Greendaughter (Book 6) by Anne Logston Page B

were to live in a city bordering on an elven forest and hope to foster good relations, she had to perfect her own speech.
    “It took you more days to reach the center of the forest,” Val said practically. “Why should it take fewer to leave it?”
    “On open ground I can make fifteen leagues on a good day,” Sharl said disgustedly. “In the forest I’m doing well to travel a third of that, and this trail is by no means straight, either. And nothing is slowing that army, that’s sure.”
    “Nor speeding it,” Val said, brushing at the brighthawk’s tail feathers as they tickled his nose. “Love, can he not find another perch while we ride?”
    “Well for my shoulder if he does.” Chyrie chuckled. She prodded the hawk with a thought and he launched himself skyward. “Best he find shelter anyway, for the coming storm may be hard.”
    “Storm?” Rivkah looked up into the thick canopy of leaves. “How can you tell?”
    “Anyone can smell it in the air,” Val said. “Even the horses can tell.” The animals were, indeed, restless and twitchy.
    “I thought they were just ashamed of their ridiculous appearance,” Sharl said sourly. “Can you smell how soon we might expect this torrent?”
    A loud crack of thunder made the horses dance.
    “Very soon,” Chyrie said blithely.
    “Wonderful,” Sharl sighed. “One more thing to slow us down. Rivkah, can you do anything about it?”
    Rivkah closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head.
    “It’s a whole line of storms, coming fast,” she said. “It would take ten mages to stop it now.”
    “Your kind can halt a storm?” Chyrie asked amazedly. “How is such a thing possible?”
    “It isn’t difficult magic,” Rivkah said. “We can cause rain, too, when conditions are right. But conditions are wrong, now, for stopping one. It will likely rain all day and all night.”
    “Likely,” Val said cheerfully. “Late spring is a wet season here. As well it rains now, for we have been over half a moon dry, and the young plants need water.
    “I can keep the rain off us,” Rivkah offered. “For a few hours, anyway. Maybe long enough to get us to camp for the night.”
    “That will do,” Sharl said distractedly. He spurred his horseto a faster pace, and Chyrie, who had been dispatching a squirrel to the Wildings as Rowan had requested, cried out.
    “Enough of that,” Val said sharply. “You are paining my mate.”
    “What’s the matter?” Rivkah said, concerned. “I thought Chyrie was healed.”
    “Kicking your beasts with those metal prongs,” Val said. “She is a beast-speaker, and their pains hurt her. Cease that now.”
    Sharl scowled darkly, but the geas forced him to stop. The horse immediately slowed to a walk.
    “You didn’t complain before we ran into those Moon Lakes,” the lord demanded.
    “We used her ability to send messages,” Val told him. “She had to keep it secret, lest your mage cast some additional magic to prevent our one hope of rescue.”
    “These horses,” Sharl said between gritted teeth, “are accustomed to spurs. How do you propose I get any speed out of them without it? You see yourself that they slowed the minute I stopped.”
    “Do you treat your people thus, beating and ordering them without giving reason?” Chyrie said exasperatedly. “Well, it is known that a stag will come to you more eagerly for an apple than an arrow. That is why beast-speakers were given to their clans by the Mother Forest.”
    She touched one horse after the other, enjoying the unfamiliar feel of their minds; it took her a moment to understand them, but they, like flocking birds, were accustomed to receiving direction from a leader, and immediately responded to her urging to quicken their pace. Sharl yelped in startlement as his mount leaped forward, setting a pace as quick as the quality of the trail and the horse’s endurance could reasonably maintain.
    “That’s a remarkable gift,” Rivkah said to Chyrie, dropping back to ride