Dragonfire by Karleen Bradford Page B

The slave fell without a cry, blood pouring from his wound. The other slaves looked away; no one left his own duties to help. The horse reared again. Its hooves tore back into the ground just inches away from the fallen boy.
    “Guard!” Dahl cried, unable to stop himself. “Guard!”
    There was a frozen instant when every face in the stable turned to him. A flicker of incredulity passed over a few, but was quickly extinguished. The slaves bent back to their work. The guard stormed in, sword at the ready.
    “Did I not warn you—?” he began.
    “Over there,” Dahl interrupted. “That boy—he’s been hurt.”
    The guard hesitated, then looked to where Dahl was pointing. The stallion pranced nervously back and forth in the narrow confines of its cell. Foam flew as it tossed its head. The body of the slave lay inert, crumpled into one corner. The guard glared at Dahl, but sheathed his sword. He strode over to the stall, looked at the fallen boy and uttered an oath.
    “One of our best workers. A waste.” Without further words he turned back to Dahl. “There’s something for you to do now, slave.” He unchained Dahl, then motioned to the stall. “Bring out the body of that fool and throw it in the courtyard. Then take his place and clean that stall thoroughly. Mind you do not upset the horse further. It is the Master’s own and possessed with the temper of a devil, but if you allow it to injure itself you will be hanged by your thumbs until you die—if the horse doesn’t kill you first.”
    Dahl stood up and rubbed his throbbing wrists. He stared at the stallion. The stallion returned his stare with wild, rolling eyes, and tossed its mane furiously. Dahl took a step forward. He looked around, but none of the other slaves would meet his glance. He took another step. The stallion let out a shriek of defiance. Dahl put his hand on the stall door. The fear he felt was such that, for a moment, the stable careened around him and he thought he would swoon again. His knees became water; he clutched at the door to keep from falling.
    In that moment, he looked straight into the stallion’s eyes. Dragonfire there was not, but there was fire. And something else as well. Dahl became absolutely still. He felt a jolt, almost as if all the energy in the horse had shot through to him. His knees strengthened; he dropped his hold on the stall gate and straightened up. The stallion shuddered, adeep skin-wrenching shiver, but it quietened. Dahl opened the stall gate. His eyes unwavering and still fixed on the stallion’s, he walked in. Memories of the winged horse flooded through him, mixed and mingled with the sight of the horse now in front of him. He came up to it and stopped. The stallion gave one last convulsive shudder, then lowered its head. Dahl reached out one hand and laid it on the broad forehead. The stallion stood immobile for an instant, accepting the homage, then it raised its head again and looked once more full at Dahl. The insanity was gone from its eyes. There was understanding this time. And respect.
    The stallion stood quietly while Dahl dragged the body of the slave out of the stall and carried him to the courtyard. Carefully, Dahl laid the boy down in the cleanest corner he could find, in a small spot of shadow. The boy was dead; there was nothing more he could do for him. Then he returned to the stallion’s stall. The horse had not moved; in fact, it seemed as if it had been watching for Dahl’s return. It stood quietly while Dahl cleaned out the dirty straw and brought in fresh. It stood quietly while Dahl filled the water trough and the feed bucket. It even stood quietly when Dahl found a brush and began to curry it.
    The guard kept close by, safely outside the stall. He had his sword drawn, but it hung from his hand as if forgotten. He did not speak again to Dahl. Astunned, almost frightened look grew in his eyes as he watched Dahl work.
    That evening Dahl was not rechained to the stall, but was allowed