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

Crispin found he was looking up at the furious, hissing face of an enormous white swan.
    “What dare you do here, tree-rat!” spat the swan.
    Crispin held his ground, but he had never been so close to a swan. Its size was overwhelming.
    “I’m a stranger here, sir,” he said. “Crispin, Captain of Mistmantle.”
    “Call me Highness! Lord Arcneck!” snarled the swan. “You belong in the wood, tree-rat! This is the mere! It is only for swans!”
    Beyond the swan, on the lake, Crispin could see gray-brown cygnets bobbing between the lilypads. A sudden movement near them made him watch.
    The swan was lecturing him on the laws of the island, but Crispin wasn’t listening. His eyes were on that movement gliding under the water, near enough to the surface for him to see the long, strong body.
    A watersnake! He had sometimes seen them at Mistmantle. They may only be a kind of fish, but they were big and strong enough to drag down and devour a young animal. Usually the otters dealt with them, but Crispin had learned from Padra what to do with watersnakes.
    He leaped for his sword. The swan arched his neck to strike him, but Crispin was springing into the water.
    “Watersnake!” cried Crispin, and as the frightened cygnets scattered, he flung himself on the back of the great ugly fish, leaned forward, and plunged the sword hard into the roof of the open mouth, ramming it home. As the fish reared and thrashed, Crispin clutched the sword hilt in both paws. He was still holding it as the dying fish hurled him into the air, and the swan’s beak gripped his tail.
    The swan dragged him to the bank and dropped him. Crispin stood up, shook water from his fur, and wiped his sword clean on the grass as the swan’s neck curved over him. Its mate was chivvying the cygnets away from the great, bleeding body of the watersnake.
    “Brave, for a tree-rat,” remarked the swan. “If we want your service again, you will give it. You may continue to live on this island, in the wood, with the other tree-rats.” It turned a sharp, hard eye toward the body. “Watersnake? It is a pike. Pike, tree-rat. What is it?”
    “A pike, Highness,” said Crispin. He supposed he’d get used to this. Behind him, he heard giggling. He almost turned to look, but remembered in time that turning his back on Lord Arcneck might be an unpardonable insult. So he waited, still hearing the stifled laughter behind him, until the swan had glided away and he could turn to see who was there.
    A group of young female squirrels had gathered to watch. The only one who wasn’t giggling stepped forward.
    “Swans are like that,” she said gently. “You’ll get used to it. I’m Whisper. Who are you?”

    On a late afternoon, Urchin was on guard duty at the Spring Gate, with the dying sun in his eyes. He was chafing his paws against the cold as Padra appeared, and put a mole on guard.
    “Good news,” said Padra. “Come with me.”
    “Needle’s brother?” said Urchin hopefully.
    “First things first,” said Padra, hurrying on through the tower. “Husk and Aspen’s wedding will be soon.”
    “Oh,” said Urchin. “Is that good?”
    “It’s excellent!” said Padra. “Husk’s ordering singers and robes and jewels and whatnot, so he’s leaving the king alone. Quick sharp, before he gets back.”
    They hurried through the tapestried corridors to the Throne Room, where Urchin stayed a pace behind Padra, kneeling as Padra knelt, glimpsing the king’s tired smile. Behind the throne stood Granite with his shoulders squared. Urchin’s fur bristled.
    “Padra,” said the king, and Urchin thought his speech was slurred. “We used to patrol the shores together. You used to take the prince out in your boat! He loved the water!” A tear trickled down his face, and as he lifted a paw to brush it away, Urchin lowered his eyes. “Is there something you want, Padra?”
    “Good news, Your Majesty,” said Padra. “The hedgehog baby born to Mistress Ramblen is