shoulder and led him toward the safehold. “Alonsar … brave Alonsar … wise Alonsar … ” he said as he tried to coax him up the safehold steps. The horse flared his nostrils and widened his eyes. Sweat broke out on his shining coat. He took a tentative step forward; his hoof clicked on the bottom step, and he flinched and jumped back.
“Alonsar … wise Alonsar … the hunters will eat you, flesh and blood and bone.” Though the words had become harsh, the stranger’s voice was the same, wheedling, soothing, coaxing. The sun was lower in the west.
“Let me try,” said Ilbran.
The other man gave him a sharp appraising look. “Don’t frighten him,” he said, but he handed the lead rope over to Ilbran and stood back to watch.
Ilbran looked at the animal’s face, huge dark eyes filled with nervous suspicion, set in a heavy head. He stroked the harsh-furred muzzle. When he spoke, the ears pricked forward, less fear in the liquid eyes now.
“Come, Alonsar,” he said, and the horse followed him, stepping carefully up the stairs. When the lead rope was dropped, he stood in the corner as though he had been tethered.
The other man gave a short laugh. “How did you do that? What magic did you use?”
“No magic,” Ilbran answered hotly. “I’ve tamed coursers, wild ones. These, though I may not have dealt with them before, they are much like any other animal.”
The stranger nodded. “There are some who have the gift. You cannot ride, that is another matter, because your experience has been from the ground, looking up, dodging the flat of a sword, or maybe the keen edge.”
He glanced at Ilbran to see his reaction, then went on. “These are merely foolish animals, not like the albanet who choose their riders. You’d find it hard to find one to bear your weight well, but if you can talk to all of them like that, there’s a place for you in any king’s stables. We set them loose in the mountains for the summer, all but the finest, and have to catch and tame them again.” He laughed. “I could have used one like you, last autumn. More days than I like to think of, tramping through the hills, whistling love-notes to an ungrateful creature just ten paces ahead of me … Sarayo … But I’ve seen a few like you who could have called and brought him to hand in a morning.”
Ilbran nodded, ill at ease. Hard to find words to speak to this man. Though he had saved his life, still he was a kingsman, and not to be trusted. The sight of the armor, and badge of purple and red—Nahil’s colors—brought back cruel memories of torture and death.
The other man seemed at ease, talking idly as if he enjoyed the sound of his voice, with his gray hunter’s eyes watching, always alert. He looked at the statue that stood in the corner, a statue of the same woman that Ilbran had seen before, naked and beautiful, adorned with garlands of thornfruit flowers and blaggorn tassels.
“Yrlaine is her name, so one told me once. Just think if she could only wake and lie warmly in your arms.”
Ilbran shuddered. He could not have imagined a more grisly thing. His thought went back to Malesa, killing her children and feeding on their life. She had lived long in such a way. How had she learned it? Had the forest taught her?
The other man glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, and then was silent. Presently, he searched in his saddlebags and brought out some dried traveler’s bread. “Do you wish some food?”
“I have some of my own,” said Ilbran. Then he came to his senses. Indeed, he had been far from humankind these past seven years. “If you wish, we will share and share alike,” he said.
The stranger accepted, and seemed well pleased with his bargain, trading his tough waybread for dried thornfruit, blaggorn cakes sweetened with honey, and strongly spiced sausages. He ate greedily. When the meal was over, there was more silence, true silence, for the forest creatures hunted on far trails.
“My name is Kallan,” the stranger said suddenly.
“And mine is Ilbran.”
“I came into this forest three days ago hunted by the king’s men.”
“And so did I, in the year that Ranes and Nahil reigned. The same king?”
“Nahil still, but he rules less men each year. Some die, and some flee.”
“I see,” Ilbran said. “Will they follow you?”
Kallan shook his head. “They