Kordas tied up his horse in the shade next to the house, and rambled over to the Squire, who was leaning over the wall, talking to his pig. The unobservant would have said that Lesley was paying no attention whatsoever to his liege lord, but as Kordas got within range, he heard a very soft voice saying, “And there’s our Kordas, Empress, come to have an audience with you.”
“Heyla, Lesley,” said Kordas, just as softly.
“Heyla, Kordas,” Lesley replied, comfortable and calm. “Come have a piece of wall.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
He joined Lesley in laying both arms up on the top of the wall, gazing down at a sow that was easily the size of a sofa, surrounded by what looked like a sea of pretty pink piglets. “Farrowed, did she?” he observed.
“A full dozen, all healthy,” Lesley said, not trying to keep the gloating out of his voice. “Reskin is going to be beside himself. His Nonesuch only had a litter of eight.” Kliff Reskin was Squire Lesley’s chief rival in the matter of pigs. Reskin had been injudicious enough to challenge Lesley’s supremacy in the matter of pigs in the Duchy, and had become Lesley’s mortal enemy from that day forward. It did not help that Reskin was not a farmer, but a pub owner and brewer, that he fed his sow on leftovers, scraps, and the spent barley from his brewing rather than following Lesley’s example of free-ranging his pigs or supplying them with good fodder like turnip-tops and cabbages that had a touch of worm. It was worse that Reskin was openly contemptuous of Lesley’s knowledge.
“Well, that’ll disappoint some bettors,” Kordas observed. “He was awfully sure Nonesuch would have a bigger litter than that.”
Lesley snorted. “As if he could tell!” the Squire scoffed, and as the Empress ambled over to the wall, looking for a scratch, he handed Kordas a stick. Kordas took it, and obliged the Empress and Lesley both by gently scratching her pink rump while Lesley did the more delicate work around her ears.
“Anything to report?” Kordas asked.
“If the weather’s aught to go by, and I reckon it is, the Emperor’s war in the west is a-heating up,” Lesley pronounced with authority. “Wizard weather’s going to make it chancy for hay, so I’d advise Hakkon to tell your men to cut early, cure quickly, and get ’er in as fast as they can. If you get a second and third crop that way, all the better. If you don’t, you’ll still have the early crop. It’ll be a good year for pigs and a chancy one for sheep, and keep your horses out of that field down by the canal that likes to flood unless you want to be treating hoof-rot half the summer.” He cocked an eye at Kordas. “Anything to report?”
“We’ve had some success on the Plan.”
If there was anyone outside of Hakkon that Kordas trusted without question in this entire Duchy, it was Squire Lesley. The same had been true of their fathers and grandfathers. And the Squire signaled his appreciation of this news with a low whistle.
“Welladay. I can have my second son, daughter-in-law, their brood, and half the herd ready to go with two days’ notice,” the Squire said. “The others will take some uprooting, but we’ve been hoping for this as long as you have.”
“That bad?” he asked in surprise. Had the Emperor’s people been harassing his without his knowledge?
“No-oo, not exactly,” Lesley assured him, calming his alarm. “Just—I’m Landwise, as was my da, and my da’s da, and his before him. I can feel it, Kordas. It’s like a great big lump of poison sitting out there to the east and south of us. All my life, it’s been spreading, getting stronger, and that spreading and strengthening has gotten a good lot worse in the last five years. Eventually, something’s going to break, and when it does, I don’t want to be here.”
“But this has been your home for—as long as it’s been my family’s,” Kordas protested, with a touch of surprise. He had not expected this result. He’d expected he would have to argue with the Squire, apply some pressure, at least, and some persuasion. To hear that Squire Lesley was perfectly willing to load up his pigs onto a barge and flee into the unknown on two days’ notice . . . well, it took him aback.
He was not Landwise, which was a very, very old form of earth-magic; it didn’t confer any particular sort of power other than the ability to read the health of the land and do some modest predictions about crops and animals. But if Lesley was reading that much awful in the Imperial Capital from this far away? Well, things must have accelerated for the bad quite a bit in the years he’d been gone.
“Right, then. If you need hulls, come get them as soon as you have a chance. I’ll leave word you’re to have them for free.” The Empress wandered away, her needs satisfied for the moment, and lay down so her piglets could suckle.
“That’s a generous offer,” said the Squire.
“You have a lot of pigs,” he pointed out. “It’ll cost you a fair bit to convert the hulls to pig-barges.”
“True, that,” Lesley admitted. He straightened and looked up and over to his fields. “I do believe,” he continued, “that my shelters need replacing. Too small.”
“Ramps?” asked Kordas.
“Aye. It’ll get ’em used to going in and out so they’ll be ready on the day.” He turned to Kordas and winked. “Always good to think ahead.”
“Always,” Kordas agreed. “Send one of the lads to me if your Landwise sense tells you anything I need to know.”
“That’s a promise,” said the Squire. “Now, the day’s getting on, and none of this is getting our work done. Good to see you, Kordas.”
That was a clear dismissal. “Good to see you as always, Squire,” Kordas replied, touching two fingers to his hat in farewell.
And with that, Lesley went off on some other errand of his own—possibly to see about getting those extra hulls moved to his fields—and Kordas went on his way.
5
“What am I supposed to do now, Grim?” Delia asked, once she had edged into Arial’s loose-box. The mare looked entirely different from the exhausted, suffering creature she had been last night. She’d gotten a rub-down and grooming since then, and a good sleep, and she was very much aware of everything going on around her precious foal. And with Delia in the box with her, she had gone tense and wary, ready to either flee or attack to protect her baby.
“Take this,” the stablemaster said, handing her a brush over the wall of the box. “If you’re going to be able to handle that foal daily, you need to get on well with her dam. Hold out the brush so she can see it. Wiggle it a little until she acknowledges you’ve got it and reacts.”
Delia obeyed; Arial focused on the brush, recognized it, and snorted once, then turned her attention to her hay, her entire body relaxing. She knew what a brush meant, and she was looking forward to it.
“Now go brush her neck,” said Grim. “Softly and gently. This isn’t meant to be a cleaning, it’s meant to be a treat. Right now, Star’s taking all her cues from her mama, so the more you make Arial relax, the more relaxed the foal will be.”
Delia approached the mare slowly and carefully, as the foal peeked around her dam’s buttocks. At the first touch of the brush, Arial sighed and sagged a little, then leaned into the brushstrokes. Arial even stopped eating, the better to appreciate the slow, steady pressure of the brush on her neck. Now exceedingly curious, the foal came around to sniff Delia’s elbow—and Arial did not object.
“Now hold out your free hand to Star,” ordered Grim. “But keep it close to your body. You want her to come to you, you don’t want her to think you’re grabbing for her. She hasn’t learned anything yet, so everything she does is either going to be what was born into her or what she picks up from Arial. If you move fast, she’s going to assume you are something that wants to eat her.”
Delia brushed with the right hand, and slightly extended her left. The foal made several false approaches before deciding to come close enough to sniff the hand. Satisfied that Delia wasn’t some sort of monster that was
going to snatch at her, she moved closer still, coming in to sniff Delia from her ankles to her chest. Delia crooned nonsense at her, and the foal flicked her ears at the unfamiliar sound. Her fingers itched to touch that soft coat and curly mane, but she did as Grim was telling her.
“That’s good. Let her get used to the sound of your voice, too. Try putting your hand on her neck. If she lets it stay there, start scratching,” Grim said. “Don’t stop brushing Arial.”
She couldn’t have stopped brushing if she’d tried; Arial was now leaning into the brush strokes with pure pleasure, eyes half-lidded, a forgotten strand of hay sticking out of her mouth.
“Easy, baby,” Delia said to both of them. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.”
The foal’s ears twitched again. Arial moved her head a little, saw what Delia was up to, considered things for a moment, and closed her eyes completely. Evidently she was of the opinion that someone who was so superior at brushing was safe to have around her precious baby.
Moving with exquisite care, Delia set a hand on Star’s neck. The foal’s skin shivered under the unexpected pressure, but as Delia started scratching, she settled. Her ears flicked toward Delia again, and she moved a little closer, to get more scratches.
“There you go,” Grim said with an air of triumph. “You’ve got them both now. Keep that up until one of them gets bored.”
“Won’t that mean I’ll be here all day?” Delia objected.
“Foals don’t have that long an attention span. Just give her a moment.”
Delia scratched until she had covered every bit of the foal she could reach without moving. At about that time, Star did get bored, hungry, or both. She pulled away and stuck her head under her mother’s flank, seeking milk.
“I can’t believe that last night she wasn’t even born, and now she’s up and trotting around!” Delia said softly. “Puppies and kittens aren’t like that.”
“That’s because she’s a prey animal. Prey babies have to be able to run from the time they’re a few hours old. Leave her alone a moment, and hand me the brush,” Grim told her, and when she had passed it over, continued, “Now rest your hand lightly on Star’s back. Maybe scratch a little if she doesn’t object.”
Star was too busy drinking to object. At Grim’s direction, Delia put both hands on the foal’s back, with a very little pressure. “We’re getting her used to the idea of weight on her back, so when the time comes for her to wear a saddle, and then to allow you to ride, it will all seem normal,” Grim told her. “This morning is going to set the path for her for the rest of her life.”
By lunchtime, Star was allowing Delia to run her hands all over the foal’s body, pick up each hoof, drape her arm over Star’s neck and hold her close, and put a couple of grooming cloths on the foal’s back, where they rested as Star moved around her mother. Stafngrimr pronounced himself satisfied with the day’s progress. “You come back here tomorrow morning, and do the same on your own. You’ve both learned the early lessons, now you both need to repeat them for a while. You won’t need me for a few more days. Now, a couple things I want you to be wary of. On no account do you ever let her rear at you, not even in greeting, not even in play. You put your hand on the top of her head and her forehead, use gentle pressure to keep her head down, love on her head, and make her stand still if she tries. You don’t let her nip at you, not even a nibble. If she goes to mouth you, you put your hand on her nose and pet it until she pulls it away. The best thing you can do to prevent nibbles and bites is to pet her head when she touches you with her nose.”
“Not swat her?” Delia asked.
“That’s the last thing you want to do. Horses lunge and box in play out in the field. And she’s faster than you. You don’t want to get her into that habit, because you’ll never connect in time to correct her, and it becomes a game, one she controls.” Grim patted her shoulder. “The big thing she needs to understand is that in this partnership, you’re the lead mare.”
Delia nodded. “So I do this every morning until about lunch?”
“About that long. After a few more days here in the box with her dam, introducing her to the halter, and getting the halter on her, we’ll have you do the same things out in the pasture. Pretty soon she’ll connect you with being scratched and petted, and she’ll come to you without calling for her, unless she’s in a full-out romp with the other foals.” Grim laughed. “Don’t worry, she’ll notice you eventually, and come.”
“I love watching them play,” Delia said wistfully.
“So do I. But don’t go out in the paddock and play with her. She gets to play with her peers, but she needs to respect you. You’re not her peer, you’re the lead mare of the herd, and you are not something to play with.” He scratched his head. “Foals play rough, and the bigger they get, the rougher they play. You don’t want an adult horse ‘playing’ with you on her terms; you’ll end up with broken bones. Positive reward from you should come in the form of petting and praising. Later it can come in the form of treats, or being given a toy to play with.”
He motioned to her to come out of the loose-box.
“We’ll start getting her used to the idea of a halter soon, maybe as early as tomorrow. I’ll leave it on the side of the box for her to sniff at today. Tomorrow, you move her around so she’s seeing it, pick it up, put it down. Day after that, you hold it for her to sniff, then rub it on her head. Day after that I’ll show you how to start putting it on her. When I’m ready to let them out in the pasture in the morning and bring them back in at night, that will be the right time to teach her how to be led.”
Delia paused in the door of the stable. “That soon?” she said in surprise.
“It’s easiest now, before they get any bad habits, and while they still accept every new thing that comes to them, rather than rejecting it,” Grim replied. “I was getting her used to being handled last night, while you and the Duke were already in bed. Here, come with me, and I’ll show you just what the results of this kind of early training are.”
Curious now, she followed Grim to another set of stables, the ones reserved for the “heavy” horses—the Chargers, the Tow-Beasts, and the new line that Kordas was experimenting with. Grim stood at the fence around the pasture, and whistled a particular three-note call, and two huge horses that could have been Valdemar Golds if not for their size picked up their heads and came trotting for the fence. The other horses in the field ignored the call.
They were utterly magnificent, with flowing manes and tails that must have taken the grooms hours to comb out, their hides gleaming like liquid sunshine as they slowed to a walk and approached the stablemaster, heads bobbing. They whickered a greeting as they got to him.
“And there’s my handsome lads,” Grim crooned, as they put their heads down so he could scratch their heads under their forelocks. “Delia, hop over the fence, and come up to the forequarters. Doesn’t matter which one you pick.”
She obeyed him, though she felt more than a little intimidated by a horse that towered over her so much that she had to reach up to pat his shoulder.
“Now, just run your right hand down his leg till you get to the knee. Then pat his shin with your hand. He’ll pick his foot right up, then he’ll wait for you to take it in your hands, and just rest it there, easy and light. He won’t even shift his weight until you let go of the foot for him to set it down again.”
She did as she was told, and was filled with amazement when the horse did exactly what Grim said he would—with a hoof that was so big it filled both her hands with plenty of room to spare! He didn’t let a bit of his weight rest on that leg, either. She could move his foot around to inspect the frog, and she probably could have cleaned it if she’d had a hoofpick. She let the hoof go, and he put his foot down politely, brought his head around to sniff her, and then put his nose in her hands, as Grim had said Star would soon. She rubbed the
soft skin around his nostrils and scratched under his chin. He seemed to enjoy that very much.
“That’s the benefit of early training,” said Grim. “Not a chance in hell we’d be able to control a lad that size without it. Can you imagine trying to shoe that fellow, or trim his hooves, or clean his feet, if he wasn’t used to obeying us without question? It’d be impossible. Come on back over.”
She hopped the fence again, and he produced a couple of pieces of carrot from somewhere, and gave the two false Golds their treats. “My one regret is these boys are going to be wasted on the Emperor,” Grim sighed. “But the good thing is once the stablehands understand what sort of gems they are, they’ll be treated right.” They put their noses over the fence to be rubbed again. “All right, Delia, off with you. You’ve put in a good morning’s work.”
On her way back to the manor, she wondered if other horse breeders took the kind of care and time with their animals that Kordas and his stablemaster did. She didn’t think so. Her pony had taken a lot of persuading before he became the cooperative fellow he was now, and even then, there was only a handful of people he’d work with. On the other hand, as Kordas had often said, her pony was a good judge of character.
The main door into the manor was the closest—the most convenient for a Duke who was often in the stables—so that was where she was heading, though she did make sure her shoes were cleaned first. Because she had been raised in a household that had not, at the time, had one of the Imperial “gift” manors, she was struck again by how very odd the manor at Valdemar looked, poking up out of the landscape with nothing to anchor it to the landscape it was in. Her father’s manor just fit into its surroundings, the two-story stone walls echoing the exposed stone of the hills above, and centuries-old trees embracing it. The Valdemar manor stood out. No trees embraced its walls, not even bushes. The walls were smooth, and a rather unnatural shade of pale pink, like the inside of the shell she had among her curios. Not unpleasant, just unnatural. The thing wasn’t made of any stone that could be found around here, like the walls, stables, and barns, which were built of the native gray granite. There were far too many towers. There were no kinds of defensive walls around it. It looked like—
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