Terra Incognita

74

Tilla made her way down to the trees where the horses were tethered. There were about a dozen animals in the line now. All were still saddled. Girths had been loosened and reins tied for safety, but it was clear that most of the riders were expecting to leave tonight. That was good. The black horse with one white sock that the medicus had brought was in the middle of the line, stretching its neck down to tuck into the long grass. Sizing up the other animals, she settled on a neat-looking dark bay that seemed to have no distinguishing features. That would do nicely for herself. It looked like an intelligent horse. It looked like a fast, fit, well-kept horse. It looked like…

She moved toward the animal. “Cloud?” she murmured. The mare reached down to nuzzle her hand, looking for a titbit she could not offer. Tilla moved along the horse’s flank, sliding one hand down the inside of the front leg and feeling the smooth weight of the hoof in her hand as the animal obediently lifted the leg. With her other hand she brushed at the dried mud coating the long coarse hairs. There, just visible in the stark light, was the little patch of white.

She was turning to leave when a voice said, “Hey!” A skinny figure was lugging two buckets of water from behind the lines. “No touching the horses, all right?”

“She is a fine animal,” said Tilla. “Is she yours?”

“My master’s,” said the youth, placing a bucket in front of the mare.

“You keep her well.”

The youth lowered his head and mumbled something, clearly flattered.

“Who is your master?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“I am looking for a good horse like this. Do you know where he bought her?”

“My master don’t buy horses,” said the youth proudly. “People give them to him.”

“And who gave him this one?”

The certainty faded. “I’m not allowed to say nothing. Not unless he says I can.”

Tilla smiled. “You are very loyal,” she assured him. “That was the right answer. But if your master gives you permission, tell him the person who wants to know is the daughter of Lugh, whose family used to live on this land.”

“I have come to check on the prisoner,” announced Tilla, handing the heavy jug of mead to one of the guards outside the house.

As he said, “Nobody’s allowed in,” his companion emerged from the black shadow of the porch, lifted his club, and slapped it slowly against the palm of his hand as if he were testing its weight.

“I need to check his injuries,” she explained. “We don’twant him to die.”

“He’s not badly hurt,” said the guard. “He was putting up a good fight when we gagged him.”

“He is a good man,” urged Tilla, raising her voice in the hope that the medicus might take some reassurance from it even if he did not understand the words. “He gives people medicines. Let me see him for a moment.”

“We don’t need foreign medicines. We have our own.”

She slid up her right sleeve. Her skin gleamed white in the moonlight. The scar was a faint dark streak. “I was near death and he saved me. My arm was broken and he mended it.”

“And from what we hear, you’ve paid him back,” said the guard.

“Is it honorable to treat a healer in this way?”

The guard shrugged. “Don’t ask us what’s honorable. We’ve got our orders.” He took a sip of the mead, then crouched and balanced the jug on the ground next to the wall. “Not bad. Thanks. We’ll enjoy that later. Bring us some food when you start serving it, will you?”