The answering whinny comes from the left, and there my stallion is, careening around a stand of red trees, barreling across the lengths that separate us, leaping over a sprout of flame that I have nothing to do with.
He’s going fast as the wind, the flickering light making his beautiful golden coloring glow like the sunset, his white mane and tail flowing pink from the wall of fire’s unholy illumination. And in spite of the heat and the creatures, he’s coming for me.
I sink down low.
Just as he sets upon me, he digs his hooves into the red dirt and sinks into a halt—and as if we have done the move a thousand times, I leap back into the saddle with perfect coordination, throwing my leg over the packs that are still tied on. The instant my butt lands, I grab fistfuls of that mane, because I know what’s coming.
Just as Merc locks a hold on his broadsword’s hilt and rips it free of the dead ogre, Lavante surges forward with so much power, I feel like I leave a couple of my teeth behind. The stallion is impossibly fast and monstrously strong, his head extending straight out from his surging body, his spine becoming a rope that runs from the tip of his nose to the last strand of his tail.
As if he’d been waiting all along for me to signal for my pickup so he could do his part.
Flattening myself on the side of his neck, trusting him to pilot us through the holes that spit fire, I can only pray that Merc and his steed are staying with us.
That wall of fire can’t last forever—and even if it did, those ogres are smart enough to find a way around the length of it.
We are not safe.
This battle is not over.
Sixty-NineAsk and Receive.
It turns out I’m wrong.
Merc and I let the horses run for what feels like an entire season of exertion, and though Lavante seems to have the stamina to gallop the length of Anathos and back, the other one begins to flag. Eventually, we have no choice but to slow down to a canter, and finally, at least on Snooze’s side, an exhausted trot.
I spend most of my time checking in our wake.
Eventually, I cannot see the wave of fire and not because it’s extinguished. We’re far into a flat plain of the red, flame-spitting landscape now, and though the spires of stone remain fairly close by to the west, there’s nothing to the east except the horizon. Having seen the compass’s map, I know the ocean is somewhere in that direction, but the topography and the red trees make it impossible to see it.
The sun’s placement is still very high in the cloudless sky, and this is reassuring. With the way the topography is looking, I’m not sure where we could find a good place to bunk down for the night. And I have no idea how much farther we have to go.
Or how much farther wecango.
Merc pulls up on his reins, and both horses stop, sure as if he has control of Lavante’s bridle as well.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong, he eases to the side and takes something out of his saddlebag.
“I bought a map,” he says gruffly as he unfolds a parchment square. “Back at the Outpost.”
Lavante goes right over to the other horse, as if he wants to check where we are as well. I lean in, and see all kinds of lines on a creamy background.
“I can’t tell one from another on that,” I say, staying silent as to what the compass has directed.
Because really, how could I explain it.
“You needn’t bother.” He turns the map to me. “It only shows the way from the main route that was flooded. It offers nothing for where we are.”
Merc circles the lower part of the page that’s blank. “Our location is somewhere here.”
A quick glance over the rest of the map and I see all kinds of details up above where we are, from what I gather is the Outpost’s group of buildings to the road we followed to the beginning of the jagged rises… to the flooded pass we couldn’t get through and its route that continues onward until it reaches a massive, bordered territory markedKingdomg daSouse.
“We need water for the horses.” I shift my focus back to our blood-colored landscape. As if taking another look around is going to help somehow. “I’m worried about them.”
“Agreed.” Merc puts the parchment away and points at the mountains. “We better hope there’s an access point to the Kingdom—and soon. The one thing I can tell is that that range curves right into the ocean. I don’t know how we’re going to get through it, and there will be no swimming. The surf is very high this far south. We could get trapped.”
Trapped? Try “eaten by ogres.” Winning one skirmish is very different from battling hordes of them for the rest of our natural lives.
As my mind spirals into anxiety, I know I must reconnect with the immediate issue at hand. We need water—
