Free The Gate of Bones by Emily Drake

elbow.
    â€œNow think of Avenha,” Gavan ordered, “something you can see no matter what, and hold to it, tightly.”
    The Stars help him, Renart tried to think of something else but all he could concentrate on was the lovely face of Pyra. His stomach lurched and there was a whistling in his ears as they winked out of then and went somewhere else.

8
    Mud
    S O THE SEVEN of them appeared abruptly in the sleeping quarters of the chieftain’s daughter of the prosperous and important holding of Avenha. Bailey reflected that there was nothing like an actual demonstration to learn a good defensive kick and put-down hold, although Renart’s red, bulging face indicated that Pyra’s reaction was more than a mere demonstration as he squirmed in discomfort under her foot. And, as far as alarms went, Pyra’s and her sisters’ screams more than equaled any of the wailing windhorns from the Iron Mountain Academy. When all was said and done (and much was, in the confusion), their arrival was met with a great deal of fuss.
    Bailey stared at the wiry chieftain’s daughter with unabashed admiration. “That was some move.”
    â€œLike it? I’ll teach you later. Every woman should know how to defend herself,” Pyra said frankly. Her cheeks had flushed a bit, and her dark eyes flashed with an inner amusement, as she glanced over at Renart who had finally recovered some composure but wouldn’t look back at them.
    â€œThat,” answered Bailey, “would be terrific!”
    â€œGood. When Chieftain Mantor has spoken, and matters have been handled, I will meet up with you and show you a few of my tricks.” Her solemn words did not chase the hilarity from her eyes as she turned away then, and began to bring order to the shambles of her tent, which had nearly caved in around them during the tussle. All of Avenha’s city proper had been sent into the hillside with its many caves, and tents dotted the hill about the caves as well, for additional housing while the night raiders were expected.
    Wrapped in the shreds of his dignity, Renart escorted them all out, as the booming voice of Chieftain Mantor could be heard. He’d been one of the first to respond to the brawl in his daughters’ tent, had taken a quick survey, and left when he was certain things were under control. He sat on horseback now, a small herd of similar mounts crowded around him, shaking their heads in the early morning, chomping their bits and stamping their feathered legs on the dewy ground.
    â€œDibs on the gold one with the white face,” Bailey said.
    The ruler of Avenha turned his gaze on her, a slow smile creasing his face. “Because of the pretty color, outlander?” His hands opened and closed on the many lead reins bunched in his hold.
    Bailey leaned back a little, unsure of what was really being asked of her, yet instinctively knowing there was much more to the chieftain’s question than there appeared to be. When in doubt, the truth seemed best. Still, she picked her way through her answer, much as one of these sturdy horses might pick its way across uncertain terrain. “I have a sense, a Talent, for animals. It’s pretty, yes, but more than that . . . I can feel a soundness in its legs, a curiosity but not fear of us, and a pride in its . . . well, how it carries a rider. How it performs.” Bailey stammered to a halt, and stood nibbling on the corner of her lip. She cupped her crystal pendant, her focus, and let its well-being flood her.
    Mantor stared at her closely for a long moment, then nodded. “A useful Talent.” He sorted out the gold’s reins and passed them to Bailey. “Anyone else have this . . . dibs?”
    No one else had the Talent Bailey did, but it seemed unlikely that the chieftain would have brought ill-suited mounts for the expedition they had planned. The only clear choice was the large, broad-backed bay which seemed destined to