Just One Knight

by Bridget Essex

  It would be cliché to talk of caterpillars and butterflies, but that’s how I feel as I stand before the polished brass that hangs on my wall in lieu of a silver mirror.

  The woman in the reflection—she looks like me. But not like the stablehand version of me. She looks like the me I’ve always wished to become. Seeing her now in the mirror…it’s surreal. A dream come true.

  It feels good. Better than I ever imagined...

  I touch my cheek with gloved fingers. The plain metal plate on the back of my hand whispers against the leather as I press fingertips to my jaw. I take a deep breath, trace fingers over my neck, to the metal collar at my shoulder blades.

  The woman looking back at me in the mirror...

  She’s a knight.

  She's me.

  “Talis?” calls Lellie through the closed trapdoor. “Are you decent? Rane’s all ready to go, and so am I.”

  “I need to get out of this stall right this minute, so hurry!” huffs Rane.

  I nod. My cheeks are pale, but there’s blood pulsing through my body, and a strange sort of bravery has begun in my bones, sending spirals outward. “Yes—I’m coming,” I call back, and then I cross over to the trap door, fling it open, and descend the stairs at record pace, jumping down the last two rungs.

  I land in the hay and stand upright, my hands on my hips, and I lift my chin, grinning at both horse and woman.

  Lellie was checking Rane’s girth, and she pauses, one hand on the saddle flap, to glance my way.

  Slowly, softly, her mouth opens into a round O of astonishment. She remains that way for an endless moment, her eyes as round as buckets. “Talis…” she whispers, and then she smiles a soft smile, shakes her head. “It’s…you.”

  “Of course it’s me.” I scratch at my neck, ducking my head, but I can’t hide my smile.

  Lellie steps forward, placing her hands on my shoulders. “It suits you, Talis. This is you. You’re a knight. Just as I told you.”

  “I doubt Magel would agree with that.” I raise a brow, but Lellie shrugs, takes a step back, and then grabs Rane’s reins from the pommel, pulling them over the horse’s enormous head and handing them to me.

  “Good thing Magel’s not here then, isn't it? Let’s go. We’ve got a date with fun.”

  I follow after Lellie, who opens the stall door, and Rane trots behind me, champing at her bit and prancing just a little. “Don’t overdo it, pretty girl,” I croon to her, reaching out and placing my hand on her neck to soothe her.

  “I’ve been cooped up for moons, and you’re telling me not to overdo it? I’ve only been allowed to wander one small pasture. I’ve not been able to release my energy. And tonight? Tonight, I’m free again.” Rane sighs contentedly, and the moment we step out of the stable and into the twilight, she lifts her nose to the winds, and her nostrils are flaring; she looks as if she’s about to bugle triumphantly.

  Lellie’s horse, Sasha, is waiting at the stable’s main door, tied to the hitching post. Her coat is a lovely palomino, the gold of it glowing in the soft twilit light. She’s about a hand taller than Rane, making her one of the biggest horses in the stable. She casts a sidelong glance at Rane and pricks her ears forward, lifting her nose to nicker softly.

  “Long time no see, stranger,” says Sasha to Rane, tilting her head a little to the side. She gives a horsey laugh. “Going my way?”

  “I see your jokes haven’t improved since we last chatted,” Rane retorts through bared teeth—because Rane is haughty and a bit of an ass at times. But Sasha, good-natured mare that she is, takes this in stride and simply chuckles.

  “I don’t want to know what they’re talking about.” Lellie grins, and then she leads Sasha to the mounting block, hitches up her skirts and hops up onto the block. “Can you tell Sasha that I love her, and that she’s a very good horse?”

  “She…can hear you. Horses understand people-speak. They’re the more advanced of the species, obviously.” I chuckle as Lellie grips the pommel of the saddle and then nimbly jumps onto Sasha’s back.

  “Can you tell Lellie that I love her, also, and that she’s a very good human?” asks Sasha, craning her face toward me, over her shoulder.

  I repeat the message, and Lellie puts her head back, laughing her bright laugh as she pats her enormous horse on the shoulder.

  “This mutual admiration is making me feel a bit sick,” says Rane, slicking her ears back. “Mount up, Talis, or we are all going to die of old age.”

  “You exaggerate. And, anyway, isn't there joy in the journey? You said you wanted out of the stall—”

  “Talis.” At this point, Rane is more than little annoyed. She pounds her front hooves onto the ground and glares daggers down at me. “Get up,” she commands through clenched teeth, “or I’m leaving without you.”

  I have no doubts that Rane would trot out of the stable yard and through Arktos City all on her own, and if that happened... Well, I'd have a lot of explaining to do.

  At the moment, I’m wearing one of Asla’s cloaks, which conceals the armor in case anyone who knows me glances my way. But few of my fellow stablehands are around; most are in the mess hall, getting their dinner, along with the knights who aren't yet at the tournament. I suspect that the tavern, too, will be more or less devoid of knights, since the majority of them are preparing for the tournament. Those who are there will likely be too drunk to notice an impostor in their midst—I hope.

  I bounce up into the air and grasp the pommel lightly, pulling myself into the saddle as smoothly as I can. Rane is very tall, but I’m used to mounting her this way for her exercises in the training ring. Still, I have to move myself as gently as possible onto her broad back, because I don’t want to disturb the babe.

  When I'm situated, I glance down at my legs and can’t help but laugh. Rane’s middle, wide on any normal day (she does love her grain and mash) is, well, huge. My legs are spread so wide, I might be doing a split as I try to grip her belly and find my seat. I chuckle, leaning forward and patting her shoulder.

  “Go easy with me, old girl. I’ve got nothing to hold onto up here. It’s like sitting astride a boulder.”

  Rane snorts and bobs her head, tugging at the reins. “Let’s sally forth, or I’m going to buck you onto a real boulder.”

  Lellie and Sasha lead the way toward the Happy Lioness, and I concentrate on keeping my seat. Mostly, I’m sliding around and just trying to stay on the horse. I’m fairly good at maintaining my balance on horseback, but even with my feet in the stirrups, nothing feels stable up here. Lellie couldn’t tighten the girth as much as she normally would; though the girth goes under Rane’s belly closest to her front legs, you don’t want to pinch a pregnant mare, so it is purposefully loose. This means that, with each stride Rane takes, the saddle moves around on her back.

  Staying seated takes all of my concentration, which, I suppose, is a blessing in disguise. I have no time to consider how foolish this adventure is, or how much trouble I could get into if we are caught.

  The twilight casts a purple glow over the landscape, and Rane arches her neck prettily, prancing, as I—a stablehand—sit on the back of a warrior mare, clad in armor that isn’t mine.

  This moment is so fragile...

  And far too easily, it could shatter.

  Chapter 6

  CINDA

  “This moment is so fragile, pet.” Jeene’s trying to keep her voice light, but some emotion has sneaked into it. “So stay in it, yeah? Don’t think about anything else. Don't worry about anything else. We’re going to make the most of tonight, aren't we?” Her white teeth flash brightly as she smiles at me from the back of her horse.

  I try to smile back.

  Her speech was nice, sure, but…

  “It’s a little hard to make the most of anything when a donkey is trying to kill you, dear Jeene.” I clutch my donkey’s mane, trying to stay seated, or—at the very least—remain off of the ground.

  Riding a donkey wasn’t in my plans for the e
vening, obviously. But when we reached the livery stable earlier, this was the card that the gods decided to deal me.

  My friend knows that I dislike horses, of course. She also knows that every horse I’ve ever ridden has had the same loathing for me as I have for it. I’ve been bucked off, reared off, even bitten. It truly seems as if, whenever a horsey-type creature glances in my direction, a thunderclap sounds: I raise my lip at him, he raises his lip at me, and mutual warfare is thereby declared.

  Truth be told, it is probably a good thing that I don’t like horses. Because that reluctance to climb onto the back of one is what has kept me here in Arktos City. How might I go on an adventure without a horse? And that’s what I tell myself whenever my wanderlust acts up. I couldn’t get very far without a horse, now, could I?

  Of course, a still, small voice inside of me argues with that sentiment. Argues that, with enough patience and training, I could become better at riding horses, rather than sliding about like a sack of flour in the saddle. Argues that this is simply another excuse I use to stop myself from doing something I want so very, very much…

  Well, I try not to listen to that voice, because Goddess knows the bills must be paid, so the bread must be baked. And, after all, that voice is quiet. It’s easy enough to silence it.

  As much as it hurts to do so.

  I sigh and regard my donkey with hooded eyes.

  Jeene swore to me, up and down, that she’d spoken with the woman in charge of the livery, had told her that her friend didn’t much like horses, was, in fact, unskilled at riding them, so could the stable owner please, please, please give us her calmest, most easygoing mount? I don’t truly believe that any horse—anywhere—could be categorized as “easy to ride,” but I went along with the scheme, because Jeene was hellbent on traveling to this distant tavern.

  But when we arrived at the stable, the owner was nowhere to be found. There was, instead, only a young stablehand present. And when we glanced along the row of stalls, we realized that we couldn’t see any mounts at all. In retrospect, it makes sense: there are so many people in Arktos right now for the Hero’s Tournament; they had likely rented all of the beasts.

  When the stablehand heard our story, she ran about the place, trying to locate suitable mounts—and returned, red-faced and panting, with the news that there were, in fact, two horses left, the only two horses remaining in the stable. She said, with her eyes downcast, that one of them would “probably” be calm enough for me.

  Probably.

  Hmm.

  “Let’s not bother, Jeene,” I’d said then, with a shake of my head. “Let’s just go to the Steel Lily—”

  “No. You need a grand night out to forget that miserable excuse of a lover. You need something different.”

  So Jeene turned her fierce gaze on the girl—who paled a little, poor creature. “Are you sure,” Jeene asked, narrowing her eyes, “that you have no other beasts? Something more docile for my friend here?”

  “Well,” the girl began, her voice uncertain. “We… We do have a donkey. He’s quite short. Perhaps that might suit the mistress?” She flicked her nervous gaze toward me.

  “Yes!” Jeene clapped her hands, giving me her most winning smile. “A donkey. Of course! Donkeys are small. You’d be nearer to the ground.”

  “Um...”

  So it was settled. I’d ride the donkey, and Jeene would ride a horse—a tall bay beast. And Jeene would get a discount on her next rental because of the mix-up.

  But when the girl brought the horse and the donkey out to us in the stable yard, I took one look at the creature I was meant to mount and felt my stomach drop.

  “I...don’t think I can ride that,” I said quietly.

  The donkey was ancient. And rotund. And angry. He kept snapping his teeth at the girl who was leading him, and when she came to a standstill before us, he caught a bit of her shirt in his mouth, tugging it back.

  “He has no teeth, so if he nips you, it won’t hurt,” the girl promised. “His name is Cossie.” She dropped the donkey’s reins in my hand and sprinted back toward the livery stable, as if to avoid confronting our dismay.

  “Well, shall we?” Jeene mounted her horse without need of the mounting block, an old wooden box that was nailed to the side of the building.

  As for me... Every time I placed my foot into the stirrup to try and crawl on top of the donkey, he sidled away in the opposite direction, laying his ears flat back against his head.

  “Jeene, can you hold the reins, keep him steady?” I asked, and Jeene obliged, catching the reins when I tossed them up to her.

  Then I concentrated on mounting the damn beast, but now that he’d gotten wind of my fear and exasperation, he decided to use that to his advantage. It took me the better part of an hour to get into the saddle, and by the time I finally managed sit on him and wrap my hands around his mane, twilight had come and gone. The sky was now dark. There were magelamps along the street that cast a warm glow down onto us.

  I felt more weary than ever.

  But, finally, we began to ride, and every stubborn step of the donkey jostled me sick.

  This was a very bad idea.

  “How are you holding up, Cinda?” Jeene asks now, over her shoulder. She nearly always calls me pet, so her use of my name means that she’s worried.

  “Fine,” I call out through gritted teeth. I don’t know much about riding horses—and even less about riding donkeys—but I do know that kicking them in the sides usually makes them go faster. Still, I’ve fallen behind Jeene and her mount, since it has taken all of my concentration to stay on this animal's back. It doesn't help matters that I’m wearing my fullest skirt, and my legs are slipping around the donkey's round belly...

  “Good. Urge him to go a little faster, will you? We want to reach the tavern before our hair turns gray.”

  I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on the reins. This causes the donkey to stop in the middle of the street, lifting his head and swishing his tail in apparent annoyance.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, and then I drop the reins as I try to give him his head. Honestly, he’s a very old donkey; what could he possibly do? I wrap my hands in his mane (a difficult feat, as his mane is so short). “All right, donkey, sir.” I sit back in the saddle a little, the reins still lying on the pommel. “Giddyup! Or…hyah! Or…um...”

  I don't know how to get him going again, because neither of those words worked at all. His hooves are firmly planted on the cobblestones, as if he doesn't intend to move a hair for days.

  Jeene halts her horse and turns around in the saddle to glance back at me, one brow raised. “Really, pet, what’s keeping you?”

  I shrug. “He stopped, and now he just won’t go again.”

  Jeene circles her horse around until she’s standing beside me, peering down on the donkey and me with a bemused expression.

  “He ‘just won’t go'?” Her voice is strained with suppressed laughter.

  “Look, I’ve done everything I can think of!” I stare up at her, exasperated. “Can’t you just lead him with your horse, tether him behind you?”

  “No. He has four perfectly usable legs. Don’t let him win! Just tell him to go.”

  “Giddyup,” I say dully, digging my heels into his sides.

  But the donkey stands as still as a statue.

  “Oh, now, that’s just silly.” And Jeene stands up in her stirrups. “Hyah, small one!” she shouts, and she takes the end of her reins in one hand—and she lets them drop onto my donkey’s backside.

  That’s when the evening takes a decided downturn.

  Her reins swung down a bit harder than I imagine Jeene expected them to. And when they hit the donkey’s rump…

  Well, he explodes.

  The donkey, was, of course, standing still, refusing to move a muscle, but now, in this instant, he transforms into a rampaging beast. He bolts straight forward, and he begins to run.

  I’ve never been on the back of an animal, horse or donke
y, that went faster than a trot. And a trot, mind you, is difficult enough to sit.

  This?

  This is...brand new, to say the least.

  The donkey isn't trotting or cantering; he’s flat out running, as if wolves are on his tail, nipping at his hooves. I almost fell off of his back in that first surge forward, but maybe because I had my fingers wrapped in his mane, or maybe because I’m gripping his barrel with my legs so tightly, I stay upright.

  And he just keeps running.

  Block after block of the city rushes by, and the donkey doesn't slow. I’m not holding his reins, I remember, astonished. I had assumed he’d ease his pace by himself after some distance. But, instead, he picks up speed as he rounds a corner, his hooves clattering on the cobblestones, his ears slicked flat on his head. He’s braying loudly as he runs—“hee-haw, hee-haw”—and every person on the street is looking and pointing at the spectacle of the runaway donkey, with a woman in a red dress clinging to his back.

  Several bystanders are actively laughing at my predicament, the asses.

  “Don’t laugh—help me!” I shout, but no one does a thing. Admittedly, years from now, I, too, might chuckle over the ludicrousness of this particular experience.

  But in the present moment, I'm far too frightened to find any humor in it.

  At all.

  I’m near to the ground, true, but the ground is moving past so quickly. And then the donkey somehow, impossibly, begins to run faster.

  Cossie the donkey is unmistakably angry as he hurtles through the streets. He doesn’t even seem to be looking where he’s going. He’s just...going. I try to grasp the reins with my hands still deep in his mane, but I can’t seize them, so here we are, one baker and one runaway donkey. My buttocks, I suspect, are about to be thrown end over end…

  As if he read my thoughts, the wild little donkey begins to buck when we round the next corner. One moment I’m on his back, being tossed about like a sack of flour, and the next, his back end starts to pump me up into the air.