disrespectful, so most have trained themselves not to stare at the feet of any female bipeds. Besides, they will see the horns on your head and most of them will assume the rest. I will have to coach you how to walk, of course,” he adds, “but one thing at a time.”
Honus turns to Longshanks. “We are leaving at daybreak tomorrow on a mission of utmost importance. Can you help us, my old friend, by expediting this order?”
“I will set aside all other jobs. I should have the saruchi, the headdress, and the holder for the knife ready by this evening,” the cobbler says.
Honus turns slowly to Malora with an upraised eyebrow.
“The knife?”
“A tool,” Malora says, blushing.
“For cutting cheese and twine and bread,” Longshanks says smoothly.
“I see,” says Honus, unsuccessfully concealing a smile.
“I made it in the shop as a special project,” Malora tells him. “It’s much sharper than the butter knife I borrowed from you.”
“That is excellent news, indeed,” Honus says. “This way, when we are accosted by brigands on the road to Kahiro, you won’t have to resort to
buttering
them to death.”
It is his favorite joke. Malora responds with a laugh and wonders whether laughing at a joke she doesn’t find funny constitutes a white lie.
At dawn the next morning Malora stands outside the big paddock. She is dressed in buckskin trousers and the new boots with the ankle-sheath, a white cotton tunic, and a wide-brimmed impala-skin hat, with the black-and-white braided rope slung over her shoulder. She has already made her rounds, said her good-byes to the boys and girls, and assembled those horses she will take with her. She has decided to bring only mares, because they are more intelligent andhave greater stamina, and she wants no equine flirtation going on. Besides, when she finds Sky, the mares will be her gift to him.
Lightning will be her principal mount. Malora has tacked her up with a bit and a bridle and a saddle that Longshanks made from cow leather and bone, with cow-leather stirrups and saddlebags. In one bag, she has packed an extra pair of suede trousers, three tunics, and the long pale-blue saruchi Cylas made for her. The other bag contains
Pride and Prejudice
, a silver-backed hairbrush, and the goat-horn tiara. Cylas adjusted it several times, but the tortoiseshell band hurts her head, so she does not intend to wear it until they reach the outskirts of Kahiro. In addition to Lightning, she is bringing Light Rain and Charcoal. Light Rain will be her second mount—leaving Bolt to enjoy Max all to herself—and Charcoal will serve as a packhorse because she and Raven, the horse that Honus will ride, are inseparable. Malora has tacked up Raven with Honus’s sidesaddle.
Malora is just going over some horse-keeping details with West when Neal and Dugal Highdock arrive, followed by Orion. Neal and Dock carry bows and sheaths of arrows on their backs. Neal also carries a sword in a scabbard on his belt, whereas Dock carries a coiled bullwhip made of rhino hide. Orion is unarmed.
“Thank you for coming,” Malora says to Dock.
“My pleasure to serve,” he says gruffly.
A centaur of few words and fewer smiles, Dugal “Dock” Highdock is small but tough and stringy. He has scarred brown flanks, and the hair on his head stands out like tufts ofwhite cotton. Dock walks with a hitch in his right hind leg where a crocodile savaged him.
Honus is the next to arrive, riding in the back of a wagon piled high with supplies. Pulling the wagon is a team of two stout Beltanian draft horses driven by Lemon, who has replaced West as Orion’s Twan. Lemon’s mate (and Zephele’s Twan), Sunshine, sits next to him in the high seat.
“How will Zephele manage without you?” Malora asks Sunshine. She says this to be polite, since Zephele rarely calls upon her Twan to perform services.
“Ah, but Zephele is coming, too!” Zephele says, stepping out from behind the wagon. She is wheeling a
Honus turns to Longshanks. “We are leaving at daybreak tomorrow on a mission of utmost importance. Can you help us, my old friend, by expediting this order?”
“I will set aside all other jobs. I should have the saruchi, the headdress, and the holder for the knife ready by this evening,” the cobbler says.
Honus turns slowly to Malora with an upraised eyebrow.
“The knife?”
“A tool,” Malora says, blushing.
“For cutting cheese and twine and bread,” Longshanks says smoothly.
“I see,” says Honus, unsuccessfully concealing a smile.
“I made it in the shop as a special project,” Malora tells him. “It’s much sharper than the butter knife I borrowed from you.”
“That is excellent news, indeed,” Honus says. “This way, when we are accosted by brigands on the road to Kahiro, you won’t have to resort to
buttering
them to death.”
It is his favorite joke. Malora responds with a laugh and wonders whether laughing at a joke she doesn’t find funny constitutes a white lie.
At dawn the next morning Malora stands outside the big paddock. She is dressed in buckskin trousers and the new boots with the ankle-sheath, a white cotton tunic, and a wide-brimmed impala-skin hat, with the black-and-white braided rope slung over her shoulder. She has already made her rounds, said her good-byes to the boys and girls, and assembled those horses she will take with her. She has decided to bring only mares, because they are more intelligent andhave greater stamina, and she wants no equine flirtation going on. Besides, when she finds Sky, the mares will be her gift to him.
Lightning will be her principal mount. Malora has tacked her up with a bit and a bridle and a saddle that Longshanks made from cow leather and bone, with cow-leather stirrups and saddlebags. In one bag, she has packed an extra pair of suede trousers, three tunics, and the long pale-blue saruchi Cylas made for her. The other bag contains
Pride and Prejudice
, a silver-backed hairbrush, and the goat-horn tiara. Cylas adjusted it several times, but the tortoiseshell band hurts her head, so she does not intend to wear it until they reach the outskirts of Kahiro. In addition to Lightning, she is bringing Light Rain and Charcoal. Light Rain will be her second mount—leaving Bolt to enjoy Max all to herself—and Charcoal will serve as a packhorse because she and Raven, the horse that Honus will ride, are inseparable. Malora has tacked up Raven with Honus’s sidesaddle.
Malora is just going over some horse-keeping details with West when Neal and Dugal Highdock arrive, followed by Orion. Neal and Dock carry bows and sheaths of arrows on their backs. Neal also carries a sword in a scabbard on his belt, whereas Dock carries a coiled bullwhip made of rhino hide. Orion is unarmed.
“Thank you for coming,” Malora says to Dock.
“My pleasure to serve,” he says gruffly.
A centaur of few words and fewer smiles, Dugal “Dock” Highdock is small but tough and stringy. He has scarred brown flanks, and the hair on his head stands out like tufts ofwhite cotton. Dock walks with a hitch in his right hind leg where a crocodile savaged him.
Honus is the next to arrive, riding in the back of a wagon piled high with supplies. Pulling the wagon is a team of two stout Beltanian draft horses driven by Lemon, who has replaced West as Orion’s Twan. Lemon’s mate (and Zephele’s Twan), Sunshine, sits next to him in the high seat.
“How will Zephele manage without you?” Malora asks Sunshine. She says this to be polite, since Zephele rarely calls upon her Twan to perform services.
“Ah, but Zephele is coming, too!” Zephele says, stepping out from behind the wagon. She is wheeling a
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