Read Online The Shadow Isle by Katharine Kerr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katharine Kerr
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It be long from pommel to cantle, and both stirrups, they hang on one side.”
“I saw something similar in Deverry,” Dallandra said. “I’d be afraid to use one. What if something frightens my horse, and it tries to throw me? I couldn’t get free in time to save myself and the child.”
“With Pir leading your horse, think you it will spook at shadows? ”
Dallandra grinned at her. “I’d forgotten about Pir. Do you think we can put together one of those saddles?”
“Somewhat like it at the least.”
It took Dallandra some days to grow used to the new saddle. She had to sit extremely straight to keep her back from hurting, which meant counterbalancing the weight of her pregnancy. She felt her posture as awkward and ugly both. By the afternoons, she wanted nothing more than to call an early halt, but with the memory of omens burning in her mouth, she set her teeth against the discomfort and said nothing. At least with the horse mage walking along beside her, she knew that she could trust her mount, who seemed to view Pir as a wiser sort of horse. A tall, lean fellow, Pir’s dark hair hung in an odd style all his own. He’d cropped most of it off short but left a wide stripe down the middle of his head from brow to neck that was long enough to braid like a horse’s mane. At moments, Dallandra’s mare would snuffle into the mane or onto Pir’s shoulder, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.
The royal alar made its last camp before reaching Mandra late on a day that most definitely felt like spring. Dallandra contacted Valandario while her apprentice and some of Calonderiel’s men set up her tent.
“We’ll arrive just after noon, I think,” Dallandra told her.
“Very well,” Val said. “I’ll tell the mayor. The townsfolk will want to greet the prince properly.”
“What does properly mean to them?”
“Lots of speeches. Tell Dar to have one ready.”
“Devaberiel’s traveling with us. The two of them can work something up.”
“Excellent! It would be a good idea for Dar to ride into town with some sort of ceremony around him, banners, pennants that kind of thing. Does he have more than that old shabby one he took to the war?”
“He does. Carra and some of the women have been stitching all winter long.”
“Good. The town will like that.”
On the morrow, the alar set out with the prince and his banadar in the lead, dressed in their best clothes and riding golden horses. Behind them came Dallandra and the royal bard, Devaberiel, also wearing what finery they owned. Next rode the archers and swordsmen, with the rest of the alar bringing up the rear with the flocks and herds. Some of the older children rode in front of the warriors and carried the banners and pennants of Daralanteriel’s royal line, embroidered and appliqued with the red rose and the seven stars of the cities of the far western mountains.
For those last few miles, the road, a rough affair of mud and gravel, ran along the tops of the sea-cliffs. Long before they reached its walls, they came to fields of sprouting grain and orchards of young apple trees, spindly and doubtless still barren, but a promise of fruit to come. The farmers working in the fields rushed to the stone fences to call out, “The prince! The prince! Here’s to our prince!” as the alar rode on by. Daralanteriel bowed from the saddle and waved to acknowledge them all.
At last they saw the roofs of Mandra in the distance. All around the town the wild grass still waved, a common ground for milk cows at most times, but the townsfolk had put up a temporary enclosure to keep the royal alar’s herds and flocks from wandering too close to the cliff edge. Herdsmen were waiting to help turn the stock inside the rough walls, thrown together of driftwood and stones, broken planks and branches. At the sight of the prince, the herdsmen rode out, cheering. Dar waved and smiled.
Everything seemed to be going splendidly, in fact, until the town
“I saw something similar in Deverry,” Dallandra said. “I’d be afraid to use one. What if something frightens my horse, and it tries to throw me? I couldn’t get free in time to save myself and the child.”
“With Pir leading your horse, think you it will spook at shadows? ”
Dallandra grinned at her. “I’d forgotten about Pir. Do you think we can put together one of those saddles?”
“Somewhat like it at the least.”
It took Dallandra some days to grow used to the new saddle. She had to sit extremely straight to keep her back from hurting, which meant counterbalancing the weight of her pregnancy. She felt her posture as awkward and ugly both. By the afternoons, she wanted nothing more than to call an early halt, but with the memory of omens burning in her mouth, she set her teeth against the discomfort and said nothing. At least with the horse mage walking along beside her, she knew that she could trust her mount, who seemed to view Pir as a wiser sort of horse. A tall, lean fellow, Pir’s dark hair hung in an odd style all his own. He’d cropped most of it off short but left a wide stripe down the middle of his head from brow to neck that was long enough to braid like a horse’s mane. At moments, Dallandra’s mare would snuffle into the mane or onto Pir’s shoulder, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.
The royal alar made its last camp before reaching Mandra late on a day that most definitely felt like spring. Dallandra contacted Valandario while her apprentice and some of Calonderiel’s men set up her tent.
“We’ll arrive just after noon, I think,” Dallandra told her.
“Very well,” Val said. “I’ll tell the mayor. The townsfolk will want to greet the prince properly.”
“What does properly mean to them?”
“Lots of speeches. Tell Dar to have one ready.”
“Devaberiel’s traveling with us. The two of them can work something up.”
“Excellent! It would be a good idea for Dar to ride into town with some sort of ceremony around him, banners, pennants that kind of thing. Does he have more than that old shabby one he took to the war?”
“He does. Carra and some of the women have been stitching all winter long.”
“Good. The town will like that.”
On the morrow, the alar set out with the prince and his banadar in the lead, dressed in their best clothes and riding golden horses. Behind them came Dallandra and the royal bard, Devaberiel, also wearing what finery they owned. Next rode the archers and swordsmen, with the rest of the alar bringing up the rear with the flocks and herds. Some of the older children rode in front of the warriors and carried the banners and pennants of Daralanteriel’s royal line, embroidered and appliqued with the red rose and the seven stars of the cities of the far western mountains.
For those last few miles, the road, a rough affair of mud and gravel, ran along the tops of the sea-cliffs. Long before they reached its walls, they came to fields of sprouting grain and orchards of young apple trees, spindly and doubtless still barren, but a promise of fruit to come. The farmers working in the fields rushed to the stone fences to call out, “The prince! The prince! Here’s to our prince!” as the alar rode on by. Daralanteriel bowed from the saddle and waved to acknowledge them all.
At last they saw the roofs of Mandra in the distance. All around the town the wild grass still waved, a common ground for milk cows at most times, but the townsfolk had put up a temporary enclosure to keep the royal alar’s herds and flocks from wandering too close to the cliff edge. Herdsmen were waiting to help turn the stock inside the rough walls, thrown together of driftwood and stones, broken planks and branches. At the sight of the prince, the herdsmen rode out, cheering. Dar waved and smiled.
Everything seemed to be going splendidly, in fact, until the town
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