DragonKnight by Donita K. Paul

Ten’s neck.
    “Two.”
    He squeezed his knees against the saddle.
    “Three.”
    The rope fell. Bardon counted to two and dug in his heels.
    On either side of him, racers plunged forward. He vaguely recognized a kindia several mounts down rearing up instead of charging forward. Whoops and hollers covered the clamor of hoofbeats on the dry road. But the racers soon left the uproar behind.
    The first stretch of the race followed a meandering road through the foothills. At various points along the way, small knots of people stood waiting for the racers to pass. They cheered, waved their hats, and jumped up and down. Bardon held second place and hoped to stay there. The rider in front of him certainly knew the racecourse. He never hesitated at a turn. Bardon followed, planning to urge Ten to pass the leader on the last stretch.
    They rounded a bend and nearly ran into a farm cart. Ten sidestepped the wagon and kept going.
    Now, here’s a big difference. Greer and I would have been hundreds of feet or more above that obstacle. But Ten seems to know what he’s doing.
Bardon chortled.
That makes one of us. I don’t have to win this race. We and the other kindias N’Rae tamed just need to make a good showing.
    He looked over his shoulder.
So far, so good. Our kindias are in the front half of the pack.
    They turned into a rocky canyon. No more pastures lined the way. The kindia took to the pathway like a mountain goat being chased by a high-country cat.
    As Ten climbed behind the lead kindia, Bardon bounced in the saddle. Several times the kindia jumped from one large, flat boulder to the next. With each landing, Bardon felt like his teeth would be jarred out of his mouth and his bones would crack.
    Riding Greer is a breeze compared to this. Where’s the soothing stroke of his strong wings? Where’s the smooth glide and steady pace?
    Ten scrambled down into a gully, following the kindia in front of him. Bardon no longer consciously directed his mount but rather let the beast decide how best to keep on the narrow pass.
    Leaning almost flat on the animal’s neck, Bardon spoke words of encouragement. “You’re a good kindia, Ten. You’re beating all the rest with no help from me.”
    They left the jumble of rocks and entered a forested area. The trail narrowed and twisted back on itself, zigzagging up the steep mountain. Several times Bardon looked over the edge and saw the heads of riders below him.
    Ten didn’t appear to mind the height. Bardon, on the other hand, who usually soared among the clouds when traveling, began to feel dizzy whenever he looked over the edge. To keep nausea at bay, he stared between Ten’s two long ears.
    They crested Old Man Peak above the timberline. Here the wide path allowed the riders to juggle their positions. Another kindia and rider passed Bardon and Ten. Ten snorted, and Bardon laughed out loud.
    “It’s all right, boy. We’ll barrel past those two when we get on the homestretch.”
    The weathered rock didn’t offer much for the kindia’s hooves to grip. They mostly slid down to the tree line.
    This is rough. And Ilex said it got a little steep after the giant monarch tree.
    The older man’s words came back to him.
“After that, boy, just hold on for all you’re worth and petition Wulder to keep your saddle intact. There’s no pride or style in riding down that mountain. You just lie back against the high cantle and hold on! You might even want to close your eyes. Ten will know which way to go, and you couldn’t turn him anyways. Blessed thing is, it don’t last long. Maybe twenty seconds of going straight down. After that, Ten will prance through the crumpled pile of boulders at the bottom and then along the dry creek bed. Kind of sandy there. Then the rest is easy.”
    They raced through the thickening forest along a switchback path. Loose rocks fell on the first riders as the riders behind plunged along the trail above.
    Down below, Bardon saw a huge tree with the