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The leg was beginning to bear him now, but from the twisted expression on his face and the sweat that sheened his
pallid skin, she could see that the pain was still intense. If he wanted to follow Schiannath, he would have little chance
of even getting down from the cave, let alone traveling through the pass.
It was then that Iscalda had her idea. Why not? She also wanted to follow Schiannath and Yazour could untie her
halter. They could help one another! Yet the white mare shuddered at the sudden realization of what she was
proposing to do. It was a rare thing for a Xandim, in human shape, to ride another in horse-form. It was a matter of the
greatest intimacy, and only ever done in times of need, such as when one of the parties had been injured or when the
two concerned shared the closest of relationships. To let a stranger a human-mount her! It was unthinkable!
Yet was Yazour truly a stranger, after all this time they had spent together, mewed up within the cavern? Did she not
find herself liking the young warrior? And was this not a time of direst need? Iscalda braced herself, I can do this, she
thought, I can do it for Schiannath. Yazour was tottering toward her, plainly heading for the cave mouth. Iscalda
whinnied to catch the young warrior's attention, and dipped her knees, so that he might mount.
She heard Yazour's surprised exclamation and wondered what he had said, for he had spoken in his own language. At
a guess, he might be cursing Schiannath for a liar for the Xandim had told him she was a one-man horse, and warned
him, at his peril, not to approach her. Then she felt his touch on her neck, and shivered, struggling with the
overwhelming instinct to fight or flee. Yazour spoke to her softly, urgently; and though she could not understand him,
Iscalda concentrated with all her might on his soothing voice.
Yet when she felt the warrior's weight on her back, only the halter restrained her. Iscalda shied violently, only to be
brought up sharply by the painful tug of the rope. The crutch, which Yazour carried with him, banged against her
flanks and she felt his weight lurch forward, as he ducked to avoid the low roof of the cave, and she heard him curse
sharply. Then he spoke again, low and gently. His hand smoothed the damp arch of her muscled neck. Trembling, the
white mare submitted.
After a time, she felt Yazour relaxing, and at last, he trusted her enough to untie her halter. Anger flashed through
Iscalda, as he looped the length of rope around and fastened it to the noseband at the other side, to form a crude rein.
Did he not trust her? Yet she had seen the horses of the Khazalim at the tower, and remembered that these humans
draped all kinds of pads and straps and buckles over their poor mounts. Very well, Yazour, Iscalda thought. Keep the
wretched rope if it makes you feel better but if you start pulling at my head, I'll pitch you off onto your own! With
that, she took a tentative step, adjusting to the unfamiliar presence on her back, Yazour seemed as nervous as
herself and she would need to be careful, she knew, because he could not grip with his injured leg. Blinking, the
white mare emerged into the dazzling moonlight with her new rider, and began to make her way toward the tower.
Aurian had finally fallen into an uneasy doze. Sleep was hard to come by, these days her child, nearing the time of
his birth now, had been growing ever more restless. The babe had turned now, and Aurian had been bothered, this last
day or two, by a nagging backache and twinges of cramp. Did this mean that the child was due at last? With no
experience of childbirth, Aurian had no idea. Stubbornly, she had refused to confide in Nereni, for she was out of
patience with the little woman's ceaseless fussing. The Mage knew that this was mainly due to concern for Eliizar and
Bohan, but it didn't help. Aurian had worries enough of her own to cope with, for she knew now that the margin of
safety, for herself and Anvar, not to mention her son, was severely limited.
These days, the Mage was increasingly out of patience: with her pregnancy, her inability to come up with a useful
plan, with Nereni's fretting about her husband and Yazour and with that idiot Schiannath, who would insist on
visiting her, breaking her necessary rest to talk through the night, though she had stressed the danger time after time,
and forbidden him to no avail.
Tonight, though, when she had looked out at the glimmering moonscape from the parapet on the tower roof, Aurian
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