others, Sorasa could not say. There was only Corayne
and the Spindleblade, the scarlet flank of her horse like a beacon at the corner of Sorasa’s eye.
The cliffs loomed, the canyon a narrow split of rock. All the world shrank to the red walls and the
drumbeat of a thousand hooves, the rhythm of her blood, adrenaline rattling through her body. Corayne
bent low over her mare’s neck, clawed to the horse, her teeth bared and gnashing. A familiar shade of
gold flashed somewhere, joined by the snap of dark green. Dom pulled up alongside Corayne’s other
flank as the shadows of the cliffs fell over them, the cool air a dropping curtain, the sound of the herd
echoing off stone in a deafening roar.
“Now!” Sorasa tried to yell, her voice lost in the din. She could only hope the others saw her and
followed.
Hands tight on the reins and the hard pommel of her saddle, she swung her left leg out of her stirrup,
passing it up and over the horse’s back in a smooth arc. Her muscles pulled, tensing as she balanced
one boot in the stirrup, wedging the other alongside as best she could. The horse didn’t break stride,
urged on by the pace of the herd. Centuries of breeding could not outweigh pure instinct, and sand
mares were Shiran somewhere down their lines. It wasn’t easy, keeping herself tight against the horse’s
side, her head tucked to the saddle. The dusty ground flowed beneath her like water, cragged with rocks,
uneven and worn. She tried not to look down or imagine being trampled. Instead she glanced left and
right, back and forward, searching through the waves of roiling horseflesh.
Her stomach turned when she saw soldiers in the high rocks, their silhouettes sharp on the cliffs.
Archers, all of them, watching the canyon. She flinched, expecting a fiery bolt of pain at any moment. An
arrow through the neck. It never came.
It’s working, she thought, almost losing her grip in shock. Instead she strengthened her resolve, pulling
herself closer to the horse.
First she spotted Andry, his head pressed to the side of his bay mare. He was taller than Sorasa, and
had to curl his body to keep his legs from dragging along the ground. He met her gaze, his mare
weaving among the Shiran. The squire did not falter, his brow set in a dark line. Sigil was behind, also
too tall. She wrapped herself around the horse, one arm and leg thrown over its back, the others passing
under. Valtik and Charlie were nowhere to be found, lost in the sea. At least if she couldn’t see them, any
Gallish scouts certainly wouldn’t either.
Corayne was still on her right, the girl’s breath coming in hard, fast gasps. Her knuckles went white on
the reins and saddle, fingers scrabbling to keep hold. She dangled close to Dom, the Elder gripping his
horse with only one giant hand. The other held Corayne’s horse by the saddle, keeping them in pace
together. He braced the Cor girl against his chest, his immortal grace holding them both up and out of
crushing death.
The horses ran at breakneck speed, their manes like flags in the wind, their hooves kicking up stones
and dust. A cloud followed the herd, hazy and pink, obscuring the heights of the cliffs. The figures faded,
the archers lost in the dust. Sorasa allowed herself a small burst of triumph. If they held on long enough,
the herd would carry them through.
The canyon seemed to stretch, endless. It widened and narrowed with each turn, forcing the herd to
adjust, and their mares with them. Sorasa winced as another horse clipped her, nearly crushing her
against her mare’s ribs. A cry of alarm went up somewhere. It sounded like Charlie. Sorasa tried to pray,
willing him to hold on, willing the scouts not to listen. All she could do was clench her teeth and keep
steady, her own grasp on the saddle slipping.
While the entrance to the canyon was a dark gash, the way out blazed bright as any star, a white
column of daylight. It appeared around the next bend, and Sorasa nearly crowed in relief, her body
bruised and weakening. She willed the herd to move faster, begging any god who might be listening.
Dom and Corayne pulled ahead, their horses running in tight formation. The Elder had a foot in Corayne’
s stirrup and his one hand on either saddle, with Corayne braced against his chest,
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