The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [63]
It made her sick.
At that moment a man came out of one of the houses and nodded to her. He stood on legs that bowed, as if he spent most of his life on horses, and he had a well-trimmed beard and mustache.
He nodded to the horse, smiling widely. “The gentlest horse you ever saw, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Very gentle,” Chala admitted.
“And the best-trained hound to be found anywhere.” He clapped his hands and the hound lay down obediently, all four legs tucked under him, head bowed as if before a king.
“Do you have need for one or the other—perhaps both? My lady, I assure you that you have come to the best animal tamer in the kingdom.” His smile never wavered.
Chala stared openmouthed at him. He thought what he was doing was taming? Did he not see the difference himself? He had the unmagic in him, and he used it and called it taming. What a fool he was.
But a dangerous fool!
“Or perhaps you have a horse of your own that is too much for you? Won’t come when it’s called or bites your men and other horses in the stables? Ruins equipment and has a nasty temper? I have dealt with all of those and they are no problem for me.”
Chala stayed where she was, listening for any information the man could give her about what he did and where he had learned it—or from whom. With every word, she became more sickened. The man was proud of how he had transformed these animals into stones that moved. He thought humans would want animals this way, and Chala realized he must be right. He would not still be in business if there were not some humans who wanted this.
Did they not taste the unmagic? Or did they not care?
The man patted the dappled horse’s back. “You would not recognize this horse from the one that I bought two months ago from a merchant going north. He tried to ride him and was ready to shoot the beast, but I came along and offered a few copper pieces. He was glad to take them and warned me I’d be wasting my feed if I kept her alive. But it worked well enough for both of us, didn’t it, Sweet?”
Why could humans not accept that there would always be some animals that could not be tamed, because they would not accept the exchange of one language for another or give up the forest for a human pasture?
“Could you explain what you do?” asked Chala, pretending interest. “It seems such a wonder for you to change a horse so radically in just a few months. A horse whose character has already been determined in a young life. Is it your strength alone?”
The man lifted a gloved hand to Chala. “It’s in this,” he said.
“What?”
He took off the black leather glove and Chala held it to her nose.
There it was—the smell of the unmagic. The smell that was underneath the perfume on the hound and the horse. The smell that she’d had too much of in the first moment she’d noticed it. And this man smiled at it!
“Where did you get this?” Chala asked carefully.
The man seemed eager enough to talk. “It came to me when I was a young boy. Lucky thing, too, for my parents were poor farmers and I would have had to live on their farm for the rest of my days, growing plants and hunting in the forest for meat. They did not even have animals to raise until I began to take them from the forest with me.”
Chala shivered, but forced herself to go on with the charade. She spoke casually. “I met a man who was like you once, from the south. He had the same ability to gentle animals. He had a certain striping around his nose.”
“Oh?” said the man, his smile faltering.
Was it possible the cat man was in this time, as well? If so, Chala did not know how to find him.
“So, shall I sell this animal to you? One gold coin?” the man asked, his smile pasted on once more.
“No,” said Chala, shaking her head. She had magic but did not know if she could help a horse changed like this. It was not at all the same as helping Crown. What would be left of this horse if the unmagic were stripped from it?
“A silver coin, then,” said the man, interpreting Chala’s reluctance