The Taleweaver

Departure, part five

"No, no, no! I shall see no stallions in my caravan. Give me your good mares if you lack geldings." Agitation rose in Harbend. They needed to be on the road in a day but still lacked several horses. At least hiring men at arms had been easy thanks to Vildir.

Harbend turned on his heels and faced the horse trader. "Do you have any good horses left at all, or do I have to find one of your colleagues?"

The man winced. Losing a buying customer was usually a bad thing, and Harbend was buying a very large quantity of horses, so his threat was substantial.

"Of course I have, sir. It just takes some time to round them all up," the trader said, freckled cheeks reddening visibly. "Sir, you're not exactly asking for plough horses you know."

Harbend did. Vildir had personally examined each of the creatures offered, and while he wasn't looking for war-trained beasts he made sure Harbend didn't end up with weak creatures not capable of lasting the long days to come.

The trader they were buying the horses from was supposedly one of the best, and most honest. Vildir had only placed his veto once and Harbend suspected it had been more for show than any solid reason. The horses were good, but now the trader tried to sell him the uneasy stallions he had available rather than fetching more horses from fields where they still grazed.

Harbend liked the smell of horses. Not all men did, but you didn't grow up with a man like Vildir Kanir around you without learning to appreciate the graceful animals, stupid as they all too often were.

"Sir, I can have another five mares here this afternoon, but you've already bought all my geldings. I'm sorry." Desperation tinged the voice, but to Harbend it was like listening to music.

"Five? This afternoon?"

"Yes, sir." The trader's face brightened at the prospect of closing an affair of such magnitude.

Harbend knew he'd save the trader the cost of long months of stabling with food and grooms adding to the renting of stables. Five horses. He needed another four. An idea struck him.

"Do you have mules?"

"But, of course, sir. How many do you need?"

Genuine relief coursed through him. He beamed at the man. "Six of them, at a discount."

The horse trader hesitated for a moment.

Harbend stared him down. Relief was no reason to allow unnecessary money to escape his grasp.

"I'll have them here this afternoon as well. Actually I'll bring eight for you to choose from." The trader's expression was almost comical to see. So eager to please now he'd forgotten some of the basics of trading, and Harbend realized he wouldn't have to pay much for the mules.

"That will be excellent, my good man. I shall return here later. My man will accompany me, of course," he added nodding towards Vildir. There was no reason to make the horse trader feel too comfortable.

They parted, but not before Harbend had seen the trader throw Vildir a sullen stare. Harbend strode away forcing himself to hide a wide grin threatening to spread all over his face.

"Vildir," he called in their shared language, "time to leave. We need to meet Arthur."

Merchant and horse-lord converged just outside the corral.

They were south of Verd, outside Krante gates. Whore's Crotch as the fields were called by the poor referring to the highway splitting in one easterly and one westerly leg and the city gates open to anyone with goods to sell or money to spend.

A temporary town grew here late summer each year. During two frenzied eightdays, just before the harvest festival, a gigantic market took place on the exercise fields when most of the four cavalry regiments stationed in Verd were away in small groups to help farmers with harvesting.

Harbend shuffled along the dusty ground with Vildir beside him. They were thirsty and tired, and a late heatwave had caught them wearing clothes far too warm. Harbend wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stared longingly at a tent they passed. They served cold beer there, but Arthur had seated himself in a pavilion at the edge of the market so they still had some distance to walk.

"What do you think?" Harbend asked, mostly to turn his thoughts from the alluring promise of a thirst quencher.

"Horses are good," Vildir admitted.

"Horses are good," Harbend echoed, a tinge of scorn in his voice. "Gods! Horses are superior would be more correct. We do not have these beasts in Khi, and you know it."

"Nothing wrong with our horses," Vildir countered defensively, but Harbend could see the calculating mind of the horse-lord working. No doubt he was trying to find a way to buy and transport several of the stallions Harbend had refused to have anything to do with. As studs they would be perfect.

He repressed a smile until he saw Arthur. He was no longer sitting at the table where they had left him. He wasn't sitting at all. A group of children and some young women had dragged him to an opening between the tents and were teaching him one of the local dances while a crowd of spectators cheered them on with whistles and rude jeers. On a dais an older woman in plain, linen clothes played a flute and beside her a youngster hammered away on two drums. One jester threw wildflowers over Arthur and the girl he currently danced with, while another tried to collect money from the audience.

Harbend winced slightly and Vildir looked at him in alarm.

"Mock wedding," Harbend explained.

"Arthur does not know?" Vildir asked, just a bit too gravely.

"The man does not know at all," Harbend agreed gleefully. He looked at Vildir and saw the usually somber horse-lord biting back a grin.

"She would make a strong wife," Vildir sputtered.

They both burst out laughing, and taken by the air of festivity they threw themselves into the dance to the approving cheers of people around them. More joined, both musicians and revelers, and Harbend soon found himself with his arms around the waist of a very pretty, very young woman laughing wildly as they swirled round and round again.