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colder, and lengthy. Prince
Abisha came to stand before the hearth, his fat stomach not inches
from Kiri. She drew back against the cistern.
    “It is too much,” said Abisha. “It is out of
the question. No one asks such gold for horses.”
    “These are not common horses,” said Prince
Tebmund.
    “They are the finest horses on Tirror, as
I’m sure you can see for yourselves. They will carry a man into
battle with absolute absence of fear. They will not only carry him,
they will rear and strike the enemy’s mounts and the enemy soldiers
as well. They have struck down many an opponent and left a lifeless
body. They are well worth twice what I ask. However, if you are
not. . .”
    Abisha moved away from the wall, and Kiri
saw the king’s lifted hand, striking silence. Prince Tebmund waited
politely.
    “Why do you bring them to sell,” asked the
king, “if they are so fine?”
    “Our horses are our living, our finest
commodity. We raise them and train them to sell. If you are not
interested, there are others who will be. We offered first to you,
King Sardira, because we felt that your court, of all the nations,
would hold the best and kindest horsemen.”
    That, thought Kiri, was laying it on pretty
thick. Though it had been true once, when Papa was the king’s
master of horse.
    Prince Tebmund said, “I will be more than
pleased to give you a fortnight in which your soldiers can work
with these four mounts under my direction, to learn their unusual
ways. I would not sell them without training men to their skills.
If,” he said softly, “at the end of that time, you are not pleased
with the horses and with the price, I will depart happily with the
horses, and no charge made.”
    Kiri strained to see the king’s face. It was
set in a scowl, but there was a gleam of interest in his black
eyes. A fortnight in which Sardira’s captains could learn some
interesting secrets about training war-horses, and in which some of
the king’s own mares might be secretly bred to the two fine
stallions. Then, if Sardira didn’t buy, he would still have the
benefit of a beginning to a fine new line of mounts . . .
at no cost. Of course the king would accept. Sardira cared for
nothing if not for expediency and self-gain.
    Kiri wondered if Prince Tebmund had any idea
that horses sold here would soon belong to the dark invaders.
    Or perhaps Prince Tebmund didn’t care.
    King Sardira played both sides. He courted
the few leaders who stood valiantly against the dark enemies, and
courted the dark invaders with equal favor. They came to Dacia
often, seeking supplies and soldiers and whatever else the city
could provide. Their flesh lust was easily pandered to in the
quarters of the drugged servants and in the stadium fights between
prisoners and animals. Those exhibitions sickened and terrified
Kiri. The dark unliving wanted whatever new depravity the city and
Sardira’s court could produce. In return, they offered Sardira
flattery and the means for further power through their magic. The
unliving were conquerors. They lusted to make war, to kill in
battle. They would, when they saw Prince Tebmund’s horses, offer
Sardira far more than two hundred gold pieces per head, to send
such animals into the fighting.
    They would let the horses win for them, but
they would thirst to see them fight for their lives, see them
injured and screaming in pain. Pain and death fed the unliving.
    It was the un-men and Sardira together who
had cut out her father’s tongue, to prevent the images that his
voice could bring alive. Their way had been far more cruel than
killing him. To silence Colewolf was to sentence him to a cold half
death.
    Didn’t this young prince understand the
nature of the dark? Didn’t he know that Sardira traded with them?
His uncaring ignorance angered Kiri.
    Yet why should it? She had no reason to
think he was anything more than just another friend of the
dark.
    Still, if he was a friend of the dark, he
could have taken