The Wind-Witch Read Online Free Page B

seized the bit and bolted, and nothing Robart did troubled the stallion in the least. The boy tried to sit deep and be ready to regain control the instant the horse slackened his pace, but Valadan put on a burst of speed instead that rocked him hopelessly far back in the saddle. Two more bounds and Robart slid off over the black tail, to land scrambling.
    He nearly kept hold of the reins, but he stumbled in a rabbit hole as he came to his feet and lost his grip. Druyan watched the ensuing pursuit, as Valadan danced ever nearer to the spot where she stood and Robart grew ever redder in the face as the horse continued to elude him. Finally they stood on either side of her, and she held Valadan’s reins.
    “Give him here,” Robart panted obstinately.
    She’d lose him in the end, no matter how she struggled. There was no other outcome possible. And the stallion would get the beating of his life if he kept fighting. She wouldn’t be able to prevent that.
    “Go with him,” she wished, and turned her face away as Robart swung up once more and gathered the reins in an iron grip that pulled the stallion’s mouth wide open. Fool horse, to come back to one who hadn’t the power to protect him. A little bitter wind curled about her toes, through the long grass.
    She heard the thud of hoofbeats—Robart was ready this time and had sent Valadan away at a gallop, teaching the horse who was master. In a moment he’d reached a cluster of four other riders, who waited upon him beside one of the courses.
    Druyan decided that if she was fated to walk home, she might as well begin the journey. There’d be rain later—the cool wind pledged it. She could have taken Robart’s castoff roan, but she preferred to leave it for him to cope with—he’d have a job ponying either it or Valadan home, and richly deserved the trouble.
    The racers were dragged into a raggedy line. Someone shouted the signal to begin. Hooves thundered, like a presage of storm. Dru told herself not to look back, but she could not resist watching Valadan run, even with another rider on his back. He carried himself so proudly, his sculptured head so high, his tail an outflung banner. . .
    He leapt to the lead, like a black wave breaking on the shore. So lovely he took her breath, and for a moment Druyan forgot her loss in admiration. There was no horse his equal!
    A black-legged gray had its pink nose at his flank. Druyan waited for Valadan to accept the challenge and draw away with quickened pace—instead, the gray unthinkably gained ground with every stride. Valadan ran steadily, but now the gray’s head was at his neck. And a dark chestnut was overhauling the stallion from the other side, with a bald-faced bay gaining ground on all of them just behind.
    They raced over a full league, and Valadan was the last to make the distance. Druyan watched open-mouthed as he came jogging slowly back, tossing his head. The expression on Robart’s face was one of the purest disgust.
    “Hasn’t got the staying power of a sheep,” he snarled, flinging the reins toward his sister as he vaulted down. “You might have said so.” He walked away.
    Druyan looked into the stallion’s dark eyes, saw swirls of rainbows like laughter deep within. Valadan nuzzled ticklingly at her palm and blew upon her contentedly. He wasn’t even sweating.
    “Smart horse,” Druyan said dryly.
    The black head dipped in agreement.

The Widow
    Splaine Garth was as much salt marsh as cropland. Druyan could ride half a day—on any ordinary horse’s back—and never be off her husbands land. The marshes looked wild beyond hope of farming, but in fact a substantial quantity of hay was taken from them each year, and cows, pigs, and sheep throve alike upon the spartina grass pastures. Waterfowl were plentiful, too—a heron turned its spear-beaked head to watch Druyan ride by, and she heard a swan calling overhead.
    Many a husband would have found objection in a young wife’s riding out alone as