Bloodsworn (Ashlords #2) - Scott Reintgen Page 0,1

long trying to leave that town that I never thought I would actually miss the place.

Sunlight finally claws over the western cliffs.

My skin drinks in those first rays, and in the same breath, our phoenixes rise. Out of death and into life. Great bursts of fractured light. I glance up at the tower and am thankful for the fog. A curious soldier might see a speck of light if he looked down, but it wouldn’t be enough to raise suspicion. Besides, most soldiers wouldn’t look down on this side of the castle. Locklin’s never been approached from below. Which is half the point. I learned this strategy from the Races.

Change the game. Make them play by your rules.

“Mount up,” Bastian orders. “Low in your saddles. Complete silence until we’re inside.”

There’s the crashing waves, the crunch of sand, our beating hearts. I have to tighten my grip on the reins just to keep my hands from shaking. I try to remind myself that the plan will work. The phoenix magic will not fail us. My nervousness has more to do with how my decisions echo now. Back when Farian and I were filming stunts on Martial’s ranch, the only neck I could break was mine. Now there are other lives depending on my choices.

Bastian studies his stolen map one more time before directing us over the dunes. The horses lower their heads, forelegs flexing, hooves flicking sand. We break into two distinct rows. Six riders up front and seven behind. Bastian takes point. Against his wishes, I claim the right corner of the front line. We have argued more lately. But this decision was simple. How could I ever ask the others to put their lives on the line if I’m unwilling to do the same?

We reach the end of the beach. Here, the ocean and cliffs embrace. There’s a great smash of water on stone. Spray hisses into the air and scatters into mist. Above, the fog continues to thin. We have a few more minutes to make this a surprise. Bastian aims us at a specific section of stone. There are no handholds. No winding and forgotten stairways.

There is only waiting magic.

“Ride hard,” Bastian calls. “Let’s make something from nothing.”

His eyes lock briefly on mine. There’s a fire in them that only surfaces before a fight. I always wonder if I have that same fury buried in my bones. Is it a Dividian thing? Or something burned into the mountain-born? He grew up with a pistol in one hand and a shovel in the other. If he wasn’t working the land, he was busy defending it. His whole crew is the same way.

I watch him urge his horse into motion.

My body answers. Great snorts echo. My horse’s hooves dig down into the sand. Breath smokes into the air. Less than a few seconds and we’re sprinting. Our entire row holds the pace. I smile, imagining some witness farther down the beach. What a sight this must be.

Thirteen horses galloping right at the stone cliffs.

A string of curses sound. Faith always slips through our fingers in such moments. My faith is in the horses, though. I know the magic will work right before we make impact. I know because none of the horses hesitate. Not so much as a flinch from them. There’s no fear because they were born for this moment. It’s the same summoning I used on the first day of the Races. The one that had me sprinting sideways up a wall, in defiance of gravity, to avoid Thyma’s swing at me.

We hit the wall at a full sprint.

Normal horses would die. And we would probably die with them. Instead, gravity snatches us like playthings. The sky trades places with the ground. Our horses sprint straight up the stone rises. I’ve got a death grip on the reins. Bastian lets out a low whoop as we ascend like gods.

It was one thing to taste the impossible on my own. It’s an entirely new feeling to perform this magic alongside brothers and sisters. A glance shows all thirteen horses sprinting to heaven. We are breathless with joy and fear and everything in between.

The only sound is thundering hooves on stone.

Ahead, the fog scatters. Our sprint is no longer hidden. I can see where the cliff ends and the castle walls begin. The blocks of stone are massive, dotted by moss, carved smooth over the centuries. Two guard towers loom on either side of the ramparts.