The High King's Tomb
Page 115
She set off for the barn, thinking that something was missing from the scene. The gardens, pens, and outbuildings were right, and there were a sled and wagon situated outside the barn, but something wasn’t in place. As she approached the barn, walking a well-worn path beaten by hooves and boots, she realized what it was. There was no paddock or fencing of any kind for holding horses.
Just as she began to doubt the barn served as the stable, Condor poked his head out a window and whinnied at her as if to hurry her up. Karigan did just that.
The large double doors were wide open and she stepped inside, wondering if she’d find some enchanted scene before her wrought by Damian Frost, the man who provided the Green Riders with their extraordinary horses, and by his wife who apparently possessed unknown healing skills. She found nothing out of the ordinary, however, unless one counted Fergal pitching manure out of a stall into a wheelbarrow.
The stable was airy and clean, with eight box stalls, all empty but for those occupied by Sunny and Condor. Sunny was contentedly pulling at hay from her hay rack, and Condor bobbed his head over his stall door and nickered. Karigan walked over to him and caressed his nose.
“Morning,” Fergal said.
“Morning. Where are the Frosts?”
“Here we be, lass.” Damian emerged from a doorway, carrying two Rider saddles, with matching bridles draped over each shoulder. Beside him walked a brindle wolfhound about the size of a pony. It padded to a pile of fresh straw, yawned, and heaved over, raising a cloud of dust. It dropped its head onto its front paws, settling in for a nap.
“That’s Ero,” Damian said. “Runt of the litter.”
Karigan decided Ero’s littermates must then be the size of horses.
Lady was a few steps behind Damian, bearing another bridle and a covered basket over her arm. “So glad to see you up and about,” she told Karigan.
“Uh, yes, thank you. Your tea—it worked wonders.”
Lady responded with a pleased smile.
“Come get your gear, my Riders,” Damian said. “Riding I’m going, riding with Riders!”
Karigan and Fergal collected their tack from him.
“I’ve brushed and curried your Condor, lass, and picked his hooves clean. No need to fuss, just saddle up.”
While Karigan did so, she wondered what Damian was going to ride, then began to listen to the debate developing between him and Lady.
“What about Abby?” Lady said.
“She’s resting. I rode her yesterday.”
“How about Uncle?”
“No, no, not today.”
“Sea Star?”
Damian grimaced and rubbed his back end as though remembering some unpleasant experience. “No, definitely not Sea Star.”
Karigan tightened Condor’s girth, watching the couple over his withers. Lady gazed up toward the rafters as if in deep thought. “Seymour, perhaps?”
“Too slow,” Damian said. “He’d never keep apace of Condor.”
“Jack?”
“Jericho has Jack today, and Gus has Rose.”
Karigan wondered where Damian hid all his horses.
“I know! Gracie!”
“Heavens, no. She’s absolutely bats.”
“Then who?” Lady demanded. “The dog?”
Ero lifted his massive head as if alarmed by the suggestion. Karigan giggled into Condor’s neck.
“How am I supposed to know what to sing?” Lady asked.
Sing? What did singing have to do with anything?
“Who do we have left?” Damian started counting on his fingers, muttering to himself. “I know, I’ll ride Cat.”
Lady shook her head. “My dear, you sold Cat two weeks ago to old Tom Binder.”
“Oh, I forgot. That leaves Fox.”
“Fox it is, then,” Lady said. “I shall sing him in.” Basket still hanging from her arm, she walked to the stable entrance and peered out. Glancing back at her husband, she said, “They are far off this morn.”
Damian shrugged.
Lady sighed, then loosed a deafening holler that nearly knocked Karigan off her feet. “FOX! Fox, Fox, Fox, FOX!”
That was singing?
But then Lady did sing, and in normal tones: “Come Foxy, come Fox, from your grazing and phlox. Your master seeks you and needs you to ride among the flocks. Come Foxy, come Fox!”
The song went on at some length with its nonsensical lyrics, but pleasant tones, and Karigan expected the song’s subject to trot into the stable at any moment. Lady’s song faded to an end. All watched and waited. Still nothing. Lady looked vexed.
Damian stepped up beside his wife and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re right, Lady, my lady and love. They’re far off.” He then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled a note so shrill Karigan clenched her teeth and poor Ero whined.
When the whistle died, they waited again. This time Karigan heard hooves pounding the ground—many hooves.
Damian and Lady stepped away from the entrance and even Ero rose to his feet and lumbered to the safety of the tack room. A veritable herd of horses crowded into the stable. They were of all proportions and colors and markings. They milled about poking their noses into Condor’s stall, lipping at stray bits of straw, bumping into one another, their hooves scraping loudly on the cobble floor. In the crowded confines there were a few nips and kicks, but no serious altercations.
“Fox!” Damian yelled. A horse somewhere in the throng whinnied. “Fox, it’s you I’m wanting—the rest of you clear out. Get on with you, back to pasture!”
Just as she began to doubt the barn served as the stable, Condor poked his head out a window and whinnied at her as if to hurry her up. Karigan did just that.
The large double doors were wide open and she stepped inside, wondering if she’d find some enchanted scene before her wrought by Damian Frost, the man who provided the Green Riders with their extraordinary horses, and by his wife who apparently possessed unknown healing skills. She found nothing out of the ordinary, however, unless one counted Fergal pitching manure out of a stall into a wheelbarrow.
The stable was airy and clean, with eight box stalls, all empty but for those occupied by Sunny and Condor. Sunny was contentedly pulling at hay from her hay rack, and Condor bobbed his head over his stall door and nickered. Karigan walked over to him and caressed his nose.
“Morning,” Fergal said.
“Morning. Where are the Frosts?”
“Here we be, lass.” Damian emerged from a doorway, carrying two Rider saddles, with matching bridles draped over each shoulder. Beside him walked a brindle wolfhound about the size of a pony. It padded to a pile of fresh straw, yawned, and heaved over, raising a cloud of dust. It dropped its head onto its front paws, settling in for a nap.
“That’s Ero,” Damian said. “Runt of the litter.”
Karigan decided Ero’s littermates must then be the size of horses.
Lady was a few steps behind Damian, bearing another bridle and a covered basket over her arm. “So glad to see you up and about,” she told Karigan.
“Uh, yes, thank you. Your tea—it worked wonders.”
Lady responded with a pleased smile.
“Come get your gear, my Riders,” Damian said. “Riding I’m going, riding with Riders!”
Karigan and Fergal collected their tack from him.
“I’ve brushed and curried your Condor, lass, and picked his hooves clean. No need to fuss, just saddle up.”
While Karigan did so, she wondered what Damian was going to ride, then began to listen to the debate developing between him and Lady.
“What about Abby?” Lady said.
“She’s resting. I rode her yesterday.”
“How about Uncle?”
“No, no, not today.”
“Sea Star?”
Damian grimaced and rubbed his back end as though remembering some unpleasant experience. “No, definitely not Sea Star.”
Karigan tightened Condor’s girth, watching the couple over his withers. Lady gazed up toward the rafters as if in deep thought. “Seymour, perhaps?”
“Too slow,” Damian said. “He’d never keep apace of Condor.”
“Jack?”
“Jericho has Jack today, and Gus has Rose.”
Karigan wondered where Damian hid all his horses.
“I know! Gracie!”
“Heavens, no. She’s absolutely bats.”
“Then who?” Lady demanded. “The dog?”
Ero lifted his massive head as if alarmed by the suggestion. Karigan giggled into Condor’s neck.
“How am I supposed to know what to sing?” Lady asked.
Sing? What did singing have to do with anything?
“Who do we have left?” Damian started counting on his fingers, muttering to himself. “I know, I’ll ride Cat.”
Lady shook her head. “My dear, you sold Cat two weeks ago to old Tom Binder.”
“Oh, I forgot. That leaves Fox.”
“Fox it is, then,” Lady said. “I shall sing him in.” Basket still hanging from her arm, she walked to the stable entrance and peered out. Glancing back at her husband, she said, “They are far off this morn.”
Damian shrugged.
Lady sighed, then loosed a deafening holler that nearly knocked Karigan off her feet. “FOX! Fox, Fox, Fox, FOX!”
That was singing?
But then Lady did sing, and in normal tones: “Come Foxy, come Fox, from your grazing and phlox. Your master seeks you and needs you to ride among the flocks. Come Foxy, come Fox!”
The song went on at some length with its nonsensical lyrics, but pleasant tones, and Karigan expected the song’s subject to trot into the stable at any moment. Lady’s song faded to an end. All watched and waited. Still nothing. Lady looked vexed.
Damian stepped up beside his wife and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re right, Lady, my lady and love. They’re far off.” He then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled a note so shrill Karigan clenched her teeth and poor Ero whined.
When the whistle died, they waited again. This time Karigan heard hooves pounding the ground—many hooves.
Damian and Lady stepped away from the entrance and even Ero rose to his feet and lumbered to the safety of the tack room. A veritable herd of horses crowded into the stable. They were of all proportions and colors and markings. They milled about poking their noses into Condor’s stall, lipping at stray bits of straw, bumping into one another, their hooves scraping loudly on the cobble floor. In the crowded confines there were a few nips and kicks, but no serious altercations.
“Fox!” Damian yelled. A horse somewhere in the throng whinnied. “Fox, it’s you I’m wanting—the rest of you clear out. Get on with you, back to pasture!”
