Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

They ran as fast as the wind. Hettie easily kept up with him, and he deliberately tried to outrun her. This was her terrain, and he could tell she had spent many a night sleeping under the stars. The sound of the horns burst through the air behind them. Torches appeared from the way ahead. They were mounted on horseback.

“Outriders!” Hettie called. “Waylander army!”

Paedrin did not slow his stride. He was running from himself, it felt. Running from the past. His heart hammered in his chest like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil. Sweat streaked down his body, freeing him, loosening his muscles.

“Paedrin!” Hettie warned, starting to lose him in his sprint. “They have crossbows! We should try to go around them!”

He ignored her, running straight for them. His legs pounded into the meadow grass. He saw the horses begin to converge from the road. He made no attempt to hide his approach.

“Hold there!” someone warned, thrusting the torch forward. “Hold!”

Paedrin ran even faster, rushing toward the leader, rushing straight at them.

“Shoot him!”

He watched the crossbows lower. He saw the light of the torches spatter their faces.

“Paedrin!”

The Outriders shot at him from five sides.

He sucked in his breath instantly and rose into the air, taking flight like some eagle above a lake. The bolts all hissed and zoomed beneath him as he rose higher and higher, moving forward. His momentum carried him to them quickly, and he would have sailed over their heads, except for a sudden exhale of breath that brought him straight down on the leader and toppled him from the saddle.

It was chaos.

Horses whinnied and shrieked. Men were half-blinded by their own torch fire. He struck man and beast in a frenzy, causing mayhem with every blow. He darted between the horses, running and gasping to gain height, rising up enough to kick an Outrider in the face, toppling him from the saddle. He moved haphazardly between them, changing his focus of attack from one moment to the next. Every fallen man received a sharp blow to the neck or ribs, hard enough to crack the bones. Paedrin whirled around as two tried to trample him with their steeds. He jumped straight up, sucking in his breath, and allowed the beasts to collide with each other. He floated down and struck both men in the noses simultaneously.

The fight thrilled him. He struck each man down deliberately, aiming to injure but not to kill. He broke arms. He dislocated shoulders. He took some pity on the beasts but did not refuse to yank at their bridles or jerk the bits to cause them pain and make them rear back violently, throwing the riders from their backs.

There was commotion all around him, riderless horses tearing into the plains in a panic. Men groaned and thrashed. Each torch had fallen and began to gutter out, for the grass was too damp to burn.

“Come, Bhikhu!” Hettie said, appearing out of the darkness on a big roan. The beast trotted up and she reached out her hand to him.

He looked around at the fallen Outriders.

“Yes, I’m impressed,” she snapped. “Take my hand!”

He sucked in his breath one last time, allowing her to pull him up and straddle behind her.

“Hold me tightly, fool. We ride hard for Silvandom. If the furies are not chasing us yet, they certainly will be by dawn!”

The roan stallion was well lathered. Hettie had driven it mercilessly throughout the night and hard the next day. It was a big beast, and he was surprised at her skill in handling it. They rested it periodically, but the ride was hard and fast. In the distance, they could see the Outriders pacing them, closing the distance slowly but inevitably. It could not be otherwise, for their beast had two riders and the others did not. Thankfully Hettie had grabbed for the strongest animal, not the lightest.

They were hungry, but they had neither food nor time to forage. Every stream provided an opportunity to drink, but they were not plentiful. There was an enormous savanna on all sides. Mountains loomed to the southwest, several days off. Each hill brought another stretch of interminable plains. No cover. No woods. It was a race against the Outriders, and Paedrin realized they were losing.

As dusk started to fall and his stomach reminded him of their lack of meals that day, he noticed plumes of soot in the air.

“A village?” he asked, pointing.

“Good eyes,” she said. “I’ve been looking for that sign. We crossed many leagues today. But I had hoped to be within sight of it before nightfall. That is Fowlrox. It is the gateway city to Stonehollow.”

“Each kingdom has a gateway city then. Like Minon that we saw last night?”

“Yes. They are the furthest border city belonging to the kingdom, and they hold the wares for shipment to Kenatos. Stonehollow is where the stone is quarried and carried to the city. They also sell timber, wine, and oxen. Heavy things that make for slow caravans.”