Again, that unexpected smile. 'Then, if you would care to return with me, I believe we can agree to something mutually pleasing. Since you will be selling into the King's household, there will be no merchant taxes. And I think -- ' He gave the dapple's forehead a last scratch. ' -- I think perhaps that I shall keep this one out of his Majesty's sight. I have my pick of the King's stables, but only after he has taken his choice. It is a pity a mount this intelligent is also so beautiful.'
'Do you suppose you can come up with a distractor, Tarma?'
'Do I? I think so!' She led the dapple back into the pen, and walked into the center of the herd to bring out the one horse of the lot that was mostly show and little substance -- a lovely gelding with a coat of gold, a mane and tail of molten silver, and without a jot of brains in that beautiful head. Fortunately, he was reasonably even of temper as well as being utterly gentle, or there'd have been no handling him.
He'd been included in the lot sent to the Sunhawks although if he'd had a bit less in the way of good looks he'd have been counted a cull. Tarma had gotten the notion that Idra might like a parade-mount, and had asked her people to be on the look-out for a truly impressive beast of good temper; for parade, brains didn't matter. You couldn't have told his beauty though, except by his lines and the way he carried himself. That was because he was filthy from rolling in the dust -- which he insisted on doing when any opportunity presented itself.
Tarma went to work on him with brushes, as he sighed and leaned into the strokes. He was dreadfully vain, and he loved being groomed. Tarma almost suspected him of dust-rolling on purpose, just so he'd get groomed more often. As the silver and gold began to emerge from under the dirt, the Horsemaster exclaimed in surprise. When Tarma was done, and paraded the horse before him, he smacked his fist into his palm in glee.
'By the gods! One look at him and his Majesty won't give a bean for the gray! I thank you, my ladies,' he bowed slightly to both Kethry and her partner, 'and let us conclude this business as quickly as may be! I won't be easy until these beauties are safely in the Royal Stables.'
As he and Kethry returned the way they had come, Tarma turned the gold loose in the stockade -- where he promptly went to his knees and wallowed in the dirt.
'You,' she laughed at him, 'are hopeless!'
By twilight they were installed, bag and baggage, in the Palace, in one of the suites reserved for minor foreign dignitaries.
It had all happened so fast that Tarma was still looking a little bemused. Kethry, who knew just how quickly high-ranking courtiers could get things accomplished when they wanted to exert themselves, had been a bit less surprised.
She and the Master of Horse had concluded their bargain in fairly short order -- and to her satisfaction, it had been at his suggestion that Tarma was retained for continued training. No sooner had a price been settled on and a writ made out to a reputable goldsmith, than a stream of thirty grooms and stable hands had been sent to walk the horses from the corral at the stockyard to the Royal Stables, each horse to have its own handler. The Horsemaster was taking no chances on accident or injury.
When Kethry returned to the inn, there were already three porters waiting for her orders, all in the Royal livery. They were none too sure of themselves; Tarma (still in her barbarian persona) had refused them entrance to the suite, and was guarding the door as much with her scowl as her drawn sword.
They allowed the porters to carry away most of their belongings, the ones that didn't matter, like some of that elaborate clothing. Tarma's armor and weaponry (including a few nasty little surprises she definitely did not want anyone to know about), Need, their trail gear, and the few physical supplies Kethry needed for her magecraft they brought themselves, in sealed saddlebags. They rode Hellsbane and Ironheart; Kethry had no intention of chancing accidents with a trained battlemare. 'Accidents' involving a Shin'a'in warsteed generally ended up in broken bones -- and not the horse's.
More obsequious servants met them once the mares were safely stabled, and again, Kethry made it plain to the stable crew that only Tarma was to handle their personal horses. To enforce that, they left Warrl with the mounts, provided with his own stall between the ones supplied to the two mares. One look at the kyree was all it took to convince the stablehands that they did not wish to rouse the beast's ire. That was where Tarma and Kethry left their real gear, the things they would truly need if they had to cut and run, and between Warrl and the horses, it would be worth a person's life to touch it.
But as they crossed the threshold of the Palace, a curious chill had settled over Kethry, a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. Her good humor and faint amusement had vanished. The Palace seemed built of secrets -- dark secrets. Their mission suddenly took on an ominous feeling.
The suite, consisting of a private bathing room, two bedrooms, and an outer public room, all opulently furnished in dark wood and amber velvet, had been a good indication that their putative status was fairly high. The two personal servants assigned to them, in addition to the regular staff, had told them that they ranked somewhere in the 'minor envoy' range. This was close to perfect: Kethry would be able to move about the Court fairly freely.
Now Tarma was immersed to her neck in a hot bath; Kethry had already had hers, and was dressing in her most impressive outfit for there would be a formal reception for them in an hour.
