Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (33 page)

After the fifth race—which Rohan lost to Prince Lleyn, much to the old man’s delight—there came a break for refreshments and the paying off of debts. Rohan declined Lleyn’s offer of lunch and went down to the track; there jumps were being set for the next few races. Two fences, two hedges, and two “stone” walls made of painted wood—he measured them with his eyes and nodded to himself. They were nothing Pashta couldn’t handle with ease.

He watched the sixth and seventh races from railside, making mental notes about the number of strides necessary between jumps. No one paid much attention to the slight, plainly dressed young man who cheered on Lord Chaynal’s horses. Prince Haldor of Syr’s entry took the sixth, and a stallion from Radzyn Keep won the seventh. As the eighth was called, Rohan felt a tug on his sleeve.

“It’s time, my lord,” his groom said. “I’ve brought your shirt.” He held up a sky-blue silk blouse, and Rohan stripped off his tunic before sliding his arms into his colors. The men and women around him, having heard the honorific and seen him change clothes, gaped. Then someone gave a mighty guffaw and clapped Rohan on the back.

“I’ll be wagering on you, my lord!”

“The odds should be very good against me!” Rohan answered, grinning. “Enjoy your profits!”

On the way to the paddocks, the groom provided him with a wealth of information. The course was easy enough until the climb to the sea cliffs began. There the trail turned rocky and dangerous; many horses would founder on the way up, still more on the way down. Pashta’s training in the Desert would serve him well here. As for the other entries, all were considered inferior, but Rohan was to keep an eye on Prince Haldor’s stallion. The Syrene horse had been battle-bred to sink his teeth into anything that got in range.

“I’d slow Pashta a bit during the two measures back from the Bay, my lord,” the groom finished. “He won’t save much for the jumps on his own—you know he’ll run his heart out for you, so you’ll have to make him spare himself.”

“I’ll remember.” He entered the paddock and approached the stallion, who was in fine trim and seemed to know that all the attention meant he would be racing today. He butted Rohan’s shoulder playfully with his nose, and the prince laughed.

“No plain river stones for our Sioned, eh, my lad?” he whispered, rubbing the white blaze down the stallion’s face. “We’ll beat them all in a walk.”

Pashta’s huge dark eyes closed lazily, almost a wink. Rohan laughed again, then mounted and gathered the reins.

“I’ve had to slip in weights, my lord,” the groom said. “Rules say all the horses carry the same. You haven’t enough flesh to cover your own bones, let alone make up the legal weight—so remember he’s carrying extra today.”

The blue silk clung to him in the afternoon heat, and he shifted his shoulders against the trickle of sweat down his spine. As the trumpet sounded he stood in the stirrups to signal his readiness and told himself he was
not
nervous. He’d never ridden in a
Rialla
race before—no prince had—and as he walked Pashta decorously to the starting line the prize jewels became secondary to not making a fool of himself. He glanced up at the stands only once, but could not see Sioned’s red-gold hair in the crowd. Perhaps it was better so.

Nothing prevented her from seeing him, however, and her careful composure nearly cracked. What did that madman think he was doing? She shared a horrified glance with Tobin.

“Ianthe, look!” Pandsala exclaimed. “There’s Rohan!”

“I didn’t know he would enter the races himself!” Ianthe said.

“Neither did I,” Sioned muttered. “I didn’t think he was that foolish.”

A section of the railing had been shifted so the horses could exit the track before the first jump. Excited spectators strained against the fences as the yellow flag dropped. Sioned held her breath as thirty horses thundered past, jostling for the best position through the gap. It was surely too narrow for all to get through safely, but somehow they made it. Everyone squinted for a last look as the horses topped a rise before vanishing.

Sioned listened to the shouted wagers and wished she had the courage to ride the sunlight and follow the progress of the race. She cared nothing about Rohan’s winning; she simply prayed he wouldn’t break his neck. She intended to perform that service herself to repay him for this insanity.

“Will you not wager on Prince Rohan’s success, like the rest of us?” Ianthe’s’ voice was smooth as warm honey.

“I have nothing of value,” Sioned began, spreading her hands to indicate her poverty—then caught sight of the emerald. “What will you wager against this emerald, your grace?”

“You’d bet
against
the prince?”

She smiled, wondering if some of Rohan’s recklessness had infected her as well. “I doubt him as a man, not as a rider. I had another wager in mind.”

“Yes?” The dark eyes were wary, and the lips Rohan had complimented were stretched into a false smile.

“My emerald against whatever you like that neither you nor your sister will win
him.
”

“How dare you!” Ianthe hissed.

Sioned laughed. “Your grace! Never tell me you doubt yourself as a woman!”

“I doubt your manners, Sunrunner! But I cannot lose, for there is no one else worthy of Rohan—as you of all people must know. Do you want him for yourself?”

“I haven’t yet decided,” she lied easily. “But if you’re unsure of yourself in the matter . . .”

“Done!” the princess snarled. “Your emerald against all the silver I wear!”

“Done,” Sioned nodded, and insulted the princess further by taking visual inventory of the necklet, earrings, bracelets, and belt. Ianthe crimsoned with rage and turned her back on Sioned.

She gazed down at her emerald, not believing for an instant that she might lose it, but knowing all at once how much it meant to her. Biting her lip, she glanced quickly around at her companions. They followed Ianthe’s lead in ignoring her. Sioned made her decision, rose, and edged her way to the outer stands where the sunlight was unshaded by the green silk awning.

She felt the sweet warmth on her skin, permeating her bones and blood. Lacing her fingers together, she felt the rings grow warm—even the emerald—and she was reminded of the night in the Great Hall at Stronghold, and Tobin’s assurance that this ring had a magic all its own. She faced in the direction Rohan had gone and her gaze darted down the sunlight until she saw him clinging close to Pashta’s neck as they neared the wood. Her breathing quickened in response to his; she winced along with him as, entering the trees, branches whipped at his shirt and hair. The cliff trail ahead of him was murderous, and Sioned’s heart began to beat very fast.

Rohan cursed as a sharp branch tore his shoulder. Cries of alarm came from all around him and set his palms sweating inside his riding gloves. He wrenched his horse around a fallen rider, thanking the Goddess for Pashta’s years in the Desert which had made him swifter of wit and hoof than most of the other horses. Out of the wood now, they made the turn up the steep slope that culminated in a green pylon near the cliff edge. Behind him, Rohan heard an anguished scream and there was a crunch that sounded like cracking bones. But he had no time to look back, for the pylon loomed up—and the horse beside him, its rider wearing Lord Reze’s colors, had left him almost no room to make the turn. Pashta’s ears were laid back threateningly; the other horse faltered slightly on a slippery patch and Rohan took the chance presented, urging Pashta through the narrow gap and closer to the pylon. He rounded it in a tight curve—and an instant later heard a terrible cry followed by a heavy splash in the surf below. Rohan winced; it could have been him and Pashta. His sole ambition now was to emerge from this wild ride alive.

The field was down to twenty. Nineteen too many in Rohan’s opinion, and in Pashta’s, too; the stallion, never one to allow another horse precedence, made for those ahead with single-minded fury. Rohan pressed his cheek to Pashta’s neck, branches slashing his shirt to ribbons, and simply hung on.

A dun-colored horse came out of nowhere and plowed into them from the right. Rohan nearly toppled from his saddle. The other rider wore the pink and crimson of Lord Tibayan of Pyrme—but the face that grinned viciously at him had the brown eyes, dark hair, and ritual chin scar of Merida Blood. Rohan swore luridly in recognition, and the Merida laughed.

Sioned had lost sight of him in the forest, but as the horses raced onto the flat plain, she stiffened in shock as a dun stallion slammed into Pashta. Yet Rohan had been prepared for the attack—his fist lashed out in a backhanded blow that swayed the other rider in his saddle. Sioned caught her breath as a whip came up in the man’s hand. It came down across Rohan’s already lacerated back and his blond head jerked in pain. Sioned’s fingers clenched into numbed, bloodless claws. The Fire in her rings spread up through her whole body as if she was suddenly sheathed in flames then leaped forward on the woven sunlight. Her lips moved as she gathered herself to activate an ancient technique Urival had taught her at Stronghold.

Rohan’s back was afire with pain. He turned his head just in time to see the Merida lift a hand, glass knife winking in the sunlight. Rohan couldn’t believe that the man would attempt a throw from horseback at a moving target—then revised his opinion as the knife whizzed a finger’s span past his shoulder.

Pashta picked up speed, not shying in the slightest from the glittering blade that shattered on the stones ahead of him. Rohan, thighs aching with the force of his grip on his horse, let the stallion have his head. Distance between himself and the Merida was what he wanted now, before the next knife could reach its target. This desire coincided precisely with his horse’s passion to conquer the four stallions ahead. They were nearing the track now, and they overtook one horse on the gallop through the opening in the rails. Rohan remembered his groom’s warnings and took the reins in a tighter grip. Pashta responded to minute signals of hands and knees, and cleared the first jump with smooth precision—unlike the horse directly ahead, whose rider had been sloppy. Losing rhythm, the dappled stallion faltered and the rider’s whip could not compel him to speed. Rohan passed him between jumps and flinched as he saw the blood-flecked lather on the animal’s flanks.

Again he dared a look behind him. The Merida was catching up fast. Rohan turned to face the next obstacle, guided Pashta over it. But as the stallion’s hooves plowed into the dirt, Rohan felt dizzy, disoriented. He shook his head, his throat and nostrils clogged with dust, thinking that what he needed was air. But he could not help another glance back over his shoulder.

He saw nothing—but the Merida’s thin lips parted in a high-pitched scream, body straining backward as if to escape some hideous vision, dark eyes stark with terror as his mount crashed into the rails.

Between a hedge jump and a stone wall Rohan passed a tiring horse whose rider wore Syrene turquoise. Sure enough, the stallion’s head whipped around to try for a bite out of Rohan’s thigh. Pashta’s ears flattened and it took all Rohan’s skill to keep the two horses from turning to battle it out. Pashta submitted to Rohan’s orders, stuck his neck out, and ran.

There was only one horse ahead now, clearing the fifth obstacle easily, and as Rohan measured the distance he said into Pashta’s ear, “It’s all right if we don’t catch this one, you know. I can well afford a few emeralds on my own.”

But the stallion had been bred from Chay’s finest studs and mares and he saw only one horse and one jump between himself and victory. Rohan let the reins go slack on the sweating neck after the last fence was cleared. There was only space and the bright hues of the railings and the yellow flag sweeping down like a dragon’s wing—and the other horse half a length behind him.

Sioned unwound her fingers and chafed them against her thighs. The conjuring had been both more and less difficult than she’d feared. Urival had taught her well, but sustaining the fearsome Fire-image of a dragon for only those few essential seconds—and for only one man’s eyes—had drained her of energy. She felt only fierce joy as the enemy toppled from his horse—yet an instant later she cried out with the rest of the crowd as the dun stallion went down.

“No, I didn’t mean—” she whispered, stricken by what she had done. “Oh no, please!” But though the stallion struggled to his feet from the dirt, the rider, flung halfway across the track, did not move.

She heard Tobin cry out and forced herself to return to the others. The three princesses were hurrying down the steps. Sioned waited until she could breathe without gasping, then followed, careful to keep her distance.

They were waiting for Rohan in the paddock by the time she joined them. He rode up slowly, dismounted, and ignored everyone as he walked the lathered stallion, crooning to him and rubbing his neck and flanks tenderly. A groom came up and flung his arms first around the prince and then around the horse before leading the latter away for a much-needed rest. Rohan wobbled a bit on his feet, winced, and gratefully accepted a large winecup from another groom.

Worry competed with pride as Sioned saw the slashed shirt and the bloody scrapes on his back, face, and arms, much worse than she had thought. She wanted to go to him, scold him for his foolhardiness, and then hug the breath out of him before resuming her verbal abuse. Forbidden these things, she watched enviously as his sister did them all.

“Your clothes are shreds, you’re scratched raw, and I’m positive you’re limping, you idiot,” Tobin said sharply. “Take off those rags and go wash this minute. There’s no telling how many of those cuts will fester if you don’t.”

“Yes, Tobin,” he replied with teasing meekness. “Just don’t hug me again, please!” He seemed to notice the other women for the first time. “Don’t look so appalled,” he said, smiling slightly. “It was only a race.”

Ianthe’s delicate fingers plucked at his sleeve. “You took a very great risk, cousin,” she said. “The horse behind you was not so lucky.”