This was not in fact the stallion’s name. I wasn’t even sure Prince Dominic had given it a name. Paul, riding across the high plains on Whirlwind, at least had the sense not to dig in his heels.

But Gwennie, wanting to show Paul she was not frightened, suddenly kicked the stallion in both flanks and let out a high whoop.

Dominic’s stallion jerked hard against his head rope, trying to rear. When the rope held him down, he lashed out with his heels against the wall. The wall gave a hollow boom, and the stallion kicked again.

Even Paul looked frightened. I held the children tight with magic and lifted them together, as rapidly as I dared without further startling the stallion. In a few seconds, they were out of the stall and back beside me.

I started to say something, to warn Gwennie that it was not a good idea to kick a high-strung stallion, bred to carry someone who weighed well over two hundred pounds. But I looked at her face and realized any warning of my own would be superfluous.

“We can continue the story of the treasure of the high plains up in the nursery,” Paul told her. His own color had come back almost immediately, but I was pleased that he showed no signs of wanting to continue the story on a horse’s back-at least, not yet.

The children were starting toward the stable door hand-in-hand, and I was trying to decide if the stallion, who had stopped kicking and merely gave me another surly look, was indeed all right, when the outer door opened, letting in daylight, a whirl of snowy air, and the constable.

Paul and Gwennie darted out, Paul giving me a conspiratorial grin over his shoulder.

“There you are, Wizard,” said the constable. “The queen said you were with Prince Paul, and I should have known you’d all be in here with his pony.”

We had in fact barely looked at Paul’s shaggy little pony while in the stables. “What is it?”