"My lord, for you, two hundred-"
He stopped and winced as Havel poked a finger like a steel rod into his chest; it hurt even through the leather jacket.
"Mister, I wouldn't get on that horse it you paid me to do it. When I go into a fight, I've got the enemy trying to kill me-I can't afford to worry about my own damn horse trying it too. I might give you fifty for her as breeding stock-no, I'm not going to risk my farm staff getting kicked into next Thursday. Not a penny, unless you want to trade a side of bacon for the hide and hooves."
He turned away. The wrangler took off his battered Stetson and threw it down and stamped his riding boot on it, then glared murder at the horse. It was easy enough to see his thought; any likelihood of a sale had just publicly evaporated, and he wasn't going to go to the trouble and danger of taking her back east over the mountains.
Rudi murmured, just loud enough for his mother to hear: "He'll kill her! Kill her and feed her to his dogs!" Then, aloud, calm and happy: "What a waste!"
Rudi's clear young voice sounded like a bell of crystal, cutting through the murmur of the crowd; kilted Macken-zies and leather-clad ranchers and Bearkiller A-listers alike fell silent. A few of the Corvallans and traders from the Protectorate pointed and told each other who he was.
"A horse in a million, going to waste, Uncle Mike! All she needs is the right hand!"
Havel turned back, grinning across the paddock at the boy with his face. Will Hutton smiled too, at the boy's display of spirit. The Bearkiller lord laughed and waved, ignoring the fresh hopeful babbling of the wrangler.
"She's a good horse, all right, but she's spoiled, Rudi," he called.
"I could ride her! Like an eagle on the wind!"
"Kid, if you can convince your mother to buy that horse, go ahead!" he called again, his voice warm and friendly. "I'll go halves on the price for a colt of hers, if Juney can magic her into not being crazy-mean."
Signe Havel's voice was coolly neutral as she called: "I'll pay the man's price myself and give her to you if you can ride her, Rudi!"
The boy was off the fence and out in the middle of the corral before Juniper's astonishment-slowed grab was halfway to his plaid. The crowd was shocked into silence.
Mike Havel's voice was soft and commanding, a controlled contrast to the throttled fury and fear in his eyes: "Get out of there, Rudi. Back off to the fence. Do it now."
The boy laughed. "Don't worry, Uncle," he said. "She knows me, you see."
"Rudi," Juniper called, her voice tight with urgency. "Do what Mike says. That's an order. I promise I won't be mad, just do it."
"It's all right, Mom," he said cheerfully, not three paces from half a ton of wild anger and lethal strength. "Really. Epona won't hurt me."
Behind Juniper Sam Aylward and John Hordle and Eilir strung their bows and nocked arrows with quick sure movements. The rest of the party used ruthless elbows and shoulders to give them a clear field of fire, and Astrid and the Lorings poised to leap the fence. Astrid slipped her sword free of its belt and unbuckled, wrapping a length of it around her right hand so that she could snap it like a whip in the mare's face to drive her back.
Juniper swallowed, watching the horse shake its head and stare at the small form before it. Time seemed to slow, as if the air was become thick amber honey and she imprisoned in it like an unwary insect. Her own breath roared in her ears, and her heartbeat was like a great slow Lambeg drum beating beneath her throat, and every particle of dust was crystal clear and etched in memory. Her mouth opened to call the archers to shoot the horse down, but a hand closed about it, vast and impalpable. Instead she spoke in a flat tone of command:
"Wait. Wait and watch. Don't let anyone startle the beast."
She could feel their incredulity, but the moment stretched, tighter and tighter like a rope hauling up some great weight, the only sound the very faint creak of the bowstaves. The honed razor edge of the broadheads glinted at the corner of her vision, etched with death.
"Epona," Rudi said, and his voice was like the wind itself. "Epona."
The horse shifted slightly, turning its head to watch him, small and unthreatening.
"Epona, you know me, my lady. You've always known me. From the days when we ran together in the country where the forever trees grow. I'm Artos."
Juniper felt a small electric jolt, flaring through the power points of her body. That's his Craft name! she thought; her own interior voice was infinitely distant, as if she was disconnected from her body, but she could feel everything so immediately, even the slight prickle of the plaid's wool against her neck above the brooch. Sweat ran down her flanks and slid into her eyes, although the day wasn't hot.
I haven't even told him his Craft name! Who did? Chuck heard at the Wiccanning, but he wouldn't tell "We know each other, lady. No fear, ever again. You know me."
Rudi took a single slow step forward, speaking in the voice of a harp, his small hands stroking the air to either side. Juniper felt as if those moments stretched into infinity, full of visions of the hooves hammering down on the small body, of the great square teeth sinking in and lifting him and shaking him like a rat. But the fear that choked her throat was nothing beside the greater power that held her motionless, as if a voice with the weight of worlds in it commanded.
Rudi spoke again: "Epona. We're together again, and it's all right."
The proud neck arched, the mare snuffling at his face and hair. Rudi stroked her nose, then ran a hand down her neck, eased the bit out of her mouth. He made a slight disgusted sound as he threw it down-it was a chain-curb with a barbed lever to press within-and breathed into her nose, urging her around until she was facing the sun over the Cascades.
Then he grabbed a handful of mane and vaulted onto the great animal's back, his legs clamping down on her barrel. The horse reared again, bugling a neigh, then came down with its forefeet stamping in the dust, raising puffs that drifted away like yellow-brown clouds.
"You're Epona!" Rudi said, and this time his voice sounded the way a trumpet might, if it was young and happy. "Epona and Artos. We run, but we don't run away 'cause we're scared. Wait!"
There was a single moment of electric tension, and then he clapped his heels to the mare's ribs and leaned forward over her neck. She shot ahead as if launched from a catapult, and the crowd at the corral's gate flung themselves flat. That was needless; the mare's hooves would have cleared their heads if they stood on tiptoe. She landed like dandelion fluff and pivoted down a lane between two paddocks full of draft oxen in the same motion, scattering folk to either side, and disappeared into the open fields beyond to the west, lifting over a hedge like a great black eagle. Boy and horse dwindled as he flew down the long meadows beside the Sutter River; from here they could see for miles into the valley, and they became a speck and then invisible faster than seemed possible.
Signe Havel came up beside her, milk white and trembling. "Oh, God, Juney, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me-"
She jarred to a halt as Juniper touched her on the sleeve and gave her one quick glance. "I don't have time to be angry now, Signe. And besides: I think I do know what came over you. Us."
The blond woman clasped a hand over her own mouth.
The crowd waited, spilling into the corral but leaving a space near the gate where Mike Havel stood like a statue.
When Rudi returned he sat with back erect and one hand on his hip, the other resting lightly on the curve of the arched neck; Epona's hooves struck the ground with a ringing sound, like the cymbals of a conqueror. She stood silently as Rudi flung a leg over her neck and slid to the ground and into Mike Havel's arms.