I have to say, it’s a bit of a strange feeling not releasing another Chained Soul chapter – that novel has dominated the blog since November 2023, but I’ve got another bit of fiction you might be interested in today. My fantasy novella The Horse Who Fell In Scorland is releasing next Wednesday, on the 10th of July, so I thought I’d treat you to a little sneak peek of the book with this first chapter!
Chapter One – The King’s Prized Possession
It had been nine years since the King last sat on Duke’s back, pushing his silver-trimmed boots into stirrups that had been polished to perfection by a young stable boy.
That young stable boy was now Master Edmar of the Royal Stables, who ordered his own troop of bright-eyed, scruffy-haired stable boys to sweep and scrub every inch of the endless stalls and tack rooms. They were the pride of Greater Ardenic, which itself was both the most beloved county and capital city of the King’s great kingdom of Ardenic. The Royal Stables housed every horse under the royal banner, from the intimidating, muscled steeds used by the King’s Guard to the elegant creatures that pulled the monarch’s carriage.
The jewel in this equestrian crown was, of course, Duke. As a yearling, he’d caught the King’s eye at a run-of-the-mill auction, at a time when the monarch had no desire for a new mount. In times of peace, he took the royal carriage from place to place, showing his grizzled face for an hour here and there to inspire healthy doses of awe and fear into Greater Ardenic’s citizens. However, something about Duke had captivated him: his pure-white coat gave way only for the soft pink of his nostrils and muzzle, and even at his young age, his strides were strong and purposeful across the auction pen.
When the King declared his bid, no one dared to raise a hand against him. What could a lowly farmer or even a lord offer against the wealth of the entire kingdom? Therefore, Duke was purchased at the relatively low starting price of five gold coins, and he was led right up to the palace gates behind the royal carriage.
For two long years, Duke lived in complete, uninterrupted bliss. He was fed the best quality grains, hay, and fruits that the kingdom could provide, groomed until every single one of his white hairs shone, and exercised lightly around the palace grounds, often by the young stable boy Edmar himself.
At that time, Edmar was a lanky youth, still growing into the limbs that seemed to sprout off his body like the long branches of a very short tree. The Master reprimanded him most often for the way that his shaggy mop of hair, suitably the colour of most barks found in the forests around Greater Ardenic, relentlessly fell into his eyes. It seemed to be the Master’s opinion that the King would go into quite the fit if he saw one hair out of place on Edmar’s head, although Edmar himself had never seen even the slightest hint of this from the King himself.
He did see the monarch quite often, however, despite his low status. In that earlier stage of Duke’s life, the King often visited his stall, asking the Master of the Royal Stables at the time anxiously about when it would be time for breaking in the new colt. The Master assured him that not rushing the process would be best to ensure that Duke grew into a sound stallion, but it was difficult to continue to refuse the King regarding his newest prized possession.
Fortunately for the Master, the day soon came when it was time to get a saddle on young Duke’s back, and it took him just one month to confidently trot and canter while being ridden, often with a slightly older Edmar on his back. The young man was finally coming into his grown body at this point, and the troublesome hair was shorn like a sheep’s woollen coat at regular intervals throughout the year.
Once the Master was confident in Duke’s abilities, he sent for the monarch and gathered his stable boys around the wooden-fenced pen used for training the royal horses. It was the type of blistering summer day when the horizon seemed to waver and paths bent awkwardly in the distance, as if attempting to skive from their duties by altering their destinations. The heat of the sandy ground inside the pen combined with the odd sensation of Duke’s newly-shod hooves caused him to toss his head more than usual as Edmar led him around the enclosed area.
Presently, the King arrived with an entourage of Royal Guards, no doubt sweating heavily inside their shining armour, emblazoned with the red and blue crest of the Kingdom of Ardenic. All of the collected stable boys and the Master dropped to their knees, and Duke stomped his hoof in surprise as Edmar sank into the sand next to him. He stared down the King as he strode into the pen, dressed in much lighter chain armour than that which the Guards had to bear.
All throughout his time at the Royal Stables, Duke had noticed that the King’s appearance, unlike Edmar’s, had not been changed by time. His expression was always gruff, even when he smiled, and his greying hair seemed to be fighting a constantly losing battle with his scalp. Faint lines travelled across his face, only seen properly in the direct sunlight. He may have been broader than Edmar, but the youth was quickly gaining on him in height, and yet neither could hold a candle to Duke’s lofty stature.
Despite this challenge, the monarch wasted no time in grabbing Duke’s reins from Edmar and tossing them over his head, causing him to still. Edmar jogged to the fence and clambered over, watching the scene with wide eyes.
In this moment, Duke cared little for the sour-faced man fumbling to get his foot into one of his stirrups. He had no knowledge of kings, kingdoms or politics; he knew he was far more comfortable here than he had been at the stable he grew up in, but he had sorely missed being by his mother’s side for the first few years. In his mind, the Master was the most dominant man in his life. The boy, Edmar, was always rushing to refill his water or pick out his hooves, and the Master only had to bark out a single word for Edmar to scurry away to his side. Therefore, the hierarchy had the Master at the top, Edmar at the bottom, and Duke… Well, he liked to think of himself as somewhere in-between, despite the fact that he was often at the end of a rope that Edmar was holding.
This new man, who had finally stuck his foot into the stirrup and was beginning to swing his large body up onto Duke’s back, had barely involved himself with Duke’s care. The horse had a vague memory of him inspecting his teeth and hooves and so forth at the auction, but since that time he had only ever looked over Duke, without lifting a finger to actually look after him.
So, when the King landed fully in the saddle, Duke thought nothing of his status or his power. Instead, he started wildly, trying to wrestle the weight from his back—the King was far heavier than Edmar, and a frantic fight for control ensued. The King snatched up the reins and Duke pulled his head forwards roughly. As the monarch cried out, the reins flew from his grip, and a final buck from Duke deposited him firmly in the sand.
‘You’re a wild one, eh?’ the King said, picking himself up and raising a hand towards the advancing Guards. ‘I’m not a delicate flower, men. Not like that princeling over the water.’
The gathered crowd chuckled politely. Duke flattened his ears, taking a step back from the King as he approached him once again. Undaunted, the King gathered the reins, remounted, and continued the battle for dominance.
The sun had lowered into a dark golden blaze of an afternoon by the time Duke allowed the King to stay on his back. He paced back and forth and shook his head every time the King tried to turn him this way and that, but the hierarchy had been set in place. Still not knowing that his rider was royalty, Duke understood that the King was somehow above the Master in terms of dominance. He may not have been stronger than the horse, but he certainly had more perseverance than Duke cared to match.
‘He’ll be a stunning war horse, sire,’ the Master said from the other side of the fence. The stable boys nodded and quietly spoke in agreement.
‘This one has the courage to fight his own king—he’ll charge on an army in a heartbeat,’ the King chuckled. ‘If only I had a battlefield for him!’
‘I think we’re all enjoying these times of peace well enough, sire, even Duke,’ the Master replied. ‘I don’t think the kingdom has ever been more prosperous, if I may say so.’
‘Times will change, Isiah. They always do. These lads will grow up and tower over old men like us, and even that princeling will come of age. My sons will war with Scorland and expand the reaches of Ardenic until it is all the eye can see, and further still. War is prosperous in land, even if it stretches the treasury in the meantime. Gold will return—land, that is what stays for generations. Ardenic is my legacy.’
The Master only nodded in response, sending Edmar into the pen as the King dismounted. Duke had never been happier to return to his stall, basking in the attention and feed that the stable boy showered him with.
‘You can’t be throwing kings off your back, Duke,’ the boy said, mocking seriousness before shaking his head with a chuckle. ‘If you was a man, you’d get your head lopped off for treason or something. But with you being a horse, you get the best bed in this entire stable and me at your beck and call. It’s a funny world, ain’t it?’
Duke busied himself with munching on hay, letting the boy natter away. He hurried off to put away the saddle and bridle Duke had been wearing all day, then returned with an assortment of brushes to ensure that the King’s prized horse was looking his best, as he always had to be.
‘At least you won’t have to carry him around too much,’ the boy continued. ‘It’s not like he ever rides anywhere any more. Unless he goes mad and tries to kill that kid who’s in charge of Scorland, I reckon you’ll have a right comfortable life until… Well, I can’t talk about that, I guess. Treason and all. But you won’t mind the princes either, I don’t think. Mirfen’ll be the next one on the throne, and I won’t make any bets on what he’s gonna do about that Scorish prince, but maybe you’ll finally see some action then.’
Duke settled down to sleep that night and woke to a slightly changed routine. Rather than the gentler exercise he was used to, being led about to this and that place and let free in a paddock every once in a while, he was taken out on rides by Edmar and schooled in making quick movements and practising his gaits in the exercising pen. However, the King didn’t return to the stables, and Duke’s quiet life continued.
After several years, the Master stepped down from his position and Edmar was promoted in his place, but aside from his steadily increasing height and newfound ability to command the younger stable boys, Duke didn’t notice any changes. His stall was separated from most of the others in the Royal Stables, but he would occasionally see the nearby doors opening and their occupants being led out to their different jobs; all the while, he thought himself fairly lucky to live in such comfort and have to do next to nothing for it.
However, by the time that nine years had passed, Duke had fallen into the habit of thinking that there must have been something special about him that had caused this easy life. He compared himself to the brief glimpses of swishing tails and tossed manes that he saw, and often the skinny frames of horses pulling farmers’ carts that he and Edmar passed on their rides. Surely not all horses could have been created equal, if they had landed in their positions and he had landed in his. He was constantly groomed to perfection and given just the right amount of exercise to keep his muscles toned and ready for action, but that action never came. While all other horses appeared to be intended for work, he was instead dedicated for show—and only for the few select people who saw him each day.
As such, Duke thought nothing of the echoing footsteps trampling down the main corridor of the stable on that day, nine years after the King managed to tame him and then promptly abandoned him to Edmar’s care. He heard clunking metal and thought of the Guards, whose stone-faced steeds could bring a riot to a halt with a simple glare and a stamp of a feathered hoof. But the sounds continued for far too long, and became louder and louder until he turned around in his stall, rather annoyed at the intrusion to his nap, and came face to face with the man who he’d thrown from his back countless times all those years ago.
‘Edmar, get him saddled!’ the man shouted. ‘The time has come.’
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Oskar Leonard 
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