Summerkin by Sarah Prineas Page B

somebody who would hurt his own horse to win.
    Through the forest they raced, to the rooty gray wall, which opened like a curtain as they approached. As they burst out of the forest, the rain pelted down again. Ahead, the Lake of All Ways lay gray and flat under the lowering clouds.
    â€œTwice around the lake,” Fer shouted, reminding Phouka. He stretched out into a run, his hoofs skimming over the sodden grass. Fer wiped straggles of wet hair out of her eyes and peered ahead. Still in the lead, Gnar and her dragon faltered, as if the dragon’s wings were being beaten down by the rain. It plunged to the ground, took a few staggering steps, and then flung itself back into the air, its wings flapping, Gnar crouched on its back, urging it onward. Just behind them came Arenthiel and his golden horse, running hard now. Fer saw more bloody slashes appear on the horse’s sides. Lich pulled even with her and Phouka. His pale face was intent; his mount panted out steamy breaths, but it didn’t slow.
    The Lake of All Ways was wide, maybe a mile around, Fer guessed. Phouka ran steadily, but even pushing as hard as they could, Arenthiel’s golden horse raced ahead of them. Fer held on and squinted to keep the rain out of her eyes. “ Faster , Phouka,” she urged. Phouka responded by surging until his nose was even with the golden horse’s streaming tail. Right behind her, Fer could hear Lich’s goat-mount.
    Phouka snorted and put on another burst of speed and they drew even with Arenthiel. His big horse’s strength was fading, Fer saw. It was too heavy for the wet course; it was struggling to slog along the muddy bank of the lake. Arenthiel glanced aside at her and slashed again with his sharpened spurs. The big horse slowed even more, and Fer and Phouka raced past them.
    They could beat Arenthiel, she realized. She and Phouka went on, leaving Arenthiel and Lich farther and farther behind. They swept around the lake and started the second lap.
    Suddenly Fer saw, way ahead, a dark shape plunge from the sky and crash next to the lake. Gnar’s dragon. She and Phouka galloped closer. The dragon lurched to its clawed feet and stumbled on. Fer got closer, and then she and Phouka flashed past.
    As they passed the dragon, Fer looked back over her shoulder, just in time to see the dragon crash to the ground again and Gnar tumble off its back. The fire-girl lay still, a heap on the ground.
    â€œPhouka, wait,” Fer shouted. Ignoring her, Phouka raced on. She jerked his mane to get his attention. “She fell off,” she shouted. “She might be hurt.”
    Phouka slowed, then swerved, turning back to where Gnar and the dragon lay on the bank of the lake. They trotted up, Phouka blowing hard.
    Gnar still wasn’t moving; her dragon heaved itself away, its wings bedraggled, its raincoat slipping off. Flapping like a bird with a broken wing, the dragon headed for the drier forest path.
    Quickly Fer swung off Phouka’s back, her feet landing in squishy mud, and went to the other girl. Gnar’s eyes were closed. Her skin was ashy gray, and she panted, wisps of fading smoke drifting from her mouth. She lay with her feet in the lake. Drops of rain speckled her face.
    Fer gripped the shoulders of Gnar’s raincoat and dragged her out of the water, then crouched next to her. With the back of her hand, she felt Gnar’s forehead. The other girl’s skin felt clammy and cool. Not the way a Drylands fire-girl should feel, Fer felt sure. She had some herbs that might help. She slung her knapsack to the ground and dug through it. Herbs for heating and drying, that’s what she needed. Cayenne pepper would be best, but she didn’t have any of that. Anise would work. And ginger. She had some of both, dried. With shaking hands, she found the paper envelopes with the herbs in them, crouching over to shelter them from the pouring rain.
    Phouka, who had been standing nearby, snorted.