“Yes?”
He turns away from me, staring at the wall as though his vision can pierce right through those tanned hides and speed across vast distances to some faraway place in his mind. “The call will come soon. From Prince Ruvaen.”
My blood goes cold. I’ve not forgotten what Taar has told me about Ruvaen, about his alliance with the prince of Noxaur. Events of recent history may have driven that knowledge to the back of my brain, but not out completely.
“Any day now, Ruvaen will discover how to break theobscurisspell surrounding Evisar Citadel,” Taar continues relentlessly. “When he does, I have vowed to lead all the Licornyn host in the coming assault. The Noxaurians will need the protection of the licorneir to make the journey across Cruor. With their numbers to aid us, we may at last drive the Miphates from our land, close the Rift, and reclaim Licorna.”
“And . . .” I lick my dry lips. “You think this call will come beforesilmael?”
“I expect to hear word any day. Almost any moment.”
“And I will have to go with you.”
He nods. “I had hoped that possibly, with our bond strengthened, I might be able to leave you here when I go, but—”
“I don’t want to be left behind.” I sit up straighter than before, despite my body’s protests. “I want to go with you, Taar. Only . . . I don’t want to be a burden either.”
“You are never a burden,zylnala.”
I lift a brow. “You’re sweet. But my utter lack of warlike prowess or experience isn’t going to be much of a boon on the battlefield. Which means I need to train.”
Taar frowns, tilting his head.
“Yes,” I continue firmly. “You need to teach me Licornyn modes of combat. It’s only reasonable. If I’m to ride with the Licornyn, I need to become a Licornyn.”
“Ilsevel.” He stops, shakes his head, chuckling ruefully. “We have a matter of days at most. Licornyn training begins at childhood and lasts for many years.”
“Then we’d best get started at once.” I plant my hands on either side of me and once more make a futile attempt to rise. Blackness closes in on the edges of my vision, and I fall back on the pillowsonce more. “Maybe . . . after I’ve had a little rest.”
I can feel him looking at me. I don’t want to meet his gaze, assuming it will be pitying or even amused. But when I finally dare glance his way, the expression I’m met with is full of such adoration, it melts my heart to hot butter in my veins.
“You are such a wonder, my songbird,” he says and takes my hand again, squeezing hard enough to make me wince. “I will teach you. Or, if the demands on my time are too great, I will find someone who can. Diira will help; she is a highly-trained licorneir after all. And I’ve already observed what a good seat you have.”
My lips quirk. “Why thank you, warlord.”
He laughs at my coyness and shakes his head. “I meant in the saddle, though . . . yes, that other thing too.” Forgetting himself, he leans forward, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. My pulse flutters in my throat.
Just then a cough sounds from the doorway. Taar springs back, and we both turn to see Tassa standing there, arms folded, face severe. “Well now,” she says dryly. “I just had an interesting little chat with Elder Halaema.” She tucks her chin, giving Taar a pointed look. “She mentioned something about an oath you seem to have made with her, brother dearest.”
Taar grimaces. Then, shooting me a sorrowful look, he gets to his feet. “I must be going,” he says gently. “But I will see you soon, and we will begin your training. Rest well until then,zylnala.”
Tassa rolls her eyes as he steps past her, exiting the chamber. “And good day to you too, sweet brother!” she calls after his back. Then she looks at me, her gaze shadowed in the dim light. “Whatdid he mean? What training?”
I smile primly. “Taar is going to make a proper Licornyn warrior out of me.”
Tassa stares. Her eyes blink slowly, and I can almost hear the wheels of her brain turning as she struggles to process my words. “Shakh!” she spits at last. Stepping back, she lets the door flap of the chamber fall, blocking me from her sight. I can hear her cursing to herself as she stomps away into the deeper hut:“Shakh, shakh, shakh!”
10
TAAR
“The losses suffered in the last campaign are too great. If the call comes from Ruvaen, we will not have enough trained licorneir to protect our own fighting force in the journey across Cruor.”
Kildorath speaks this hard truth in a cold, unemotional voice. There is no hostility in his tone; neither is there any trace of warmth. His demeanor is a carefully carved stone, without mar, through which I can no longer discern the friend and almost-brother I once knew.
We stand together above the north training field, observing the young Licornyn riders: youths between the ages of fifteen and twenty, all bonded to licorneir within the last few years. There are twenty-three of them in total, all fierce and eager. Fifteen more, older trainees not yet cleared for battle, are out riding patrols on the borders of Cruor, a crucial part of their development. They,along with the seven survivors of the last campaign into the human world, make up the sum total of Rocaryn Tribe’s Licornyn riders.
My jaw hardens into a grim line as I watch two young men riding maneuvers below me. Their licorneir both demonstrate well-balanced collection, their energy and weight distributed between forehoof and hind. Their necks arch and their chins tuck close, the result of this warlike bearing, not its cause. The young riders grip javelins in each hand, controlling their mounts by leg pressure and seat alone. The foremost of the two performs a flying lead change, smoothly, without loss of speed or power—an impressive display of synchronization between rider and licorneir. The second pair perform the lead change less efficiently, not quite in time with the first. Their overall formation will need to be tightened before they are ready for the battleground.
