Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law Read online

  Shan tuned his ears to Brin's advice again.

  "If the black colt wants you, you have no choice, boy. You're his, understand?"

  Shan cast a longing glance back at the herd, where the bay colt frisked with a filly, and the ugly black colt grazed stolidly, swatting flies.

  "I don't want him," the boy said stubbornly.

  "Then you'll be horseless. You'll ride behind your mother on Mishal to the winter grounds until you're too big, then you'll walk. You'll never be a hunter or a warrior. You'll be a farmer, like Jorn, and like him, poor and wifeless. Is that what you want?"

  "No, I want the bay colt."

  They reached the woodpile and Brin shed his load, turning to untie the wood from Task's back. Task was large and well built, a handsome blue roan with four white socks. His coat gleamed with the brushing that Brin lavished upon him, and his mane and tail flew like silk.

  "When I was your age," Brin said, "I had my eye on a nice chestnut. I followed him around the pasture for weeks, but he never looked at me. Then one day Task walked up and chose me, and I have never regretted it. The chestnut is now Daron, Steff's mount, and they're well suited. The horses know, Shan. Don't try to fight their choice."

  Shan grunted and kicked the woodpile. Brin finished unloading Task, and the horse turned and galloped down to the pasture to join the bachelor herd. Brin gazed after him fondly.

  "Doesn't he want to be brushed?" Shan enquired.

  "He'll come back when he does. First he wants to roll and get really dirty."

  Brin clasped Shan's shoulder as they walked into the village. Women tended bubbling pots or young children, men honed their weapons, cured skins or tended their horses. Friends called greetings as they passed their tents, and a woman milked her mare while the foal waited its turn at the udder. The women had no tattoos other than the Stone mark, and only Jorn lacked that. The Stone mark was given when a boy or girl was chosen, tattooed in black on their brows. The tattoos on men's cheeks were added when they chose their profession. Warriors had red tattoos, hunters had blue and farmers green. For the most part, colts chose boys and fillies chose girls, with one exception, the warrior woman Mita. A colt had chosen her, and from there her path was set. Instead of becoming a wife and mother, she had become a fine warrior.

  Brin guided Shan to the headman's tent, where his father, Jesher, looked up in surprise. In terse words, Brin explained Shan's crime, then left Jesher to chastise his son.

  Jesher regarded Shan with deep disappointment, making the boy squirm. When he spoke, his tone was grave and hard. "How dare you?" He shook his head. "A son of mine, throwing stones at horses."

  "I didn't Papa!"

  "Only because Brin stopped you. What's the penalty for harming a horse?"

  "To be cast out," Shan muttered.

  "That's right. Think about that before you ever lift a weapon to a horse again, son."

  Shan hung his head, and his mother Shella entered the tent. He cringed as Jesher broadcast his crime, and his mother cast him a glare with her usually soft brown eyes.

  "Stupid boy. I should have Mishal punish you properly."

  Shan flinched, remembering the times when Mishal had been set to guard him when he was a toddler and he had defied the mare's authority. A few good nips that had left bruises for days had taught him the error of his ways, and the big, fifteen-year-old palomino mare still terrified him. Shella cuffed him and went back to stirring her pot, to his relief.

  The sound of galloping hooves cut his humiliation short. Jesher went out to see what the commotion was, and Shan followed. One of the sentries who had been posted far out in the plains to warn of danger leapt from his sweating steed to confront the headman.

  "The horse thieves from the west are moving this way, and they claim to have a wizard who uses fire," he stated.

  "Who told you this?" Jesher demanded.

  "Travellers, two traders going east. They lost two horses already, and they say the thieves are no more than a day behind."

  Jesher scowled. "That gives us no time to move the herd. If the Arrad are heading this way, we must prepare to fight."

  The ring of curious people who had gathered to hear the news muttered amongst themselves as they drifted off. The sentry went to tend his tired horse, as a replacement left the village to take up his post. Jesher turned to re-enter his tent, Shan following.

  The headman regarded his son with a frown. "Now is the time you need a horse, Shan. Without one, you can't be a warrior."

  "I don't want that ugly black thing!" Shan cried.

  Jesher turned away.

  "His feet are too big! His legs are like tree trunks -"

  Jesher swung back. "Then I hope yours are swift indeed, for they'll have to carry you well, without a horse. Any who can't keep up with the herd are left behind, boy!"

  Shan shrank from his father's wrath, turning to flee the tent when his mother poked her head inside. She scowled at him.

  "You have a visitor."

  Shan sidled out under his parents' frowning gaze, and his mother cuffed him as he passed, muttering, "Without a horse, you're nothing, boy."

  Outside, Shan gaped at the ugly black colt that stood before the tent, his ears pricked. Curious people and horses gathered around, the people murmuring in low, amazed voices. For a young horse to come into the village was unheard of, and Shan looked around desperately, but there was nowhere to run. The colt stepped forward and butted him in the chest, sending him staggering back into his mother, who pushed him forward again. Shan gulped and stared at the colt.

  "You are mine."

  The ritual words of choosing came into Shan's head, translated from the silent language of horses by the Stone's magic. The touch had formed the bond, and the black colt had claimed him. Shan glanced at his father, who met his eyes with a cold stare. He had no choice now.

  "I-I accept you," he blurted.

  A ragged cheer went up from the spectators, and his father's broad hand clasped his shoulder. "Good boy. He's a fine horse, son."

  Shan accepted the praise for what it was worth, precisely nothing. Everyone had joked about the colt while he was growing up, and no one thought he was a fine horse. His father gave him a push towards the colt.

  "Go and get to know him."

  Humiliated beyond words, Shan trudged through the village, followed by the colt. In the grassy pasture's solitude, he swung to face the animal, frowning.

  "Why did you have to choose me?"

  "I like you."

  "You're ugly," Shan growled.

  "I know." The colt tossed his head. "But I'm strong. One day I'll be herd stallion and make you headman."

  "Really?" The boy perked up a bit and measured the colt with his eyes. "You're only two. Why did you choose so young?"

  "I'm strong enough to carry you, so why not?"

  "What's your name?" Shan asked.

  "That you'll find out at the ceremony, after you get your mark."

  Shan smiled. "You know a lot."

  "I have a wise mother, who taught me well. She's a lead mare."

  "I know."

  The colt dipped his head and fixed Shan with a soft brown eye. "Do you want to go for a run?"

  "You want to?" Shan was surprised, horses were not generally inclined to volunteer for unnecessary work, and the black colt had always seemed dull and lethargic.

  The colt snorted. "There's something I want to show you."

  Shan swarmed onto the colt's back, winding his hands into his thick mane. He had ridden all his life on Mishal and even Nort, the herd stallion. He gripped the rough flanks of his new lifelong companion as the colt trotted across the pasture. Soon the horse broke into a slow canter, a comfortable gait that allowed Shan to relax and lean back. The colt's big hooves ate up the distance, and they crossed the pasture far more quickly than Shan would have thought possible.

  The boy made several pleasant discoveries about his new steed on the short journey. The colt's gaits were more comfortable than Mishal or
Nort's, his broad back made a wonderful seat, and the heavy drumming of his big hooves was far more daunting than the clatter of a lighter horse's feet. Shan was a tall, slender youth, often bullied by bigger boys, but now he had a horse that more than made up for his lack. He was already as big as most of the three-year-olds, which could only mean that he would grow into a far larger horse than they.

  By the time the colt slowed and stopped far out in the plains, Shan had decided that he preferred his horse to the bay. The boy slid from the broad back and looked around.

  "What did you want to show me?"

  "This." The colt stepped forward and lowered his head.

  Shan parted the long grass and found a cylinder of grey stone. It looked ancient, seamed with tiny crystals and covered with writing that he could not read. One end had a jagged edge, as if it had been broken from a larger piece, the other end was capped with dull grey metal. Shan ran a hand over the lines of tiny carved letters, a shiver passing through him.

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know," the colt replied, "I found it a few days ago."

  The boy tried to lift it, but failed. It seemed unusually heavy for its size, and he pondered it for a moment.

  "Do you think it's important?" he asked the colt.

  "Yes. I think you should tell your father to come and fetch it."

  "Why?"

  The colt's skin shuddered as if a dozen flies had landed on it. "Something bad is happening to the world. This has something to do with it."

  Shan stepped away from the grey stone. "It's bad?"

  "No, not this. Tell your father to fetch it and keep it safe."

  "It's just a piece of stone."

  The colt tossed his head. "So is the stone you use to give you the power of speech, and this one is just as important."

  Shan swarmed onto the colt's back again. "I'll tell him, but he's busy preparing to fight the Arrad. I doubt he'll have time for a piece of old stone."

  The next morning, at sunrise, scouts sighted the Arrad out in the plains, and rode into the village shouting the warning. Jesher's warriors were ready, and had only to don their armour and call their horses from the bachelor herd. Jesher's grey stallion arrived outside the tent, and Shan's father mounted in a lithe leap. Shan watched with envious eyes as the warriors rode out to meet the threat, decked in war paint and battle finery. He longed to go with them, but a stern glance from his mother squashed that notion before it bore fruit. Instead, he went down to the herd to speak to his new friend. A few boys his age called rude comments about the ugly black colt as he passed, and he did his best to ignore them.

  A day spent in the herd's tranquillity was good for the soul, and having his own horse to talk to made the day pass swiftly. He dozed beside his colt in the lazy haze of mid-afternoon when an old lead mare whinnied a warning. Shan jumped up to scan the plains, unable to find any sign of danger. With all the warriors away, a hunting cat could be a threat, able to stalk and bring down a foal. The herd began to move, and Shan mounted at the colt's urging. When several hundred mares grew nervous, it was best not to be on the ground amongst them. Safe aboard the colt, Shan tried to find the danger. The herd drew together as the mares, which had scattered to graze, headed for each other, forming a packed mass. Foals at foot pressed against their mother's flanks, yearlings huddled together. Other lead mares, who kept to the outside of the herd, picked up the warning and nipped younger mares into order.

  "What is it?" Shan asked the colt.

  "Danger." The colt paused, ears twitching as he listened to the horses' silent communications. "The stallion returns, but in defeat. The bad ones follow."

  "We've got to warn the others!" Shan said. "Go to the village."

  The colt surged against the mass of mares around him, trying to push them aside with his chest, then nipped necks and quarters when that did not work. The mares nipped back with flattened ears and glinting eyes that warned the two-year-old that he did not have the authority to barge his way through older mares. Shan yelled at them, and some mares moved aside, but others still refused to give way. He smacked a mare that was pressed to the colt's flank, making her hop aside and lash out with a back foot. She missed, but he did not try that tactic again.

  A tall black mare moved in from the edge of the herd, nipping those in her way, her head weaving wickedly and her ears laid back in warning. Shan recognised the colt's mother with a sigh of relief. Shisab cleared a path through the herd and nipped her son hard on the neck, then turned and forged through the mares again, leading the colt out. Released, Shan leant over the colt's neck as he galloped to the village, where women stood gazing at the herd. As he reached them he shouted the warning, and an old woman shot him a scornful look.

  "We know, boy. Do you think our mares haven't told us?"

  "What must we do?"

  "Go help your mother pack. We'll be moving out soon."

  The tent village was already in the process of being dismantled, as horseless boys pulled down the tents and packed them away. He raced to his mother's tent to perform the duty for her, finding her waiting impatiently for his help. She cuffed him when he jumped down and set him to work.

  Within an hour, everything was packed and ready to go. The women called in their mares, which soon arrived to carry their burdens. Each mare brought another, one who had never chosen a rider and therefore could not be ridden, but was willing to carry baggage on the long haul to the winter pasture far to the south. Mishal brought a shaggy bay, and Shella loaded the mare. Once the baggage was tied to the bay, Shan's mother went to speak to her mare while they waited for the stallion's return.

  Shan packed his few personal possessions aboard the colt, glad that he would not have to ride behind his mother this time.

  "What about the stone?" the colt asked, turning his head to look at Shan as the boy pulled the ropes tight around his chest.

  "We don't have time now. It's not going anywhere."

  "We must take it. It's important."

  "I can't even lift it. How can we take it?"

  "Get someone to help you."

  Shan glanced around. "Who? The women won't help."

  A thunder of hooves came from the far end of the village as the stallion galloped in, flanked by several warriors. Shan recognised Brin amongst them as his father jumped from Nort's back and Shella ran to tend to his wounds, some of which were burns.

  Jesher shouted, "Start moving out! Head for the winter pasture. We're outnumbered, and the wizard has fire. Go!"

  The women mounted their mares and started away, soon forming an orderly herd with the lead mares on the outside and the yearlings in the middle. Mishal pawed the ground as she waited for Shella. The shaggy bay had already gone ahead to join the herd. Shella bound Jesher's wounds with clean cloths, ignoring the headman's impatient protests and Nort's stamping.

  Shan ran over to Brin and tugged on his leg to get the warrior's attention. Brin was part of Jesher's guard, and waited for the headman.

  "Brin, I need your help!"

  The warrior slid from Task's back. "What's wrong?"

  "I need to fetch something from the plains, but it's heavy."

  "Leave it, there's no time."

  "No, we must take it. The colt says that it's important."

  "The colt, eh?" Brin's eyes narrowed as he looked at the black colt. "Why's it so important?"

  "I don't know, nor does he, but it is."

  "How far is it?"

  Shan gestured to the plains. "Not far. I just need you to lift it."

  Brin glanced at Jesher, who submitted to Shella's attentions with ill grace. "Okay, come on then."

  Shan leapt onto the colt's back and galloped out of the village, heading for the spot where the piece of stone lay. Shan glanced back at Brin several times and decided that the colt was not so slow, for Task stretched to keep up. When they reached the stone, the colt propped to a stop, almost unseating Shan, who slid from his back. The boy bent to pull the grass aside, and Brin eyed the gnarled g
rey stone with a jaundiced gaze.

  "That?"

  Shan nodded. "It's important!"

  Brin turned to Task, who came closer to sniff the stone, then retreated. The two communed silently, and Brin looked confused. "Task agrees that it's important, but what the hell is it?"

  "I don't know, but we must take it."

  Brin nodded. "Task's tired. Will the colt carry it?"

  The black colt agreed, and Brin bent to pick up the stone. He grunted in surprise. "This thing's heavier than it looks!"

  Shan arranged his packages into a cushion on the colt's wither, and Brin lifted the stone onto it. A firm binding of rope held it in place, and Shan mounted. Brin glanced at the village.

  "The chief's leaving, come on!"

  Brin leapt onto Task and urged the horse back across the plains. Shan followed, sensing the colt's slower pace under the stone's burden. Soon they had to veer away from the former site of village to join the rear of the moving herd. In all the years that Shan had travelled with the herd to and from the winter pastures, he had never known it to move faster than a walk. Now the herd cantered, a seething mass of horses rocking gently as they thundered over the grass. The rumble of hooves drowned out all else, allowing Jesher only a brief glare in Shan and Brin's direction as they joined the rear-guard that was the stallion's place in the herd.

  By nightfall, the tired herd reached a valley and stopped to rest, the young foals unable to travel at such a gruelling pace for long. The women set up camp, and Jesher paced around while he waited for the warriors he had left to fight the Arrad to join them. Brin helped Shan to take the stone from the colt's back, and Shan set to his task of drying and brushing the tired young horse.

  The moon had risen by the time the exhausted warriors walked into the camp on drooping mounts. Some came on foot, their horses too tired to carry them. Their womenfolk tended their wounds and fed them while horseless sons brushed their father's animals. Warriors who had no sons had to perform this task themselves, helped by their wives. Bachelors had no help at all. A group of senior warriors sat with the headman while their wives tended them, discussing the day's defeat.