An End to Summer

by Diana Rose Wilson

  “Leave him be, Yuli,” Princess Winnifred said in a bored tone.

  “He doesn’t know our ways,” Shylo said. The comment came from so close and unexpectedly that Alexander started. There was no judgment in his cold expression, and yet Alexander sensed he was waiting to see if he would take the bait.

  “What better way to figure it out than to jump in? A brave man would jump in and try it. I can’t be the only one who wants to see what all the fuss is about.” The look Yuli swept over Alexander suggested he thought very little of him.

  The young woman sighed and pushed herself to her feet. “You are a swine, Yuli.” She pinned him with a withering look. When he tried to restrain her arm, she slapped his hand and glided from the tent with a queenly poise.

  “I am the swine? I’m not the coward refusing to stand up for himself among us. Let us see his impressive skills,” Yuli shouted.

  The tent felt too close as the attention from all the young nobles focused on Alexander. It was an insult and they expected him to rise to the occasion. Did they want him to duel? Perhaps if he threw himself into the contests it would be enough. The bored expression on the prince’s face was echoed by all the others. They thought he was a coward. Then it dawned on him. They must have heard about how he got to this place and what he’d allowed his cousins to do to him.

  He should have never admitted so much.

  His throat went dry and he forced his trembling legs to support him as he pushed himself to his feet.

  Shylo’s eyebrows lifted and his golden eyes flashed. Whatever he might have said was drowned by the laughter of the others in the tent.

  “That’s a boy! That’s a boy!” Yuli crowed, clapping his hands together. “Go and show them how it’s done.”

  Alexander wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to show them. At least if he was out there, he wasn’t dealing with the lordling digging at him with his subtle, and not-so-subtle, insults. His jaw tightened and he looked around at the others and their smiles faded. Whatever expression he wore silenced their mirth. Without a word, he turned and headed for the sunlight beyond the flap of the tent where people were gathering.

  “Wait.” Shylo’s voice stopped him as he reached the tent flap. The prince was at his side as he worked a ribbon free from around his neck and offered it to Alexander, slipping it over his head. It was a flimsy festival ribbon with a thin wooden chit strung onto it. “It’s my right as prince to give you my token for Festival.” He regarded Alexander with what might have been contempt. The realization was a knife to Alexander’s gut. The man was publicly mocking him.

  Low snickers circled around the tent as Alexander straightened himself. “Thank you, my prince.” Ignoring the possible insult, he pressed his knuckles over his heart and held it there as he bowed forward. Just because they were taunting him didn’t mean he had to sink to their level. He would act as though this were honorable, even if they were trying to humiliate him.

  Shylo’s expression faltered at the formal gesture. It must have seemed unusual. The man didn’t understand all the meaning behind the movement, but the prince obviously interpreted the honor intended. Having his taunt met with respect unbalanced the young prince.

  Alexander didn’t give him a chance to withdraw his insult or back out of his little game. He swept a look around the tent and then strode into the sun.

  When he found the master of ceremonies he discovered there were a number of activities available for him to register. There were contests of speed and distance running and the same for swimming. Some were events to test strength and stamina. At the bottom of the list were several mock duels with weapons that were unfamiliar to him. The master regarded him with an eager gleam in his eyes after running through the list.

  “You don’t want to do the contest of the Kha’che, it requires a mount and you look as though you’re in need of one.” The young man at his elbow flashed a dazzling smile. “Sorry.” He blushed at the glare Alexander fixed on him. “No offense. I’m Auburn, I, too, am attempting to impress a mount.”

  “I’m Alexander.” He offered out his hand. “What are you trying?”

  “I will do the dance. Always the d—” His bright eyes drifted to the ribbon around Alexander’s neck and he coughed softly. “Gods! You’re the prince’s….consort?”

  Alexander felt heat rush to his face. “No,” he said, instantly putting a hand over the ribbon and the small token dangling from it.

  “But you wear his seal.”

  “It’s a…joke,” he admitted quietly.

  “Joke?” Auburn formed the word as a question as though he weren’t sure what a joke was.

  “He doesn’t think I’ll achieve greatness in any of these events. It’s nothing.”

  Auburn didn’t respond right away. His silence allowed Alexander time to submit his requests for several of the races and for a contest of strength. He wanted to try the duels just to have an excuse to use one of the wooden swords on someone. In the end, he decided against it. If he wasn’t careful, he might be the one bruised and bloodied from the affair After all, he didn’t know the first thing about any of the weapons.

  “That was cruel of him,” the other young man said at last. “I wish you the best of luck in your contests. May your skill unburden you from his disdain. When you win, you may come watch me dance. My father would welcome you with a smile and a mug of milk.” He offered a polite and elegant bow and when he straightened, his eyes were full of delight. Then he turned and sauntered off to a gathering of young people who were obviously his friends.

  “Do you know who that was? Gods and devils, boy! Do you know it?”

  Alexander blinked back to the master of ceremonies and shook his head, baffled. Auburn was dressed for Festival without anything flamboyant to show his social standing.

  “Prince of the northern islands. Klorwur’s own true heir.”

  Alexander blinked after the young man and resisted the urge to shrug. They were all princes or lords it seemed. And every one of them was happy to flaunt his status. Like his cousins had done to him. Well, he was going to show them.

  One didn’t need a grand title to win a race.

  Chapter 9

  By the end of the day he was too tired to gloat. Oh, how he wanted to. He had the advantage of six months of doing nothing except hiking, running, and climbing some of the worst mountain ranges these people had known, not to mention the swim across the channel.

  Understandably, he was fast and had stamina. By the time he came across the finish line of the last endurance race, he had several rather pretty trinkets he could wear on his jacket.

  If he had a jacket.

  Walking across the festival grounds, a dozen or more mounts trailed behind him. He sensed them extending exploratory mental touches towards him in congratulations and then in recognition. Zan’Dar, Keeper of the Lifebreath.

  Little show off. Shara’s voice teased over him as the red mare came trotting lazily through the crowd with her twins trailing sullenly behind her. Do not think to go without a mount for my youngsters. They have not earned that right.

  The colt flattened his ears back and glared at the mature mounts. He was not fool enough to do more than posture. The filly was more sedate in her displeasure though not by much.

  Shara sounded amused and a touch apologetic. They are not yet worthy of the likes of you, Zan’Dar. They must find their names and if they survive they will return to you in two years.

  “I don’t need more than one,” he whispered to Shara, reaching out to scratch one of her elegant ears.

  The red mare snorted and nuzzled his shoulder. You need a mount to watch your back now, not two years from now. The deity guarding us gives no promises that any of us will survive being put to the test. That includes both of my foolish foals. She sent a soft mental caress that soothed the spots where the prince’s insults had wounded him. You deserve happiness. Always remember that. Do not suffer fools who wish to hurt you. You are not required to accept a bond that do
es you harm.

  “What about you? Would you bond to someone?” He realized as he asked it, that he really would like for her to be his mount.

  The response was kind, overflowing with affection. I think you are too fine for me, sweet spirit-kin. Besides, my place is in the migration. I will give my beloved another foal if I am able and I will lead the herd back here. It is fine for the sapphire stallions who are born in war to be raised without the migration and our foals might be fine. I, however, am too selfish to surrender the thrill of the run yet.

  He blushed at the compliment in her words and ran his fingers between her soulful eyes. He didn’t have anything to say to that. His throat tightened around the emotion behind her praise. She glanced over at the gathering of mounts and back to him and leaned in to lick his cheek.

  Tomorrow, you would do well to watch the mounts do their contests. See who is the bravest and fastest. You need a clever, strong, fearless mount for the path you walk, Zan’Dar. With that she and the twins slipped into the crowd out of his line of sight.

  He thought his victory would soften the attitude of the nobles and their guards when he returned to the tent. He wasn’t so lucky. Yuli’s face was blotchy and his expression twisted between outrage and disgust. He wasn’t the only one either. A great many were unable to hide their envy. His success only made things worse, particularly the multiple mounts shadowing him, each one trying to get Alexander’s attention. The mounts arched their necks to show off muscular top-lines and fanned their silken tails in elegant poses.

  “Too blasted crowded in here,” Yuli snarled and slammed his mug down as he glared at the band of mounts who followed Alexander in.

  “I can tell them to leave,” he said. Even as he formed the words, he felt their amusement and mental pats. No, it would not be as easy as simply telling them to go.

  Yuli moved towards him, hands in fists at his sides, hate blazing in his gaze. “You filthy little outsider. You being here is an insult to us all.” Everyone turned to watch what Alexander would do.

  Yuli’s hand went to the hilt of the sword and he yanked at it as though to unsheathe it. Obviously his first response to anger was to answer with the steel. Luckily the blade was tied firmly to the scabbard with the scarlet ribbon. Peace bound. The failure of the sword to come loose seemed to be Alexander’s fault as well. The man’s dark bronze eyes narrowed. Furiously he snorted and then spat at Alexander.

  The hot phlegm hit his cheek and drooled down to his jaw as the room erupted into laughter. The amusement splintered the building tension, however, it intensified the anger of the mounts. Waves of outrage radiated from the blood horses, each of them demanding that Alexander do something. He should not tolerate such disrespect!

  His hands formed fists and he drew himself up, realizing he was more than a head taller than Yuli when he wasn’t slouching. The laughter faded as he took a step toward the lordling. He never got to extract punishment.

  The sound of hooves thundering up behind the tent drew all attention away from them. Yuli fell back two steps, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of Alexander’s range with wide eyes.

  The tent’s doors flew inward as the band of striking mounts came in. Under the mud, blood and blue dye they might have been white. The leader, a huge draft beast slid to a stop from the canter that carried him into the tent.

  His dark eyes glanced around as he projected to all, Where is Zan’Dar, Keeper of the Lifebreath? He focused solely on the other mounts, ignoring the humans.

  The mount behind him, who was braced and ready to jump over him to get at Yuli nudged Alexander forward, This one has the honor of that name, highness. There was a condescending note in the title he flung out.

  Alexander nearly fell as he stumbled forward, wiping the spit from his cheek with his forearm. The stallion glared past him to the mount who had given the shove, Mortari, his voice thundered angrily. Lance of the Blackdiamond, son of Iceblade and Winternight Flame, I know you.

  You blind, self-inflated, sapphire nag. This one! Mortari walked to Alexander and angled himself slightly ahead of him to offer protection. He was a brilliant, frosty gold with white dapples over his haunches. His mane and tail were as bright as starlight.

  Alexander had seen the horse throughout the day. He had assumed the stallion must be the mount for someone of high rank. There was something regal about him. He was larger and more intimidating than Remmy.

  And Zan’Dar does not run for you, Hortez, Mortari sneered out the name.

  Hortez jerked his head back and turned from Mortari to stare at Alexander. The mental touch came as a rough grip, as though he wanted to give a powerful reprimand for the insult. Instead he jerked away with alarm after the brief contact. The mount recovered quickly though and when he spoke next, it was focused more directly on Alexander, the tone respectful, Forgive me, spirit-kin. We come directly from the border. The Marshall is gravely wounded. Darian Spear Eater said to find you. Please, you must help him.

  Mortari was looking at Alexander, one ear flicked towards him to listen.

  “Yes. Of course. If I can do anything.” He started to walk forward, and found the golden horse blocking his path. The stallion uttered a loud snort.

  No, rider. Let me bear you.

  Alexander blinked at the mount and understood the offer with his stomach tumbling out from under him. Sharp as a black diamond. The stallion was brave and strong and he had run the migration three times without yet finding what he was seeking, until now. The information whispered around him in a warm buzzing between his ears as the mount offered himself as mount. The stallion’s steely pride was tempered somewhat by a flush of modesty. He was not completely confident that Zan’Dar would find him worthy.

  Which made Alexander blush furiously. When he began to form the thought that he was only a child, the mount slapped the thought away savagely and grunted. Enough! Mount. The Marshall needs you.

  Mortari was a huge beast and it took an effort to swing himself up without assistance. The stallion didn’t so much as bend a knee. Well, why should he? The pale ears flicked back at him as the skin beneath his thighs twitched under the unfamiliar weight. Delight spilled over him, a mixture of a cheer and roar went up around them. The mounts nearby were pleased; the humans confused.

  That stupid princeling doesn’t deserve you, Mortari whispered, enfolding him protectively and fiercely in layers of his guards and walls, pushing all the others away with a proprietary pride. His. HIS! Woes betide the soul who attempted to get at Alexander. It was different than the other supernatural touches. The war-mount’s contact was bold and consuming, sinking deep into his soul with an unbending finality. An ownership. It was surprising how quiet it was after months in contact with the herd.

  Hortez snorted, not quite rolling his eyes as he wheeled and galloped out of the tent alongside the others. Mortari followed a breath behind them and Alexander was thankful he was horseman enough to stay on bareback. The mount uttered a roar of victory, and Alexander sensed the reverence, and the awe that HIS rider was already so skilled. They left the baffled humans behind while the mounts ran along with their group.

  The last horse Alexander had ridden was the sweet bay gelding and there was no comparison to this. The fundamentals were the same. Such as knowing how to balance himself and to hold without gripping. From there everything was different. There was the substantial size, strength and power discrepancy and even more impressive was the sagecraft the mount held. Alexander knew there was some, just by virtue of the mount’s ability to share emotions and to speak mind to mind. No one had told him how powerful they really were. He and the horse really were one.

  We are not created equal, Zan’Dar, just as you are not ordinary—neither am I. Then the mount focused on the run, pushing himself faster to overtake the other horses and match strides with the lead stallion, showing off as much for them as to his new rider. Not ordinary was an understatement.

  They rode away from the beach and into the grasslands
towards the base of the mountains in the darkness. It wasn’t long before he saw the firelight from torches and smelled the smoke from campfires. There was an army here, making their way down to the crescent shore. The men and beasts all looked battle weary and exhausted. The lead detachment was a group of guards mounted on beasts of the same draft build as Hortez. The armor made it impossible to tell what color they might have been in the fire-lit darkness.

  The mass of warriors parted for them, men and mounts staring at the boy riding bareback in festival garb. There was respect though, rather than the haughty reserve the people on the shore gave him. They were led to a mount who was gravely wounded. A huge man in armor walked beside the beast, the low rumble of his voice pitched in encouragement.

  The tack had been removed from the mount. There were a number of arrows still in the beast’s side. Many other places were bloody pits where they had managed to remove the shafts. The human part of the partnership was as enormous as his stallion, broad shouldered and thick necked. He was dead on his feet, bloodied face grim. Somehow the man was stubbornly attending his mount, seeing to the stallion first, despite appearing in need of a doctor himself.

  “Marshall?” he called as Mortari drew close enough.

  The fierce looking man focused blearily on him as Alexander dismounted. He frowned, his expression turning from puzzled to troubled. “We sent for the war-mount, boy,” he growled. “This isn’t part of the show, kid.”

  This is no boy! He is the one named Zan’Dar, Keeper of the Lifebreath. He ran the migration and saved Spear Eater’s foals. The Marshall’s brother not only vouched for him, but he runs for him, Hortez said.

  The wounded mount focused on him, however, rather than feeling the usual metal touch, Alexander sensed how Mortari shielded him behind titanic walls. He acted as a physical and spiritual guard. Intimate contact with Alexander was a privilege he alone would enjoy, and he radiated the fact with a bone deep satisfaction. Alexander was his rider and not to be tampered with.