Aleksi’s first inclination was to turn downthe king’s offer of payment, for the truth was he would protectSahar against Yago no matter what.But Aleksi’s practical sideasked why he shouldn’t accept payment for his services.Wasn’t thatwhy he’d come here, to earn enough coin to start a new and betterlife, and to show his father and his royal relatives that he was aself- made man?
“Throw in my choice of a broodmare from yourstables, at a fair price of course,” he said, “and you have abargain.”
“I tell you what,” the king said.“When therace is over, I will trade you almost any broodmare from my stablesfor one of yours.”
Aleksi clasped the king’s forearm.“I have asturdy little dun steppe mare named Zenya that is yours,” he toldthe king.“What she lacks in stature she makes up for instamina.”
The king shook Aleksi’s forearm once.“Deal,”he said.He let go of Aleksi’s forearm and laid a hand on hisshoulder.“I met your father, King Maksimillian, about nine yearsago, at the Autumn Festival here,” he said.“He bragged to me thenabout you, about how strong and true you were in mind and body.I’mglad to find he was not exaggerating.”
“Nine years ago?”Nine years ago, Aleksi hadalready been relegated to a stable boy.“Are you sure he was notspeaking of Vladimir, his legitimate son and heir?”
The king squeezed his shoulder.“I’m quitesure.I was sorry to hear of your father’s illness.”
Illness?
“I’m sure, as your sister says, he willrecover fully.”
“I’m sure he will.”
CHAPTER 8
The Race
Aleksi woke with a jolt, his heart hammeringin his chest and his bed linens tangled around his legs.Heunwrapped the twisted linens and sat up, swiping the sweat from hisface as he called for Kiska, his heart kicking back into a somewhatnormal beat as she poked her nose out of the pile of his clothesunder which she had taken cover.
“Were you hiding from my thrashings, littleone?”he cooed as he picked her up and buried his nose into hersoft fur, the rhythm of her contented purring slowing his racingpulse.
He had dreamt of the kitten dragging hermangled leg behind her as she crawled into a bucket filled withmaggoty oats hidden in the dark, dank corner of a strange stallthat reeked of old, moldy straw and horse piss.When Aleksi reachedinto the bucket for the kitten, it was Zolotoy he pulled out, thestallion unfolding one disjointed leg at a time until he stood onall four legs and shook a grave’s worth of dirt off his coat.Aleksi had jumped onto the stallion’s bare back and ridden in afrenzied gallop, chasing a blood bay mare and its rider acrossscorched plains and swollen rivers, up snowy mountain passes anddown crowded city streets, their glossy black manes streamingwildly in the wind.Chasing, always chasing, and never gaining anyground until the figures vanished in a cloud of smoke.When thesmoke cleared, Aleksi, barely able to breathe for the griefcrushing his chest, was left kneeling before his father’s body laidout for burial, his withered skin stretched over his bones likedried parchment.
“By the gods,” he rasped as a convulsion ofshivers wracked his body.He gave the squirming Kiska a smackingkiss on her head and set her down to scramble off as best she couldon three legs as he stood and shook the night’s terrors from himand then splashed cold water from the wash basin over his face andchest.“It would not take a seer to explain that dream,” he laughedhoarsely, rubbing a drying towel over himself, quick and rough, asmuch to dry his body as to chase the chill from it.“Every fear Icurrently have made itself known in that one dream.”He steppedinto his leather riding breeches.“At least now I’m awake, I canconfront them,” he pulled on his boots, “and do something aboutthem.”He stood and donned his soft linen undertunic and leatherouter tunic.“For a nightmare surely loses its power in the lightof day.”
He intended to bring one fear in particularout into broad daylight.
After giving Zolotoy a bucket of fresh, cleanoats, Aleksi double checked his saddle bags.One was packed with achange of undertunics, his otter-skin cloak, and a tub ofsandalwood soap, and the other with six days’ worth of flatbread,jerky, nuts and dates, and a fist-sized packet of rendered goatfat.He tied his bedroll up tight and laid it beside the saddlebags and two full skins, one with water and the other withwine.
The race’s course would be crossing manyrivers and streams.The water-skin could be refilled easily enough,but the wine would need to be rationed out.He pulled his shortsword and tested its freshly honed edge by shaving the fine hairsfrom his forearm.Satisfied with its sharpness, he laid his twowaist blades out next, along with the small, narrow boot blade thathis father had given him the spring he had turned ten.
There was a knock on the stable wall.
“Aleksandr?It is Arman, Anya’s son.”
“Arman.”Aleksi let Anya’s son into the stalland clasped his arm.“It is good to meet you.Anya has spoken muchof you.”
“And you,” Arman said.
Almost as tall and broadly built as Aleksi,with a head of curly brown hair and his mother’s grey-blue eyes,Arman followed Aleksi into the antechamber and took a seat on thestool, eyeing Aleksi’s arsenal.Any worries Aleksi had concerningArman staying here to watch over Kiska and Aleksi’s extra gearvanished as soon as Kiska jumped into Arman’s lap and demandedattention.Arman, who Ratter had recommended for the job, seemedhappy to oblige the little pest.
“I see how easily replaceable I am, youdisloyal little wench,” Aleksi teased, though he was glad thekitten had taken so quickly to Arman.“Try not to let her jumparound too much,” he told him.“Remember, she is quite good athiding, much better than she is at coming when called.”
“As is every self-respecting cat,” Armansaid, laughing as the kitten swatted at the frayed end of his waistbelt.“Do not worry, Aleksandr, I will take care of Kiska as if shewere my own.Win this race.I have placed a moon’s wages on you andyour golden stallion.”
Arman’s words stopped Aleksi short, for hehad not thought past what his winning or losing would mean otherthan for him, Pyotr, and Serge.He had not considered that otherswould stake so much on the outcome of the race as well.
“I will do my best,” he told Arman.Aleksimeant it.He always did.
“I know you will, Aleksandr,” Arman said.“Now go and break your fast at the palace.I hear my mother hasprepared a feast worthy of twenty kings.”
The morning repast looked and smelled assumptuous as promised, and Aleksi reminded himself not to eat toomuch as he took a seat beside Feroz.The race would start at noonand an overfull belly was not a comfortable thing when bouncingaround on a horse for half a day.Sahar sat with her family,talking quietly with her father and brother, both of whom hadridden in the race before.Her father had won it the first twotimes it was run, and had not ridden in it since, choosing toretire his stallion, Storm Chaser, from racing.Her brother hadfinished a respectable third in the last race three years ago, theyoungest rider ever to place.Now his sister would be the firstwoman ever to ride in the race.
