The King's Horse (Shioni of Sheba Book 2) (7 page)

A
vegetable peel bounced
off the back of Shioni’s neck.

Eight slave-girls of Shioni’s age were shedding tears over a mound of onions to be peeled and chopped. Large kitchen knives struck the chopping boards with furious efficiency, dividing and dicing the potent red onions like an army of clacking metal ravens. The bigger girls stood at a separate table working on a hundred heads of garlic, their clever fingers stripping and slicing and chopping and moving with a peculiar unthinking rhythm all of their own, while they chatted about hair and dresses and boys.

The kitchen was stifling. Shioni wiped her forehead. Yesterday’s swim seemed a thousand years ago.

Several other girls were cr
ushing and pounding dried spice pods, following a rhythm a thousand years old. They sang as they worked, the dull thudding of their sticks a counterpoint to the clacking of knives and general chatter. The cherry-red powder they produced would be poured into large, stoppered gourds for use in the enormous pots of the castle kitchens, or blended with other spices following Mama’s secret recipes.

Shioni
was on red onion duty. Again. She sniffed. She would look like a goggle-eyed shrew afterward, like she’d been crying for hours.

Another peel sailed past her
head and splatted against the wall. Mango this time. Heavy and juicy–good for throwing, she supposed–and the thick, sweet juice stained clothing easily.

Another typical day.

After rising with the dawn, Shioni had run with the warriors for an hour, before returning to the castle to prepare Princess Annakiya’s breakfast and ready her clothes for the day. She’d almost had to fetch breakfast twice, as a cunningly hooked foot had nearly upset her and her tray just as she left the kitchen. Laughter and sniggers accompanied her stumble into the courtyard. Then it was back to the training field to meet her sword instructor, who proceeded to pummel her with a blunt blade until she could no longer lift her arm to defend herself. He stalked off with no more than a grunt of disapproval for her efforts.

When she returned to the kitchens, Mama was
not present. She had been summarily hauled over to the onion-peeling table: ‘You’re late, you lazy, good-for-nothing she-goat! Get to work!’ The girl next to her trod on her foot when she tried to find space at a chopping board. And then the vegetable peels started to fly.

Another night had passed,
disturbed by another nightmare about Kalcha. At least this one had not left any bruises! Shioni attacked an onion crossly. Her latest, least favourite dream, was the one where the King repeatedly flew backward into the courtyard. She would try to catch him, but he always fell just beyond the reach of her fingers, and the look on his face…

“Ouch!”
A rotten sweet potato bounced off her ear.

A chorus of laughter rose from the garlic table.
Yeshi, who was the ringleader of the older slave-girls, had a distinctive, shrill giggle which sounded like a girl half her age. Better still, like a hyena, Shioni thought spitefully. No ‘love your enemies’ for her! Yeshi was simply unbearable. And do good to those who throw vegetable peels at your head, steal your food, and pinch your arm when they think no-one’s looking? Ha! Easy for the priests to preach.

T
he girls quietened down when Mama Nomuula appeared to check on progress. The instant her back was turned, however, another cold peel struck Shioni on the back of her calf. Her hand jerked, spilling a pile of onions across the table. The girl next to her prodded her rudely.

“Keep your stinking onions to yourself!”

“At least I don’t smell like one.”

The girl shot her an angry glance.
“Just wait till I tell Yeshi on you.”

“Baby
need her wet-cloths changed?” Shioni asked sweetly.

“You s
hut up, ferengi!”

“Ow!”
Shioni gasped as her arm was suddenly wrenched behind her back. While her training had strengthened her, the older slave-girls at seventeen and eighteen years of age were still a head taller and heavier to boot.

“What did you say?” Yeshi
hissed in her ear. She jerked Shioni’s arm higher, causing pain to stab through her shoulder where Anbessa had clawed her. When she took off her tunic, the scars resembled four red ruts ploughed across her skin.

Shioni
was forced up on her tiptoes, trying to take the pressure off her shoulder. “Ah!”

“Zebra got your tongue?”
The ‘zebra’ was a leather whip used for punishment. It was named for the striped bruises it left–the word was it was made soft enough not to break the skin, but rather to hurt as much as possible. “I should have you whipped for insolence.”

“Shioni!”

“Oh look, Mama’s calling. Saved your scaly lizard skin.”

“Come take this to Hakim Isoke!”

“Poxy little vixen! I’ll punish you later.” Yeshi gave her arm a final jerk, before turning her around and shoving her with a hard hand towards the door. Shioni had been expecting exactly that. She staggered, and then darted out of the door to a burst of laughter and a final peel pinging off the side of her head.

Mama Nomuula blinked as Shioni appeared at a run.
“Oh, there you are. Quickly. Take this. The Hakim is unwell.”

People called Annakiya’s tutor ‘Hakim’ because what she didn’t know wasn’t worth a grain of salt, Shioni thought, but she was as unbending as a slab of granite and about as friendly.

Mama handed her a small wooden tray. “Tell her this is my best thick chicken broth, and a medicinal draught. She’s to drink it all. You’s filthy, girl. What you been doing with them onions?”

Shioni ducked her head.

“What’s this?” Mama’s fingers plucked at her hair. “Rotten onion peel? Them girls–”

“Mama, don’t
–”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, my dove.”
Her voice was as soft and warm as honey. “Don’t you mind them none. I’ll pay them, but in a way’s got nothing to do with you. Now you go.” She swatted Shioni’s backside on the way past. “Keep out of mischief. And slow down, girl!”

Shioni skid
ded to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen proper. She juggled the tray and managed to save its contents from a nasty slide. “Selam!”

“Sorry.”
Selam’s sweet smile lit up her face. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine
–in a rush actually.”

“Shioni
!” Mama’s bellow made a hundred panicked birds flutter off the baobab. “Just you slow down!”

“Oh, I need to see Mama
,” said Selam. “She said after three weeks I was to come back and get this ankle checked. My brother brought me. Thanks again, thanks awfully for helping–”

“That’s okay.
How is Desta?”

“She said I might get a job in these kitchens once the bone’s healed up.”

“Great! Mama’s nice. The best.”

“Of course I’m the best!”
Mama prodded Shioni in the small of her back. “Why you still here? Check if the Hakim needs anything else. Then go tidy the Princess’ room. Right?”

“My other brother carried me,” Selam
was saying brightly. “You haven’t met him. Desta’s in the mountains. He’s–oh.”

Up in the mountains?
Doing something wayward with his rebel friends, Shioni realised. To cover for her friend’s lapse, she said quickly, “Well I’m glad you’re here. Let Mama sort you out; I’ve got to dash. See you later?”

“I hope!”

A
Hand shaking her
shoulder roughly
made
Shioni startle and turn over with a groan.

“
Wake up,” said Kifle, darting a glance at Princess Annakiya, who was sitting up bleary-eyed on her bed. “The General asked me to pass you an urgent message. Captain Dabir is arriving this afternoon.”

“
This afternoon?” His words jolted Shioni into full wakefulness.

“Today.
Not next week. I only found out by accident, as I was running a message to Ginab village yesterday evening. The elders were making preparations to receive the Captain.”

“What time is it?”

“Birdsong before dawn,” he said, and added without a trace of boasting, “I left Ginab early–it’s only a couple of hours run up the valley for me, and I know the way. So, listen. Here’s the big news. The King’s horse has escaped.”

The
girls caught their breath. Kifle nodded, evidently pleased to be the bearer of news of such import. “Me, I’d just let that wretched beast go and be glad of it, but it was a gift from the King’s brother, wasn’t it? The General wishes you, Shioni, to accompany Tariku on a mission to track it down. Miserable creature! If I may quote, he said, ‘It will keep her out of the way of certain people, accomplish something useful, enable Tariku to train her personally, and they can keep their eyes open for Wasabi.’ I hope that is clearer to you than it is to me.”

“Out of the way of Dabir,” said Annakiya.

“Oh–oh, yes.” Kifle’s grin made him look like a naughty boy. Clearly he didn’t like the Captain either. “You did rather get up his nose, didn’t you, Shioni? Twice.”

“Kifle, you don’t know the half of it,” said Annakiya.
“Remind me to tell you a little story. But at a better time.”

“Ooh, gossip!”
His grin widened. “Throw this wolf a meaty bone, and I’ll gobble up your hand with it. Thankfully, with everyone working these double shifts the building work is progressing well. Captain Dabir will find his surprise visit isn’t very surprising. Anyway. You are to meet Tariku immediately at the barracks. Bring your weapons.”

Annakiya leaped out of bed.
“Take my old riding cloak, Shioni.”

Kifle threw them an ironic salute from the doorway.
“You have less than a minute.”

“I don’t have any clothes!”
Tangled in her leggings, Shioni almost fell flat on her face.

“You didn’t take spare last time and you survived,” Annakiya said firmly
. “Right–bow, quiver, dagger. Belt? Here. Cloak. Now go.”

Shioni juggled her load with a grimace. “Um, shouldn’t the General ask your permission, Princess–?”

Annakiya made a gesture as though she wanted to chop that question in half. “Granted. Now will you move your behind before I imitate Mama Nomuula and kick it down the corridor?”

Halfway out of the door, Shioni turned to wave to her friend. “Stay well!”

“Scram!”

Shioni was out of breath when she reached the barracks.
Tariku was hastily throwing things into bags, and Mama Nomuula had just appeared with some food from the kitchen.

“Get my horse ready,” he snapped.
“There’s rain in the air. If that arrives, we won’t have a sniff of a hope of tracking that mangy brute.”

“Ah.”
That explained the rush rather better than Dabir’s imminent arrival, thought Shioni, throwing his soft-saddle over the back of his horse and buckling the girth strap with a deft hand. His horse was well trained–no fooling with deflating its lungs or unnecessary fidgeting was needed. An excited-looking stable hand led Star over to her.

“They tell me you ride bareback?”

“Mostly.”

“Crazy girl.
Can you do soft-saddle?”

“
Blanket’s best.”

Tariku
barked an order at the stable hand, who to his credit, was already dashing off to do his bidding. “Can’t be too prepared for these mountains,” he said. “The season’s becoming dangerous for travel now. I’ve warned our scouts… is that all you packed?”

Shioni shrugged
, wondering what he meant. “We slaves travel light.”

Tariku snorted,
“Oh yes, and you don’t believe in snow. I remember. Mount up. Take these bags. We’ll rig up a way for you to carry them later.”

Shioni caught a coil of rope and two cloth bags and positioned them
across her thighs. He vaulted easily into his saddle. “Come along, Hop Along,” he said, clucking to his horse.

She
could see right away that the Elite warrior was an old hand–his easy seat on the horse, his light touch on the reins, the way his eyes moved once they had clattered out of the keep gate, all spoke to his experience.

“Your horse is called Hop Along?”

“A silly nickname,” he replied. “Someone named him Hoplite, which is an ancient word for a warrior from the Middle Sea. Nobody knows what that means, so I call him Hop Along instead. Now, where shall we look for the King’s horse?”

“Upriver,” said Shioni, “toward
the high passes.”

“Why?”

So… a test already? He wasn’t wasting any time.
“Apart from all the warm gear you’ve packed, or the General’s command to watch out for Wasabi, you mean, Tariku?” She smiled. “That’s a proud stallion. He’s not one for the flat plains, where he knows the Shebans wait. He’ll be angling for the soft grasses of the high meadows, which are still green at this time of year. So he’ll head upriver first. And, you probably asked the scouts beforehand.”

“Not bad,” Tariku nodded, “although the best grasses are down in the gorges, before the rains hit.
Then you won’t want to be down low.” He gave a low laugh as they passed between the twin gatehouses, which had risen to twice Shioni’s height. “You’re right. I did ask the scouts. They found his spoor near where you slaves bathe. Keep up.”

“Run, Star,” Shioni urged her pony, as Tariku drummed his heels
on Hop Along’s flanks.

With dawn breaking
directly behind them, the pair skirted Mama’s freshly-turned vegetable fields at a rapid trot before splashing across the shallow ford. From there the trail, worn and rutted by the feet of many Sheban warriors, turned uphill, towards the valley’s head. Twisting around in her seat, Shioni saw that the army of grey clouds had marched much closer since two days before, when she had first noticed them while swimming with Annakiya. They were deeper-bellied and blacker now, obscuring the sun which was trying to make some sort of entrance behind them. There was a definite nip to the wind.

Tariku
reined his horse in slightly, in order to draw level with her. “This valley’s like a long finger pointing into the heart of the mountains,” he said. “Plenty of secrets hidden in those ridges either side of us–but they do provide good protection. The castle’s location was well chosen. Did your mistress ever find reference to the gold and silver mines? They used to be worked from the castle. It’s what attracted the King up here, apart from the Wasabi menace.”

“References
, yes,” said Shioni. “But they haven’t found any useful information as yet. Annakiya said there were also writings about Belshalar, the Mountain King. He’s supposed to have had great treasuries, isn’t he?”

Tariku gave her a strange look.
“The legends of my people claim that Belshalar was a dragon, and that his treasure is cursed.”

“Shuba might like to hear about that.”

“Good thinking.”

“She gives me the creeps.”

“Ascetic scholars are the zebras of the human realm,” said Tariku, “having a different stripe to everyone else. They eat almost nothing and spend hours and days fasting and meditating, opening their minds to all sorts of things. Some people accuse them of conjuring evil spirits. I don’t much care for Shuba either, but she’s definitely on our side.”

His sidelong glance took in Shioni’s nod. “I’m not so sure about your tame
Fiuri, though. Are you sure she isn’t asmati, bent on making trouble for us?”

“I have thought that,” Shioni admitted, rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms. “But both the Princess and Shuba seem convinced that the butterfly-people are different to those asmati troublemakers.
Nobody seems to know the true extent of her powers, however. And whatever the case, Azurelle is not telling. Her time in Kalcha’s bottle was too traumatic, I think.”

Tariku’s answering ‘hmm’ was laden with meaning. “
Well, as the saying goes, if a warrior doesn’t look where he is running, he is likely to step in a heap of cow dung.”

Their mounts kicked up
clouds of red clay dust as they pressed along the trail, through patches of dense, prickly brush interspersed with large boulders, and stretches of tan, spiky grass as tall as Star’s belly.

Shioni pointed with her chin.
“Are we expected?”

A warrior, who had been squatting beside the
trail, rose and approached them. There was a brief consultation. “Ma’rib markings,” explained Tariku, pointing to a hoof print stamped in the red soil. “Notice the excellent quality of the iron, and here, on the right foreleg spoor, you can just about make out the Star of David imprint. It’s almost worn to nothing. Unique to Ma’rib-forged shoes, that is.”

Shioni
studied the spoor, but it required a great deal of imagination on her part to detect a six-pointed star on the imprint.

“That’s our boy. He’s all of fifteen or sixteen hands tall, judging by the size of that shoe.”

“Sixteen and a half.”

Tariku ignored her
interruption. “A flat shoe, however,” he told her. “Fine for the plains, but far too slippery for the mountains. We’ve been experimenting with inserting studs into the shoe for better grip. The farrier fitted your pony with experimental shoes just last week, I believe. You’ll have to report how it goes.”

Shioni nodded.
She was about to say she’d ask Star how she felt the shoes were working out, but thought the better of it. The fewer people who knew she could talk to animals, the better. She was strange enough already! And she did not know Tariku well enough to trust him yet.

“And what’s that?
Hyena?”

Tariku scowled.
“Too big for a hyena.” Then his hand flew to the haft of his spear. “It’s hyena alright–the size! Has to be one of Kalcha’s…! What’s it doing here?”

“Oh no… tracking the
King’s horse?”

The warrior released his spear with a low laugh. “
Hyenas don’t take live prey. Scouting for the witch, more like.”

Thinking back to the hyenas’ attack on Anbessa, Shioni was not so sure. Was Tariku making a show of nonchalance in order to impress her… or allay her fears? Either way, if one of Kalcha’s giant pets was on the trail, they should take care…

As they pressed on, she said, “I didn’t know warriors needed to know about horseshoes.”

“The first time you slip or throw a shoe in battle might be your last,” he said, with a dour smile.
“Did you bring boots? Sandals, at least?”

“Never had any shoes, Tariku.”

He muttered something about Sheban slaves that Shioni didn’t quite catch, before adding cheerfully, “Hope your feet don’t freeze.”

And as they
pressed along at a healthy canter, side by side on broad, grassy section where the trail petered out, Tariku began to question her in detail about her knowledge and skills. “May as well use the time profitably,” he said. “And you add what you’ve learned, alright? I might just learn something too.”

That was n
icely put, but Shioni had the impression that Tariku was just humouring a slave-girl. His habitual expression was a half-smile that seemed either to be mocking or appreciating the world, it was hard to tell which. Rather than judge him yet, Shioni decided, she should simply set her mind on learning what he had to offer. After all, slaves had to become adept at picking up what crumbs they could!