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I have no idea how long I am carried into the oblivion of this planet. Time ceases to have meaning when it is marked by the four beats of the gallop. I can smell horse sweat. I usually love that smell. I love everything about horses. But this time, there’s a distinctly negative connotation to it. These assholes are running their mounts into the ground, and for what?
We approach a circle of tents, the kind you might expect from any nomadic civilization. These are large and round, sort of like yurts, but with crests and decorations which put me in mind of gothic, or perhaps Norse origins. Flying horse heads mark the tops of the tent poles, sealed and oiled with great care. You wouldn’t think I’d notice things like that while captive and upside down, but it’s amazing what the mind latches onto as a distraction when terrible things are happening.
The riders come to a halt. I am yanked off the back of the horse and over a broad shoulder, carried over to a group of warriors. I can smell them before I see them. They smell like long journeys and the masculine musk of guys who are too good for baths. It’s a smell I’ve been assaulted with before back on the world I came from, after hard musters and long days in the saddle.
“What have we here?”
Those four words, delivered in calm and weighty tones, spell the beginning of my personal end.
“We bring you a thief, sire, so you might pass judgment.”
I am somersaulted from the shoulder of my captor over my own head and dumped on my knees in the dirt. Hands tied behind my back, still trying to spit out the mouthful of sand I got when the warriors roped me off my horse and dumped me on the ground.
My clothes are ripped, and I have grazes everywhere. My shirt’s ruined, but my jeans are just more authentically distressed. Torn at the knees, ripped at the shins, and damn near worn through at the seat from all the riding I’ve been doing, and all the being dragged that’s happened over the last hour. These bastards almost fucking killed me in the effort to capture me.
Huge, slavering dogs stand all around, leashed by chains and metal collars. They are twice the size of any dog I’ve seen before. They’re 12’2 hands at least, maybe even 13 hands. Their jaws are elongated, like wolves and they have bright red albino-type eyes, though their coats are pure black. They must be tame enough to have leashed without muzzles, but my gut tells me they’d eat me alive without a second thought.
Death is all around me. In the fangs of the hounds, in the eyes of the warriors who captured me, and in the massive presence of the king who sits on a throne of bones and furs, and who I barely dare look at because his aura is so fucking terrifying that I’m afraid I’ll pass out if I look at him directly.
I am in trouble and danger. A lot of both of those things.
“Who the fuck are you assholes?”
The question explodes out of me. I have a temper. Not with stock, but when it comes to asshole men, I have a mouth that doesn’t stop running. My grandmother used to say no man would marry me because I was too ornery. I guess she was technically right.
A boot meets my ribs, hard enough to knock the air out of me.
“Hold your tongue, thief! You are before King Equs, the stallion king, conqueror of Epona Prime!”
“Never heard of him.”
I have a feeling they’re going to kill me. The atmosphere just has that sort of vibe right now. I guess, if there is a king of stallions, then technically I am a thief because I was absolutely going to take that stallion home with me as soon as the interplanetary freighter came back through on its long route.
“Look,” I say. “I thought this was a wild herd. I didn’t know anybody had ownership of it.”
They do not believe me, and now I’ve managed to insult the king by implying that he's not important enough to know about. This is not going well. I try to take a deep breath to calm down, but all I can manage is a huge shuddering intake of dry air which makes me cough. Shit. If I want to live, I am going to have to come up with something better than I have so far. I can feel the intensity of the king, even through all the general danger and threats around me. It’s hard to explain, but he has this personal gravity field of charisma that seems to bend everything, horse and hound alike, to his will.
“I come from Earth. Stories of the herds of Epona Prime have traveled that far, but not of the king. I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
