Saddle

From the prophecy by the Zarc seer—

The ground will not shake from pounding hooves,
nor the wind carry a proud whinny,
nor warriors smell sweet horse breath
for one hundred and one courses.
But before the horses leave forever,
a new Horsecaller will come
along dark, unused paths.

~~~~~~~~~~
Prologue

Upstate New York

The horse rolled beneath her with great waves of energy, carrying her forward to—it didn’t matter where. The trail was clear, the autumn morning crisp.

At the top of a small rise, she steadied him, then continued down a gentle hill, gaining speed as weight and gravity conspired to meet them at the bottom. She lifted her shoulders, stretching deeper into the heels of her tall, black boots, then tightened a gloved finger on one rein to soften his jaw. The horse had begun to lean on the bit, but shifted his weight from straining shoulders and pounding forelegs to gathering haunches and reaching hind legs, and rider and mount melded together as one.

The landscape curved up, and the horse galloped, his quick breaths matching her own. Ahead, the trail crested; beyond that, nothing.

Lauren knew what lay ahead—a five-foot drop over a rock outcrop to a soft meadow. Before that, they would veer right down a narrow trail, jump a low coop, and continue. Pindar was not yet ready to leap down the rock drop.

Sense and instinct made her sink closer to the saddle. His mane flicked her nose, his musky smell singed her nostrils. She enjoyed the prickly edge between danger and freedom that is a good gallop, ignoring the knowledge that soon, rides like this would be rare.

Her chest tightened when she remembered the doctor’s words that morning. Only a miracle would save Morgan. Her sister would be lucky to survive two weeks past delivering the baby.

Miracles. She spat the useless word out of her thoughts and narrowed her field of vision to the upcoming turn, then jammed her helmet lower and shortened the reins, closer to his mouth, closer to control. Heavy rain the night before left a bright sheen over the world. Red and yellow leaves blazed in sharp relief against gray tree trunks. Concentration squeezed out all but the feel of his long stride and the distance to the take-off point. She had made this approach a dozen times—knew the footing by heart, knew the perfect speed to approach.

Lowering her right hand half an inch was all it should have taken to tell the horse to veer right down the easier path. Lately, she barely had to think, and he responded. This keen-edged communication between her and her mount was exactly what she had been searching for all her life.

He ignored her cue and surged straight ahead.

An instructor once told her to be an opportunistic rider, to accept what a horse offers and ride it forward.

The rock drop it is.

They pounded to the edge. She enjoyed the moment when it appeared they were jumping into nothingness. This moment did not pass unnoticed by Pindar, who snapped an ear back. He was bold, but she knew he wouldn’t jump into thin air without her full attention. She tightened her calves in quick response.

Yes, we’re going. Now.