“Sounds like he may make an appearance for us, for some of us at least,” Damian said. “But first things first—food!”

How could someone see the patron—whoever or whatever he was—and someone else not, Karigan wondered. She doubted she’d get a straight answer from Damian.

They dismounted and set the horses to grazing. Damian assured Karigan that Condor and Sunny would not stray too far, and she believed him. Condor, relieved of his tack, ran and bucked like a young colt, then found a place to roll in the deep grasses. It pleased her to see him so happy, and she was sorry she’d have to take him from the plains of his birth once their business with Damian Frost was completed. She decided not to think about it for now.

Gus and Fergal were already rummaging through Lady’s basket when Karigan entered the shelter. She found a small fire crackling in the center of the floor, with a couple of crude benches pulled up to it. There was also a pair of pallets with gear strewn about that must belong to the boys.

While Damian made tea, Gus and Fergal produced sausage rolls, bread, apples—with extras for the horses—and a crock of goat cheese.

“Save some for Jericho,” Damian reminded them.

The cold air and morning ride had awakened their appetites and they ate, barely pausing to speak. When they finished, Damian packed the remnants of the meal into the basket, then with a whistle, called upon their horses to return. True to his word, they had not strayed far. The Riders tacked their horses, took leave of Gus, and rode through the ruins to the open plains, Ero trailing behind.

“There is a particular place the horses like,” Damian said. “A valley with a stream that offers some protection from the wind. I ’spect we’ll find Jericho there and the wild ones. It’s not far.”

By Karigan’s calculations, the valley was but a few miles off. They found Jericho sitting cross-legged in the grass gazing into the valley below through a spyglass. Ero announced their arrival by bouncing over to him and licking his ears. Jericho laughed and ruffled the fur atop the wolfhound’s head. Karigan realized another reason why she had trouble distinguishing between the two boys—they were twins.

Jericho rose to greet them, tucking the spyglass under his arm. Damian handed him the basket and slid off Fox’s back. “How goes it, son?”

“Good, Pop. Three bands have merged.”

While Karigan did not know a whole lot about wild horses, she said, “That’s unusual, isn’t it? Bands merging?”

“These are not your usual wild horses,” Damian replied. He took the spyglass from Jericho and walked over to the edge of the ridge to look into the valley below.

Karigan dismounted and once again untacked Condor. His ears were erect and his flesh quivered. She wondered if he wanted to run down into the valley to join the wild ones, but when he was loose, he and Sunny simply ambled off along the ridge to graze. She shrugged and joined Damian and Fergal. Behind her, Jericho ate the leftovers from the basket and played with Ero, who rolled on his back with legs up in the air.

Big puppy, she thought.

The valley sloped gently beneath them, the grasses interspersed with scrub. At the bottom of the valley, a stream of silver-black meandered among reeds and cattail stalks, and some trees found shelter enough from the winds to grow. It was at the far end of the valley that Karigan saw the bumps in the landscape that were the horses.

“Three bands,” Damian murmured. “Jericho was right. The stallions are watchful and dare not mingle, but the mares and youngsters have merged.” He handed the spyglass to Fergal.

“Why would they merge?” Karigan asked. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s a sign the patron is expected,” Damian said. “This year past he’s been appearing more often. There is more than horse sense at work here—maybe you’d call it god sense. Anyway, when he is expected, the bands merge so he can come among them again. It is how I also knew to expect Green Riders on my front porch. He seems to sense when messenger horses are needed.”

“What is this patron?” Karigan asked.

“A stallion like you’ve never seen before, lass.”

A breeze plucked a strand of hair from Karigan’s braid and tickled her face. She tucked it behind her ear. “And the stallions just tolerate this interloper among their harems?”

“Aye,” Damian said. “He is, in a sense, their king. They bow down to him.”

Karigan wanted to ask if they literally bowed, but then Fergal passed her the spyglass and left her and Damian to go sit with Jericho and Ero. Just as she wondered how a horse trader came to possess a very expensive spyglass, she noted an inscription right on the brass tubing: To the Family Frost, with appreciation for generations of dedicated service, Her Royal Highness Queen Isen Hillander. A gift from King Zachary’s grandmother! There must be quite a story behind the gift, but that would be for later. Other business was at hand.

She put the spyglass to her eye and focused, finding the view fine and clear, attesting to the superior grade of glass used for the lenses. Her gaze followed along the stream to where the bands of horses grazed and drank. Some leggy foals rested on the ground, their heads just visible above the tips of sun-touched grasses. The mares were alert, but not anxious. Karigan counted twenty-five to thirty in all, chestnuts, bays, grays, duns, roans, and blacks, some with markings, some without. A couple were spotted over the whole of their bodies, and there were a few paints, but she could find no definite pattern of lineage from horse to horse.