The Horse Road by Troon Harrison Page A

squashed grape.
    â€˜I have returned; I am not going with the warriors,’ he said fiercely, regret and determination kindling in his gaze.
    â€˜What? What has happened?’
    He didn’t answer but searched amongst the pots on the women’s side of the yurt until he found a shallow dish. He poured a gurgle of red wine into it from a skin bag, and dropped an arrowhead into theliquid. Then, as I watched in silence, he drew his iron dagger from his sash and nicked the end of his finger; the blood splashed into the wine’s clarity in a tiny cloud. Now I began to understand what he was doing. When he handed his dagger to me by the hilt, I turned the point towards myself. It was honed so sharp on a whetstone that I barely had to touch it to my skin to break the surface. Batu held out the bowl and I added my blood to its contents. The arrowhead shimmered in the bottom, like a treasure in a pool.
    â€˜Swear,’ Batu said solemnly.
    â€˜I don’t know the right words, the words of your people.’
    â€˜I make this oath before Uha Soldong, the Golden Sorrel, light of the dawn, creator of horses. I will not leave you, Kallisto. Horses have bound our families together. We are companions in this war with the Middle Kingdom. We are horses yoked in the same chariot. We are eagles circling in the same sky. May great Tengri, master of all the world, favour us, and look kindly upon us, and show us mercy if we are true to one another in this time of battle. I will be your true companion, Kallisto; I swear it.’
    â€˜Before the Golden Sorrel, I will be your true companion, I swear it,’ I repeated, and then Batu tipped back his strong brown neck where the torc glinted, and drank from the bowl before handing it to me. The arrowhead shifted as I tipped the bowl up, and the wine tasted sweet and thick, clearingaway the flat bread from my throat, filling my chest with warmth.
    The bowl was empty when I laid it on the felt carpet. For a moment, Batu’s gaze held mine in a blazing grip. I felt courage rise in me. Then the wind gusted in the door, bringing the tang of wild mint and the oiliness of sheep, and my mother moaned softly.
    Batu’s gaze flickered to her and he frowned. ‘She has been cast upon by an evil eye,’ he said. ‘We must get her into a wagon and ride for Ershi. When my mother and I first came to your mother’s door, we were starving to death. Only your mother’s kindness saved us. Now it is my turn to repay this. And Swan is a mare of special quality; white as a perfect egg. White is the colour of good omen amongst my people, and how could I ignore that now?’
    I lifted my head, bent as I listened to Batu’s explanation. Outside the door of the yurt, Rain blocked the sunshine; he swung his head and looked at me with his blue eye.
    â€˜Come,’ Batu said, ‘the horses are ready for our journey.’
    â€˜Well spoken.’
    We turned, startled, to see that my mother had raised herself upon one elbow.
    â€˜We will leave now,’ she continued, only determination holding together the weak thread of her voice. ‘But I will ride Grasshopper and not lie in awagon like a corpse going to its sky-burial. Batu, please fetch my horses. Kallisto, bring me my clothes.’
    â€˜But, Mother –’
    â€˜We must make haste; we must fetch our herd and drive it back here to the nomad camp where it will be safe. No army shall have it.’
    And my indomitable mother swung herself free of the blankets, as Batu stepped outside to catch Grasshopper and Tulip.

Chapter 4
    â€˜Mother!’ I called anxiously. ‘Are you well?’ Riding at the head of our small party, she dropped her reins and waved to me with her right arm, but said nothing. Then she ran her hand over Grasshopper’s withers, her rings glinting in the light, and picked up her reins once more.
    With a chill of fear, I watched her back, slumped and swaying on her horse