sent back a wordless surge of affection.
It was true enough, he thought, and it worked both ways. Besides-he chuckled at the thought-Gayrfressa was probably the only creature on earth who was even stubborner than Walsharno.
‹ Probably the only four-footed creature, at any rate,› Walsharno observed dryly.
‹ And aren’t you just the most humorous fellow this morning? › Bahzell replied, and heard Walsharno’s silent laughter in his brain.
“I’ll allow as that’s a fair enough way to describe her,” he told Brandark out loud. “Still, I’m thinking there might be just a mite more to it than usual this time. She’s not given Walsharno so much as a hint as to why she’s come, and it’s pikestaff plain she’s something on her mind. Aye, and it’s something as has her amused clean down to her hoofs.”
“Chesmirsa!” Brandark rolled his eyes. “Something a courser thinks is funny? I wonder-if I start running now, do you think I can get out of range in time?”
‹ No,› Walsharno said as the gate tower’s shadow reached out to claim them and the gate guard came to attention. ‹ Not if Gayrfressa thinks it’s funny.›
Bahzell swung down from Walsharno’s saddle in the stable yard. Over the years, he’d actually learned to do that gracefully, despite both Walsharno’s height and the traditional Horse Stealer lack of familiarity with horses large enough to bear their weight. In fact, he looked quite improbably graceful for someone his size, if the truth be known.
He reached up to pat Walsharno on the shoulder, and the stallion bent his lordly head to lip his companion’s hair affectionately, as Doram Greenslope came out to personally greet them.
“Welcome home, Prince Bahzell! Walsharno!” the stablemaster said, crossing the stable yard to bow respectfully to Walsharno. “And to you, too, Lord Brandark.”
“It’s glad we are to be here, Doram,” the hradani replied, and it was true. In fact, in many ways, Hill Guard- Sothoii fortress or no-was at least as much his home-and Walsharno’s-now as ever Hurgrum had been. And wasn’t that the gods’ own joke on hradani and Sothoii alike?
“We’ve visitors,” Greenslope continued as he beckoned two of the stable hands forward to take the pack horses’ leads from Brandark and see to the Bloody Sword’s warhorse.
“Aye, so Walsharno and I had guessed,” Bahzell rumbled, turning towards the stables as Gayrfressa appeared.
The big chestnut mare crossed the bricks towards him with that smooth, gliding courser’s gait, her head turned to the right so that her single remaining eye could see where she was going. The hradani felt a familiar pang as he saw the scars not even a champion of Tomanak had been able to erase, and her eye-the same amber-gold as Walsharno’s-softened with shared memory as he felt his regret. But it was his memory she shared, and not his regret. That had always astounded him, yet it was true. The loss of her eye, of half her vision, was…inconvenient, as far as Gayrfressa was concerned, although Bahzell would have found it far worse than that if their positions had been reversed. Unlike any other hradani ever born, he’d actually shared a courser’s vision, the ability to see a world totally different from that of the Races of Man. Like the horses from which they had sprung, coursers possessed very nearly a three hundred and sixty-degree view of their world. They saw distances differently, colors were even more vivid in many ways, and they were accustomed to seeing everything about them with a panoramic clarity that was difficult to imagine and impossible to adequately describe. They knew what was happening around them at virtually every moment.
And Gayrfressa had lost that. Any courser-or horse-had a tendency to flinch when something or someone managed to get into its blind spot, for those blind spots were small, and they were unaccustomed to having that happen. Yet half of Gayrfressa’s world had gone black on the day a shardohn’s claw ripped through her right eye socket. That would have been more than enough to turn a lesser creature into a nervous, perpetually wary, and cautious being, but not Gayrfressa. The absolute boldness of her mighty heart refused to back down even from the loss of half her world, and he sensed her gentle amusement at his own reaction to her fearlessness. Because, he knew, she genuinely didn’t see it that way. It was simply the way it was, and all she had ever asked of the world was to meet it on her feet.
“And good day to you, lass,” he rumbled, reaching up to wrap one arm around her neck as she rested her jaw on his shoulder. He couldn’t hear her mental voice the way he could hear Walsharno’s, but he didn’t have to. She was there, in the back of his brain, and the depths of his heart, glowing with that same dauntless spirit-older and more seasoned, now, but still the same-he’d sensed on the dreadful day they’d met.
‹ And for me, too,› Walsharno said, loudly enough for Bahzell to hear him as clearly as Gayrfressa. The stallion leaned forward, nibbling gently at the base of his sister’s neck in greeting, and her remaining ear relaxed in response to the grooming caress. Then she raised her head and touched noses with him.
“And who might be seeing after Sharnofressa and Gayrhodan while you’re off gallivanting about?” Bahzell asked teasingly, and Gayrfressa snorted.
She remained a bachelor, without the permanent mate most coursers found by the time they were her age, but she’d done her bit to help rebuild the Warm Springs herd. Her daughter Sharnofressa-” Daughter of the Sun,” in Old Kontovaran-was four and a half years old, one of the almost unheard of plaominos who were born so seldom to the coursers, and her son son Gayrhodan-“Born of the Wind”-was almost two, and bidding to become the spitting image of his Uncle Walsharno. Coursers matured slightly more slowly than horses, but Sharnofressa had been on her own for some time now, and Gayrhodan was certainly old enough to be trusted to the rest of the herd’s care- and surveillance-while his mother was away.
‹ She says Gayrhodan probably hasn’t even noticed that she’s gone yet,› Walsharno told Bahzell dryly. ‹ I can’t decide whether she’s more pleased by his independence or irritated by it.›
“Not so much unlike us two-foots, after all, aren’t you just?” Bahzell said, reaching up to the side of her neck again. “And would it happen you’re minded to tell us now what it is as we owe the honor of your presence to?”
Gayrfressa looked at him for a moment, then snorted and shook her head in the gesture of negation the coursers had learned from their two-footed companions. He gazed back up at her, ears cocked, then shook his own head. If she wasn’t, she wasn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it. Besides “Hello, Prince Bahzell,” another voice said, and he froze.
For just a moment, he stood very, very still. Then he turned, and it would have taken someone who knew him well to recognize the wariness in the set of his ears, the intensity of his gaze.
“And good day to you, Mistress Leeana,” he said.
‹ Gayrfressa knew she was there, you realize,› Walsharno murmured from the stable as Bahzell made his way up the exterior stair towards the quarters he’d been assigned in Hill Guard’s East Tower. East Tower had been his home for almost seven years now, and his feet knew the way without any need for directions from his brain. Which was just as well, since his brain had other things to be thinking about just now.
“Sure and I’m not so clear what you’re meaning,” he said to his distant companion, and heard Walsharno’s gentle laughter in the back of that overly occupied brain of his.
‹ Brother, your secret is safe with me, but it’s scarcely a secret from me,› Walsharno told him. ‹ And surely, despite how hard you’ve tried, it can’t be a secret from you, either, now can it?›
“I’m not-”
Bahzell stopped, standing on the stair, turning away from the tower to look at the setting sun, and drew a deep, lung-swelling breath.
“It’s not something as could happen, Brother,” he said softly.
‹ Why not? › Walsharno’s tone was honestly curious…and deeply loving. Clearly, the courser didn’t understand all the innumerable reasons why it couldn’t happen, but then coursers had discovered over the centuries that quite a few things the Races of Man did didn’t make a great deal of sense to them.
“Taking first things first,” Bahzell said considerably more tartly, “I’m after being hradani, and she’s after being human-aye, and Sothoii, to boot! I’m thinking it wouldn’t be more than half-no more than two-thirds, at worst-of all
