DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (179 page)

Soon after, the small pinto came in hard again, this time making a run at the challenger, who had gained the upper hand, and then a third pass, where he clipped both horses, who were fighting evenly at that point.

“Clever runt,” Brynn whispered with a chuckle, for she knew that this was more than coincidence. This pony was doing all it could to drag the fight between the larger horses out for as long as possible, and she understood that the clever pony meant to wear them both down and win the day!

And soon after, it happened just like that, with the small pony running off first the dominant male, then the exhausted and battered challenger.

“And so enjoy the spoils,” Brynn whispered, as the pony turned its attention to the mare that had started it all.

The young ranger was still chuckling as she packed up her gear and began her day’s march. She kept looking back, though, at the clever little pony. Something about him—and it was more than the resemblance to Diredusk—made her feel a connection to this one.

She was still thinking of the pony the next day, while walking through a wide canyon along the lower trails, when she heard the thunder of the running herd. Brynn quickly moved to the rocky wall and crouched behind a boulder.

The horses entered the canyon behind her, running hard, running scared, and an ensuing roar, low and rumbling, explained it all to the woman.

A mountain cougar, and not far away.

The horses thundered past; they weren’t in much danger, Brynn knew, as long as the trail was open before them, and unless the great cat was already up above them, ready for the spring. The young ranger ducked lower and instinctively clutched the hilt of her fine sword. If the cat couldn’t catch the horses, it might settle for a bit of human flesh …

She saw it, then, running along the rocky wall behind the herd, moving so smoothly across the uneven rocks that it seemed as if it was cruising across an open field. It was losing ground but stubbornly continuing the chase, ears flat and great legs pumping, adjusting perfectly to the uneven ground.

Until it saw Brynn.

The cat froze so quickly, so quietly and completely, that it seemed to melt into the brownish gray stone behind it. Brynn held very still, locking her stare on the spot until she was again able to mark the large and powerful cat. And it was a big one—Brynn estimated its shoulders at over four feet, which meant that one of its paws would more than cover her entire face. While it didn’t seem so formidable compared to the young ranger’s last foe, that horrid dragon, Brynn knew well the dangers of the brown mountain cats, for her people had often encountered them in the summer months, when their travels took them north to the foothills, and often with disastrous results. Many To-gai-ru had been buried in these foothills.

But Brynn was no normal To-gai-ru and had been trained in ways superior even to the best of her people’s proud warriors. She resisted the urge to rush back around the boulder, knowing that any sudden movement on her part would surely bring the cat flying in—and it was not too far away for a single great leap at her.

No, she had to let the cat move first, to trust in her abilities to react properly.

The passing moments seemed all the longer because the woman didn’t dare even draw breath.

The patient cat stared down at her, measuring her, and Brynn noted only a very slight, but very telling, movement: the cat subtly shifting its weight from hind leg to hind leg, tamping them down for better footing.

“Do not do it,” Brynn whispered under her breath.

Even as she spoke the words, the great cat sprang, flying down from the mountainside at her. With reflexes honed to near perfection, Brynn fell into a sidelong roll, angling her dive around the boulder so that the cat could not easily adjust its course toward her after landing. She came up in a defensive stance a few feet away, the mountain cat standing atop the boulder, eyeing her with slitted eyes. Head low, back legs settling for another charge, it gave an angry roar that shook Brynn to her bones.

She pushed her thoughts into her sword, then, and fire erupted along the blade.

The cat roared again, and shrank back, but only for a moment. This one was hungry, Brynn knew, and angry.

It came on with a suddenness that would have had almost any other warrior caught flat-footed, too fast for most to bring the fiery sword across in any semblance
of defense. But Brynn was a ranger, and was so attuned to animals that she instinctively knew the spring was coming before it had even begun.

She spun back and to her left, sword coming all the way around as she completed the circuit to swat at the passing cat’s rump.

The cat cut quick, turning right around and leaping, this time high, for Brynn’s head.

She fell forward and to the ground, and while she didn’t have the time to turn her sword about to stab the cat as it flew above her, she did manage to punch out hard with the pommel, thumping the cat in the belly, and to push out with her newfound gem-studded bracer, forcing those deadly rear paws aside.

And as she did, the woman’s eyes widened with surprise, for a pulsing white light, bent and rounded like a shield, came forth from that bracer! As she regained her footing, she tapped her sword against it, and sure enough, it was a tangible thing, a shield of some kind of glowing energy. She wanted to inspect it more, but she had other matters to attend.

“Go away!” she yelled at the beast, as it turned again, and as she fell to her standard defensive stance.

This time, the clever cat stalked in.

Brynn stabbed at it, but it ducked back, then came forward, up on its hind legs, forelegs swatting.

Brynn worked her sword back and forth, batting the claws, stinging the cat with fire. But then it leaped, suddenly, and Brynn had to dive aside, and she felt a burn in her shoulder as one claw raked past. Her roll interrupted, she lay on her back and clutched at the wound reflexively, but had to let go and punch out, and try to bring her sword to bear as the great cat fell over her, all muscle and tearing claws and biting teeth.

She fended frantically, got in a hit or two, then just rested the flat of her fiery blade against the neck and head of the cat, holding it back, pushing it out to arm’s length so that those powerful claws could not get a firm hold, and she worked her pulsing shield all about, fending them further.

With a growl of protest, the cat retreated, and Brynn threw herself right over backward, moving lightly back to her feet.

The great cat circled to her right, seeming unsure, and stung, though not badly wounded.

Brynn went on the offensive, seizing the moment to rush forward, working her sword in an overhand slash rather than her customary straightforward stab to accentuate the flames and perhaps chase the cat off.

It did skitter back, dropping low on its front legs, ears flat, mouth open in a winding screech of protest and outrage.

Then the cat came forward and Brynn leaped back, and then she charged again, and the cat, after a moment, reversed its charge, retreating one stride, then turning back toward her.

Neither dared follow through, each respecting the other’s formidable weapons.

Brynn had no idea of how this might end. She couldn’t try to run away, obviously, for the cat was far too swift. And apparently she couldn’t scare the beast off.

The cat came on again, this time more forcefully, and Brynn had to continue her retreat, step after step, her sword slashing back and forth before her to keep the determined beast at bay. It roared all the while, and in the tumult, Brynn was caught completely by surprise as another form, the largest of all, entered the fray.

The small pinto pony cut between the combatants, head lowered and forelegs kicking at the surprised mountain cat. The cat leaped away and the pony reared and whinnied mightily.

As it came down to all fours, Brynn, hardly thinking, wasted not a second, grabbing its mane and leaping astride its strong back, and the pony jumped away.

On came the mountain cat, springing and roaring.

Brynn didn’t have her seat well enough to control her mount, but the pony needed no guidance. Ducking its head low in a full gallop, it went left and then right, then left again, putting a bit of ground between it and the pursuing cat, and then it ran full out and straight on, angling for an area of fallen logs and boulders. Instinctively, Brynn started to tug the horse to the side, to avoid the rough ground, but the pony would not be deterred. In it charged, and Brynn found her balance just in time before the pony leaped the first boulder, gave two quick strides, and soared over a log that was propped up by stones on one end. There weren’t two strides before the next hurdle, though, and the footing was bad, and so the pony came down and went right back up on its hind legs, not quite releasing into the jump, but rather, giving a short hop and then a second to clear the way.

Like a rabbit
, Brynn thought. Looking back, she saw that the pony’s choice had proven correct, for the mountain cat had gone around the first boulder and had then lost ground ducking under the log. Now, coming past the last obstacle, the cat bolted, but the pony had already gained its momentum and was in full stride. The mountain cat kept up with it for a few more strides, even managing a swipe at the pony’s hind leg, but it could not hold the pace.

Brynn and the pony came out the other side of the canyon at a full gallop, and when the woman finally managed to look back, she saw the mountain cat standing there, staring back in obvious frustration.

The pair rode on for some time, and Brynn did little to guide the pony. She sat comfortably, her legs hardly pressing its strong sides and her hands gentle on its snowy mane, for she knew instinctively that the pony would not throw her. As a child, Brynn had seen many horses taken in and broken for riding, and so she understood just how extraordinary this entire encounter had been. For the pony to come back anywhere near the mountain cat was amazing, and for it to stop and then allow Brynn to climb atop its back was even more so.

Still, there were many stories about such encounters, such immediate bonding between rider and mount, scattered among the legends of the To-gai-ru, a people intimately tied to the marvelous horses of the steppes.

Finally, convinced that the mountain cat was long gone, Brynn shifted her
weight back a bit and gave a gentle tug on the pony’s mane, whispering into its ear, “Ho.”

The pony eased down to a stop and Brynn slid off. She came around the front, scratching the side of the pony’s face, looking into its smooth blue eyes, and seeing intelligence there. “Thank you,” she said, and she kissed the pony on the nose. When she backed up a bit, the young stallion tossed his head a few times, up and down.

Brynn smiled and scratched its ears again. “Where are your friends?” she asked quietly. “Did they send you back to defend the rear?”

The pony nickered and lowered its head to the grass, munching contentedly. Truly, it seemed in no hurry to be off to rejoin the others.

Brynn knew that she couldn’t push this budding relationship, though she dearly hoped that the pony would remain with her. She didn’t have a rope, and even if she did, she wouldn’t use it on the pony after it had just saved her from that difficult battle!

No, she wanted the pony to become her mount, her friend and ally—even more so, she understood, because she now felt so alone, with Belli’mar Juraviel and Cazzira gone. But it would have to be a friendship of mutual agreement, and on that note, it was all up to the pony.

Brynn petted the pony again for a few moments, then sighed and turned about and began deliberately—if not too swiftly—walking away.

Her smile could not be contained when she realized that the little pony was walking behind her.

An hour later, Brynn came upon a small lea, sheltered by rocks and by trees, and decided to make camp under the boughs of some thick pines, with plenty of grass about for the pony.

“Well, what am I to name you?” she asked, and the pinto looked at her as if it understood her every word. “So clever and such a hero, and here I thought that you were the runt of the herd!”

She smiled as she finished and looked into the pinto’s blue eyes knowingly. When she was a young girl, she and her mother used to play many word games, nonsensical and simple fun, and one song in particular stood out to her as she looked upon the beautiful pony, a rhyme that she and her mother had made up about another smallish horse, the runt of the clan’s herd. Brynn could not completely remember the rhyme, but she did remember the word, “runtly,” that her mother had used to both describe the horse and fit lyrically into the song.

“Runtly, then,” Brynn announced to the pony. “I will call you Runtly!”

The pony threw its head up and down, several times.

Brynn knew that it had understood, and she couldn’t have been more delighted.

T
he young ranger and her pony spent the next several days together, sometimes riding the lower trails, but more often just walking, with Brynn leading the way and Runtly plodding along, seemingly contentedly, behind. The weather remained
mostly clear and chilly, for though they were moving lower in the foothills, the season was pushing on.

All the while, Brynn tried to get her bearings, looking for some landmark—the jagged, peculiar face of a mountain, perhaps, or a winding stream—that would jog her childhood memories and give her some idea of where a tribe of To-gai-ru might be encamped. She knew that the season was somewhat late for any of the tribes to be so close to the mountains, and so she was relieved indeed when she saw a line of thin smoke, marking a camp.

She climbed onto Runtly’s strong back and urged the willing pony along at a swift pace. Goose bumps showed on her bare arms, and her mouth went dry, her hands damp, at the thought of seeing her people again for the first time in more than a decade, for the first time since becoming an adult. She grew more nervous with each passing stride and had to remind herself over and over again that she was well prepared for the meeting. The Touel’alfar had trained her in many of the arts that her people held dear, and had gone out of their way to tutor her, often using her own language and not their singsong tongue.