Wake up! she screamed at herself. You are under attack! Her thoughts finally connected, and she blindly ran, arrows falling around her like rain. Dinah plunged through the mushrooms, ducking and bobbing as arrows whizzed past her face.
“Morte!” she screamed. “Morte!” Suddenly, he was upon her, his black hide rippling with excitement. He barely even stopped moving long enough for her to step onto his leg and vault herself onto the nape of his neck. They were flying, his muscles pounding like thunder beneath her, the rainbow light a colored blur that flashed past. Dinah watched with horror as a line of feathered warriors appeared before them. They were hundreds deep, each holding a notched arrow, each one trained on her and Morte. The Yurkei. Morte wheeled to the left, but they were there as well, and to the right, emerging from between the mushrooms like ghosts in the darkness. Had they been there the whole time? Morte whinnied and stepped backward. Something was wrong with him. He was stumbling, jumping, falling over his feet. The warriors slowly moved toward them. Dinah and Morte were surrounded on all sides.
Morte began to buck, and Dinah clutched his mane to keep from falling off. When he landed, she nudged him forward. If there was no passage leading away from the Yurkei, she would go through them. Morte would crush them under his mighty hooves, even if he was acting strangely. Dinah drew her sword.
“DINAH, STOP!” The voice plowed through the valley, strong and deep. The light from the mushrooms dimmed at the sound. She turned her head in surprise. It was the first time Sir Gorrann had ever said her name. He stood, looking very much alive, in the midst of a hundred Yurkei warriors, their arrows drawn, all pointing at Dinah and Morte. Blood leaked steadily from his shoulder, but there was no sign of a chest wound. Armor, she thought. He still has his Spade armor on. Thank the gods. The wild thudding of her heart shook her body as Morte wheeled and turned again.
Sir Gorrann raised his voice. “Dinah, do not fight! They will kill you with a hundred arrows before you cross their line. We are surrendering. Put down your sword.” The Spade took his sword and laid it on the ground before raising his arms above his head. There was a murmuring in the crowd, and Dinah’s eyes widened as the Yurkei parted. The mushrooms began to hum with light and sound. The warriors all extended their arms and pressed the base of their palms together, thumbs linked, fingers spread. Like wings. Dinah heard a familiar thudding, and her stomach clenched.
A tan Hornhoov emerged out of the dim light, and astride him, a fearsome-looking man. His hair was as white as milk, shaved back in a long strip that caressed his shoulder blades. Stripes of white paint covered his deeply tanned and muscular body, his radiant blue eyes visible even from a distance. On his head was a woven headdress of feathers, white and blue and gathered in a circle at the crown before cascading down his back. The rest of the Yurkei watched him with rapt attention, their hands still spread before themselves. He gave the slightest nod and their arms dropped back to their original position—aiming arrows at her and Morte. He was almost upon her now: Mundoo, the chief of the Yurkei.
A cold fear shot through her as she remembered all the terrible stories she had heard about this warrior chief. He raised his hand to her, his voice steady and calm. “Girl. You have trespassed into the sacred burial ground of the Yurkei tribe and will now be punished as such: you must give us your steed, your supplies, and all of your food and then you may go with your lives. Otherwise, you will be pierced through with the arrows of my strong warriors. They do not miss.”
Dinah sat perfectly still, surprised at his perfect grasp of the Wonderland language. This seemed like a fair deal, but she did not want to part with Morte. Mundoo was eyeing him greedily—who knew what they would do to him.
Dinah coughed. “Jewels and gold are worth much more than this horse. I can get you all of those and more.”
Mundoo gave a click of his tongue and his pale Hornhoov approached, steam hissing aggressively out from his nose in Morte’s direction. The mare was almost the same size as Morte, the color of the purest sand, her white mane braided through with blue ribbons and paint.
Mundoo narrowed his glowing blue eyes as he neared them. “But that is not just a steed, my lady, as you well know.” As Mundoo grew closer, Dinah saw his blue eyes widen just before he drew his own arrow, pointed straight at her throat.
“Iy-Joyera! Iy-Joyera!” The tribe moved swiftly toward her, all arrows trained on Morte.
Mundoo stared past his quivering arrow. “I have seen this steed before. Iy-Joyera, the black devil. This is the king’s horse. This beast has killed dozens of my best warriors and carried the murderous King of Wonderland upon his back as he burned our villages.” Mundoo was now very close to Dinah, their Hornhooves dangerously close to each other as they heaved and pawed the ground, desperate to fight each other. Morte stumbled again, and Dinah lurched down toward Mundoo. The tip of his arrow brushed her throat.
“Tell me! Tell me how a dirty peasant girl has the horse of a king and the speech of a noble. Tell me now or I will spill your blood here. I will let you watch as we kill your devil, one arrow at a time.” Dinah raised her chin and stared deep into the chief’s eyes. She had no choice. They would no doubt kill her once they learned who she was, and it was better to die a quick death than a long one by torture. She would not go quietly, a meek, insecure princess. She would go out in a blaze of glory, a warrior who had come so far on her own, one who had made it through the Twisted Wood. She had seen death and pain, felt the blade of a sword on her neck and the thrill of the fear that preceded imminent death. She was a woman, not a girl, and she would not go without a fight.
Dinah raised her voice as she drew her sword quickly. “My name is Dinah, and I was the future Queen of Wonderland until I escaped my father and made my way here. You will not touch my steed this day, nor spill my blood. I do not fear death from your arrows, but you should fear my sword and my rage.” Morte rose up on his hind legs and she saw confusion and surprise register across Mundoo’s face as she sliced her sword down toward his head. Mundoo’s Hornhoov gave a skilled leap back, and Dinah swung into empty air before something hard and heavy hit the side of her head with a sickening crunch. The hazy light of the mushroom field went dim, and Dinah gave thanks that her death had been quick and painless. She closed her eyes and waited to see Charles’s happy face, just on the other side of the rabbit hole.
Seven