Sorcerer's Son by Phyllis Eisenstein Page B

squatted beside her. “It’s a very big horse, child.”
    “I wouldn’t fall off.”
    “Well, what would your mother say to that?”
    “You could walk beside me.”
    “And what if you fell off on the other side?”
    “Your friend could walk there.”
    Cray had to smile. “If you’ll wait till my horse has had a drink, I’ll let you ride him, but just for a little time, because we have a long journey ahead of us.”
    The child nodded and sat down with her back against the stones of the well. In the shade of the nearest hut, half a dozen paces away, her playmates whispered and giggled among themselves, but none dared join her.
    Cray filled the trough and stood by while Gallant drank and Sepwin drew another bucket to replenish the flasks. Before long, three more villagers, men this time, approached the strangers, walking a wide circle about the well. Cray smiled at each of them in turn, and when he judged they had looked their fill, he hailed the brawniest of the lot.
    “Would you have a horse for sale, good sir?”
    The man crossed his arms upon a massive chest and said, “You have a horse, I see.”
    “But none for my friend,” Cray replied. “His mount died some days ago, and we have not found another for him yet. We thought you might have an extra animal here.”
    “How did his horse die?” asked the man.
    “A misstep upon the road. The poor creature broke its leg and we were forced to destroy it.”
    The man glanced at his fellows. “There might be an extra horse in the village.” He beckoned to the others, and they moved together, speaking softly. After a time, one of them looked back to Cray.
    “What can you pay?” he asked.
    “I have a piece of silver,” said Cray.
    The villagers’ conversation resumed, more loudly this time, and at last the brawny man broke away from the other two and said to Cray, “We seem to have three extra horses in this village.”
    “I need only one,” said Cray.
    “You may choose the best of the three, if you wish.”
    Cray nodded.
    The men separated, and while each went in search of his horse, Cray lifted the little girl into Gallant’s saddle and walked her around the well. She was very quiet on top of the horse, very wide-eyed, and she clung to its mane with both hands.
    “Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Cray asked her.
    “Yes, but not such a big one. It’s so high!” And she loosed one hand for only a moment, to wave quickly at her playmates, who stared from the shade with envious eyes. “Does he have a name?” she asked Cray.
    “I call him Gallant.”
    At the sound of its name, Gallant halted and turned its head inquiringly. Cray stroked its neck once and urged it forward.
    “He’s a good horse,” said the girl.
    “Oh, yes, a very good horse,” agreed Cray.
    “Are you a knight?”
    Cray smiled. “Not yet. But I will be.”
    “I saw a knight once. He had a big horse, too.” She turned to Sepwin, walking on the other side of Gallant. “You’re not a knight.”
    “No, no, not I,” replied the beggar.
    “What’s wrong with your eye?”
    Sepwin hesitated, then said, “I hurt it.”
    “If you hurt it, where is the blood?”
    “I hurt it a long time ago.”
    “If it was a long time ago, why do you need that bandage?”
    “Because it doesn’t look nice.”
    “It doesn’t?” The child leaned toward him. “Can I see it?”
    “Careful—you’ll fall off if you lean like that!”
    Even as he spoke, she began to slip sideways. Cray called a warning and clutched at her leg as it went over the top of the saddle, but he missed it. He halted Gallant with a tug of the reins, then ducked under the horse’s neck to see what had happened. Sepwin was just setting the child down on the ground. She was gripping his rag bandage in one dirty hand.
    “You said it didn’t look nice,” she said in an accusatory tone.
    “Don’t you think so?” he muttered, jerking the rag away from her. He kept his left eye tightly closed as he swiftly fastened the rag in place once more.
    “No,” she replied. She looked up at Cray. “Thank you for the