Taste of Lightning (11 page)

‘You want to take Penthesi?' Tansy's eyes lit up, but she shook her head. ‘He's the King's own hunter.'

‘So he's the best.' Perrin stepped close to the hedge and sang out softly to the horses, a lilting call. The black stallion turned his head, and one by one the other horses pricked up their ears. Perrin held out his hand, singing. Tansy stared at him sharply. Skir had wrapped his arms around his body, his eyes fixed nervously on the horses. They were an awful lot bigger than the ponies he was used to.

The stallion trotted up to the hedge, his tail swishing like a black flag, and whinnied at Perrin.

‘Penthesi,' whispered Tansy. ‘Curious as a kitten, Ingle says.' She held out her hand and the horse snuffled at her palm. ‘I ain't got nothing for you now. But you'll get a treat later, I promise –' She reached up and stroked the velvety nose of the big animal.

The chestnut mare had followed Penthesi, and she craned her head over the hedge, staring at the three visitors with a rolling liquid eye.

Skir took an involuntary step backward, acutely conscious of the sheer size of the horses, their strong smell, the power of the muscled bodies that seemed barely contained by horsehide. He touched Tansy's shoulder. ‘Someone's coming down the lane.'

‘Time to go,' said Perrin briskly, and he scrambled clumsily over the low hedge, holding his injured hand close to his chest. He sang something, and the two nearest horses, Sedge and Penthesi, bent their front legs and kneeled in the grass.

Skir said to Tansy in sudden panic, ‘I can't do this.'

‘I'll help you. Come on, we gotta hurry.' She boosted him over the thorns and clambered over herself. Perrin had a hand on Penthesi's mane, but Tansy elbowed him aside. ‘I better take Penthesi. He knows me, see. You take Sedge, she won't hurt you. Come on, Skir, get on behind me and hang on tight.'

Skir climbed onto the wide, slippery expanse of the big horse's back, clinging to Tansy for balance, and the stallion swayed and majestically rose, higher and higher, impossibly high. Skir moaned a little and shut his eyes as they trotted up the field toward the gate. Tansy crouched low on Penthesi's neck; Skir pressed himself hard against her. Perrin was just behind them, leaning lopsided over the chestnut mare's neck, one hand wound tight in the mane, his lips moving. The two horses broke into a canter as they approached the gate.

Then in a smooth, gathered movement, they leaped, and the next instant they were thundering down the lane. Skir's eyes flew open as the stallion jumped, and he glimpsed a blurred figure by the hedge, waving a cap, mouth open in an impotent shout.

Tansy headed them back to the cover of the woods, and slowed the big stallion to a trot.

‘Was that old Ingle yelling at us?' Skir dodged a branch as they bumped along. ‘He knows me.'

Tansy turned her head, one hand twined in Penthesi's mane. ‘Ingle likes me. Maybe he won't tell.'

But even as she spoke, they heard the horns ring out. Ingle must have reported the theft of two of the King's horses to the Palace guard, but even Skir was surprised at the speed of their response.

‘Doesn't like you as much as you think,' panted Perrin as he fought for balance on Sedge's back. They were near the edge of the woods now.

‘Hold tight, Skir!' cried Tansy. ‘Time for a gallop.'

‘Aren't we already –' jerked out Skir in alarm, but then Tansy leaned over the horse's neck and urged it from a trot into a canter, and then a gallop. Skir fell forward and wrapped his arms even tighter around her waist; at any other time he would have enjoyed wrapping his arms round Tansy, but he was jolting too hard to even think about it.

They broke from the cover of the trees and the horses' hoofs thundered across soft turf. The shallow hills of southern Baltimar rolled gently away like the billows of a green sea, as far as the horizon. And Tansy was whooping – cheering! With the Baltimaran Army on their heels! Skir could just hear Perrin's slight chuckle as he encouraged his mare into a gallop, leaning low and holding hard with his one good hand.

And now they flew. The strong muscled machine of the black horse gathered power beneath them, and the ground blurred; the drumbeat of hoofs rang in Skir's head and vibrated through his body, and all he could do was hang on.

The hot summer sun rose higher on their right-hand side, turning the dull green hills to warm gold with lakes of shadow between, and the horses galloped, strong and free, even with the weight on their backs, glad to run, as if they knew that even the Baltimaran Army could never catch them.

CHAPTER 7

Widow's Cliff

THAT first day, it was like a glorious game to Tansy. She'd loved to play hide-and-seek, and hunt-the-bear, with her brothers when she was small: the breathless mix of terror and excitement as she peered out to see if it was safe to dash home, the glee when she outwitted the seekers. This was even better. The blood sang in her veins. For the first time since she'd come to Arvestel, she felt fully alive.

It was wonderful to be out in the open country. All around Arvestel were the Royal Farms, with low stone walls between the neat green meadows and pale yellow fields of ripening wheat. Copses of spander trees and birch were dotted here and there, and creeks tumbled down the gentle hills.

The two horses knew this country well; the Royal Hunt ranged across these farms. Penthesi and Sedge flew from one sheltering grove to the next, leaping the creeks and the low walls, always ahead of the slower, heavier horses of the Palace guards, but never quite shaking them off. Even the fact that they were the prey, not the hunters, couldn't spoil the wild joy of the chase. Tansy had always admired Penthesi from a respectful distance, but now she fell in love with him.

Her eyes shone as she urged Penthesi onward. Behind her, Skir clutched her waist and groaned occasionally, but that didn't bother her – as long as he didn't fall off, he wasn't much of a hindrance. Penthesi galloped, strong and joyous, a storm cloud driven by the wind. The chestnut mare, Sedge, followed him faithfully, with the Gani balanced on her back; Tansy had to admit he wasn't a bad rider.

But even the King's hunters grew tired at last. Over short distances, nothing could catch them, but they weren't bred for endurance, and by nightfall both horses were drooping and lathered with sweat. They'd left the Royal Farms behind, crossed Well's Water at a flying leap and were headed east, through the rich valleys of Middle Baltimar. Tansy pulled Penthesi up in the shelter of a birch grove and let him gulp fresh water from a stream.

‘We ain't seen soldiers for a while. The horses need a rest.'

Perrin stretched. ‘Excellent idea. I vote for an inn, a square meal and a soft bed.'

‘We ain't even a day's ride from Arvestel!' said Tansy.

Perrin pulled a mocking face. ‘It was a joke, sweetheart.'

The tips of Tansy's ears turned red, and Perrin grinned. ‘There's a barn over there. Not as comfortable as an inn, but more suitable for fugitives.'

Tansy glanced at the shadowy shape on the hillside. ‘You go and scout, Gani. Ain't you soldiers trained for that kind of thing?'

‘But he's wounded,' said Skir.

‘I'm all right,' said Perrin. Indeed, he and Tansy seemed as alert and excited as each other. He slipped from Sedge's back and skulked along the hedgerow that snaked across the top of the ridge.

Skir said anxiously, ‘His name's Perrin.'

‘I know what his name is.'

‘Well, you can't keep calling him
Gani
. It's offensive.'

Tansy snorted. ‘Then you tell
him
I ain't his sweetheart.'

Skir unclasped himself and half-slid, half-fell from the great height of Penthesi's back. Penthesi turned his head and blew mildly through his nostrils, as if pleased to be rid of an annoying beetle. Skir knelt by the stream and slurped up water. His arms and legs were shaking; he'd never been so exhausted. He felt as if every bone in his body had been crushed by a heavy roller, the insides of his thighs were raw, and his head throbbed. He could hear Tansy humming happily to the horses. Skir put his head down. In Arvestel, it would have been time for his bath, lemon-scented and steaming, and then into clean clothes for dinner: ginger broth with dumplings, roasted parsnips, honey pastries . . .

A twig cracked and Skir started backward. Perrin bared his teeth in a grin. ‘Settle down, Your Highness, it's only me. The barn's dry. Full of hay, and no one in sight. The farmhouse is down in the valley. A big place. There's a huge, steep cliff hanging over it like a wave about to break.'

‘Widow's Cliff,' murmured Skir.

‘What's that?' Perrin cupped his ear. ‘Speak up, young fellow.'

‘This must be Widow's Cliff. It's north-east of Arvestel. It's exactly the direction they'll expect us to go, straight for the border.' He glanced over his shoulder, shivering. In daylight they could see the soldiers coming. Now dusk had fallen, anyone could be out there, and they wouldn't know until it was too late. He wouldn't be able to run; he could barely stand upright. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if they took him home . . .

Skir had never thought of Arvestel as
home
before. He felt a stab of guilt. Home was Cragonlands, he told himself; Cragonlands, not Arvestel.

Tansy said briskly, ‘The horses'll catch a chill, sweating out here. Better get them under cover.' She slid neatly off Penthesi's back and patted him, crooning softly. The big horse lowered his head to nuzzle at her ear, and she laughed.

As soon as they were inside the barn with the doors safely shut, Tansy seized a handful of straw and began to rub Penthesi down, hissing between her teeth like the Palace grooms. ‘Better rub down Sedge, too,' she said over her shoulder to Perrin, but he was struggling to light a lamp with his left hand.

Skir made a feeble motion to grab some straw and copy her, but it hurt too much and after a moment he collapsed onto the hay.

Tansy shot him a look. ‘Hurts when you ain't used to it,' she said, kindly enough, but Skir felt the scorch of her contempt more keenly than his sunburn.

Tansy finished with Penthesi and started on Sedge, who leaned into her and whickered gratefully. Both horses had begun munching on the hay as soon as it was within reach. ‘Starving, poor things,' murmured Tansy.

‘Whereas
we
are only mildly peckish,' muttered Perrin with a flint between his teeth. Tansy took the lamp away from him.

‘Shield it, so no one sees the light from outside,' he said.

‘I might be just a laundry-maid, but I ain't stupid. There, that's got it.'

Perrin lay back in the hay and grinned at her. ‘Temper, temper. You've caught yourself a fiery one here, Your Highness.'

Skir sat up. ‘I told you before, we're not . . . It's not like that.' He looked sideways at Tansy, half-hoping to be contradicted.

But Tansy scowled down at Perrin. ‘We told him plenty of times. If he ain't deaf, he must be thick in the head.' Perrin grinned cheerfully up at her and winked. She didn't see what he had to be so happy about, on the run, and all his soldier friends killed just the night before. It must be true then: the Ganis were just fighting machines, with no feelings at all. She kicked the hay close to his leg. ‘Hey, Gani. Last night, did you know there was boars in the woods?'

‘Yeah. We saw one. Yesterday – no, the day before.'

‘Then why didn't you use them? If the boars had charged the soldiers before they started shooting at us, we could all have got away easy.'

Perrin shrugged. ‘I didn't think of it.'

‘Used them?' said Skir.

Tansy turned back to Sedge, grooming with long, steady strokes. ‘You saw, in your room. He sent the dogs away. Just like he called Penthesi and Sedge to us in the Long Field. Didn't you hear him singing? He did some kind of magic.'

‘
Magic?
'

‘I charm animals.' Perrin yawned. ‘I sing to them, and they obey me.' He put his hands behind his head and sang a lazy, lilting tune. In unison, both horses swung to face him and began to nod their heads up and down.

‘Stop that!' flashed Tansy. ‘They ain't your
toys
.'

Perrin stopped.

Tansy's face was pale. ‘Don't
ever
do that again, you hear me! Ain't you got no respect? These horses got more brains and more . . . more heart than you could hope to have, Gani. If I ever catch you treating them like . . . like puppets you can play with, for your own
fun
, I'll knock your teeth clean out of your head. And don't think I won't.'

Perrin whistled softly and raised his left hand in a mock salute. ‘Yes
sir
!'

Tansy glared at him, then turned back to Sedge and murmured something. Penthesi snorted, and Sedge nuzzled Tansy's hand. Perrin watched them, a slight frown creasing his brow. The laundry-maid seemed to think that the animals were her friends.

While Perrin watched Tansy, Skir had been watching Perrin. He said sharply, ‘You're a chanter?'

‘That's what they call it in the Westlands.'

‘That's what they call it in Cragonlands, too.'

‘Oh? I didn't know there were chanters in Cragonlands.'

‘There's just one. Me.' Skir stared at him hard.

‘Really?' said Perrin politely. He sat up. ‘Plenty of sacks in here. They'll do for blankets. And there are always rats in a barn. Think we can risk a fire? I must say I prefer them cooked.'

‘I can't eat rats,' said Skir.

‘Either that or dine on hay like the horses, Your Worshipful Highness. What
do
they call you, in your kingdom?'

‘Just Skir will do. We're not in my kingdom now. I can't eat meat. It's forbidden for the priests of the Faith.'

‘Is that so? But as you just pointed out, you're not in your kingdom now. You'll be surprised what you can eat if you're hungry enough. After the Battle of the Falls – well, never mind. Let's just say, we would have been grateful for a nice juicy rat. Even a marmouse. You, Tansy? You're hungry, aren't you?'