Free [Firebringer 03] - The Son of Summer Stars by Meredith Ann Pierce

interiors, like the diffuse, rosy radiance of cave lichens. Beside him, Crimson suddenly reared.
    “ ’Tis Calydor,” she cried joyously. “I see him there!”
    She sprinted down the long, gentle slope toward the river below, her pale-blue filly flying after. Jan sprang in pursuit, heard the grey and the gold coming hard on his heels. Crimson plunged into the smooth green river. Her filly leapt to follow, fording the slow, calm waters with a will. As her dam reached the far bank, Sky clambered out, shook. The mare nuzzled her, then trotted toward the dancers, her filly close behind. Jan swam in their wake, reaching shore half a length in front of Goldenhair and the grey. He paused to shake off, and the other stallions sprang past and up the bank to join their fellows thundering by.
    The dark prince bounded after, merged into the long, winding train full of sudden eddies and shifts. Caught up in its wild tempo, he struggled to decipher the intricate patterns of stamping. Eventually he realized that whatever step the dancers executed was chosen by the one leading the line. That one chose the pattern, demonstrated it, and the others repeated it until their leader chose anew. Dancing, Jan noted with relief that though some eyed him with curiosity, none reacted with alarm. Perhaps because of Illishar’s feather, he was certain none took him for a Moondancer. Perhaps, too, in the settling dusk, the black of his coat was not so evident.
    Evening deepened. The slender crescent moon declined, throwing long shadows. Its pale light glided along the backs and faces of the dancers. At length, their stamping ceased. Halted, the dance’s participants stood blowing, shifting to loosen their limbs in the sudden, ringing silence. Panting, Jan heard the distant yip and hoot of Plains dogs scrapping over scavenge. The dance’s leader trotted to an open space before the crowd. Behind him, the bend in the river gleamed. Beyond, the Plain sloped moon-sheened to horizon’s edge. Above, stars burned. The evening blue with the starlight pattern in his coat shook his pale feathered mane.
    “Hail, my fellows!” His voice sounded oddly familiar, though Jan was certain he had never encountered this striking stallion before. “Tonight we gather,” he cried, “to foot the longdance, for the dark destroyer roves no more among us. We are free of him. He has fled.”
    Trepidation seized Jan. Korr no longer upon the Plain? The black prince cast about for his companions. If so, he had no time to lose. He needed one of them to point out who among this press was the seer Calydor. A moment later, Jan spotted Crimson and her filly standing very near the speaker. Ashbrindle stood back a few paces. He did not spy the gold.
    “So we celebrate”, the star-marked stallion continued, “now that danger is past. Soon our longdance will run its course, praising Álm’harat and her endless Cycle.”
    Around him, Jan glimpsed half-growns rubbing shoulders, mares nipping after stallions’ flanks. Colts and fillies lay down, other, younger ones already asleep. Heat rose in wisps from the Plainsdwellers’ backs. The evening-blue unicorn with the starpath markings spoke on.
    “But first, respite. I’ll sing you a tale. The dark one who lately ramped among us hailed from the distant Vale of Moondance. All our lives have we heard of its warrior Ring, glimpsed its members pilgriming upon the Plain, learnt of half-growns initiated into its warhost—in the name of Álm’harat, yet! Aye, Moondancers do battle to honor The One who makes all life.
    “These Valedwellers spare us no love, kick dust on our customs, harry us as Renegades—yet we eschew this witless conflict. The Mare’s Back is broad, and we have always found room to dodge them. Until the dark destroyer came, black as a night without moon or stars. He called himself a king. Yet he ruled no one, not even himself. He fell upon us wherever he found us and sought the lives even of fillies and foals in his