16

FEATHERS AND BLOOD

SILVERLAKE WATCHED THE BATTLE MARES PEEL away and fly in opposite directions. She decided it would confuse them if she joined their ranks, so she stayed to fight with the stallions.

“Go into the woods,” Thunderwing ordered her. But Silverlake was not a Sun Herd steed anymore, and she didn’t have to follow his orders. She stayed, hovering behind the front line.

Rockwing’s army flew just over the treetops, their ears and necks flat, their freshly sharpened hooves coiled, and their tails lashing. Silverlake narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth.

When Rockwing’s front line crossed the boundary of Sky Meadow, Thunderwing released his warriors. They flew forward with a deafening battle cry, Silverlake surging with them. The two armies clashed in a collision of exploding feathers and piercing screams.

The front lines locked together, and Silverlake waited for the first stallions to break through. She trained her eyes on the enemy as injured warriors from each side thudded to the ground. Sharpened hooves sliced through flesh and bone, and snapping jaws ripped wings to shreds. Blood pooled in the grass, and the smell of it wafted to Silverlake, causing her lips to curl.

The front line finally broke, and the stallions separated, fighting in clumps at varying altitudes. Grasswing and the healthiest of the walkers pranced below. They finished off any enemies who fell to the grass still alive. All around, the warriors were silent except for their grunts and death cries. Bloody feathers drifted across the meadow like ash.

A heavy gray stallion charged Silverlake, his hooves extended. She tilted, flying sideways, dodging him, and then she whipped around and circled over him, landing a kick to his head that drove him toward the field. Grasswing leaped in the air, snatched the stallion’s wing, and hurled him toward his walkers, who clubbed the stallion until he was still.

Grasswing looked up, checking on her.

Silverlake’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, and she was breathing fast, like she’d just jumped into an icy lake, and every sense was sharpened as she surveyed the field.

To her left, Flamesky’s dam, Violetsun, battled a white stallion. Silverlake charged forward to help her. They flew circles around him, biting into his hide and ripping at his feathers. The stallion spun like a foal chasing his tail, but he was unable to catch the smaller mares. His blood splattered Silverlake’s feathers.

Violetsun rammed his flank. He flipped head over wing. The two mares sliced into his belly with their hooves. He trumpeted his rage and frustration. Silverlake and Violetsun pelted him with hard kicks, trying to finish him fast before his friends came to help him.

Then Violetsun grabbed the stallion’s tail in her teeth. But with a violent whip of it, the stallion hurled her into the grandmother tree. The hard trunk broke her back. Violetsun slid down the bark and landed at its base, dead. The white stallion faced Silverlake, jaws open. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re next,” he said, panting.

And then crimson feathers blocked her vision. She darted out of the way, and Thunderwing crushed the stallion’s skull in one swift blow. Her ex-mate touched noses with her and then flew away to fight with Jetfire.

Silverlake dropped to the ground, gasping for air. She assessed the sky. Rockwing’s army was slaughtering Sun Herd, and rage flooded her muscles with new energy. She kicked off and attacked the smallest stallion she could find. He didn’t see her coming, and she broke his wing with one swift blow that sent him careening into the forest.

She scanned the sky, looking for her next victim, and whinnied at what she saw. The nine hundred mares who’d left before the battle started must have circled around, because now they were rocketing over the hills and closing in on the rear of Rockwing’s army. Maplecloud’s battle cry and fresh troops revitalized Sun Herd. Thunderwing joined his new mate, and all Sun Herd rallied against Rockwing.

The mares took down hundreds of stallions before the surprise of their ambush wore off. Even Rockwing appeared stunned. If Silverlake hadn’t been banished, she wouldn’t have been able to warn Sun Herd about the war, and Rockwing would have found them unaware and grazing. Instead he’d met a herd with a plan.

Silverlake turned just in time to see Brackentail’s sire, Ashfire, receive a deathblow to the head and crash onto the grass. Earlier, Stripestorm’s mother was killed by a Desert Herd steed, and Flamesky’s mother died when her back was broken. Silverlake had been wrong when she told Morningleaf this battle didn’t matter—it mattered to all the orphans.

Where was her best friend, Crystalfeather? Silverlake set off to look for the chestnut mare.

On her way she passed Thunderwing. He was in the throes of a battle against three Jungle Herd stallions. They had him surrounded, but Thunderwing wasn’t an over-stallion just because he was handsome; he was also the most accomplished fighter in Sun Herd. He dispatched all three of his attackers with ease and flew off looking for more.

Silverlake searched for Crystalfeather. She found her quickly, but she was being attacked by a stallion from Snow Herd. Silverlake pinned her ears and darted across the meadow to help her.

Crystalfeather had sunk her teeth into the silver stallion’s wing. “I got the other one,” Silverlake neighed, snatching his free wing. Crystalfeather bucked and kicked the stallion in the chest so hard she stopped his heart. He slumped to the grass, eyes open and blank.

“Thanks,” Crystalfeather said, panting.

All around Silverlake, battling warriors were landing, too exhausted to fight in the air. All battles eventually ended on the ground, which meant it was almost over. And Sun Herd just didn’t have enough warriors to win this one.

Silverlake pricked her ears as a fresh battle cry erupted from Grasswing. His walkers weren’t tired yet. They galloped into the fray, their useless wings tucked but their sharp hooves and teeth bared for battle. Grasswing pranced forward, his neck arched, his tail high, and his crippled wings spread wide to make him look larger. He crashed through the meadow delivering deathblows with practiced finesse.

Silverlake and Crystalfeather fought tail-to-tail, spinning in a circle and biting any stallion who came too close. Then a shadow blocked the sun, and dark-blue and gray feathers floated over the grass. Rockwing landed in the meadow.

Without hesitation, Grasswing charged the over-stallion. Silverlake looked for Thunderwing, but he and Jetfire were busy fighting four Snow Herd stallions.

Grasswing and Rockwing circled each other, muscles twitching. Rockwing’s respect for the crippled palomino spoke volumes about Grasswing’s skill in battle. If his wings still worked, he could be over-stallion of Sun Herd, but Silverlake knew he’d never wanted that.

The warriors battling near the two stallions paused in a temporary, unspoken truce so they could watch the two legends face off. Everyone knew Rockwing had stolen Grasswing’s colt, Graythorn, broken his wings, and dropped him from the clouds.

Now Grasswing challenged his old enemy—not to steal Rockwing’s authority, but for revenge. The murder of the colt had linked these two stallions for forty-two seasons, and the heart of it beat between them like a living thing. Their dispute would be settled today.

Grasswing pinned his ears and charged. Rockwing rushed to meet him, and their chests clashed like a clap of thunder. Rockwing snapped at Grasswing, who ducked. The palomino clamped his jaws around Rockwing’s knee, causing the stallion to scream.

“That’s for Graythorn,” he snorted. Pegasi all over the meadow stopped fighting to watch.

Rockwing reared, pulling his leg free, and then kicked Grasswing in the neck. The palomino somersaulted from the force of it, and his head smashed into a rock, dazing him. Grasswing struggled to his hooves. Rockwing took flight to take the pressure off his injured knee. Grasswing looked up at him, bracing.

Rockwing dived at the palomino, battering him with his hooves. Grasswing reared and tried to pull the stallion out of the sky. Silverlake tensed, wanting to help, but Hazelwind held her back. “Look around you,” he said. “This is the final battle.”

She looked and saw no one was fighting anymore. All wings were tucked. Sometimes it happened in a war that a fight between two could settle a battle between many. Whoever won would win the whole thing, as long as no one interfered.

Silverlake stepped back and folded her wings, more tense than ever.

Grasswing leaped, grabbed a mouthful of Rockwing’s tail, and slammed him onto the grass. Grasswing reared, ready to trample the fallen stallion, but Rockwing kicked him from the ground, knocking his hooves out from under him. Grasswing crumbled. Rockwing staggered to his hooves and wiped the blood off his mouth with his wing. He circled Grasswing like a wolf, neck flat and low, teeth bared.

Silverlake glanced at Thunderwing. He and Jetfire had abandoned their attack, and the mood of the watching steeds crackled like the sky before a lightning storm.

Grasswing heaved himself upright, but his back leg wouldn’t hold him. He rolled to his other side and pulled himself to a slouching position. He faced Rockwing, ears pinned. The over-stallion spread his wings, blocking Silverlake’s view, but she knew what was coming.

“Fly straight and find your rest,” she whispered, and then she heard the blow that ended Grasswing’s life. The battle was over.

Rockwing lifted off and hovered over his fallen foe. Silverlake saw Grasswing’s golden hide and pale-green feathers spread flat on the field. His death was clean, he didn’t suffer after the final strike, and he lay on his side with his eyes closed. He was in the golden meadow now with his colt, Graythorn, and all the others who had died today.

Silverlake glared at Rockwing, who was joined by several of his captains and the over-stallions from the other herds. Thunderwing conceded the battle and kneeled in surrender to prevent any more killing.

Rockwing waited for all the Sun Herd steeds to kneel before he spoke. “You have brought this on yourselves, Sun Herd,” he said. “You lost the black foal, and in doing so you have endangered all of us. Even Snakewing is dead because of your actions.” He gazed at Thunderwing.

Silverlake pricked her ears, glancing around Sky Meadow. Snakewing wasn’t even here. What was he talking about?

“How is that?” asked Thunderwing.

“Snakewing and his warriors found the black foal hiding by the ocean in the Vein.”

Silverlake couldn’t hide her shocked gasp. They’d found Star!

“When they confronted him, the colt crushed Snakewing’s skull.” The Sun Herd steeds murmured fiercely. The last time they had seen Star he was a fragile weanling and not much of a fighter.

Rockwing paused dramatically. “And then your black foal called forth a beast from the sea to eat Snakewing while he was still alive.”

“No!” screamed a pegasus in the distance.

Silverlake recognized her filly’s voice with a sinking heart. Why wasn’t Morningleaf hiding in the thicket?

“I don’t believe it,” Morningleaf continued.

Silverlake and the other pegasi shifted their eyes from Rockwing to the hollow in the grandmother tree.

“Bring the filly here,” ordered Rockwing.

Two captains flew to the tree and yanked Morningleaf out of it with their teeth, gripping her by the roots of her wings. They flew her to Rockwing. Silverlake glimpsed the horrified look on her daughter’s face.

“What do you know of the black foal?” asked Rockwing.

Silverlake tensed. Morningleaf looked small and fragile next to the thick Appaloosa stallion. “He’s my friend,” said her chestnut filly, eyes glowing. “I know he wouldn’t kill anybody.”

Rockwing threw back his head and whinnied. “The black foal has no friends.” He looked at his captain, Frostfire. “This filly is loose minded, but maybe we can use her. Take her away.”

Frostfire yanked Morningleaf aside and placed her under guard.

Silverlake’s throat tightened until she could hardly breathe.

“This is what’s going to happen,” said Rockwing, addressing Thunderwing. “If the black foal is not delivered to me by his first birthday, your colts and all your stallions will be killed, and then I’ll divide your mares, your fillies, and your lands between the four remaining herds.”

Sun Herd hurled insults and curses at the dappled stallion.

Rockwing raised his wing. “If you don’t like it, bring me the black foal. It’s simple, really.”

Rockwing placed Thunderwing under guard with Morningleaf. “It will be up to your mares to retrieve him, but not tonight. Tonight we celebrate.”

In absolute misery, Sun Herd watched the conquering pegasi warriors celebrate their victory. A feast of crab apples was laid out, and the foreign warriors reenacted the day’s battles with enthusiasm. Hundreds of dead bodies were dragged to the edges of Sky Meadow and stacked in large piles. The herds would have to depart in the morning before the stench of decay became too much to bear, and Sky Meadow would not be habitable for many years to come.

Silverlake stood outside Rockwing’s camp and stared at her captured daughter. Her delicate red filly was curled up next to Thunderwing, and he had his bloody wing over her back. They each looked exhausted and overwhelmed by their failures—his to protect his herd and hers to obey her mother. Silent tears rolled from Silverlake’s eyes as she seethed under the light of the Hundred Year Star. The approaching sound of hoofbeats startled her, and Silverlake whirled around. There stood Sweetroot, sweating, her wings shaking.

“I need your help,” said the medicine mare. “Some of our steeds can still be saved.”

Silverlake nodded, grateful to do something. She trotted behind Sweetroot to the willow tree where the injured Sun Herd steeds had gathered. As the conquering herds celebrated, Silverlake dug up roots with her hooves, gathered water, comforted orphaned foals, and focused her thoughts on surviving the night, since she had no idea what the morning would bring.