The Gallantry of Savagery
Over the past several years of disuse, the thorny maze that camouflaged the cave opening from the Rigamort into the Ashen Ravine had grown even more thick and winding, so that even Alger and Dolyn were intimidated by the tangles. Though it limited the already muted light filtering through the canopy overhead, Prince Vesper appointed himself the lead. At least the black, twining palisade with spurs as big as an eagle’s talons would assure no tender-skinned Eldorian would dare pass this way, which meant no unwanted encounters. The prince was still feeling weak after having drained some golden blood to paint streaks across the Rigamort’s rocks and walls—giving the stags sunlight to absorb until he could send a new supply.
Before venturing through the labyrinth, the troop trussed their horses in barding again. Then they resumed riding single file through the slim openings. Vesper soon came to see they weren’t to be as sheltered as he’d hoped. As the lead, he should’ve paid closer attention, should’ve noted the faint scent of smoke, or glimpsed the subtle orange flashes illuminating small openings in the gnarled labyrinth from far in the distance. But he’d been too beguiled by how familiar the surroundings looked here, in a place he’d never been: a dim, hazy world he’d only envisioned through lore shared by children at play or details offered by Nerezeth’s assassins and sun-smugglers.
Uncountable pathways sluiced the maze, most leading to dead ends. Yet the troop trudged forward, having no occasion to stop and turn about, all due to Vesper. He knew exactly when to duck, where to turn, or how to swivel Lanthe’s reins to avoid false routes in the circuitous brambles and forge safe passage. It wasn’t a memory. It was a learned rhythm for the path that had no sense belonging to a prince from the night realm who had never set foot in the ravine.
So preoccupied with this anomaly, he didn’t see the boxy clearing until he and Lanthe stumbled onto it. He hadn’t expected it to be there; it clashed with that strange intuition guiding him. He realized it was freshly made: brambles burned to the ground, smoldering cinders blending with the gray ash.
From left to right, towering vines crackled with sparks. Some crashed into one another with loud, snapping thuds—having lost their supportive infrastructures—and closed off extra pathways. The noise and movement spooked Lanthe. Vesper settled the stallion enough to coax him into the clearing, only to find himself surrounded by impenetrable tangled walls with only two openings. One, the pathway where his companions would soon siphon through behind him, and the other a few feet ahead where black smoke masked any chance for a visual.
The clearing, narrow and rectangular, left little room for the others; possibly one rider and horse could fit alongside him. Vesper raised his hand, halting his companions before they could enter. Suffocating heat filled his lungs and melted the paint on his face. He held tight to the reins and pressed his knees firmly into Lanthe’s ribs to calm the stallion’s nervous, dancing hooves. The horse’s ears flattened; there would be no going forward until the smoke dispersed. But Vesper suspected his mount’s reaction was to something other than the remains of the fire, for he sensed it, too.
Within that pitch-dark cloud that blocked the opposite entrance, something pulled at Vesper’s sunlit blood—an aching, visceral tug—like a lodestone called to metal. The sensation made his thoughts fuzzy, bewitched. He had to get through, to find what had razed the vines and thorns—even if it meant going afoot.
The prince motioned to Cyprian. His first knight entered the clearing and together they slid from their saddles, ankles sinking into the ash. Their boots provided coverage up to their knees, which would aid their trek through the thorns once they plunged within.
Cyprian drew his sword and Vesper unsheathed the knife at his waist, deciding a smaller weapon might be easier handled in this cramped space. He took the lead. He felt rather than saw Cyprian cast a glance back at the others, no doubt sending silent assurance to Selena that he’d watch over her brother. Vesper had caught the worried expression upon her face—clear even beneath the thick smear of sun protectant coating it—when she’d stalled on the edge of the opening. Nysa must have sensed her mistress’s tension, for she began to bark. Vesper would’ve just as soon asked Selena and Nysa to accompany him . . . his sister was better with a dagger than Cyprian, who was more a swordsman. But as third in line, Selena had no room to enter, and dismounting inside the path would be complicated.
Vesper’s ears strained for sounds beyond falling vines, popping sparks, and Nysa’s yipping. Inching forward, he heard something panting. He proceeded, led by that all-encompassing pull.
Smoke curled around him, stinging his eyes and nostrils. Without warning, something huge crashed out from the path. Caught off guard, the prince and Cyprian floundered rearward. A bugling roar shoved them against their mounts, who reacted with squealing neighs.
A magnificent black beast crowded in: hooves, fetlocks, and mane alight with embers. A horse, but so much more. Its wings spanned so wide it couldn’t open them fully in the tight clearing. Vesper swallowed a gasp and held his knife up, as ineffective as threatening a wildfire with a dewdrop.
He’d seen flying horses in paintings and historical scrolls. When he was young, irresponsible, and angry, he used to dream of riding a Pegasus into the stars, away from his kingdom’s responsibilities and all those who feared or judged him for his differences.
Yet he’d never heard of one that could breathe flame.
He and his lieutenant exchanged awed glances. “Weren’t they said to be extinct?” Cyprian asked under his breath.
“Either the scribes were misinformed,” Vesper answered, “or this is a breed yet undiscovered.”
The beast pressed forward, intensifying Vesper’s need to get closer. The gold-plated flesh in his torso, arm, and leg vibrated, as if being hammered flat. He ground his teeth and took a step.
“Your Majesty, no!” Cyprian tugged him back. His first knight struggled to brandish his sword, but he couldn’t risk their own mounts skidding around them through the ash. Their barding wouldn’t stand up to the slash of a silver blade.
Vesper’s lungs filled with dust and smoke. He coughed, shaking himself out of the trance. He captured Lanthe’s reins and backed up the horse, putting himself between the stallion and their winged attacker. Vesper’s veins stung, as if his blood rebelled against moving away from the Pegasus, but he continued, indicating Cyprian do the same. It was a maneuver the mounts were familiar with, having learned it to escape cadaver brambles along cramped trails.
Once Lanthe’s tail reached the path’s opening, Selena handed off the wriggling Nysa to Luna, who was seated on a horse behind her. Selena then coaxed Dusklight’s head down and vaulted herself onto Lanthe’s hindquarters. She scooted into the saddle, then reined him in and backed him all the way onto the small trail where the others made room. Without losing a beat, she did the same for Cyprian’s horse. She then motioned to everyone to back up farther, allowing space for Vesper and Cyprian to enter the path on foot.
Snorting black soot from its nostrils, the Pegasus whipped one wing down to hide the smoke-filled passage that led out of the clearing and into the ravine, then used its body to force Cyprian onto the other trail with the waiting troop. The first knight dropped his sword, but he hadn’t time to retrieve it before the Pegasus pawed it with a front hoof; the blade spun atop a spray of cinders and ash, coming to rest a few feet from Vesper.
The Pegasus lifted its head high. A flame huffed from its mouth and nostrils. Cyprian turned his back and barely had time to drive everyone farther inside before the fire engulfed the front of the path. More vines fell and shut off the opening.
Vesper turned back, cornered by the Pegasus. The beast’s movements were agile and precise, not ravening and mad. From the other side of the thorny wall, Nysa barked and Vesper’s troop shouted, but he couldn’t make out their words.
The Pegasus reared and whinnied—a threatening and victorious sound. It was a male. Perhaps he was territorial, and they’d stumbled upon his den. The beast dropped his front hooves into the ash beneath him, raising a clap of dust that mingled with the fresh smoke.