To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion by Diane Lee Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

in an ankle-length tunic and robe marching toward them. A lion’s limp paws draped Habasle’s neck. The man clutched a leather pouch to his chest like a shield.
    â€œIt is this horse,” Habasle pronounced as they reached Ti. His slap on Ti’s rump produced no more response than the thudding sound of hand against meat. “He is of value to me and you must make him live.”
    The asu glanced at Soulai, who was still stroking Ti’s head. A tenderness was visible in the man’s eyes, which gave Soulai a glimmer of hope.
    â€œGet out!”
    The abrupt command came from Habasle, and Soulai didn’t have to question for whom it was meant. Head dutifully lowered, he slid along the stallion’s flanks and, careful not to brush against him, past the person responsible for Ti’s misery. His nose wrinkled at the pungent scent of freshly bathed skin and perfumed hair. How I hate him! he thought as his fists tightened. Trembling with pain and anger, Soulai waited beside Mousidnou.
    The asu pursed his lips and gently laid his hands on Ti. With slow, thoughtful movements he examined the crusted, reddish-brown scratches. When he came to the gaping wound on Ti’s neck and shoulder, he clucked his tongue and reached into his pouch.
    Carrying a handful of dried sprigs out to the aisle, the asu knelt, struck his flint, and ignited them. He muttered something into the fire, then dug through his pouch again. This time he pulled out a wood bowl into which he poured a whitish powder. Adding a handful of animal fat, he worked the mixture several minutes with his fingers, then stood and carried the bowl toward Ti. As the salve was pressed into his neck wound, Ti came to life, bucking and snorting.
    Instinctively Soulai lunged, but Mousidnou’s iron grip on his arm stopped him.
    Ti’s eyes rolled to white. With his head strongly tethered, though, and escape impossible, he fell to heaving his weight from side to side.
    The asu kept a calm, yet wary eye on the shifting stallion, stepping away as needed, but always returning to daub more of his sticky concoction into the freshly oozing wound. When the bowl was near empty, he returned to his pouch to pull forth coiled cotton bandages. He began wrapping what he could of the shoulder, as well as the horse’s neck, so tightly that Soulai himself had trouble swallowing.
    The tail of the last bandage was still dangling when another man, unusually tall, came striding down the aisle. Like Habasle, he wore a robe of noble length, but his was blood red. A voluminous leather pouch was slung across his shoulder, the straps clamping down on a huge gold medallion. The asu’s eyes widened and he looked as if he wanted to flee.
    â€œThis is the beast? ”
    â€œYes,” Habasle answered regally. “You are ordered to attend him.”
    The man cocked his head, examining Habasle with barely disguised disdain. Soulai noticed that his eyes were completely black, as if both pupils had exploded and frozen. “Ah, then,” he said, “we must—no, no, no! Those bandages are all wrong.” In one step and with a great flourish of robes he began tearing away the asu’s careful work. “Such haphazardry might suffice in Elam, but we follow the scholars’ methods in this land.”
    The smallish man shuffled aside. “You are the ashipu,” he murmured. “I will watch and learn.” The others appeared to bow to this forceful man as well, but Soulai had a strong sense that Ti would have fared better with the asu. And when the red-robed man, in one yank, tore the sticky mane from the exposed wound, ripping a squeal from the stallion, it took both of Mousidnou’s hands to hold Soulai to his place.
    The ashipu bent close to the moist flesh and sniffed. “Alum?”
    â€œIn sheep’s lard,” the asu replied.
    The tall man nodded. “Adequate.” Picking up the bandages, he deftly rolled them around his