The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [54]
He should be put down, thought Chala. No animal would wish to live through this. Nor any human, either.
But she did not know if Richon had the strength to do it, not after what he had been through this day.
Richon helped Crown to stand on three legs, and the horse seemed happy, but only for a moment.
As soon as it was standing, Richon had a look at the bleeding sores on the horse’s side. Its body, which must once have been the pride of the king’s stables, was now withered. It was clear that the horse had gone without water for far too long. It would die within the day, in terrible misery.
Richon put his head close to Crown’s. There were no more tears flowing down his face, as there had been in the garden. He did not look devastated as he had in the child’s bedchamber. He looked determined. And Chala knew then that he could bear the horse’s pain no better than she could.
He went back through the stalls, his voice calling back to gentle the horse in his absence.
While he was gone, Chala moved closer to the animal. He was too far gone to care if she was a familiar hound or not.
She only meant to comfort the horse while Richon was gone. She put a hand out to touch the horse’s belly, near the infected sword wound. And with that one touch, she suddenly felt all of the horse’s pain and deprivation. It was as strong to her as if she were close to dying herself.
She pulled back, trembling.
What had happened?
She had become the horse, in a way. But that was only possible through magic.
Impossible.
And yet she had had magic in the dream. If it was a dream.
Chala put out her hand once more. The pain of the horse flowed into her, and then she let her strength flow out.
Chala did not remember anything of herself for a long time after that.
But she remembered what the horse remembered. She saw the man standing above her, the one called Lord Kaylar, holding the sword, the vicious look in his eyes, her horse legs tied to posts so she could not turn away. She remembered the sound of terror that had come from her horse’s mouth and then the man’s laughter, mocking her agony.
And then, in and out of pain, in sleep and waking, the fever that had come and then finally passed, leaving her weak and trembling, waiting for death.
And the king, at last, who came to help her.
Chala felt it all through Crown.
And when she woke, Richon was standing over her, holding a short, rusty knife.
Dropping the knife, he fell to her side. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes dark with concern.
Chala lifted her head—a human head again now—so she could see the horse. It was nearly healed. There was a scar on its belly, but the sores on its side were gone and it stood on all four legs now, no sign of a break on any of them.
“Magic,” said Richon, staring at her with awe on his face. And not a little pain.
Chala understood immediately, for in seeing Crown healed by her, Richon was faced once again with the fact that he did not have the magic. He had not been the one to heal the horse he cared for.
There was a long silence, and then Richon offered her his arm. They walked out of the stables together, Crown behind them.
Chala stared at the horse and thought of how much faster Richon could go if he rode it, alone, to the border where the army waited.
But Richon patted his horse and said, “You’ve served long enough here. It’s time for you to be free of this palace and all that has happened to you here.”
Letting Crown go was the kind thing to do for the horse. And now Richon could hold to his memories of how the horse had once been with him.
In the silence that followed, Chala and Richon turned and walked to the south side of the palace. He did not look back, only forward—to the battle that lay days ahead. And this time Chala knew her purpose. She had magic after all, and she would use it to defeat Richon’s enemies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Richon
FOR THE