Page 49 of Dragon Slayer

“Valerian,” Fenrir sang. “Front and center, let’s go.”

Grudgingly, Val took his place, and saw that he’d be facing off with Vali, too. Vali, who was sweaty, tired, and still wincing from Vlad’s blow, but for whom Val wasn’t enough of a challenge to warrant sitting out this bout.

A discouraging notion.

Vali offered him a tired smile. “It’s alright. I’ll go easy on you.”

Val frowned. “You don’t need to.”

Vali hefted his sword. “Alright.” But his smile was still kind and placating.

Val shored up his stance, trying desperately to mimic the sure way that Vlad stood. Rolled his shoulders, gripped the pommel of his sword in both sweat-damp hands.

“Make your move, Val, on the offensive,” Fenrir said.

Val moved. Too slow, too clumsy. Hesitating. And Vali put him on his back in the dirt with seemingly no effort.

Val stared up at the sky, tried to catch his breath, and sighed. He was a third son, and what was a third son good for if not as a soldier?

He’d have to find another way to earn his bloodline, he supposed.

~*~

Riding, though. Now there was a talent. In that he and Vlad were evenly matched.

A half-length ahead of him, Vlad wound his finger’s tight in his horse’s mane and leaned low over the gelding’s neck, urging him faster.

Val laughed, a sound snatched immediately away by the wind, and pressed his face into his mare’s neck, knees gripped tight to her bare sides. He fed her another bit of rein, clucked, and urged her on with a gentle press of his heels.

Vlad’s horse, Storm, was fast.

But Val’s Dancer was faster.

She took the extra rein with relish and lengthened her stride, neck stretched out flat. Val held on for dear life, laughing wildly as she managed to overtake Storm in just a few strides.

Vlad glanced over as they past, teeth bared, lips forming angry curses Val couldn’t hear.

Val laughed and Dancer surged ahead, the bit in her teeth.

They rode in a field, the sky a vast blue stretch above them, birds flinging themselves up from the tall grass and taking flight as the thunder of hooves approached. The horses, well used to these races, didn’t spook; they carried their boys across the long, flat stretch, already slowing as they neared the tree line.

Val sat back, closed his thighs, and checked the reins with reluctance. Dancer slowed to a canter, then a trot, then, true to her name, danced in place, tossing her head a few times. He patted her damp neck. “Good girl. What a good girl.”

She danced a little more, preening.

Vlad reined up beside them, boy and horse both blowing through dilated nostrils. “You cheated.”

Val laughed. “How?”

“That horse would do anything for you,” Vlad said, sulking. “And you know it.”

“That’s not cheating. That’s good horsemanship.”

“Brat.”

They turned the horses around and settled them at a walk, reins loose. Storm and Dancer stretched their necks out long and low, blowing, catching their breath. Val felt the familiar heave of the mare’s ribs beneath his legs.

“Can you, though?” Vlad asked, out of nowhere.

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