To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion Read Online Free PDF

me!”
    â€œI’m Soulai,” he responded in a voice suddenly so parched it crackled to a whisper. “I care for these ten horses.” He stiffly extended his arm to indicate the well-groomed animals busily nibbling their last bits of grain. “They still need hay and water.”
    The boy stepped close to Soulai, causing the mastiffs to swing their attention back to him. One shoved his nose up under Soulai’s short tunic, sniffing between his legs. He pushed at the dog’s massive head with both hands; a sick fear told him he was about to be bloodied. To add to his torment, the fancily dressed boy was sharply tapping the clay tag resting on Soulai’s chest. A hammered silver bracelet set with lavender stones shimmered on his forearm. An intricately carved blue stone hung from his neck. These, and the overwhelming aromas of frankincense and mint, announced that this was, indeed, the first royal Soulai had encountered face-to-face.
    â€œWhat does it say here?” The boy was still tapping the tag.
    Soulai flushed. Although he had been told the tag’s meaning, he couldn’t specifically decipher the wedge-shaped characters. And that was the point, wasn’t it? This boy was reminding him that he was only a slave, as stupid as an animal, of no more importance than dust itself. Anger stirred within him.
    He glared at the face that might nearly have been his own had he been born in the palace. The same shock of black hair arched over a similarly narrow brow. The same raisin-brown eyes sat a little too close alongside a slim nose. But this boy’s locks were crimped into neat curls, and a light powder coated his skin. Fine hairs seemed to sprout over the thin upper lip, though it could have been the shadows. Soulai knew his own face had yet to show signs of manhood.
    â€œWhat does it say here?” the boy insisted petulantly.
    â€œI am told it says my name,” he responded in a resentful tone, “and that of another, Habasle. Is that you?”
    The prince grinned at the sound of his name. “A welcome surprise: You’re smarter than you look. So as not to disillusion me, Soulai, don’t open your mouth again. Unless I order it. Now, set rugs on two horses, one of them being this parti-color, and meet me outside. The lion is waiting.” With a haughty jerk of his chin, and the confident air that he’d be obeyed, the prince turned and strode down the stable aisle. The two archers exchanged knowing looks and followed obediently, the mastiffs galloping past them.
    Choking on humiliation, Soulai darted toward the tack room. The keeper was barely awake, hunched against the wall, cradling a clay cup of steaming brew. He pretended not to hear Soulai’s pleadings until Habasle’s name was mentioned, and then the cup was set down so abruptly that half the liquid splashed out onto the floor. Soulai loaded his arms with bridles and rugs and their attendant cruppers and breast-collars. On his staggering journey back down the aisle he still managed to scoop up some barley hay for Ti and the stocky bay gelding tethered next to him. The others whinnied jealously, but they would have to wait. Soulai didn’t know which he feared more: the wrath of Mousidnou, or that of his surprisingly young owner, Habasle.
    Ti was nosing aside the hay to get the last of his grain; a wary eye rolled askance as Soulai slipped in beside him. “Easy, there,” Soulai said as he placed the black-fringed rug behind Ti’s withers. He smoothed away the wrinkles, then cautiously bent under Ti’s belly to fasten the girth. As he fitted the breast-collar, Soulai realized his fingers were shaking. Anger or fear? he asked himself. Inside, he knew the answer.
    He well remembered the panicked bleating of his father’s two goats as they’d crumpled in the jaws of the lion. Again he saw the flash of fangs, the bloody lips. And the most frightening part? He’d never even