some other direction, lose them, then meet you either on the trail or if it takes longer, at the encampment.'
Leiria gave him the hells for even thinking of the idea. But Safar persisted and in the end she saw he was determined.
Safar patted the stallion. 'Besides,' he said, 'I've been wanting to give Khysmet his head and see what happens. Both of us have been going crazy with this slow pace.'
'One fall,' Leiria warned, 'and you're done for.'
'We won't fall, will we Khysmet?' Safar said to the horse. The stallion whinnied and pawed the ground.
'I don't think it's possible for him to stumble,' Safar said to Leiria. 'I can't explain how I know this. I just do.'
'Great,' Leiria said, 'You get to play and I get to trod along the common path.'
Her voice was heavy with sarcasm but Safar could see it was to cover real worry. 'What a lucky man I am,' he murmured, 'to find a friend like you.'
'Just you remember that, Safar Timura,' Leiria scolded as she handed over her water bags. 'If you let something happen to you I'll track down your ghost and kick its behind from here to Hadin.'
Then Safar was riding away, looking like a warrior prince on his great horse.
A large piece of Leiria's heart went with him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Iraj dreamed of horses-a great wild herd flying across the plains. He sailed with them, moving at breathtaking speed, the air full of fresh spring currents, the horizon a joyous thing of blue skies meeting lush green earth. He felt like a boy again, a fully human boy with innocent dreams and youthful yearnings.
He was skimming just above the herd, which moved in graceful unison like a flock of birds flying to some glorious home that was free of all earthly cares.
Iraj quickened his pace, moving along the herd until he came to the leaders. There were two of them, the first creamy white, the other hearthstone black, and both were so magnificent he loved them at first sight.
The black was a fiery mare, the white a tall, noble stallion.
He chose the stallion and settled down, down, and just as he touched the world spun and he suddenly found himself crouched in a canyon, the stallion standing next to him. Now the horse was saddled and harnessed and he was holding the reins loosely in one hand.
Iraj heard the sound of fast-moving riders and he knew his enemies were hunting him just over the ridge.
He didn't know or care who that enemy was, but he thrilled at the prospect of an encounter. The horse nickered, sharing his excitement. Laughing, Iraj came to his feet and vaulted into the saddle.
Astride the horse he felt strong and swift, a man who feared nothing. The horse was magic under his hands, moving with easy fluidity. It was as if he were part of the animal and it was part of him.
Blood sang in his ears and he shouted in glee as he and the horse surged forward. They practically flew up the steep sides of the canyon, dust and rocks boiling behind them as they plunged up and up and then they were over the rim charging across a hilly plain.
When he spotted the scouting party he brought the horse to a skittering halt. Iraj was startled at the animal's quick obedience. He'd barely touched the leather straps and the horse had stopped on a skinned copper. It was as if the action had been communicated by thought alone. Now the stallion stood trembling under him, ready to charge into the fight, or turn and run like the winds.
Iraj waited, keeping a rein on his own high-pitched emotions. He felt wonderful. Full of life and spirit and clean purpose. Gone were the ravenous urges of a shape changer. He had no overpowering lust for blood and misery. No fiery dreams of grand thrones and bowing subjects. He didn't even hate his enemies who were thundering toward him. He only wanted to bedazzle them, confound them. That would be enough to make a joyous victory.
He patted the horse, soothing it as the scouting party came closer. There were twenty: six main scouts astride fast horses in the lead, and eighteen demons, bristling with arms and riding the huge, cat-like beasts that could take a charge and turn it back with their ferocity.
When the scouts were near enough to see him, Iraj raised his fist high in challenge. He stood his ground until he heard excited shouts of recognition: 'It's him! Don't let him get away!'
At the last moment Iraj wheeled the stallion and raced away across the plain, the soldiers in thundering pursuit.
It was a ride like no other and Iraj whooped in joy as they sped over rocky ground as if it were meadow grass, leaping wide ravines as if they were merely narrow clefts. Sometimes he got too far ahead of the soldiers and he had to turn back to swoop just outside of their range, then wheel and charge away again.
He led them far from the main track, through rough hills, barren valleys and dusty canyons full of tricky switchbacks and false trails. He never stopped, riding on through the night, the horse never tiring under him. The scouts grew weary, their animals ready to drop. Laughing at their plight, Iraj gave them no mercy, prodding and teasing whenever they tried to rest.
He rode that way for many a day, until he finally abandoned the soldiers, exhausted and lost in the middle of a desert.
A few hours later he came to a small wooded area with a creek running through. A tall willow shaded a pool where the creek widened. He dismounted and led the horse to the pool for a cool drink and shady rest. The two of them drank long and deep, a warm feeling of comfort and satisfaction shared between them.
Iraj splashed water on his face, breaking the mirrored surface with his cupped hands as he sluiced dust and grime from smooth cheeks.
Strange, he thought, I remember a beard.
Curious, he peered into the water and saw a wavery reflection floating up at him. He couldn't make it out at first, but then the surface calmed and the image resolved itself.
With a shock he realized he was looking at the face of Safar Timura!
Safar jolted back, nearly losing his balance and falling into the water. Khysmet nuzzled him, wondering what was the matter.
'It's nothing,' Safar said, stroking the soft nostrils. 'I'm just tired, I guess.'
Even so it was with some trepidation that he leaned forward again to peer into the water. Floating there was the reflection of his own smooth features.
A moment before he would have sworn an oath that he'd seen the face of Iraj Protarus staring back at him. The illusion, surely caused by exhaustion, had been so strong he'd even felt a beard under his fingertips when he washed.
Ridiculous as the notion was, Safar was vastly relieved. To calm himself he washed and groomed Khysmet, then gathered some sweet grasses for a treat. He also found berries all fat and full of juice and he fed them in alternating handfuls to Khysmet and himself. Then he slept. It was a sound and dreamless sleep and when morning came he felt refreshed and full of energy. Khysmet evidently felt the same, for he pranced about and kicked up his heels like a colt. Safar was eager to get into the saddle and be on his way. He had many miles to cover before he reached home. Although it was nothing more than a tented encampment soon to be on the move again, home was how he thought of it and so home it was.
As they cantered out of the woods, Safar thought of his wild ride-the ride that seemed as if it would never end. Khysmet snorted, tossing his head, as if sharing the memory and enjoying it equally. Then Safar thought of the soldiers he'd left in the desert. They were so exhausted and so lost he doubted they'd survive. To his surprise he felt not one pinch of pity for them. They'd chosen the wrong side and too bad for that.
It was a cold, just so, feeling and it was discomforting how easily it sat upon his soul.
And he had a flash of awareness of what it was like to be Iraj.
