and then followed her ears to the stables, where a battle royal was in progress. And quick as she had been, Jodi and Beaker were there waiting for her.
So was Lord Kemoc, and she took charge of the situation immediately.
"Whoa-up!" she shouted at the two stablehands struggling to get the recalcitrant beast into harness. "Leave off!"
Startled, they obeyed; she marched up and seized the reins of the horse, a gelding, looking him over quickly to judge his age and guess at the amount of behavioral damage she was going to have to undo. "Stubborn, aren't you, my lad?" she murmured, seeing that he was no more than three with a touch of relief. "Well, I'm not surprised. But you aren't getting away with this nonsense anymore."
The horse looked at her and snorted, as if daring her to make him behave. She laughed, somewhat to the Valdemaran's surprise. "Lord Kemoc, are these horses ever in harness except at plowing time?"
"No--" came the answer.
She shrugged. "Well, then -- what you've got is two problems. The first is that these fellows never get a chance to understand what their job's all about. You shove them into harness, then they get something chasing at their heels for a fortnight or so, then you run them loose again. The other problem is that you need to speak their language."
Kemoc's mouth literally dropped open. "We-- what?" he spluttered.
"You need to speak their language," she replied firmly. "You're trying to break them, when they're too spirited and too intelligent to be broken, then when they misbehave, you give up. You just need to talk to them, and make them understand that good things happen when they behave themselves. Beaker, show him how to handle a youngster like this one -- I doubt he's got too much to unlearn."
Beaker took the halter of the gelding and led him into a small enclosed exercise yard. Over the course of the morning, he worked what to the Valdemaran probably seemed like a miracle. Using many of the same techniques that Jadrie had used in taming her new filly, he soon had the gelding standing placidly under his harness. But then, instead of hitching him immediately to a plow, Beaker walked behind him, guiding him with the reins as if he were plowing, but without the plow in place; he kept looking back at Beaker in puzzlement, but instead of punishing him for stopping, Beaker simply gave him encouragement. Once the gelding was used to taking his orders from behind, instead of being ridden, Beaker got him accustomed to pulling against a weight -- himself, leaning against the harness. Only then did he attach a sack full of gravel to the harness and guide him around the yard until he was comfortable with the idea of pulling against something and have that "something" right at his heels. Every time the horse began to act up, Beaker went back to the beginning -- showing the horse that his behavior was not proper to herd etiquette, rather than punishing him.
Tarma explained what he was doing each step of the way, stressing that it was as important to act on what the horse was trying to tell his handler as it was to get the horse to do what you wanted, but as she expected, the Valdemarans assumed that this was some sort of magic rather than simple common sense and observation. By the time they broke for a little lunch, Lord Kemoc and his stablehands were just about convinced that Beaker was using something akin to a Herald's Gifts. Tarma overheard them muttering about "mind-speech" and "animal mind-speech," and had to stifle her grin.
They took a short break for a little lunch-eaten,
Tarma noted, in a common group that included Lord Kemoc. That boded well for Jodi and Beaker's future. Afterward, she instructed the stablehands to bring in fresh horses two at a time. One by one, Jodi and Beaker took the youngest of the geldings into the exercise yard and ran them through the training routine, only turning them over to the plowmen when they were sure that the horses understood what they were being asked to do. By then, Lauren was nearly beside himself with delight, and Lord Kemoc was eyeing the three outlanders as if he suspected them of far more power than they were demonstrating.
"I still don't understand how you're doing this," he said, "but I'd be a fool to argue with the results. What next?"
"Next, while Beaker and Jodi keep on with the geldings, I deal with the mares with foals -- or rather, I deal with the foals," Tarma said firmly.
The mares were easy enough to harness up -- they were used to being in harness, since they pulled carts and other farm implements all year long when they weren't in foal. They were also not used to being allowed free rein to their annoyance. It was the foals themselves that were the problem, and that problem was solved rather easily. Whenever one tried to nip, Tarma maneuvered quickly so that it nipped its mother instead of the human. Mother reacted predictably, with a squeal and a lashing hind hoof, or by turning to nip her youngster, and the foal was punished for its behavior by the authority it respected, in a way that it understood, and in a way that did not leave it with a fear of the human.
"Now, let the foals walk alongside while you plow," she instructed the plowmen. "Don't try to separate them from their mothers at this age; they aren't going to trample the plowed earth the way an adult would, and once they understand that mother isn't going to be taken from them, you won't have any more trouble with them. Stop when they need to nurse; they won't take that long. On the whole, I suspect they'll come to enjoy this as a new kind of game."
That brought them to the end of the first day; fully half of the mares and a quarter of the geldings had worked calmly in harness, and although far fewer horses were out plowing, far more had gotten accomplished on this first day than ever had before. Furthermore, no one had been injured! Lord Kemoc was beside himself with joy, and insisted on having all three of them beside him at the head table, displacing his wife and two of his children. Fortunately, those displaced didn't mind in the least and simply added to the chatter; the whole family seemed to be good-tempered and far less concerned with rank than Tarma had expected. When Lord Kemoc learned that the three of them had served in a mercenary company, he was full of questions, and with Tarma translating, Jodi and Beaker soon had the table roaring with laughter with some of their stories.
:They're doing well,: Warrl observed, from his place with the family wolfhounds next to the fire at the end of the great hall. :They're making themselves well-liked as well as respected.: