Yesterday's Kings (8 page)

“It is written,” Fendur said. “Decided by the gods and our king.”

Abra lost the voices for a while then, but could hear the faint shuffling of feet, and guessed that her father paced the room, as was his wont when he pondered weighty matters.

Then: “Is this why you’d see my daughter wed to Wyllym?”

“It should be better,” Fendur answered, “that all the Border keeps are bound together. Indeed, Wyllym’s brother is trothed to Saryn of Andar Keep.”

Abra heard laughter gust up the chimney as her father said, “She’ll eat that little squit alive. The gods know, but she’ll make him dance, and throw him out.”

“Perhaps, but the keeps will be bound by marriage and loyalty. As would you be if—”

“I told you!” Abra heard her father’s voice ring loud and angry. “That shall be her decision. Not mine or yours; neither the king’s nor the Church’s—only hers!”

There was a long silence then, before Fendur said, “So where shall you stand when the blades are drawn?”

“On Kandar’s side,” her father answered. “And now this discussion is ended. I shall find my bed and think on what you’ve said.”

“I trust,” Abra heard the priest say, “that you shall make the right decision.”

There was shuffling then, and a loud slamming of doors. Abra withdrew from the fireplace to brush soot from her hair and pour another glass of wine as she considered all she’d heard.

There was much to ponder, and outside her windows the night was very black. She emptied the glass and climbed into bed, wondering about her future. Wondering about Kandar’s future.

C
ULLYN SET THE TWO BUTCHERED DEER
on his cart and started off for Lyth. He was determined that this time he would come back with a horse. He’d not wait for the Summer Horse Fair, but buy one now—even did it cost him more.

He reached the village and dragged his cart into the yard of the Golden Goat, where both Martia and Andrias met him with surprise.

“Two, you said, eh? And here they are!” He dropped the straps as they stared at him. “Now find me a horse.”

“Now?” Andrias asked.

Cullyn nodded.

“Eat first,” Martia suggested.

“And let’s talk,” said Andrias.

He went inside the hostelry to encounter Elvira’s … he was not sure whether it was smile or scowl. But he grinned at her and took the mug Andrias offered, and felt pleased with himself. After all, he had brought in the two deer Andrias had said would purchase him the horse. And he might see Abra again.

He drank the ale thirstily, then settled at a table to which Martia brought a venison pie.

“Yours,” she said, “cooked of what you brought us before.”

He smiled and waited for Elvira to bring another mug.

When she did she was not so friendly. She set the cup before him and stood waiting until he asked, “Shall I … see you tonight?”

“I don’t know.” She set hands on hips and tossed back her blond curls. “I’ve other friends.”

“I thought …”he said, and shook his head. “I don’t understand this.”

She said, “No, you don’t,” and walked away.

He called after her, remembering the pleasure they’d found, but she ignored him, so he ate his meal and drank his ale, thinking that he did not understand women. And when he was done, he found Andrias to ask about the horse.

“It’ll take all you’ve saved with me,” Andrias said, “but it’s a fine mount. And Jordia will throw in all the trappings, but you’d still be better off to wait for the Horse Fair. It’s not the friendliest of animals. Indeed—”

“Just show me,” Cullyn grunted. He felt excited at the prospect of buying a horse, but also disappointed by Elvira’s rejection. He wanted to get out of Lyth as quickly as possible. Save that staying might catch him another sight of Abra—for whatever that was worth.

Andrias shrugged. “Come look at it, then. I’ll let Jordia tell you about it.”

They went down through the narrow streets of Lyth to the stable, where a gray-haired woman greeted them and looked Cullyn up and down before she looked at Andrias and said, “He might be able to handle the bastard.”

Andrias said, “If anyone can. He’d not listen to me.”

Cullyn wondered what was wrong with the horse.

“Well, let’s see.” Jordia grinned at him. “Perhaps he can manage the beast. And at least it’s cheap.”

Her face was as nut-brown as Lofantyl’s, and massively lined, but she walked with a fine stride, skirts swinging over wide hips with a vigor that belied her obvious age. Her arms were muscled from handling the horses.

She took them to a stall at the end of the stable, where a tall, black horse stood, stamping its feet. It rolled its eyes when it saw them, and bared its teeth.

“Why should he be cheap?” Cullyn asked. “He’s superb.”

“He killed his last owner,” Jordia said. “Stamped him to death. I was going to sell him for meat until Andrias spoke to me.”

Cullyn stared at the horse. It was big as any hunter out of the keep, and sleekly black as midnight. It flashed its teeth as he watched, and rose up to paw its fore hooves at the watchers.

Andrias said, “You’d be better to wait for the Horse Fair.”

And Jordia added, “He’s a killer.”

Cullyn stared at the splendid beast and said, “How much?”

Jordia quoted a price and Cullyn shook her hand.

“That,” Andrias said, “includes the tack, no?”

“And well rid of it,” said Jordia. “It’s bloodstained from the last owner.”

Without further ado, Cullyn swung up onto the stable’s gate and dropped into the stall. He ducked as the stallion snapped its teeth, avoiding the vicious bite, and then again as hooves swung toward his skull. He turned aside as the hind legs kicked at him, and jumped to grab an ear, and bit it and hung on as the horse struggled. He held his teeth firm in the ear as he settled one hand under
the snapping jaw and the other in the mane and struggled to force the beast down. It snorted and bucked, but then fell over so that he could hold it, lying across its neck as he whispered to it.

“I’m your friend,” he murmured. “I’ll take you out of here to places you can run free. Believe me, eh?”

After a while the horse calmed, and Cullyn let it loose to rise, and when it did, it looked at him and ducked its head, and let him stroke its neck.

“I never thought to see that,” Jordia said, amazement in her voice. “Has he fey blood?”

“He’s an odd fellow,” Andrias replied, grinning. “But he’s got a way with him.”

“For sure.” Jordia brought a saddle and bridle from her tack room. “You know how to ride?”

Cullyn said, “I’ll learn.”

T
HEY LED THE BIG BLACK STALLION
back to the stables of the Golden Goat, where Cullyn fed him oats and saw him watered and settled. Andrias watched in amazement as the horse ate from Cullyn’s hand.

“He killed his last owner,” the landlord said. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

“No.” Cullyn shook his head. “I think his last owner didn’t understand him.”

“Even so.”

“You brought me to him.”

“You were anxious for a horse.”

Cullyn said, “Aye, and now I’ve got one. Even better than the keep’s.”

“If he doesn’t kill you.”

Cullyn laughed, rubbing the horse’s nose. “He’ll not—trust me.”

“What shall you call him?”

Cullyn thought a moment, then said, “Fey.”

“Fey?” Andrias stared at him. “What kind of name is that?”

“The one I want to give him,” Cullyn said.

“Perhaps it is like they say.” Andrias shook his head. “You are crazy.”

“Perhaps.” Cullyn stroked the sleek neck and Fey nuzzled his face. “Who cares?”

“Folk in Lyth,” Andrias said. “They wonder about you.”

“Let them wonder.” Cullyn was altogether too happy with his horse to worry about mankind’s concerns. “Do they not like it, let them come tell me.”

“Someday,” Andrias warned, “they might.”

Cullyn shrugged. “So be it, and do they find me, I’ll answer them. But now …” He stroked his magnificent new horse again. “Let’s celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” Andrias frowned. “Have you so much coin left?”

Cullyn shook his head. “No, but I thought you might …”

“Another deer,” Andrias said.

And Cullyn said, “A deal.”

They went back into the tavern, where Martia met them with a worried expression. “You didn’t … He didn’t …”

Andrias shrugged. “He did—he liked the beast.”

Martia frowned, angry with her husband, and turned to Cullyn. “He’s a killer. Why don’t you wait for the Horse Fair?”

“I like him,” Cullyn said. “And I think he likes me. Anyway, he’s mine now.”

Martia sighed, clutching a moment at his shoulder. “I
just pray he doesn’t kill you.” Then an ominous glance at her husband. “And if he does, someone else shall suffer.”

“So be it,” Andrias declared. “But I’ll tell you that if anyone can handle that beast, it’s our Cullyn. Now, let’s celebrate his purchase.”

They drank well, and ate better, and as the inn closed Cullyn felt wrapped in the comfort of good friends, and—as before—more than a little merry. Indeed, when he rose, he watched the room revolve slowly around him, and had to clutch at a chair to stay on his feet. He looked for Elvira, anticipating, but she was nowhere in sight. And when he asked, Martia said, “She’s gone with a friend,” and Andrias clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I doubt you’d be up to her this night. Best find your bed and sleep, eh?”

Cullyn felt disappointed and relieved at the same time. He swayed a while until Andrias set a hand on his shoulder and helped him to his chamber, where he collapsed onto the bed and fell instantly into troubled sleep.

He dreamed of Elvira, and of Fey, and Lofantyl, and Abra, and they were all mixed up together in confusions that had him tossing and turning, so that he wrapped the sheets around himself and thought he was entrapped. And at some point in the long night he vomited into the chamber pot, and then slept more peacefully until dawn and the stirring of the inn woke him.

His head ached then, and the sun coming in through the windows hurt his eyes; his mouth was parched, but he’d drunk all the water in the room, which now stank of his vomit. So he struggled into his clothes and went, embarrassed, to the yard, where he ducked his head under the well pump and swallowed copious mouthfuls of fresh water.

The sun was not long up, but at this time of year it
already filled the sky with light, and birds chorused a welcome that sent splintery shards of sound through Cullyn’s head. The clanging of the kitchen pots did him no good, and it was worse when he saw Elvira emerge from the kitchen.

Her hair was tousled, and she smiled when she saw him.

“You slept well?”

He shook his head—and wished he’d not. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish …”

“You lost your chance,” she told him.

“But … perhaps … I hoped …”

She looked him in the eyes. “I’d have been with you, had you not been more interested in that horse.”

“I need a horse,” he said.

“And I need a husband, or someone to protect me. Do you think I want to live here all my life? Serving tables, and … well, the rest?”

Cullyn shook his head. “You could live with me.”

“In the forest?” She shook her head in turn. “No.”

It was what Martia and Andrias had told him, so he looked at her and gave up all his wonderings, and said, “Goodbye.”

Elvira nodded and bussed his cheek. “Goodbye,” she answered, and went back inside the tavern.

Cullyn went to the stables, where Fey met him with an anxious stare. The horse rolled its eyes as he approached its stall. The stallion’s ears flattened and its lips came back off big teeth. Cullyn leaned against the bars, murmuring softly, and after a while the horse calmed and stretched out its head so that he might stroke it. He breathed into the velvet nostrils, and rubbed at the muscled neck. He felt a kinship with this wild horse.

He saw the grain basket filled and went into the inn, where Martia served him breakfast, and Andrias asked when he might deliver the promised deer.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Another month? Perhaps sooner.”

He could see Elvira serving a merchant, who smiled at her and touched her in a familiar way, and wondered if he felt jealous.