A thundering came at the door, the sound of Steel and hooves against the heavy oak. The priests turned white. They dropped their implements, and swords came out from behind long robes. The soldiers, who had stood quietly to this point, now turned, weapons in hand, to face the splintering portal.

Emhelee was not aware of what was going on. She could not stop the sending, the fury that drove the pictures in her head outward, outward over the quivering crowd. Midnight and Meehah and all the others she had seen she imagined at the door. The great chestnut and two grays who roamed the pastures of Harzburk, the roan mare and the bay with white stockings, all of them crowded into her memory and out in that sending. She bespoke all of them with all the power of her life, her being.

The door splintered open as the participants in the aborted ritual began to scream. They ran, not for the door but for the few windows. Some even managed to climb to the high ledges and jump in their panic.

Others, men armed with swords and axes and bows, began fighting phantasms. Emhelee turned her head and watched with amazement as the crazed men-at-arms charged an army of the unmounted warhorses of Harzburk. She knew them all, the horses she had called, and elation tinged the fury and fear in her as she watched the great chestnut trample the priest who had carried her here under his great hooves.

In her joy she tried to communicate with these noble four-legs, but try as she could there was no mind she could touch. And as she stared a little longer, she found she could not focus on a single one of the great beasts. The chestnut’s coat shimmered in the darkness, and Emhelee thought she could glimpse a bit of the wall through his bloodied bulk.

Suddenly she gasped, would have screamed out except for the surprise. The horses of Harzburk dissolved before her. The Ehleenee continued to fight, to run and fall before warrior beasts Emhelee could no longer see.

Only a single horse remained in her vision, a leggy black yearling who went from one downed man to another, stomping and rearing on the fallen, crushing flesh into bone in great killing blows until the place was empty of living Ehleenee.

Elegantly Midnight approached Emhelee on the altar. "I told you that Midnight is brave and great and crushes the enemies of his sister,” the young horse mindspoke proudly. He leaned down to nuzzle Emhelee’s cheek, and the mindtouch became stronger. “But why are you waiting? Why didn’t you run away?”

“They tied me here with rope,” Emhelee explained. “If you could pull it free or chew through it or something, then we can wo away from this place. But 1 have a question, Midnight. Where were all the other horses? Where did they

all go?”

“What other horses?” Midnight demanded angrily. “There were none but myself, although the two-legs acted most strangely, striking where there were no enemies. They fled from the sight of me, though, did you see?”

Emhelee beamed her affirmation and reminded the black colt about the rope, which was not too thick and rather old. He began to chew it contemptuously. “Sister Emhelee, it tastes very bad,” he complained. “When you get up, will you give me some apples? I like apples very much and you never give me any.”

For several more days of travel, Emhelee could not keep her mind on the country they passed or the journey itself. I'.nough that they kept moving south, she thought. The horses who had come to her aid with Midnight in the Ehleenee monastery haunted her. Still, they made progress, especially since Midnight insisted that Emhelee ride him and that they keep to the main road.

As they were scouting for a good place to camp, Midnight’s ears pricked up. “Sister Emhelee,” he bespoke her happily, “1 hear the sounds of horses and an army. If we get near I can see if they’re friends, and then we will be safe. For I am tired of this going always to nowhere. I don’t know where any Confederation is, and my sire will be pleased to see me. It was him I went to follow, though all said 1 was too young. But 1 am not too young. I proved it, didn’t I?” Emhelee was too distracted to protest as Midnight carried her close to the assemblage of armed men. In the center of the great camp stood a silken tent, larger and more beautiful than any Emhelee had ever seen. Midnight filled her head with joyful wonder.

“My elder brothers and sire have described this many times,” he informed her. “The High Lady Aldora’s tent, her army. We are truly safe, sister. And my sire is here, 1 know. Now I shall be a real warhorse with a warrior on my back and shoes of Steel and armor.”

Emhelee protested feebly as she slid off his back, but Midnight was determined. The young girl blinked back her tears as Midnight disappeared into the press, leaving her huddled in the brush much as he had found her.

Night came, and she slept without hope. The wonders and pleasures of her great destiny once she reached Morguhnpolis did not give her any comfort. Instead, as she drifted off, she considered going home and becoming a proper maid as her mother wished. Midnight was gone to his own kind now, and she lay abandoned.

“That’s the girl. I would have known just to look at her.” The soft words startled Emhelee awake. She looked up in fear only to find herself gazing at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, flanked by an obsidian-colored colt.

“The High Lady herself,” Midnight mindspoke proudly, doing the introductions. “I told my friends of our battle, and the High Lady was told by a King Horse, the sire of my father. And she wished to have speech with us.” Midnight was practically dancing.

Dazed Emhelee rose and did proper respect.

“Now, come along. You need a proper night’s rest and a good meal, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“And apples,” Emhelee mindspoke sleepily. “Midnight needs apples.”

It was not until late the next evening that the Lady Aldora had time to speak to Emhelee. The young girl had spent the day with the cooks, doing a better job of kitchen work than she had ever done before. Indeed, they seemed pleased to have her, and Emhelee made herself quite useful.

Ushered into the High Lady’s presence, Emhelee became tongue-tied. Expertly Aldora helped her to overcome her shyness and told her about her father. Emhelee, drawn into the conversation, finally was able to explain about running away from home, about Midnight and about the horses in the Ehleenee chapel.

“Truly your father’s daughter,” the Undying High Lady muttered. Then she turned and addressed Emhelee directly. “Emhelee, what you have told me must remain a secret between you, your father and myself. More than any knife, this proves your paternity, and I myself shall ensure that you marry well. A gift like this is important, nor have 1 heard of it in any save one place. What you have done is throw an illusion. The horses were not there, Emhelee, only your gift made your enemies see them. This 1 have seen in one person only, your father, Bili the Axe. It is something we must encourage, but you must never speak of it again. Do you promise?”'

Emhelee nodded seriously.

“Then, girl, get ready to ride. Midnight awaits you, for we leave for Morguhnpolis tomorrow.”

Nightfriend

by Roland J. Green and John F. Carr

Roland Green was bom in Pennsylvania, raised in Michigan, and educated at Oberlin College and the University of Chicago. He has been a resident of Chicago for twenty years. He has also been an officer of the Society for Creative Anachronism (Middle Kingdom Seneschal, 1969-72) and of the Science Fiction Writers of America (Vice-President, 1984-86), and is an inveterate collector of naval and military history. His published books include the Wandor series (and yes, there will be that fifth book). Peace Company, and collaborations with Frieda Murray (The Book of Kantela), John F. Carr (Great Kings’ War, a sequel to Lord Kalvan of Otherwhen), Gordon R. Dickson (Jamie the Red), and Jerry Poumelle (two novels in the Janissaries series. Clan and Crown and Storms of Victory). He has also reviewed science fiction, fantasy, and military history for Booklist magazine (American Library Association), the Chicago Sun-Times, and Far Frontiers (Baen Books). At this writing he lives on Chicago’s lakefront four miles north of the Loop, with his wife and collaborator Frieda Murray, daughter Violette, a black cat named Thursday, a Kaypro computer, and six thousand books, not all of them naval or military history.