The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [62]
Crraccckkk! A whip cracked toward the pony, which lashed both rear feet toward the bearded man in faded gray.
The man ducked back from the hooves. “Hamor take you!”
Wheee…eeeeiii!
An aura of hatred poured from the liveryman, so strong that I could sense it without trying. I swallowed, then called, “You there! Are you Felshar?”
“…get yours later, beast…” muttered the man, as he coiled the whip and turned toward me. His expression shifted to professed pleasure, but the hatred boiled underneath.
“Felshar will be back in a short time. I’m Cerclas. How may I help you?” His voice was as slippery as the bottle of leather-oil set beside the racked saddles by the tethered horse.
I shrugged. “I don’t know that you can. Thinking about a horse.”
Cerclas smiled faintly, his eyes running over my dark brown traveling clothes and cloak, noting the staff with a frown.
“Horses are dear this year.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Oh?”
“The drought in Kyphros, and the heavy winter in Spidlar—they were hard on the stock, and few travelers returned with mounts.”
I nodded toward the swaybacked horse—a nondescript grayish color. It looked gentle, unlike the small shaggy beast. “That one?”
“Five golds.” Cerclas shrugged. “That’s a steal. But feed is dear, too.”
I really didn’t want to deal with Cerclas. The man smelled worse than the horses, and his eyes were bloodshot and kept drifting to my pack. Like a lot of the traders who visited Nylan, he lied. But, even with my growing awareness of order and chaos, I couldn’t tell how much.
“There aren’t that many travelers, and there may not be any for a while. Your stable is nearly full.” I was guessing, but it seemed right.
“There are always travelers in Freetown,” observed Cerclas.
“What other mounts might you have?” I walked toward the shaggy horse.
“A war-horse, a traveler, and some others…”
For some reason I wanted to look at the small horse. A welt the length of my hand lay across his flank, clearly raised by the recent whipping. For the moment I merely noted it, trying to understand why Cerclas had been so angry at the horse.
The animal was well-fed and untouched by anything resembling chaos, unless it was far more subtle than I could detect.
Wheee…. eeeee…
I barely kept from jumping.
“Mean little bastard, isn’t he?” Cerclas stood by me. “If you don’t know horses, stay away from ponies. They’re smart, and that makes them dangerous and mean. I can show you some better mounts. In the stalls over on the right.”
“All right.” I let the liveryman lead me toward the nearest stall, where a chestnut munched on hay from the manger.
“This one is a battle-trained gelding. He’ll stand up to anything.”
I nodded. The chestnut seemed healthy, well-treated, although there was something about him that bothered me…his size? I wondered, looking up at his ears. Or something else? “How much?”
“Fifteen golds.”
That was a more honest price than the one he had quoted for the swayback.
“What else?”
“Here we have a mare…good traveler, but not nearly so good in a fight. Eight golds.”
The mare was a blotchy-colored horse, black-and-white patches across her body, with a short cropped mane. I liked her less than the chestnut, and just nodded to Cerclas. “What else?”
He walked to the next stall, where a hulking brown beast of a horse munched placidly on hay so dry it crackled. “Plowhorse broken to ride. He’s not much good in battle, gets nasty when mares are around, but could carry two of you and your gear. He could also pull a wagon if you needed it. Six golds for him. He’s worth more, but there aren’t many caravans around this time of year, and he eats a lot.”
We looked at three others, all broken-down mares. I didn’t like any of them and found my feet carrying me back toward the central yard. As I stepped past the shaggy little horse, I could feel a sense of rightness about him, but kept