Sorrel laughed softly.

Arianlach turned again, frowning. ‘Something funny?’

‘Yes. The idea that you think I can't ride.'

Arianlach smiled. ‘I’ve heard what people say about the horse-warriors of the grasslands - that you’re practically born riding. The stories say that you’re all suckled at the tits of mares and soul-bonded with foals, taught to ride even before you can sit up. I have no doubt of the truth of some of it, but I want to see you in the saddle myself. Anyway,’ he added slyly, ‘I wonder if you can out-ride a Hervik? You might need to, one day.’

‘They say the Tethiri are all born in the saddle,’ put in Henarian, ignoring his cousin’s barb.

‘We are. However, the saddle is not on the horse at the time of birth.’

Sorrel waited. He didn’t think Arianlach would put him to a task without wanting something out of it for himself and not just ten venta. He was being tested, but he could not fathom to what end.

Arianlach tapped his foot, restlessly. 'I didn't say I don't think you can ride,' he said eventually, his eyes searching and still full of curiosity. 'I know you can. You wouldn't be Tethiri prince otherwise - your father would rather drown you than send a son of his who couldn't ride across the Three Worlds on a whim. I only implied that you'd have trouble with this particular mount. My very best riders have not been able to tame her. I can’t. Neither can Henarian.’

Sorrel levelled a fathomless gaze at the Earl. Now that Arianlach had sobered a little, he was infuriatingly confident almost to the point of arrogance, and he seemed certain that the tales of the horse-lords were falsehoods and that Sorrel would be unseated.

‘I can ride anything,’ he said at last having returned Arianlach’s unflinching stare. ‘Bring me the wild mare and I will show you.’

It was reckless, and he knew it. It would be the ultimate shame to be unseated in front of these rough Northers. It was futile to regret it though. He couldn't go back on his statement. Arrogant fool! He cringed as his father's voice echoed around his skull. 

'She’s fully wild, I warn you.’ Arianlach turned to Henarian. ‘I wonder if my men would care to bet on his success. Go you and lay the wager, cousin.’

Henarian grinned at Sorrel. ‘What do you put up as guarantee, horse-boy?’

‘I would forfeit my right to lay twenty lashes on your impudent hide!’ Sorrel folded his arms. ‘You should remember that I outrank you, Henarian Hervik: I am a prince and you are but the younger son of a minor noble.’

To his surprise, Arianlach let out a peal of laughter and gave the stunned Henarian a shove out of the stables. 'Forgive him. Clan Hervik has a high opinion of itself and I agree; his manners need work. Henarian! Make sure you get good odds!’

Henarian swore at them over his shoulder.

Arianlach turned back to Sorrel. ‘I imagine you’ll be riding for a small fortune. But then again, my people might very well put good money on a man of the grasses failing, perhaps. Henarian is a master in the saddle.’

Sorrel raised his eyes skyward.

Arianlach narrowed his eyes. 'Well, no matter if you don’t believe me. If you can ride the mare, she is yours.'

Sorrel said nothing, but the focus of his eyes had left Arianlach and now looked somewhere to the side of his head.

Arianlach ground his teeth and turned sharply on his heel. 'On the other hand, if you break a bone attempting to mount the demon mare…!’

He left the threat hanging and Sorrel let his breath out in a rush at that, shock sparking on his face as he broke into a faster stride to keep up.

There was a kerfuffle at the far end of the stalls, a horse's high-pitched squeal of outrage followed by a man's curse, spat with venom, then the horse-master came striding towards them, his face black as thunder. Arianlach swallowed sudden laughter. The mare had her ears back, her eyes rolling wildly. The horse-master had managed to get a bridle and a bit on her, but not without mishap and injury, and the man held his free hand gingerly against his chest. There was no saddle.

'Did she bite?' Arianlach’s eyes glittered with wicked anticipation.

'Blazes, my lord. She did. I will need to see the apothecary.’

A nod. 'Go, then. Well let's see if my wild lord of the turf here can charm her, if he’s as wild as she.’ He slapped the reins in Sorrel’s hand with a grin. 'Any last words?'

Sorrel gave him a dark look, the reins loose in his hand. He gazed at the mare for what seemed an eternity, but gradually her ears began to flicker up, no longer plastered against her head. Her nostrils still flared if he so much as moved, but the wildness was beginning to fade from her eyes. He put up a hand, hovering it tentatively over her nose.

Then Arianlach came to stand by him and whispered something to the mare. Sorrel thought himself no expert but even he knew sweet nothings when he heard them. And he heard, in Arianlach’s wind-blown lilt, words that spoke of sun and grasses, endless, golden waves in an endless golden sea. He heard, almost as enraptured as the mare who'd got her head down to nuzzle softly at his shoulder, the wind and the sweeping clouds in the fathomless sky. He heard the song of cotton-tufts and purple harebells, and of the dance of swallows, the eerie skirl of buzzards high in the deep blue. He knew that land. He knew it as well as his own hand, for it was his own.

He gave himself a mental pinch and snapped himself out of the spell, his eyes meeting Henarian’s, who had come back with a paper full of wagers.

Henarian looked at Arianlach. ‘You’re cheating me?’

‘I don’t want to have to report a broken neck to his father. Or to yours.’ Arianlach turned away from the mare, ignoring Henarian’s blusterings. ‘I can do no more. The rest is up to you, for she will listen to me but not let me mount.’

‘I can, perhaps, take advantage of your sweet-talking.’ Sorrel’s hand went up again and he cupped her nose in his palm, smiling a little at the feel of velvet. It was his favourite part of a horse too, that soft pliant flesh just under where the hard bone of the skull began. The mare's ears were fully pricked now, pointed towards Sorrel’s whispers. He doubted he had any need of Arianlach’s spell, but he continued with snatches of it, and his other hand went to her neck, just behind her jaw. She tossed her head up and he thought he'd lost her, but he stepped close, bringing her nose into his neck, and she went still again. He let her scent him, nipping petulantly at his tunic and his hair and the skin of his palm.

He judged his moment carefully, moving round to her flank and bending his knee a little. She didn’t flinch when he sprang and flung his leg over. He sat behind her shoulders, the rein loose in his left hand, his right on the mare's neck in a reassuring caress.

He looked down at Arianlach and Henarian.

‘Did you set the wager?'

‘I did. Blazes, but I never really believed you would do it!’ Henarian grimaced. ‘I’ve lost ten venta to my cousin today, thanks to you.’

‘It’s your own fault if you don’t know that the Three Worlders could ride the lightning if they wanted to.’ Arianlach turned to his groom, who, despite his insistence he needed the apothecary, had stood watching them, unable to tear his eyes away. 'Iriel - my own horse, if you please.'

'At once, my lord.' The groom hurried off to prepare the Earl’s mount, a grey gelding he’d cheekily named Ulthvár after the wolf-skin battle-mages of the mountains, despite the claims from half of Silverheim that it was a bad omen. Sorrel turned his attention back to Henarian, leafing ruefully through the wagers.

‘I hope your father’s coffer’s can accommodate your loss today,’ he said.

‘It’s my hide I’m worried about,’ Henarian grimaced. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve lost a wager…’

‘Don’t be so rash, then. I could win your wager for you?’

‘And hurt your own pride? Besides, what do you think my father will do when he finds out that his Tethiri son-in-law can’t ride as well as the rest of his tribe – and when he finds that out, he’ll find there was a wager, and then he’ll ask awkward questions and find some reason among the answers to whip me. No, keep your seat – and your pride!’

He tossed his curls defiantly, his eyes bright with anger.

Sorrel smiled. He put his hand absent-mindedly to the smooth grey hide of the wild mare’s neck. She didn't even skitter and dance sideways, as many new-broken horses did in the early days of taking riders. Those creatures would crab and sidle, seeking their moment to unseat their riders. But not this one. Not with Sorrel’s hand on her neck and the wild grass spell in her ears. She stood still, head down, puffing into the chill air of the stable.

‘Henarian,’ said Arianlach, not taking his eyes off Sorrel, ‘will you ride with us? Go and saddle your horse! Let’s see if he can ride her to Lake Draugan and back and keep his seat all the way!’

‘Another wager?’ asked Henarian, hopefully.

‘No,’ said Arianlach. ‘Don’t you think you’re light enough in the purse for one day?’

‘Learn your lesson,’ added Sorrel.

Henarian said nothing to that, but looked from one to the other, suspicion in his eyes.

They rode out of Silverheim at a stately walk, until they were clear of the town, and then Arianlach paid out his reins and let his gelding have his head across the tundra. Sorrel followed suit, eager to feel the wind in his hair.

It felt like a lifetime since he’d last done that.