Free The Urchin of the Riding Stars by M. I. McAllister

weapons, but the armorer doesn’t actually get to use them against anyone. If he’s prowling the corridors, we should be worried.” Then he smiled down at Urchin. “That is, I should be worried, not you.”
    “But, sir,” said Urchin, “when they do a culling…”
    “It’s very quick,” said Padra. “It’s best to wait till the youngster’s fast asleep, then do it so quickly they don’t know anything about it. Now, I’ve put you in for a fencing lesson, and I hear you’re learning well. Run along to the fencing master.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Urchin, “but about little Scufflen…”
    “I’ll do what I can for him,” said Padra. “That’s all.”
    Urchin ran to his fencing lesson. If Padra couldn’t save the baby hedgehog, he’d do it himself.

    In the Throne Room, Husk was filling the king’s glass again.
    “You’re right, Your Majesty,” he said. “Of all the Circle animals, Granite will make the best captain.”
    The king frowned. “I said Tay the otter was the best, Husk,” he said.
    “Oh, yes, Your Majesty, but that was before Granite was nominated,” he said. “Tay’s a great scholar, but she’s not a leader. Gloss the mole was mentioned, but the trouble with moles is that you can never be sure where they are. Padra nominated Arran, but he would. He hasn’t always been wise in his choice of friends, has he? So…”
    “Oh, I’ll consider Granite, then,” said the king wearily.
    Husk bowed, and left the king with the half-empty bottle at his paw. Back in his own chamber with its deep-red hangings and heavily curtained windows, he laughed.
    More culling would save the trouble of keeping wretched infants through the winter. There were others who needed the food. He looked forward to killing the new hedgehog.
    Granite would be a useful captain. As a fighter, he was unbeatable; as a bodyguard, he would be invincible; and he wouldn’t be troubled with thinking too much. He’d do whatever he was paid to do.
    But I am invincible anyway, thought Husk. I need fear nothing until squirrels fly through the skies. Those words of prophecy had come to him in the dungeon, and could be relied on. The evil there was so powerful and it had a voice so secret that not even Aspen must know of it, but it spoke with his own voice, rising from his own center like a warped stem. Soon he would truly be king of Mistmantle, and anyone who didn’t like it would be against a wall with a sword to the heart. And why stop at Mistmantle? There were bigger, richer islands to be conquered.
    Gloss the mole could be a problem. He would be jealous of Granite. He was useful, but he saw too much. Best to find him a job that would keep him out of the way.
    Soon there would be a splendid wedding and a feast to keep the common creatures happy. The more stupid among them had forgotten Crispin already.

    Three nights had passed when, far beyond the mists, Crispin heaved his boat well up the shore, stretched the stiffness from his limbs, and fastened on his sword. He’d already landed on one island inhabited by snakes, and another where he’d been attacked by swarms of vicious crabs, and on both he’d needed quick wits and good swordsmanship to rescue himself. But this one looked better. He took an upward path through a wood of beech and hazel, eating the nuts he found on the way and following the sound of running water until he found a fresh, clear stream. He drank, washed his face and paws, and went on.
    The path opened at last to a lake larger than Crispin could ever have imagined. Trees drooped over it. Reeds bordered it, and lilypads floated. Tiny islands, with a few bushes and a tree on each, stood here and there. Bubbles rose and ripples spread as fish nudged the calm surface.
    “The Heart brought me here,” whispered Crispin, and gave thanks.
    A wild and noisy flapping made him leap backward with paw on sword hilt. White wings blurred his vision; a stinging blow to his paw sent the sword spinning far away; and