Page 116 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)
The man turned and ran away, muttering to himself about the false god being a white horse.
Franca ran to Etreyiu, wrapped her arms around his head, and wept. The horse leaned into her, huffing softly.
After that, Franca rode the big white Artaxian stallion across the plains—heading south to Athelen and the Windemere fyrd—secure in the knowledge that she had a guardian who would protect her as the Royal Guards who’d accompanied them from Albiyn had not.
One morning, as she and Etreyiu both lay in the godsgrass, Franca woke and sat up from where she had been sleeping propped against the stallion's massive flank.
Smoke filled the air, stinging her nose, making her cough. When she climbed onto Etreyiu's back and could see the source, her heart plummeted.
Great, billowing black clouds crossed the southern horizon from east to west. Faint orange flames could be seen on the distant hills where the godsgrass was burning.
Franca turned Etreyiu to the north and raced back across the plains, losing every bit of ground she had gained in the last weeks of traveling.
The fires grew closer every day even though they barely stopped long enough to close their eyes before the choking smoke became too thick and they had to race off to get ahead of the fires again.
The entire Kingdom seemed to be burning from coast to coast.
The pair raced the burning godsgrass north for another full week before they reached the Long Fork River.
There was no bridge in sight. They were trapped. The flames were so close she could see them flaring to life in a breeze kicked up by the appearance of steel gray clouds in the sky.
Etreyiu huffed and snorted, throwing his head back and dancing around on his feet, agitated.
Franca looked up and down the shore, trying to decide which direction might lead them to safety.
Without warning, Etreyiu launched himself from the riverbank and plunged into the cold water.
Franca held on tightly. She was a lady and had never been swimming a single day in her life.
The Artaxian stallion was strong, though, as he carried her safely across the river. When they reached the far bank, Franca clutched his mane in her fists and leaned forward as he pulled himself up from the water.
They dared to slow their pace a little after that, not only because of the river's barrier to the flames, but because the rain had come shortly after crossing. The distant flames winked out of existence leaving only those dark clouds of smoke on the horizon.
For weeks, Franca and Etreyiu wandered across the plains, having no clear idea of where they were going. Franca thought the stallion might be taking her to the horse lords. Since she had no destination in mind, she thought that might be as good a place as any.
She thought about going to Nightfall to find Aelia, but it was too far into the season. She knew the mountains would be nearly impassable for a girl with no warm clothes and a horse that would likely freeze to death before they even reached the Iyridian Valley.
And even if she did reach Nightfall, she would need to take a ship through Khobrid Bay to reach Orin.
She didn't know if three gold pieces and twelve copper pennies would even be enough to book passage on a ship—not only for her but for the horse that she would never leave behind her no matter what came to pass.
Etreyiu was the only friend Franca had in the entire kingdom. Along with the sword on her back, he was all that mattered to her. Even though Aelia was the closest thing she had left to family, she would not leave Etreyiu behind even for the chance to rejoin her queen.
Franca let Etreyiu lead her wherever he would go. They lived on godsgrass and river water and slept under the stars as they crossed the plains, now angling north eastward towards what she thought was Artax.
The source of the black appearing on the horizon one morning when Franca woke to see the first light dusting of snow on the ground, was not immediately obvious to her.
She thought it was more burned godsgrass until she realized it was growing, seeming to edge closer even though there was no smoke or flame.
It wasn't until she heard the clang and rattle of metal armor and weapons that Franca recognized it as an army.
Heart racing, she climbed on Etreyiu and nudged him in the other direction. Some of the men at the head of the column had begun running toward her, their harsh cries reaching her over the field.
Etreyiu started to run the opposite way, but he drew up short. Another identical smear of black on the horizon told her the army was coming at her on two fronts.
The first group of men were close enough by then to make out their dark armor. They looked rough and unfamiliar.
They had to be Penjani elves, she thought, with dread coiling her insides.
Etreyiu ran the only way he could, galloping north as the soldiers streamed toward her from both sides, closing in.
The shrill, unearthly sound that rent the sky in two caused Etreyiu to halt, rising off the ground and pawing the dirt as though he would fight.
Black wings came into view as a creature crashed down into the godsgrass before her.
It was horrible and wet-looking. Its skin was made of bumps and ridges running down its back. Its front legs were two massive, folded wings it used to crawl across the ground in her direction.
Its wide, snapping jaws were filled with long teeth already coated in red.
Franca's bowels turned to water and her stomach cramped in terror.
A man sat atop the wyvern's neck. He shouted down to her in a language she didn't recognize.
The soldiers were closing in on all sides by then, coming from north and south as well, hemming her in.
Etreyiu backed up, snorting and pawing the ground again. Franca readied herself for the wyvern to pounce and rip them both apart.
But suddenly, a new dark shape cast the entire field in shadow.
Franca looked up and saw sleek, black scales on a long, graceful body crossing overhead. The beast angled toward the ground, wings still spread as it barreled into the Wyvern.
The shockwave of the dragon’s landing vibrated the world as a fountain of dirt rose up under its body.
It clamped its much larger mouth around the wyvern's neck and shook.
The wyvern’s rider was flung from the saddle to land with a thud. The sound of tearing flesh made bile rise in Franca’s throat as the wyvern’s body bucked wildly, trying to free itself from the dragon’s massive jaws.
The dragon adjusted its bite and severed the Wyvern's head. The creature whipped its empty neck back once more, black blood streaming, and then fell into the godsgrass.
The dragon turned toward what Franca suddenly registered as a battle happening all around her.
More dragons were diving down from the sky, meeting wyverns on the battlefield and in the air.
Huge streams of fire erupted across the fields, burning the army to cinders.
Franca’s hands clutched Etreyiu's long mane tightly as she watched the dragon riders tear into the army of thousands, leaving nothing behind them but blood and ash—all in the span of a few minutes.
And then the black dragon who’d killed the wyvern returned from where it had been fighting on the killing field with the others. It landed just in front of her, its body slick with blood.
A stream of darkness rolled down its side and over the ground as its tall rider strode across the clearing.
Franca did not at first recognize him, so darkly cloaked in shadows. They swirled around him, seeming to stream off his skin as he stalked across the godsgrass, now flattened by the tread of so many boots.
When he reached her, Franca saw his face through the swirling mass of shadows, fierce and beautiful, dark and deadly—Aelia's dragon rider.
The queen had not been hard to read—at least not to one who knew her as well as Franca did. She knew from that very first meeting in the receiving chamber that Aelia already knew the dark prince of Nightfall—and that the man held her heart in the palm of his hand.
Tatana had confirmed it after much needling, and Franca's heart had broken for her queen when she learned of the betrothal contract.
She had never breathed a word of it to her proud Aelia. It would not have been well-received in someone like her who took pity or sympathy as a personal insult to her strength of character.
Aelia's dragon rider approached Etreyiu.
Franca laid a hand on his side, sure the horse would balk at this dark predator’s approach.
But the dragon rider met the Artaxian stallion, reaching up to lay a hand on the horse’s long face as he leaned his head in.
Dark lord and pale Artaxian stood together head-to-head for a long moment that made her heart ache for what her queen had been forced to give up.
Amon Aldur looked up at Franca. "What are you doing with Aelia of Windemere's horse, girl?"