He is so small, brother. The voice that reached him was laced with pain.
Is he? I had not noticed. I am not as impressed with size as some. Let him attend you, brother. There is great power in him. To Alexander, Mortari whispered privately, My brother, Chirmeng, Death of the Oathbreaker and Marshall of the high king’s sapphire stallions, who carries the Calvary General, Lord Bennonton.
You always did want to be a sapphire stallion, didn’t you, brother. Chirmeng sighed heavily, thoughts tinged with bitter amusement.
We both know I am no blue nag, Mortari answered with affection.
A general? The big man glared fiercely down a broken nose at him and yet he didn’t stop him when Alexander stepped close to the mount’s side to explore the pierced flesh with careful fingers. Alexander knew enough to realize how bad the wounds were. He understood now why the remaining arrows were not removed. This was beyond his ability. He was no sage to heal such tremendous injuries. He was an unskilled child and—
You are not looking at it right. Your ability is there, yet you continue to geld it. Here. Mortari’s voice was quiet against his thoughts and the stallion did something within the depths of his mind. It was a gentle touch and guidance to draw Alexander’s attention to the spot. His spirit-form was there, ready to spring forward. Instead of bolting to action it slid aside at the careful manipulation. There, deeper within, were the small blue-green embers that the touch made brighter, fanning them to life.
No!
He must not explore that part of himself. It was too dangerous. That was the source of his true soul and expending the energy there might kill him. Worse than death, he risked tainting and corrupting himself. As he thought of it, the embers turned bright blue, glowing brilliantly.
You turn evil? Ah Zan’Dar. Never. Never while I am with you to guard your soul, rider.
Alexander didn’t understand how the mount was doing it, and yet Mortari poured energy into him. As it filled him, he understood how he only needed to focus it, as though he were weaving the delicate fibers together into something strong enough to be plunged into the open wounds.
He tried one of the holes first, pushing uncertainly into it with that transmuted sagecraft. He witnessed how the flesh around the torn skin and muscle responded. The flowing blood slowed and stopped as the edges of the gaping hole drew closed. The next wound was still filled with the arrow shaft and barbed point.
Focusing on the tip, he extended outward as he knitted and wove until the arrow was pushed out. It fell to the ground with a dull clatter.
People and mounts gathered around them and the rattle of the broken shaft to the ground sent a gasp through the crowd. The work took all his attention and he must not allow his focus to stray. There were so many wounds and some were deep enough to puncture organs, the lungs, and too close to his huge, fearless heart.
He was dying. If Alexander wasn’t quick enough, the proud war-mount would succumb to these wounds.
Working as rapidly as he was able, he extracted the arrows one at a time and knitted the flesh and tissues together with the blue-green energy. It took a long time, but he got them all. What remained was staunching the worst of the bleeding.
There was a price for Alexander though. The newly tested skill took its toll on him physically. His head throbbed and he felt as though his own body echoed the pain of the arrows in every spot he’d removed them from the mount. It left him raw inside where the power surged through him. The transfer of energy was not limitless and eventually the blue-green light inside him faded to green and edged towards yellowish gray as it drained.
It was his soul he was taxing, and he’d heard his grandmother’s warnings and horror stories of what might happen to a person who dipped too far into the energy of their spirit. They became monsters. Their souls were forever tarnished and twisted.
NO! Mortari’s voice assured him in a strong, radiant cry. I have you. Just a little longer. You have almost stopped the bleeding but there is something more. Do you see?
It was difficult to focus through the pain in his inner sight but, yes, after a moment of concentration, he found the problem. Correcting it was another matter completely though. He gathered trickles of energy with his shuddering and unsteady control. It seemed to take forever to weave it together correctly. He had to start over again and again until he got it right. All the while Mortari whispered his encouragement and soothed him, convincing him he could do it.
Poison!
It was masked by the blood, like a shadow except once he’d picked it out, he could see the way it chewed at the freshly knitted flesh, breaking down the healing he’d done. It took everything he had to drive out the vile stuff. Then he patched the very last of the weeping vessels. Not completely whole, though physical stitches and time would allow the body to recover naturally. He sagged forward and fell into Mortari’s side as the mount crooned warmly to him.
That’s perfect. You, my rider, are a gift of the deity herself. Mortari sang in a giddy delight and relief, And Mine! MINE! Wrapped in silken warmth, Alexander was coaxed to a deeper part of himself where the pain did not touch him. There, he let the weariness pull him into sleep.
Chapter 10
Alexander woke to music, yet he remained resting with his eyes closed, trying to remember where he was. It was an instrument unfamiliar to him, like a flute except with a deeper, richer sound. He lay on a bed rather than the reed mattress and around him were sheets of soft cloth rather than furs.
Amazingly his head didn’t hurt and the moment he began to mentally take stock of himself he felt the focus of Mortari cuddle around him with a flood of affection that made heat race to his cheeks. He expected to find raw holes in his soul and discover his spirit-form torn to ribbons; however, the dark shadows of the stag was there, throwing off starlight to match the amusement from his mount. Of course, he was all right. They were all fine.
The music faded after a flourish of bright trills. “My mount says that you’re awake.” Unexpectedly, it was the voice of the general. Alexander snapped his eyes open and jerked to sit up.
The man laughed, holding up a massive hand to display his palms in a gesture of calm reassurance. “Easy, Zan’Dar. You’re safe here.” He perched on the edge of the bed, holding the source of the music he’d been playing. The instrument was crafted of black wood. It was as long as Alexander’s arm with a fluted end and curving mouthpiece. It looked too elegant and fine in the big man’s heavy hands, though the song he’d played proved his fingers were more agile than they appeared.
The general’s head was bandaged and his golden eyes were ringed in dark bruises. There was something almost haunted in his expression. He was dressed in a heavy fur robe and didn’t seem nearly as imposing and god-like as he had the night before.
Sunlight spilled into the huge room, lighting up the lush tapestries hanging from vaulted ceiling to floor. From the window beyond was a view of the shore and water. A short distance across the expanse he saw the far shore crowded with banners and tents, where people and mounts were gathered.
“We’re in the palace. There were reports to give here and none of us wanted to leave you back on shore. We heard some gossip about the prince’s consort being a traitor. I thought it best that we get to the bottom of what’s going on with you.”
“I’m not the consort,” he gasped.
“Ah, and so the ribbon you were wearing is…”
“A joke,” he replied, cutting him off swiftly.
A strange expression twisted the man’s face. Rage? Embarrassment? Shame? He balanced the instrument across his knee and rocked backwards, squinting at Alexander as though seeing him in a new light. “What?”
Alexander forced out the breath trapped in his lungs and settled back into the bedding, hoping the warmth would ease back into his bones at the news of being labeled a traitor. He explained most of what happened, leaving out how the prince joined him in his bed and ending with the way he’d departed on Mortari to ride to his aid.
The man looked stricken, as though he was going to deny the possibility of what he was hearing. Then his eyes lost focus slightly as he appeared to consult with his mount and color drained from his face. “That stupid ass.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You are too forgiving. Which is an honorable quality, but it’s also why my cousin Yuli and my brother Shylo are having this sport with you. They believe they can slip the noose without paying for what they are doing. Anyone else who knows our customs would have them picking up teeth. Yuli encourages Shylo to go off and poach pregnant mounts and off they go. Then Shylo makes up this fairytale about being bound to you that keeps him out of trouble because no one wanted to harm an innocent. And no insult to you, Zan’Dar, but I don’t believe he is as heart sick as he claims. How could he be so cold to you if he were honestly bound to you? Well, he thought he might avoid punishment for poaching by hiding behind heart sickness until you came in as part of the herd. Gods and Devils, I’m sure he passed a stone when you showed up. Then you win every event you entered. You might have tripped and twisted an ankle and saved face rather than insult them.”
“But…they wanted to see what I could do,” he said, embarrassed.
Lord Bennonton smiled and reached to give his knee a reassuring squeeze through the blankets. “Easy. I know they did and again, you didn’t know what a danger it is to win sometimes. Honor in court is not the same as on the battlefield. They want to see a good show, and then an unexpected, yet stunning defeat, so they can remain on top and have a jab at you. You cannot be faulted for your attempt. Did any of them enter contests?”
He thought back on it and slowly lifted his shoulders, “I didn’t see any of them.” He let out a soft breath and closed his eyes. He only opened them again when the big hand squeezed his knee in support. The strong grip touched him without any self-consciousness or pretense. It sent a silvery thrill through him. Perhaps the general was only being kind as a favor for what Alexander and Mortari had done. Alexander couldn’t feel attraction to a man. Particularly not this powerful, older man. It was unthinkable.
“Well, you have no idea what the customs are here. Someone who was truly bonded to you would not let you fumble like that. Instead, my idiot brother gives you a token to mock you? And he sends you out to win every event in his honor? Gods. If I…” He chewed back the word and shook his head. “Ah, never mind. It’s wrong for me to tell you what you should do, but please, think upon your choice. After what you did for us, I have a duty to see you are safe. Do not encourage that bond, if it’s there in truth, until you know he is really the one you want to share your life with. Better not to have the link than to share it with someone with the values even a donkey wouldn’t want.”
“He is really your brother?”
“Unfortunately, yes. He is youngest, I am middle child and our eldest brother will be coming home shortly with his delegation in the east. You’ve met our darling sister Winnifred, she is Shylo’s twin. I was already out on my first campaign when mother died and the twins were very young. Our father spoiled them and gave them too much liberty with elder cousin Yuli. They are pampered children like most of the offspring of the sapphire stallions.”
Seeing Alexander’s puzzled expression, he smiled and motioned with his flute towards the window. “Yes, of course you don’t know about that custom either. You ran with the blood horses, those mounts that migrate from their native lands to the crescent shore to find a mate and perhaps a rider. Those who do not find riders return to their land and then make the migration over again in a year’s time. It improves the stock as only the fittest can survive that journey. The argument is that the best beasts have done the trip many times before finding a worthy rider. However, there are some mounts who spend most of their lives at war. They do not have the liberty to take two years to prance across the hillside on some pilgrimage to find themselves.” He smirked as though he expected Mortari’s response to that insult.
Alexander experienced the sensation as a cold blade against the length of his spine. It made him sit straighter, ready to defend the honor of his mount.
Lifting a hand to still any comment, the general continued, “Those horses that live through war sometimes mate and those horses have foals in battle. Or they have them at court during, or during diplomatic peace talks or any number of reasons. Many of them grow up pampered and spoiled and never even see danger. They are protected by the elder war-mounts and by the time they can pick a rider, they haven’t had to test their limits at all. However, they are also usually bound to warriors or princes and must prove their worth in other ways.
“Sapphire stallions, though they are not all studs obviously, think they are a hand above the blood horses and the blood horses believe sapphire stallions are soft and untested. So it goes. There are, I hate to admit, quite a few Sapphire stallions who are no better suited than to a lady in waiting and yet a lady in waiting has need of her mount, too. Can you imagine your Mortari tending someone with a life of leisure? Ha! He would tear himself to bits.”
“But our mounts are brothers. How aren’t they both…” The smile of amusement made Alexander stop in mid question with a blush.
“Mounts are monogamous to a point but a casual coupling isn’t forbidden. Their dams are actually quite fond of each other. Their sire fathered Mortari before he crossed over. He is one of the last of his great line. So yes, they have the same sire but very different upbringings. There has been friction between them for years. Apparently, that is somewhat mended now, thanks to you. At least your overachieving yesterday gained you a proper mount. Did you truly win every race you entered? No one told you the game within the game? I’m going to twist Winnie’s ears.”
Alexander ducked his head to conceal his burning face which made the man laugh heartily. He squeezed Alexander’s knee with obvious affection. They were quiet for a time, a companionable silence settling between them. Finally, Alexander asked, “So, what will become of me now?”
“Well, I will explain what happened and why my cousin and brother are so twisted up. Once my father understands their part in the sport he’ll have to address the actions of my brother, Yuli and their group. You can decide what path you wish to walk. Consult with your mount. He knows your heart better than anyone. And for the sake of all the gods, decide what you want to do about my brother’s bond-claim so we can have a resolution of that.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice. Isn’t that like being a soulmate? I didn’t think you could refuse something like that.”
“If it’s what you want and it feels right to you in your heart, of course. However, tying yourself with someone who is openly selfish and cruel? No, I wouldn’t wish that on my blackest enemy. You can say no.” His expression said very clearly, ‘Please, say no.’ With a soft smile, he stood. “The steward will bring in a change of clothes for you. There’s no need to attend court meal just to have my father interrogate you. Let me report all of this to him and smooth over the edges. I’ll have food brought up and then fetch you before noon and we can all sail across for Festival.”
“No swimming?” he asked and smiled faintly.
“Gods and devils. No! Some of us are not part war-mount. We have ships that navigate the waters perfectly fine for us.” He set the instrument down on the side table with a little wink. “I hear you enjoy playing. Perhaps it is not what you’re familiar with, but I would be honored if you’d accept it. While we’re sailing I’ll show you how to play.”
He watched the huge warrior stride from the room with a certain stricken twisting in his chest. His cousins called him a sissy for playing the flute at home. The man who strode from the room was no coward and certainly not someone any of his family would label feminine.
He is a good man, his mount murmured softly into his thoughts. As though he wanted to be sure that Alexander knew the difference between someone honorable to compare and contrast with the others in his life. His own cousins, his elder brother and now Shylo had each played him.
It underscored the fact he was surrounded by people who did not wish him well. Even after months away from home, the sting of his cousins’ betrayal had not faded. He really had thought them wonderful. The reality that he was still a naive child left his heart and thoughts in a jumble.
Chapter 11
Alexander burst out laughing when he came into the yard to find his mount. Someone had dyed Mortari’s mane and tail an electric blue. Alexander had no idea that particular color could be created in nature.
The mount radiated a bemused smugness about the whole thing. He was facing off with another mount who wore a splash of blue over his hip that dribbled down one flank and over his ribs. Whatever their conversation was, Alexander was not invited into it. Someone was not happy Mortari got the dye treatment.
Rider, Mortari murmured, notes of laughter brightening his voice. Don’t laugh or I will dunk you in dye too, my sweet.
Problem? he asked. Talking internally with Mortari was so much easier than any other time he’d tried. He found he enjoyed the intimacy shared with his proud war-mount.
Not at all. Just educating the youngster. He turned and walked to Alexander’s side and nuzzled at his hair and then at his new, powder blue jacket. Layers of approval enfolded him.
What kind of education? He warily watched the mount as he swung himself onto Mortari’s back.
Young blue-shanks was jealous that an outsider, such as myself, was getting fully dyed when he has never had it himself. So, I helped get him colored up. It is an absolutely ridiculous tradition. This is what my brother believes is a reward for our efforts? A pretty jacket for you and stinky dye for me. I am not a parade horse. I am not—
Alexander leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the powerful neck, pressing his face against the fur that twitched at his touch. You are mine. I’ll wash you as soon as we’re on the other side.
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