Svengal lay groaning on the turf. His thighs were sheer agony. His buttocks ached. His calf muscles were on fire. Now, afterhe had tumbled off the small pony he was riding and thudded heavily to the turf on the point of his shoulder, the shoulder would hurt too. He concentrated on trying to find one part of his body that wasn't a giant source of pain and failed miserably. He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the face of the elderly pony that he had been riding peered down at him. Now what made you do a strange thing like that? The creature seemed to be asking.

Yes, I'm back," he said, "And look who I ran into." Horace grinned at him. "i hope you ran into him hard." "As hard as I could.

Halt snorted derisively. "Battleschool evidently isn't what it used to be," he replied. "It's a fine thing when an old man like me can sleep comfortably in the open while a young boy gets all stiff and rheumatic over it." Horace shrugged. "Be that as it may," he replied, "I'll still be glad to sleep in a bed tonight." Actually, Halt felt the same way. But he wasn't going to let Horace no that.

Tug looked nervously at his master. Horses aren't supposed to fly, he seemed to be saying.

I'm not really interested in being king. I prefer to work for a living

Several of them were discussing this in low tones as they waited for Halt to arrive - until they realized that he was already among them. They weren't used to this. Kings were supposed to sweep into a room majestically - not suddenly appear without anyone seeing their arrival.

Horace normally didn't need anyone else to save his life. He was pretty skilled at doing it for himself.