“Nah, Tuni, I don’t think that’s love in her eyes,” said the green-eyed warrior who rode the spotted stallion called Ilan.
The young cub continued stroking Echofrost’s cheek, making her stomach roil. She struck at him with her front hoof, but he leaped to safety.
“She reminds me of Sula, the guardian mascot of the Second Clan,” Rahkki said. “She’s as still as a stone but strikes as fast as a viper.”
The green-eyed male turned up his lips, showing his teeth. His long golden hair fell around his shoulders like a shining mane. “You could join the Sky Guard with this
one, Rahkki. You already named her, yeah? Sula. It suits her.”
“Rahkki’s going to be a farmer now, Harak. You know that,” interrupted the red-haired female called Tuni. Echofrost squinted at her, remembering that she rode the palomino pinto mare.
Harak spit on the ground. “Farming is for land lovers.”
Echofrost strained harder to understand their language, but it sounded like senseless babbling to her.
“Well, this wildling is terrified,” said Tuni. She turned to the Landwalkers who were holding Echofrost’s ropes. “Take Sula into the barn for the night.”
Echofrost groaned as the Landwalkers lifted her body and carried her toward the wooden structure they called a barn. “Your new home, little viper,” Harak said. His words sounded like growling to Echofrost. His green eyes reminded her of the panther.
She trembled as they carried her into the Kihlari den. Was Shysong inside as she suspected? Could Echofrost free them both? When Star had formed the United Army in Anok to battle Nightwing’s forces, she’d trained as a spy and she’d learned how to assess her enemies for weaknesses. But so far these Landwalkers, who tamed animals, fire, land, and pegasi, appeared to have few. She’d need to
study them from the inside to understand them, and to discover how to beat them.
I chose this, Echofrost reminded herself as the door of the barn opened and she entered the Kihlari den. Hundreds of pegasi turned their heads to stare at her, and her heart thrummed. I’m in complete control, she said to herself. Complete control.
As the door shut behind her, cutting off the night air and her view of the sky, Echofrost turned off her thoughts and faced the truth.
She was terrified, and maybe this was a mistake.
11
The Wildling
RAHKKI FOLLOWED THE SKY GUARD RIDERS AS they carried the wild Kihlara mare into a box stall. They removed her gag and rushed out, leaving her to chew off her bindings because no one was in the mood to get kicked to death tonight. Two men worked together to drag netting over her walls so she couldn’t fly away. Several braver warriors had plucked a few of her purple feathers as trophies. Rahkki’s brother, Brauk, was one of them.
“Why’d you take those?” Rahkki asked, watching his brother twirl the feathers.
“Because a wild Kihlara hasn’t been spotted in four hundred years. This is rare stuff,” Brauk answered. Then he lowered his voice so the other Riders couldn’t hear. “If I make charms of this plumage, I bet I could sell ’em for forty jints apiece at the Clan Gathering. The merchant kids’ll pay smart.”
Rahkki believed that was true. “Where do you think that wild herd came from?” he asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Brauk said, jabbing his little brother. “I don’t question opportunity when it comes my way; I just take it.” Brauk sniffed the feathers and then tucked them into his boar-hide pouch.
The other Riders scattered to calm their mounts, and Koko Dale, the lead groom for the stable, appeared from the tack stall. She was fifteen, three years older than Rahkki, and she was as fierce as the winged steeds under her care. She approached Sula’s stall, ready to attend to the new flying horse, her eyes wide with wonder. But Brauk waved her off. “I’ll take care of her,” he said.
Koko tossed Rahkki and Brauk a disappointed frown and returned to her evening chores.
Rahkki leaned against the stall door, drinking in the scents of the barn. Rows and rows of stalls filled it, each housing a tame Kihlara steed. Their hot breath and warm scents drenched the air. The breeding stock and the foals were stabled at the Ruk, which was located near the horse pens. This barn was for the Sky Guard Fliers only, the prized winged warriors of the Fifth Clan.
But Rahkki noticed that the Kihlari were nervous. Each steed stood with its head high, its ears forward and nostrils flared. They peered over their stalls, trying to glimpse the two wild mares in their midst.
Brauk had named the blue roan Firo, for her sparkling blue eyes. Firo meant “bright” or “fire” in Talu. The seven Sandwen clans often named their animals in Talu because the words sounded exotic to them—and Rahkki thought Firo suited the roan mare just fine.
Just then the silver wildling that he’d named Sula whinnied sharply. Nickering erupted among the Fliers, punctuated by piercing squeals and earsplitting brays. Rahkki listened intently to the noise. He’d long believed that the winged horses spoke to one another in a real language, even though the noises they made sounded quite similar to horses. But his older brother, Brauk, thought that was ridiculous. “Kihlari can’t speak,” he often argued, and then thwacked Rahkki on the head.
“Hand me that rake,” Brauk said, and Rahkki obeyed. His brother used the rake to lower an empty water bucket into Sula’s stall.
She sprang toward the long wooden handle and bit it.
“She’s quick,” Brauk said, laughing as he often did, without mirth.
Rahkki nodded, wondering at the wild steed. She was lean and dirty, but beneath the filth, her coat was silver gray, like the even color of a sawa sword. Her white mane and tail hung tangled and mudstained. She appeared intelligent, like most Kihlari, so why had she come back here and landed in plain sight? Didn’t she know she’d be captured? Especially after the Sky Guard army had trapped the roan mare and then chased her and her friends into the clouds.
Rahkki glanced at Firo. Perhaps Sula had come back to save her friend? But Rahkki knew his clan would never set either mare free. Even untrained, they were too valuable. They would breed the mares, sell them, or train them.
But this silver braya had determined eyes—Rahkki saw that as plain as the moon that chased the sun. He studied her—looking past the mud, the mess of tangled hair, and the bent purple feathers to her conformation. Her head was fine, her eyes wide set, and her bones were straight and strong, her legs unblemished. “Sula’s a warrior,” he said to Brauk.
His brother snorted. “If you say so. She looks like a starved chicken to me.”
Rahkki shrugged, but they both knew he had an eye for spotting well-bred Kihlari, usually as soon as they were born. He’d chosen the copper chestnut named Kol for Brauk. At first the clan had mocked Rahkki for choosing such a big-boned colt for his brother, believing that Kol would be slow in battle. But as he grew, it turned out that Kol’s physical conformation was perfect for flying, and his oversize lungs powered his huge muscles efficiently. Kol was fast, strong, and big—a rare combination for a Flier.
Studying this wild mare, Rahkki guessed she was two years old, maybe three. He imagined her in the sky and saw agility in her bones. To him, agility was worth more than size or speed, or both. Not every Rider would agree with him on that, but Rahkki had fled from Mut Finn enough times to appreciate the merits of agility. Mut was a Sandwen teen who was too old for games but too young for war. To relieve his boredom, he harassed whoever crossed his path. And Rahkki had escaped the abuse of Mut more than once simply by dodging him.
Brauk filled Sula’s water bucket and then poked at her with the rake.
Rahkki flinched. “Don’t do that.”
“I want to see her move.”
The little Kihlara ignored Brauk, but Rahkki saw her
pulse thumping in her neck. “She’s waiting for us to leave,” he said to his older brother.
Brauk replaced the rake against the wall. “Looks like her herd ditched her.”
&nbs
p; “No, I think she came back here on purpose, for her friend.” Rahkki nodded toward Firo, who was sleeping in the next stall. Brim Carver, the clan’s animal doctor, had already come and gone. She’d dosed Firo with strong medicine, and then she’d yanked out the arrow that their overzealous clansman had shot into her. After that, Brim had stitched the wound closed and predicted that the mare would heal just fine. Rahkki noticed that Firo was as dirty and skinny as Sula, but not as well built for flying.
“Right,” Brauk said, tugging on Rahkki’s ear. “The mare has friends.” He drawled the word friends and shook his head. “That roan is probably her foal; instincts drove her back here. Or she’s just stupid. But animals don’t have friends.”
“Sula’s too young to have a foal,” Rahkki said. And she’s not stupid. The mare’s eyes were as clear and dark as a rainless night.
Brauk tossed fresh hay into Sula’s stall, and his sudden movement spooked her. He leaned on her door, thinking. “I don’t know. Maybe that herd isn’t wild. Maybe they got loose from one of the other clans.”
Rahkki pointed to the mare’s right shoulder. “She’s not branded; none of the wildlings were, and that doesn’t explain why there are so many of them.” The seven Sandwen clans each valued the Kihlari steeds as precious. They didn’t just lose them.
“Well, she’s worth some dramals, maybe even a full round. The other one too—if I can have them ready in time for the summer auction at the annual Clan Gathering.”
“You’re going to sell them that soon?” Rahkki asked, his voice rising. “They just got here.”
“Land to skies, Brother! Of course I’m selling them that soon. You’re looking at weapons, hay, armor, and food for the Sky Guard. As soon as I plump their bones and knock the spit out of ’em, they’re gone.”
Rahkki’s heartbeat sped a notch. He knew the Sky Guard was underfunded, but the truth was, Rahkki was excited about the wild brayas, and he wanted them to stay. “I doubt Queen Lilliam will let you keep the profits,” he said, his voice a whisper.
Brauk’s eyes darkened. He was one of three Headwinds who led the Sky Guard, and part of his job was to help fund the army. “We’ll see about that,” he said.
Tuni Hightower, the female Headwind who rode the golden palomino named Rizah, stood a few stalls down the row, feeding her mare a handful of grain to quiet her nerves about the strange steeds in the barn. Tuni rubbed her eyes. “Come on. The wildling mares need their sleep.” She extinguished the wick of her lamp and walked outside, followed by the rest.
When Rahkki passed Tuni, she smiled at him. Her long red hair was unbound, and it flowed around her face like a shimmering waterfall. She was twenty-one years old, the same age as Brauk. “Did you hear about the giants, Rahkki?” she asked. “The Gorlan hordes have banded together in the mountains.”
“I heard,” he said.
“We could really use another Rider, even an inexperienced one like you. If you buy one of those wildling mares, you could scout the hordes for me. You don’t have to fight.”
Rahkki paused. No one in the clan knew how poor he and Brauk were, even though Rahkki thought it was obvious. Didn’t Tuni notice his worn clothing, his cheap goat-hide boots, and his knife-shorn hair? He couldn’t afford to purchase a haircut, let alone a precious Flier. “I start my farming apprenticeship today,” he reminded her.
Brauk shook his head. “Nah, it’s almost dark. You can go in the morning. I’ll explain to Uncle. These wild steeds took up the entire day.”
Rahkki grinned because he was getting one more night with his brother.
Tuni faced the Riders. “Is everyone out?” she asked, raising her voice.
“All out,” Brauk shouted.
Tuni slammed the barn doors and locked them, leaving Sula and Firo in darkness.
12
Trapped
AS SOON AS THE LANDWALKERS WERE GONE AND their footsteps had faded, Echofrost attacked her lashings, biting them off her legs and wings. When she was free of them, she spread her feathers and flew straight up. She needed to find Shysong and get her out of here. But Echofrost struck a web of ropes that crisscrossed over her head. Her neck became entangled, and she flapped harder but couldn’t break through this new barrier. She landed and yanked her neck free of the ropes.
Calm down, she chided herself. Spies act; they don’t react. Flaring her nostrils, she drank in the scents—in front of her was a pile of freshly cut forage, and behind her was the container of water the Landwalker had lowered into her pen. Nearby, she smelled wood, animal hides, and the faint, clean odor of the foreign pegasi.
She swiveled her ears. At least three hundred Kihlari stood in separate enclosures in this den, but they were preternaturally silent. When the Landwalkers had carried Echofrost inside, she’d counted twenty rows of twenty enclosures like hers, but one section lay empty. They were called stalls, she believed, because a Kihlara mare had whinnied, “Don’t put that filthy braya next to my stall.”
Now Echofrost nosed around her prison, examining it for weaknesses. She kicked the sides; they were solid. She knocked over the bucket of water, and the liquid spilled around her hooves. She pawed at the cut forage, destroying it. She heard the soft shuffling of hooves as the Kihlari began nickering to one another:
Who is she?
Where did she come from?
What happened to her friends?
“Shysong?” Echofrost’s loud bray silenced the whisperings.
“Your injured friend is asleep in the stall next to yours,” neighed a stallion, and she recognized his voice. It was Kol, the shiny chestnut who’d threatened her in the sky. His stall was located next to hers.
“I can’t smell her,” Echofrost said. Now that she was inside the barn, she was overwhelmed by all the strange odors and so she couldn’t place Shysong’s.
“We can smell her,” answered the stallion with a snort. “And you too.”
Echofrost flattened her ears. This stallion let Landwalkers ride on his back; who was he to judge her and Shysong?
“Where did you come from?” he continued.
Echofrost said nothing. She was thinking.
“Answer me!” he brayed.
“Are you the over-stallion of this herd?”
He paused. “Herd? We’re not horses, wildling.”
The surrounding Kihlari nickered, amused.
Echofrost felt her ears grow hot. Didn’t all pegasi live in herds? She felt confused, unsure; but she was the stranger here, not them. She’d have to study their ways. “Tell me what you are and I’ll tell you where I came from,” she bargained.
The stallion pranced closer to the wall they shared. “I already told you, we’re Kihlari. We guard the Fifth Clan of the Sandwen people, and I’m Kol, the leader of Dusk Patrol and first colt of Mahrsan, the Queen’s Chosen stallion. My Rider is Brauk Stormrunner.”
Echofrost’s mind swirled with all the strange titles and names he spoke; but she detected the pride in his voice, and she understood that—titles aside—he was an over-stallion by heart and by blood, and she would have to watch herself with him. “Why do you let the Landwalkers ride on your backs?” she asked.
“What’s a Landwalker?”
She pricked her ears, listening closely because of his odd accent. “The two-legged creatures, the ones who tamed you.”
Kol snorted. “Without a Rider, how would I fly?”
“You don’t need a Rider to fly,” Echofrost countered. “You saw me doing it.”
Quiet tension drifted onto the Kihlari as they absorbed that.
“It’s just not permitted,” explained the spotted stallion named Ilan. His rider was the green-eyed Landwalker, Harak. “We don’t go up unless our Riders take us.”
Echofrost detected the same deep pride in Ilan’s voice that she’d heard in Kol’s, and she decided it was best not to judge the foreign steeds. It would set her at odds with them unnecessarily. “That makes sense,” she said, though it actually made none.
“It’
s your turn,” Kol neighed. “You promised to tell us where you came from.”
“I come from a faraway land,” she said, offering as little about Anok as possible.
Kol slammed his hoof against his stall floor. “Tell us something we don’t already know.”
Echofrost lashed her tail, growing impatient. “I crossed an ocean to get here.”
“Which ocean?”
Her gut twisted. She didn’t want to tell the Kihlari anything that might indicate in which direction Anok lay. No, she couldn’t trust any pegasus who was friendly with Landwalkers. Anok was free of the two-legged pests, and after seeing that the legends about them paled in comparison to the truth, she feared that they and their winged mounts might invade her homeland if they knew where it was.
So Echofrost lied. “The ocean is west of your lands. My friends and I crossed it and came here, looking for a new territory.” Echofrost had never told a lie before, and she hated the taste of the false words in her mouth.
Kol was silent for a long while.
He knows I lied, she thought.
But when he spoke, she realized that he didn’t know. “Why did you leave? What happened to your land?”
“It . . . it became inhospitable,” she said, thinking of Nightwing the Destroyer.
“And then you flew here? Is this better?” he asked.
Echofrost considered Nightwing’s treacheries: burning Morningleaf’s feathers with his silver starfire, turning hundreds of pegasi to ashes, stealing newborns from their dams, and murdering the five over-stallions of Anok. She studied the walls that trapped her, the pile of fresh food at her hooves, and the overturned container of water in the corner—and she answered. “Yes, this is better, but that’s not saying much.”
Across the Dark Water Page 6
