Toby Bishop - Horse Mistress 03

by Airs of Night

  Beyond it, the little fishing boat darted to safety behind the bulk of the Marinan .

  Lark hoped the Marinan would keep holding its fire. Surely Baron Rys would not punish the men on the patrol boat for disabling its cannon. His daughter would soon be safe in his care. He had no reason to fire again.

  Tup rose more slowly now into the empty sky. Lark felt his fatigue, and she knew what Arrows had cost him. She lifted the rein, to turn him back toward the land.

  DIAMOND’Swings labored, fluttering. Sunny caught up with her easily, and Philippa let her pull a little ahead, hoping the filly would match her wingbeats to the older mare’s. Diamond’s eyes were wild, and spittle and foam blew from her lips. Philippa’s heart broke at the sight of her.

  William’s eyes were wild, too, black as night in his pale face. His hair had come loose from its queue to flutter around his head. He had Diamond’s reins wound through his fingers, and his hands clenched the pommel of his saddle, one fist on top of the other.

  He cast Philippa a sideways glance, then away, as if she were no more than an apparition, a figment of cloud and wind. She shouted, “William! It’s too much for her!”

  His lips were pulled back from his teeth, and he looked like a death’s head, bone-thin, grimacing, cruel.

  His quirt hung by a loop from one wrist, and there were strips of red on the filly’s flanks. What a fool he was to whip a winged horse, and on their first flight!

  Philippa shouted, “William, please! Your filly! You’ll kill her!”

  He looked away from her, and she saw how his eyes glittered, how his legs cramped beneath Diamond’s wings. He was doing everything wrong. Diamond dropped lower and lower toward the water, her hooves beginning to flail, her neck bowing against the pull of the reins.

  Philippa drew breath to try again, but at that moment, Larkyn and Seraph darted out from behind the patrol boat, which bobbed crazily in the wake from the Marinan . Seraph was ascending. Larkyn’s spine flexed beautifully with his movements, and her hands were easy on the reins. Relief rushed through Philippa as they turned inland. They, at least, should be safe.

  But then William pried his left hand from the pommel of his flying saddle. He yanked on Diamond’s rein, forcing her to the left, on an intercept path with Larkyn and Seraph. He twirled his quirt on its loop, deftly lodging it in his palm, and he lifted it above his head.

  His shriek pierced Philippa’s breast with terror. “Brat!” he screamed. “Uplands bitch!”

  “Larkyn, watch out!” Philippa cried. Larkyn couldn’t hear her. Seraph came on, unaware, and Philippa cringed in anticipation of the two horses colliding.

  Suddenly, without warning, Diamond swerved to avoid the disaster. She tilted her wings and rolled to one side.

  William slid sideways. Only the thigh rolls stopped him from falling all the way out of the saddle.

  Somehow he struggled back into the saddle, though he lost his right stirrup. It flapped against the struggling filly’s side. He gripped her reins as if they were a lifeline, forcing her jaw open, bowing her neck.

  Sunny, without being told, descended, and flew perilously close to William and Diamond.

  At last Larkyn could see what was happening. William, though he was barely holding on to his own seat, still pulled on Diamond’s rein, trying to force the filly into Seraph’s path. Larkyn’s lips parted in a cry of warning, and Seraph, already weary, tried to dodge out of Diamond’s course.

  Diamond began to tilt away again. William lifted his left hand and whipped Diamond’s flank with his quirt, a vicious cut that made Philippa wince. She shouted, “William, no! No!”

  He seemed not to hear. He slashed the silvery hide again, then again. The filly squealed, and her whole body shuddered. She lost the rhythm of her wingbeats and dropped a rod or more in a heartbeat.

  Black Seraph, as the dapple gray nearly collided with him, seemed almost to pause in midflight. It took incredible strength to stop his momentum in that way, and Philippa cried, “Seraph! Kalla’s teeth!” as the little black stallion, with a visible ripple of the muscles across his chest, of the tendons of his arching neck, achieved a hover, holding at Quarters in a flurry of sweat and foam.

  And still Diamond lurched toward him, William any which way in the saddle. It was beyond belief that the filly was still in the air. William had a murderous grip on her reins, and her neck twisted sideways, halfway to his knee.

  Philippa could hardly bear to look as the tragedy built before her eyes.

  THIRTY-NINE

  WILLIAMsaw the patrol boat break off its attack when the little black stallion dove toward it. He wanted to scream with fury, except he couldn’t spare the breath. He could hardly believe his eyes when Seraph emerged from his dive, driving upward again, out of danger. William seized Diamond’s rein, brooking no resistance, and he lashed her forward, determined to put an end to the outrage.

  The cold sun glittered on the water, nearly blinding him. Diamond fought him like a demon, her wings wobbling, her neck bowing as he forced her toward Seraph. William’s heart burned with grief and rage, and hatred for the Uplands brat and her crossbred stallion. His mind reeled with awareness of impending humiliation, of the possibility of defeat.

  Only one thought stayed clear in the clouded agony of his mind, one goal that drew him on. Larkyn Hamley had ruined his plans and destroyed his opportunity. He wanted to see the brat and her horse tumble into the bay, sink below the water, disappear from his life forever. He imagined her black curls sodden with salt water, her cheeks going pale as she drowned. The stallion would flounder, his wing membranes soaking, dragging him down beneath the waves.

  He would strike them as they ascended, where the stallion could not recover himself, and it would put

  paid to everything. If the brat were gone, he would no longer have to deal with her cursed family. Even if Pamella accused him, no one would believe her. The rebel force gathered around Francis would have no purpose.

  The burning certainty he felt drove out any question about how these things might come about. Diamond would cease to resist him when these two were gone. She would accept him as master. She would bank and turn and hover the way the other winged horses did for their bondmates.

  But for now, as she fought the rein, he whipped her. This was no time for a soft heart. His need was greater than Diamond’s temper. He struck her again, forced her head around with an iron hand, and drove her toward the black stallion.

  But Seraph, the devil, through some feat of agility and strength William could not fathom, pulled out of his steep ascent as if it were no more than a stroll up a gentle slope. He leveled his flight and hovered like a shining black humming-bird, as if he weighed nothing, as if the very air held him up. Only the sweat darkening his chest, the foam that flew from his wings, revealed the effort it cost him.

  And the girl! The brat clung to his back as if she had grown there, swaying with the stallion’s movements as if she were part of his body. She seemed not to touch the reins, but to balance with her thighs as if she, too, weighed no more than a bundle of feathers. It was unnatural. And it was grossly unfair.

  William could see nothing but the pair of them. He knew Philippa Winter was coming up behind him, but he could not spare a thought for her. Sun, sea, the patrol boats beneath him, the damned Klee ship with its treacherous blue-and-white pennants snapping from its masts, all faded away. His vision narrowed to a small, vivid point with the black stallion and the black-haired girl at its very center. He raised his quirt to whip Diamond again.

  He had the reins in his right hand, the quirt in his left. But the reins had grown slippery and stiff with spray and sweat, and his strength was at an end. Horrified, he saw the strips of leather slip through his nearly nerveless fingers. They swung loose in the wind of Diamond’s flight, and she, her head free now, steadied and flew on.

  Still she flew toward the stallion. Was this what she had wanted all along? Perhaps Diamond, too, understood what was needed, what had to be
done. Perhaps their bonding was better than he had thought, and out of ignorance he had only gotten in her way.

  William grinned fiercely and dropped the quirt so that it hung by its thong from his wrist. This time he gripped his pommel with his left hand. With his right he drew his smallsword. It was mostly ceremonial, the same sword his father had carried, but it was sharp enough. First he would deal with the girl, then he would put an end to the stallion.

  The smallsword glittered in his hand, the gems in the hilt afire in the sunshine. He felt a surge of fresh energy in his muscles as he raised it. Ye gods, it was almost over at last!

  FORTY

  LARKsaw the Duke draw his sword. She screamed, “Tup! Break Quarters!”

  But though Tup valiantly strove to bank away from the dapple gray’s course, she tilted her wings to follow him.

  Lark could see, and no doubt Tup could sense, how tired Diamond was, how she struggled to hold her altitude, how she fought against Duke William’s clumsy seat. It seemed she could not possibly stay aloft, but when the reins blew free of the Duke’s hand, she steadied. Relieved of that torturing pressure, she stretched her neck eagerly forward, and came on.

  Diamond couldn’t know her rider’s intent. She was a young creature half-mad with loneliness, with longing for her kind. Lark could see she wanted only to fly with Tup, to be near him. But she brought him peril instead.

  The Duke’s smallsword caught the light with glimmers of ruby red and emerald green, and the dull gleam of steel. The wind of flight whipped the Duke’s pale hair around his even paler face, and his eyes were as

  black as nightmare. Lark bent low over Tup’s neck, to give him as much freedom, as little wind resistance, as she possibly could. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snugged her heels tight beneath his wings.

  He made another enormous effort, dipping back and away, a maneuver she could not imagine would be possible for any other winged horse. He gained a few moments, as the laboring filly had to turn, and bank, fighting her off-balance rider.

  Her determination was agony to watch. She was inexperienced, and she had everything working against her, but still she persevered, her pretty silver wings shivering with effort, her delicate nostrils flaring as she panted. If only there was a way to save her!

  The filly drew closer, her rider brandishing his sword. Lark shuddered, anticipating the blow of that steel against her body. And how could she protect Tup?

  And then she saw Winter Sunset coming up fast behind Diamond. Sunny’s great red wings beat strongly as she surged toward Diamond. Mistress Winter, like Lark, bent forward, urging her magnificent mare right into the danger.

  Lark bit her lip so hard that a trickle of blood stung her chin. Neither Diamond nor the Duke sensed Sunny’s presence. They were focused on Tup, both of them. Sunny ascended above Diamond so the two horses looked like fighting birds, terrifyingly close, the stability of their flight at risk should their wings or their bodies touch. When the sorrel mare was right over the gray, Mistress Winter bent far down and to her right, left hand gripping her pommel, right hand outstretched with her own short quirt in it. Sunny deftly compensated, tilting ever so slightly to the left, and Mistress Winter, with a swift, hard motion, struck the Duke’s sword from his hand.

  The Duke was exhausted, Lark could see, his face as white as the sails of the Marinan . The sword flew out of his fist, spinning into the air, jewels flashing as it revolved. Lark gasped as its sharp point sailed past Winter Sunset’s wings, barely missing her outer pinions. It spun again, and again, lazy sun-bright circles, before it fell, hilt first, toward the water.

  But Duke William was not yet done. Madness had its own energy. Lark didn’t watch the smallsword splash into the bay. She kept her eyes on the Duke as he stretched his mouth in a scream of rage. He grasped his quirt in his left hand and swung it above his head.

  Mistress Winter could not see the quirt, that awful magicked bit of braided leather, as it slashed at Winter Sunset’s belly, striking her a fierce blow just behind her tucked forehooves. The blow in itself could not have been so bad, but it jarred the mare at a precarious moment in flight, when she was striving to stay above the filly, to keep her wings free of the other horse.

  Winter Sunset flinched, and her wings faltered. Mistress Winter leaned to her left, trying to see past Sunny’s shoulder, and the Duke, still shouting, stood up in his remaining stirrup and whipped at her face just as it appeared above the point of her mare’s left wing.

  The magicked quirt caught Mistress Winter’s cheek, then, on the downstroke, it struck a tearing blow at Winter Sunset’s wing. Sunny was battling to stay free of the filly, to hold her altitude. Her wings were fully open and in their most vulnerable position. The membranes were stretched thin, like scarlet parchment in the sunshine, the pinions fully extended as she fought for purchase on the currents of air.

  Mistress Winter, though Lark could see clearly that the quirt had broken the skin of her face, never faltered. But Winter Sunset, with a great shudder, fell out of her trajectory, her wing broken, the membrane torn, the inner pinion fractured.

  Tup saw, too. He made a sound Lark had never heard before, a scream full of his own fury and power.

  The surge of energy that ran through him nearly unseated her as his wings drove hard against the wind.

  His forefeet came out of their tuck. She would not have thought he could fly in such a position, but such was the strength of his narrow wings, the agility of his slender body, that he lunged forward through the air, propelled by mighty wingbeats, and his small, sharp hooves reached toward Diamond and her rider.

  There was no time to worry about whether Tup might harm Diamond. Lark did not even dare watch Mistress Winter’s desperate efforts to save her mare. Tup had no thought for his rider at that moment, or for anything except to protect Winter Sunset, the mare who had been his monitor.

  Lark gripped the breast strap with all her strength, and gripped Tup’s barrel with her calves. She cried

  out as Tup struck at the Duke. His flight carried him past Diamond in a rush of wind and a cacophony of shouts.

  Tup spun, nearly in midair, a Grand Reverse at high speed. Lark slipped sideways, one hand torn free of the handhold. She seized Tup’s mane to steady herself, and only just in time. She hauled herself back into her seat as he was already driving toward Diamond. Lark saw to her horror that Diamond, too, had turned. Clearly she could not last much longer. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils gone red, and her wings beat twice for every one of Tup’s.

  “Tup!” Lark called. “Don’t hurt Diamond!”

  She had no way to know if he heard her, or if he cared. She was to remember, later, that it was Duke William himself who had refused to have Tup gelded. It was a young stallion’s fury that fortified him now, supplied him with a fearsome power.

  William, as Tup drove back toward Diamond, raised his quirt above his head. Lark feared it would strike Tup as it had Winter Sunset, tear through his wing, its magicked, hard leather destroying everything it touched.

  But she couldn’t stop Tup’s momentum. His will was as set as a steel blade, an answer to Duke William’s own. She curled her body over his neck, clinging with hands, feet, and thighs.

  Diamond struggled to hover, but she had little experience. The Duke leaned so far forward, standing in a single stirrup, that Lark marveled he didn’t tumble out of the saddle. Tup, with a grunt from deep within his belly, reached with his hooves, and struck.

  Duke William struck at the same time.

  Lark knew well the iron-hard leather of the Duke’s quirt. But magicked though it might have been, it was no match for the rock-hard hooves of a full-grown winged stallion.

  It was strange, she thought, that Duke William made no sound when he fell. Perhaps he was fortunate, and the blow of Tup’s hoof that caught him squarely in his left temple ended his consciousness mercifully, and immediately. Or perhaps he was simply past understanding.

  However it was, the Duke fell, arms and
legs sprawling, bloodied head lolling. His quirt, still tied to his wrist, fell with him. His ice-blond hair flared around his head in a bloody halo.

  He fell swiftly, and silently. There was an aura of unreality about the whole event, a dreamlike quality.

  Lark saw his black-clad figure break the surface of the green water and disappear instantly.

  The patrol boats came about to converge on the spot, and Lark was shocked at how close they were, how far Tup had descended. The water was only a few rods beneath him.

  Tup regained control of himself almost at once. He leveled his flight and banked gently to the right, from the bobbing masts of the patrol boats, giving Lark a long moment to recover. She straightened and looked frantically about for Mistress Winter and Sunny.

  When she didn’t see them at first, her heart clenched anew with fear. Then, as Tup began to ascend to a safer altitude, she found them. Sunny was winging crookedly, almost drunkenly, toward the nearest shore, where fishing boats moored beside the long, wooden docks. Lark could hardly see how she maintained any altitude at all, except that Mistress Winter must be coaxing her, begging her, using every skill she had to help her bondmate to ground.

  Lark breathed a prayer to Kalla, and urged Tup after them. She had to think of something . . . Winter Sunset would be lost if she fell into the bay, or if she fell upon trying to land. And Mistress Winter . . .

  Lark couldn’t bear to think of it.

  “Hurry, Tup,” she called. “We have to help them!” He responded without hesitation, drawing what she feared must be the last bit of strength from his small, courageous body.

  In moments, they caught up with Sunny and Mistress Winter. Lark didn’t realize until the last moment that Diamond was behind her. She flew below Tup, her neck stretched, her hooves wobbling in their tuck, her weary wings barely keeping her above the water. It was another thing to worry about, but Lark focused first on Winter Sunset.

  The strain was evident in the ridging muscles of Sunny’s chest, the bowing of her neck. Lark tried not to look at her wing, torn and bleeding. She tried to concentrate on Tup, as he took up the monitor’s position. She peered ahead, looking for a safe place to come to ground. She held Tup in, with just a