Read Online To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion by Diane Lee Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

fury, the charioteer looked more sad than angry. “Do you know what you’ve done?” He gestured toward Ti. “You’ve ruined him. One of the king’s finest-bred stallions—and you’ve ruined him before the end of his fourth year.”
    Each harsh word pierced Soulai like a tiny arrow.
    â€œJust look at his eyes,” the man implored. “Remember what I said about the odd-colored ones, how rare they are, how they show courage? Well, look. What do they show now?”
    Biting his lip, Soulai looked directly into Ti’s eyes. They showed…
    â€œNothing! That’s right, nothing. They’re weak, dead. Pfftt! No fire, no courage. This horse is no better than dog meat now. Cut him up for the mastiffs, Mousidnou, because he’s not worth the rope ’round his head.”
    Soulai winced. It couldn’t be true.
    â€œIn some fairness,” he heard Mousidnou saying, “the boy did save the horse’s life by risking his own. And he’s tended to him while keeping up his duties, though hardly able to walk himself.”
    Soulai’s tunic hid his own scars, so the charioteer’s downward glance found no reason for sympathy. He sneered. “Well, you needn’t waste any more time.” He shook his head in disgust and stepped into his chariot. Gathering the reins, he leveled a pained look at Soulai. “It seems you and your master have more in common than your looks, you’re both careless with a thing of value.”
    Soulai stood stunned and speechless as the charioteer galloped his horses away. He turned to Mousidnou and barely croaked, “What he said about Ti, is it true?”
    The stable master shrugged. “It’s his business to know horses,” he said. “And it has been more than two weeks, with the animal only a shadow of himself.” He paused as he continued scanning the training grounds. “I’ve watched it happen to warriors as well as warhorses, and my answer would be to give him a chance to live. But whether he has the heart to care about living is the question.”
    Soulai looked again at Ti, and this time saw with shocking clarity that he looked more like a cheap cart horse than a prize stallion. With tears in his eyes he spun toward the training grounds that Ti would probably never again visit. How he wished for the gods to fling some evil down upon Habasle! He’d destroyed Ti, turned him into dog meat!
    He blinked harder and faster and shot a fierce glance across the field. Habasle was galloping again toward an opponent, pole raised. Soulai hurled his hatred at him!
    A sharp, sudden cry arose from the commotion. Soulai watched, dumbstruck, as Habasle slumped over his mount’s neck, then slid off onto the ground. His opponent’s pole seemed to have somehow become tangled in his clothing and Habasle clutched it as he fell. Several of the men paused, waiting for Habasle to get up, then one of the commanders jumped from his horse and ran toward him. He knelt and rolled Habasle onto his back. With a chill, Soulai saw the pole—thrust like a spear into Habasle’s side.
    The commander shouted orders. Then, with one foot on Habasle, he yanked the pole free. Habasle pulled up his knees, shrieking and writhing in pain. Two men approached, grasped him by the shoulders and ankles, and carried him from the grounds. The commander, examining the pole’s tip, continued to shout, this time at the opponent, who spread his arms in a gesture of innocence. Soulai could tell by the commander’s anger that innocence had no part in Habasle’s misfortune.
    Guilt swept over him. A moment before he had wished the worst upon Habasle and now, perhaps, it had happened. Have I killed him? he wondered. Or had someone else not wanted him to live?
    â€œYou see,” Mousidnou was saying calmly, “the gods have given Habasle many things. But it is like they say in the marketplace: He who possesses