A. Searle: The King's sword

“And you will send someone with us who knows the way?” Ronan pressed, deciding to contemplate the title of guard later.

“I’ll go myself,” Keegan told him. “I will feel better if I am there to tend the horses, and because I don’t trust the three of you and am still not sure I believe your story. When do we leave?”

Ronan stifled the urge to pull the sword back out and slice off the man’s large head. “First light.”

Ronan watched the woman shake something that looked like a dried up foot at him. Ula had insisted that they do some kind of preparation ritual the night before they were to leave. Ronan wanted no part of it but the woman was unrelenting and Ronan finally gave in just to cease her rattling.

Now he and Arien sat at the table watching Ula move around them as she chanted words of a foreign language. The toes of that foot waved dangerously close to his face as she passed and he leaned away, glancing at Arien’s expression. The boy was terrified. He couldn’t blame him.

Finally she halted at the end of the table and retrieved a red ribbon from inside her pocket. One end was tied to a large brown rock. She dipped the rock into a bowl of saltwater and then swung the rock over her head, wailing like a harpy. She shook the foot again.

Laughter bubbled up abruptly and he lifted his fist to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his humor. She looked like a mad woman and he couldn’t be sure if she wasn’t truly half crazed anyway. One look at Arien and he found the boy was struggling in his own battle against hilarity, his earlier fear completely erased.

When Ula threw back her head and wailed, Ronan gave up the battle and bowed his head as he laughed aloud. Once he finally got a hold of himself he looked up to find tears rolling down Arien’s cheeks as he clutched his stomach, laughing so hard that he shook.

Ula grew still and frowned at them with disapproval. “This is serious business.”

Arien gasped for breath as Ronan pointed at the thing she held, “Is that a dog’s foot?” The boy held his nose, trying to stifle another gale that threatened to escape him. It succeeded in him making a loud snorting noise which only caused him to laugh louder.

“It is a foot of a swamp rat from Fullerk and it could save your lives,” Ula snapped and Arien doubled over with laughter. “It is nothing to laugh at.”

“She’s right.” Ronan forced a solemn expression. “If it can save us, let her continue without interruption.”

Ula’s frown deepened. “It must be done. I have a bad feeling about the journey.” She lifted the foot and swung her rock, continuing the ceremony, even when the two began to laugh again. She began to stomp her feet and chanted for nearly another hour before she finally ended the ritual.

“Now do that standing on your head and I shall be impressed,” Ronan challenged.

Ula’s lips pressed together in a thin line and she turned to stomp from the house, taking her rat foot and rock with her.

“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Ronan looked at Arien as the boy shook his head and wiped tears on the back of his hand.

“She is an odd old creature,” Arien said.

“What kind of rock was that?” Ronan’s chuckled. “Looked like one she dug out of a river bank.”

“That was no rock.” Arien started to laugh again. “It is the same thing that I shovel out of the mule stable each morning. There were pieces breaking off and flying into her hair.”

Ronan stared at the boy for a moment and then begin to chuckle again.

Ronan knew very little about horses. His old mule was hardly any trouble and fat from being treated too well for too many years. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on any of the large beasts that Keegan arrived with the next morning. They were magnificent animals with muscles that rippled with every movement.

“They are Dulcet Horses.” Keegan swung down from the animal he rode and led the three remaining to stand in a row in front of Ronan. “They are pure bred with no mixed magic. Strong, intelligent, and I trained them myself.”

Ronan could hear the pride in Keegan’s deep voice. “Which one shall I ride?”

Keegan smiled and shook his head, the sun glinting across his red hair. “Don’t know yet.”

“I like the gray one.” Ronan nodded toward the mare of the three.

“But does she like you?” Keegan’s smiled dipped to a grin. “A Dulcet Horse chooses its own rider.”

“How can a horse make a choice like that?” Arien asked.

“Animals sense things about us,” Keegan explained as he ran a large hand over the gray mare. “They know things about us and choose a rider that best matches them.”

“Sounds like a little horse manure to me,” Ula said as she stepped from the house to Ronan’s side.

“You could always shake your foot at them to be certain you are chosen first.” Ronan grinned when Arien snickered but didn’t look at the witch.

“Sorcha comes from two Dulcets that are strong and mild tempered. She is fast but not reckless.” Keegan patted the gray mare again before moving to the black and white horses. “Ahearn is stronger than Sorcha and acts as protector to the others. He is very intelligent. And Dermot is the gentlest horse I have. He’ll probably choose the most inexperienced rider.”

“Fascinating. I’m curious now,” Ronan admitted staring at the dark eyes of each of the animals when Keegan moved away from them. Ahearn stepped forward almost immediately and nudged at Arien. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Why did he choose me?” Arien asked lifting a hand to rub between the black horse’s ears.

“Only Ahearn knows why,” Keegan answered. The other two horses stood for a moment looking at Ronan and Ula. Then they moved forward in unison and Ronan watched as the gray mare chose him. He’d liked her best anyway.

“Well, hello, Sorcha.” Ronan smiled when she nuzzled against his beard.

“Now, don’t get too attached to them unless you are willing to pay the price to own this kind of animal,” Keegan warned. But Ronan was already deciding what he was going to sell to raise the funds to pay for this horse that looked him right in the eyes.

“So where is your dead guard?” Keegan asked after a moment.

Ronan nodded toward stable. “In the mule stable. I didn’t bury him in the event someone wanted to make sure the story I told was truth.” He slanted a gaze at Keegan. “Would you like to see him for yourself?”

“No.” Keegan scowled. “Is that his robe?” His attention dropped to the bright blue material draped over Ronan’s shoulder.

“I thought if I wore royal colors that it would ease worries of getting people to feed and shelter us at night,” Ronan told the man.

“Just don’t ride next to me. I don’t want anyone to think I am a guard if those that ambushed the first batch are still around.” Keegan leaned down to adjust the saddle strap. “No doubt they’ll know that the one wearing the colors is the one carrying the sword.”

Ronan considered the horseman’s words, then removed the material and folded it. He stuffed it down from sight in his pack. He hadn’t considered that he would be in danger by delivering the sword. He’d only thought of the burden of having to leave his home and make arrangements for a neighboring farmer to look after his mule.

“Have you eaten?” Ronan asked.

“I have not. I assumed my meals would be provided since I was doing this service for you,” Keegan answered so Ronan motioned him inside. Ula Baen might be a crazy old witch but she was one who could cook. And she’d prepared enough food for a dozen people.

When Ronan had found her that morning placing the food on the table he’d felt a bit guilty for laughing at her. She’d gone out that night and managed to bring in a boar to fry up at breakfast, along with Slog eggs and corncakes. Arien had nearly made himself ill eating so much.