Free The Sterkarm Handshake by Susan Price

her sisters, and he be there with them still.”
    The silence of the listeners was appreciative, even grateful. Toorkild put his arm around Isobel and kissed her cheek.
    â€œThat’s how my mammy always told it,” Isobel said. “That’s how Allyots tell it.” And she smiled at Andrea, the Elf-May.

5
    16th Side: The Ride
    A Reiver's moon, full and bright, hung low over the hills and washed the sky gray with moonlight. It showed the ground in grays that imperceptibly shifted one into another, a hillock lighter here, a hollow darker there, deeper shadows all black. But men and horses knew the track to the ford well, having crossed and recrossed the ground a thousand times, and they went at a fast trot.
    Fowl’s jolting strength threw Per up out of the saddle to briefly grip the horse’s shoulders with his knees, and as he touched the saddle, the power of Fowl’s hindquarters threw him up again. At each rising, the shaft of the lance in his left hand slid in his grip and its butt pressed a little harder against the toe of his boot where it rested. “On!” Fowl’s onward lunge strengthened and quickened. He needed no kick, only Per’s voice.
    Fowl’s hooves thumped in thick turf. Grass and scrub, barely seen in the dusk, skimmed past them. Around and behind them, the hooves of the other horses fell and fell with a thick drumming. There was the creaking of saddles and boots, the rattling of bits, the breathing of men and animals. Per grinned, his heart and breathing fast, his attention on the shadow-tricked ground ahead.
    The ground sloped to the water and the ford, becoming more broken with river stone. Fowl chose his own time to slow to a walk, and Per let him, loosing the reins so the horse could pick his own way, while his shoulders swayed and he swiveled at the waist with Fowl’s movements. Patting the horse’s neck, he told him he was good, good.
    Fowl gave a long, shuddering snort and shook his head, flurrying his long mane. Another horse and rider, black in the dusk, came close at his side and a second nudged at his tail. The running of the water rose to them, suddenly loud, and they smelled the river and felt its coolness in the air.
    Per sang out:
    â€œMy hob is swift-footed and sure,
    My sword hangs down at my knee;
    I never held back from a fight:
    Come, who dares meddle with me!”
    From the dusk around him, from the black shapes of horses and riders, came quiet laughter. The horses, splashing, walked into the river.
    â€œEh, Per, dost reckon that lass—which one do I mean now?” That was Sim’s voice.
    â€œJanna!”
    â€œBig Anna!”
    â€œWee Anna!” Other voices called out, as if to help Sim remember, the names of girls Per had courted in the past.
    From behind Per, on his other side, came Ecky’s voice, underlaid by the rippling of water around rocks and the splashing of horses’ legs. “Tha means Elf-May, Sim!”
    â€œDo I? Well, well. Dost think her might be glad to see thee back after this?”
    â€œHer’ll be so gladdened, I shouldn’t wonder but her’ll drag him off that hoss straight into bed.”
    Quiet laughter was all around Per now, letting him know how well they knew him and all his doings, even thoughts he imagined he had kept to himself. He tipped back his head, his face taking on a pained grin, and then looked to the side to see Sweet Milk laughing at him from within his helmet’s shadows.
    Sim, whose horse was already climbing the bank, looked over his shoulder and, making his voice lighter than usual, called, “Put tha feet up, Daddy. I’ll lead ride!”
    More sniggers acknowledged the best joke of all. Per had long ago learned better than to show pique, but as the laughter died, he cupped his hand to his ear. “I hear Grannams laughing!” Fowl reached the water’s edge on the other side and bucked up onto dry land.
    Sweet Milk brought his