by F. C. Reed
Amalia stepped closer. “Actually, I’m Artemisia.” She grimaced, suddenly annoyed at her own mounting habit of referring to herself by that name.
The old man snatched his head in her direction, his fake eye swimming slowly back and forth in the socket. “So you are,” he confirmed as he looked up and down the length of her. “Many a hustler come through this way with the same set of words on his lips.” He shuffled forward and stopped inches from her. “You sound like a girl, though. Truth be told, it’s a boy we should be seeing as the red lion’s grand-kitten.”
“I am a girl,” she said, tempted to back away at his invasion of her personal space. “A woman, I mean.” Zerosa put a hand to her arm as if to tell her to stand still.
“As you say. I’ll sell you one of my longsteeds in that case.” The old man coughed out a throaty chuckle, then sniffed at her. “You smell like a girl, too. So long as you don’t ride like one, I suppose. These longsteeds won’t give you a simple time otherwise. Got to ride them like they’re supposed to be ridden.”
Amalia folded her arms across her chest. “And how’s that?” she asked.
“With authority and purpose,” the stable master chided. “These ain’t for jumping hedges and fancy little fences or prancing about like you see up in the highroad. They’re war beasts. Love the smell of blood as much as any other man on the battlefield.” The old man turned himself, wiped his hands with the rag, and stuffed it in his back pocket.
“So you’re a woman,” he said in a tone that seemed to mock her. “That’s good to know. Wouldn’t want to fit you on a khydrid too wide. Riding it would murder your hip joints. Too narrow in the saddle and you’d feel like wanting to stand up in the stirrups just to keep balance.” He beckoned to them. “Here. Down here.” Pointing into one stable near the back of the livery yard, he said, “See how that one sits under you.”
Zerosa and Amalia approached and looked in. The large, wide muzzle and head of a khydrid held onyx black eyes that looked back at them. Its smooth red-brown coat seemed to glisten, even in the low light. A row of banded bristles crested its head and ran along the length of its neck.
“She’s calm. Serene. Easy to control. Easy to command. She’s seen her fair share of battles. She’s swift as a knife and sturdy as an ox. All six legs in working order. She’s as strong and loyal as any khydrid I’ve seen fit to tend.” He pointed to the gate, and the boy ran up and unlatched it.
Voices, although muffled and difficult to hear, rang out in the near vicinity. A collection of crashes and metal clanging and wood snapping set the relative silence aside.
“By the black,” the old man cursed as he started off in as quick an exit as he could make. “Boy, see to this while I go help reign in that accursed thug of a longsteed. Gods know the damn thing’ll be the death of me yet.” He hurried off, not waiting for a response from the boy. “Somebody get me my bloody gun, you worthless, cowardly drekks,” he yelled to no one in particular, and vanished around a corner.
The khydrid strode out of the stable in what seemed like a slow and deliberate set of steps. She performed those steps while bobbing her head as if she knew she was on display.
Amalia felt the breath leave her lungs. She had seen many horses in her day, but none compared to a khydrid longsteed. The khydrid’s muscles coiled around its frame, bulging and contracting under the coppery red coat. Two sets of forelegs seemed to work in tandem. A soft, long hair covered all six of her legs from knee to hoof. The lean midsection gave way to a set of broad and well-muscled hindquarters, which ended in a long black tail, light and feathery. The longsteed stood taller than Amalia at the withers and must have weighed at least a ton.
Amalia approached the khydrid cautiously at first, still drinking in the sheer beauty of the animal. She’d seen nothing like it. The khydrid’s gaze followed her until she was at the monstrous beast’s side. The boy hurried over, struggling with a saddle he pulled off a nearby wall. He held it out to Amalia, a strange, bulky looking contraption with metal rails on each side.
“You want me to ride?” she said to the boy.
He nodded his head and spread a grin that sported two missing teeth, front and center.
Amalia turned to Zerosa, who watched in silence with her arms crossed until now. “Why not?” she shrugged. “You know how to ride a horse, and this isn’t too terribly different.”
Amalia nodded. “You seem to have a lot of confidence in my ability.”
Zerosa shrugged again. “I’ve seen you dozens of times.”
“When?” and then she stopped herself. All things considered, it didn’t seem so incredulous.
Zerosa winked at her knowingly, but said nothing more.
Amalia rested the strange-looking saddle atop the khydrid’s back, assuming that everything was the same as with a horse.
Another set of crashes, a long, low echo of a neigh, deep and ominous and tinged with death, or something like it, rippled through the livery yard. It set Amalia’s skin to pimple and prickle with gooseflesh. More bumping and crashes, followed by a group of voices yelling curses and cautions. She wondered what was going on that could be so noisy and dangerous and painful, from the sounds that echoed back at her.
The khydrid backed away at the cacophony of noises and voices, bobbing her head nervously. The boy ran around the other side and steadied the reigns while Zerosa soothed the animal by rubbing her head and face. Still stricken with nerves, the khydrid hesitated through its response.
“Seriously,” Amalia said as she frowned through the noise. “What’s going on?” She watched the boy as he secured the saddle from the beast’s underside, nearly standing upright under the khydrid’s belly. He emerged from underneath and only looked up at her, a thread of concern creasing his brow.
“He doesn’t speak,” Zerosa said. “See that red tattoo on his neck?” she said, pointing. “It’s a rune laced with aether that binds him to another being, willing or unwilling. Makes them one person, almost. That’s what they usually do with certain orphans. In his case, the stable master.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” replied Zerosa. “The Crimson Bloodguard doesn’t come from just anywhere. These symbiotes are a part of the Bloodguard, known as the bloodborne. Orphaned because their parents died in battle or were taken by the black. When they come of age at twelve, they will be trained for the Crimson Bloodguard themselves. At eighteen, they must produce one child, for the good of the realm,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “If ever a bloodborne child loses both its parents, they find a host for symbiosis to guarantee the child’s life. If that boy dies, so does its caretaker, so usually the caretaker has the symbiont’s life in their best interest.”
Amalia raised her eyebrows to that. Crude, clever, and most likely effective. “What’s your name, little guy?” Amalia asked of the boy.
“He doesn’t speak, not since the stable master was crippled. That was how his damage carried over to this fellow. It silenced him. Symbiotes must always maintain the balance. Anyway, even if you could hear what he had to say, you probably wouldn’t understand him. He used to speak Verellen.”
Amalia stared at the boy, feeling a pang of pity for him. “Well, does he have a name?” she asked.
“Kellis Nabry. People call him Kell.” Kell smiled at his name being mentioned, pointed at himself and nodded.
Amalia had heard that name before. Then she remembered. This boy was to be her stable hand, tasked with taking care of her khydrid. She looked over his messy mop of red-brown hair and his filthy arms, stained a crusted brown to the elbows. The pale skin and light sprinkle of freckles peeked out from the dirt on his face, which beheld a handsomeness if not covered in filth. His blue shirt and overalls hung loosely on him and bagged around his waist, the pants doubled and tripled over in a bulky cuff at his mud stained boots.
Amalia couldn’t help but to think where his mother might be, and what she thought about the state of him, only the boy had no mother. Or father, for that matter.
Kell reached out and took Amalia’s hand and led her closer to the khydrid. His own hand was small and hard and calloused, more so than she thought a child’s hands of his age should be. At the khydrid’s side, he flipped down a metal section that looked like an elongated stirrup for her to put her foot into, but the distance from the khydrid’s back meant it couldn’t possibly be a stirrup, or she’d have to lengthen both her legs. Kell pointed to the leather grip on the side of the saddle and she grabbed it and pulled her other knee over the khydrid’s back.
Quite the stretch later, she pulled herself into position, wiggling and squirming and struggling with some effort. The experience was like mounting a horse, only she didn’t mount the khydrid so much as climbed up the side of it. The saddle could stand to be a little more comfortable, she thought, if not for the horizontal rails of metal, covered in leather, that ran along the sides.
She twisted from side to side, looking for something to put her feet into. Kell waved at her from below to get her attention. When she noticed him, he began pointing at the saddle and making gestures. He held one arm out horizontally and began slapping the other on top of it, pointing first at her shin, and then at the metal pieces attached to the saddle.
She rested her shins inside the leather-bound braces against the khydrid’s sides, finding that her lower legs cradled comfortably inside them. A modified stirrup at its end - she hadn’t noticed it before - clicked over her heels.
Kell grabbed hold of the reigns and led them from the livery yard and into the corral out back. No sooner than they entered, a wall on the far side of the corral that led into another part of the structure exploded in a fierce spray of splintered boards.
A huge, midnight black khydrid burst into the corral, swinging his head this way and that. What made it even more frightening was how unsuccessful the stable hands were at containing the beast. All three flailed under the khydrid’s power, unable to hold on to the ropes that bound its neck and torso.
The old stable master hobbled out in a fury. “Somebody bring me the damn stun rifle,” he yelled.
Amalia’s own khydrid backed away as they watched the animal kick and buck, tossing the three men about like over-sized rag dolls. Her khydrid grew more restless still as Kell tried to pull them back into the stabled livery yard. When he tugged at the reins, that was all it took for her own khydrid to rear and throw her from its back. She landed hard in the dirt as her khydrid trotted away nervously, wanting nothing more than to be clear of the area.
As she stood and brushed at her legs, she peered up directly into the eyes of the great black khydrid. It stared back, red eyes glinting in the dying light. That seemed to unnerve her.
The three handlers, bruised and aching, stood cautiously nearby, not knowing what to do or expect.
“Clear out of the way,” the stable master yelled as he aimed the rifle at the massive black khydrid. The beast snorted puffs of white smoke from its nose.
“Wait!” Amalia yelled as she pushed herself in between the stable master and the black khydrid.
“What in the green hells are you doing, you silly little girl. Out of the way,” he said, as he shoved her aside with the stun rifle’s barrel.
“Don’t hurt it,” Amalia said as she held the stable master’s arm down. Kell also tugged at the man’s elbow, shaking his head vigorously.
“The damn thing’s wild, untamed, and nigh unbreakable,” he squawked as he ripped his arm away from them both. Fumbling with the gun for a moment, he raised it, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The gun’s innards whirred, clicked, and crackled, then fizzled out in a miniature pop as it powered down. The stable master seemed unprepared for the misfire, but feared more for the beast that approached them as he swore under his breath and shimmied out of the corral.
The hulking black longsteed’s eyes fixed firmly on Amalia as the white misty smoke curled from its nostrils. Amalia held her hands out in front of her in a gesture meant to soothe the animal. Her hands trembled slightly, and she had no idea if what she was doing would work. The longsteed was the size of a barn, or so it appeared, but she hesitated to back away. Her instincts screamed at her to run, and yet she found that she couldn’t.
“What are you doing, girl,” yelled the stable master from behind her. “Get your arse out of there before you’re killed.”
Amalia barely heard him. She didn’t see how nervously the other khydrids kicked and shuffled in their enclosures. She took no heed to the other stable hands trying to warn her to get out, yet they themselves too afraid to reenter the corral to help her.
The black longsteed trotted the last few steps. Everyone, including Amalia and Kell, held their breaths, wanting, but not wanting to look away at what was sure to be a violent affair. It stopped a foot or so away from Amalia, sniffed out a puff of white smoke above her, and lowered its head to within easy reach. Tentatively, she extended a hand to touch the impressive beast.
Before she made contact, an electric crack stunned the silence. The beast reared and let out a deep, frantic sound that shrank into a whine. His legs buckled under him and shook as his head swung back and forth.
Amalia scrambled away, not realizing what just happened. She turned in time to see the stable master cock his gun. He aimed and fired again into the longsteed’s side. The sound of pain that escaped the khydrid’s throat threatened to deafen her with its reverberations, which thumped along her ribcage. The beast staggered again, trying desperately to keep his footing, but ultimately slumped to the ground.
“Get him back into the stable, and put him in an enclosed kennel,” the stable master barked breathlessly. “The steel one,” he added. “Full shackles and chains.”
The other stable hands rushed up, binding the animal as best they could. It was then that Amalia noticed the countless spots of scar tissue and seared flesh along its sides, too many wounds to count.
Wiping his brow, the stable master led Amalia away from the corral. “Well, I’ll be. He wouldn’t let anyone else so much as look in his direction afore this morning. Never seen anyone get that close, neither. You must be who you say you are, red lioness. Thank the gods for that, because I’ve been holding on to that hellbeast for years, just itching to get rid of it. Now you’re here, you can take the damned thing.”
“That was cruel,” Amalia snapped at him, jerking her arm from his hand. “He wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”
“Cruel?” The stable master choked back a guffaw. “I’m cruel, you think?” Hoisting up his pant leg, he thrust out the twisted limb underneath. It bent at angles that should not be possible. “This?” he spat, nodding to the knobby, twisted leg. “Now this is cruel. I’m lucky to be alive after he stomped me under his hooves like a hammer to a bowl of boiled potatoes.”
Amalia glanced at him only to see that his face twisted horribly in anger, much like his leg.
“Oh, and this is also cruel.” A finger shot up to his milky, glazed eye. “Blinded by a kick to the head from that monstrosity.” Then he yanked a sleeve of his shirt up to the shoulder. “And here’s more cruelty, if you please.” Part of his bicep was missing, as if torn away - perhaps by a set of powerful teeth and jaws. “So don’t you go telling me about cruel. This dark tainted monster’s been touched by the black and should have—
His words snagged in his throat.
Amalia jumped free just in time. The black longsteed approached in a hard gallop, rearing a set of his front legs. He planted them firmly and catastrophically into the stable master’s back. The stable master went twisting and flying across the yard, landing in a wadded, tangled heap.
Men yelled and halfheartedly flitted around in a gesture meant to resemble helping him. No one fully committed themselves for fear of the longsteed’s power. It stood sentinel over the body, and the others would rather watch the stable master die than tempt fate and death by risking themselves to help a man that was hardly worth the effort.
The stable master gasped and clawed at the ground as best he coul
d, only half his body responding. He choked and gurgled at the frothy blood gathering in the corners of his mouth.
Seeing the man still move, the longsteed snorted again and charged, trampling over the fallen stable master. There was definite precision in the hoof placement: one at the hips, another on the shoulders, a third on the neck and the last on the stable master’s forehead. When his body half slid, half rolled to a stop, he no longer moved; no longer breathed.
The longsteed stood at the far end of the corral in a challenging stance, just feet away from the trampled and bloody heap, daring anyone to approach. No one did, or would, or could.
Amalia gagged. Blood thumped fast and hard in her ears. She wanted to throw up at the sight of the stable master’s limp body, but clamped down and forced herself not to. The longsteed looked back at her and she watched him dip his head slowly, then raise it, before turning and easily clearing the fence at the far end of the corral. It trotted off into the meadow beyond, then broke out into a gallop, disappearing over the grassy hills. The stablehands visibly relaxed.
“Someone go get the medicus,” one of them shouted.
Another replied, “Better make that the morticus.”
Still a third muttered to one of his companions, “Serves him right,” as he pushed passed them with a floating gurney. Still speaking to his companion, he said, “Learn from this, boy. Nobody tames a longsteed tainted with the black. Nobody,” he repeated. “Cause it’ll tame you first. Let this be a lesson to you, unless you fancy yourself a bloody dot mashed into the ground, caked with mud and khydrid shit and death after a half dozen hooves have pulverized your spine.”
Then a strangled cry, followed by another voice yelling some commotion about someone dying. Amalia thought that was odd since she could still see the men loading the stable master’s body onto the gurney. It couldn’t be him.
She sucked in a sharp breath on the realization of who they fussed over and ran towards the knot of men, shoving her way closer.