“Then she will,” Kellen said firmly. “The Elves honor their allies, and if you told Nemermet that Tinsin was your responsibility, he’d take that very seriously.”
“Oh,” Cilarnen said. He seemed to relax a little. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Be sure,” Kellen said seriously. “Don’t ever call an Elf a liar. Don’t even think it.”
They walked out into the herd. Kellen stopped to pat familiar friends, looking for Firareth. He should be with the nearer herd, those who still had riders.
“They’re all so beautiful,” Cilarnen said longingly.
“Elven-bred, from the Fields of Vardirvoshan, and trained for war,” Kellen said. “We should be able to find you something faster than a mule—you’ll need it, to keep up with the army when it’s on the move. How well do you ride?”
“Better than you do,” Cilarnen said smugly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE YOUNG BLACK stallion was yet unpartnered. By the time Kellen had brought in Firareth and saddled him, Anganil had been brought to the horse-lines, and his gear had been brought from storage. He wore no armor, and his saddle-trappings were now all in white.
By the time Anganil was saddled, they’d collected something of an audience. Kellen supposed it wasn’t very nice of him to set Cilarnen up for a quick flight into a snowbank—but Leaf and Star, the boy needed to stop making so many assumptions!
“He’s war-trained,” Kellen warned, swinging into his saddle. “He’s young, and he hasn’t been ridden for a while. If he likes you, and you can stay in the saddle, he’s yours to ride for as long as you’re with the army.”
He felt safe in making that much of a promise, especially since Cilarnen’s possession of Anganil wasn’t likely to extend much beyond the next five minutes. After that, they could find him something he
He tried not to think of Ciltesse, who had chosen Anganil, hoping Kellen would ride him. Ciltesse would have enjoyed this moment very much. Or been appalled by it.
But apparently Cilarnen did know something about horses. He took the time to make friends with the stallion, stroking his nose and speaking gently to him. Kellen offered him a piece of honey-cake, and Cilarnen fed Anganil the sticky-sweet morsel.
So far, so good.
When Anganil had accepted his presence, Cilarnen quickly mounted. The stallion held perfectly still, merely lifting one hind hoof and setting it down again.
Once they’d ridden away from camp, however, it was a different story. It was just as well that Cilarnen was—as he’d claimed—a good horseman—as Anganil was fresh, playful… and very, very bored.
After the third time the stallion plunged sidewise in feigned panic at a swirl of wind-drifted snow, Kellen said, “You’d better give him a run before he really starts playing up. Come on.”
He spurred Firareth into a canter, then a gallop. Anganil was only too happy to follow.
Kellen figured they’d probably have time for a good gallop up to the end of the camp and back. In the distance, he could see others taking advantage of the rest and the comparatively good weather; there were teams of draft mules out, clearing a level practice field for the cavalry units to drill on later, and groups of Elves were even building the elaborate and mysterious snow-sculptures he’d seen back in Sentarshadeen after the first heavy snowfall.
Anganil overtook Firareth, and Kellen let him. Cilarnen still seemed to be in control, but Kellen could tell he was having to work for it.
