Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [33]
Simna was whispering names at him. Breeds and types in unanticipated profusion. Palomino and bay, chestnut and grizzle, calico and sorrel, roan and dapple-gray rainbowed alongside pintos and Appaloosas. Massive Percherons and shires shaded diminutive but tough ponies while tarpans snorted at the hindquarters of wild-eyed mustangs, and Thoroughbreds held themselves aloof and proud.
There were breeds so exotic and strange even the well-traveled Simna had not a clue to their origins. Despite their outlandish appearance, under the skin every one of them was all horse. There were unicorns pure of color and mottled, with horns ranging in hue from metallic gold to deep green. Eight-legged sleipnirs jostled for space with black mares whose eyes were absent of pupil. Mesohippuses pushed against anchitheriums as hipparions and hippidons nuzzled one another nervously.
“Surely there are not so many kinds in the country you come from,” Ehomba whispered to his friend.
The swordsman was overwhelmed by the diversity spread out before him. “Etjole, I don’t think there are so many kinds in any country. Or maybe in all countries. I think we are seeing not only all the horses that are, but all that ever were. For some reason they have been trapped here, and gone mad.”
“You know, Simna, I do not think they look deranged so much as they do frustrated.”
“It won’t matter if something spooks them and they bolt in our direction. Their frustration will kill us as surely as any insanity.” He spared a glance for the sky. Except for a few wandering streaks of white, it was cloudless. No danger to the herd from thunder, then.
But the animals, magnificent and alert, would not leave.
“Let’s try something,” the swordsman suggested.
Ehomba indicated his willingness. “You know these animals better than I.”
“I wonder.” Turning, Simna started across the island, careful to make no sudden movements. Along the way, he picked up his sword and pack. Ehomba duplicated his actions while Ahlitah trailed along behind.
The herdsman glanced back. “They are not following.”
“No. Now, let’s see what happens if we turn north.” He proceeded to do so.
The percussive sloshing of water behind them heralded movement on the part of the herd. When the travelers reached the eastern edge of the island and found themselves once more facing the distant, haze-obscured hills, they found that the herd had shifted its position just enough to block their way once again.
Having verified what they had been told, Simna was nodding to himself. “The ape was right. They won’t let anyone pass. We can go east or west, or back, but not across the bog.”
“We have to cross the marshlands.” Ehomba watched the horses watching him. “I have been too long away from home already and we do not know how far it is to this Hamacassar. I do not want to spend months bypassing this place, especially when we are halfway across already.”
Simna grooved the wet sand with his foot. “Maybe you should ask them why they won’t let anyone through.”
The herdsman nodded once. “Yes. Maybe I should.” He started forward.
“Hoy! I didn’t mean that literally, long bruther.”
Swordsman and Ahlitah tensed as the tall southerner strode forward until he was standing ankle deep in the warm water. Among those animals nearest him, one or two glanced sharply in his direction. Most ignored him, or continued to roll their eyes.
“Can he talk to them?” The black litah’s claws dug into the moist, unfeeling earth.
“I don’t see how. Before today he claimed he’d never even seen one.” Simna stared at his friend’s back. “But I’ve learned not to underestimate our cattle-loving companion. He seems simple—until he does something extraordinary.” The swordsman gestured at the pack that rode high on narrow shoulders. “Maybe some village elder made him a potion that lets him talk to other beasts.”
But Ehomba did not reach for his pack. Instead, he stood straight and tall in the shallow water, one hand firmly clutching