“No mithnon, please. Just tea.”
“You came from Thorley how long ago, Prince Tebmund?” The king had a way of speaking that always insinuated he did not believe one. So, the stranger was a prince.
“Several weeks,” Prince Tebmund said casually. “I had some errands in the more southerly continents.”
Kiri peered through the mortar hole to study him. She knew nothing about Thorley except that it was a small principality in the east of Thedria, which lay far to the south across hostile seas. Folk in this hemisphere knew little about its people. Kiri had heard they were peaceful and reputed to raise fine horses. She leaned against the stone, listening intently as Prince Tebmund and the king discussed the sale of the four horses. Oh, how could he bear to sell such horses?
“I can promise up to fifty head of trained war-horses like these, if Your Highness desires,” Prince Tebmund said. He had a quiet, clipped voice that Kiri found appealing. As if he did not care for long speeches.
King Sardira leaned back in the settee, stroked his black beard, and belched delicately. He was like a thin black bat with its wings folded neatly across its front and its black eyes missing nothing. “And what is your price, per head? I expect it will be higher for the stallions.”
“It is the same for both. Two hundred pieces of gold.” Prince Tebmund’s expression was calm, but his dark eyes held a flash of impatience—or dislike for the king.
There was a cold pause before the king spoke. Prince Abisha remained silent. Kiri could see his fat foot tapping softly.
“Two hundred for these four,” the king said. “That seems rather steep. But, of course, if they—”
“Two hundred per head,” said Prince Tebmund. His dark eyes and lean face hid a surge of anger, subtle as the passing of a breath.
This pause was colder, and lengthy. Prince Abisha came to stand before the hearth, his fat stomach not inches from Kiri. She drew back against the cistern.
“It is too much,” said Abisha. “It is out of the question. No one asks such gold for horses.”
“These are not common horses,” said Prince Tebmund.
“They are the finest horses on Tirror, as I’m sure you can see for yourselves. They will carry a man into battle with absolute absence of fear. They will not only carry him, they will rear and strike the enemy’s mounts and the enemy soldiers as well. They have struck down many an opponent and left a lifeless body. They are well worth twice what I ask. However, if you are not. . .”
Abisha moved away from the wall, and Kiri saw the king’s lifted hand, striking silence. Prince Tebmund waited politely.
“Why do you bring them to sell,” asked the king, “if they are so fine?”
“Our horses are our living, our finest commodity. We raise them and train them to sell. If you are not interested, there are others who will be. We offered first to you, King Sardira, because we felt that your court, of all the nations, would hold the best and kindest horsemen.”
That, thought Kiri, was laying it on pretty thick. Though it had been true once, when Papa was the king’s master of horse.
Prince Tebmund said, “I will be more than pleased to give you a fortnight in which your soldiers can work with these four mounts under my direction, to learn their unusual ways. I would not sell them without training men to their skills. If,” he said softly, “at the end of that time, you are not pleased with the horses and with the price, I will depart happily with the horses, and no charge made.”
Kiri strained to see the king’s face. It was set in a scowl, but there was a gleam of interest in his black eyes. A fortnight in which Sardira’s captains could learn some interesting secrets about training war-horses, and in which some of the king’s own mares might be secretly bred to the two fine stallions. Then, if Sardira didn’t buy, he would still have the benefit of a beginning to a fine new line of mounts . . . at no cost. Of course the king would accept. Sardira cared for nothing if not for expediency and self-gain.
Kiri wondered if Prince Tebmund had any idea that horses sold here would soon belong to the dark invaders.
Or perhaps Prince Tebmund didn’t care.
King Sardira played both sides. He courted the few leaders who stood valiantly against the dark enemies, and courted the dark invaders with equal favor. They came to Dacia often, seeking supplies and soldiers and whatever else the city could provide. Their flesh lust was easily pandered to in the quarters of the drugged servants and in the stadium fights between prisoners and animals. Those exhibitions sickened and terrified Kiri. The dark unliving wanted whatever new depravity the city and Sardira’s court could produce. In return, they offered Sardira flattery and the means for further power through their magic. The unliving were conquerors. They lusted to make war, to kill in battle. They would, when they saw Prince Tebmund’s horses, offer Sardira far more than two hundred gold pieces per head, to send such animals into the fighting.
They would let the horses win for them, but they would thirst to see them fight for their lives, see them injured and screaming in pain. Pain and death fed the unliving.
It was the un-men and Sardira together who had cut out her father’s tongue, to prevent the images that his voice could bring alive. Their way had been far more cruel than killing him. To silence Colewolf was to sentence him to a cold half death.
Didn’t this young prince understand the nature of the dark? Didn’t he know that Sardira traded with them? His uncaring ignorance angered Kiri.
Yet why should it? She had no reason to think he was anything more than just another friend of the dark.
Still, if he was a friend of the dark, he could have taken his horses directly to them. His coming to Sardira was just as bad, though. If he was willing to sell his fine, spirited animals to any cruel taker, even where they would be used to help the unliving, he was no better than the dark leaders. It was people like Prince Tebmund, who helped the dark for their own selfish gain, that made the battle so one-sided. She stood shaken with anger, but very aware that she must not lose control.
When Kiri slipped away from the great hall at last, it was all she could do to keep herself in hand. Her inner turmoil frightened her. To let her feelings rule her was too dangerous—for herself and for the cause she served. Why had Prince Tebmund stirred such anger in her?
And the eyes of that black stallion! She could not forget them.
The next morning Kiri was late getting to her cousin Accacia’s apartments. She stopped in the servant’s scullery to heat the lemon juice and grind the minten leaves she used to wash Accacia’s hair, then fled up the six flights to her cousin’s floor. Accacia, of course, was in a temper, her brown eyes angry. Kiri supposed she had been pacing; her green satin robe swirled around her as she bore down on Kiri.
“Can’t you ever be on time? We have an important visitor in the palace, and I want to look my best—to please Abisha, of course, when he presents me. Do get on now as quickly as you can.” She flung herself into the straight satin chair and leaned her head back over the silver tub. Kiri lifted Accacia’s long chestnut hair up into the vessel and began to pour on the warm herbed lemon juice. The minten leaves made a fine lather, and soon Accacia relaxed under Kiri’s knowing fingers. The hearthfire had been built up to dry Accacia’s hair, making the room very hot.
It was an ornate room, not to Kiri’s liking. Too much gold-leaf filigree in the screens and furniture, too much crowding of satin draperies over the bed and at the windows, so one had a closed-in feeling. It was a room that couched Accacia’s beauty as a velvet-lined box would couch a jewel.
Accacia had ordered long ago that Kiri alone was to wash her hair and perform other small duties for her, but not because she liked Kiri’s company or wanted to make a more secure place for her in the palace, or because they had been raised together. Accacia’s father had been related to the king, but it was the girls’ mothers who had been sisters. Kiri carried none of the king’s blood in her veins, she thought with satisfaction. Accacia kept her to do her bidding because she did so like ordering Kiri around, as she always had since they were babies growing up together. Accacia’s mother had died at her birth. Her father had been in the king’s guard. When he died in battle, Accacia lived with Kiri’s family. She had not left the palace after Kiri’s father was maimed and sent away. She got herself engaged to Prince Abisha and promptly commandeered two floors of the west tower for her use. Her sympathy was shallow and short-lived when Kiri and Gram were turned out, to take the tiny cottage below the wall. Kiri guessed she ought to be grateful that Accacia had gotten her appointed a minor page. It was safer than trying to find work in the city, and the information Kiri gleaned in the palace was invaluable to those who mattered.