Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [260]
Speak of the devil. Piotr himself emerged from the old stone tack storage shed, coiling a web rope. "Hah. There you are," he said neutrally. He joined them sociably enough, though. "I don't suppose you would like to see the new filly."
His tone was so flat, she couldn't tell if he wanted her to say yes, or no. But she seized the opportunity. "I'm sure Miles would."
"Mm."
She turned to Bothari. "Why don't you go get—" But Bothari was staring past her, his lips rippling in dismay. She wheeled.
One of Piotr's most enormous horses, quite naked of bridle, saddle, halter, or any other handle to grab, was trotting out of the barn. Clinging to its mane like a burr was a dark-haired, dwarfish little boy. Miles's sharp features shone with a mixture of exaltation and terror. Cordelia nearly fainted.
"My imported stallion!" yelped Piotr in horror.
In pure reflex, Bothari snatched his stunner from its holster. He then stood paralyzed with the uncertainty of what to shoot and where. If the horse went down and rolled on its little rider—
"Look, Sergeant!" Miles's thin voice called eagerly. "I'm taller than you!"
Bothari started to run toward him. The horse, spooked, wheeled away and broke into a canter.
"—and I can run faster, too!" The words were whipped away in the bounding motion of the gait. The horse shied out of sight around the stable.
The four adults pelted after. Cordelia heard no other cry, but when they turned the corner Miles was lying on the ground, and the horse had stopped further on and lowered its head to nibble at the grass. It snorted in hostility when it saw them, raised its head, danced from foot to foot, then snatched a few more bites.
Cordelia fell to her knees beside Miles, who was already sitting up and waving her away. He was pale, and his right hand clutched his left arm in an all-too-familiar signal of pain.
"You see, Sergeant?" Miles panted. "I can ride, I can."
Piotr, on his way toward his horse, paused and looked down.
"I didn't mean to say you weren't able," said the sergeant in a driven tone. "I meant you didn't have permission."
"Oh."
"Did you break it?" Bothari nodded to the arm.
"Yeah," the boy sighed. There were tears of pain in his eyes, but his teeth set against any quaver entering his voice.
The sergeant grumbled, and rolled up Miles's sleeve, and palpated the forearm. Miles hissed. "Yep." Bothari pulled, twisted, adjusted, took a plastic sleeve from his pocket, slipped it over the arm and wrist, and blew it up. "That'll keep it till the doctor sees it."
"Hadn't you better . . . containerize that horrendous horse?" Cordelia said to Piotr.
" 'S not h'rrendous," Miles insisted, scrambling to his feet. "It's the prettiest."
"You think so, eh?" said Piotr roughly. "How do you figure that? You like brown?"
"It moves the springiest," Miles explained earnestly, bouncing in imitation.
Piotr's attention was arrested. "And so it does," he said, sounding bemused. "It's my hottest dressage prospect. . . . You like horses?"
"They're great. They're wonderful." Miles pirouetted.
"I could never much interest your father in them." Piotr gave Aral a dirty look.
Thank God, thought Cordelia.
"On a horse, I could go as fast as anybody, I bet," said Miles.
"I doubt it," said Piotr coldly, "if that was a sample. If you're going to do it, you have to do it right."
"Teach me," said Miles instantly.
Piotr's brows shot up. He glanced at Cordelia, and smiled sourly. "If your mother gives permission." He rocked on his heels, in certain smug safety, knowing Cordelia's rooted antipathy to the beasts.
Cordelia bit her tongue on Over my dead body, and thought fast. Aral's intent eyes were signaling something, but she couldn't read it. Was this a new way for Piotr to try and kill Miles? Take him out and get him smashed, trampled, broken .