Blaze and the Dark Rider by Stacy Gregg

page were a blur to her, but she knew that what Francoise was telling her was the truth. It all made sense.
    Issie thought back to that moment when she first set eyes on the El Caballo mares, and her shock when she saw how much they resembled Blaze. In the show, the mares had reared up and danced as part of their performance. When Blaze had reared at Francoise’s whistle she was performing too, just as she had done when she was an El Caballo mare. Blaze wasn’t Blaze at all—she was, what did Francoise call her? Salome. Ofcourse! Issie knew she had seen that name somewhere. It was the same name as the dancer, the one who performed the Dance of the Seven Veils.
    Francoise D’arth saw the pained look on Isadora’s face and the tears welling in her eyes. She reached out across the kitchen table and took both of Isadora’s hands in her own. “I would like to tell you a story” she said softly. “It’s the story of the horse that you call Blaze.”
    Issie nodded mutely and Francoise began. “Isadora, the Arabian horse is a living treasure. In ancient times sultans and kings considered their best horses to be their most precious possessions. But did you realise that above all else, what mattered most to these kings were their mares? These mares were treasured beyond even the great Arab stallions, because their beauty and speed could be passed on again and again in the fine foals that they would bear.
    “One such mare was a great beauty called Mahabbah. Legend has it that her beauty was unparalleled. She was a chestnut, just like your Blaze, and most of her descendants today are chestnut too. Mahabbah’s bloodline is highly prized and it is from her that manyof the mares at the El Caballo Danza Magnifico are bred.”
    Francoise smiled. “Your Blaze, the mare I call Salome, is descended from royalty. After all, Mahabbah belonged to sultans and was ridden by princesses. Her blood was then mingled with the strength and speed of the modern Thoroughbred. Blaze’s dam was the mare Bahiyaa, a direct descendant of Mahabbah. Her sire was the great stallion, Night Dancer, a Thoroughbred also of noble and revered bloodlines.”
    Francoise looked at Issie, who was too stunned to say anything. “You seem surprised, Isadora.” Francoise smiled. “Surely you must have known that Salome was a mare of high breeding?
    “Over the years,” she continued, “El Caballo Danza Magnifico’s stud farm in Spain has grown. There we breed all of the horses that will appear in our show, the Lipizzaners and the Anglo-Arabs. We use the Lipizzaner stallions because of their great power and classical grace, and the Anglo-Arab mare because of her beauty and intelligence. Our mares are all bred to be the best examples of the breed. Yet when Salomewas born, I knew she was something special. Her beauty surpassed the others and could be seen even when she was still a leggy foal at her mother’s feet. I took it upon myself to train her to join the dancing Arabians.
    “It was not an easy task. Salome has a mind of her own, as you have no doubt discovered. But she soon proved to be the cleverest of all my mares—as well as the most beautiful.”
    Francoise looked grave. “The El Caballo horses travel many hundreds of miles to perform. Our school travels around the world, you know, and almost one year ago we arrived here for the first time.
    “It was the night of our first performance. We put the horses in their stalls. In those days we did not have Rene, who now guards the stables, and while all the riders went to dinner before the performance, there was no one left behind to watch over the mares. That was my mistake.
    “The thieves took Salome first. They did not realise, I think, that she was my favourite. I believe that they had planned to steal all the mares, not just her. Luckily, we arrived back before they could openthe other stalls and so they fled with Salome and left the rest. We did not even realise she was gone until hours later when