They shook hands on it, then Wollerda stepped back with a grin, his first of the day. "And now, Macurdy, I've got a gift for you."

Macurdy frowned. "I hadn't realized. I didn't bring one for you."

Wollerda laughed. "I knew you'd say that; you don't know everything about us yet. We have a custom that one doesn't reciprocate a gift; it's an insult to the giver. If you want to give something in return, it'll need to be after a decent interval. A few months, at least." He beckoned. "Come with me." Together they left the inn and walked to the paddock, where Wollerda climbed over the fence and started toward a tall powerful gelding with almost a stallion's neck. It watched him approach without trying to avoid him, though it tossed its head as if to run, or maybe turn and kick. Wollerda spoke as he approached it, took the halter with a hand and led the animal to the fence, where Macurdy watched.

"What do you think of him?"

Macurdy was ill at ease, suspecting but not entirely sure. "A fine horse. Spirited. Big and strong, good hocks to hold up in the hills-and looks like he could run. And big-barreled; lots of endurance."

"He's a stag, actually," Wollerda said. "I didn't cut him till he was two and a half. I was going to ride him as a stallion, to raise my standing with my neighbors, but he was too unruly."

Looking at Macurdy, the animal jerked its head, but Wollerda held him in, speaking soothingly. "He's fine now, broken with an easy hand by a Kormehri magician. From near Ferny Cove, actually, before bad things happened there. Anyway he's yours. If you're ever chased, he won't collapse under you." Wollerda chuckled. "Actually he's more a gift to the horse you've been riding; the poor beast's getting swaybacked carrying you."

Macurdy climbed easily over the paddock fence, and stood for a moment feeling mentally for the horse's mind. Okay, old timer, he thought to it, you and I are partners from now on. He reached out, took the halter with his right hand and stroked the long silky nose with his left. The animal's eyes neither rolled nor threatened.

"Does he have a name?"

"Whatever you want to call him. I call him Champion."

"I had an uncle on Farside two stones heavier than I am, and he had a saddle horse that carried him with no trouble at all. Not as nice an animal as this, but big and powerful. Had a strain of Belgian in him-back home that's the heaviest draft breed-but a gait smooth as silk. And a really good disposition; my brother and I used to lead him to the fence and climb onto him from it, and he never minded a bit. Carried us wherever we wanted, together or separately. Uncle Will named him Hog. In our language, of course. Said he was strong as one." Macurdy cocked an eyebrow. "I told Frank that when I grew up, I'd have a horse like Hog, but until now I never did. You wouldn't feel insulted if I named him that, would you?"

Wollerda laughed again. "I won't. I don't know about him."

Macurdy looked the horse in the eye. "How about it? All right if I call you Hog?"

The animal snorted.

"He's telling you it's the kind of name a flatland farmer might give him," Wollerda said, "but it's all right with him as long as you treat him well."

Macurdy nodded. "I grew up a farmer, and I'll always have shit on my boots. So. Hog it is." He let go the halter and slapped the horse on the shoulder. It turned and trotted across the paddock to a rack of hay, then looked back at the two men.

"He's telling us something about relative importances," Wollerda said.

"Is it all right to thank you?" Macurdy asked. He felt closer to Wollerda than he'd ever expected to, and it was less the fact of the gift than what he'd learned about him in the giving: the man's ease and humor.

"Of course," Wollerda said. "It's the proper thing to do."

"Well then." Macurdy reached out, and gripping Wollerda's hand, shook it heartily. "Thanks a lot. I've got a feeling that Hog and I are going to get along really well."

They climbed back over the paddock fence, Macurdy first, to round up their men. As Wollerda watched him go, he flexed his right hand, then felt it tentatively with his left, and wondered if Macurdy had any idea how strong he was.

When they were ready to leave, Macurdy asked another question. "Kithro told me the Kullvordi had shamans in the old days. Is that right?"

"Yes, they had shamans. Why do you ask?"

"After I got back from the Tuliptree, my guide told folks what happened there-what he knew of it. And of course, they already knew I start fires with magic, and that my teeth are growing back. Now they talk about me as a shaman/warrior."

"I'm not surprised. What are you getting at?"

"You don't happen to have a shaman in your ancestry, do you?"

The question introverted Wollerda for a moment. "My great grandfather was the last chief of the eastern Kullvordi," he answered, "and his mother was the daughter of the greatest shaman they'd ever had. But the blood was lost by the time I came along, or thinned beyond all virtue." He cocked an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

Macurdy shrugged. "Till Varia worked with me," he said, "I didn't know I had the talent. And even a little helps."

Wollerda grunted. "You'll have to be shaman enough for both of us," he said. "I've never shown the slightest talent."

Then grinning, he put out his hand. They shook and parted, Wollerda thinking he should say something to Macurdy about his handshakes. The man would injure someone, someday.

On his ride back to camp, the afternoon felt more like mid-October than early September, lacking only haze and the smell of autumn leaves. As he rode, Macurdy mulled over things he hadn't adequately considered before. Most particularly Sarkia's policy of marrying kings to Sisters. With any luck at all, Wollerda would replace Gurtho, and Wollerda was eligible, a widower.

Varia had said it was difficult to spell most people against their will, if they suspected what you were up to. It was also difficult, she'd said, to get someone to do something strongly against their principles, even when they'd been spelled.

It seemed to him that Pavo Wollerda was not someone who'd be spelled easily, but if he married a Sister, could Sarkia manipulate him through her?

Varia had said that the person with significant talent was hard to spell without willing cooperation; if their talent had been trained, it was pretty much impossible. He'd asked her then why she'd been able to spell him, that first night. Her reply was, she hadn't. His will, his self determination, had been unimpaired. She'd gone to him leaving her body behind, and even though he'd been untrained, his talent had helped him see her spirit, or actually the image it projected. And because he knew her so well, instead of being frightened, and rejecting her, he'd accepted. Later, when she'd spelled him to help his training-spells not so different from hypnosis-she'd had his cooperation.

So. Say Wollerda married Liiset. Beautiful intelligent Liiset, who could no doubt turn on the sex appeal. Turn it on and back it up. How much could she influence Wollerda to do things against his own interest, and that of the Kullvordi or Tekalos?

A man was always being influenced by people around him: wife, friends-enemies as far as that was concerned. The real question was, if Wollerda married Liiset or some other Sister, would she be able to spell him? Wollerda's aura said he had significant talent, but it was untrained. And like himself at first, resisted it.

He decided that when he got back to his tent, he'd take a quill, inkwell, and paper, and reconstruct, as best as he could, what Varia and Arbel had done to free and train his talent. Maybe he could free up Wollerda's, maybe even to the point of seeing auras clearly and consciously.

32: Coronation