Riders of the Realm #3

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  The Fire Horde prince shook his head at Daanath, signing angrily. “Why should we have to pay for our own land? Why should we trade anything?”

  Around the cavern, giants snarled agreement.

  The Great Cave prince added his opinion. “I agree. Why bargain when we can take our land back by force? We’re wasting time talking to this small one. It is time for the hordes to unite.”

  Daanath fingered the healing python wound on his neck and then gestured, “This boy is powerful. He saved my life and saved many giants on the battlefield. His people fear him.” He turned to Rahkki. “You can make peace for us?”

  Rahkki’s gut puddled toward the stone floor. “I—I don’t know.” His heart raced faster. The queen might accept riches, but what if she didn’t? “What if I can’t?”

  “Then we’ll destroy you,” the Fire prince signed, plunging his fist to the floor.

  Rahkki stood. “That’s not a negotiation, that’s a threat.”

  The entire cavern of giants growled at Rahkki, pointing at his legs.

  He glanced at Miah.

  “Sit,” she signed to him, her face aghast. “No one stands up at a meeting.”

  Rahkki plopped back down and the chamber calmed. He implored the princes. “If we fight, many will die,” he signed, his expression flat with truth. “And I won’t help you. I won’t wake your dead this time.”

  Eerie quiet fell upon the giants. Rahkki wiped his wet hair off his forehead, noticing how long it had grown since his capture. His legs had outgrown his trousers too, leaving his ankles exposed; and more often when he spoke, his voice cracked. It was the soup; it was making him grow up faster.

  Focus, he thought.

  The Great Cave prince tugged on his fanged wreath necklace. “The small one can’t help us.”

  The Fire prince agreed. “His queen refused our soup. She can’t be trusted even if he can.” He turned his cold eyes on Rahkki, but gestured to the others. “With the hordes working together, we can end the thousand-year war and destroy his people. That land is ours.”

  Panic flooded Rahkki’s thoughts. What would his mother do? She would not accept this. She would find a way to strike a bargain.

  He dug into his thoughts, grasping at ideas. Queen Lilliam would not give up the land for anything less than a fortune, but the giants were unwilling to give it; nor did they trust her. But what if the giants didn’t have to negotiate with Lilliam? What did Rahkki’s clan need more than riches? A new queen! An excited chill rolled through him. He smiled a Gorlish smile, flashing his tiny canines. “Fight my queen, not my people.”

  The three princes frowned, but watched Rahkki’s hands with interest as he spoke. The cavern erupted with hoots and snarls.

  When the hordes had quieted, Rahkki continued. “Half my clan is against her and they’ll help you, the rest will surrender. I will choose a new queen and she will give your land back in return.” The new queen would be I’Lenna, and Rahkki knew she’d happily consign the fallows to the giants.

  The three Gorlan princes conferred, huddling in a circle. Then the Highland prince loomed toward him, blowing his hot breath on Rahkki’s face. “This plan is good,” he signed.

  Rahkki swallowed, his scalp tingled. He was making a pact—with giants!

  The Highland prince summarized. “Our three Gorlan armies will uproot your queen and you’ll give us our lowland fields.”

  “Yes. A new queen for your farmland. It is good.” Excitement coursed through him—three Gorlan armies at his disposal! He could finish what I’Lenna had started and free the Fifth Clan from Harak Nightseer and Lilliam Whitehall.

  But the Gorlanders growled at him. “It is not farmland,” the Highland Prince gestured.

  “Oh,” Rahkki replied in Sandwen. For a thousand years his clan had been battling the giants for the lowland valley, but if it wasn’t farmland, then what was it? “Not farmland?” he asked.

  The massive Fire Horde king, who had hung back to let the princes conduct the meeting, now stood. His gray-streaked red hair and beard hung past his shoulders, his muscles striped his chest and arms, and his face had sunk into a permanent scowl. He stamped toward Rahkki, shaking the floor, and planted his wide bare feet on either side of the boy. Apparently the king can stand at a meeting, Rahkki thought churlishly.

  “It is sacred land,” the king explained. “It’s where the father of all giants—King Lazrah—made the first soup. It is where his three sons took their portions and formed the three hordes.”

  Chills rushed down Rahkki’s spine. “Sacred land?” he signed, surprised he’d never heard this story.

  “Ancient, sacred land,” affirmed the Highland prince.

  “By Granak,” Rahkki whispered, paling. No wonder the giants had fought so long and so hard for that land. “We didn’t know,” he signed.

  “You didn’t ask,” the king gestured. “You took.”

  Rahkki dipped his head to the king and the three princes. “I’m sorry.” The words felt small. He wondered how the giants had felt all these years when they raided the Fifth and saw Sandwens trampling over their special place?

  The Gorlan princes nodded approval. “We’ll seal this bargain over soup tonight, and gather the three armies tomorrow. When the rains cease, we’ll go.”

  The giants within the underground cavern burst into delighted chuffs and happy fist slamming. As the noise filled his ears, Rahkki relaxed. He’d accomplished his mother’s dream. He’d struck a deal with the hordes, proving they could be reasonable. And with three Gorlan armies at his command, he could banish Lilliam, free I’Lenna, and finish the rebellion his best friend had started.

  All he had to do was eat the soup, and there was no chance of him blowing that honor.

  12

  Strangers

  ECHOFROST PACED OUTSIDE DARTHAN’S HUT, churning up mud with her hooves. Storm Herd surrounded her, huddling beneath their sopping feathers. It had rained hard all night, and now, as the rising sun pressed out the darkness, a heavy drizzle soaked the pegasi.

  “We’re here to help them,” Graystone nickered. “So what are the Landwalkers waiting for?”

  She flung the water droplets off her forelock. “They’re plotting something,” Echofrost said, hoping this was true. Rahkki’s friends and family would rescue him; it was just a matter of when.

  Windheart and Thornblaze cantered past, playing chase. Their long, clumsy legs stabbed the grass like sticks. “The night’s rest did them good,” Hazelwind said to Dewberry.

  The pinto’s eyes rarely left her foals. “It’s odd that this is their homeland,” she nickered. “My twins will never know Anok.”

  Fear bloomed in Echofrost’s heart at her words. Storm Herd could not let their descendants forget Anok like the Kihlari had. “We’ll teach them our legends and stories,” she said, and wished that her friend Morningleaf had crossed the Dark Water with them. The chestnut mare had memorized every legend ever told. “Thornblaze and Windheart will remember Anok through us.”

  Dewberry blinked at her, her thoughts storming across her face. “But Anok will always be just a legend to them—a story told by elders. They won’t graze in Dawn Meadow or sleep beneath the grandmother tree. They’ll never swim in Feather Lake like their sire did. They won’t meet Star or understand what he’s done to try and save us.”

  Echofrost drew her wing across Dewberry’s back. “It’s okay, we’ll make new legends here. Look, your foals are happy. They don’t know anything else.”

  The mares locked eyes, each struck by the enormity and ramifications of their mission.

  “You’ll feel better once we locate a territory of our own,” Echofrost nickered. She tossed a meaningful look at Hazelwind and he nodded his understanding. The sooner they settled the new mother, the better. For all her ferocious bluster, protecting her twins had made Dewberry anxious.

  A moaning sound emerged from Darthan’s open window. “What’s going on in there?” Hazelwind wondered.

  Kol, who ha
d spent the night by himself, glided across the grass and landed near the hut. “That’s Brauk’s voice,” he nickered, swishing his tangled tail. “Something’s wrong.” He trotted onto the porch and peered through the window.

  Brauk’s moaning woke I’Lenna from a nightmare, and she sat up, panting. Ossi met her gaze. “Brauk’s in pain,” she said, her face haggard. “I thought the elixir would heal him.”

  “It will,” I’Lenna assured her. “I mean, it is.” She threw off her blankets and went to Brauk’s cot. He was twisting, rolling from side to side. Ossi and Mut tried to hold him still.

  “Let him move around,” I’Lenna said.

  They ignored her. I’Lenna glanced at Darthan. He sat near, holding a wet rag in his hand. Tam fed the hearth fire, trying to keep busy.

  “Brauk was feverish last night,” Darthan said.

  “That’s good,” I’Lenna replied, but in truth, she had no idea how the medicine worked, or if it was working. Had the potency worn off? How old was the dose? I’Lenna thought back, remembering that Lilliam had bought it from the Fourth Clan six years ago after a rare, successful black magna hunt.

  Before that, the Fifth was without the Queen’s Elixir. Reyella had given her dose to a wounded Rider, against everyone’s advice, but that was Reyella—the unselfish queen. I’Lenna had never heard of the medicine going bad, but what if it had? If Brauk died— She shut her eyes. If Brauk died, the Stormrunners would blame her.

  Brauk slid off the cot and thudded onto the wood floor. He began to shout, “I’m on fire!” His hands flew to his injured spine and rubbed it furiously. “Put me out! Fetch water!”

  “You’re not on fire,” Ossi promised, squeezing his hand.

  Brauk calmed and a few minutes later began to shiver. Darthan fetched a wool blanket and covered him up to his neck.

  “I don’t like this,” Ossi said, her lips tight.

  “Don’t worry,” Darthan assured. “Brauk’s going to be fine, better than fine.” But Darthan appeared as nervous as she. To settle himself, he made tea and served them, handing I’Lenna a special concoction. “Ginger tea for the pain.” He nodded toward her splinted thumb.

  They all sat and waited as the sun rose behind the clouds, lightening the sky from black to gray.

  By the time Darthan’s morning fire had burned low, Brauk’s eyelids fluttered open.

  “He’s awake,” Mut cried.

  Brauk blinked and glanced around. He noticed Ossi’s tear-stained face. “Hey,” he croaked.

  “Hey,” she whispered, smoothing his long dark hair. “How are you feeling?”

  “Alive.”

  “Can you stand?” Mut asked.

  I’Lenna held her breath as Rahkki’s brother tugged the wool blanket off his legs, rolled onto his hands, and pushed. His legs bent and then straightened. Soon he was standing, wobbling on two legs. Brauk’s eyes grew wide and full of wonder, reminding her again of Rahkki. He took a few steps and then broke into a silent sob. “I can walk,” he whispered.

  Everyone in the room wept with him, except I’Lenna. It was relief that rushed through her, then desolation. She’d done it; she’d healed Brauk, but now what? He hadn’t agreed to help her take over the clan, and without support, she couldn’t stay with the Fifth any longer. Harak thought she was dead and the rebels who’d once supported her were locked in the Eighth Tower. There was no one left to hide or protect her from her mother.

  I’Lenna would have to leave the clan, today. But with no coin, no friends, and no family, she didn’t know what to do next, or where to go, or who would save Rahkki. She’d even lost Firo. Her precious winged braya had rejoined her wild herd. I’Lenna clenched her fists in frustration.

  Meanwhile, Brauk tottered around the hut. He tried to swoop Ossi into his arms and almost fell.

  “You’re not ready for that,” she teased, thwacking him on the shoulder.

  “I’m weak, but I’m walking,” Brauk chirped. He stumbled outside and called for his Flier. “Kol, look at me!”

  A smile tugged at I’Lenna’s lips. By healing Brauk, she’d done at least one thing right.

  Brauk exited the hut and they all followed him outside. Kol pranced with pleasure at the sight of his Rider back on his feet. Firo and the wild steeds flicked their ears in surprise. The morning drizzle soaked Brauk, but he didn’t care. He stumbled into a weak jig. “There’s no pain, my back is fine! I’Lenna, I could kiss you!”

  I’Lenna grinned, but her response was cut short when a stranger emerged from the jungle, startling everyone. Darthan quickly grabbed his sword from the porch and pointed it at the blond man who was dressed in Daakuran clothing. The wild Kihlari surged toward the stranger who had snuck up on all of them.

  “Come no closer,” Darthan warned.

  “Ay,” the stranger called, showing his empty hands. “I come in peace. Is this the Stormrunner farm?”

  Darthan kept his sword raised. “Who’s asking?”

  “Name’s Tully.” He paused. “I’ve come a long way. I’m looking for Rahkki Stormrunner.”

  “That’s the man I saw at the trading post,” Mut whispered.

  Darthan exhaled, annoyed, and lowered his sword a hand’s breadth. “You’ve wasted your time, Tully. I’ve got no Kihlara blankets to sell you.”

  Tully? I’Lenna had heard that name before. Her mind searched for when.

  “I’m not here to buy,” the man replied. He reached into his satchel.

  In a flash, Darthan was off the porch and beside him, his sword aimed at the man’s throat. “Slow down, stranger.”

  “Is Rahkki here?” the man asked.

  Darthan studied him. “What do you want with Rahkki?”

  “I have something that belongs to him.” The Daakuran man reached into his bag again, more slowly this time, and Darthan allowed it. He drew out a dusk-blue Kihlara blanket. It was one of a kind, trimmed with rabbit fur and tiny bells, and encrusted with gems. With it, Tully displayed a receipt. “I saw this for sale in Daakur and recognized the seller’s name.” He read the signature on the certificate of authentication. “Rahkki Stormrunner, son of Reyella Stormrunner, bloodborn prince of the Fifth Clan.”

  Brauk’s jaw dropped. “That’s the blanket Rahkki sold at the trading post for export to Daakur. It belonged to our mother’s stallion, Drael. I never thought we’d see it in the Realm again.”

  I’Lenna also recognized the beautiful artifact. She’d helped Rahkki negotiate its sale, and she knew how painful it had been for him to give up one of his mother’s last possessions.

  Darthan worked his jaw, confused and suspicious. “You didn’t buy that blanket and then travel all this way to return it, did you? What’s your business with my nephew?”

  Tully smiled. “It’s not my business. It’s hers.”

  Two more figures stepped out of the jungle’s shadows—a small girl aboard a winged stallion and another man, each dressed in Daakuran clothing. Brauk, Mut, Tam, and Ossi drew their daggers. Darthan dropped into a fighting stance.

  The female removed her helmet. Raven-black hair tumbled around her small face, but it was her dark-lashed golden eyes that arrested everyone. “I’m Feylah Stormrunner,” she said. “I’m Rahkki’s sister.”

  13

  Queen of the Fifth

  SILENCE WASHED OVER THE GROUP AS THEY gaped, slackjawed, at Rahkki’s sister and her winged mount.

  The golden-eyed child peered at Darthan. “Are you Darthan Stormrunner?” Her eyes slid toward the wild herd that stood behind him and a flicker of appreciation zipped across her otherwise guarded expression. “Are you my uncle?”

  Darthan nodded. His sword tipped toward the ground.

  Brauk stared at the girl and her steed, blinking in disbelief. His body swayed unsteadily and he leaned against the porch rail to take the weight off his weak legs and newly healed spine.

  Ossi, Mut, and Tam sank to their knees. “My queen,” they each intoned.

  I’Lenna’s heart thumped painfully. The existen
ce of Feylah Stormrunner changed everything. I’Lenna wanted to laugh and cry and scream. Her mother had lied!

  Pregnant Reyella had escaped the Realm and birthed an heir. The presence of this girl on Sandwen soil dissolved Lilliam’s authority like water on a fire, turning it to smoke. The status of the entire Whitehall family had just evaporated. I’Lenna wasn’t a princess—had never been a princess! She was a fraud. Her luxurious clothing, the costly gifts she’d received, her expensive education, and her trips to Daakur—none of it belonged to her! All of it belonged to Feylah.

  I’Lenna knelt before the girl and her winged stallion, clenching her fists. Her knuckles turned white. “My queen,” she said.

  Feylah regarded her, and all of them, with silent curiosity. She wore thick boots and creased leather breeches, and she twirled her sword like a soldier. A second man, also blond haired and bearded, rode beside her. He was mounted on a white land horse and he held the reins of a matching steed, which had to be Tully’s mount.

  “This is Thaan,” Feylah said, introducing him. “And you’ve met Tully. They’re brothers and my guardians.”

  So many questions filled the space between Feylah and her family—too many. Darthan’s eyes moved to the obvious first, the winged bay stallion Feylah rode. The Kihlara’s dark-amber feathers shimmered even on this foggy morning. “That’s Drael,” he said.

  “Yes,” Feylah answered. “This is my mother’s stallion.”

  Drael had been presumed dead all these years and tears streamed down Darthan’s cheeks at the sight of him. He had once owned Drael’s twin brother, a stallion named Tor, but Tor had died of a heart attack. And Brauk had insisted that black magna spiders had killed Drael the night Lilliam stole the Fifth Clan throne. The sight of Reyella’s unborn child and precious stallion now, still alive, took everyone’s breath away. I’Lenna wondered if Reyella had also survived, but this was a question no one seemed in a hurry to ask.