Riders of the Realm #2

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  On the beach, three Daakuran outlanders were loading a dinghy full of spices and furs. Two young burners, just purchased from the First Clan traders, fluttered within an intricate blackwood cage set on the bow of the boat. The tiny fire-breathing dragons hissed in outrage and shot out every color of fire in their arsenal—from incinerating blue to the coldest purple—but they could not affect the impervious and fireproof blackwood cage.

  “Poor dragons,” I’Lenna murmured. “Heading to the zoo, I imagine.”

  Other Daakurans haggled, some dined. A few Sandwens lingered, doing business or chatting with the traders, but most of the clans didn’t travel here until after the napping hour. Rahkki didn’t recognize anyone from his clan except Tuni’s mother, Kashik.

  Kashik Hightower cooked here each day and sold her food to the hungry shoppers, turning a high profit that kept Tuni and Rizah well supplied with armor and hay. From Kashik’s tent, Rahkki smelled simmering pork soup, fried snake, rice wine, and honeyed fruit.

  “Ay, Rahkki,” Kashik called to him over the pot of soup.

  “Ay, Kashi,” he greeted, using her nickname.

  “Cup of broth? No charge for the new Rider.” She winked at him.

  “Thank you, maybe later,” he answered.

  I’Lenna touched Rahkki’s arm. “I need some things for Firo; I’ll be in there.” She pointed to the leather smith’s tent. She tied Firo to a hitching post and entered, greeting the trader in polished Talu, the language of the empire.

  Just then a figure strode out of the metal smith’s tent next door, surprising Rahkki. It was Ossi’s brother, Mut.

  Mut spotted Rahkki standing beside his Kihlara mare and froze, his face twisting. Rahkki halted, waiting as Mut’s eyes raked across Sula’s wings and wiry muscles. Envy radiated off Mut like heat rays off sand. “You trained her to wear tack already?”

  “Not really,” Rahkki said, shrugging. “She’s cooperating, that’s all.”

  Mut reached absently to pet Sula’s neck, but she whinnied a sharp warning to stay back. He quickly withdrew his hand. “I still don’t get why she chose you,” he remarked bitterly.

  Rahkki’s cheeks burned hotter because he knew Sula was only using him to save her friends. Maybe she was starting to like him, to trust him, but Rahkki was not fooled. Sula was too wild for him to keep forever. When she no longer needed him, she’d fly away, leaving him a Half. His throat tightened. Don’t think about it.

  Mut’s eyes drifted to Firo tied to the hitching post. “I wish they’d let us try to win the roan mare too. I’Lenna could have any Kihlara in the clans, couldn’t she? Why’d her mother have to buy her that one?”

  Rahkki didn’t know what to say. Three years ago, Mut had bragged to everyone that his father was going to buy him a Flier for his sixteenth birthday. The following summer, his dad used the money to abandon his Sandwen family and marry a Daakuran woman. Now he worked in a cobbler’s shop in the empire, making boots. Mut’s father had sold his son’s dreams to buy himself a new life.

  The older boy seemed to sense Rahkki’s mounting pity, and he stood taller, brightening. “At least I get to kill giants.” He spat on the sand and tucked his thumbs into his breeches. “The queen drafted all the teens into the Land Guard. I just ordered my armor and weapons.” Mut showed Rahkki his rations paper, marked by General Tsun. Land soldiers received free food and gear, since joining the Land Guard army was mandatory for most Sandwens.

  Rahkki felt suddenly cold as he imagined Mut Finn battling the elephant-riding giants, racing toward death, when he should be swimming with his friends and playing in the jungle. This was the queen’s fault! Rahkki considered Koko’s warning that keeping the uneducated queen was more dangerous than ousting her. He had to admit she made a fine point.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Mut asked, narrowing his eyes. “You buying?” He loomed over Rahkki, eyeing his satchel. Mut had robbed Rahkki on several occasions in the past, but Rahkki held his ground.

  “I’m selling,” he said coolly, and he hoped that was true. Everything depended on how much coin he received in exchange for Drael’s ceremonial blanket.

  Mut lost interest. “Doubt they’ll want anything you got.” He bent over laughing as he walked toward his family’s land pony tied in the shade. He released the pinto from the thin palm tree, leaped onto his back, and galloped into the jungle.

  Rahkki turned and walked past the metal smith’s tent. It was time to find out what the bejeweled blanket was worth.

  20

  Negotiation

  “AY,” RAHKKI SAID AS HE ENTERED THE EXPORT tent. A Daakuran female sat behind a wide teak desk. Her assistant worked near the shelves, organizing their stock, and an armed soldier guarded their treasury and wares.

  “Ay,” the woman greeted, but after a cursory glance at Rahkki’s tattered clothing, she frowned. “There’s a free table outside, broken stuff and whatnot. Take what you like.” She spoke to him in his language and then returned to her papers, dismissing him.

  Rahkki cleared his throat and switched to Talu. “Actually, I have something to sell.”

  Startled, she pushed her curly black hair out of her face and peered more closely at him. Her skin was smooth, unwrinkled by the sun. Her clothes were soft and fine, the colors pale. Like all Daakurans, she appeared freshly bathed. Even her nails were clean. She slid her papers aside and gave him her full attention. “Well, what do you have?”

  He approached her desk, opened his satchel, and lifted out Drael’s ceremonial blanket, spreading it across her desk. Awed silence followed, and Rahkki viewed the blanket with fresh eyes. The fabric was stunning in comparison to the finery around it. His imagination had tricked him! Rahkki’s heart swelled with pride and sorrow. “I’m selling this,” he said, his voice shaky.

  The woman stood up fast and came around to finger the fabric. Her assistant dropped what was in her hands and joined them, whispering over the merchant woman’s shoulder. They examined the intricate beadwork, the seams, the texture, and the tassels. Next, the trader produced a jeweler’s eyeglass and examined the precious stones one by one. Then she returned to her seat behind the desk and stared intently at Rahkki. Outside, Sula stretched and folded her wings. “Is this that mare’s blanket?” the woman asked, nodding toward his silver Flier.

  Rahkki shook his head.

  She let out her breath, her eyes drifting down to his scuffed boots. “Did you steal it?”

  “No!” His outrage burned as pure as a smokeless fire. “I’m Rahkki Stormrunner, bloodborn prince of the Fifth Clan. This blanket belonged to my mother, Queen Reyella Stormrunner. Her Kihlara stallion wore it.”

  “You’re a prince?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “And no.” He would always be bloodborn, a Sandwen prince, but he’d been cast adrift from any particular throne.

  The Daakuran woman leaned back, appearing amused and impressed at the same time. “I’m Willa Green,” she said. “Just Willa Green, no fancy titles like you.”

  Rahkki nodded, waiting, and Willa continued. “So you’re one of those bloodborn kids, a descendant of the Seven Sisters?”

  “That’s right.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Are you magical?”

  Rahkki frowned. “No, I’m not magical.”

  She appraised him like she’d appraised the blanket, studying his face, the feathers tied to his belt, the stitching on his satchel.

  He felt like a trinket—a Sandwen doll—the kind they sold in droves at the port in Daakur. “How much for the blanket?” he pressed. His Talu was rusty, and his head had begun to ache from using it.

  “I’ll tell you in just a moment.” She returned her attention to the fabric, counting the different types of jewels and crystals. Then she produced a fresh parchment and began scratching symbols on it. She mumbled as she worked, counting numbers and thinking. Her assistant helped, scanning the seams for damage and signs of wear, and then relaying the information to the trader.

  Rahkki was at W
illa’s mercy. If she didn’t purchase the blanket, he and Sula would have to fly to Daakur and sell it in the empire. That would take time, and it was dangerous for a kid. He could speak Talu, but he couldn’t read it, so he’d be dependent on the help of strangers to navigate. He had no coin to lease a room, so he’d have to sleep in the borderlands. And besides all that, the Daakurans didn’t hold Sandwens in high regard. Only their queens and merchants were treated well in Daakur, and that was in part because they traveled with armed warriors and in part because everyone who had money to spend was treated well.

  He closed his eyes, and his mother’s long dark hair and kind eyes flickered across his mind. How could he sell this last piece of her? Just then Sula nickered, as if encouraging him, and Rahkki let out his breath. He was doing the right thing. He had no choice.

  He turned his attention back to Willa, hoping for a large offer, because on top of Sula’s expenses, he also had to feed Brauk’s stallion, Kol; and he wanted to reimburse Brim for Brauk’s medicine. Rahkki was hoping for two full rounds. That would be enough to meet his immediate needs. He tried not to fidget.

  “Okay,” Willa finally said. “I’ll give you three rounds.”

  “Three rounds!” Rahkki gaped at her. Three rounds were more than he’d hoped for!

  She frowned. “It’s the best I can do, Rahkki Stormrider . . . Stormraider. . . .” She struggled to remember his name, then gave up. “If you don’t like it, go to Daakur.”

  He couldn’t speak. Three rounds was a fortune. Did Willa have that much coin in her treasury? No wonder she had a guard.

  She tapped her fingers as she waited for him to agree, then she exhaled. “All right, look, I’ll throw in a spyglass. I bought it off a sailor just today. Here.” She handed Rahkki a seaman’s spyglass.

  He was about to object, since he had no use for a spyglass, but then he realized it was something he could sell or trade later. He took it, pretending to study it for flaws.

  “So, do we have a deal?” Willa pressed.

  He squinted at her and noticed her right eye twitching. It lasted just a second and then vanished; otherwise her expression seemed carved of stone. Traders were known for giving low figures. What if the blanket was worth more than three rounds? But Rahkki didn’t want to risk losing the deal by questioning Willa, and three rounds more than suited his needs. He fingered the blanket, imagining how his mother’s stallion must have looked wearing it, and tears moistened his eyes. “Well—”

  “There you are!” I’Lenna glided into the export tent and caught sight of the glimmering Kihlara blanket, and her breath hitched. “Are you selling that, Rahkki?”

  The Daakuran trader grimaced. “Ay, Princess I’Lenna.”

  “Ay, Willa.” I’Lenna narrowed her eyes at the trader. “What did you offer him?”

  Rahkki answered. “Three rounds and a spyglass.”

  “Huh.” I’Lenna swooped the fabric off the desk and lifted her chin. “I don’t think so. Five rounds.”

  Rahkki blanched. I’Lenna was going to unwind his negotiation!

  But Willa glared at the princess, her expression resigned. “Three and a half.”

  I’Lenna leaned over the desk, eye to eye with Willa, and raised one eyebrow. “Four rounds or I’ll buy it off the boy myself and sell it in Daakur for eight.”

  It was Willa’s turn to blanch. “All right, all right, four rounds.” She plucked the spyglass out of Rahkki’s fingers. “But I’m keeping this.”

  “Deal,” I’Lenna said. She spat on her hand and offered it to the trader—a Sandwen gesture. Willa pursed her lips, spat, and slapped hands with the princess. Then she motioned to a guard, and he counted out four full coins of the Realm and placed them in Rahkki’s palm.

  “Sign here,” Willa said, sliding over a piece of parchment and a quill.

  Rahkki stared at it. He didn’t know how to write or read.

  I’Lenna whisked the quill off the desk and spoke as she wrote on the paper. “Rahkki Stormrunner, son of Reyella Stormrunner, bloodborn prince of the Fifth Clan.” She finished the signature with a mighty flourish of the quill.

  Willa took the signed receipt, blew on the ink to dry it, and then dismissed them with a wave.

  Rahkki followed I’Lenna out of the tent, stunned. His mother’s blanket was gone, but in its place were four full coins of the Realm, worth four hundred dramals. A Sandwen villager could live for years on such funds. They paused when they were out of earshot. Rahkki stared at the coins and whispered in wonder, “I can’t believe it.”

  I’Lenna snorted like a horse. “Willa Green knows what that blanket is worth in Daakur. Anything related to our Kihlari steeds is a collector’s item there. Willa got a good deal, but so did you. Four rounds will go far in the clans, and we don’t have time to fly to Daakur.”

  “How do you know all this?” Rahkki asked. I’Lenna had been raised in the same village he had. She’d played in the same mud, listened to the same stories, and eaten the same foods; but at this moment, she seemed from another world.

  “My mom doesn’t just take me to Daakur to visit museums, Rahkki,” I’Lenna said, laughing. “We shop. We haggle. I learned from the best.” She paused, tugging self-consciously on her blue silk blouse. “Did that blanket belong to your mother?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” she said gently, and they each felt the bitter sting of the past.

  Rahkki shrugged. “It’s not your fault, I’Lenna.”

  The princess straightened. “Still, I’m sorry.” The sun sloped overhead, traveling quickly west. “I have to be back before end of light. Let’s get your armor and go home.” She smiled, wide and carefree, dazzling him, and then she turned to Firo.

  As Rahkki watched the crown princess cuddle and coo to her wild mare, he fought hard against his rising doubts about her. I’Lenna had just helped him, but she’d also lied to him about meeting with the general—and hidden things were dangerous. The jungle had taught him that. Predators hid and then ambushed. You never saw them until their fangs were upon you.

  But in spite of her lie, I’Lenna was his friend, his true friend. Rahkki didn’t know much, but he believed that.

  21

  Armor

  ECHOFROST HAD WATCHED RAHKKI TRADE THE Kihlara blanket she’d worn at the Sandwen auction for four large stamped coins. “Now he can help me,” she nickered to Shysong.

  “He looks sad,” the roan mare nickered back.

  Echofrost shrugged her wings. “Rahkki always looks sad.”

  “I’m serious,” Shysong said. “I don’t think he wanted to give that blanket away. It’s special to him.” She turned to Echofrost. “That cub really cares about you. He’s made your fight his fight.”

  Echofrost peered more intently at Rahkki. He had done many hard things since they’d met, and all for her. “He reminds me of Star,” she said.

  Shysong snorted, pointing her black-edged feathers at the undersized Sandwen boy. “How does that cub remind you of the most powerful pegasus in Anok?”

  “They both do hard things,” Echofrost answered. “In spite of the fact that no one believes in them.”

  “I believe in Star,” Shysong said, lashing her black tail.

  “That’s because you met him after he’d proved himself. I knew Star when he was a colt, when the over-stallions wanted him dead and when members of his own herd betrayed him. It’s the same with Rahkki—the leader of his clan fears him, but Rahkki is . . . he’s innocent.” Echofrost inhaled sharply. “I’m going to get him killed, I know it. Look at him!”

  They both gazed at Rahkki. He and I’Lenna had returned from the tents, and now the little cub was struggling to lift her heavy packages off the ground. The roan mare huffed. “Don’t worry so much, Echofrost. The Sky Guard will protect him.”

  “I’m not sure they will,” the silver mare answered, remembering how Harak abused the boy.

  Rahkki and I’Lenna finished loading her packages, and then they led the mares to anot
her tent, this one full of chest plates, helmets, shields, and other protective wear. “Finally,” Echofrost nickered. “He’s going to get our armor.”

  The metal smith stood from where he’d been pounding out a helmet and approached them, bowing low to I’Lenna. “Ay, Princess Whitehall.” He turned to Rahkki. “You must be Rahkki Stormrunner.”

  “I am,” said the cub. “How did you know?”

  “I keep track of the new Pairings in the clans. I’m Dolfo.” He extended his crossed wrists and Rahkki did the same; they quickly clasped and released. “Let’s get you two outfitted.”

  Echofrost relaxed her wings, a sign that she was not hostile, and then the measuring began. She stood very still as the stranger used a thin rope to mark the width and depth of her chest, the size of her head and her flanks, and the length of her neck. Then he began fitting pieces onto her.

  “I don’t like this,” Echofrost whinnied, beginning to tremble as each piece was affixed to her body with leather straps. She felt trapped even though the armor was notched and layered to move as she moved.

  “No, it’s good,” Shysong nickered. “Look, it protects your vital areas. You’re not fighting creatures your own size.”

  “Right.” She pawed at the tent floor to release her agitation.

  Next Dolfo measured Rahkki and then adjusted their armor. Echofrost studied the dark metal. It was crafted perfectly to fit the body of a Kihlara Flier. She was growing accustomed to Landwalker creations, but the intricacy of this metalwork reminded her of their incomprehensible power. But without their weapons, armor, homes, tools, and animals—Landwalkers would not survive well. How had the weakest become the strongest?

  As they all waited for the armor to be adjusted, a Sandwen woman brought each cub a bowl of fish soup and two stalks of sugarcane for the pegasi. As the cubs slurped their meals, Shysong and Echofrost sucked the sweetness out of the sugarcane and then grazed on tangy sea grasses.

  Far offshore, a pod of dolphins swam by, their backs wet and rolling. This beach was warm and the water flat, very unlike the western coast of Anok, which was windy and cold, rough surfed and whitecapped. After a while, I’Lenna curled in the shade and closed her eyes. Rahkki left them to browse the tents alone, and Echofrost watched him purchase items and stash them in his carrying bag.