Ashlords

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Ashlords Page 16

by Scott Reintgen


  My phoenix’s rebirth is designed for evasive maneuvers, but their horses are designed for stamina. I can tell because as they trade trots for gallops, each of their sprints lasts a little longer than mine. The thought has me fired up again. Must be nice to choose rebirths knowing no one’s going to try to put you into the wall. It’s a classic example of an early alliance. I shake my head because no one approached me about forming an alliance. And why would they?

  I’m just the Dividian.

  “Let’s show them who we really are.”

  We burn around corners and dig deeper with each stretch. An hour passes. A second hour. I can see the surprise on the faces behind me. I have to remind myself that this was always the part where I could hold my own. I am as fine a rider as any of them. It’s what happens at night—on foot and defending my ashes—that separates me from the rest. That truth is a good reminder of my goal for the first leg: survive at all costs.

  A particularly long straightaway comes, and that’s when they catch me. I nudge my phoenix to the right as I hear the approach of their beating hooves. A girl name Thyma leads the pursuing pack. I recognize her from all the pre-race activities. Her eyes swing over to me with every promise of violence. Riding in her shadow are two others: Capri and Darvin. I’m half expecting them to just skip past me. We’re behind the leaders. Swinging in for contact with me will only slow them down. But after a brief and silent exchange, their riding formation shifts.

  Thyma commands her horse with a firing get-get.

  All three of them glide slowly across the canyon. The threat almost has me fumbling the reins. I’ve logged thousands of hours at Martial’s ranch, but I’ve never had someone actually press me like this. It takes all of my focus to push that fear aside. I have to remember why I was invited here. I have some tricks these Ashlords have forgotten.

  Thyma pushes the pace. The control she has over her phoenix is impressive. I watch as her horse noses slightly ahead of mine. Both of them are pinning ears at each other. There’s still a gap—four or five widths—but the distance keeps shrinking. I’m so close to the right wall that my riding pants are almost scraping the stones. I’d be worried about my phoenix spooking if it wasn’t designed for this exact moment. A turn is coming up and I can see what’s going to happen as clearly as any prophet.

  The angle will tighten. Thyma will force me into the wall and the two other riders will swing in to finish me off. None of them wants to kill me, but this ends with me spinning from my saddle and landing in the dirt. They want my race to end here and now. The thought has me smiling. It’s the same mistake Oxanos made.

  He walked in the room and saw one possible outcome.

  Time to teach them a new dance.

  Thyma drifts closer. I can hear the heaving breath of each horse. The fire in their voices. The flexing of their hands on the grips of their switches. Time shrinks down to a grain of sand. At the very last moment, I swing my phoenix straight into the wall.

  Gravity spins in a different direction.

  There’s no collision. Instead, my phoenix shifts. Its hooves find the sidewall and we sprint onward in complete defiance of gravity. It took forever to find and perfect the Changing Skies rebirth, so my heart pounds with relief when it actually works. The ground becomes the sky. Thyma’s eyes shock wide as I drive us farther up the wall, higher into the air. She lashes out with her switch, but far too late. We keep on sprinting, sideways to all the Empire’s viewers, and I take some pride in imagining the face my brother’s making right now. I can almost hear thousands of Dividian cheering me on.

  I finish the trick by pressing my phoenix up to the top of the canyon. Gravity shifts again and now we’re sprinting atop the raised shelf—a section of the course that I’m certain the Racing Board never intended for riding. I grin a little for the cameras and push the pace.

  I’m just the Dividian.

  I can only hope they keep thinking of me that way.

  My plan depends on it.

  One former champion described the Races as the brief existence of another world. He claimed that the first leg acted like a purifying flame. It burned the rules. Set a torch to expectations. Each new race created a world in which the riders—like risen gods—could determine their own fates. And the other riders make the mistake of letting me rise first.

  I don’t hesitate to teach them the rules of my new realm.

  Only Revel and Etzli match my pace out of the gate. As the miles stretch and the sun glides overhead, the three of us leave the rest of the field behind. I keep eyeing my bracelet for signs of Pippa, but she never appears. Her absence is strange, but I don’t have time for curiosity.

  Etzli’s the first to test my lead.

  I’m a little surprised at her boldness. She takes a sharp angle on one turn and starts gliding up my right flank. I can hear the eagerness in my horse’s answering growl. It’s been hungry for contact. That’s the nature of a Ravenous rebirth. I keep a tight hold of the reins, trying to check its hunger, until Etzli is almost neck and neck with me.

  A quick flick from me gives permission.

  My phoenix’s head snaps up immediately. Sun glints off the wild fangs. It lunges over, but Etzli’s pretty damn fast, too. There’s a strange flicker of blue light as she instinctually tugs the reins. My horse’s teeth scrape across the protective scales on her horse’s neck. It takes us both a few seconds to regain control, but she doesn’t test my lead again, falling back to a safer distance instead.

  The course starts the first of many descents. I remember that this gentle slope leads to a straightaway, and that straightaway pours out onto the plain we’re all supposed to reach tonight. I’m thinking through strategies when my horse’s eyes snap up, suddenly alert.

  I was distracted for a second.

  That’s all it takes for Revel to make his move. He’s leaned over his horse like a dancer and the two of them come storming up the right side of the valley. I fire off a command and my phoenix answers. Revel can burn faster than the rest of the field, though, and I know if he clears us, he’ll take a big lead into the first night.

  My switch flicks into the shape of a whip. The world shrinks to numbers and distances. I use my free hand to drag my phoenix in their direction. It obeys—liking the possibility of spilled blood—but the angle of our approach gives Revel the lead. I have just one shot at it.

  Luckily, I am a true son of the Reach.

  We are rangers and herders. The whip is an extension of my arm. It snakes through the air and snaps along the back of Revel’s neck. He pulls out of his determined stance—a cry of agony on his lips—and the movement is enough to pull his horse out of stride, too. It lifts its head and my horse pounces, teeth bared.

  We collide—our legs smashing between flanks—as my horse rips into the neck of Revel’s phoenix. The impact shoves us back apart, but not without blood. It sprays through the air and my horse trembles with excitement. Revel spits a curse, but a few more strides and I’m back in the lead again. My eyes dart back to the east. I thought Etzli might take advantage of our slowed pace, but she doesn’t test my lead. Instead, she slows her own horse and wisely trails me.

  I can’t help smiling. No gods in this valley. Only riders and horses.

  Now, that’s a race I can win.

  Every twenty minutes, you bring the horses back to a trot. But five minutes later, you urge them back into a gallop. It’s a race-standard pace, slightly slower on day one than it will be on the last. The phoenix’s sides burn beneath you at the perfect race temperature.

  “Won’t the horse get tired?” Quinn asks.

  It had been quiet for long enough that you’d forgotten about her.

  “You don’t have phoenixes in your world?”

  “Phoenixes,” Quinn repeats. “We call them horses. Are they a certain breed, then? Clearly they run farther….”

  “
As long as the sun is out, they can keep running. Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this my entire life. Most people would say that I was born for this.”

  “What?” Bravos calls from behind. “Everything all right, Pippa?”

  You glance back. “Yes, I was just explaining…”

  “Explaining what? Were you talking to me?”

  Your eyes dart back to Quinn. Both of you raise an eyebrow at the same time. You could see the other spirits, but clearly Bravos can’t see Quinn. And it makes sense. None of the viewers could see the spirits in the years the Madness intervened. Only people connected to the spirits can see them.

  That could make things interesting.

  “Sorry, love. I’ll explain when we stop for the night.” As you settle back over the horse, you speak in a whisper for Quinn. “The Madness years make so much more sense now. Seeing random competitors talk to no one. Watching riders fall from their horses for no reason. It’s such an amazing advantage.”

  Quinn says nothing. So you ride. Cycling between gallops and trots, pressing deeper into the red-bellied course. The sun rises high and quick, backing the desert ground and blurring the distant landscape. Both you and Bravos pull riding hoods overhead to shield yourselves from the pressing glare. Even for an Ashlord, it’s a bright and burning world today.

  As the sun starts to set, you check the leaders on your bracelet:

  Adrian: 403 paces

  Etzli: 370 paces

  Imelda: 225 paces

  Only Imelda’s name surprises you. Adrian and Etzli were always going to be in the thick of the action. You’re certain that Adrian is glancing at his own bracelet and wondering where you are on the course. A quick mental picture forms of the map.

  Even if they’re in the lead now, night is coming.

  The other riders will be staggered through the strangled valley below. Some of the leaders will reach the open plain, but no one will be completely safe. Tonight there will be fights and poisoned ashes. Bones will break. Riders will lose their chance at glory through the smallest mistakes. But the secret route saves both you and Bravos from all of that.

  You’ll make good time and not have to worry about other riders until the third night. And at that point, the others will be bloodied and tired. Both of you will be fresh. You can almost hear the odds on you winning the Races ticking higher and higher.

  Overhead, the sun falls quicker and faster than usual. The mountains to the west start siphoning away the light. As it staggers down the horizon, the two of you push your horses a little harder. The path leads to a sprawling plateau that overlooks the narrow canyon valleys, but even up here the light is fast fading.

  Only when the last golden streaks abandon the upper crags of the distant Gravitas Mountains do you slow. Bravos does the same, reining in beside you to dismount. All your recent training has been for multiday races, so you both know the routine. A ritual removal of saddles and gear, paired with quiet encouragements for the horses as you do.

  Quinn stands off to one side and watches curiously. You realize this must all be so very strange to her. If she’s truly a slave, what must she think of your freedom?

  Bravos digs through a sack before removing a hand-length sword. If he used it against another rider, he’d be imprisoned for the rest of his life, but officials still allow them in the competition for phoenix deaths. It’s a more brutal, archaic way of doing things. Bravos has always preferred it. He starts forward with the weapon in hand, and you’re surprised by a flash of blue light. Quinn darts between the two of you, hands held out protectively.

  But a second later the spirit sees his true intention. He turns the steel not on you, but on his horse. He sets a trusting hand on the creature’s neck and puts his full weight into a deadly thrust. Metal bites through muscle and past bone, finding its mark.

  There’s a single, terrible scream. Bravos holds his horse’s gaze and twists the blade once before dragging the weapon free. You can feel Quinn’s shoulders shaking. His phoenix stumbles and slumps as blood starts to pool.

  “Gods below, Bravos. Do you always have to be such a butcher about it? You do realize we’re not fighting in the Helio Wars, don’t you?”

  You leave Quinn’s side and approach Flicker. Bravos shrugs back at you.

  “Dead is dead. We’re riders, Pippa. Faster is always better.”

  “Boys and blood.” You reach up and offer a handful of berries to Flicker. The phoenix snorts twice before snapping the offering up. Bravos has already turned his back on his own dying horse as it heaves its final breaths. Flicker is busily munching on the offered poison when Quinn slides quietly over to you. Her voice trembles.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Phoenixes die. And what dies can rise.”

  A burst of flame tears through the night. It scorches the air and forces both of you to shield your eyes. Fire streams over the corpse of Bravos’s horse. You watch Quinn closely. She’s fascinated by the flames. It takes less than a minute for the unnatural fire to consume everything and turn the creature into a pile of ash.

  Quinn’s still looking lost when your horse starts to slump. Shallow breaths tremble out before an agitated cry scrapes the back of Flicker’s throat. You don’t turn away from your horse the way that Bravos did. You kneel down and set a comforting hand on the side of Flicker’s head. You want Quinn to see. This is your partner, your best friend.

  Flames burst to life. You keep your hand pressed there. Quinn rushes forward to pull you away from the danger, but you hiss a quiet warning. “Don’t touch me. This is our tradition.”

  Fire rushes through and over the corpse, and you pull your hand away at the last moment. The heat is like a snakebite against your palm. Eventually, it forces you to take a few steps back. Quinn stands quietly at your side.

  “Do they have to die?” she finally asks.

  “Yes, they die so that they might become something more.”

  The sky’s rusting overhead, nearly night, as I break out of the valley and onto the open plain. In the failing light, I see a stretch of hills that roll on for several leagues, with a series of canyons waiting beyond them. Focusing, I bring up my memory of the map. I trace those trails and set myself down on the right plain. I know we were never meant to clear this section of the course on the first day. The Racing Board knew we’d all close the first day out in the open. First blood will be drawn here with our ashes scattered in the moonlight.

  I’m in the lead. A glance at the bracelet shows the nearest rider is about one hundred paces back. After Revel’s horse faded, Etzli stayed in sight but decided not to test her luck by coming any closer. Not like I’d risk knocking her off her phoenix this early in the Races. Too easy to accidentally break a neck and end my competition before the first day’s done. Besides, she’s the epitome of caution. I know she won’t approach now unless she has to.

  I’d feel good about having the lead if I’d seen Pippa or Bravos at all today. Coming out of the gates was chaos. I remember getting an almost flawless start, seeing Bravos startle on my left, and pushing past the Dividian.

  All day I expected Pippa to catch me. Her name never appeared in the standings. I’d have liked to take her measure early on. A sizing up in the valley would have been preferable. Bravos never showed, either. It’s hard to imagine both of them made mistakes on day one. I’ll have to keep an eye out. Maybe they both decided to fall behind to avoid the fallout of the first night?

  It’d be a surprising choice.

  Their absence doesn’t change much. My plan is the same it’s been since the interview. Prepare for the worst. Fight through every night. Survive and advance.

  With the sunlight failing, our phoenixes will die bold and bright. It’ll be nearly impossible to hide the fires from the riders behind me. Deaths never last longer than thirty seconds, but that’s more than enough time for tra
iling riders to figure out where I am.

  As soon as they settle their own ashes, they’ll come for me.

  It makes my decision easy. Instead of riding deeper into the course, I cut east along the raised mesas. Keeping my phoenix tight to the rocky formations, I use what little lead I have to push wide of the pursuit. Etzli will hit the open plain right after me, but I know she’ll see my horse’s tracks and head in the opposite direction. Always out of trouble.

  It’s the pack behind her I’m worried about.

  So I gallop along the towering rock faces, searching for clefts and clearings. I need a place that will shield my first fire from sight. A good place to put my back up against a wall and make a stand. The first cave I find is about perfect. Stone juts out before carving a neat opening in the side of the canyon. I take a good look at the spot before trotting my phoenix past. Two minutes later, I find a second one. Not nearly as big or nice, but secluded enough, and the fire of my phoenix will look vague in the growing light of the stars.

  It takes a handful of minutes to unsaddle and put the horse down. I set my body in the entrance of the recess, shielding the light of the fire from prying eyes. When it finally burns its way to ash, I start creeping back along the canyon, following my own footsteps. I know I have just a handful of minutes to make this work and I know it’ll be lucky if it works at all.

  Off to the west, there’s a second fire.

  It’s as far in the other direction as possible. Definitely Etzli.

  All around me, night noises. I stay hunched as I hustle back along the staggered stones, searching for the first recess. The stars and moon are out, washing everything in weak light.

  It’s easy to see about fifty feet in every direction, but outside of that, the dark plays its tricks. I spy a handful of figures pouring out of the course’s first valley. Riders on slumping horses. I watch them dismount before I reach the first nook. I left it as bait, and sure enough, I’ve caught something. Movement in the vague shadows has me pressing back against the stones.

 

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