“All right, let her lie down,” he told the Healer. Arial responded to the Healer’s release by folding her legs beneath her and going straight down into the straw, as he kept the tension up on that strap. Tension only. Just enough to keep both little feet where he wanted them, in the birth canal. He did not want to pull the foal out. All he wanted to do was to keep both legs positioned as if the foal was diving—
The mare’s flanks shuddered with a contraction, and just like that, as easily as if Arial hadn’t been struggling for the past half-candlemark, the foal slipped out onto the straw, rupturing the membrane around it as it did so.
A filly!
Moving slowly, and making soothing sounds, Kordas picked up a waiting piece of toweling and gently toweled off the foal’s nose. She lifted and shook her head, and sneezed, and his heart sang. She’s fine. She’s just fine.
Another moment later, the foal rolled from her side into a normal “lying” position, and sneezed again. He put a finger in her mouth and she sucked at it vigorously. She was going to be more than fine.
Now it was Arial’s turn to move; Cestin backed up as she gave indications she was about to stand. When she rolled to her feet and did, the cord broke, and Kordas reached for it carefully and tied a loose knot in it to make sure she didn’t step on it and pull out the afterbirth prematurely.
She sniffed at the birth fluids in the straw, then, as if that scent reminded her that there ought to be a foal somewhere about, she turned, and spotted her new daughter. This was her third foal, and she was an old hand at this by now. She immediately began licking her foal, starting at the head. Kordas moved back and let her have her way.
He looked over at Delia, who was watching the foal with a thoroughly infatuated little smile on her face. The half-formed idea he’d had when he knew Arial had “caught” hardened into a decision. “Delia, I couldn’t have turned her without your help.”
Delia looked up from the foal to him. “Her? Oh! It’s a filly?”
“More to the point, she’s your filly now,” he said warmly.
“I—what?” He chuckled. Delia looked as if he’d awakened her from a dead sleep, she was so startled.
“She’s yours. Your sister had Arial’s first foal, my cousin got her second. And the way you’re watching that little girl, I’m afraid your heart would break if I gave her to anyone else.” No mention of selling the foal; he would never sell a foal of Arial’s bloodline.
Delia’s expression went from stunned to joyful, with a hint of tears in her eyes. “It just might.” She might have said something else, but just then the afterbirth fell into the straw with a dull thud—a good sign, that Arial had passed it so early. Delia moved out of the way so that he and Cestin could examine it.
No tears, no holes, and no toughening. He sighed with relief, and just then the stablemaster and two of the stableboys came in, the entire little parade soaking wet, one of the boys leading the mare that had been down at the end of the pasture, the stablemaster carrying the foal in his arms.
“Any problems?” he and the stablemaster asked simultaneously. And they both laughed.
“If I’d asked the gods for a perfect, easy birth, I couldn’t have gotten better,” the stablemaster said, as the boy led the mare into the loose-box. “But then, it did have to be in the middle of a howling thunderstorm and a groundshaker.”
“Arial was breech, but Cestin and Delia helped me right her,” Kordas replied.
The stablemaster put the foal down beside the mare; the foal immediately shoved his nose under his dam’s belly and began rooting for the nipple. “Delia, eh?” The stablemaster eyed Delia with some speculation. “Never thought of using Fetching Gift for a breech birth. You could be right handy; if you think you could turn a foal that was presenting tail-first, you’re worth your weight in gold.”
Delia made a little bow. “Call on me at your will,” she said.
“I shall. Boys, go into Arial’s box and clean up the dirty straw. Thank all the gods it was a warm rain, or we’d all be perishing.” The stablemaster stretched and yawned as Cestin and Delia got out of the loose-box so the stableboys could get in, moving slowly and carefully, to fork out all the contaminated straw and the placenta, replacing it with clean straw. Arial didn’t care; her concentration was entirely on her foal, and mares generally didn’t eat their placentas. “You can go back to bed now, my lord Duke. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
Kordas took that as the dismissal it was, plucked his shirt and tunic off the side of the loose-box, and gestured to Delia and Cestin to follow him. “We’ve been given our walking orders,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s get out before he chases us out with a broom.”
“I wouldn’t do that, my lord,” the stablemaster countered, as they left—leaving behind the mage-lights, which would naturally fade and then vanish on their own as dawn approached. “I’d just set the dogs on you.”
Only Delia had a rain cape, which made Cestin grumble under his breath, but Kordas was actually grateful for the downpour. His trews were already probably ruined, so a little rain wasn’t going to make any difference, but the unusually warm rain was doing wonders for rinsing the sticky birth-fluids away. “Hold this, would you?” he asked Delia, handing her his shirt and tunic so he could “wash” his hair as they walked.
It wasn’t that far to the manor, a fanciful piece of architecture sprouting delicate towers and elegant domes that was perfectly capable of holding the population of the entire Dukedom at a pinch, and was about as defensible as a sand castle. This, of course, was exactly how the Emperor wanted things; he did not want his landholders to be able to mount any kind of effective defense of their realms. He wanted to be able to march in and take everything if he pleased, and he wanted his nobles to be aware of that every single moment.
“Why is this storm so warm?” Delia asked, through the downpour. There wasn’t much lightning and thunder, but the amount of rain coming down was almost enough to drown out her words.
“There’s a war out on the frontier,” Kordas reminded her. “The Emperor never stops trying to conquer someone. I’m told there are lots of mages in those two armies, and it’s messing with the weather. I wouldn’t in the least be surprised to have this turn into a blizzard by morning.”
“I hope not!” Delia replied with alarm. “That would be a disaster!”
Kordas shrugged, then, aware that she couldn’t see him in the dark and downpour, added, “Not much we can do about it without tipping our hand to the Emperor that I have more mages living here than he is aware of.” Now, that was an advantage to having that enormous pile of a manor—he could have as many mages as he cared to host here, and unless they made themselves “visible,” no one would be the wiser.