“Let it go?” Walegrin echoed in better speech.
Chenaya repeated herself. “I’m no fool. Commander. Though I enjoy pricking
Tempus’s bubble a little, I don’t underestimate him. In a short time, the mare will have a foal, then I’ll have a half-Tros of my own to ride. I can wait a couple of years. Keeping this one could lead to a direct conflict between the two of us.” She glanced up at Sabellia floating serenely in the dark sky. “Who knows what cosmic forces that would unleash, what war among the gods would result?” She shook her head. “No, when I risk that, it will be for something far more important than a horse, even a Tr6s.”
Rashan made the sign of his god. “Let us hope Tempus has as much sense. You know him better than he knows you, child.”
Gestus led the Tr6s toward the gate. But before he got beyond it, a penetrating and high-pitched whistle sawed through the night. Chenaya cried out in pain, clapped hands to her ears to stop the sound. Through tear-moistened eyes she watched her companions do the same. The Tr6s reared unexpectedly, jerking the reins from her gladiator’s hand. It whinnied and sped out of sight, as if in response to the strange whistle, the sound of its hooves adding thunder to the shrill, knife-edged keening.
Abruptly, the sound ceased, and Chenaya straightened. Despite the ringing in her ears, she found strength to smile. “I don’t know what that was,” she said, “but
I think our living legend finally missed his mount.” She rubbed her ears and the side of her neck. “I hope the note doesn’t fall off.”