Luminous

76 - The Stall

The black mare groaned and snorted as Zier strode up to face her, splattering him with droplets of her drool. Her head swung in the opposite direction of her torso as she faltered on four dusty hooves. He reached out, and she nuzzled her forehead against his palm, her half-open eyes drooping close. Zier brought his free arm around her neck thick as a young tree and drew her close.

"Hang in there, big girl." He whispered as he combed down her wind-ruffled mane. 

He looked up at the sound of wagon wheels crunching to a stop. Coris emerged from the grandest carriage and disembarked with a skidding thud.

Zier clung to Jetta, inhaled deeply, then turned to receive his brother's displeasure.

"What's going on? Why have we stopped?" The heir swept in, crimson cloak billowing in the breeze, followed by his redheaded mistress.

Simon led his ambling, moaning stallion by the reins into their circle. Christopher's steed, meanwhile, had given up on her legs and was on the ground, keening in apparent discomfort. Coris blinked down at her, then at his trusty mare, Jetta, horror draining color from his hollowed cheeks.

"They can barely stand on their hooves. Must be the heat or the stress from the journey." Patting his horse's neck, Simon jerked his head towards the rest of the entourage. All around, horses are either on their feet groaning, or on their side moaning, refusing point-blank to walk another step with human loads on their backs.

"All of them? At roughly the same time? For Freda's sake, Simon. Use your head." Coris rolled his eyes. Simon strove to remain deadpan, but couldn't hide the pink shine on his cheekbones. Coris shook his head, gray eyes darting about the scattered throng. "More like the hay or water is contaminated."

"Could it be Persephia poisoned them? So we wouldn't be able to pursue her?" Christopher strode in, followed by Sir Jarl, whose horse had joined the former's on the gravel. Coris stroked his tapered chin as he weighed it.

"It's possible." He doled out a few nods of approval. Simon stalked away, swearing under his breath. Coris was too immersed in the matter at hand to notice.

"This may set us back for days." He muttered. Meya reached out to prod him, but he spun around to the marshal first, "How much supplies do we have?"

Sir Jarl tore his careworn gaze away from Simon's retreating back to his young master. He cocked his head in rapid calculation.

"I'd say just enough for three days. We threw out the whole vat of spiked stew, so there isn't much to spare."

The four teens drew a collective breath of terror. Meya and Christopher met each other's gazes, pale and stricken. Coris crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the gravel.

"Cutting it close, eh." He nodded to himself. After half a minute of deliberation, he looked up with eyes ablaze, turning first to Christopher.

"Call down those four. No more training. They must preserve their strength." He jerked his head towards the four frolicking shadows in the sky, then pulled the Lattis whistle from under his collar and offered it to the Meriton heir. As Christopher sprinted away, blowing into the metal tube, Coris grasped Meya's arms, wracked with guilt.

"Meya, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid the six of you would have to rely solely on feeding from now."

Meya followed her fellow dragons out of the corner of her eye as they headed for earth, growing larger and clearer by the second.

"We could fly to Hyacinth and bring back food." She suggested. Coris's frown deepened.

"You're still injured." He flicked an insinuating look towards her so-called site of injury—Meya's cheeks burned—then propped his hands on his waist, eyebrow raised, "Besides, how do you think Hyacinth will react upon seeing six dragons approaching?"