Page 84 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
Falada emerged from the dark, head high, with the old man holding the halter under his chin. He saw Cordelia and his pale eyes widened just a little.
“Come on, beauty, just a little farther…”
They reached the entrance to the stable and Falada stopped. The old man tried to lead him another step, but the familiar’s hooves were set.
“Come now, beauty, nothing to be worried about. You’ve come out plenty of times by yourself, haven’t you? Get a good look, nothing frightening…”
Falada turned his head, looking over Bernard to where the conspirators waited. His nostrils flared and Cordelia had a sudden panicked feeling that the familiar could smell the wine in the bottle that Willard held and the sack of salt in Imogene’s hand.
Maybe he doesn’t even need to smell them. Maybe he sees like a ghost and they’re more real than everything else.
Falada growled. It was a deep, savage sound, far more suited to a mastiff than a horse. The stablehands all stepped back, and one of them cursed. Evermore stiffened and Imogene said something soft and foul, not quite under her breath.
Only Bernard remained calm. If the noise had startled him, he gave no sign. “Gently there, beauty,” he said, his voice as soothing as cool water. “No need to make such a fuss. Just come with Old Bernard and I expect I can find a treat for you, eh?”
He stepped forward with such assurance that it was impossible to believe that any horse wouldn’t follow. Everyone held their breath.
Which was why Cordelia heard, so clearly, the rubbery crunching sound as Falada turned his head at an impossibly sharp angle and bit the old man’s ear off.
Bernard staggered but did not lose his grip on the halter, which was the only reason that Falada didn’t trample him at once. He let out a high-pitched yell and went to one knee, blood pouring in sheets down the side of his face.
Falada bounced on his front hooves and giggled.
“Get the ropes on him!” Evermore shouted, but the stablehands were too slow, they were still staring with their jaws slack because horses didn’t move like that and they didn’t sound like that and in another instant, Bernard was going to lose his grip and the thing that wasn’t a horse was going to kill him.
It wasn’t courage. Cordelia was clear on that even at the time. Courage was what you did when you were afraid, and as much as she loathed Falada, she did not fear him. She had learned to ride as a toddler, her chubby fingers twined in his mane. He had been her nursemaid. She hated him, she hated every deceitful bone in his body, she hated that she had loved him for most of her life, but she was not afraid.
Cordelia flung herself past the too-slow stablehands and threw herself over the old man, shielding his body with her own. Falada snaked his head down to look at her and she grabbed the rope just as Bernard’s grip failed, and for a moment everything froze and she was kneeling in the dirt with the old man’s head pressed against her shoulder and his blood spreading hot and sticky across her neck and someone yelled her name and Falada growled again but he couldn’t hurt her, she knew he couldn’t hurt her and Evermore was shouting “Throw the goddamn ropes!” and finally one landed over Falada’s head and tightened around his neck.
He squealed loudly, horselike this time, and then his neck came around at that impossible snakelike angle and one of the stablehands was praying loudly and another one said, “That is not a bloody horse,” in a voice that sounded like a prayer.
Falada grabbed the halter rope just above Cordelia’s fingers and yanked it neatly out of her hand. The only rope on him was suddenly the one from the stablehand, and instead of pulling against it, the horse pivoted neatly on his hind hooves, ready to lunge.
Cordelia flung herself forward and threw her arms around the familiar’s hind leg.
It was a supremely foolish thing to do with any horse, and even if she hadn’t known that, Evermore’s shout of “Cordelia, no!” would have warned her, but it worked. Falada froze, and then came down, with incredibly delicacy, not daring to take a step for fear of kicking her. That horrible growling started again, his whole body vibrating as if his rage would shake him apart, but he did not move.
“Cordelia, get away from there!”
“Throw me a rope,” Cordelia said hoarsely.
“Cordelia, you’ll be killed!”
She wanted to scream. All these adults who were supposed to know how the world worked, who understood things faster and better and knew all the things that Cordelia had never been taught, and none of them could figure out what she was doing? She had Falada, for the love of god, she had him pinned, why wouldn’t they stop screaming at her and do what she said?
“Throw me a rope!” she screamed, and her voice disturbed her because it sounded very much like her mother’s.
A rope landed in the dirt beside her.
Her hands shook. She had to wrap her elbow around Falada’s hock and her cheek was against his pale hide, which twitched and jumped under her touch. She got the rope around his leg and tried to knot it, but her hands were slick with sweat.
“Here, lass.” Gnarled fingers wrapped around hers. Old Bernard, his face a mask of blood, slumped against her. His breath rasped in his throat but his fingers were quick and sure as he helped her pull the knots tight.
She flung the rope toward Evermore and saw him grab it. He and a stablehand went to the post and pulled the rope tight and Cordelia wrapped herself around Old Bernard like the lover she was too young to have and the two crawled together out from under the familiar’s hooves.
The moment they were free, Falada threw his head back and roared. He reared again and crow-hopped forward, but the instant he gave up any slack on the leg rope, the two men yanked it tight. The familiar stumbled forward, unbalanced, and crashed to his knees.
“Now!” yelled Evermore, and another rope went over Falada’s neck, while Willard threw himself into the fray, pulling on the leg rope.
