Pestilence and Strife

[Atzar]

“We’ll follow, horse,” William answered curtly.

The gleaming horse bowed its head in acknowledgement. “A wise decision. The master will be pleased that his guests are beings of reason. This way. It’s not far.” With that, it turned and walked back the way it had come.

The creature set a leisurely pace, and clouds of pollen puffed and swirled about their knees as they crossed the glade. Atzar was reminded of the oppressive miasma that engulfed the valley from which they had come. In a way, he found the realm to be more hospitable than he had expected; he had nearly been eaten immediately upon arrival, but at least he could breathe comfortably here.

“My lord has watched your worldly deeds with interest,” the horse said to William. “He has awaited this day with great anticipation.” The mage recognized the tone of small talk, spoken to bridge the silence as they walked. It was strange hearing it from a horse, though.

“I’m glad to be welcomed,” the revenant said curtly.

“And have you greeted your other kin as of yet?”

“They’re next.”

“I see. I wish you good fortune in your pursuits.” The horse chuckled, and Atzar was again reminded of the strangeness of this encounter. “At least insofar as they don’t conflict with my lord’s.”

He swung his shining head toward the mage. “My master has no such familiarity with you, I am afraid. I hope you’ll pardon our ignorance.” A gentle hill rose in front of them, and they made their way up. The powder-filled pods gave way to short, tough grass interspersed with wide-brimmed mushrooms of deep violet.

What does one say to a talking servile horse expressing contrition? Atzar didn’t know, so he didn’t answer.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation as I approached. Your power has been absent since you entered my lord’s domain, as I understand it?”

Atzar simply nodded. Revealing his uselessness to an enemy was daft, but it was too late to lie.

“An unfortunate happenstance. Fear not, however. I have confidence that my lord will know more about your plight, for he is the master of all things in this world.”

The mage stared at him until the bright light forced him to avert his gaze. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Atzar began bluntly, “but you’re aware of why we came here. Why so… polite?”

The horse gave another of its unnervingly out-of-place chuckles. “I was instructed to deliver the liege’s greeting and to escort you to his presence. In the meantime, civility is in my nature. Regardless of what may loom on the horizon, it would not do for me to behave like an animal.”

Here was a sparkling horse that understood wordplay. The mage wondered if he was hallucinating.

They crested the hill and looked over a wide valley. An orchard grew on the easy slopes in orderly lines, a marked contrast from the wild and untamed lands all around. Amidst the fruit trees and adjacent to a small pond rose a cottage, smoke puffing from its chimney. Atzar lifted an eyebrow in perplexity at the peaceful, domestic scene that stretched out before them. Pestilence was a demigod, or so William had suggested. This looked like the last place such a being would dwell.

“The master’s abode,” the luminous horse confirmed. “He is expecting us; we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”