Elizabeth Moon: Divided Allegiance

“Oh. But then—what does it want with a soul?”

“Paksenarrion, it’s magical. It does magic with souls. I don’t know how it started, or why; I only know it does. Somehow the souls it eats feed its magic powers. If we see a snowcat, we’ll flee at once—try to outrun it. Whatever you do, don’t look into its eyes.” He walked on quietly some hundred paces. Then: “Paksenarrion, how did you make Windfoot come to you?”

She had not thought about his surprise since that day. “I don’t know. I suppose—he knows me now. He knows I have apples. Horses have always liked me.”

Macenion shook his head. “No. It must be something more. He’s elfbred; our horses wouldn’t go to humans unless—do you have any kind of magical tools? A—a bracelet, or ring, or—”

Paks thought of Canna’s medallion; surely that wouldn’t have moved an elfbred horse. “No,” she said. “Not that I know of.”

“Mmph. Would you mind if I checked that?”

“What?”

“I could—um—look for it.”

“For what?”

Macenion turned on her, eyes blazing. “For whatever you used, human, to control my horse!”

“But I didn’t! I don’t have anything—”

“You must. Windfoot would never come to a human—”

“Macenion, any horse will come to anyone kind. Look at Star—”

“Star is a—a miserable, shaggy-coated, cow-hocked excuse of a pack pony, and—”

Paks felt the blood rush to her face. “Star is beautiful! She’s—”

Macenion sneered. “You! What do you know about—”

“Windfoot came to me. I must know something.” Paks realized that her hand had found her sword-hilt. She saw Macenion glance at it. He sighed, and looked patient.

“Paksenarrion, I’m sorry I abused Star. For a pony, she’s nice—even beautiful. But she is a pony, and human-bred; she is not an elfbred horse. There’s a difference. Just look at Windfoot.” They both looked. Windfoot cocked an ear back and whuffled, whether at Star or Paks was uncertain. Paks could not sustain her anger, with Windfoot’s elegant form before her. Macenion seemed to recognize the moment her anger failed, because he went on. “If you’re carrying a magical item, without knowing it perhaps, it could be dangerous—or very helpful. Magical items in the hands of the unskilled—”

Paks bristled again. “I’m not giving you anything—”

“I didn’t mean that.” But Paks thought he had meant exactly that. “If you have such an item, I can show you how to use it. Think, Paksenarrion. Perhaps it’s something that would call danger to us—wolves, say—or—”

“All right.” Paks was tired of the argument. “All right; look for it. But Macenion, what I have is mine; I’m not giving it up. If it calls danger, we’ll just fight the danger.”

“I understand.” He looked pleased. “We can camp here—I know it’s early, but I’ll need time. And the horses could use the rest. They can graze in this meadow.”

Shortly they had the camp set up, and both animals had been watered and fed. Macenion withdrew to one side of the fire, and brought out his pouch. Paks watched with interest as he fished inside it. He looked up at her and glared.

“Don’t watch.”

“Why not? I’ve never seen a mage—”

“And you won’t. By Orphin, do you want to get your ears singed? Or your eyes burnt out? Can’t I convince you that magic is dangerous?” Paks did not move. She was tired of being sneered at. Macenion muttered in what she supposed was elven, and turned his back. She thought of circling the fire to see what he was doing, but decided against it. Instead, she lay back, staring up at the afternoon sky bright overhead. So far they had had good travel weather; she hoped it would continue. She shifted her hips off a sharp fragment of rock, and let her eyes sag shut. She could hear the horses tearing grass across nearby; to her amusement, she could distinguish Star and Windfoot by sound alone. Star took three or four quick bites of grass, followed by prolonged chewing; Windfoot chewed each bite separately. She opened her eyes to check on them, and glanced at Macenion. His back still faced her. She closed her eyes again, and dozed off.

“I found it.” Paks opened her eyes to see Macenion’s excited face. She rubbed her face and sat up.

“You found what?”

“The magic ring you’re wearing.” Macenion sounded as smug as he looked.

“What? I don’t have any magic ring!”

“You certainly do. That one.” He pointed to the intricate twist of gold wires that Duke Phelan had given her in Dwarfwatch.

“That’s not magic,” said Paks, but with less assurance. The Duke had said nothing about magic, and surely he would have known.

“It is. Its power is over animals; that’s why you could use it on Windfoot.”

“I didn’t use it on Windfoot. I just called him and held out my hand . . .”

“That’s all it would take. You touched it—perhaps accidentally, since you say you didn’t know about it.”

“I didn’t—and I don’t believe it.” But Paks was already half-convinced.

“Where did you get it?”

“It was—my commander gave it to me, after a battle.”

“As a reward?”

“Yes.”

“Was it part of the loot?”

“I think so.”

“Siniava’s army?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then. He and his captains used magic devices often, so I heard. Perhaps your commander didn’t know. It is magic and it is how you controlled Windfoot. You can prove it—call him now, with the ring. Don’t say anything, or move, but touch the ring and think that you want him to come.”

Paks looked across the meadow to see Windfoot and Star grazing side-by-side. She clenched her hand around the ring, and thought of Windfoot. She didn’t like the idea that a ring—a ring she had received from the Duke—could have such power. She had always liked horses; horses had always liked her. She thought of Windfoot: his speed, his elegance. A quick thudding of hooves made her look up. Windfoot came at a long swinging trot, breaking to a canter. Star followed, her shorter stride syncopating the beats. Windfoot stopped a few feet away, and came forward, ears pricked.

“All right,” said Paks quietly, holding up her hand for Windfoot to sniff. Star pushed in and shoved her head in Windfoot’s way. “But I didn’t call Star—”

“No, she came for company, I think. But that is definitely a magic ring, with the power to summon animals. See if you can make Windfoot go away.”

Paks wrinkled her brow. It did not seem fair to control Windfoot this way. She flipped her hand, and the horse threw up his head and backed.

“Not that way,” said Macenion, annoyed.

“Yes.” Paks pushed Star’s head away. “Go on, horses! Go eat your own dinners.” She stood up. “I believe you; it’s magic. But I don’t like the idea.”

“You’d rather have the power in yourself?”

“Yes. No—I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right, to be able to call and send them like that.”

“Humans!” snorted the elf. Paks glared at him, and he modified it. “Non-magicians don’t understand magicians, that’s all. Why involve right and wrong in it? The ring is magic, it’s useful magic, and you should use it.”

Paks had had no idea what a mountain pass would be like. Macenion told her that the pass at Valdaire wasn’t really a mountain pass at all. “It’s just high ground,” he said. Now, as they climbed past the forested slopes to open turf and broken rock, she wondered how, in this jumble of stone, anyone could find the way. It was a gray morning, and she felt the cold even through her travel cloak. Macenion pointed out marking cairns.

“But it’s just another pile of rock.”