But Talen had had enough. His anger rose, and suddenly he was in two places. The part of him that was in front of her ducked, barely avoiding a blow to the head. The other part reached around and struck her from behind.
Her eyes went wide and she faltered. That gave Talen an opening, and he took it, striking her solidly in the gut.
She gasped and winced. He struck again. “Ha!” he said.
River clutched her stomach and stepped back. “What did you just do?” she asked.
“Taught you some respect,” he said. Although he still didn’t feel quite himself and the double vision was confusing him. He closed his eyes.
“I felt you clawing at me.”
It was like the dream he’d had the night before where he’d seen the slayer upon the wall. “I don’t know,” he said, blinking. The room whirled, and then his vision resolved.
“Yes, you do,” she said, “and you’re going to tell me even if I have to beat it out of you.”
“I think that’s exactly what you just—”
River held her hand up for silence. Outside someone whistled loudly.
That was the signal warning of danger coming down the road. Talen raised his eyebrows. They ran to the window and cracked the shutter. A dark column of smoke rose in the distance.
Farmer Len had placed his children to watch both of the approaches to the farm. When a pair spotted someone on the road, one of them was to ride back to the farm on a pony. If the other that stayed behind perceived danger, he or she was to ignite a heap of straw that would burn with a thick black smoke, and then flee.
“Saddle Scruff,” River said and ran for the barn door.
His given name was Blue Boot, an obvious reference to the coloring of his legs, which was the coloring of the wild horses on the Kish plains. But Scruff wasn’t one of those wild horses; he was a mix of who knew what. His body was a sandy brown that gave way to a neck and head of mottled gray. His coat was a bit too long in places. His build was odd, looking to be a poor mix of charger and runner. However, the important thing was not his lack of beauty, his ancestry, or name, but his surprising acceleration and sure foot. River had been training with him to become a firesteed. But not like the mounts some dreadmen rode that wore weaves full of horse Fire. Scruff received Fire directly from River’s touch, often to his neck or withers. This meant she had some control over his multiplication. The weave was only there to help guide her.
Fire, Talen had learned, could be given without harm from any living thing to another. But it was not so when taken. Filtering rods could catch much of the soul of the specific creature, but there were essential parts of a species that no rod could touch. And so humans couldn’t breed animals for their Fire because humans couldn’t consume animal Fire without consuming those essential parts and becoming twisted by them.
Scruff had taken to the training. He liked to run and jump. But horses, just like men, had to learn to wear their power, and that took a lot of time. Scruff was not a full firesteed yet. If River pushed him too hard, his body would be overmatched. He’d suffer the clumsiness Talen did. But even worse, it would become easier to run the animal to death. One had to be careful and give the animal plenty of time to recover from a firerun.
Scruff stood in the corral outside the barn, snuffling the last bits of hay from his feeding. Talen grabbed the bridle, opened the door to the corral, and whistled. River did not believe in using food to entice a horse to you because what happened if you needed to catch the horse while out riding and didn’t have some treat? She felt it was a bad lesson to teach them. So Talen hadn’t used food to catch Scruff, but that hadn’t prevented him from using food to curry some friendship. He had an old carrot in his pocket; he held it up and whistled again. Scruff eyed the carrot, then began to mosey over. Talen didn’t want to spook him, so he didn’t run to the animal, but did quicken his gait. When he reached the horse, he slipped the bit into Scruff’s mouth and the bridle onto his head. Then he fed the horse the carrot.
Two hooded crows swooped low over the corral, cawed, and took positions on top of the fence. Behind them the thin pillar of black smoke rose in the distance above the trees.
Talen tied Scruff to a post and fetched the blanket and his special saddle. The saddle used by firesteeds was slightly different from a normal saddle because both the front and back were built higher to help keep the rider upon the animal. Talen put the big saddle on the horse and straightened it. He attached the saddle bags and tightened the belly strap.
River came running to the corral with Farmer Len, carrying a water bladder. “Quickly,” Len said. “Out the back!”
Because firesteeds accelerated and stopped so quickly, they required both chest and rump straps as well. Talen tightened the chest straps while River secured the rump.
Len packed the water and some food in the saddle bags, and they mounted. Then Len opened the gate to the corral. “Go!” he said and waved them out.
Scruff wanted to run. If they’d been training, they would have made sure to trot him for a distance first, but this wasn’t training. River gave him his head, and Scruff shot forth with such a surge that if Talen hadn’t been clinging to River, he would have tumbled right off the rump.
A group of hens scratched the dirt in the road. Scruff raced toward them; the hens looked up in alarm, then scattered with squawks and a flutter of wings.
Talen scooted closer to River and took a better grip on the saddle. Just before they turned a bend in the narrow road, he looked back. Len was closing the gate and was motioning to his wife and girl to walk slowly and act calm.
Talen hadn’t really known Len, Tinker, or any of their children. Yet they’d been willing to put themselves in terrible danger for his sake. His heart swelled with gratitude. He hoped this was all a false alarm and that whoever was coming just passed through.
The road bent left into the trees and then down into a small wash and out of view of the farm. Water ran in a small stream at the bottom. Scruff raced down the bank, splashed through the water, surged up the other side onto a good path with not too much incline, allowing him to stretch his gait into a full gallop.
Talen leaned forward. “Have you multiplied him?”
“Not yet,” River shot back.
She obviously wanted to give him time to warm his body. They galloped for a short distance along the trail through the wood, Scruff kicking up the fallen autumn leaves that littered the ground. Behind them, the trail was mostly long and straight. Anyone coming up from the wash would see them, and Talen expected someone to appear at any moment.
His tension built until River rode Scruff around a bend along the base of a hill, and Talen sighed in relief. They galloped down a short stretch, and then River cursed and brought Scruff up short. It took Scruff a number of steps to stop, and Talen had to brace himself from falling forward and off the horse.
“What is it?” he asked. The road continued in a line for about fifty more yards and then opened onto a wide meadowland where some of the Shoka lords ran cattle and goats. The trees had dropped a good portion of their leaves and the meadow was visible through the gray trunks.
“There’s someone up ahead.”
Talen looked, but couldn’t see anything. Scruff snorted. His ears pricked forward.
“I saw the hind end of a horse,” River said.
“You sure it wasn’t some stray cow?”
“With a saddle on it?”
River backed Scruff up. Up ahead, those who were waiting must have known their game was up, for there was a sudden commotion, and three men and their horses rose from the ground. A fourth charged out, already on his mount.
The men did not wear any clan colors, only dark clothing. The same clothing he’d seen the night of the attack. “Lovely,” Talen said.
River turned Scruff and gave him her heels. Again, he shot forth with his marvelous acceleration. They ga
lloped back down the short stretch to the bend around the hill only to find three more riders down at the far end of the long trail from Len’s, pushing their horses hard.
That made at least seven of them. There was no way he and River would ever equalize those odds.
River slowed Scruff from a gallop into a trot. “Watch the branches,” she said and turned Scruff off the road into the trees. There would be no galloping here.
A small branch whacked Talen in the face. He ducked the next one. River bent as low as she could over Scruff’s neck. Talen bent low with her.
“We should go back to the fortress,” he said.
“No,” said River. “They’ll be expecting that. And there’s only one way back, which means they’ll probably have men waiting on that road.”
“We can go along the coast, cut through the woods.”
“And remove Scruff’s speed? They’ll catch us for sure. No. I’m taking you where I should have to begin with.”
“Where’s that?”
“Shush,” said River and led Scruff deeper into the woods. They skirted a tangle of brambles, pushed through a wet area, Scruff’s hooves sinking deep, then quietly rode through a scattering of large stones. Talen could hear their pursuit shouting through the trees. They were fast.
He realized the children watching this approach should have lit their warning beacon, but there wasn’t any smoke. He hoped they hadn’t been caught. But how had the dreadmen even known to come here? How had they known to set a trap? Nobody had visited this farmer. In fact, Len had hung yellow scarves on the road to warn travelers that people were sick with fever and they should stay away.
He and River rode into a clearing made by a fallen elm and turned toward the meadow again. Above him two hooded crows cawed. There had been two hooded crows back at the farm. Crows and ravens knew to follow armies because they’d eventually get a feast. But there was no army here.
“Can you enthrall birds?” he asked.
“Anything with soul can be enthralled,” she said.
Talen looked back up at the birds. “There are two crows keeping pace with us. I think they’re the same ones that were at the farm.”
River glanced up. “And they call us sleth,” she said in disgust. “First chance you get, you shoot them.”
Talen strung his bow, but there were too many branches between him and the birds for the bow to do much good. They traveled on, Talen watching the tree line. Scruff passed a lone white birch, its leaves a column of blazing yellow. Not much later the edge of the wood appeared through the trees ahead, the sun shining down on the meadow grass beyond. Once they reached that open ground, they could give Scruff his lead, let him run with Fire, and leave these whoresons to chew on his sod.
Something moved off to Talen’s left. He turned. Through the trees a dark-clad rider angled his bay horse on an intercept course.
“On our left!” Talen said. He ducked to miss another branch.
River saw the threat and turned Scruff away from it and urged him faster. Scruff’s pace quickened, but it wasn’t the full gallop of a firesteed. It couldn’t be.
Then the dreadman leapt from his mount and begin to run on foot, easily outpacing his horse.
“He’s coming!” Talen said.
River kicked Scruff who broke into a canter. The tree line was so close, the meadow shining in the sun, but the man was faster. He charged from the side.
Talen nocked an arrow, but River suddenly rose from the saddle. She swung her leg over and jumped to the ground. She took two strides, keeping pace with the horse. “Ride!” she shouted at Talen. Then she drew her two knives and turned to face the dreadman.
Talen bumped along behind the saddle. He wasn’t going to ride. Hadn’t she been the one to say the first thing you did in any fight was try to outnumber the enemy? He hopped forward into the saddle, shoved his feet into the stirrups, and grabbed the reins. Then he pulled Scruff into a halt and turned him around. Talen scanned the woods. He didn’t see any other slayers, but that could change in a moment.
The dark-clad slayer charged River. She stepped aside, slashed at him. He parried her blow, forced her back.
“Gee!” Talen yelled and put his heels into Scruff’s flanks. Scruff had been trained as a warhorse. That word and heel pressure together were the command to charge. Scruff shot forth. If nothing else, Talen would ride that dreadman down.
Talen still held his bow. There were too many branches in the way, but he needed to distract the slayer. He dropped the reins, gripped with his thighs, aimed, and released. The arrow missed, flying just past the man, but the slayer glanced in Talen’s direction. It was enough: River lunged and thrust her knife into the dreadman’s thigh.
He grimaced.
River pulled back, but she wasn’t quite fast enough, and the dreadman sliced down, cutting her forearm.
Talen and Scruff thundered down upon them. Talen picked up the reins. “Faw!” he shouted, and Scruff surged forward.
The dreadman rolled to the right.
River stepped to the left, but as Talen and Scruff charged past, she leapt, grabbing the saddle with her good hand, and swung a leg up and over. A moment later she sat behind the saddle. “I told you to ride!” she shouted.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he shouted back.
Behind them the slayer tried to hobble after them, but the thigh wound had done its job.
Talen turned Scruff, dug in his heels, and headed at a different angle for the wide meadow. Scruff surged forward, and they raced toward the tree line and the sunlit grass. Talen wondered why River had gone for the dreadman’s thigh, but now he saw the foresight of that move. That dreadman would have expected a mortal blow to the chest and might have slipped her attack. As it was, River hadn’t killed him, but she’d certainly taken him out of the fight.
A rock glanced off a tree just to Talen’s left. Talen looked back to see the injured dreadman pick up another rock. Maybe he wasn’t out of the fight just yet. Talen urged Scruff faster.
“Riders!” River yelled.
Out in the meadow two dreadman raced along the tree line to intercept them.
Talen kicked Scruff again. He leapt over a small pine and thundered toward the tree line and the meadow beyond, but there was no way he and River would beat the dreadmen at this pace.
“You’ve got to multiply him!” Talen shouted.
“Give me the reins!” she said.
He held them up to her, bent low and to the side, then slid out of the saddle and stirrups. River used a bounce from Scruff’s gate, leapfrogged over Talen, and landed in the saddle. She slid her feet into the stirrups. “Hold on!” she said.
Talen gripped Scruff with his thighs.
The riders drew their swords.
River leaned forward. Talen pressed himself into her back, bracing for what was to come.
“Grab the front of the saddle!” she said.
Talen reached around her waist with both arms and grasped the saddle barely a scond before Scruff shot forth.
River gave him her heels, and he accelerated even faster. This was only the third time Talen had ridden Scruff. His power was frightening, and Talen clutched the front of the saddle for all he was worth.
The dreadmen’s horses were stretched out at a full gallop, but Scruff’s stride was so quick, so long, that he covered the remaining few yards to the tree line in a blink. Scruff charged through the brush, another branch whipped Talen’s hat right off his head. Then they burst from the wood into the sunlit meadow only a pace in front of the dreadmen.
The lead dreadman raised his sword and slashed at Scruff’s rump as he passed. Talen cringed, expecting Scruff to falter or stumble, but Scruff was running so fast the dreadman’s sword connected with nothing but air.
Scruff, impossibly, surged forward even faster. Talen leaned into River and gripped the
front of the saddle tighter. He squeezed Scruff’s flanks with his thighs. Truly, they were flying. They were the wind itself. If he was careless for one moment, he would tumble off and break upon the ground.
He glanced back. Scruff’s hind hooves threw clumps of turf in huge arcs twenty feet high. Back by the trees, the dreadmen turned their horses to give chase.
River aimed Scruff for the road.
The dreadmen who had been chasing Talen and River through the woods broke from the trees into the meadow. He expected them to multiply their mounts, but as he watched, the distance between Scruff and their lead horses lengthened.
Talen didn’t know how far Scruff could run at this pace. River had said firesteeds could easily be run to death, which was why River hadn’t multiplied him until it had been absolutely necessary. Furthermore, firesteeds, like any horse, were not immune to stumbling, slipping, or stepping into the hole of a groundhog and breaking a leg. Talen didn’t want to think about Scruff taking a tumble at this speed.
Scruff hurdled something and Talen found himself nearly flying over River’s head. He clutched at the saddle, then slammed back down behind her and righted himself, trying with all his might to stick to Scruff like a tick on a dog.
The trees lining the meadow flew past. River shouted, “Hold tight!”
Scruff slowed, and Talen strained not to lose his seat. Then they turned on the road and Scruff shot forward again. The road was hard, perfect for speed. Scruff surged forward. In half a dozen strides they were flying over it, literally. His gallop was a thrump, thrump, thrump, the trees along the road speeding by impossibly fast. They raced through brightly colored leaves fluttering in the breeze. The thrill of the ride rose in him, and Talen couldn’t contain himself. He whooped for joy, turned to watch their pursuers fall behind, and whooped again.
Above the tops of the trees a crow cawed, but Talen didn’t dare let go to use his bow.
They kept the same blinding pace for two, maybe three miles. And it was blinding. The rushing of the wind from their speed made Talen weep and squint. Firesteed riders sometimes wore goggles. He’d thought it silly. Now he knew it wasn’t silly at all.
Curse: The Dark God Book 2 Page 25
