“I didn’t know that wild Kihlari existed,” Ilan whinnied. “Do you really live in herds, like horses? Who feeds you?”
Echofrost gaped at him across the aisle of stalls. “We feed ourselves. We graze.”
The tame Kihlari murmured to one another, seeming shocked by that information.
“Well, you’re safe now,” Kol said to her in a tone so casual that it took her breath away.
“Safe?” she whinnied. “My friend and I are captured.”
Kol nickered. “You’re not captured; you’re rescued. Do
you know what’s in that jungle? There are three hordes of Gorlan giants that live in the eastern mountains. They eat flying horses and people, and that’s not the worst of it. There are spiders that attack in armies, plants that will devour you alive, the drooling dragons that mash trees, and the tiny ones called burners. The burners live at the volcano, and they can fly—and breathe fire.”
“Breathe fire?”
“Yes, annoying little beasts.”
“I didn’t know about all that.” Echofrost had only seen one spit dragon, some oversize ants, and a panther. “What’s a . . . Gorlan giant?”
Kol shuddered. “A Gorlan is neither animal nor human. They’re over twice the size of a Sandwen and ten times stronger. There are three hordes of them near Mount Crim. They speak with their hands and ride elephants, and they hate us. If they catch you, they’ll eat you.”
Echofrost’s gut clenched.
“Be glad you’re rescued and get used to it,” Kol finished. “The Sandwen clan will never let you or your friend go.”
Fury slithered through her veins. “Why? What will they do with us?”
A golden palomino mare interrupted. “I’m Rizah,” she said, greeting Echofrost. “You have nothing to fear.” She paused. “The clan will most likely sell you.”
“Sell? What does that mean?”
A mare down the row answered. “It’s like trading. They’ll trade you for something valuable, like land or sacks of coin.”
“Trade me to who?”
“To a young Rider or another clan.”
Echofrost bit her cheek. Never, she thought. She felt exhaustion sinking into her bones and her eyelids drooping. “Please tell me,” she said, “is my friend safe? I can’t see her, and she’s not answering me.”
“She’s safe,” Rizah nickered. “She’s been given strong medicine to help her sleep. You can talk to her tomorrow.” Rizah abruptly changed the subject. “Did you know you have a name now?”
“My name is Echofrost.”
Kol and many of the listening Kihlari steeds nickered out loud.
“No,” said Rizah. “That’s your wildling name, but now you have a Sandwen name: Sula. I heard Rahkki call you that.”
Echofrost’s heart thudded. “You can understand the
Landwalkers?” It would be so helpful to know what they were saying.
“No. We don’t catch most of what they say, but there are Melds, people who can translate between us and the Sandwens,” said Ilan, the spotted stallion. “They’ve helped us understand the clans, but there hasn’t been a Meld around here since I was a foal.”
Rizah interrupted with a sharp glance at Ilan. “Yes, but you can never trust a Meld, Sula. Some are honest. Some translate the Sandwen language word for word, but others twist it to manipulate us.”
“How can you tell the difference?” Echofrost asked.
“Sandwens fidget and sweat when they lie,” she answered. “So to answer your question more simply, we don’t understand their language except for a few words. But when a word is repeated over and over again to the same steed, we know it’s their name, and the Stormrunner brothers have named you Sula.”
After that, the conversation drifted to other things, and Echofrost’s eyelids drooped as she sank onto her bedding. The foreign words, sights, and smells overwhelmed her senses. Shysong and I must escape before they sell us, she thought. Maybe tomorrow we’ll get our chance. She
imagined Hazelwind and the others flying east, leaving her and Shysong behind, and she felt like she had when Mountain Herd captured her long ago: alone and without help.
Echofrost closed her eyes and saw visions of the giant black spit dragon tromping through the rain forest. She cleared her mind and slid quickly into sleep.
13
Playing Stones
RAHKKI FOLLOWED CLOSELY BEHIND THE THREE Headwinds of the Sky Guard army: Tuni, Brauk, and Harak. Tuni had just locked up the Kihlari stable for the night, leaving the wild brayas to adjust to their new home.
Now, as the four of them headed back to Fort Prowl, the octagonal fortress on the hill above the stables, Rahkki’s feet kicked up dust because there’d been no rain today. He shuffled through the dirt spray, thinking. He was happy about getting an extra night with Brauk, but he wasn’t happy about leaving for the farm in the morning. When he’d agreed to the apprenticeship, his clan hadn’t had two wild Kihlari locked up in the barn!
Tuni’s voice caught his attention. “Are all three Gorlan hordes working together?” she asked Harak.
Rahkki glanced up, curious about the giants. His clan’s farmland had once belonged to the Gorlan hordes, but when Rahkki’s people drove the giants off it a thousand years ago, they’d sparked a grudge that continued to grate.
“Nah, we only saw the Fire and Highland hordes,” he said. “Their warriors banded together on Mount Crim to share soup.” Then he spit on the ground. “Stinkin’ giants.”
Rahkki found it difficult to believe that the giants could farm at all. They were thickheaded, stubborn, and stronger than gorillas; and the idea of them hoeing soil and planting delicate seeds was laughable.
Brauk paused, rubbing his chin. “If they shared soup, then that means those two hordes are working together.”
Rahkki shuddered at the word soup. The legendary broth simmered at the center of each Gorlan horde encampment in huge black caldrons that spanned fifteen lengths across. The giants tossed in whatever they caught during the day—including Sandwen children, some said. The pots were never emptied or cleaned; the broth could steep for years, decades even, before misfortune struck and the soup had to be tossed. Each horde ate solely from its communal pot, and it was a great dishonor to be without soup. So when the giants shared theirs with other hordes, it was an unmistakable sign that they had banded together.
“It will take the Gorlanders five days to march here from Mount Crim,” Tuni said. “We have plenty of time to make a plan, but the queen . . .” She shook her dark-red hair.
“She’s useless,” said Brauk.
“She’s our ruler,” Harak hissed. He was twenty-eight, the oldest and most volatile of the Headwinds.
The group fell silent as they crossed the Kihlari training yard and climbed the steps that had been cut into the side of the hill. At the top loomed Fort Prowl, their home. When they reached the iron gates, Harak spoke their credentials and they entered, but Brauk halted so fast that Rahkki bumped into him. “Shh,” Brauk said. Tuni and Harak stopped too.
Rahkki glanced past the Headwinds, and his belly twisted. Across the flagstone courtyard was Queen Lilliam. She sat astride her winged stallion, Mahrsan, and was surrounded by her personal guards. By her flushed cheeks and wind-tousled hair, Rahkki guessed she had just returned from a flight. Dismounting, she spotted them and her gaze arced across the courtyard like an arrow.
Tuni, Harak, and Brauk dipped their heads.
Lilliam strode closer to the Headwinds, leading Mahrsan, who was hot from flight. “Are the wildling mares bedded and grained for the night?” she asked, her eyes landing on Harak.
“Yes, my queen,” he answered.
Her eyes lingered over his glossy blond hair, green eyes, and sun-darkened skin. The corners of her lips flickered. “Cool my stallion out for me.” Lilliam handed him the reins.
“Yes, my queen.” Harak smiled and walked away, taking Mahrsan on a long walk.
With a curt nod, Lilliam dism
issed Tuni and Brauk, and ignored Rahkki. She strode away with her back straight and with no evidence of the waddle that was common in the final month of pregnancy.
Once the queen had disappeared into the inner chambers of Fort Prowl, Rahkki let out his breath.
Tuni flashed him a compassionate smile, and her daring brown eyes reminded Rahkki of his mother.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded.
She pointed at Brauk. “We start training those wild mares tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
Her eyes drifted back to Rahkki. “It’s too bad you’re leaving in the morning; you could help us train them. You’ll hate farming, you know.” Sky Guard Riders like Tuni couldn’t imagine a life stuck on the ground,
“Farming suits me just fine,” Rahkki answered. He wasn’t sure if this was true, but even if he wanted to join the Sky Guard, he couldn’t afford a Kihlara Flier, not even a skinny, untrained one like Sula.
Tuni brushed her finger across Rahkki’s cheek. “Good night, Sunchaser.”
That brought a smile to Rahkki’s face. Sunchaser was the moon spirit, and he was always brooding because he lived in the dark. “Good night, Tuni.”
Brauk and Rahkki climbed the stairs to their small room. While they dressed for sleep, Rahkki chattered about the move to the farm as if he was okay with it. This would be his last night living with his brother. He stopped short when Brauk leaped across the floor, snatched him up, and tossed him onto his bed, imitating the roar of a Gorlan giant.
Squealing, Rahkki brandished a pretend dagger.
They wrestled, and Brauk allowed Rahkki to pin him. Then he twisted free, hurled Rahkki down again, and sat on his chest. “Let’s play stones,” Brauk said.
Rahkki thrashed under his brother’s weight. “Really?” Brauk never wanted to play stones with him.
“Yes,” Brauk answered, “but quick, before I change my mind.”
Rahkki’s heart raced, and Brauk turned him loose. He fumbled with his satchel and pulled out the wooden playing board and the small, smooth stones, placing four in each shallow cup on the board.
“Losers go last,” Brauk said, pointing at Rahkki.
“But I haven’t lost yet,” he protested.
“Ah, but you admit to its inevitability.” Brauk grinned, leaning forward. He wore only trousers, and the lamplight highlighted each muscle in Brauk’s chest and arms. As his brother took up a handful of stones for his first turn, Rahkki stared at him, wondering if he’d look like Brauk when he grew up.
“Come on, what are you waiting for?” Brauk asked after finishing his turn.
Shaking off his thoughts, Rahkki sat down on his brother’s mattress. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d played a game, any game. He grabbed a handful of stones and worked his way around the carved-wood board. Then it was Brauk’s turn again.
“Is rice farming hard work?” Rahkki asked as they played.
Brauk shrugged. “Don’t know, really.”
Uncle Darthan invited his nephews over for supper once every ten days or so. He and his sister, Reyella, had been close when she was alive, but evenings on the farm were quiet. The brothers ate. Darthan smoked his pipe. Sometimes he told clan stories by the outdoor fire pit, but only on clear nights, in case the dragons were hunting.
“I wish I could stay and help you train those wild mares,” Rahkki said.
“Maybe if I run into trouble I can borrow you.” Brauk pushed on Rahkki’s foot with his. Rahkki smiled and pushed back.
They ended up playing three more rounds of stones before Brauk started yawning. “Will you visit me?” Rahkki asked.
Brauk pulled away. “This isn’t good-bye.”
Tears filled Rahkki’s eyes. It felt like good-bye.
“Don’t start,” Brauk warned. “That crying stuff is for tots, right?”
Rahkki nodded.
“You’re just going to Uncle’s farm, not to the empire. I can get to you fast if I take Kol. Don’t wait on me though.
The Gorlan hordes are on the move, and Lilliam can’t make a decision. I’ve got things to do. You understand?”
Rahkki packed away the game. “I understand,” he said, and smiled to prove it.
Brauk extinguished the oil lamp beside his bed.
As Rahkki scooted off the mattress to find his own bed in the dark, Brauk snatched his wrist.
“What is it?” Rahkki asked.
Brauk squeezed tighter, his breath hitching. Then he yanked Rahkki close and embraced him, hugging the air out of him. Rahkki felt his brother’s hot tears drop onto his short hair, and Brauk’s breaths were shallow, as though he were the one being squeezed near to death.
“I’ll miss you, little rat,” Brauk said in a tight breath.
Rahkki’s lungs felt ready to burst, so he couldn’t answer, but he relaxed in Brauk’s arms. Soon the two were fast asleep, piled like puppies on the cot, the way they’d slept when they were small children.
14
The Princess
RAHKKI WOKE BEFORE DAWN. ONCE HE WAS away at the farm, Brauk would have to oil his own leathers, file Kol’s hooves, mix his grain, and polish his weapons by himself. Rahkki would miss being his brother’s groom, and he’d miss living in Fort Prowl.
His mind drifted to the wild mares, and he knew he had to see them again before he left. Sliding out of bed, Rahkki tiptoed across the room, being careful not to wake his brother. He lifted an overripe banana off the small, square dining table beneath their window. Outside, the sky lightened from black to gray as he packed his satchel and a backpack and left the room, peeling the banana. He had to shove hard on the stubborn door to close it, then he
descended the circular steps of the inner tower.
Each floor had a landing and a dusty exterior window to let in sunlight, but it was still too early for them to provide much illumination, so Rahkki felt his way down the steps with one hand on the wall. It was difficult to believe that everything he owned fit into two small bags. Even sadder was his purse. Eight jints clanged against each other at the bottom of it—enough for a few pounds of dried fish, or a packet of spices, or a pair of used sandals—but not enough to feel secure. He reached the end of the stairwell and leaped over the final four steps, landing lightly on his feet. Uncle Darthan would feed and clothe him now, as was expected in an apprenticeship.
Rahkki exited the tower and approached the iron gates.
“Ay, who goes?” asked a posted guard.
“Rahkki Stormrunner, off to begin my apprenticeship.”
“You can’t wait until the morning bells ring?” the guard asked, irritated.
“Uncle wants me to start at dawn, not after.” That was a lie and Rahkki felt bad for it, but he wouldn’t have time to visit the wild mares if he didn’t leave now.
The guard grumbled and logged Rahkki’s departure
with a mark in his book. While Rahkki waited, he stared up at the tall double gates and the walls that were thirty lengths high. The fortress seemed overengineered for the small Sandwen people who lived inside, but it wasn’t built to contain them. It was built to keep the Gorlan hordes, their saber cats, and their massive elephants out. The Fifth Clan had paid royal engineers from Daakur to construct the fortress six hundred years earlier, and it had withstood countless raids and sieges since. The guard closed his book and unlocked the smaller wooden gate that allowed single individuals quick passage in and out of the courtyard.
Rahkki jogged down the wide laddered trail that led from the mossy fortress to the Kihlari stable. Already he could smell the scent of the winged steeds in the air, and his heart thumped faster. He seemed the only person awake as he skipped through the dark training yard, his eyes fixed on the barn. The jungle surrounding the Fifth Clan settlement was quietest before dawn, as though inhaling a long breath before the explosion of noise that would announce the arrival of the sun and the wakening of the clan.
Thwack!
Something struck Rahkki in the ba
ck of the head and
he flew forward, striking the ground so hard it knocked the breath out of him. The missile rolled into his line of vision—a coconut.
“Where are you going so fast?” asked a deep voice. And Rahkki heard snickering.
He sat up, unable to speak. But he knew that voice. It was Mut Finn, the Sandwen teen who never had anything better to do than make trouble. He and two friends came around from the side of the hill.
“I asked you a question,” said Mut, sauntering in front of Rahkki. He was fifteen years old and already the tallest male in the clan. Because of his size and bright-red hair, kids joked he had Gorlan blood in him—but never to his face.
Rahkki would normally run, but Mut was standing between him and Sula, and Rahkki wanted to see that wild mare again. He lurched unsteadily to his feet. “I left something in the barn,” he answered, wheezing. But why was Mut out this early? His gang was breathing hard and dressed in black. Rahkki guessed they’d been out teasing droolers, the smaller dragons.
Mut smirked, eyeing Rahkki’s bags. “I think I left something in your purse.”
Rahkki blanched. It was time to run.
But Mut’s long arm snatched him before he could take off. He ripped Rahkki’s purse off his belt and opened it, feeling around inside.
Rahkki grimaced and his gut burned with helpless anger. He’d fought Mut before, when the teen was a head shorter, and that hadn’t gone well. Now that Mut was man-size, fighting him was useless.
“There they are.” Mut grinned, pulling out Rahkki’s coins. “My eight jints. I knew I’d left these somewhere.” He pocketed the last of Rahkki’s money, grinned, and tossed the purse on the ground. “Thanks, Stormrunner,” he said with mock politeness. Then he and his gang ran off, as swift as shadows.
Rahkki picked up the torn, empty purse. That’s it, he thought. I’ve not a coin to my name. He laughed without humor, sounding exactly like his brother, and stuffed the purse into his satchel. Fuming, he arrived at the wooden doors of the Kihlari barn. Rahkki knocked softly and waited, looking around. The horse pasture and the homes of his clansmen bordered the Kihlari training yard. A few of his people were awake, tending immature fires and feeding livestock.
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