High Couch of Silistra by Janet Morris

Author:Janet Morris [Morris, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adult, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780553145328
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1977-05-01T07:00:00+00:00

VI. The Cowled One

When Celendra heard that Sereth intended to take Tyith to Santha, she locked herself in her keep and would not eat, nor speak, not even to the Slayer himself.

On the second fifth, the day we left Arlet, she had still not broken her fast and her silence. The day dawned bright and humid, a continuation of the unseasonably warm spell that had persisted through the whole set previous.

I met Sereth and Tyith in the Inner Well, at first light. I wore the tas jerkin and boots I had brought from Astria, and carried hunting knife and straight sword, for Dellin had insisted I be fully armed. With me I had a thick brist-fur pelt, for high in the Sabembe range, spring would be barely started.

I gasped when I saw the three threx Tyith had brought from Sereth’s string. Never had I seen such depth of chest, thick-muscled quarters, symmetry of line. From tri-part steel-shod hooves to bristled mane and tiny pointed ears, they were flawless. Their iridescent hides gleamed in the early light as they ate, their wedge-shaped heads thrust deep in buckets of eggs and chunked bondrex. Threx are omnivorous, but prefer meat, fresh and raw. They switched their bristled tails and blew softly through distended nostrils. There was one female, and she shone fire-gold in the early light. Tyith fussed over them, rubbing the biggest male, whose steel-blue body already shone like a mirror, with astringent about the pasterns.

I helped Tyith, taking a rag to the black’s long legs. Sereth did not appear until we had them saddled and the wire-banded bitless headstalls settled and latched around their graceful throats. Issa, the female, gave us a hard time, throwing her head into the air when the harness was presented. Finally, I held her by her sensitive ears, and Tyith slipped the strap over them while she rolled her huge brown eyes and snorted spray and froth.

“I have never seen their equal,” I said to Sereth as he checked the girths, that they be tight but not binding; and the tailpieces, that no bristles were caught in the loops; and the breastplates, that they be even and hold the saddles, of parr-covered wood lined with tas fleece, from slipping back as we rode.

“I thought Issa would suit you,” he commented as he gave me a leg up and adjusted my stirrups. The threx danced in place when she felt my weight on her, plunging and snuffling until Sereth hit her smartly across the muzzle.

“Quiet down,” he said to her. “You will get all the run you can use, soon enough. I raced her last year, and she still thinks ‘ride’ means ‘run.’ But she was unbeaten the entire season.” I stroked Issa’s twitching neck. Already she was slick with moisture.

Sereth swung up on Krist, the gigantic black, and wound the reins once around the saddle grip. The threx stood, sniffing, his head high and ears turned behind, as if to make sure the weight on his

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