The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [181]
“That’s Barrabra,” explained Shervan.
“I need to water my horse…”
“That’s a horse?” asked Barrabra, still shrouded by the portico.
I smiled. “He’s enough of a horse to have carried me through the Easthorns and the Little Easthorns.”
Shervan looked toward the portico with a look I could not quite decipher, but would have said embodied the concept of “I told you so.”
I took the reins and led Gairloch around the building to the watering trough. Shervan followed, still talking.
Unlike some towns I had seen since leaving Recluce—places like Hrisbarg, Freetown, Howlett, and Weevett, to name a few—the rear of the whitewashed stone or brick buildings was as clean as the front, and similarly shaded by the protruding tile roof. The housing design confirmed my feelings that in the summertime Kyphros was hot indeed.
“…and the Gallians, they just keep coming. We never fight unless we have the advantage, and we must kill three of them for every one of us they get. Having the hills and the mountains there helps, but just two eight-days ago some of them got as far as Sintamar.” Shervan grinned. “They didn’t get back.”
I watched as Gairloch drank from the trough, carved roughly from limestone, glancing back toward the north and the clouds that were again building over the Little Easthorns. They didn’t look natural, but who was I to say? “Those clouds—”
“…and the only other one was the knife-thrower…such a—”
“What knife-thrower?”
“You were asking about the clouds, ser?”
“Later. What were you saying about the knife-thrower?”
“I have never seen such a knife-thrower. Never. No, ser, the clouds, we did not used to have clouds such as those…”
“What about the knife-thrower?” I interrupted.
“…not since the days of the Great White Wizards, they say. You were asking about the knife-thrower. Yes—that was the best. The cowardly Gallians—that was before they became the mad dogs they are now—they ran from the black horse, anywhere to escape the knives and the sword. Such a pair they were! Never had we seen such a pair!”
I was getting ready to strangle the cheerful Shervan, especially since Gairloch had finished drinking.
Whheeee…eeee…
I fished out the remaining grain cake from the right-hand saddlebag provided by Brettel.
“How—how did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That food for your horse. You made it appear out of thin air. Never have I seen that. Not even the Great White Wizard could do that, I would bet.”
I sighed. I’d totally ignored the shield around the second set of saddlebags, that minor bit of order-control that left them out of sight. Now Shervan would be telling the world about my marvelous food creation. “No…no. I didn’t make it. There’s a hidden sack there. That’s all.”
“Hidden sacks! What will they think of next?”
“When will we leave for Kyphrien?” I asked desperately.
“Pendril has to get his horse, and you need to eat, and we need to put your horse with his hidden sacks in a shady place to rest while we eat. Then we will go.”
I didn’t quite roll my eyes. “Let’s eat, and you can tell me about the marvelous pair and the knife-thrower.”
“Shervan! Stop flapping your tongue and let the poor wizard have something to eat. The rest of us would like to talk to him, too.” Barrabra stood on the raised step that led from a narrow archway in the back of the structure. Her figure was as ample as I had guessed, but her hair, unlike Shervan’s short and coarse black strands, was nearly white-blond and shoulder-length, swept away from her broad face with green combs set above each ear.
“Yes. Yes. You see why Barrabra is the one who runs the store. She keeps her mind upon what is important.”
“Shervan!”
The young man shrugged at me and smiled.
I shrugged back. “About my horse?”
“Ah, yes. This way.”
The side of the structure that we had not yet been to was the stable, empty except for a single palomino. Inside the heavy walls and through the wide circular archway, the air was cool and still.
“You may use any of the stalls, but Pabblo does not like all horses…”
I took the hint and put Gairloch