“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Royce said as Hadrian prepared the bow. “It’s just that we’ve learned over the years that honor among nobles is usually inversely proportionate to their rank. As a result, we prefer to rely on more concrete methods for motivations—such as self-preservation. You already know we don’t want you dead, but if you have ever been riding full tilt and had a horse buckle under you, you understand that death is always a possibility, and broken bones are almost a certainty.”“There’s also the danger of missing the horse completely,” Hadrian added. “I’m a good shot, but even the best archers have bad days. So to answer your question—yes, you can control your own horse.”

“As they climbed into their saddles, Myron bowed his head and muttered a soft prayer.“There,” Hadrian told Royce, “we’ve got Maribor on our side. Now you can relax.”“Actually,” Myron said sheepishly, “I was praying for the horses. But I will pray for you as well,” he added hastily.”

“He’s just a good all-around horse. He aint a finished horse but I think he’ll make a cow horse. I’m pleased to hear it. Of course your preference is for one that’ll bow up like a bandsaw and run head first into the barn wall.John Grady smiled. Horse of my dreams, he said. It aint exactly like that.How is it then?I don’t know. I think it’s just somethin you like. Or don’t like. You can add up all of a horse’s good points on a sheet of paper and it still wont tell you whether you’ll like the horse or not.What about if you add up all his bad ones?I don’t know. I’d say you’d probably done made up your mind at that point.You think there’s horses so spoiled you cant do nothin with em?Yes I do. But probably not as many as you might think.Maybe not. You think a horse can understand what a man says?You mean like words?I don’t know. Like can he understand what he says.John Grady looked out the window. Water was beaded on the glass. Two bats were hunting in the barnlight. No, he said. I think he can understand what you mean.”

“Hadrian leapt to his feet. Royce was already up.“Don’t bother,” Esrahaddon told them. “She’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do. The monster cannot be harmed by your weapons. It—”The two were out the door.”

“Have you ever been in love, Hadrian?”“I’m not sure. How do you tell?”“Love? Why, it’s like coming home.”Hadrian considered the comment.“What are you thinking?” Bulard asked.Hadrian shook his head. “Nothing.”“Yes, you were. What? You can tell me. I’m an excellent repository for secrets. I’ll likely forget, but if I don’t, well, I’m an old man in a remotejungle. I’m sure to die before I can repeat anything.”Hadrian smiled, then shrugged. “I was just thinking about the rain.”

“The father’s job is to teach his children how to be warriors, to give them the confidence to get on the horse to ride into battle when it’s necessary to do so. If you don’t get that from your father, you have to teach yourself.”