[continuing chapter 1]
They rode for the better part of a day, covering
by Wen's estimate a good fifteen li
despite Chin Gwai's considerable weight.
The man must, Wen concluded, be a remarkable judge of horseflesh to be
able to know precisely which horse, when stolen, would be up to carrying the
weight of his huge person and his armor—to say nothing of Wen himself. The horse was not enchanted, though, and by
the time the sun was hovering just above the horizon the beast was moving
slowly, breathing hard and too exhausted even to complain about things.
"I think," Wen began.
"We walk," said Chin. "Agreed." He slid from the saddle with an ease that
suggested to Wen Mongol blood, or at least an apprenticeship in the imperial
cavalry. The horse flicked its ears but
otherwise gave no sign of appreciating the lifting of its burden. That, Wen, thought, truly is one tired horse.
"How much further do we go today, do you think?" Wen asked as he dismounted. He immediately regretted the dismount; his thighs and buttocks sent him a message, in formal language, specifying the number of days during which they would punish him for having had the nerve to ride a horse.
"Oh, we're pretty much where we want to be," said
Chin. "Otherwise, I'd have kept
riding. It wouldn't be the first time
I'd ridden a horse to death."
"Then why —?"
"We are leaving the hills and going down to the
sea," Chin said. "The horse
would be an encumbrance and a danger."
Without a further word, he turned and strode down the hill.
For a moment, Wen watched.
Chin Gwai didn't look back; evidently the man had supreme confidence
that Wen would follow. And I suppose I
will, Wen thought. "Thank you,
horse," he said to the beast.
"I appreciate all you have done for me today. With luck I will some day have a chance to
repay you." The horse looked at Wen
a moment, and he was sure he saw some sort of understanding in its eyes. Then the horse snorted and tried to bite
him. Wen dodged backward.
"Instead of thanking this evil-tempered beast, you
could do proper honor to your family."
Wen stared: the horse's eyes were shining with a weird, greenish light,
the sort the sky sometimes took on before a winter storm. And then Wen's Number One Grandfather
shimmered into view, perched on the horse's back. The old man didn't look the slightest bit
happy that Wen had escaped the executioner's rope.
"Why are you bothering me?" he asked the ancient
specter. "Shouldn't you be haunting
someone else? Someone who believes in
ghosts, perhaps?"
"Don't you dare be impertinent with me, you
wretch! We can make your life so
horrible you'll wish that magistrate really had snapped your neck with his
noose!"
"But why now?"
Wen looked down the slope. Chin
was receding, and Wen was sure he hadn't gone far enough from the capital to be
sure of escaping any pursuit.
"Because we couldn't reach you earlier. There's something about that gigantic lummox
that keeps us from reaching you. He's
got a spell on him that not even I can break.
So you will do us the honor of staying away from him."
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