Patrick Rothfuss - The Name of the Wind

The Cealdish man was aghast. “Sir, the purchase of a horse should never be so rushed. You would not pick a wife in ten minutes, and on the road, a horse is more important than a wife.” He gave a bashful smile. “Even God himself didn’t—”

I cut him off yet again. “God’s not buying a horse today, I am.”

The thin Cealdish man paused to collect his thoughts. “Right,” he said softly, more to himself than to me. “ Lhin , come around and see what we have.”

He led me around the outside of the stables to a small corral. He gestured near the edge of the fence. “That dapple mare is as steady a horse as any you could hope for. She’ll take you. . . .”

I ignored him and looked over the half-dozen hacks that stood idly inside the fence. Though I had neither means nor reason to keep a horse, I knew good from bad, and nothing I saw here came close to suiting my needs.

You see, troupers live and die by the horses that pull their wagons, and my parents had not neglected my education in this area. I could size up a horse by the time I was eight, and a good thing too. Townsfolk regularly tried to pass off half-dead or gingered up nags to us, knowing that by the time we discovered our mistakes we’d be miles and days away. There was a world of trouble waiting for a man who sold his neighbor some sickly hobble, but what was the harm of swindling one of the filthy, thieving Ruh?

I turned to face the cavler, frowning. “You have just wasted two precious minutes of my time, so I’m guessing you still don’t understand my position here. Let me be as plain as possible. I want a fast horse ready for hard riding today. For this I will pay quickly, in hard coin, and without complaint.” I held up my newly heavy purse in one hand and shook it, knowing he could tell the ring of true Cealdish silver inside.

“If you sell me a horse that throws a shoe, or starts to limp, or spooks at shadows, I will miss a valuable opportunity. A quite unrecoverable opportunity. If that happens, I will not come back and demand a refund. I will not petition the constable. I will walk back to Imre this very night and set fire to your house. Then, when you run out the front door in your nightshirt and stockle-cap, I will kill you, cook you, and eat you. Right there on your lawn while all your neighbors watch.”

I gave him a deadly serious look. “This is the business arrangement I am proposing, Kaerva. If you are not comfortable with it, tell me and I will go elsewhere. Otherwise, leave off this parade of drays and show me a real horse.”

The short Ceald looked at me, more stunned than horrified. I could see him trying to come to grips with the situation. He must think I was either a raving lunatic, or the son of some important noble. Or both.

“Very well,” he said, letting all the ingratiating charm fall from his voice. “When you say hard riding, how hard do you mean?”

“Very hard,” I said. “I need to go seventy miles today. Dirt roads.”

“Will you need saddle and tack too?”

I nodded. “Nothing fancy. Nothing new.”

He drew a deep breath. “Fine, and how much do you have to spend?”

I shook my head and gave a tight smile. “Show me the horse and name your price. A Vaulder would do nicely. If he’s a little wild, I won’t mind if it means he’s got energy to spare. Even a good Vaulder mix could serve me, or a Khershaen forth horse.”

Kaerva nodded and led me back toward the wide doors of the stable. “I do have a Khershaen. A full-blood actually.” He made a gesture to one of the stablehands. “Bring out our black gentleman, double-quick.” The boy sprinted off.

The cavler turned back to me. “Gorgeous animal. I ran him through the traces before I bought him, just to be sure. Galloped him a full mile and he hardly even worked up a sweat, smooth a gait as ever I’ve felt, and I’d not lie to your lordship on that account.”

I nodded, a full-blooded Khershaen was exactly suited to my purpose. They had a legendary endurance, but there would be no avoiding the price, either. A well-trained forth horse was worth a dozen talents. “How much are you asking for him?”

“I’ll want two solid marks,” he said without any hint of apology or wheedling in his voice.

Merciful Tehlu, twenty talents. He’d have to have silver shoes to be worth that much. “I’m in no mood for a lengthy dicker, Kaerva,” I said shortly.

“You’ve made me well aware of that, milord,” he said. “I’m telling you my honest price. Here. You’ll see why.”

The boy hurried out leading a sleek monster of a horse. At least eighteen hands tall, proud head, and black from his nose to the tip of his tail. “He loves to run,” Kaerva said with genuine affection in his voice. He ran a hand along the smooth black neck. “And look at that color. Not so much as a pale whisker, that’s why he’s worth twenty if he’s worth a single shim.”

“I don’t care about the color,” I said absentmindedly while I looked him over for signs of injury or old age. There was nothing. He was glossy, young, strong. “I just need to move quickly.”

“I understand,” he said apologetically. “But I can’t just ignore the coloring. If I wait a span or two, some young lord will pay just for the snappy look of him.”

I knew it was true. “Does he have a name?” I asked moving slowly toward the black horse, letting him smell my hands and get used to me. Bargaining can be hurried, but befriending a horse cannot. Only a fool rushes first impressions with a spirited young Khershaen.

“Not one that’s stuck on him,” he said.

“What’s your name, boy?” I asked gently, just so he could get used to the sound of my voice. He snuffed delicately at my hand, keeping close watch with one large, intelligent eye. He didn’t back away, but he certainly wasn’t at his ease either. I kept talking as I came closer, hoping he would relax at the sound of my voice. “You deserve a good name. I hate to see some lordling with delusions of wit saddle you with some terrible name like Midnight or Sooty or Scut.”

I came closer and lay one hand along his neck. His skin twitched, but he didn’t pull away. I needed to be sure of his temperament as much as his stamina. I couldn’t take the risk of jumping on the back of a skittish horse. “Someone half clever might dub you Pitch or Scuttle, ill-favored names. Or Slate, a sedentary name. Heaven forbid you end up Blackie, that’s an ill-fitting name for a prince like you.”

My father always talked to new horses in this way, in a steady calming litany. As I stroked his neck, I kept speaking without giving any mind to what I said. Words don’t matter to the horse, the tone of your voice is the important thing. “You’ve come a long way. You should have a proud name, so folk won’t think of you as common. Was your previous owner Cealdish?” I asked. “ Ve vanaloi. Tu teriam keta. Palan te? ”

I could sense him relax a bit at the sound of the familiar language. I walked onto his other side, still looking him over carefully and letting him get used to my presence. “Tu Ketha?” I asked him. Are you coal? “Tu mahne?” Are you a shadow?

I wanted to say twilight, but I couldn’t bring the Siaru word to mind. Rather than pause, I just bulled ahead, faking it as best I could as I eyed his hooves to see if they were chipped or cracked. “Tu Keth-Selhan?” Are you first night?

The big black lowered his head and nuzzled me. “You like that one, do you?” I said with a bit of a laugh, knowing that what really happened was that he had caught scent of the package of dried apple I had tucked in one of the pockets of my cloak. The important thing was that he had a feel for me now. If he was comfortable enough to nuzzle at me for food, we could get along well enough for a hard day’s ride.