The Horse Road by Troon Harrison Read Free Book Online

the castle on top of the city’s central hill, and secluded behind its battlemented walls of mud brick. He said that Arash, my intended husband, was a handsome, intelligent young man skilled in reciting Persian poetry, in hunting lions from horseback. ‘I will not listen to you fretting about marriage,’ my father had said, glowering over a wine bowl the last time that we spoke of Arash. ‘You scarcely know the young man.’
    And that much was true, for on the rare occasion that we attended the same celebration or dinner, I was too shy to speak and he kept his haughty, aquiline profile turned away from me.
    â€˜Can’t you talk to my mother?’ I asked Berta now as she closed the lid of her chest and stirred her fire of sheep dung into a flower of tiny flames. She shook her head.
    â€˜Your mother will not go against your father in this matter,’ she said. ‘To secure your future is important to them both; your mother knows too well the dangers of being a woman alone and without status or protection. It was only the mercy of Tabiti, goddess of hearth places, that brought her to your father’s love. And you, even married in Ershi, will still have Swan.’
    Swan! For a moment, her white head filled my eyes; I saw her drifting through the pasture like a feather dropped from high overhead; I saw her long legs sweeping aside the flowers as she trotted to me, to flutter her soft nostrils against my neck. For a moment, a smile quivered on my lips but then I glanced again at the cot where Mother lay, pale and sweating still, and my smile died.
    â€˜Mother must wake soon!’ I said urgently to Berta. ‘If she doesn’t awake, how will I know she is healing? And how will I save Swan?’
    Berta didn’t reply, simply shooed me out through the open door into the sun’s dazzle. ‘Come backlater,’ she commanded, and I stood forlornly outside the yurt with my tunic flapping in the breeze. Tied to its perch with a leather thong, the eagle belonging to Batu’s father regarded me with yellow eyes, cold as glass beads. Nervously, I moved away from the reach of its sleek wings, folded now, that were wider than a man is tall.
    Around me, the hills rose in protective folds. Sedges and rushes grew along the banks of the river that sparkled downhill over small stones. Sheep and horses grazed peacefully, guarded by shaggy dogs and mounted herdsmen carrying lasso poles. Close to the yurts, a woman on a stool milked a mare whilst a boy struggled to hold her feisty foal. The woman’s baby, tightly swaddled on a cradle board, watched from a patch of shade.
    Gryphon!
I thought. My heart clenched when I remembered his courage in saving Tulip from harm, his cry of pain and terror ringing from the rocky walls when the great cat landed upon his smooth hindquarters. Oh, Gryphon! How could I have lingered in the yurt so late into the morning, worrying about Mother and Swan and my betrothal and war, talking to Berta? There seemed to be suddenly so many things to fear; my hand flew to the yellow pouch of leopard’s fur and closed around its promise of strength as I scanned the hillsides for Gryphon. Where was he? Was he lamed or weakened by his injuries; had he been bleeding? Batu had beentending the herd last night whilst the stars moved around the sky’s great circle, each one a horse wheeling about the tether post of the pole star. Batu had promised that he would tend to Gryphon in the darkness, poulticing the raking claw wounds.
    My heart beat hard, as though I had been running, and the amulet became damp in my sweaty clasp. Finally I glimpsed Gryphon’s flash of gold. He was corralled deep in a patch of flowering wild carrot, in a makeshift pen of poles. I broke into a run, calling his name. He lifted his head and watched me approach, slowing down to wend my way between the other horses grazing nearby. Some reached out with questing noses, inhaling my unfamiliar