Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 658
Megan had the rings of office on her fingers. She wore
Galas' robes. As she rode she undid her hair and let it flow
behind her, the way the queen did.
She felt free, fulfilled for the first time in ages. There
was no time to reconsider, no options to hem or haw over.
Only the thundering hooves under her, the jarring of her horse's
spine through her legs and pelvis, and the fire in her blood as
she screamed at it to go faster.
They want the queen alive. I'll lead them a merry chase,
then go with them. Oh, let there be no one among these
horsemen who knows the queen by sight!
"She's gaining ground on us!" cried the sergeant’s
flankman. "It's her horse!" The queen's mount was lighter than
their war horses, and relatively unburdened. She probably
could outride them.
"Crossbows!" commanded the sergeant. They had
muskets, but at this range crossbows would be more accurate.
"No!" It was the White Wind, running on all fours to
match his own pace. "She is not the one we seek!"
"She is not the one you seek! Take your people and catch
him yourself!"
The Wind snarled and leapt away. The sergeant tipped
his head back and laughed. He had been waiting for a moment
to show her up.
"Shoot her horse out from under her!" he shouted. "Aim
for its hooves. I want it lame, not dead--I don't want it to throw
her."
They came out of the settling dust like ghosts--eight
white forms like giant panthers, leaping from rock to rock and
laughing. Galas screamed as they launched themselves over