looks of them, I would not wish to try again.”
“On my life,” Balthazar answered.
After grinning at the prince, Rafe said something to Balthazar in a strange language Tristan didn’t understand. Throwing his head back, Balthazar laughed hugely, his fat belly nearly popping the buttons of his riotous silk shirt.
“Everyone mount up!” Rafe shouted. “We ride for home!”
Under Rafe’s watchful gaze, Tristan swung up into his saddle. Shadow danced nervously for a moment before settling down. Rafe cast a greedy glance at the black stallion before mounting his dull bay mare.
“That’s a beautiful mount!” he shouted at Tristan, his voice barely rising above the hundreds of anxiously milling horses. “I will enjoy owning him!”
Wheeling his mare around, Rafe trotted her southeast. With hundreds of watchful highlanders surrounding him, Tristan had no choice but to also wheel Shadow around and go with them.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, RAFE INCREASED THE PACE. UNFETTEREDby fences, woods, or hills, the hundreds of galloping riders struck out across an approaching field with abandon.
Surrounded on all sides by colorful highlanders, Tristan quickly realized that Shadow was easily the equal of their horses. But even though the prince had often been called one of the best horsemen in the kingdom, he was about to be further humbled by his talented captors.
Knowing that they were showing off largely for his benefit, Tristan watched as the highlanders started performing amazing feats of horsemanship. Some leapt from their saddles to stamp their boots against the passing ground, even as their horses kept on charging. They would then launch back into the air, easily finding their saddles again. Others took their reins in their teeth, then stood upright in their saddles to wave their swords. As Tristan watched, he noticed that aside from their other weapons, each highlander also carried a short bow and a quiver full of colorful arrows slung across his back.
Looking ahead, Tristan saw Rafe leering back at him. Well aware that even the best Royal Guard cavalry officers had never been able to perform such feats as Rafe’s clansmen, Tristan scowled. Laughing loudly, Rafe faced forward in his saddle again then started leading the hundreds of riders in a gentle turn toward the west. Not to be outdone, Tristan dug his heels into Shadow’s flanks.
After a few more minutes of hard charging, Tristan saw a small rise looming up ahead. Rafe headed straight for it. As they reached the top of the rise, the highlander chieftain held up one hand. Tristan and the clansmen came to an abrupt stop, allowing their horses some rest. Saying nothing, Rafe pointed toward the shallow valley lying below. As Shadow stamped and snorted beneath him, the prince looked down.
Hundreds of highlander wagons stood quietly on the fields below, their colorful wooden wheels and canvas tops stretching far across the moonlit plains. Campfires seemed to burn everywhere, the light from their orange- red flames lighting up the night sky. The smell of pungent food came to Tristan’s nostrils, causing his stomach to growl. Seeing the camp’s huge size, he could easily believe Rafe’s claim about being the chieftain over three thousand men, women, and children.
Turning in his saddle, Rafe waved one of his clansmen forward. Strong and fit, the fellow looked younger than most of the others. As he rode past the prince he gave Tristan a hard stare.
“Lead them down,” Rafe ordered. “As usual, no one gains entry to the camp unless his arrow finds its mark.” Looking over at Tristan, the highlander chieftain smiled. “The prince and I will stay here and watch,” he added cryptically.
With a nod, the young highlander wheeled his horse around to start leading the others down the slope at a full gallop. Hearing the hundreds of pounding hooves, highlander men, women, and children eagerly poured from the campsite to walk out on the plains to watch their comrades approach.
Curious, Tristan spurred Shadow up alongside Rafe’s mare. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Rafe leaned one arm down on his saddle pommel. His eyes continually locked on the galloping clansmen, he smiled.
“Watch and learn,” he said. “You are about to witness an old highlander custom-one designed to keep our skills honed. Any of my men who miss the target will not be allowed to eat tonight, or to sleep with his woman. It is a test of both the horses and the men. There is an old highlander saying, dango. ‘A clansman can only be as good as the horse he rides.’”
Fascinated, Tristan watched the riders charge down the opposite side of the rise. Then he noticed something odd, lying in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, he saw what looked like several dozen straw scarecrows standing in a long line before the camp. Each one was attached to a pole that had been plunged into the ground. Between the incongruous scarecrows and the approaching riders lay a deep ravine, its depths dark in the twinkling moonlight. Such deadly ravines were not uncommon on the Farplain fields, Tristan knew. Even so, he found it odd that Rafe would choose to make camp near one.
He watched the thundering highlanders suddenly fan out into long, disciplined lines like charging cavalry regiments, one line following behind the next. As the lines formed, the riders reached over their backs to retrieve their deeply curved bows. Then each one removed an arrow from his quiver.
The scene bathed in the magenta moonlight was captivating. As the lines of hard-charging highlanders approached the deep ravine, each put his reins between his teeth then notched his arrow onto his bowstring. With no regard for their safety, they kept galloping onward. Should anyone’s horse fall short in his jump, death would come quickly to both horse and rider. Mesmerized by the scene, the prince couldn’t help wondering how many brave riders would die, simply because Rafe had ordered them to do this bizarre thing.
The idea was simple enough, but would also be very difficult to accomplish. As each rider jumped the ravine, he would loose an arrow at one of the scarecrows. If his horse successfully finished the jump and the arrow found its mark, both horse and rider had proven themselves. Holding his breath, Tristan watched as the first wave of riders thundered onward.
Dozens of arrows flew through the air as the horses leapt over the gorge. Amazingly, not one missed its mark. Flying through the air, the horses crashed down on the other side. The first wave had been successful, but there were many more to follow. Surely they could not all be so skillful, or their horses so sure, Tristan guessed.
As wave after wave of highlanders followed, few of their arrows missed their marks. Mesmerized, Tristan could only sit atop Shadow and marvel at the plainsmen’s skill. Finally the last line charged headlong toward the ravine. Not to be outdone by the others, the highlanders shouted wildly through their clenched teeth as they chased toward the abyss. Their arrows notched and their bowstrings pulled, they started leaping their horses over the dark gorge. Just then one of the horses went down, taking another mount with him.
Stepping into a hole dug by some burrowing plains creature, the stallion’s front leg snapped in half like a dry tree branch. Screaming wildly, the horse tumbled to the grass headfirst. Another horse stumbled over him and also went crashing to the ground. They hit hard, horses and riders skidding across the dewy grass and toward the gaping ravine. His heart in his throat, Tristan watched helplessly as the drama played out before his eyes.
As he fell, one rider managed to dig his boot heels into the turf, slowing his momentum. He skidded to a stop at the ravine’s edge. But the other rider and the two horses weren’t so lucky. Tristan watched in horror as he realized that the second rider’s boot was caught in his saddle stirrup. His horse’s momentum carrying them unerringly toward the ravine, they tumbled over the side. Unable to regain his footing, the other horse followed.
Tristan and Rafe heard the highlander’s distant screams for a time, then all went silent. As their horses pawed the ground and the spectators from the camp anxiously rushed toward the ravine, the once-cheering highlander riders respectfully went quiet.
Tristan’s admiration quickly turned to anger. If there was one thing he couldn’t abide, it was unnecessary loss of life. He glared at Rafe.
“Tell me,” he growled. “Was it worth that?”
Sighing, Rafe did not turn to look at him. “It is our way, dango, ” he said quietly. “If there is a need to explain it to you, then it is something you would never understand.”
Finally Rafe turned, his dark eyes pouring into Tristan’s. “Follow me,” he ordered simply.
Without hesitation Rafe started galloping down the hill toward the highlander who had been spared. Tristan followed. With one fluid movement Rafe grasped the man’s outstretched hand, then hoisted him up onto his horse’s back, just behind his saddle. With his last clansman secured, Rafe led Tristan safely around the ravine’s far end.
