Race the Sands Read online

  Tamra marched toward them. She tried to erase the memories that spilled into her mind: the final championship race, as her rider lay dead in the sands, the blood of other riders and racers pooling around him, as this rider ran his racer through them. Its hooves had pummeled the soft bodies. Blood had splashed with each strike of its hooves, and the rider had not slowed. He had slammed through the finish and then exalted in his win.

  She hadn’t wanted pity, either during or after the race. But what he’d done was worse.

  He had run through their bodies. He hadn’t known they were already dead. If they hadn’t been, he would have been reviled and fined, just as Tamra had been, but since they were, he received not even a slap on the wrist as he was awarded his prize. Later, when asked—she’d heard the reports of his boasting—he said the weak deserved to fall.

  She wanted to wipe that smarmy smile off his face.

  She gained control of herself by the time she reached the stands. As the Lady with the Sword as her witness, she wasn’t going to smile at these bastards, but she was going to resist the urge to spit in their faces. “You’ve interrupted our practice.” It came out like a snarl.

  “Your rider has some trouble taking that racer through the turns,” Artlar said, with a nod toward Raia. His voice was friendly, even jolly, and loud without trying to be loud, as if he’d never learned how to lower his voice so it didn’t boom. “Not to worry. Gette will have him at top speed.”

  “Raia is his rider,” Tamra snapped. “I shouldn’t need to tell you how important it is that she is the only one who rides him, especially this close to the next race. The tighter their bond, the stronger the control.”

  “Which is why we have no time to waste.” Artlar smacked Tamra’s shoulder as if they were buddies. He is not my buddy, Tamra thought. He then turned to his protege. “Gette, fetch your gear! I want you to take that monstrosity for a spin before his muscles cool off and tighten. Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

  With her hands on her hips, Tamra blocked Gette. “You aren’t working with our kehok.”

  Artlar glanced at Lady Evara. “Deeply sorry you weren’t informed, but yes, we are. Special request from the emperor-to-be. He wants the finest to train his fastest.”

  Tamra shot a look at Lady Evara. She had a fixed smile plastered on her lips. She’s furious, Tamra thought. And that made her think that Artlar was telling the truth.

  Aur’s balls. This can’t be happening. We’ve worked for this! We earned this! If the black lion were to race, then Raia should be his rider. Out on the track, Raia was working on the turn, pretending their practice hadn’t been interrupted. She was performing the maneuver beautifully, with no idea that it was pointless.

  This was going to crush her.

  Glaring at Artlar, Tamra felt her hands curl into fists, and Lady Evara gave a slight shake of her head as if to say, Don’t. This wasn’t a battle she could win with words or fists. Not if the emperor-to-be had invited them here.

  It made a terrible kind of sense. Prince Dar wanted his brother’s vessel to win. Who better than the men who had won last year? Traditionally, the winning rider would be gifted with a life of luxury and, if he didn’t wish to retire, first pick of any kehok he wanted for next year’s Becaran Races. But a summons from the emperor-to-be . . . Who’d say no to that?

  And neither of us can stop them, Tamra thought.

  She stood, feeling helpless and hating feeling that way, as Gette pushed past her with a smug smile on his lips. His trainer, Artlar, proceeded to oversee the unpacking of their equipment. She watched them open a black wardrobe filled with leather armorlike uniforms. Gette pulled a tunic over his head and strapped on calf guards. Then one of their servants began unloading a variety of whips ranging from leather straps to whips with spiked balls at the end. She didn’t doubt Gette intended to use them on the kehok, unaware he’d be whipping the late emperor.

  “The emperor-to-be won’t approve of that style of training,” Tamra warned him. But would Prince Dar ever know? He was in his palace and would want to keep his distance to avoid raising any suspicion. She felt a terrible helpless anger curling in her stomach—it was cousin to the way she’d felt during that final race last season.

  “The emperor-to-be wants results,” Artlar said. Then he winked at her. “Just watch as we deliver them.” He then vaulted over the track wall without wincing and strode across the sands, toward where Raia and the kehok were practicing. He had a weighted club belted to his waist.

  Lady Evara leaned closer to Tamra and said in a soft voice, “Will it damage my soul if I hope the kehok eviscerates them?”

  Tamra said just as softly, “If it does damage one’s soul, then you and I will be reborn as the same type of beast.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted over Lady Evara’s face. “There must be a way we can protest this. Changing a racer’s rider this close to a race is madness. I am here as a race consultant. The emperor-to-be should listen to me.”

  Tamra felt a flare of hope. Lady Evara was persuasive. If she could talk to Prince Dar, then maybe he’d change his mind and restore their racer. “You think you can get an audience?” It would need to happen quickly. Every minute Artlar and Gette were here was a minute less of training that Raia—

  “Truthfully? No. I have yet to convince even the head servant to grant us rooms in the palace. Apparently, my position in Peron does not translate as well as I’d hoped in the Heart of Becar, and the court at large is unaware we are in the emperor-to-be’s favor. I am an outsider here.”

  “Maybe Augur Yorbel . . .”

  “If he ever returns.”

  She was right. Augur Yorbel had given no indication that he’d return. He’d acted as if once he persuaded the emperor-to-be to keep the secret that his task was done. His last goodbye had felt final, which disappointed Tamra rather more than it should have.

  “Though,” Lady Evara added, “perhaps I could send a messenger wight to his temple, saying we require Augur Yorbel’s advice. If we could convince him to see reason, then he could arrange a meeting with Prince Dar. It’s worth a try, at least.” She squeezed out of the viewing seats and hurried toward the gate.

  Across the track, Tamra saw Raia step in front of the kehok, blocking him from Artlar. “Uh-oh.” This was not the time for Raia to learn to be brave, not if these men were telling the truth. You did not go against the emperor-to-be’s express wishes. As much as Tamra wanted to kick these men off the training grounds, she was well aware that she didn’t have the power here.

  Hurrying across the sands, Tamra saw Raia was shaking. Behind her, the lion was growling—his metal mane was spiked vertically around his snarled face. Calm, she projected at the kehok.

  “Raia, this is Trainer Artlar,” Tamra said as she reached them. “His rider, Gette, won the Becaran Races last year, and the emperor-to-be apparently requested they—”

  Artlar cut her off with a broad, fake smile. “You’ve been very brave, little girl. I saw you place third in your very first race—that’s excellent! You should feel proud of yourself. I’m sure you have a bright future in racing ahead of you.”

  Raia glanced from him to Tamra and back. “Um, thank you?” She glanced across the track at Gette, who was pulling on heavy red leather gloves. “He didn’t mention he was the grand champion.”

  “He’s a modest boy,” Artlar said.

  “I hadn’t noticed that,” Raia murmured. “Why is he on our training track?”

  “Because the emperor-to-be has commanded it, and it’s not for you to question. If you’ll step aside, we’ll take it from here.” He moved closer to the kehok, his shadow falling across the lion so that only the lion’s golden eyes were visible in the patch of darkness.

  “He’s unsettled,” Raia warned him. She was shifting from foot to foot, as agitated as the kehok. “You should step back. He doesn’t like to be cornered.”

  “Helpful information.” Artlar lunged past her, so fast and large that the kehok w
as pinned against the wall, and slammed the weighted club into the side of the lion’s face. “The key is to keep him unsettled. Off-balance, so that you are always the one in control.”

  “Stop! You’re scaring him!” Raia yelped.

  “Trainer Verlas, haven’t you taught your rider yet that these monsters are not like other creatures? You can’t expect them to have the same emotions. You certainly can’t pity them. That’s when accidents happen, when you believe you have a bond with a creature. Such thinking can lead to tragedies.”

  Tamra knew he was talking about last year’s tragedy, but she refused to be baited. Last year had been a miscalculation. She’d let herself become blinded by her thirst to win. “A kehok who fears his rider races against him, not with him.”

  “Foolishness, born of softness.”

  “If you knew me,” Tamra said, “you’d know there’s nothing soft about me.” There had to be a way to stop this. If this kehok ran the races, then Raia had to be the one to ride him, because both Raia and Tamra needed the prize money to secure their futures. Without this opportunity, everything they’d accomplished up to this point was just so much sand.

  He snorted. “I know all I need to know about you. And right now I know you’re delaying our work. Gette, this kehok is ready for you!” Again, he slammed the club into the side of the kehok’s face.

  The lion fixed his eyes on Raia.

  Tamra saw that Raia’s eyes were wet. No crying in front of assholes. She grabbed Raia’s hand and pulled her back with her toward the stands. Lady Evara had vanished, hopefully to send a wight to the temple. “Believing you have control when a kehok is afraid is narrow thinking,” Tamra lectured. “The fastest speeds don’t come from fear. They come from need.” She didn’t know whether she was talking to Artlar, Raia, or herself. Plenty of riders used fear as their primary motivator.

  In her day, though, she’d beaten every one of them.

  But it’s not my day anymore.

  She should have expected this to happen, once they’d learned what, or who, this kehok was. Of course the emperor-to-be wouldn’t want to take any risks with a damaged trainer and an untested rider. This kehok had to win for Emperor Zarin to be reborn. Could she blame him?

  “I can’t believe you’re allowing this,” Raia said. “That ‘champion’ has no right. He’s messing with my racer!”

  “I’ll find a way to—” She stopped. “Wait, repeat that.”

  “He’s with my racer?”

  Ordinary kehoks didn’t form any kind of attachment. But this was no ordinary kehok, a fact she was positive the emperor-to-be had not shared with Artlar and Gette. And Raia had spent the past several weeks bonding with the black lion in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe the lion wouldn’t be so easy for them to control.

  Maybe Gette would fail.

  “Raia, listen to me carefully,” Tamra said, speaking softly so her voice wouldn’t carry across the sands. “We can’t interfere with them—Prince Dar himself invited them here. You have to resist the urge to control the lion in any way. But you can remind him he’s yours.”

  “He knows—”

  “Look at him and say, ‘You’re my racer, and I’m your rider.’”

  Pivoting, Raia didn’t hesitate. “You’re my racer, and I’m your rider!”

  The lion let out a roar, and then subsided with a whimper when Gette struck him in the flank with a spiked club. “Trainer Verlas, control your student!” Artlar called.

  Tamra flashed a fake smile at Artlar and Gette. “Apologies! Excitable youth. I promise we’ll be an audience from now on.” She plopped herself into Lady Evara’s fancy cushioned chair and propped her feet up on the track wall.

  “What now?” Raia whispered.

  “Sit with me and watch. Do nothing else.” Tamra patted the chair next to her. She was sweating more than she should be, but it was important to look confident and unconcerned in front of Artlar and Gette. Small victories were still victories.

  Reluctantly, Raia sank into the chair.

  “Do you want to take bets on how long they’ll last?” She kept her voice light, as if she were certain they’d fail and didn’t have a worry in the world.

  “You . . . don’t think they can do it?” Raia asked.

  “He’s your racer. Not theirs.” Please, Lady, let me be right. If this kehok was truly different than the others, more intelligent, more . . . She hesitated in thinking the word “loyal.” No matter his lineage, he was still a kehok.

  “But he’s a kehok,” Raia said, as if echoing her thoughts. “He’s special, yes, but he doesn’t remember who he—”

  Tamra cut her off before she said anything she shouldn’t. “He remembers we promised him his freedom. That’s what he races for. Freedom. He won’t race out of fear. Not your kehok.” I hope, she thought.

  Raia blinked at her, and then slowly, tentatively, she began to smile.

  Despite all their bluster about being ready, it took Gette and Artlar the better part of an hour before they had the track set up with all their tools and other supplies: several different saddles, an array of whips and weapons, hurdles and hoops for the kehok to jump over and through as it learned obedience. As they prepared, the trainer and rider each took turns coming over to the kehok at seemingly random intervals to terrorize him—hurting him while he was chained to the wall to prove their dominance.

  It was difficult not to interfere. But if this was to play out the way she hoped it would, then she had to let them fail entirely on their own. She took calming breaths to try to keep herself lounging in the chair, rather than leaping onto the sands.

  “Trainer Verlas, I can’t stand this.” Raia shot to her feet. “Not with a rider like Gette.”

  Tamra put her hand on Raia’s wrist. “You must stand this,” she hissed. “You might win this battle, but you’d lose the war.”

  She heard a gate open and glanced back to see Lady Evara had returned, with Augur Yorbel. He looked decidedly unhappy to be here. Nudging Raia, Tamra vacated the chairs. She didn’t say a word as they swept past her, but Lady Evara’s gaze lingered on her, questioning.

  Tamra nodded. This will work, she thought. I’ve never been wrong about a kehok.

  Her thoughts flashed back to last year’s final race, and she firmly pushed the memory away. She was rarely wrong about a kehok.

  Adjusting her massive hat—a tower of flowers—Lady Evara took her seat, graciously offering the seat next to her to Augur Yorbel. Tamra couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other. She leaned against the track wall with Raia beside her. Across the sands, she saw Artlar had noticed the arrivals.

  “The Great Artlar has an audience now,” Tamra said softly. “He’ll begin.”

  She was right.

  Only a few minutes after Lady Evara and Augur Yorbel arrived, Artlar unchained the kehok from the wall, while Gette whipped him in the face with one of the spiked whips.

  The kehok yelped.

  Tamra saw Augur Yorbel start up out of the chair, but Lady Evara held him back, no doubt telling him that the new trainer and rider had been requested by the emperor-to-be.

  Lady Evara caught Tamra’s eyes as Augur Yorbel settled back down, and Lady Evara winked at her. It was as clear as if she’d spoken: Let the bastards hang themselves.

  Tamra wasn’t certain when she and Lady Evara became partners in all this, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but it was nice to have her on her side. Tamra certainly wouldn’t want to be her enemy.

  On the sands, the trainer and rider had affixed a saddle onto the kehok. Tamra recognized the type: it had spikes beneath it, so that with every shift of the rider’s weight, the kehok would receive a jolt of pain, to encourage him to obey the rider’s slightest movement. It was a vicious saddle. She’d never let any of her students use one.

  It wasn’t because she was soft—it was because tools can fail. Fear can backfire. The one thing that wouldn’t fail you was a belief in yourself, a solid determinati
on that tied you to the moment.

  Gette mounted the lion.

  Tamra held her breath. This was it.

  Stepping back, the trainer barked an order. Gette wielded a short whip with spikes all along the barrel. He swung it in a circle, building up speed, as he guided the kehok toward the starting line.

  The lion turned his head, looking directly at Raia.

  “What do I do?” Raia whispered.

  Artlar had noticed the kehok’s behavior. He jabbed a finger toward Tamra and Raia, and shouted, “No interference!”

  “Understood!” Tamra called back. “This is all you!” To Raia, she advised, “Say nothing. Do nothing. Keep calm.” She hoped she was making the right decision here. She was certain this would work. Mostly certain.

  Ninety percent certain.

  Eighty-five . . .

  And I thought I wasn’t a gambler.

  Beside her, Raia was squeezing the edge of the track wall so hard that Tamra thought she’d break it. “They’re hurting him! I can’t do nothing!”

  “Then try trusting your kehok.”

  Raia gawked at her. “You always say never trust a kehok.”

  “I know I say that. And it’s true, if you’re trusting them to be something they’re not. But you should trust your kehok to be what he is.” She thought of how he’d run off the track the first time he and Raia had raced together. “Remember what you said to him when we first met? You said, ‘The only way you’ll win races is if I’m your rider.’”

  Raia nodded.

  “Trust him to remember too.”

  On the track, Artlar shouted, “Go!”

  The lion took off fast, as fast as he’d ever run for Raia. Shouting, Gette whipped him, and the lion ran harder, faster, barreling toward the turn without slowing.