Exile's Challenge by Angus Wells

surrounded by Colun and his Grannach and the five Matawaye. She was pointing at things—a kettle, the tripod that held it, the bowls—and her hosts were naming the items while she dutifully repeated the words.
    She laughed as Arcole and Davyd approached, holding up a dish of beaten metal and saying something that sounded to Arcole like a cough. He saw Morrhyn touch her shoulder and correct her pronunciation, then nod his approval as Flysse repeated the word. It now sounded to Arcole like the sound of a dog’s bark, and he wondered if he could ever learn this odd language.
    He smiled as the Dreamer gestured, the hand signs easy ofinterpretation, found a place at Flysse’s side, and took the offered bowl.
    The porridge was thick and restorative, salted and laced with wild honey. He washed it down with tea, and after he had eaten two bowls, proclaimed himself filled.
    Rannach spoke then, and when he was done, Davyd announced that he thought the akaman said it was time to leave. This Arcole found easy to understand, for the Matawaye and the Grannach all rose briskly and set to cleaning the eating implements, then kicked out the fire and set to striking the leather tents. Arcole was impressed by their efficiency: the tents were down and bundled in moments, packed onto the spare horses, and the others readied. Morrhyn gestured at the exiles’ gear and spoke to Davyd, pointing at the packhorses. Davyd said, “I think he’d stow our stuff with theirs.”
    Arcole studied the horses they must ride. The animals were smaller than those of his homeland, lean and muscular, with a look of speed and agility. They had no stirrups, he saw, and only thin saddles of lightly padded leather, each animal guided by a single rein that was woven into a simple halter around the muzzle. He could ride; indeed, he had been considered a fine horseman, but he wondered how he would manage with so basic a harness. And he doubted Flysse and Davyd could manage at all.
    He nodded his agreement and watched as packs and muskets were lashed amongst the tents. The Matawaye, he noticed, stowed their quivers and shields on fastenings behind the crude saddles, thinking that he must learn to carry his musket thus—or learn to use a bow from off a horse’s back, which he thought must surely be very difficult.
    Then Colun and his folk were clustering around, bidding them what Arcole guessed were farewells. He clutched the Grannach’s hand and offered thanks for all his help and hospitality. The words of both went knowledgeless, but the meaning was understood: a bond existed that had no need of words.
    Then Arcole gasped as Rannach drove his lance into the ground and vaulted astride a bay stallion. Then again as plump Yazte did the same, and Kanseah, like limber gymnasts.Morrhyn and Kahteney mounted less dramatically, but still athletic, simply taking hold of saddle and mane and springing astride.
    Arcole said, “I think this shall not be easy.”
    Flysse said, “Why not?” And went to the roan horse Rannach held for her, and leapt onto the saddle.
    Arcole gaped. The Grannach and the Matawaye laughed at his expression.
    â€œI was born on a farm,” Flysse said; somewhat smugly, he thought. “I learnt to ride horses long ago, with no saddles on them.”
    He nodded and looked to Davyd, who was staring at the buckskin Morrhyn held for him with an expression that reminded Arcole of his looks before the sea serpent came to attack the
Pride of the Lord
.
    â€œI’ve never been on a horse before,” he said.
    â€œIt’s not so hard,” Arcole returned.
    â€œIt’s big.” Davyd’s voice was wary as his look. “I’ll fall off.”
    â€œWe all do,” Arcole said. “I did, at first.”
    Davyd’s expression suggested that he doubted this, and Arcole saw that he was torn between embarrassment and disinclination. He felt sorry for the youth, remembering his own