Commandment (26 page)

The clerk hustled over to the neighboring gate. He fidgeted with the latch, pushing with all his might. He then paused, scratched his head, and began pulling at the bar instead. It slid effortlessly open. The clerk wasn’t even familiar with how the stable doors opened! The Acaanan surmised that these manual duties strayed far from his normal daily bookkeeping.

As the clerk disappeared inside the stall, Lakif shuffled nervously and scanned for other employees.

“A moment of courage,” Torkoth whispered under his breath. The Half-man’s sang-froid dampened the Acaanan’s fears only slightly.

A minute later the clerk emerged from the stable, leading a horse by the reins. Lakif receded in awe as the beast stamped out. It was much larger than she had imagined. As it lobbed forth, Lakif felt that indeed she was marveling at some mythical creature.

“This one is freshly washed. She is saddled, but can be fixed for the carriage readily.” The clerk patted the mare’s alabaster flank. He then called to a stable hand to bring out a second steed.

“How is she called?” The Half-man questioned.

“Her name is Crown.”

“Most excellent.” Lakif nodded her stamp of approval. She fought against a sinking feeling in her stomach. Crown was truly a mammoth mare. Faced with the beast, Lakif knew any horsemanship she could manage would not be up to snuff. She wanted to reach out and stroke the silky mane but feared that the mare would rile at the gesture. A memory flashed through her mind—that of a dream woman filling a leaky vessel in Dantillion’s Wares. An upstart horse had splattered her husband’s head all over the stable.

Rather than touch the steed, she slowly held out her open palm so that it could see it was empty. Crown lowered her head, and Lakif thought she was actually bowing before her, as if ready to receive an actual crown. But the beast’s snout veered toward the Acaanan as if following some olfactory trail. It came to pause at her chest, where it began snorting. Just under the spot, her Stone was stashed in an inner pocket.

“You must have an apple in there,” the clerk announced. “Crown has a nose for such fruit.”

Moments later, a stable hand led forth another horse. This one was bay colored. Seeing the second requisite steed, Lakif began to feel that their plan was so full of chutzpah that it just may succeed.

This particular horse was noticeably smaller than Crown and therefore, from the Acaanan’s point of view, all the less intimidating. Lakif found herself stroking its dense mane.

“He will do splendidly,” Lakif assured the clerk.

“Care you not to learn his name as well?” the fellow asked.

“Yes, of course.” Lakif placed her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up. The steed accommodated her weight easily. Swaying unsteadily in the saddle, she looked over to the Half-man, waiting for the fateful mark.

Lakif realized that the clerk was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear a word, for her heart was tattooing against a stomach which squirmed like a bag of worms. Of course, she had no interest in the horse’s colorful name. As far as she was concerned, any horse that could ride out on its own power fit the bill.

“What of that horse there?” Torkoth pointed to the first stable and its occupants.

“He is reserved for another trip.”

“She seems perfect, don’t you think?” Torkoth asked the Acaanan.

“I would say so. Bring her out.” Lakif’s voice was scratchy. Her mouth had dried up with nervousness.

At the clerk’s hesitation, Lakif added. “My liege would appreciate it.”

As hoped, the mere mention of the master Kulthean was enough to jar the clerk into action.

“I suppose under the circumstances…” With a whistle, he motioned to the stable hand. A moment later the youth emerged, leading the horse by the bridle. Its maroon mane was peppered with black spots. Fortuitously, it too was fully saddled.

“We’ll take her,” Torkoth added.

“Which?” The clerk looked puzzled.

“All of them,” he replied. Torkoth reached for Crown’s reins, and the mare retreated nervously. The skittish horse seemed to sense that something was amiss. Lakif shot her earth-bound companion a pregnant glance to relay her readiness, all the while struggling to stifle a plunging feeling in the pit of her belly

“The carriage fits only two,” the clerk corrected them.

On cue, Torkoth abruptly spun around and vaulted up into Crowns’ saddle. No sooner had he grabbed the reigns than the mare reared up on haunches with a screeching whinny. Torkoth’s artful move had utterly spooked the creature, and she reacted by flailing her hooves wildly. The violent force of the reaction was nearly enough to topple the Half-man to the flagging.

Lakif’s own mare sidled with agitation. It was perhaps even more skittish than the Acaanan. Instinctively, Lakif gripped the reigns tighter, fearing that Crown’s agitation would ignite her own steed into a similar revolt.

“What are you doing?” The clerk reached up to snare Crown’s reigns, but the mare was well beyond control. A hoof hammered out. It struck the fretting fellow in the shoulder. Although a glancing blow, it sent him spinning to the ground.

Torkoth’s heels pounded into Crown’s flanks, and she vaulted forward. In passing, he slapped the third steed on the flank. It jumped into line with its upstart neighbor. Crown’s rebellious spirit was contagious. As Crown and her rider raced past, Lakif’s own horse erupted to life and lunged forward as well. The Acaanan nearly rolled over backward as the beast exploded forth.

In a breath, the steeds bolted across the yard and into the connecting hall. As they careened down the lane, Lakif’s brief life flashed before her eyes. Her steed, caught in Crown’s spell, was completely refractory to control. Even a skilled rider would have been hard-pressed to curb the froward animal. Lakif, who had never once even seen a saddle, let alone ride in one, could do naught but hold on for dear life.

Seconds later, they were barreling through the main yard. Cries rose up but were lost in the heavy staccato of hoofbeats that ricocheted around the yard. The Acaanan’s only clue to the consternation came from these shouts, for all she could glean was a blur of frenzied activity. Astonished patrons mouthed squeals as they dashed for cover, lest they be trampled into bloody muck under the bolting colts. Other cries of alarm came from wide-eyed, incredulous employees. Only one specific image was stamped firmly in Lakif’s mind—the steamed countenance of the manager shaking a mallet-sized fist. But in an instant she was gone, left far behind. Lakif didn’t glimpse their
liege
. Hopefully, Bael had found a reason to step out of the Arachna before the heist.

As they burst through the entry gate, Lakif dared throw a glimpse toward the Half-man. His mare was racing alongside her own horse’s flank, a virtual white ray through the darkened hall. A second later, his horse bounded from the gloom of the entry hall into the morning light. A flash of light lanced across Torkoth’s eyes as they collided sharply with the day. His mouth was wide, as if frozen in the midst of a shout. Lakif was stunned at his look of resolve. It was the mask of a seasoned rider, faithful and true to the saddle. He was leaning forward, holding his sword out at arm’s length before his gaping mouth.

A gust of wind blasted the riders at their sudden entrance into the avenue. The wind sent the Half-man’s crimson hair flailing around like dancing flames.

A thin crowd populated the avenue at this early hour. As they burst onto the fare, the crowd scattered like pigeons. No sooner had they alighted on the street than Crown veered to the right. Lakif couldn’t discern if this was simply the mare’s whim or due to the coaxing of its intrepid master.

As the steed wheeled away, Lakif groped for the reigns but couldn’t capture them. Her steed’s heaving flanks sent the cords into a constant dance, forever leaping from her grasping fingers. Fortunately, her horse changed directions as well, as if magnetically compelled to follow its raging sister. Completely at the mercy of its wild temperament, Lakif’s only goal was to hug tightly lest she be thrown off. At this speed, a fall would splinter her skeleton.

A heartbeat later, the Acaanan leaned to the side, narrowly averting decapitation as the horse charged under a post.

Torkoth was waving his sword before him as if shooing away imps from a strung-up criminal. Although the avenue was witness to some amount of traffic, there was little danger of them trampling any pedestrian. The crowd parted in magical confusion before them. Most cleaved to the sidelines for safety. Those caught directly in the middle of the avenue, and thus directly in the path of the rampaging stallions, literally dove for cover.

Lakif had never suspected the phlegmatic populace of Grimpkin capable of such lightning-speed reactions. Based on their flight, Lakif would have imagined that the pedestrians were seeing a dragon roaring down the gallery rather than a pair of mounted riders.

Moments later, a staircase appeared. Ahead, the spitfire leader disappeared down the steps. The last thing Lakif saw was Torkoth’s sword flailing above his head. The Acaanan closed her eyes as her steed followed Crown down. For a brief moment, her whole body literally hovered above the beast as it plunged. If not for one hand gripping the mane, she would have sailed away. All the air was forced from her lungs when she collided with its back. As the mount charged down the stairs, Lakif felt that her teeth would jar from her mouth. She didn’t hazard to open her eyes lest they too would be wrestled from their sockets by the repeated shocks.

A
S THE HORSE LURCHED TO A HALT
, L
AKIF SLUMPED FORWARD.
S
HE WAS TOO
numb to even groan. Although her body was paralyzed, her heart raced against the heaving flank. She couldn’t even open her eyes; fear had welded them shut.

Water was dripping somewhere nearby. It could have been from an open pipe or sweat beading off her brow. Burying her face in the mane, she faintly mouthed a saving prayer at having survived the breakneck dash.

While at first she thought she couldn’t move, she realized that instead she was resisting movement. In fact, she was afraid to stir, fearing that to do so would alert her to a missing piece of her body, lost in the plangent escape.

At length, she dared to crack an eyelid. Her breath curled out before her, frozen by a deep chill. The steed’s coat glistened with cool perspiration.

The ground below was a broken collection of stones. It was so heterogeneous that Lakif suspected it was in fact a work of art, a broken collage gathered from all across the city. Gray weeds broke through the cracks.

Eventually, she marshaled the courage to look up. The horse had stalled in a desolate stretch of alley lost in the Old City. In the distance, three figures stood huddled around a burning trash bin. Their hands were buried deep into their pockets, and high collars were pulled up to ward off the cold. They watched her curiously with beaten eyes. Several puddles dotted the crooked ground, their surfaces glimmering into a mirror shine with reflected firelight. Her own steed was lapping up water from one of them. Some sort of rodent was rummaging through a pile of garbage nearby.

The sweat that caked her brow froze with the dipping temperature. She tried releasing the reins, but it proved difficult to extend her curled fingers. Terror had locked them into position. Slowly they uncurled one by one, and she found her hands gooey with sweat.

Ever so carefully she dismounted, fearful that any abrupt movement would fire the horse back into its mania. With both feet earth-bound, she sighed with relief. Her legs wobbled underneath; they were barely able to support her weight. Furthermore, her groin throbbed from countless collisions with the saddle’s horn. With a sullen moan she lurched to the side and slumped against a broken wall for support, cradling her aching crotch.

At length, the coarse clatter of hooves drew her eye across the alley. Crown was grazing there. The mare’s head was bent low, and she was munching on a few hairy weeds ringing a pillar. Her flanks weren’t even heaving! The alabaster mare looked like a unicorn in the umbrage of the alley. She was now perfectly calm, a demeanor quite at odds with her hellion outburst. What had overcome Crown? Had she been thrown into temporary insanity or possessed by some renegade spirit? If so, the berserker demon had been routed.

Torkoth was still mounted. He was cupping his hand under a shower of water that dripped down from overhead. He leaned forward so that water spattered against his brow.

As he looked up, something drifted down from his head. Lakif noticed that numerous light blue petals were interwoven into his hair. They resembled little delicate jewels set on his red mossy locks. How the petals had been attracted to his mane was anyone’s guess. From their distribution, it seemed that he had charged through the sagging branches of a garlanded tree. But there were no trees within the avenues that the Acaanan could remember. Perhaps a potted plant had fallen on his head or had been hurled down by an irate citizen. Then an image flashed in the Acaanan’s mind. The memory of one pedestrian, armed with a posy of flowers for his lover, appearing directly in their path. At first the dandy had frozen in place, paralyzed at the sight of the Half-man’s charge. A second later he was diving for safety, literally throwing the flowers into the air. The petals cleaved to his mane as the Half-man burst through the bouquet.

A shattering puddle alerted Lakif to the third horse. It was in the offing, shifting lazily.

“Where are we?” Torkoth asked, shaking his head violently to dislodge the lavender crowns. The petals flowered out like an explosion of fireworks and drifted to the earth.

Lakif shook her head. How long had they raced through the Old City? It seemed that the thunderous sprint hadn’t lasted long, but with its lightning pace they could have reached the adjacent Circle Station. She realized that she should secure her own steed, which was freely grazing now, as well as the third. Should the horses become spooked and bolt again, they would be short their end of the bargain after all.