30
Drael
AFTER THE SWIM, RAHKKI’S TEAM LEFT TO explore the camp before the sun set. Each evening, soldiers and Riders entertained at a central campfire, telling stories, frying honeycomb, singing, and drumming. Tonight there would be no fire or singing—they were too close to Mount Crim—but there would be quiet storytelling. Rahkki had noticed the tales growing darker and more frightening as each day passed. Sula didn’t like the gatherings; there were too many people, so tonight he stayed with her by the lime tree. He dined on Darthan’s rice cakes and fish jerky while Sula grazed on wild grasses.
Rahkki startled when a leopard spider leaped down from the lime tree and snatched his dried fish right out of his hand. “Bloody rain!” he yelped, and Sula flared her wings.
The black-and-tan spider, about the size of Rahkki’s head, hung from its silk thread and turned its eight shimmering eyes on the boy. Four of its long legs gripped the piece of fish, the other four clutched the silk, but it continued to glare at Rahkki, working its jaws.
“Get,” he said, shooing it away.
The heavy creature lost interest in the boy and retreated, rising effortlessly back into the tree. There it rolled the fish in silk, spinning the sticky thread from its hairy abdomen and wrapping the meal tight.
Rahkki stared, transfixed. The spider’s motions and its glistening silk reminded him of what Brauk had said about Drael being killed by black magnas. Waves of nausea rolled through Rahkki. He wasn’t afraid of spiders, but he knew he’d seen this before: a spider wrapping its prey. Could it be that more of his memories from the night Lilliam attacked his mother were returning? And what if Drael had survived the black magnas attack? Rahkki’s heart stuttered—that bay stallion had been his first, and his best, friend.
Rahkki finished the rest of meal and then curled into his bedroll. He slept fitful, his mind churning. He dreamed about the evening his mother disappeared. After he and Brauk were safe on Drael’s back, Reyella had leaped over Rahkki’s low-burning fire and vanished through the flames. Lilliam, whose hands were curled as if still around Rahkki’s throat, had screamed, “I will find you!”
After Reyella vanished, Brauk, Rahkki, and Drael had galloped down the long hallway. Lilliam had shouted for her personal guards—hired soldiers she’d brought with her from the Second Clan to help her overthrow Reyella Stormrunner. The guards burst from the shadows and blocked Drael.
The stallion had whirled and kicked, hurtling guards into walls. Rahkki rode in front of Brauk, his fists clenched around Drael’s black mane. The boys rode bareback with no bridle to guide Drael and no saddle to keep them secure, but Drael knew what was needed: to get the young princes out of the fortress.
Rahkki had dared a glance at Brauk. His brother was thirteen years old and already strong and fast from wrestling and hunting. And he was fearless too—he baited small dragons, rode untrained horses, flew Drael to breathless heights—but his face that night was round and young and twisted with terror. “Yah!” he’d shouted to Drael.
The stallion charged past the final guard, lowered his head, and leaped straight into the shuttered window, smashing it to pieces. Slivers of wood sliced Rahkki’s arms, and he’d yelped with pain. The last soldier hollered and drew his bow. Seconds later, an arrow whistled toward them. Brauk leaned over Rahkki, shielding him, grunting when the arrow grazed his ribs, drawing blood. Then another flew, and it plunged into Brauk’s shoulder. Drael, who was also injured, had wheezed for air and sunk toward land. “No, Drael, fly!” Brauk had cried.
And there Rahkki’s memory had dropped a veil these past eight years. He’d remembered nothing except showing up at Darthan’s farm ten days later, starving and weak. But now, in his sleep, that veil shattered just like the shuttered window, and he suddenly remembered everything. . . .
“Something’s wrong with Dee Dee!” Rahkki screamed after they burst through the window. He was four years old, and he couldn’t pronounce Drael, which meant “diamond” in Talu. Upon hearing Rahkki’s words, the small bay stallion rallied, pumping his wings and regaining his altitude. He flew deep into the jungle, his breath coming in rapid bursts.
Rahkki glanced back and saw tears streaming down his brother’s cheeks. Then he studied Drael—his best friend in the world. What was wrong with the stallion? Why did he sound like he was full of holes?
That’s when Rahkki noticed the blood. It dripped down the stallion’s chest and fell toward land. “Dee Dee’s hurt!” he screamed at Brauk.
“We have to land him,” Brauk hollered.
They’d flown so fast they’d reached the Western Wilds, the lands that were uninhabited by Sandwens. Rain burst from the clouds, soaking them instantly. Brauk guided Drael to the animal paths. The bay stallion stumbled upon landing and then crashed onto his side. Rahkki and Brauk tumbled off his back and into a clump of dark vines and ferns. Lightning cracked and thunder roared across the sky.
Rahkki rolled to his feet and rushed to Drael’s head. A long sharp sliver of wood was embedded in the stallion’s chest like a spear. Rahkki ignored it and lay beside Drael’s chiseled and perfect muzzle. His tears dripped onto the stallion’s face. They mixed with the rain as he stroked the bay’s cheek and listened to his soft breaths.
Brauk sat a distance away, his gold eyes as blank as the moon.
Drael heaved a breath and groaned in a deep rumble. Blood pooled between his teeth.
“Don’t die,” Rahkki pleaded. “Please don’t die.”
The stallion rolled his dark-brown eyes toward the young boy.
“I love you,” Rahkki whispered to him. “You’re my best friend.”
Drael shut his eyelids.
“Dee Dee, no!”
The small stallion’s amber feathers gave a defiant rattle as his wings settled around him. His breaths slowed.
A blast of lightning struck, revealing danger. “Run!” Brauk had shouted, and he grabbed Rahkki’s nightdress in his fist, yanking him upright. “Black magnas!”
Scurrying toward them from the west came an army of gigantic black spiders. Snapping mandibles, thousands of glittering eyes, and razor-spiked black legs filled Rahkki’s vision. Brauk picked up a sharp stick.
The closest spider had reared back and shot a band of silk at them. Brauk ducked, tugging Rahkki with him. Then he charged the waist-high spider and smashed it across its fangs. The magna reared again, shooting silk that struck Brauk’s face. The spider gripped the thread with its hairy claws and reeled Brauk toward its fanged maw. The spider army piled over one another, skittering closer and shooting threads that filled the sky. The silk landed on Rahkki and his brother, sticking to their skin and clothes.
Rahkki tried to break the silk that connected his brother to the black magna. If the spider got close enough, he’d spin Brauk into a webbed cocoon. Then he’d inject him with venom, but not the killing kind.
Black magna venom was the strongest healing medicine in the Realm. The serum entered the blood and immediately healed disease, killed infection, and knitted damaged bone and tissue. It was difficult to collect, but Sandwen Borlas kept doses of the rare venom on hand for their queens. The venom could heal just about anything. But the spiders used it on their victims for a darker purpose. Diseased or damaged food would be rejected by their spiderlings. So after binding their prey in silk, they injected the serum to ensure a healthy, disease-free meal.
“Get behind me!” Brauk screamed.
And then dark hooves came crashing down, pounding the magna into the mud—it was Drael! He’d rallied enough to fight.
The spider rolled over, spitting silk from its belly.
Drael stomped its head, and pale-blue blood squirted across Rahkki’s nightdress. He stared up at the stallion between flashes of lightning. The beautiful bay was sweat frothed and rain soaked, and the splintered piece of wood still jutted out from his chest. Drael wheezed for breath; he didn’t have much fight left in him, but maybe just enough. . . .
Brauk snatched Rahkki�
�s hand, and they fled from the spider army while their mother’s stallion battled for them, slamming spider after spider with his hooves.
The silk threads flew.
The boys ran.
The last time Rahkki looked back, Drael’s legs were trapped in sticky silk, and he had fallen onto his side. The black magnas swarmed him, spinning their threads.
After that, Rahkki just ran, mindful only of his brother’s slapping heels. They jogged for miles, heading away from the spider army. Finally Brauk came to rest at the base of huge kapok tree with a hollowed-out trunk. After poking around with his stick and finding nothing living, Brauk ordered Rahkki inside.
Both boys scooted into the tree, and Rahkki curled into a ball. Brauk yanked the arrow out of his shoulder and wrapped the wound with cloth he tore from his nightdress. The brothers sat in silence for a long, long time.
Then Rahkki slumped over. “Dee Dee, Dee Dee, Dee Dee,” he chanted.
Brauk said nothing. He just sat and sharpened his wet stick on a stone.
The brothers spent ten long days surviving in the jungle. They fed on figs and grubs, and hid from panthers and territorial chimpanzees. They were stung by insects and attacked by jungle rats. Rahkki had his first run-in with a carnivorous plant. It snapped its leaves around him and would have eaten him if Brauk hadn’t snapped the creature’s stem, killing it. That’s when Brauk decided they couldn’t live in the jungle alone forever, but they also couldn’t go home. Their mother was gone. And now Lilliam was the new queen and the boys were her enemies.
Rahkki had denied it. “No, Momma jumped through the fireplace. She’s alive.”
“If she’s alive, then why is Fort Prowl flying the black banner?” The boys had climbed a tree the day before and spotted the black flag waving. It meant that the sitting queen was dead. It would remain black for a full moon cycle, and then the red flag would return. Brauk laughed, his tone bitter and cold. “Time to grow up, Rahkki.”
And Rahkki had fought hard to grow up, to be brave, to accept Brauk’s truth; but to do so, he had to deny what he’d witnessed: his mother’s seemingly magical disappearance. Over time, a veil had dropped onto Rahkki’s memories, covering them like snow.
The rest, Rahkki had always known. After ten days in the jungle, Brauk had made a decision. “We have to go to Uncle.” The brothers had avoided this, fearing the queen would kill Darthan too, but Brauk was just old enough to know that he needed help and just young enough to ask for it. “Maybe he can hide us.”
When the boys reached Darthan, they were weak, starving, and exhausted. Uncle had run outside to meet them, looking as dirt streaked and bramble-torn as they. “I knew you were alive,” he’d cried, embracing them. “The new queen announced you weren’t, but I didn’t believe it. I’ve been searching and searching.”
A few days later, their uncle had struck a bargain with Lilliam, promising his harvests to the Fifth Clan army and receiving a mere tenth for himself. He became her indentured servant, but in return, the new queen promised to allow Rahkki and Brauk back into the clan and grant them their inheritance, which Brauk had quickly squandered gambling. But before they lost everything, Brauk had purchased Kol, joined the Sky Guard, and risen rapidly through the ranks. And Rahkki had become his groom.
Now, in his sleep, Rahkki groaned. The black magnas turned into leopard spiders, Drael morphed into a piece of fish. Rahkki tossed and tried to turn over, but a terrible weight crushed his chest. He cried out, struggling to breathe. He clawed at his blankets, but they covered his head. Someone was sitting on him. Then something long and smooth slid down his leg. He heard a serpent hissing.
“Help!” he rasped.
A pillow slammed onto Rahkki’s head. He tried to shove it aside, but the person pressed it into his face, cutting off his air. Meanwhile, the serpent bumped against his thigh.
Rahkki’s mind screamed one word: Assassin!
31
Assassin
RAHKKI THRASHED INSIDE HIS BLANKETS AS THE wool pillow filled his mouth.
Footsteps barreled toward him, and then someone slammed into the first person, shoving him off of Rahkki’s chest. He heard them wrestling in the dirt. He rolled away and finally whipped his legs out of his blankets and freed his head.
Torchlight came, bobbing in the hands of a soldier. “Ay, what goes?” he cried.
The light illuminated two figures—Rahkki saw Harak Nightseer and a small hooded person holding a gleaming dagger.
Harak lunged at the assassin, who dodged him and then raced into the jungle. “Who are you?” Harak shouted at the retreating figure, and then, to the soldier carrying the torch, “Seize him!”
The rumpled soldier, who’d probably just woken from sleep, lumbered into an awkward chase.
Harak shoved Rahkki aside, took up a loose branch, and thrashed the bedroll. The long shape of a serpent flailed beneath the covers, hissing furiously. “Stay back!” Harak shouted. “It’s a blood viper.” He beat the creature and then dragged the limp body out of the bedding by its tail. Rahkki spied the red-scaled bands that warned of the serpent’s deadly venom. This snake was one of the deadliest in the Sandwen Realm.
“Land to skies,” Rahkki breathed.
Harak narrowed his green eyes, nodding toward the dark forest where the mysterious figure had disappeared. “Someone tried to kill you, little Rider. They trapped you in your blankets with a blood viper. Did it bite you?”
“The assassin or the snake?”
“Mushka,” Harak snarled. “The snake, yeah.”
Rahkki examined his exposed skin. “I don’t think so.” Then he stared up at Harak. A thin line of blood had appeared on the Headwind’s arm where the dagger had cut him. “You saved me,” Rahkki said, incredulous.
Harak sneered at him. “You’re lucky I was near.” He inspected the cut on his arm. “Bloody rain,” he growled. “You owe me for this.” Harak strode away, flinging the snake’s body into the brush.
Rahkki glanced around him. Where was Sula? Where were Mut and his protectors? He pulled on his trousers, slipped a small torch out of his supply bag, and tiptoed toward his team’s bedrolls. They were empty. Around the encampment, soldiers snored and patrols guarded the perimeter. Rahkki’s hairs stood on end. This was the second attempt on his life in four days. His thoughts turned to General Tsun; maybe the general knew something about the assassin.
Rahkki slunk toward the general’s tent but saw it was well guarded and dark. He decided to speak to the general in the morning, and then he returned to his mangled blankets and walked in a spiral around them, hunting for Sula’s hoofprints. When Rahkki spotted her tracks, he followed them, but abruptly, they disappeared.
For a long moment, Rahkki was perplexed. How had his mare just vanished? Then he noticed a few purple feathers trapped in the branches overhead. Of course, he chided himself. She’d lifted off to fly, and he had no way to track a winged mare.
Rahkki tread into the clearing by the lake, scanning the star-laden sky. The hiss of an alligator startled him. His gaze swept lakeward and located the reptile, crouched on the shoreline in the distance, watching him. Its parted jaws revealed sharp teeth. “What are you looking at?” he groused, feeling unsettled.
The black alligator hissed again and whipped its tail. Rahkki realized he hadn’t grabbed a weapon, more proof of his overall incompetence. He turned and trudged back to his bedding. Lifting it, he saw the viper’s blood splattered against the wool. The smell would attract predators, which was the last thing he needed tonight. He bundled the mess, tucked it on the western side of a bushy fig tree, and lit it on fire where the flames were shielded from view.
He returned to his lime tree, spread out his rain cloak, and lay upon it, curling for warmth. Moments later, Sula floated down and landed beside him.
“Where have you been?” he whispered, relief filling him.
She nickered and sniffed him. Then alarm rounded her eyes. Traces of blood still darkened the soil—the snake’s and Harak
’s—and she’d caught wind of it. Sula pressed her muzzle against Rahkki’s face, exchanging breath with him. It was a Kihlara greeting but also an expression of affection. “I’m all right,” he said, stroking her petal-soft muzzle. “I’m just fine.”
Sula buckled her knees and lay beside his cloak, seeming to offer her larger body for warmth. Rahkki nestled close, pressing his cheek against her sleek silver hide. Perhaps she’d gone for a drink at the lake, or off to graze. All that mattered was that she’d returned to him and they were both unharmed.
His mind shifted to Drael. If the stallion had escaped the magnas, he would have found Reyella and flown her across Cinder Bay. Rahkki’s heart swelled as he snuggled closer to Sula. Perhaps his mother and her stallion had both survived. He shut out the nagging question—where had they gone—and turned his eyes toward the stars.
Morning arrived, quick and loud and shrouded in mist. Rahkki woke and snacked on Darthan’s spiced rice cakes, and then he and Sula strode toward the general’s command tent. Koko, Mut, Tam, and Jul were still absent. The calls of birds and monkeys ricocheted throughout the canopy overhead, and the deep rumbling of orangutans filled his ears. Upon arriving at General Tsun’s tent, Rahkki begged entrance.
“Ay, Stormrunner,” the general greeted, biting into his flatbread. Harak, Meela, and Tuni squatted nearby. Before Rahkki could complain about the assassin, the general spoke. “I heard there was trouble last night.”
“Yes, sir. Someone tried to kill me,” Rahkki answered.
Tuni swore under her breath.
The general flinched. “You sure it wasn’t a prank?”
“I don’t think so, General. It was a blood viper. Harak saw it. And whoever put it in my bedroll was armed with a dagger. He cut Harak with it.” Rahkki guessed the dagger was a backup weapon in case the snake had failed to strike. Rahkki exhaled, realizing how close he’d come to death—again.
“You’re right,” General Tsun agreed. “That doesn’t sound like soldiers messing around. What did this assassin look like?”
Riders of the Realm #2 Page 15