Warlord

looked just in time to see Keir die.
    The first blade dug into his neck.
    I screamed then, an echo to the black's.
    A sword plunged into his chest then, buried to the hilt. Keir dropped, his swords falling from his hands. I screamed again.
    It had only taken a heartbeat. Greatheart had taken no more than a stride. Now he tore the ground with his hooves, plunging through tents and people, obeying Keir's last command. Crying, I looked forward as he ran, and tugged on his mane, but he ignored me. I turned back, to see warriors running from the tent, mounting their horses, pointing at me. I cried out again, in fear and anguish, and turned back to bury my face in Greatheart's mane. Weeping, I clung to his back, pressed low. Stay on, stay on, stay on. The words repeated over and over in my head, like a chant for the dead.
    We cleared the tents, and still Greatheart ran, the other horses surrounding us, taking us deep within the herd. I could see other horses from the corner of my streaming eyes, running alongside, but I paid no attention. Still, Greatheart didn't slow.
    The pain in my chest left me gasping for air. My eyes and nose were streaming, my hair was in my face. I didn't care. I gripped Greatheart tighter with my legs, and twisted my fingers in his mane. The sun had gone down, the stars were coming out, and still Greatheart ran.
    Stay on, stay on, stay on.
    A flicker drew my eye to my left. I glimpsed a rider, and fear coursed through me. They'd caught me. I turned to look, straining to see if it were friend or foe. The man seemed to glow in the light, as if he were Stardust or moonbeams. I sucked in a breath.
    It was Epor.
    There was no mistaking his bearded face, grim in the moonlight as he rode, warclub on his back. His hair, his armor, his skin all glowed in the light, washed in silver.
    I jerked my head forward. No, no it couldn't be. I was—
    Isdra was two horses ahead of me, her long braid glowing silver. She looked over her shoulder, her face intent and serious. She wasn't looking at me, but over my shoulder, as if watching for my enemies. She turned back then facing the front and urging her horse to go faster.
    "We of the Plains believe that our dead travel with us, ride along beside us, unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing."
    Marcus's voice rang in my head. "Until the longest night. On that night, we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars."
    I looked down at my hands, shivering, wanting to throw up. But curiosity forced me to glance to my right, to see if—
    Gils was there.
    Ah, Goddess, no. That had to mean that... I twisted as far as I could without risking my seat. I caught a glimpse of Keir, three horses back, guarding the rear. Dark hair as he watched behind us, his two sword hilts jutting up behind his shoulders.
    Pain flooded my heart. I cried out then, howling my grief and anguish to the sky. But the sky and the dead made no answer, and Greatheart never stopped. The sound tore from my chest, pouring out of me, but there was no comfort, no pity in the stars.
    So I buried my face in Greatheart's mane, and let my sobs overwhelm me. The horse could take me where he willed. What did it matter?
    Stay on, stay on, stay on.
    I came back to myself when I realized that Greatheart had finally come to a halt. His head hung down as he drew in air and his sides were lathered.
    I felt heavy, unable to do more than breathe. It took long moments before I understood what had happened, and longer still for me to lift my head and look around.
    Nothing. Nothing around us but the plains and horses.
    I turned my head to scan the area. It all had that eerie glow of silver, from the moon high above. I could hear water flowing nearby. A stream, perhaps. But for miles in all directions, all I could see was horses and grass.
    A sob escaped my throat. It was all I had strength for.
    Greatheart took a few steps, and lowered his head. I could hear him drinking, great gulps of water. Part of me worried that he'd make himself sick. But he was thirsty, and I was too weary to care. Down. I needed to get down.
    I looked at my hands, wrapped tight in the horsehair. I had to think to get them to loosen their grip. They'd cramped so tight in the rough hair that I sobbed as they slowly let go. I slid from Greatheart's back to fall in a heap at his feet.
    Keir was dead. My beloved . . .
    I curled into a ball and wept, until the blackness of despair and exhaustion claimed me. I awoke, warm and safe, wrapped in