Chapter Forty-Eight

On their way across the compound, Aliesha spoke in animated hand gestures, listing training techniques, the advantages found therein, and the inherent differences between the temperament of gender. Tarn couldn't miss the glowing love she held for horses, be it the ineffable joy in assisting a mare foal or watching a rambunctious colt playfully romp and frolic in the pasture. Due to his height and weight, she recommended a stallion that she alone had raised from a colt. The battle-stallion was a rare breed of horseflesh, imported from the exotic forests of the far east.

The stable measured seventy-five paces long. Stalls lined either side in staggered rows. At the sound of Aliesha's familiar voice, many of the stable's residents whickered and whinnied a greeting, bobbing their heads. She stopped periodically to issue soothing words and stroke the cheeks of favoured tenants, before arriving at the rear of the stable in front of a stall where a black stallion eyed them coolly. The stallion stood nineteen hands, built atop long, elegant legs that joined heavily muscled shoulders. A barrel chest narrowed to solid hindquarters, whose muscles contracted nervously, rippling like waves beneath satin-black hide.

"From this day forth, ye shall be the sole provider of food and water. Ye will clean his stall, as well as groom and exercise him daily, without exception." Tarn gave Aliesha a thoughtful glance while she continued, "Make no mistake, this be a wild animal, untamed and formidable. I have not broken or pampered him. I raised him to be a war mount, not a hunting- or riding horse. Ye will first have to conquer his will, and then complete his training."

"There is but a seven-day ere we seek to liberate Barath's hold. Will the brute be ready?"

Laughing good-naturedly at his seemingly innocuous question, Aliesha replied, "'Tis not him that needs training. Most of it is complete, but ye have dire wont of instruction. One might fully prepare a stallion for his duties, but it is wiser to leave the final lessons for the owner to task. Providing, of course, the owner is worthy," explained Aliesha, summing Tarn up against unspoken standards.

"Och, ye gaze upon me as if ye harbour doubt. Fear naught, I'll tame the brute."

"Ye'd best not, lest ye welcome a runner, instead of a fighter. Ye must tread a thin line between obedience and wildness. Too much of either will ruin him. Having said this, achieving a balance is possible. Dedicate thyself to the lessons, and ye will be worthy of his loyalty, and trust."

Aliesha's sky-blue, merry eyes twinkled as she completed her warning. Tarn caught the look and pondered their message while she went to another stall and saddled a docile mare.

Tarn spent the rest of the afternoon under Aliesha's patient instruction. He learned how to bridle and saddle a mount, as well as the basics of riding. Following his session in the saddle, she taught him how to properly groom the mare, before escorting him to the saddle maker, who measured his legs and adapted a new saddle to fit his northern dimensions. As the sun dipped into its western cradle, Barath appeared in human form.

Tarn walked to the stallion's stall. The mount eyed him suspiciously. Speaking in soothing tones, he opened the gate and confidently approached the high-strung horse. The stallion tossed its head. Its ears flattened as Tarn touched its shoulder and petted its neck reassuringly, attempting to calm the nervous twitches coursing up and down its long frame. Clumsy, inexperienced hands struggled the bridle over soft ears and placed the oval bit between large equine teeth. Turning toward the gate, about to lead the black brute out of the stall, Aliesha's warning came true. The reins started to slide through his hand as the stallion reared, striking out at him with lethal, iron-shod hooves.

Tarn jumped nimbly to the side, pulling down hard on the bridle straps.

The stallion resisted. Mitra, but the animal was strong. Every muscle in his body strained to pull the mighty beast down. In tiny increments, he won the battle. The stallion's front hooves lowered to the ground. Tarn gathered up the slack, wrapping the reins around his left hand. He tugged gently, but firmly on the straps, commanding the mount to follow. It took two steps and decided to rear again. This time Tarn was ready and flexed his thews before the animal gained upward momentum.

The big stallion eyed Tarn reprovingly and followed him out of the stall. Aliesha and Barath stood back a safe distance, smiling. Tarn kept his eyes and ears tuned for more trouble from the beast, but it obediently followed him. As they neared the training corral, it unsuccessfully tried to rear, thwarted by the man-thing's vigilant grip.

"Ye'll no be getting away with that twice," he said in a masterful tone.

The stallion's dark eyes never left him as he ran his hands along its neck and shoulders. The horse whickered and tried to shy away from Tarn's touch, but he held the reins firm and continued to stroke its body. Muscles bunched and contracted, rippled and twitched. Eventually, the big stallion relaxed and ceased to flinch at his touch. Temporarily calm, like the stillness before a winter storm, thought Tarn, holding the saddle blanket up to the stallion's nose before laying it across its back. A constant flow of soothing words helped calm the horse while he placed the saddle on the blanket and cinched it tight.

A small crowd of people gathered to watch him lead the horse around the railed enclosure. The black mount disliked the foreign thing on its back, and sidestepped, bucking his displeasure numerous times. At last, he accepted the saddle, albeit grudgingly. Tarn continued his litany of soothing words until the unruly stallion walked calmly at his side. Untroubled by his touch, Tarn stroked its neck without his new mount flinching or pulling away. There was just one thing left to do. Aliesha had schooled him well and told him what to expect.

He gathered the reins in his left hand and placed one foot in the stirrup, then leveraged himself into the saddle. As soon as his leg swung over the other side, the stallion whinnied and reared. Tarn's strong thighs clamped tight around its chest, gluing him to the saddle while he groped blindly for the other stirrup. A split second later he was aboard a fiery whirlwind of bucking horseflesh. It jumped straight up in the air to land on stiffened legs, driving him into the saddle. The stallion spun to the right and bucked high. Tarn survived the bone-jarring jolt, but when the beast executed its bucking spin, he was launched out of the saddle. He landed face first, skidding to a scraping halt in a plume of dust. The crowd laughed at his unflattering position, fervently praising the stallion's cleverness.

"It seems thy charge be master, brother," Barath shouted.

Tarn picked himself up out of the dirt, casting his oath-brother a meaningful look that caused Barath and Aliesha to erupt in a new fit of hearty mirth.

Off to the left, his victorious foe snorted triumphantly, pawing the ground with its front hoof, challenging Tarn to another bout.

"Ye'll no be pulling that move again and getting away with it," he vowed in a soothing tone, wiping his shoulder free of dirt.

Tarn penned the horse against the corral rails and caught up the reins. Never taking his eyes from the animal, he tugged the stallion into the middle of the enclosure and climbed into the saddle. The moment his backside hit leather, the stallion bucked and spun to his right, then bucked again. Vice-like thews clamped tight around the stallion's barrel chest as it jumped straight up into the air and landed on stiff legs, slamming Tarn into the saddle.

He grunted sorely, the air almost driven from his lungs by the spine-tingling jolt. Tarn reined left as the mighty steed tried to spin right. The horse's robust neck muscles unsuccessfully fought the pressure of the bit wedged in its tender mouth. Screaming avid frustration, the stallion bucked its way close to the railing. Just before the wily mountain of horseflesh crushed Tarn's knee into the corral fence post, he kicked his leg free of the stirrup. The moment the cagey stallion felt the pressure release from its chest, it bucked high and fast. Tarn flew straight out over its head, unable to keep his tenuous seat, limbs flailing in an odd imitation flying.

The ground rushed toward him. He tucked himself into a ball, narrowly missing the corral fence. He hit the hard-packed earth rolling, fluidly gaining his feet amidst the crowd's wild cheers and enthusiastic laughter. Some of the onlookers sided with Tarn, encouraging him onward, while the black leviathan stood eyeing him. The stallion's expression, its pawing and snorting and head bobbing, conveyed equine amusement.

Tarn determinedly closed the distance between them, speaking in soft, gentle tones that soothed anxious nerves, "What other slippery moves do ye boast? Ye poor excuse for a slab of stringy horsemeat. If ye try that manoeuvre again I'll rip out thy heart and render it buzzard bait."

Barath and Aliesha nearly fell in laughter. Tarn boxed the stallion against the corral fence, led it to the middle of the enclosure, and climbed stubbornly aboard. The stallion erupted into a twisting, turning and bucking mountain of muscle that whipped him from side to front, and back to side. Hanging on doggedly, he kept his thews clamped tight, forcefully reining the beast wide of the fence. The black charger snorted and screamed defiance, intent upon unseating the unwanted man-thing. Without grace, and with one hand clutching the saddle horn, Tarn clung to its back like a spider to its web. When the stallion discovered that none of its former tricks would work, it prepared itself for another leap into the air.

Discerning the iron muscles that bunched beneath him, he rammed his heels into its flanks ere it completed its preparations. The sudden pain sent it charging headlong for the corral fence. Tarn realized its intention and pulled back on the reins. Too late! It leapt up and over the fence; over the onlookers, who ducked, avoiding the mass of hurtling muscle.

The iron lock of Tarn's knees around the beast's chest kept him in the saddle as the stallion galloped toward the open gate. The two gatekeepers, upon discerning the stallion's route, began to close the meshed portals.

"No," shouted Tarn, waving the soldiers off. "Open the gates."

Tarn let his battle steed have his head, steered him through the gate, over the drawbridge, and onto the cart track where the stallion laid his ears back, stretched out his neck, and increased his speed. Adrenaline curled Tarn's lips into a wide and elated grin. The spectators ran to the gate, witnessing the stallion streak away with Tarn glued inexorably to its back, leaning over its neck, his hair streaming straight out behind.

When they had travelled two furlongs down the road, the stallion dropped unexpectedly its hindquarters, dug its rear hooves into the dirt road, and skidded to a controlled halt. Only Tarn's quick reflexes and the vice-like grip of his knees kept him in the saddle. The stallion lowered its head and bucked anew. Tarn jammed his heels into its flanks and pulled hard on the reins. The reining forced the beast out of its kick, just as his heels ignited its legs into another churning frenzy of furious action. Soon after, man and horse flew at breakneck speed back toward the drawbridge. Tarn laughed out loud, enjoying the exhilaration of the run, of maintaining the illusion of control of an uncontrollable situation.

Some twenty paces from the drawbridge, he pulled back hard on both reins. Powerful neck muscles resisted Tarn's will, but could not win out. The stallion skidded to another bumpy stop, blowing hard, but not winded. Tarn stroked its neck masterfully, speaking in soothing, but firm tones. The crowd of watchers, who lined the drawbridge, cheered and shouted encouragement. He put the horse through several turns and into a brisk trot before guiding it through the gate.

Man and horse rode into the courtyard, then through the corral gate, Aliesha held open. He dismounted and fondly scratched his mount's cheek, speaking quietly, before leading the horse around the corral. Once it regained its wind and stopped sweating, he remounted. The black bucked and twisted for a short while, but without its full heart, having already expended most of its adrenaline-fuelled fury. After a few minutes, it calmed down sufficiently for him to put it through its paces, defining their roles. As he dismounted and repeated the process, ingraining himself as the dominant force, Aliesha looked on proudly. By the time Tarn returned the tired and sweaty mount to its stall, it was broken to the saddle, its will unconquered.

While he removed the saddle and bridle, filled one trough with oats and hay, and the other with water, he maintained a non-stop litany of soothing words. The stallion munched its food while Tarn used a stiff curry comb to brush the sweat out and massage tired muscles. In the beginning, the horse eyed him suspiciously, casting quick and nervous glances at him, but eventually, it relaxed into tenuous contentment.

With the grooming completed, Tarn forked out the dirty straw. Halfway done, the stallion nipped him painfully on the shoulder. Tarn spun around, pinched the soft flesh behind its foreleg between his thumb and index finger, and twisted a forge-hardened wrist. The unsuspecting stallion whinnied and backed up to stare at him quizzically. The minutes passed. Finally, the horse canted its head and walked forward to nudge Tarn's chest with the bridge of its nose in apparent friendship. Tarn reached up and scratched the area between its ears, then turned his back to the stallion while he finished cleaning the stall.

The thoroughbred nudged him once or twice, even tasted his hair, and snuffled the nape of Tarn's neck, but never biting. Tarn finished up and locked the stall door behind him. Every major and minor muscle in his body sung out sore and tender. He limped out of the stable on bowed legs. Barath appeared out of the shadows in wolf form, stiffly limping alongside his tired companion.

They arrived in the kitchen to find Aliesha waiting. Tenderly, he seated himself upon the hard bench whose every grain reminded him of the bone-jarring leaps. Yet trying to find a comfortable position, the cook brought him a platter of sizzling, rare beef and a mug of cold ale, which she set before him, pretending to ignore his grunts and grimaces. As Aliesha outlined the next set of training procedures for the following day, Tarn ate, groaning inwardly at the thought of again climbing into the saddle.