Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy)

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  The farmer whistled.

  An answering whinny echoed through the confines of the barn, followed by welcoming whickers in several voices. Three horses ran around the corner, Frost Reaver at the lead. Dirt and grass stains striped his white hide, yet Colbey turned his attention to what lay beneath. Muscles rippled through the horse’s rump and hindquarters, and no ribs showed. Neither did the belly hang as if overfed and under-exercised. The stallion moved with a grace and ease that made the farmer’s two trailing plow horses seem ungainly. The three stopped short at the fence. Frost Reaver stood with his ears cocked toward Colbey, betraying the direction of his gaze.

  Excitement flashed through Colbey. Time had dulled his memory of the animal’s perfection. Now, he stared at the fine, wedge-shaped head that perched high on the delicately bowed neck. Strong shoulders arched deeply. Massive nostrils and a broad chest promised the endurance Frost Reaver had delivered on more than one occasion. The horse approached Colbey slowly, ears flickering backward and eyes rolling to reveal the whites.

  The farmer scrambled over the fence without bothering to open the gate, his agility surprising for his bulk. “I’ll get his things.” He headed toward the barn, the plow horses plodding methodically at his heels, nuzzling his back at intervals.

  Frost Reaver remained in place, nostrils wide and red, snuffling Colbey’s scent. “It’s me, Reaver. You remember me.” Gradually, he reached up a hand and stroked the soft, pink muzzle. The stallion froze in position, though he stayed tense and coiled.

  Soon, the farmer reappeared, carrying Frost Reaver’s halter and bridle. Colbey preferred to ride bareback, without a saddle to blunt the bunching and shift of muscle that warned of coming movement. Sword maneuvers required free hands and that the horse respond to the slightest kneed commands. A saddle would have hampered that communication.

  As the farmer approached, Frost Reaver’s ears returned to a neutral position, and he remained still as the farmer adjusted the halter, then the bridle, on his head. Catching the lead rope, the farmer headed for the gate. Colbey tripped the latch, then Frost Reaver was led up beside him. The farmer passed the lead rope, and Colbey accepted it happily. He could scarcely wait to feel the massive power of the animal beneath him, to know again the rapport that blossomed whenever they worked together on a precise sword maneuver. “Thank you,” Colbey said.

  “Thank you, sir,” the farmer returned gruffly. “Any time you need your horse watched, just let me know.”

  The stallion relaxed then, apparently catching his cues from his master. Colbey led the horse past the farmstead and out onto the road to Pudar. Unclipping the lead rope, he used it to lash his pack to the animal’s back. Still clutching the staff, he vaulted onto the horse.

  Frost Reaver quivered slightly, with the same anticipation he had shown so many times in the past. For an instant, Colbey knew the camaraderie that had seemed almost telepathic, the grim certainty that told both animal and rider that he belonged here. Catching the reins, Colbey sought a hole in his bindings through which to wedge the staff. Its previous slipping made him wary.

  Suddenly, Frost Reaver stiffened. Though the motion was nonspecific, Colbey knew horses well enough to sense impending violence. “Easy, boy.” He prepared to jump down and calm the animal.

  Before Colbey could dismount, Frost Reaver lurched into a rear. He twisted as he came down, immediately lunging into a wild jump that threw Colbey into a wall of air. The staff tumbled as the Renshai concentrated on the more urgent matter of clambering down without injuring himself or the horse. He leaned left to leap clear. Apparently sensing the movement, Reaver spun in the opposite direction, ending with a buck that thrust his hind legs skyward. Instinctively, Colbey threw his weight to the right, keeping his seat. An instant later, Frost Reaver launched into three consecutive hops, all four legs bunched beneath him. Again, the stallion reared to vertical, momentum all but taking him over backward. Colbey clung with his knees, feeling himself begin to slide toward the horse’s rump. He shifted his balance, just as Reaver rocked back into a bucking, stomping kick. Hurled suddenly forward, Colbey scarcely managed to remain aboard. His face struck the pack, and he lost his hold for an eye blink.

  Frost Reaver whirled again, turning fully around in a single motion. Humping his back, he gave one more solid kick that unhorsed the clinging Renshai. Colbey sailed through the air, landing hard on the packed dirt path. He rolled, tucking his head, seeking the location of the crazed horse. Before he had come halfway around, he caught a glimpse of movement overhead, steel-shod hooves speeding down on him.

  “Reaver, no!” Colbey writhed out of the path. The hooves slammed to the ground, their impact quaking. Immediately, the stallion twisted into another wild rear. Colbey managed only to skitter into a half-crouch before the hooves screamed down on him again. “Modi.” He swore as he eeled out of the way once more.

  The stallion waited only until its hooves struck empty ground, then it rushed Colbey, legs thundering, head low, and ears swept flat to its skull.

  Colbey’s first thought, to draw Harval and let the beast impale itself, passed quickly. He would not kill any friend for a fit of unreasoning rage, especially one that had served him so faithfully in the past. Instead, he scrambled to his feet, sprinting for the first gap in the roadside forest. A hoof clipped his boot, tripping him. Flat, hard teeth tore his tunic, pinching skin. He dove forward, rolling, twigs and stones gouging his back. He ducked through a line of twisted hadonga trees, their upper branches twined into an archway over the road.

  Frost Reaver shrilled his fury, the neigh rebounding in deafening echoes. His forehooves slammed into wood, spilling a shower of leaves onto Colbey’s head. The Renshai recoiled, confused, aching from a rabid betrayal that seemed irrational. Yet the stallion had seemed tractable in the farmer’s care. There was nothing undirected about an attack that had become nonsensically relentless.

  The white hooves crashed against wood again, a snap echoing through the woodlands. The trunk leaned slightly, but it did not fall, and another wash of leaves spiraled down over Colbey.

  *Kill the horse and come get me.* The staff sent from where it lay in the roadway. *Before another Wizard comes and takes me.*

  Colbey doubted Carcophan would come after him again so soon, and he had never known the Cardinal Wizards to work together, except on the Wizards’ Meeting Isle. Still, he understood the staff’s concern. *Not until I understand. Not until I do all I can for Frost Reaver.*

  The hooves buffeted the trunk again, and Frost Reaver screamed another wild cry.

  *There’s nothing you can do. It’s out of your hands.*

  Bracing himself against one of trunks, Colbey gathered mental energy and thrust his consciousness into the horse’s mind. It was the first time the Renshai had even considered invading an animal’s head, and the organization of thought surprised him. Immediately, his probe touched a red wash of rage that seemed endless, uninterrupted by other interests and concerns. Colbey found a definitive target that centered around himself. Clearly the animal bore no interest in harming any other human.

  The hammer of hooves against wood sounded like a distant, hollow reverberation as Colbey turned his full concentration internally. He found vague impressions of basic needs: food, drink, sleep, and the fleeting odors of enemies on the wind. But the scarlet fog pervaded and suffocated these necessities, masking them beneath an all-consuming need to kill. A foreign thought. A driving force without reason. Colbey delved deeper.

  The staff joined Colbey in the horse’s mind. *Caution. You’re weakening yourself. A few more batterings, and it’ll have you.*

  Colbey ignored the warning. Diverting his thoughts now, while ensconced in another’s mind, would only delay and steal his vitality. He dug more quickly through the ragehaze, desperate to find some semblance of the animal he had known. Though he had never before intentionally entered Frost Reaver’s mind, he had caught glimpses of emotion and idea that had made them seem more team than beast and master
. This frenzied stallion bore no likeness to the horse he had loved.

  Colbey swam through the fog, too directed to notice the fatigue replacing his own usual agile strength. At length, he came to the edges of the shell. In the center of Frost Reaver’s mind, a spark still burned. Colbey dove for the light, memory slamming him with the force of the speeding hooves. Not long ago, he had scrambled through another enemy-warped mind, one far more complicated and twisted by a malicious, vengeful bitterness that had destroyed happy memory and logic. For an instant, the comparison to Episte nearly paralyzed Colbey, and strength ebbed through the contact. Then he forced himself to see and feel the many differences. Episte’s madness had come as a result of his receiving the third Sword of Power on the world of law, and only the Wizards and gods could guess the broader complications of that trio. Chaos itself had warped the youngster, its being spreading and destroying like acid, its sudden and massive presence destroying humanity Colbey had had no ability or opportunity to recover. Desperately, he had searched Episte’s mind for one crumb of remaining self, finding a glimmer that chaos had stolen as quickly as Colbey found it.

  Yet, here, Colbey found something different. He could still feel the pervading wrongness that was chaos; but it did not compose the rage, it only tinged it. The staff gave Colbey the answer. *Magic. The change itself is the work of a creature of law. Using magic.* The explanation addressed future queries as well. Only Wizards could use sorcery, and Carcophan’s nearness pointed to him as the cause.

  The staff corrected the misconception. *Furred beast. Shadimar’s work.* It kept its reply clipped, moving on to a more urgent topic. *The hawk’s helping. Even so, the horse’ll have you soon, too weak to fight. Pull out now!*

  The staff’s words only galvanized Colbey to action. He delved into the central spark, finding the familiar strength, dedication, and innocence that had characterized the Frost Reaver he knew. He also found the depth of spirit that accompanied the finest steeds, a property he had heard a trainer call “heart.” Colbey shouted in triumph. Even as he thrust into the pocket of surviving temperament, the red fog closed around him. It pressed the edges, devouring the boundaries in an instant.

  Damn! Colbey sent his consciousness in a wild circle, battling the squeezing madness. He had long ago lost track of his body, but he could now feel his mental thread weakening. Almost certainly, he had fallen, and he would have no way to run from Reaver’s attack. *Can you assist?*

  *Yes.* The staff returned, though it made no move to prove its assertion. *In trade for more freedom.*

  Rage speared through Colbey, momentarily strengthening him. He kept his pace cautious and methodical, halting the infusion as long as possible. *I won’t give in to blackmail. Either you serve me or not. My death would leave you masterless.*

  *Pull out!* the staff drove the command into Colbey’s mind.

  Colbey responded in concept, not daring to waste the energy forming words would take. He made it clear in an instant that things had gone too far for him to withdraw, dodge, and use his sword. His only hope lay in stopping the attack.

  A crack wound through Colbey’s hearing, sounding leagues away. He felt something massive swish over his head. A flicker of concern touched him from the staff, then disappeared as it set to work.

  *I’ll stop the spread of magic permanently. It’ll take too much to fix things now. You’ll die before you bring that horse back to what it was. Just latch onto something that’ll stop the assault and send it away. We can put things right some other time. Go! Hurry.*

  Colbey let the staff handle the horse’s alien fury. Within an instant, the sorceries ceased their inward movement, and Colbey muddled through the horse’s emotions and memory. He found himself featured prominently in the stallion’s mind, but remaining flickers of affection stood little chance beneath the avalanche of magically conjured hatred. He gathered a flight reaction as well as triggering a deep and inner calm, certain he needed to funnel these into a specific direction if he ever hoped to find the horse again. Clearly, he needed to steer the white stallion into the hands of someone who cared for animals. The red haze had blunted its natural pursuit for food and drink.

  *Quit gawking! Send it away!* The staff continued to hold magic at bay, but it knew a danger Colbey could only imagine until he found the way back into his own person.

  The Renshai did not respond, channeling his focus to the horse’s memory. It knew people as nameless odors and movements. Colbey knew that, given time, he could sort one from another; but time was a luxury he did not have. Instead, he found the memory of the one other person who had ridden Frost Reaver since Colbey had become the horse’s master. Arduwyn. He understands animals. He’ll know what to do. The forest odor that seemed to linger on the hunter would guide the horse enough to keep it in the woodlands, away from main pathways. He drew the three concepts together, funneling his own power to highlight their importance.

  Frost Reaver’s mind collapsed into darkness, and it took Colbey a moment to realize the draining of his power had hurled him from the animal’s mind. The musk of horse filled his nostrils, strong after the odorless interior of the stallion’s thoughts. Steel-shod hooves hovered over Colbey’s head.

  Colbey gasped, attempting to dodge. His usual reflexes failed him, and he seemed rooted in place.

  The aristiri swept from a branch above his head, driving its beak toward one of the stallion’s dark eyes.

  Frost Reaver twisted, though whether in response to Colbey’s manipulations or the bird’s attack, he did not know. The horse came halfway around before his hooves fell. The instant they did, he took off at a gallop down the main pathway, headed south.

  Colbey relaxed, not daring to waste his final energy even on something as simple and basic as remaining wary. He knew the quiet passage of time would gradually restore his vitality, while even the most straightforward of movements might steal his consciousness at a time he needed it most. If Shadimar had caused Frost Reaver’s madness, the Wizard might still be in the vicinity.

  The thought brought a rage as vicious as the one Colbey had been lucky to survive. Whatever friendship remained between him and the Eastern Wizard vanished in an animosity that pained as well as soothed. Though obvious blasphemy, Colbey could not help but hold Odin responsible. When subjected to the very forces the god had built it to protect, the system of the Cardinal Wizards had shattered like an ancient, sun-bleached bone. Now the one Wizard who had wanted nothing to do with magic and should have championed an assigned cause fought a single-handed battle for balance against the world’s most powerful.

  Though surely it still had some contact, the staff made no judgment. Colbey did not currently have the power to keep it from the deeper recesses of his mind. He had little choice but to trust its vow. And for all its stubborn blindness, he could think of no one of the four forces that could serve him better.

  Colbey turned his thoughts to his current position. He lay in a green tangle of vines. The tree Frost Reaver had battered lay toppled, its upper branches wedged into a fork of the hadonga that had supported Colbey’s back. Had exhaustion not pounded him to the ground, it might have staved in his skull. He also assessed his own strength, finding it not as fully tapped as he had feared. He had drained himself longer and lower in the past, and he guessed he could probably wander over and rescue the staff without problem. However, the longer he lay still now, the quicker he would recover. The slightest weakness in himself obsessed him.

  The aristiri alighted on the leaning trunk, watching Colbey through one round, blue eye. It warbled softly, as if to reassure him that no one shared this part of the forest.

  “Thanks, fellow,” Colbey murmured, though the effort of speech dizzied him. If you’re going to accompany me, you’ll need a name. It had never been Colbey’s way to give titles to animals, but one for this hawk seemed to present itself at once. “Formynder.” The word meant guardian. It also held connotations of teacher, which seemed less appropriate in this circumstance.


  The aristiri warbled again.

  Colbey closed his eyes, concentrating his attention on empowering himself to normal, trusting the bird to warn him of another’s approach. Though still unmanned, the staff did not complain. Apparently, it trusted the aristiri’s perception as well. And the day wore on.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Bard of Béarn

  The paint mare’s hooves drummed on the packed earth of the forest path. Khitajrah Harrsha’s-widow had ridden through the night and into the following day, irrationally afraid Arduwyn might catch her if she rested for even a moment. Exhaustion rode her with as little mercy as she had, so far, shown the horse.

  As the sun shifted halfway across the sky, the Southern Weathered Range loomed. The soil changed from a rich brown that seemed nearly black to a gray, stony mulch. Hearty Erythanian forest disappeared, replaced by scraggly, sparse vegetation that twisted from the rocky ground. She passed occasional farm fields, cradled into hollows between sheer, unyielding mountains. Greenery speckled the valleys; apparently, rain washed the usable soil into the lowlands and mountain streams watered the cropland well enough.

  Halfway into the afternoon, Khitajrah discovered the king’s city of Béarn. The castle rose, carved directly from a central mountain and surrounded by gray cottages. Though the town seemed far smaller than she had expected, a quarter the size of the Eastern kingdom of Stalmize, the architecture fascinated her. From beginning to end, it reminded her of the older, more beautiful portions of her home city, when the craftsmen had used more permanent constructions and had personalized their work with statuettes and flourishes. On the outer boundaries of Stalmize, identical wood and thatch dwellings cheapened the labors of the central craftsmen, echoing the changes that had overtaken Eastern society. Quick efficiency had taken the place of pride and permanence. When money became scarce and needs many, art always suffered first.

  Yet in Béarn, Khitajrah saw no such pattern. As the path became rocky, she slowed the horse to a walk, listening to the rhythmical crunch of shards beneath its hooves. Though disappointingly small, the city clearly took pride in its station and its appearance. At least one statue decorated every dwelling, perched upon crafted ledges or recessed into welcoming doorways. Even the rudest of peasant cottages had some stone-crafted object in its yard, though the skill of the artisans varied widely. As Khitajrah rode through the Westlands’ high kingdom, she found some yards choked with statues, grouped by themes or, occasionally, in clever scenes. Apparently, these dwellings housed the craftsmen who carved the many stone works that decorated their neighbor’s cottages.