“Horse!” yelled Luc.
For a moment Rolan thought the man might be summoning his horse into the fight. He looked around, half expecting the gray beast to come charging up with a sword clenched in its teeth.
Instead he felt a hand close on his arm. Luc was pulling him upright, pushing him toward the horse.
“Go!”he snapped. His creepy blue eyes shone directly into Rolan’s.
“I-I can help—”
Luc lifted a sword, blocking another strike from the Cryptic. He hissed as the creature’s barbed leg sliced his arm.
With one hand holding the Cryptic at bay, Luc used the other to lift Rolan bodily, heaving him over the horse’s saddle.
“Home,”the Arcanist hissed, and the horse responded at once, whirling on its hooves.
“Wait!” Rolan called.
His teeth clacked together, biting his tongue as the horse leaped over a log. He spat blood and struggled to grip the saddle. With great effort, he managed to sit upright, only to duck again when a low branch nearly took off his head.
Looking back, he caught one glimpse of the Arcanist rolling over the leaves, drawing the bow from his back, before the horse dove down a bank. The ground rose up, obscuring Luc and the monster from view.
Gritting his teeth, Rolan held on with all his strength, letting the horse find his own way. He was clearly more adept at navigating the woods than Rolan could ever hope to be.
He was just so blasteduseless!
What if Luc died back there, because Rolan had gone bumbling into places he shouldn’t?
He bowed his head over the horse’s neck and let himself go numb again, eyes closed.
An eternity later, the woods finally gave way to grass, and the horse slowed to a limping walk. The animal was heaving, his mouth foaming, and Rolan knew that was his fault too. He patted the horse’s neck, murmuring to it until at last, the Arcanist’s house came into view.
When Rolan finally slid off the horse’s back, landing in a heap by the barn, the first pink light of dawn was shining in the east. The sun would rise over the woods, where Luc was either alive or dead.
After a few minutes of lying pathetically on the ground, Rolan forced himself to his feet. What would Luc be doing in his position?
He took the horse’s reins and led him into the stable. Now that he’d achieved his mission and brought Rolan home, the horse seemed willing enough to let the boy take charge. In the barn Rolan had to use a block to reach the saddle. He pulled it off, then the bridle, then hunted for the curry comb. These were all things he’d seen Luc do after riding. He wasn’t sure he was doing them in the right order, but he gave it his best effort.
“Water,” he mumbled wearily. “You’ll want water. And oats.”
He fed and watered the horse, then curried him from muzzle to tail. He even coaxed him into lifting his hooves so he could clean them out, picking out stones and twigs that had gotten jammed in the hollows. The horse stood patiently through it all, whisking his tail and nuzzling Rolan’s hair with his velvety lips.
By the time he was done, he felt stronger. Not better. Butstronger. As if he might not drop dead of sheer exhaustion and fright after all. One foot in front of the other. He imagined he could do it until hecoulddo it.
The horse tended to, he took care of the goats next. He let them out of their nighttime pen so they could graze, and he filled their trough from the well. Then he saw to the sheep and the chickens. He’d seen Luc do it so many times, he almost didn’t need to think about it. The hardest part was reaching the high shelf where the chicken’s feed was stored, so he dragged over the same block he’d used to unsaddle the horse.
“You really do need a name,” he said, pausing by the horse’s stall to feed him an apple. “You saved my life, you know that?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping desperately that in saving Rolan’s life, the horse had not doomed Luc’s. He thought of all the times he’d wished Luc dead, even if he hadn’t truly meant it, and bit his lip. He took another apple from his pocket, and the horse snapped it up eagerly.
“You like apples, huh?” Rolan fished out his third and final one, handing it over. “Maybe that should be your name.Apple.”
Then he turned around—and dropped the bucket of feed he’d been holding. Grain spilled across the floor.
Luc slumped against the barn’s doorway, hunched over. He was covered in blood and scratches. His cloak hung in tatters. Half his dagger sheathes were empty, and in one hand, he held the boot Rolan had lost. It dropped from his grip, landing on the barn’s hay-strewn floor with a light thud.
The Arcanist looked at Rolan, one eye swollen shut and purple with bruising. The other still gleamed faintly blue.
Just like the Cryptic’s.
