First Rider's Call

Now Alton felt guilt, guilt that his clan had not maintained their watchfulness or kept the secrets of the wall. Now, their ignorance endangered all of Sacoridia, and it was their responsibility to restore their vigilance, and somehow repair the breach created by Shawdell the Eletian.

Alton shifted the reins in his hands. It didn’t matter, he supposed, what his father or uncle thought. It wasn’t just clan duty that brought him here. He would’ve come on his own, to answer the voices that haunted his dreams.

Wind blasted him again, stealing his breath, and Night Hawk side-stepped beneath him.

“A little wind tickling your belly?”

The black gelding snorted, and Alton grinned, clapping him on the neck. “It won’t be long before you’ve got your nose in a grain sack, old boy.”

The turning of the wind carried to him the sounds of a struggle ahead—outcries and thudding, the crushing of vegetation.

He took up the slack in Night Hawk’s reins and squeezed him forward at a cautious jog, laying his hand on the hilt of his saber, unsure of what he might find. Around a bend he came upon two ponies munching happily on the lower branches of trees that lined the trail. One had already stepped on the reins of its very fine bridle and snapped them.

Just beyond the ponies, two little boys locked together in a fight rolled on the ground batting at one another.

“Did not!” one cried.

“Did too!” the other shouted back.

Alton’s eyebrows shot up in surprise—and consternation.

“Did not!” That one, with the black hair, was his young cousin, Teral.

“Did too!” And that one, with the sandy hair, was Alton’s younger brother, Marc.

Alton sighed and let his hand fall from his sword. He dismounted Night Hawk and strode over to the boys, towering over them. Too caught up in their struggle—Marc was now yanking on Teral’s hair—they were oblivious to his presence.

He reached down and grabbed each boy by his collar and hauled him to his feet. Though he held them at arm’s length, they still swung at one another, pummeling the air.

“Stop!” Alton jostled them a bit to get their attention. “What’s this all about?”

The boys paused, and smiles curved on their faces when they realized who restrained them. Then they both began to giggle. Alton hoisted the boys under his arms and whirled them around in a dizzying ride.

“Fighting, eh? Why, I’ll teach you to get into fights!” The faster he whirled, the harder they laughed and yelled in delight.

Alton realized belatedly that the boys had put on some serious weight since he had last played with them in this manner, and he thought his arms might stretch till his knuckles dragged on the ground. Rather unsteadily he set them down, and just as quickly his brother looped his arms about his waist. “Alton!”

In a shot Teral was at Night Hawk’s side, trying to clamber up the stirrup leather to mount the gelding, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth with the effort. And he was succeeding quite nicely, too. Night Hawk tolerated it, but he didn’t look happy.

The boys’ finery was ripped and covered with dirt. Both were scratched and bruised, but from what Alton could tell, neither seemed seriously hurt.

“Why were you fighting?” he demanded. “And more importantly, what are you two doing out here all alone?”

“Not alone!” Marc said.

“Yeah,” Teral said, triumphant atop Night Hawk. “My brother’s watching us.”

“Oh? Where is he then?”

“He was kissing Lady Valia in the trees where he thought no one could see them,” Marc cheerfully reported, “so we run away.”

“Ran,” Alton absently corrected. Had Uncle Landrew gone mad by allowing small boys and noblewomen within shadow’s reach of the wall?

Teral puckered his lips and made loud smooching sounds, which Marc thought was just hilarious. Both boys became helpless with giggles and Alton found himself smiling. He wondered how Pendric, Teral’s older brother, had convinced Lady Valia to kiss him. In any case, Pendric wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping watch on the boys, and Alton couldn’t blame them for taking the opportunity to escape him.

“Hey! I wanna ride Hawk, too,” Marc said.

Alton lifted his brother onto the saddle behind Teral. Teral shook the reins and banged his legs against Night Hawk to make him go forward, his feet barely extending beyond the saddle flaps. Night Hawk’s expression was decidedly glum.

“Go easy on him, Teral, and he’ll walk for you.”

The boy listened, and Alton whispered an encouragement to Night Hawk who lumbered forward at his command. Alton then collected the two ponies and led them beside his own horse.

“Hey, are you going to marry Lady Estora?” Marc asked.

The directness of the question so startled Alton he stumbled over a root. Yet it shouldn’t surprise him too much—the matter of ending his bachelorhood was practically dinner conversation among the adults within his clan, and something the boys were apt to overhear. He was the heir to Quentin D’Yer, and next in line to govern D’Yer Province. Naturally, finding him a wife of suitable quality and station to be the future lady of D’Yer Province was of utmost importance.

“Pendric says he has a pig’s chance,” Teral piped up.

“Good! I hope he marries Karigan.”

Alton’s mouth dropped open. Where was this coming from?

“He can’t marry her,” Teral said. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">