The Prince Commands: Being Sundry Adventures of Michael Karl, Sometime Crown Prince & Pretender to the Thrown of Morvania by Andre Norton

Author:Andre Norton [Norton, Andre]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Premier Digital Publishing
Published: 2012-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter X

Into The Mountains At Once

Michael Karl gathered up his coat and discarded cap and was about to start down the walk after the now impatient Ultmann when Marthe came hurrying in to press a packet neatly done up in the cleanest of linen napkins into his hand.

“A little somethin’ to eat. The mountains be cruel sometimes, Laddie. What will thy mother be a-thinkin’ to let ye go?”

Michael Karl looked at her very gravely and then stooped to kiss her wrinkled hand. “Thank you very much. You see, my mother isn't here to worry any more.”

He went quickly out of the door and joined Ultmann in the yard.

“We cross to the stables, Lad. It is a good thing ye can ride for I'll have to be givin’ ye Lady Spitfire, and she be none too gentle with a stranger.”

They tramped across the field and into the dirt lane which led to the stables. A groom was busy rubbing down a muddy horse and a boy was whistling through his teeth as he unloaded bales of straw from a farm wagon. But for these two, a sleepy black cat and a pair of uneasy but very plump pigeons, the stable yard was empty.

“Hans!” shouted Michael Karl's guide.

The groom dropped his brush and turned with a half salute to answer.

“Bring out the Lady and the light huntin’ saddle. This young man be of a mind to try her.”

The groom led his horse into an empty stall and disappeared. In a minute or two he was back leading a dainty black mare who picked her way disdainfully with her small hooves and sneered at the groom by her head.

“Here she be, Herr Ultmann. Is the young Dominde wishful for to try her on the round track?”

Ultmann shook his head. “No. He will be a-takin’ her for the afternoon. He comes with orders from His Grace. Now, then, saddle her, Hans.”

He followed Hans into the saddle room while the boy with the straw bales held the Lady. When he returned, he had a pair of small saddle bags over his arm.

“Will ye be so kind as to drop these at the head shepherd's hut, Lad? The mountain trail leads by it.”

“Of course.” Michael Karl answered as he mounted.

The Lady was inclined to be skittish, and Michael Karl found that he needed a steady hand to bring her down to business.

“Follow the path through the orchard,” Ultmann said, “and when ye're through the pass give the mare her head. Good-by and good luck to ye, Lad.”

“Good-by!” shouted Michael Karl over his shoulder. He could hold the dancing Lady no longer and they were off down the orchard path.

A regular shower of fragrant petals rained down upon them to tangle in the mare's-short mane and powder Michael Karl's shoulders. The heavy, sweet scent of plum blossoms years after could always make him see again the dancing mare and the dirt track winding among the flowering trees. There was at least a mile of the orchard road and the mare settled down to a steady trot.

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