Stephen King - The Eyes of the Dragon

The two boys spent the rest of the day together and, it soon appeared, would be content to spend the rest of their lives together. Because even a boy of eight has certain duties (and if he is to be the King someday he has even more), the two of them could not be together all they wanted to be, but when they could be, they were.

Some sniffed at the friendship, and said it wasn’t right for the King in waiting to be friends with a boy who was little better than a common barony clod-buster. Most, however, looked upon it with approval; it was said more than once over deep cups in the meadhouses of Delain that Peter had gotten the best of both worlds-his mother’s brains and his father’s love of the common folk.

There was apparently no meanness in Peter. He never went through a period when he pulled the wings off flies or singed dogs’ tails to see them run. In fact, he intervened in the matter of a horse which was to be destroyed by Yosef, the King’s head groom… and it was when this tale made its way to Flagg that the magician began to fear the King’s oldest son, and to think perhaps he did not have as long to put the boy out of the way as he had once thought. For in the affair of the horse with the broken leg, Peter had displayed courage and a depth of resolve which Flagg did not like at all.

Peter was passing through the stableyard when he saw a horse tethered to the hitching rail just outside the main barn. The horse was holding one of its rear legs off the ground. As Peter watched, Yosef spat on his hands and picked up a heavy maul. What he meant to do was obvious. Peter was both frightened and appalled. He rushed over.

“Who told you to kill this horse?” he asked.

Yosef, a hardy and robust sixty, was a palace fixture. He was not apt to brook the interference of a snot-nosed brat easily, prince or no. He fixed Peter with a thunderous, heavy look that was meant to wilt the boy. Peter, then just nine, reddened, but did not wilt. He seemed to see a look in the horse’s mild brown eyes which said, You’re my only hope, whoever you are. Do what you can, please.

“My father, and his father before him, and his father before him,” Yosef said, seeing now that he was going to have to say something, like it or not. “That’s who told me to kill it. A horse with a broken leg is no good to any living thing, least of all to itself.” He raised the maul a little. “You see this hammer as a murder weapon, but when you’re older, you’ll see it for what it really is in cases such as these… a mercy. Now stand back, so you don’t get splashed.”

He raised the maul in both hands.

“Put it down,” Peter said.

Yosef was thunderstruck. He had never been interfered with in such a way.

“Here! Here! What are you a-saying?”

“You heard me. I said put that hammer down.” As he said these words Peter’s voice deepened. Yosef suddenly realized-really, really realized-that it was the future King standing here in this dusty stableyard, commanding him. If Peter had actually said as much-if he had stood there in the dust squeaking, Put that down, put it down, 1 said, I’m going to be King someday, King, do you hear, so you put that down!, Yosef would have laughed contemptuously, spat, and ended the broken-legged horse’s life with one hard swing of his deeply muscled arms. But Peter did not have to say any such thing; the command was clear in his voice and eyes.

“Your father shall hear of this, my princeling,” Yosef said.

“And when he hears it from you, it will be for the second time,” Peter replied. “I will let you go about your work with no further complaint, Lord High Groom, if I may put a single question to you which you answer yes.”

“Ask your question,” Yosef said. He was impressed with the boy, almost against his will. When he had told Yosef that he, Peter, would tell his father of the incident first, Yosef believed he meant what he said-the simple truth shone in the lad’s eyes. Also, he had never been called Lord High Groom before, and he rather liked it.

“Has the horse doctor seen this animal?” Peter asked.

Yosef was thunderstruck. “That is your question? That?”

“Yes.”

“Dear creeping gods, no!” he cried, and, seeing Peter flinch, he lowered his voice, squatted before the boy, and attempted to explain. “A horse with a broken leg is a goner, y'Highness. Always a goner. Leg never mends right. There’s apt to be blood poisoning. Turrible pain for the horse. Turrible pain. In the end, its poor heart is apt to burst, or it takes a brain fever and goes mad. Now do you understand what I meant when I said this hammer was mercy rather than murder?”

Peter thought long and gravely, with his head down. Yosef was silent, squatting before him in an almost unconscious posture of deference, allowing him the full courtesy of time.

Peter raised his head and asked: “You say everyone says this?”

“Everyone, y'Highness. Why, my father-”

“Then we’ll see if the horse doctor says it, too.”

“Oh… PAH the groom bellowed, and threw the hammer all the way across the courtyard. It sailed into a pigpen and struck head down in the mud. The pigs grunted and squealed and cursed him in their piggy Latin. Yosef, like Flagg, was not used to being balked, and took no notice of them.

He got up and stalked away. Peter watched him, troubled, sure that he must be in the wrong and knowing he was apt to face a severe whipping for this little piece of work. Then, halfway across the yard, the head groom turned, and a reluctant, grim little smile hit across his face like a single sunray on a gray morning.

“Go get your horse doctor,” he said. “Get him yourself, son. You’ll find him in his animal surgery at the far end of Third East'rd Alley, I reckon. I’ll give you twenty minutes. If you’re not back with him by then, I’m putting my maul into yon horse’s brains, prince or no prince.”

“Yes, Lord Head Groom!” Peter yelled. “Thank you!” He raced away.

When he returned with the young horse doctor, puffing and out of breath, Peter was sure that the horse must be dead; the sun told him three times twenty minutes had passed. But Yosef, curious, had waited.

Horse doctoring and veterinary medicine were then very new things in Delain, and this young man was only the third or fourth who had practiced the trade, so Yosef’s look of sour distrust was far from surprising. Nor had the horse doctor been happy to be dragged away from his surgery by the sweating, wide-eyed prince, but he became less irritated now that he had a patient. He knelt before the horse and felt the broken leg gently with his hands, humming through his nose as he did so. The horse shifted once as something he did pained her. “Be steady, nag,” the horse doctor said calmly, “be oh so steady.” The horse quieted. Peter watched all this in an agony of suspense. Yosef watched with his maul leaning nearby and his arms folded across his chest. His opinion of the horse doctor had gone up a little. The fellow was young, but his hands moved with gentle knowl-edge.

At last the horse doctor nodded and stood up, dusting stable-yard grime from his hands.

“Well?” Peter asked anxiously.

“Kill her,” the horse doctor said briskly to Yosef, ignoring Peter altogether.

Yosef picked up his maul at once, for he had expected no other conclusion to the affair. But he found no satisfaction in being proved correct; the stricken look on the young boy’s face went straight to his heart.

“Wait!” Peter cried, and although his small face was full of distress, that deepness was in his voice again, making him sound much, much older than his years.

The horse doctor looked at him, startled.

“You mean she’ll die of blood poisoning?” Peter asked.