Fire Rider Page 6

  Jaron pushed Caliber on. ‘Come on boy, settle down,’ he pleaded. He moved closer to the jumps to give Caliber a chance to see them and caught sight of Pache waving to the crowd as Teller reared and pranced. Jaron envied the Kyrindian jockey his confidence.

  Slowly the crowd’s shouting subsided to a more bearable level and he felt Caliber’s tense muscles begin to relax a little. Jaron eased him back into trot and headed towards the start where he could see most of the other kelpra circling. As he approached he saw two beasts rear up against each other, their noses wrinkled as they snarled, front claws reaching. The crowd oohed but an armoured steward darted between them and whipped the chest of one before ducking back out. The beast, distracted, came down and squealed. It whirled to kick out, missing the steward by a narrow margin. The kelpra had a hard pad set on their back heels, like a flat hoof that packed a heavy punch if they had to defend themselves from behind.

  Two more stewards ran to help and the beasts were led away from each other. There was a ripple of applause at the man’s bravery and he bowed in acknowledgment.

  ‘All riders, line up!’ a man resplendent in red uniform and feathered hat shouted from the wooden platform that was at the start line. His cloak whipped against his stout frame as he pointed the rolled flag to the ground in front of him.

  The riders got into two lines and nosed forward with a lot of growling and baring of teeth from the kelpra, who were more interested in challenging each other. Jaron could see Brill and big, brown-and-white patched Monty up the front next to Pache on Teller. He kept Caliber in the thinner row behind and the kelpra shook his head as he fought the resistance, displeased with his rider. The starter unfurled the flag and slowly held it up with outstretched arm, Tiara’s emblem rippling in the breeze.

  The stands went eerily quiet in a collective holding of breath. The only sounds were the flapping of the flags around the arena and the occasional kelpra snort and snarl.

  Jaron’s arms were aching with the effort of keeping Caliber held; he felt the kelpra’s haunches bunch up, lowering, and just as he was certain his mount was going to rear up on him, the flag swept down and the lead row surged forward.

  The crowd roared anew and Caliber leapt into a dead run. In no time at all he was on the heels of the kelpra directly in front and track dirt was flying up into Jaron’s face. Desperately Jaron tried to get his mount back; as they rounded the first bend he could see the hurdle coming up, fast. He pulled more on the reins, trying to get Caliber to take notice. Then there was no time left and Jaron had no other choice but to swing him out to one side of the racing group or get caught up with the kelpra in front. They just managed to keep in line with the hurdle enough to jump it. Caliber leapt flat and when the kelpra’s front legs hit the ground he had already overtaken the leading row.

  The crowd roared even harder.

  ‘Too fast!’ Jaron thought, he had to slow him up, conserve something. He put more pressure on the reins, but now Caliber had the bit between his teeth. ‘Cal, ease up,’ Jaron cried. Still they hammered on. In desperation, Jaron jiggled the reins, pulling one side, then the other in quick succession to get his attention. Slow down, please Cal. Amazingly, he felt his mount release his clenched teeth on the bit as though he had heard his thoughts. At last. Jaron rewarded him immediately by giving the reins a little as he went back into racing position. ‘Good boy, good boy,’ he chanted. His heart was pounding but there was no time for terror as the next fence was looming and Caliber took it without breaking pace. Jaron heard the thunder of the racing herd behind him as they landed. When they flattened out he swung Caliber to the outside lane again, keeping him away from the crowded inside track as they took the bend. A kelpra came past, its jockey wearing the blue and white Rapan colours and Jaron saw Brill and Monty the other side of him along with the rest of the runners. He could smell the earthy odour of kelpra sweat as the beasts ran shoulder to shoulder. Intent on running hard, all snarling and snapping had stopped.

  The racers took another hurdle and Jaron, still on the outside line, saw one kelpra go down, tripped up by another that had got too close behind. The crowd gave a collective gasp.

  Sensing danger, Jaron looked across and saw a rider-less kelpra running next to them. He risked moving his mount even further off the racing line and threw a glance over in time to see the kelpra fling out a foreleg to catch the back leg of the beast in front. The scream was terrible as the leader tripped and went down with its jockey, the loose kelpra falling on top; Jaron heard its loud snarl behind them merge with a human scream.

  A sudden rush of bile came into his throat. His knees trembled, and not just from supporting his weight with his behind lifted off the saddle. Then the next hurdle was coming up and he was hard pushed to get back together for it. They jumped clean, however. Suddenly Teller was right next to Caliber. The crowd, which had been silent at the fallen rider’s scream, roared even harder.

  Jaron hoped the wall of sound would slow Caliber down but as Teller pulled ahead the stallion ran even faster.

  ‘Look to the bigger picture,’ Sprague’s words came into his mind. ‘Don’t get swept up with the crowd…’

  ‘Cal, no!’ But his mount lowered his head and set his neck against him. Jaron sat down and leant back in the saddle, using his weight to pull harder – but this time Caliber was having none of it. The blue-blazoned kelpra accelerated after Teller, who passed the two Rapan entries and one of the Camorians. Teller was now leading up ahead and as they, too, passed the other kelpra Caliber’s ears were pricked; he had the Kyrindian kelpra in his sights, Jaron realised. For Caliber, this was the home straight.

  In no time at all they were at Teller’s tail, past his striped pounding haunches and then Jaron was right up alongside Pache. The Kyrindian jockey flashed him a look that froze his blood. Then Pache grinned and bent lower over Teller’s neck; he was going to take him on for the crowd.

  They met the fifth hurdle together and Jaron felt the bunch, then the thrust of the hind quarters, the incredible lift that sailed him over the jump. Lean back, take the jar from the landing that runs up the shoulders, watch the head come up, collect the reins, feel the back condense as the hind legs work underneath, fold your body and get back into position. Go with him, he decided – too much energy would be used by both of them if he fought the kelpra now.

  He bent low and gave the reins, just a little bit.

  And Caliber took wing and flew for him.

  It felt like Jaron was floating; it felt like everything slowed. Caliber lengthened and travelled at such speed over the track his stride seemed to eat up the ground. He hardly slowed to take the last hurdle and they landed with no other kelpra near them.

  Jaron became aware for the first time the arena had fallen silent in what seemed to be shock. It was short-lived, however, for just then the spectators erupted into such noise as he had never heard before. Caliber’s ears meshed further flat to his head but he didn’t slow as they flashed past what would be the finishing line when they entered the arena for the last time. Jaron looked over his shoulder to see Teller at least eight kelpra lengths behind him. The crowd were applauding and chanting Caliber’s name as they galloped under the decorated archway and out onto the Plains of Wake.

  The kelpra slowed significantly and Jaron let out an explosive breath. The boy lengthened his reins and took the chance to let Caliber stretch his neck down and blow out before the others caught up with them.

  ‘It’s not over yet, boy,’ he said as he patted him, gathering up the reins again.

  Pache passed them just then without casting a glance Jaron’s way. Teller’s neck and shoulders were covered with frothed sweat and Pache’s long thin face was etched with rage and disbelief. Now they all knew what Tiara’s favourite could do. Jaron grimaced and wondered if Pache would make him pay, but more importantly, would Caliber pay, his endurance spent on that last run?

  His left hip was aching. It felt sore too and Jaron sat down in the saddle to slip his foot ou
t of the stirrup iron to stretch the thickened scar tissue. A kelpra came up alongside, quite close, and Jaron had to hurriedly scrabble with his toe to find the stirrup again.

  It was Brill and Monty. The huge patched beast looked in good shape after the first part of the race. He had a keen eye and his ears were pricked forward as he cantered easily beside his yard mate. The two had squared up against each other in the past, with threatening growls and some snapping. Now, with so many strange kelpra about, the two appeared more willing to accept each other. That was only the kelpra, of course.

  Brill lifted his goggles and looked over, his face covered with track dirt and rivulets of sweat. ‘You might well have just run your race, Scar,’ he said to Jaron. ‘A more experienced jockey, a stronger jockey, would have been able to hold him.’ While Jaron stared at the older boy he sneered back before kicking Monty on ahead.

  Jaron watched them cantering away. Not much hope Brill would watch his back then.

  There were no more spectators, they were all banned from watching the cross-country part of the race for their own safety. As the pack followed the bright yellow markers placed at intervals along the route Jaron welcomed being away from the noise of the arena. Out here, the only sounds were the odd creak of leather and the heavy breathing of the kelpra, along with the occasional warning snarl if they inadvertently got too close to one another. The scream of that fallen rider broke into Jaron’s thoughts. With an effort, he pushed it out of his mind. They all knew the risks. Without the kelpra, Jaron would still be scrubbing pans in the palace kitchens.

  By the time the pack had left the Plains of Wake behind and entered the dense Rotarn Forest that nestled at the base of the Notresia Mountains, the riders had all lifted their goggles to cool down, and Jaron was grateful to pass into blessed shade. The forest sat at the edge of the plains and marked the northern border of Tiara’s lands just before the mountains. Sprague had told him it was the first time it had been included as part of the race, and the route would involve the River Not. ‘Let him drink his fill there,’ Sprague had said. ‘Some think it does them no good to run on a stomach full of water but I’ve never had a problem with that. Better he’s refreshed fully.’

  Caliber was skittish in the woods, they were eerily silent and no birdsong came to Jaron’s ears. Amongst the trees large rocks and boulders were dotted, evidence the Notresia mountains sat at the forest border. The Camorian mount suddenly darted forwards and nearly got a hind foot in the face from Teller. Pache’s mount was sweating more than any of them and Pache whipped him often when he slowed too much.

  Suddenly, the kelpra all speeded up, ears pricked and nostrils flaring as they scented the air. The pack burst out of the woods onto the bank of a wide silver ribbon flowing sluggishly through the forest. They spread out as they eagerly entered the river, lowering their heads to drink from the cool water. The riders, too, were leaning half out of their saddles as they hung over one side to reach down with cupped hands.

  Jaron pushed Caliber further out until the water lapped around the kelpra’s stomach so he could reach and quench his thirst. He leant over to one side, hanging onto the saddle for support, and noticed how the water was so clear he could see the river bed. He reached down and dipped his hand into the cold water, cupping his palm. It tasted clean and eased his parched throat. Jaron wished he had time to dip his sore hip into the river.

  Suddenly, with an unexpected hard shove on his shoulder, he got his wish. With a heavy splash – he was in.

  Cold water shocked his hot body and Jaron came up gasping and thrashing. More water forced itself into his mouth; he gurgled and spat then realised he was being towed, his arm caught in the reins as Caliber, panicking, had leapt further out into the middle of the river. They were now so deep the kelpra was swimming against the current, his head held just out of the water as he snorted loudly. The water pushed the boy further back towards Caliber’s rump and frantically he kicked and scrabbled to grab hold of the saddle flap, one arm still caught in the reins. His boots were full of water, their weight pulling him down. Gasping, Jaron fought to grope his way up towards the saddle pommel. At last, his fingers clutched hold and he frantically tried to get some leverage. The buoyancy of the water became his ally and he managed to haul his chest onto the saddle and throw a leg over to sit astride, his damaged hip muscles burning with the effort.

  ‘It’s alright, boy,’ he gasped, grabbing hold of the reins again, even though they were anything but. In answer, Caliber, still swimming, rolled a panicked eye back at his rider. Jaron turned Caliber’s head towards the bank and encouraged him forward with his heels. As the kelpra swam closer, Jaron searched with some difficulty for the stirrup leathers as they floated with the current. At last, he managed to slot his feet into the irons just before Caliber got a paw hold and began to lurch and leap to get clear. His head was held high and Jaron could see the kelpra was losing his nerve. He shortened the reins and assumed command, steadying himself and stroking a calming hand on his mount’s neck before urging Caliber on towards the bank. Once there, the kelpra stood trembling, his flanks heaving.

  ‘Easy there,’ Jaron stroked the thick dripping neck. He looked around and was relieved to see the bank further upriver where the kelpra had first entered the water. It was empty of the other entrants. They had not been carried so very far down after all thanks to Caliber’s strong swimming. Jaron set his jaw; he didn’t doubt it was Pache who had pushed him, since Jaron had passed him as he had gone deeper to quench his own thirst. Well, he might just do the same to him when he caught up with the bully.

  Once Caliber had regained his breath, they splashed along the shallows until they reached the bank where they had come in. Looking down, Jaron could see the paw prints of the others and where they had left to continue into the forest. He nudged Caliber with his heels and the kelpra broke into a canter. Jaron bent low over his neck as they followed the path, showering water droplets onto the leaves as they passed.

  It was horrible riding in wet clothes and squelching boots. As he rode, Jaron got more and more angry. He could have drowned but they had all left, including Brill. For the first time Jaron started to wonder whether the race was really worth all this. Again, he remembered the jockey’s terrible scream from back in the arena; horses would not have tried to eat their riders.

  Just then, a kelpra roar filtered through the trees ahead. Fuming, Jaron sent Caliber faster. He bent low to avoid a branch and ground his teeth – when he caught up with Pache…

  Caliber galloped round a narrow bend. His head went up, ears pricked, and Jaron gasped in horror. Just in time Caliber jumped to avoid trampling the kelpra that lay flat out in their path, a long spear protruding from its side. Horrified, Jaron twisted in the saddle to look back at it, in time to see a spear slice across the path behind them, whistling past Caliber’s haunches. Throwing up his head in panic Caliber charged forward. They entered a clearing, and the kelpra skidded to a halt, and reared.

  A body lay face down in front of them.

  7

  The Rapan entrant lay on his face, legs and arms sprawled at sickeningly odd angles. Jaron lifted his shocked gaze to see tall, bulky figures attacking the kelpra with spears and axes. They wore only rough woven tunics and were wide-shouldered with arms and legs covered all over in hair, like fur. They could only be… Ernots! Shouts and screams of the riders rent the forest air mingled with kelpra snarls and the guttural battle cries of the mountain men. For a stark moment boy and beast froze. In the clearing, the Ernots had the kelpra separated and were clustered around each one. Jaron pulled Caliber’s head round, intending to escape into the woods, then hesitated; he couldn’t find it in himself to run and leave the others, not even Brill.

  ‘Help me!’ a Lugasian rider, a boy not much older than Jaron, ran towards him, his eyes wide with terror. Without a thought Jaron turned Caliber back and kicked him on, not daring to call out encouragement lest he draw attention to them. The boy stumbled towards him, blood trickling do
wn his face. He kept on shouting and Jaron saw an Ernot spin towards him.

  ‘Come on!’ Jaron urged, bending lower over Caliber’s neck, hand outstretched. Caliber was closing but the mountain man moved quicker than his bulk suggested. The boy saw him coming too and faltered, his face a mask of horror. The Ernot’s bulk blocked the boy from Jaron’s sight.

  A wrenching scream.

  ‘No!’ Jaron rammed Caliber into the broad back, knocking the Ernot flying. Beyond he saw the boy was down, not moving. Another Ernot ran towards them. Jaron tried to turn his mount, but it was too late and a large hairy hand caught hold of Caliber’s bridle. The kelpra screeched and reared. Jaron looked down to see a blunt face with a heavy forehead covered in brown hair and black teeth grinning up at him through the beard. In desperation, he slashed his whip across the Ernot’s hairy face and the man snarled as he tore the whip from his grasp. Under the bulbous forehead deep-set eyes flashed with anger as he reached for him. But the Ernot had taken his attention off Caliber, who twisted and threw out a foreleg, claws primed. It raked down the neck and chest of the Ernot who made a gurgling sound as he toppled to the ground, Caliber’s bridle still in his hand. Snorting, the kelpra clawed his twitching body.

  Another Ernot came running across the clearing. Caliber saw him too and roared as he turned to meet him. Jaron saw the mountain man lob an arm forward. He desperately tried to nudge Caliber over with his knee – but without a bridle it was all too slow. A sudden, shocking pain caused him to scream and clutch at his thigh. A knife… He nearly came off as Caliber whirled to meet the Ernot’s charge. The kelpra lunged and clamped his jaws around the neck of the Ernot, whose thick hands flailed and punched at the kelpra’s nose. Jaron saw his eyes widen in terror as he clawed desperately at the beast’s chest. Caliber shook him, hard, and wet spots spattered over Jaron’s face before the broken body was slung aside. Swaying in the saddle, Jaron looked down in disbelief at the knife protruding from his left leg. Bile rose in his throat along with sick, gut-wrenching pain. More Ernots came. Thick-fingered hairy hands reached for him, trying to get a hold. He screamed, but Caliber suddenly broke through a gap, Jaron slipping to one side and only just in time managing to save himself by grabbing a handful of mane. The kelpra galloped across the clearing but here there was a large rocky outcrop just beyond the scrub: they couldn’t get past. He skidded to a halt and spun round on his haunches to face his enemies. Beyond them, Jaron caught sight of Monty galloping past, blood on his haunch, Brill low over his neck. The huge kelpra cannoned into an Ernot that tried to stop them, knocking him flying. They flashed into the trees and were gone.