Free To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion by Diane Lee Wilson Page B

shall we say, clip my wings?”
    Just one? Soulai thought grimly.
    â€œIt’s because I’ll be king after Ashurbanipal.”
    Soulai remembered the ashipu’s mocking words. Again his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Habasle spoke vehemently. “I wouldn’t place too much faith in the idle chatter of washerwomen,” he said. “I am what I say I am, and what I will be. Now, how soon can Ti be ridden?”
    Soulai couldn’t rein in his emotions any longer. “He’s useless to you,” he declared. “The head charioteer says he’s ruined. He said you took him on the lion hunt too soon, that it stole his courage.”
    â€œHe’ll find it again,” Habasle said. “He has to.”
    â€œWhy does he have to?”
    â€œThe mark of Ninurta. It’s his destiny to be a great horse—courageous in hunt, brave in battle.”
    â€œEven if that means being killed in battle?”
    â€œWhat more glorious destiny? As long as you take the lives of two or more enemies first—at least you’ve improved the odds. As Enlil is my witness, do they breed boys without spines in your mountains?”
    Again Soulai felt as if he’d been struck. The words could have come straight from his father. His shoulders heaved and he didn’t hear the next question until it was repeated.
    â€œI said, do you know the month of your birth?”
    Soulai glared. “Adar.”
    â€œAha! The fishes. Do you know which day?”
    Soulai shook his head.
    â€œI’ve just been learning something new about the stars, something they’re studying in another land. And I’ll bet a whole shekel that when you were born the stars of Pisces were overhead. Which means that as one of the two fishes, you have a choice: to swim upstream—harder, but quite often more rewarding—or downstream, much like a twig at the river’s whims.”
    â€œI don’t swim,” Soulai started to say, but his words were drowned by the shriek of another’s.
    â€œWhat is this filthy stableboy doing in the royal library?”
    The ashipu was blocking the entrance to the narrow room, cutting off what little light filtered in. Soulai cowered as Habasle pushed himself up to a standing position. The tall man walked toward them, flicking his long fingers in the manner of chasing away a bothersome insect. “He is not educated,” he said. “And he leaves his work unfinished. Be off with you. Now.”
    Though he wanted nothing more at that moment than to flee the library, Soulai was held in place by a firm “No.” With his heart pounding, he watched Habasle look directly into the ashipu’s searing eyes and say, “He stays. I have summoned him to ask about the health of my horse, the parti-color you were ordered to save.”
    â€œAnd?”
    They both turned to Soulai.
    â€œSsssss!” the ashipu hissed, lifting his hand in the air as if to strike. Soulai cringed. “Come, come, boy. What do you say? How fares the beast?”
    â€œBetter,” Soulai croaked. “He’s a little better.” He didn’t miss the look of relief that smoothed the ashipu’s domed forehead. “I grazed him yesterday—the first day he’s been out. He’s eating more, but…” He paused, glancing between the two.
    â€œBut what?” the ashipu prompted.
    â€œThe head charioteer says he’s ruined.” He fidgeted a little. For some reason he didn’t take pleasure in laying blame upon Habasle in front of this evil-looking man.
    Still, no emotion registered on Habasle’s face. “How many days have passed since the ashipu treated him?” he asked.
    After counting on his fingers, Soulai answered, “Sixteen.”
    Habasle squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Sixteen days have passed since your treatment and my horse has not returned to health. Why have the demons lingered so