The Name of the Wind

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.

“Keth-Selhan seems to suit him for a name,” I said, turning back to Kaerva. “Anything else I need to know?”

Kaerva seemed disconcerted. “He shies a bit on his right side.”

“A bit?”

“Just a bit. It stands to reason that he’s probably a bit prone to spooking on that side too, but I haven’t seen him do it.”

“How’s he trained? Close rein or trouper style?

“Close.”

“Fine. You’ve got one minute left to make this deal. He’s a good animal, but I’m not paying twenty talents for him.” I spoke with certainty in my voice, but no hope in my heart. He was a gorgeous animal, and his coloring made him worth at least twenty talents. Still, I’d go through the motions and hope to squeeze the man down to nineteen. That at least would leave me money for food and lodging when I got to Trebon.

“Very well,” Kaerva said. “Sixteen.”

Only my years of stage training kept me from gaping openly at his sudden drop. “Fifteen,” I said, feigning irritation. “And that will include the saddle, tack, and a bag of oats.” I began pulling money out of my purse as if the deal was already finished.

Unbelievably, Kaerva nodded and called for one of the boys to bring a saddle and tack.

I counted the money into Kaerva’s hand as his assistant saddled the big black. The Ceald seemed uncomfortable meeting my eye.