Read Online All the King's Horses by Laura C Stevenson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura C Stevenson
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to look at us, and I saw it was Mongan.
‘I’ll be blessed – it’s the Children of Lugh!’ he said, and he didn’t sound pleased. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Cathbad told Hob and Lob to take us to the land of visions, but I heard them say they were missing something because of us, so we …’ I looked at Colin for help, but fortunately, Mongan spoke before we had to say any more.
‘Night-elves, eh?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I might have known. Totally unreliable, they are. Cathbad should have known better than to—’
‘—Holy tomato!’ interrupted Colin. ‘Look at that!’
I looked – well, stared is more like it. Because even at the Smithes’ farm, I’d never seen anything so magnificent. A huge grey horse was cantering towards the bonfires with a stride that made the ground tremble. As he came nearer, he snorted at the flames and began to change leads every few strides, slower and slower – until he broke into a high, springing trot, his mane rippling like sea foam over his crest and his tail held high behind him. I had only seen a horse trot like that without a rider, but he had one: a faery with long red hair that flowed from under a circlet of silver and over the shoulders of his sea-green cloak. He was the only person I’d ever seen who rode the way Grandpa did, as if he were part horse himself. As we watched, a pig blundered almost under the horse’s feet, and he reared high, scattering animals and lesser faeries right and left. The faery rider brought him down, steadied him – and he trotted on up the hill, hesitating so long between each stride that it seemed he was floating.
‘Wow!’ I breathed. ‘That’s really something!’
Mongan grinned. ‘Always puts on a show, my old man.’
‘Your old man!’ said Colin, staring. ‘But you said your father was Manannan mac Lir!’
‘And why would I lie?’ said Mongan. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, surely.’
‘No, no,’ said Colin, blushing. ‘I meant that if that’s really Manannan mac Lir, then the horse must be
his
horse … Enbharr 1 .’
‘Yes, more’s the pity,’ said Mongan. ‘They’ve spoken to Dad about it, to be sure – schooled as he is, he’s half wild still, and They’re afraid he’ll run amok one fine evening. But Dad’s only part tame himself, having powers no other faery has; that makes it hard to reason with him.’
We nodded, but neither of us was really listening. All our lives, we’d known Enbharr – not the real one, of course, but the magical sea stallion in Grandpa’s stories. Grandpa said he was what every horseman spent his life looking for but never found: the perfect horse, with the power, spirit and speed of a thousand horses combined. Sometimes, when he saw a really spectacular performance in the ring, he’d say, ‘
Sure and that’ll be one of Enbharr’s mortal children
.’ I felt my eyes mist up as we watched Enbharr halt by the topmost fire, his muscles tensed to bolt, but standing absolutely still as the faery vaulted off. Wherever Grandpa was in Faerie, I hoped he’d seen that horse … I blinked, then stared. The spot where Enbharr had been standing was empty.
‘Hey!’ said Colin. ‘Where’d he go?’
‘To the Fields,’ said Mongan matter-of-factly. ‘He’d never stand still for the whole ceremony, so Dad sends him there and calls him up when it’s over. Hard on the horse,
I
say, being magicked about like that; but it does keep him from causing mischief.’
I was about to ask where the Fields were, when a trumpet sounded from the top of the hill. Mongan frowned; then taking each of us by the hand, he strode up the hill between the fires, so fast that we had to run to keep up.
‘Where are we going?’ puffed Colin.
‘To the event the night-elves deserted you to watch,’ said Mongan. ‘I suppose they think of it as part of their specialty, since it’s the ceremony in which the great Seer dreams of our next king, but
‘I’ll be blessed – it’s the Children of Lugh!’ he said, and he didn’t sound pleased. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Cathbad told Hob and Lob to take us to the land of visions, but I heard them say they were missing something because of us, so we …’ I looked at Colin for help, but fortunately, Mongan spoke before we had to say any more.
‘Night-elves, eh?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I might have known. Totally unreliable, they are. Cathbad should have known better than to—’
‘—Holy tomato!’ interrupted Colin. ‘Look at that!’
I looked – well, stared is more like it. Because even at the Smithes’ farm, I’d never seen anything so magnificent. A huge grey horse was cantering towards the bonfires with a stride that made the ground tremble. As he came nearer, he snorted at the flames and began to change leads every few strides, slower and slower – until he broke into a high, springing trot, his mane rippling like sea foam over his crest and his tail held high behind him. I had only seen a horse trot like that without a rider, but he had one: a faery with long red hair that flowed from under a circlet of silver and over the shoulders of his sea-green cloak. He was the only person I’d ever seen who rode the way Grandpa did, as if he were part horse himself. As we watched, a pig blundered almost under the horse’s feet, and he reared high, scattering animals and lesser faeries right and left. The faery rider brought him down, steadied him – and he trotted on up the hill, hesitating so long between each stride that it seemed he was floating.
‘Wow!’ I breathed. ‘That’s really something!’
Mongan grinned. ‘Always puts on a show, my old man.’
‘Your old man!’ said Colin, staring. ‘But you said your father was Manannan mac Lir!’
‘And why would I lie?’ said Mongan. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, surely.’
‘No, no,’ said Colin, blushing. ‘I meant that if that’s really Manannan mac Lir, then the horse must be
his
horse … Enbharr 1 .’
‘Yes, more’s the pity,’ said Mongan. ‘They’ve spoken to Dad about it, to be sure – schooled as he is, he’s half wild still, and They’re afraid he’ll run amok one fine evening. But Dad’s only part tame himself, having powers no other faery has; that makes it hard to reason with him.’
We nodded, but neither of us was really listening. All our lives, we’d known Enbharr – not the real one, of course, but the magical sea stallion in Grandpa’s stories. Grandpa said he was what every horseman spent his life looking for but never found: the perfect horse, with the power, spirit and speed of a thousand horses combined. Sometimes, when he saw a really spectacular performance in the ring, he’d say, ‘
Sure and that’ll be one of Enbharr’s mortal children
.’ I felt my eyes mist up as we watched Enbharr halt by the topmost fire, his muscles tensed to bolt, but standing absolutely still as the faery vaulted off. Wherever Grandpa was in Faerie, I hoped he’d seen that horse … I blinked, then stared. The spot where Enbharr had been standing was empty.
‘Hey!’ said Colin. ‘Where’d he go?’
‘To the Fields,’ said Mongan matter-of-factly. ‘He’d never stand still for the whole ceremony, so Dad sends him there and calls him up when it’s over. Hard on the horse,
I
say, being magicked about like that; but it does keep him from causing mischief.’
I was about to ask where the Fields were, when a trumpet sounded from the top of the hill. Mongan frowned; then taking each of us by the hand, he strode up the hill between the fires, so fast that we had to run to keep up.
‘Where are we going?’ puffed Colin.
‘To the event the night-elves deserted you to watch,’ said Mongan. ‘I suppose they think of it as part of their specialty, since it’s the ceremony in which the great Seer dreams of our next king, but
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