Blackveil by Kristen Britain Page A

daylight. The rhythm of Bluebird’s steady pace and the mesmerizing flurries floating down down down, allowed her to lose herself in an array of mundane thoughts. What was the next day’s schedule? Meetings. There were always meetings, and piles of paperwork, and checking on the progress of the new Riders. Many did not have even a rudimentary education, so in addition to learning court etiquette, how to handle a sword, and ride, they must also be taught writing, reading, figuring, and geography. The long winter had been a bonus, keeping her senior Riders available to assist.
    A howl raked the serenity of the forest. Bluebird sidestepped nervously. Caught unaware as she was, Laren kept her seat by sheer instinct. No sooner did she steady Bluebird when the howl came again.
    Wolves? she wondered.
    More cries followed, some closer, some farther away, and the hair on the nape of her neck stood.
    Ordinarily she wouldn’t be too concerned about the wild creatures, as they tended to shy from people, but with such a severe winter, she imagined they were desperate for a meal. Bluebird was definitely a prey animal, and if the howling creatures were starving, they would overcome their natural fear of her.
    She urged Bluebird forward into a trot, peering into the graying forest, and the cries came again, louder, closer, all around her. If she pushed Bluebird into a gallop, wouldn’t it just incite pursuit?
    When the cries filled the forest again, they didn’t sound quite right. Not exactly like wolves or coyotes. There was an almost human quality to them.
    Groundmites.
    “Bloody hell,” Laren muttered, and from the corner of her eye she caught the movement of a manlike figure lumbering among the trees. Manlike, but not human.
    Then she saw another and another ...
    She drew her saber and jabbed her heels into Bluebird’s sides. If winter had been rough on other creatures, it was certainly hard on groundmites. Starvation must have driven them this far into Sacoridia.
    Bluebird kicked up snow as he lunged forward. Laren crouched low over his neck, the hilt of her saber gripped firmly in her gloved hand.
    The groundmites, no longer attempting to conceal themselves, rushed her and Bluebird, waving clubs and primitive hatchets, their cries chilling. As Bluebird charged by them, Laren saw only a blur of their furred and snarling faces. The groundmites flung themselves out of the forest into the path trying to block her way. She cut one down, then another, blood spraying across snow.
    Enough of the creatures scrambled into the path that they obstructed it; others charged in from the sides. Laren spun Bluebird on his haunches only to find the groundmites had cut her off from behind as well. They had effectively tightened the noose around her.
    Her only chance was to fight through and make for Elgin’s cabin, and there they might make a stand.
    She hacked off a clawed hand that reached for Bluebird’s bridle and blocked a descending hatchet. She drove her saber into the groundmite’s neck.
    These groundmites were cloaked in rags and hides, pitiful, really. None appeared to be wearing armor, which improved her chances.
    Bluebird kicked one from behind and she heard a wet sound like a melon being smashed. A club hammered her left thigh and she swept her sword over Bluebird’s neck to slash the groundmite’s face. It mewled in pain and fell away.
    Bluebird plunged at their attackers, kicked and bit them, trying to break free even as he received blows all over. It only enraged him more and he bellowed a challenge before striking down another groundmite with his front hooves.
    Laren was tiring, and she knew Bluebird was, too. If they did not break free soon, they’d be in deep trouble.
    None of the groundmites seemed to be armed with a sharp blade, and just as she was thanking the gods for it, a short sword swept at her from out of nowhere, catching her coat. Chestnuts poured from her slashed pocket.
    She parried a second blow, then hacked