slender beasts that looked as if they could outrun the wind. The other steed was heavier, a war charger with strength in its back and flanks. Adalon walked around them and marvelled at their exquisitely moulded manes and tails. Their hoofs, their flanks, their ears – all glowed the bright yellow-gold of brass. Saddles were cast into their backs and supple, braided brass reins and stirrups hung in place.
'Fine statues, Targesh,' Adalon said. 'But hardly worth keeping with the other treasures here.'
'They're magic,' Simangee said.
Targesh frowned at Simangee. 'She sees magic, Targesh,' Adalon explained. 'These keys are magical, too.'
'A brass key. For brass riding beasts?' Targesh suggested.
Adalon looked at Simangee. She nodded slowly. 'They belong together.'
Targesh pointed to a keyhole in the muzzle of the nearest riding beast.
Adalon took a deep breath. The steed stared at him with metal eyes, strange and distant. He wondered what those eyes had seen.
He raised the brass key, fitted it into the slot and turned it. He stood back.
With the sound of metal shifting on metal, the riding beast swivelled its head. Then it lowered its neck and gazed directly at Adalon. One hoof pawed at the ground and the stone rang. For a moment, it stood still, then its entire body quivered, making the sound of a thousand tiny cymbals.
Adalon reached out and touched the brass beast on the muzzle. Its snort was like a bell.
'It likes you,' Targesh said, grinning.
'I hope so.' Adalon took the reins in one hand and stood by the steed's flank. He patted its neck. The beast boomed like a kettledrum.
'Hollow,' Targesh said.
'I'd be hollow, too,' Simangee said, 'after so long alone.'
Adalon slid his foot in the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle.
The riding beast shifted its weight, metal sliding on metal as it adjusted its balance. The saddle was cold and hard and Adalon made a note to use a blanket next time. He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue. 'Forward, oh riding beast.'
Targesh and Simangee moved to either side as the brass riding beast walked forward, lifting its hoofs high over the field of treasure.
Twenty
A stripling, Wargrach, a mere youth! I set you to find and punish him and this is how you return!'
Anger warred with pain inside Wargrach. He bit down on both. 'He is dead, Your Majesty. I survived, but he perished in the fire that came from the mountain.' His voice, once deep and powerful, now whistled and bubbled through a ruined mouth. His jaw ached with the effort of shaping the words, but he'd learned to ignore it. He had learned much in his long ordeal, dragging himself from the feet of Graaldon back to Challish.
He leaned on his staff, lifted his head and peered at Queen Tayesha with his one good eye. She stood with her back to the window of the Morning Room, outlined against the greenery. Late afternoon light surrounded her. It hurt Wargrach's eye to look and he turned away.
'You survived, Wargrach? It may have been better if you had not. What use are you now?'
Wargrach longed to rest on his tail, but it was still healing. The physicians said it was never going to support him again, but he knew better. 'Your Majesty, I am your servant. I will join the Bondorborar campaign.'
Queen Tayesha appeared in front of him. With a claw under his chin, she lifted his massive head. His wounds screamed, but he did not make a sound.
The Queen looked him in the eye. 'Oh yes, Wargrach. You are certainly my servant. You must never forget that.'
She took her claw away and his head sagged. Wargrach stifled a hiss of pain.
'Wargrach,' she continued, 'you are no good in the capital any more, so I have a small task that will take you far away. You may yet be of some small assistance.'
Wargrach gripped his staff until his claws bit into the wood. He wanted to turn on the Queen, slash at her, strike her down, show her that even though he was maimed he still followed the Way of the Tooth: Mock not the warrior in his
'Fine statues, Targesh,' Adalon said. 'But hardly worth keeping with the other treasures here.'
'They're magic,' Simangee said.
Targesh frowned at Simangee. 'She sees magic, Targesh,' Adalon explained. 'These keys are magical, too.'
'A brass key. For brass riding beasts?' Targesh suggested.
Adalon looked at Simangee. She nodded slowly. 'They belong together.'
Targesh pointed to a keyhole in the muzzle of the nearest riding beast.
Adalon took a deep breath. The steed stared at him with metal eyes, strange and distant. He wondered what those eyes had seen.
He raised the brass key, fitted it into the slot and turned it. He stood back.
With the sound of metal shifting on metal, the riding beast swivelled its head. Then it lowered its neck and gazed directly at Adalon. One hoof pawed at the ground and the stone rang. For a moment, it stood still, then its entire body quivered, making the sound of a thousand tiny cymbals.
Adalon reached out and touched the brass beast on the muzzle. Its snort was like a bell.
'It likes you,' Targesh said, grinning.
'I hope so.' Adalon took the reins in one hand and stood by the steed's flank. He patted its neck. The beast boomed like a kettledrum.
'Hollow,' Targesh said.
'I'd be hollow, too,' Simangee said, 'after so long alone.'
Adalon slid his foot in the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle.
The riding beast shifted its weight, metal sliding on metal as it adjusted its balance. The saddle was cold and hard and Adalon made a note to use a blanket next time. He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue. 'Forward, oh riding beast.'
Targesh and Simangee moved to either side as the brass riding beast walked forward, lifting its hoofs high over the field of treasure.
Twenty
A stripling, Wargrach, a mere youth! I set you to find and punish him and this is how you return!'
Anger warred with pain inside Wargrach. He bit down on both. 'He is dead, Your Majesty. I survived, but he perished in the fire that came from the mountain.' His voice, once deep and powerful, now whistled and bubbled through a ruined mouth. His jaw ached with the effort of shaping the words, but he'd learned to ignore it. He had learned much in his long ordeal, dragging himself from the feet of Graaldon back to Challish.
He leaned on his staff, lifted his head and peered at Queen Tayesha with his one good eye. She stood with her back to the window of the Morning Room, outlined against the greenery. Late afternoon light surrounded her. It hurt Wargrach's eye to look and he turned away.
'You survived, Wargrach? It may have been better if you had not. What use are you now?'
Wargrach longed to rest on his tail, but it was still healing. The physicians said it was never going to support him again, but he knew better. 'Your Majesty, I am your servant. I will join the Bondorborar campaign.'
Queen Tayesha appeared in front of him. With a claw under his chin, she lifted his massive head. His wounds screamed, but he did not make a sound.
The Queen looked him in the eye. 'Oh yes, Wargrach. You are certainly my servant. You must never forget that.'
She took her claw away and his head sagged. Wargrach stifled a hiss of pain.
'Wargrach,' she continued, 'you are no good in the capital any more, so I have a small task that will take you far away. You may yet be of some small assistance.'
Wargrach gripped his staff until his claws bit into the wood. He wanted to turn on the Queen, slash at her, strike her down, show her that even though he was maimed he still followed the Way of the Tooth: Mock not the warrior in his
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