To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion Read Online Free Page B

floor. He gathered an armload and staggered back to his horses, returned for another load, and then another. Afterward, he swept the aisle and offered to Ti what scraps of hay he’d gathered. The stallion accepted the morsel but ignored the affectionate pat accompanying it. Disappointed, Soulai tackled the watering.
    Each of the royal horses was led to water three times daily and the noise exceeded even that of the feeding. Shrill whinnies split the air and hundreds of hooves clattered on brick as Soulai tentatively joined the procession. The excited horses could be dangerous. As if to remind him, the gray colt he was leading suddenly reared and a sharp hoof narrowly missed his head. Soulai snapped the lead rope, as he had seen other stableboys do, shouted, and shoved his own small weight against the fractious animal, finally managing to guide him to the courtyard.
    When they’d both made it safely to the watering trough, Soulai breathed a sigh of relief. This was his one opportunity to stand, without fear, and look around, for Mousidnou stressed that the horses must always be allowed to drink their fill.
    The daily commotion of the palace was taking place along the tiered courtyards above his head. As on previous mornings, he noted that the bustle increased with the sun’s ascent. He observed the long-robed scribes furiously carving messages onto clay tablets and palace servants sprinting with their missives. He saw the coded nods between passing guards who gripped cumbersome bows, the fringed parasols shielding royal heads while swaying palm fronds chased away flies. He wondered if one of those royal heads was that of his owner. But as three weeks had passed and he had yet to see the prince, Soulai had decided that the man must have no interest at all in horses.
    When Ti’s turn came, Soulai proudly led him to the end of the trough closest to the well. The water was coolest here, he reasoned, as he watched bucket after bucket rise from the dark mouth. This was another of his gifts to Ti, and he smiled as the stallion stretched out his neck and sucked noisily. He waited until the head was lifted, water dribbling from the fleshy lips, to search the jeweled eyes for acknowledgment. But Ti stood regal and expectant, looking right through him, as though he didn’t exist.
    Heaving a sigh, Soulai returned to the stable and the task of removing manure. Each morning he had to lug unwieldy basketfuls of warm green turds down the long aisle and out to an enclosure to be overturned onto mountainous heaps. There, slaves no older than one of his younger sisters worked all day raking the dung into a fine layer that baked in the sun. With his empty basket flopping against his calf, he shuffled around the moist clumps to another pile, this one brown and fluffy. He scooped the dried manure into his basket, then returned to the stable to sprinkle it atop the layer already packed down by hooves. He could see that lying in the powdered manure was good for the horses: Their coats gleamed as if polished with silk scarves.
    â€œYou, you, and you!” Mousidnou was coming through the stable again, bellowing his orders laced with threats. “Set rugs upon these three and trot them out to the armory. Now! And you’ll fasten the girths tight or I’ll use your scrawny sinews in their place.” This sent Soulai sprinting, along with the other boys who had been singled out, to the stern-faced keeper of the royal tack. Begrudgingly the man handed out the required bridles and rugs. His yellowed eyes narrowed as he doled out his own threat to Soulai: Return them undamaged or replace them with your own hide. Soulai swallowed hard and nodded.
    It was the chestnut who had been chosen this time, and as soon as Soulai had him ready, he led the bit-champing horse out of the stable and out through the palace gates. A wide, curving ramp dropped them into the midst of the bustling city. Soulai’s pulse quickened. A stench of