Sword by Amy Bai Page B

flew down the road in a rising cloud of dust and a welter of hot sunlight, pelting toward the next stretch of trees and shade. Every strike of a hoof on the packed dirt rattled him right to his teeth. He had the sword pinned to his thighs with an elbow and the bone flute clenched desperately in the same hand that held the reins, and he was sliding in the saddle like a sack of turnips, all the muscles in his legs gone shivery and weak. When he and his mad horse crossed the line from sun back into shade, he heard a shout from Hewet. He didn't dare to turn and see; they were moving so fast now that any shift in his balance would send him flying, and he'd probably get a killing blow to the head from a hoof after he hit the ground, if the fall didn't break his neck first.
    He brought the flute up.
    One-handed and clumsy, he played the first few bars to "Lady Rose's Stables," a slightly filthy song that had been Ysmena's favorite to sing. And for the first time in half a year, he made no effort to curb the headlong rush of his Gift rising in the wake of the notes; instead, he welcomed it and squeezed his eyes shut as his head went light and strange.
    Then he opened one eye to squint over the roiling withers of the horse and see what he'd wrought.
    Not much , he thought, disappointed… and then realized the shadows under the trees were twisting in a way no tree branch ever could. He raised his head, blinking when wind struck him in the face. It certainly looked odd, but it was hardly going to deflect arrows or frighten off bandits.
    It did produce a series of shouts from behind, and another series from ahead , bewilderingly—oh gods, had he tripped an ambush? Hewet was one of the shouters, coming up hard on his heels. There was a sound of steel meeting steel. Devin flung a desperate look over his shoulder, saw Hewet fending off two men behind him, and looked ahead in time to see ten men in light armor ride out of the trees up ahead and drive straight for him. He almost swallowed the flute.
    He threw an arm over his face, too shocked to be terrified, and waited to die.
    They thundered past, dividing around him like water around a rock, and met the two men Hewet was fending off. Those men flew out of their saddles and landed on the ground, and the four coming up behind them drew up hard. Devin wrenched his horse around, pulling at the reins when the damned animal went lightfooted and then tried to launch off in a different direction with another wild burst of speed—it had less sense than he did. He wrestled them to a halt a safe distance away. The sword tried to fall out of his lap. The flute was digging into his hand. He could feel the beat of his pulse in every part of him.
    Everyone stopped.
    "Lovely day for a ride," said one of the new arrivals. Half the air in Devin's body blew out of him in a furious gust as his father pulled off a wide-brimmed traveler's hat to survey the mess. "Where are you headed, sirs? Sarmin? Or is it perhaps points east?"
    The Western band clustered together under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. The two who had fallen mounted carefully, moving as though it hurt.
    "We spotted them at Savvys village," one of them said, defensive and angry. "We thought they were poachers."
    A plausible claim, Devin thought—except nothing they'd done suggested they were chasing law-breakers, nor that they themselves were keepers of laws.
    Hewet rode up, running a worried eye over Devin. Devin gave the look right back, and tore some of the wrapping from his sword to toss to his guard. "You're bleeding," he said, pointing to the man's temple.
    The words earned a measure of quiet from the rest of the gathered men. Sixteen pairs of eyes locked on the slow trickle of blood making its way down Hewet's jaw. Devin realized what he'd said, and what it suggested, and he shut his mouth with a click of teeth.
    "Just a rock thrown up during the ride, my lord," Hewet said, his voice soft and cool despite the sweat running down his