The Horse Road

by Troon Harrison

  ‘Perhaps the rain will come at last,’ Lila murmured, but I did not reply for at that moment, a tall, imposing man in a wide-sleeved robe of blue silk broke away from the cluster of men at the tent and came towards me. Precious stones winked on the hilt of the great sword hanging at his waist, and on the rings on his fingers. Batu and Sayeh followed him, as did a number of soldiers carrying lances, and wearing lacquered leather armour. I did not dismount at their approach, or lead Gryphon respectfully forward. Instead I sat tall in my saddle, and waited.

  The blue-robed man stopped in front of Gryphon, and stared at me with his foreign eyes, his mouth a severe line beneath the sweep of his thick moustache. For a long moment I returned his level stare; I did not drop my eyes or duck my head. I pressed my bones down into my saddle, and felt strength rise up my spine; the strength of my homeland flowing up out of the grassy ground and through the sinews of Gryphon’s long legs and into my own body. There were mountains and cold water and storms in that flow of strength, mares who could fight wolves, foals who could dig for fodder in drifts, women who could lead tribes.

  My words came from that deep soil beneath Gryphon’s feet, the soil that grew the alfalfa and fed the herds, the soil that I had galloped over in sun and rain and wind, that nourished the grapevines and the melons; the soil of my home. When I spoke to the foreign man, my words were smooth and loud and clear; they flew from my mouth like eagles.

  ‘I am the lady Kallisto of the great trading house, the House of Iona of Ershi,’ I began. ‘I am here on a matter of business regarding a white horse.’

  The man inclined his head in a bow, and straightened to give me a brooding, unreadable look as Sayeh translated.

  ‘Your people have taken a white mare that was stolen from me. She is not a trade good to be taken from my household, from my valley, without permission. She was stolen from me while my father was away and my mother indisposed. I have come to take her home again.’

  There was silence after Sayeh translated this; the wind gusted against our silks, and made the tassels swing on the horse harnesses; the nomads’ ponies stamped and chewed their bits.

  I inclined my head as the foreign man began to speak and as Sayeh’s light voice translated. ‘I am Sheng Mu, Master of Horses for the Imperial Army of the Son of Heaven, and I have three elite white mares in my charge. You must describe yours.’

  ‘She has no mark or blemish on her; she is fourteen years old; she has a five-pointed brand on her nearside quarter. She belongs, as do all the mares you have acquired with this brand, to the House of Ershi for the five-pointed brand is ours. You may check your records on this matter. And yet, your records will also show that this mare was acquired from a man named Arash, son of the late king’s Falconer.’

  ‘My scribes will bring the scrolls,’ the man Sheng said, and he turned to give an order. We waited while the clouds continued massing, and the silk standards snapped. Finally a scribe brought a jade chest filled with scrolls and unfurled one for his master to read; Sheng ran his fingers down over the strange marks of that foreign script.

  ‘You are correct,’ he said at last. ‘Yet the man Arash might have owned this mare, might have bought her from your house.’

  ‘He did not buy her! She was stolen from me and I have come to take her home. Is this how you begin your peaceful trading with us, by taking a horse that you have no right to acquire?’

  His face darkened as Sayeh translated this, and I heard Lila’s tense breathing; her hands tightened on the reins and Mountain awoke from his doze and tossed his heavy head. My nomad bodyguards shifted their hands to their daggers, and I knew I had to be more careful.

  ‘I believe you are a man of honour,’ I said. ‘If you can bring my mare, I will seek to win her back through a fair contest. I will challenge your best rider to compete against me and if I win, I will take my mare home. My scribe will draw up a document promising a trading agreement between you, Sheng Mu, and the House of Ershi; each year, we will send you two foals. Every fourth year, one of those foals shall be from this white mare, and this golden stallion that I am mounted on, providing their foal lives. If not, I will send three foals in total in that year, as recompense. But if I lose the riding contest, you can take my white mare away now, my stolen mare, over the roof of the world.’

  The man listened intently as Sayeh translated, stroking his drooping moustache, and then a gleam filled his eyes and a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. ‘Some entertainment while we wait to go home!’ he said, and he turned and spoke to the soldiers standing behind him. Laughter flashed amongst them, and one man ran away, shouting. Another soldier led forward a horse and the first man rode off on it while we waited in the gathering storm. Sunlight slid over the mountains, burning white in the snowy peaks, and was extinguished. Grass bent before the wind, and Sheng Mu’s blue robe blew around his knees; its hem was embroidered with golden dragons.

  A gleam of light caught a battle standard. A horse gleamed between the tents. A white horse. The light ran down over her like water. She turned her dark eyes to me and I stepped over the threshold of home.

  ‘Swan!’

  At the sound of my voice, she flung up her sculpted head, her slender upright neck, and nickered a welcome even as Gryphon pricked his ears and whinnied a note of high excitement. The soldier on the horse led Swan forward until she was standing before me. I wanted to fling myself from Gryphon and wrap my arms around her neck, and bury my face in her silken shoulder, but instead I kept my gaze calm. I held myself still on Gryphon; only my eyes ran over Swan, checking her for harm. She looked slightly thin, her ribs like fine shadows under her skin, but perfectly fit. Gryphon stretched out his nose and blew into her flared dark nostrils.

  ‘This is the mare,’ I said clearly to Sheng Mu. ‘Find your best rider to compete against me. Meanwhile, a table, please, for my scribe. She will copy out our trade agreement.’

  Batu took Mountain’s reins as Lila dismounted and seated herself on a carpet that was hastily brought forward and laid upon the grass; a small table was also carried from the tent, and she spread the parchment upon it and began to write as I dictated. Sheng Mu sent for an interpreter of his own, and we were joined by a small man with ink-stained fingers, who leaned over Lila’s shoulder and read aloud in the Chinese tongue as she wrote in Persian.

  I promised two foals a year, from elite parentage, and a foal from Swan and Gryphon every fourth year. Sheng Mu promised silk, bolts of differing colours but of finest weave, in return for the foals. I promised Sheng Mu trade goods from Parthia and the west – coral and pearls, perfume and ivory – brought by my father’s caravans, and Sheng Mu promised to pay for these too with silk. The silk would be brought to us in Ershi every summer, and we would have the other trade items, and the young horses, ready to return to China with Sheng’s caravans.

  Lila copied the same agreement on to another scroll. Then Sheng Mu signed his name, that looked like a drawing with many fine lines, on to both copies, and I added my own name in the Persian script. A crucible containing wax that had been melted over a campfire was carried forward and a drop was tipped on to our parchment trade agreement. Before the puddle of wax cooled, I rolled the great seal of my father’s house into it and left an impression of a grape leaf and a horse’s head.

  ‘So, all this is good – but I will tear it up if you do not beat my best rider in this contest you propose,’ Sheng Mu said, and his dark eyes again glinted with amusement. ‘Here is the man you will ride against – Chang.’

  Chapter 17

  When I looked up, there was a mounted man waiting beside me; a small, wiry man with a fierce sallow face and eyes that did not smile. Those eyes ran over me like a knife skinning a dead sheep. I held myself very still on Gryphon and stared into the sharpness of those eyes for a long moment, to prove to him that I was not afraid, before glancing at the man’s horse. He was riding a Persian horse, a bright gelding of dappled dun with a narrow head and dark stripes, like grass shadows, upon his
hind legs.

  ‘In this contest, I would like to ride my mare,’ I told Sheng Mu firmly.

  ‘She is not your mare, not yet, and maybe not ever,’ he replied. ‘You must ride the mount you have come here on if you wish to win her back.’

  Gryphon was very fast, but he was much harder to control than Swan because he was younger, and a stallion, and excitable and impatient by nature. My chances of beating this wiry, glaring horseman would have been much greater on Swan, who listened to every tug of my fingers, every whisper of my words, every twitch of my leg muscles, and who could twist and turn under me like a river current. I laid my palm upon Gryphon’s withers and silently begged him to listen to me today, and to calm his fiery spirit.

  ‘Come, let us begin,’ said Sheng Mu, and I saw that a large space had been cleared beyond the line of tents, and that the perimeter of this space was lined with ranks of foreign soldiers who watched as I rode forward beside the rider on the dun, and followed by my bodyguards and servants. I twisted in my saddle, longing for a last glimpse of Swan but already she had been led away, out of sight. Sheng Mu had a large chair with carved feet, and a dragon along the back, carried outside and placed in the centre of the watching men. He seated himself upon it, ceremoniously draping his robes around his riding boots.

  ‘These men on either side of me are my best horsemen,’ he said, gesturing to where they stood around his chair in their bright tunics and leather armour. ‘Together, we will judge the winner of this contest of riding skills. Let us begin with shooting at targets.’

  Chang took first turn, trotting, then cantering and finally galloping his dun past the straw targets that had been set up. He was a good shot with a true aim, but not as fast as I hoped to be. When it was my turn, I borrowed a quiver of arrows and bow from one of the nomads, and kicked Gryphon immediately into a gallop. Dropping my reins on to his neck, I guided him with my knees. One hand reached for the arrows in the quiver against my thigh, the other hand notched them to the bow. The gut was a familiar burn against my fingers. The targets blurred past; for an instant in time, I held each one in the centre of my eyes. The arrows flew from my hand, one, two, three, four, five! They pierced the targets’ straw and held there, the shafts thrumming. I kneed Gryphon around in a tight circle and flew past the line of targets a second time. One, two, three, four, five! Again, my arrows flew hard and fast, hitting their marks. A cheer went up from the watching soldiers, and when I rode Gryphon over to Sheng Mu and bowed from the waist, Batu’s bright grin flashed in the crowd.

  ‘Swordplay, only to dismount or disarm your opponent but not to wound,’ Sheng Mu said, and I pulled my mother’s long sword from its scabbard and held it up against the light. It felt heavy and cold in my hand, and my arm muscles trembled as I wheeled Gryphon into the centre of the grassy space. I had not practised this skill as much, and my mouth was dry.

  The man Chang came at me sideways and hard; I reeled from the force of his thrusting sword, and metal blades screamed against one another so that my ears rang. Gryphon snorted and bucked, spooked by the noise, and my sword thrust swung wide of its mark. Soldiers jeered and shouted, and I saw money changing hands. Then I narrowed my gaze back to my opponent, remembering my mother’s words: ‘Keep your eyes on one thing only; whatever you are fighting is all you should see.’ I dodged and swung in my saddle, parrying blow after blow, thrusting and cutting, my sword blade whistling through the air. Gryphon had broken into an excited sweat and he danced under me, increasingly hard to control. Suddenly, as he swung his quarters around, a fierce swing came under my blade, tipped my sword against the racing sky, and broke my grip on it. I heard the thump as it fell from my hand and landed in the grass. Gryphon bucked and broke into a gallop around the perimeter of the space and I fought to control him and bring him back to Sheng Mu seated on his carved chair beneath the dark blue mountains.

  The wind was gusting harder now, hot then cold, sending shivers running over my sweating skin. My mouth was parched, my eyes straining in my face. Pain shouted in my bruised leg. I sought for Batu and Lila in the crowd and their smiles steadied me. I can do this, for Swan, I thought. I will do better at whatever comes next.

  ‘Lances,’ Sheng Mu said, and men carried forward the long poles with their sharp iron heads. I tucked mine under my arm and held Gryphon between my knees while soldiers ran on to the field to pull the arrows from the targets. Then I wheeled him around and kicked him into a gallop again, crouching over his neck, balancing the lance along my arm. The heavy metal head seemed to bounce with every stride that Gryphon took. Higher, I thought. Get it higher! Hold it still! Look at the target!

  I took one deep breath, waited for Gryphon’s leading leg to swing forward, and launched the lance into the air. It whistled ahead of me and struck the target’s outer edge; for a moment it wavered there with shaft rocking but then it fell into the grass as Gryphon galloped past. Behind me, the man Chang rode at a furious pace, the dun’s hogged mane brushing his cheeks and his eyes narrowed to slits as he flung his lance. It struck the centre of the target and held there, quivering. We rode five more times each, and my lance hit the target each of those times but still, the man Chang had now won two contests and I had won only the archery.

  A terrible clawing despair tore at my insides. I stared down at Gryphon’s neck as I rode over to Sheng Mu, and willed myself not to cry. Then I remembered that I was leaving behind that timid girl, and I straightened myself in the saddle and met the foreign man’s gaze steadily.

  ‘Pole bending, a race,’ he said, and men ran on to the field to impale the ground with two long lines of sticks with their ends whittled into points.

  Chang and I held our horses still, side by side. Wind blew a scrap of cloth across the grass and Gryphon bounded sideways in excitement. I steadied him, pulled him back alongside the dun. My ears strained for the command to start; I willed Gryphon to pay attention, to focus on that line of poles. But he just wanted to be running, skimming the yellow grass, a creature of cloud and storm and fire, wild and free. His head turned, scanning the crowd, the racing cloud shadows, the flapping tents. He snorted.

  ‘Go!’ shouted Sheng Mu, and Gryphon sprang out from under me so fast that I was almost unseated. I swung him between the first poles, tight in the turn. He soared wide on the second turn, then came in closer again for the third turn, my leg brushing against the pole but not knocking it over. At the far end of the line, I swung him around in a tight circle and headed him back between the poles. The dun raced in the corner of my eye and the troops yelled and roared. We were neck and neck now, thundering between the last poles, shooting far out across the grass and skidding to a halt against the wall of spectators who scattered and ran as the horses cut long grooves into the grass with their hard hooves.

  ‘No winner!’ Sheng Mu said as we stood once more before his carved chair.

  ‘Now each rider must have time in the ring alone, to show us whatever skills they wish.’

  Chang took first turn, and hitched the dun to a chariot beside another horse. He drove in dizzying circles, the light rig tipping over so far that one wheel lifted from the ground, then he ran out along the central shaft while the horses were cantering, and balanced there in his leather-soled boots. The soldiers roared and cheered, and I saw more money changing hands as Chang ran beside his horse, unhitched now, and jumped on and off its back at a trot. He dived off its side, turning a somersault before he touched the ground.

  I could taste the oncoming rain now; it tasted like iron and sand, like hot stones and riverbeds and chalk and salt. The clouds raced over the Alay Mountains, building higher and darker, their bellies swollen with moisture. Anahita’s grey mares were up there, I thought, driving the demon’s black stallion away from our pastures, our orchards and nut groves. Soon, soon, the rain would fall.

  It was my turn again. I walked Gryphon to the far end of the grass and then sent him streaking down its length at a gallop. Part way, I dived backwards off him and hung by one foot, my
toe looped into a leather thong, my arms loose, and my head rushing inches above the ground. It was the manoeuvre that I had used to escape from the cavalry fight on Mountain. At the end of the field, I pulled myself back into the saddle and turned Gryphon’s head around. This time, I jumped off him and ran five strides beside his cantering shoulder before jumping back on. Then I stood in my foot loops, and trotted the length of the field standing up, praying he wouldn’t break into a faster pace. I must win this, I thought.

  I must win! I must do something now that will impress Sheng Mu greatly!

  ‘I need to borrow your horse,’ I called to Chang, and Sayeh translated, her words snatched away on the wind’s whistle. Reluctantly, the man climbed from the dun gelding and led him over to me. I had watched the horse running; his stride was very close to being the same length as Gryphon’s, and they were almost the same height. Nonetheless, what I was about to do was risky, for I needed to practise it much more, and because the two horses were strangers to one another. ‘Roman riding’ my father called it, and my mother forbade me to do it because it was too dangerous; it was for this reason that I had not been able to practise it very often.

  I took the dun’s reins and positioned him beside Gryphon, who rolled his eyes and snorted at the stranger. I tugged on his rein and he turned his head forward again, his ears swivelling to the sound of my voice as I told him to pay attention to me. I eased him into a walk and the dun kept stride, kept closely against Gryphon with a tight rein. Holding my breath, I eased them both into a trot. The crowd was silent. I stood in my toe loops, kicked my feet free and jumped into the saddle, standing upright on Gryphon. His back undulated below me, swaying, surging. Wind filled my ears. The crowd floated past, far below, their mouths open in a roar of appreciation. I tugged on Gryphon’s reins, slowing his pace, and waiting for the moment when his stride matched the dun’s. Then I shifted my weight quickly, and set one foot over on to the dun’s blanketed back.