Free The Crow God's Girl by Patrice Sarath

forelegs lashing out dangerously. She landed hard, and someone screamed as her flint-hard hooves grazed along a human head with sickening contact that again Kate felt in the saddle.
    Order disintegrated. Someone kicked over the fire. “Grab the boy!” “Bring down the horse!” And over it all came the dreadful keening that Kate had heard once before in her life and never forgotten.
    She turned Allegra and the mare bucked and kicked out. No war stallion could do better, Kate thought dazedly. She had thought her only role was to create a diversion, but Allegra was her weapon.
    Torchlight caught her eye, and she shrieked again. “Terrick! Terrick!”
    An answering shout came from across the woods. The search parties were on the   way.
    The voice of the ringleader rose momentarily. “Follow me, boys! Let’s go!” There was the sound of the underbrush tearing, and then hoofbeats, and Kate regained control of her horse. She threw herself to the ground and knelt over Yare, as the search parties came running up into the small clearing. Yare howled and cried, and she struggled to untie the ropes that bound him. Someone dropped next to her and made quick work of the ropes with a knife. It was Maksin, the old soldier.
    “There you are, young lord,” he said in his gruff voice, and helped Yare sit up. The boy snuffled and cried, and gulped. “You be brave now. Be a good soldier.”
    More and more torches were added to the light, showing Yare, small, dirty, and terrified, and trying dreadfully hard to stop crying in front of Maksin and the other men. It wasn’t easy to be a Terrick. Kate knew better than to coddle him. Instead she just patted him on the shoulder.
    “You okay?”
    He wiped his nose and sniffed. He looked at Allegra. “She was like the horse god herself.” His voice only cracked a little. He was calming down.
    “Yeah, she was. Tell you what, you can ride her home, if you want.”
    Yare’s eyes got big. Maksin muttered something that sounded like disdain. Kate got to her feet and looked around, shaky as reaction set in. Maksin stood as well, calling his men in with orders to return home, let Lady Beatra know that her son was safe, and to call off the search parties.
    “Wait,” Kate said. “Aren’t you going after those guys?”
    Maksin looked at her. “Are you talking to me, strangeling?” he growled. He turned and left her with Yare.
    How. Dare. He. Anger welled up in her, anger and a darkness that for a moment came down over her eyes. She shook her head to clear her vision, and when she could see again, Yare looked up at her, a worried expression in his eyes. She managed a smile and held out her hand, pulling him to his feet.
    “Come on. Let me put you in the saddle.”
    She gave him a leg up, and handed him the reins. Her mystery ally was being debriefed by one of the House guards, pointing into the woods, explaining what he had seen. She couldn’t see him much better in the torchlight.
    She walked over. The soldier glanced at her, surprised and wary, but the mystery man looked at her straight on, his gaze forthright.
    He was skinny, not so unusual for Aeritan, and tall. His hair was a tangled mess that hung past his shoulders. His face was pale under its dirt, but beardless, making him no older than her or Colar. He was spattered with blood and dirt, and he held the pike in a relaxed at rest position that looked as if he had been trained with it.
    Who trains a crow? The ragged lawless men were famous for their manic rages and makeshift weapons, not weapons training. She could almost believe that he was not crow were it not for the war cry reverberating in her memory.
    “What’s your name?” she said.
    “Ossen.”
    Oh indeed. One mystery solved, and right away here was another one. His voice was light, at odds with his war cry, and the hand that gripped the pike was slender. Kate frowned, and Ossen looked away. It was dark despite the torchlight, and he was so bundled in his rags that she