Huge, feathered wings lay flat along their sides. Even folded back, those wings extended far beyond the horses’ backsides, looking like huge, feathered tails.
Nexxle gave a quick double-whistle, and one of the other pixies streaked toward them. This was a blue pixie, a male, with rumpled clothes and sweat-slick hair. He dropped to the ground in front of Arlorran, then gave the three princesses a long, appraising look. He punched Arlorran’s leg. “You’re doing well for yourself these days, old gnome!”
“Shut up, Quink,” said Nexxle. “These three need mounts. Take care of them.”
“We’re going to ride them?” Danielle whispered. Her heart pounded with a blend of fear and longing.
“Aviars will get you to the chasm faster than anything save a dragon,” said Arlorran. He pulled an apple from the sack and hurled it out over the grass. Instantly, four of the aviars spread their wings and leaped. Their whinnies were higher in pitch than Danielle was used to, sounding uncomfortably like human screams. Unshod hooves lashed out as they fought to reach the apple. A brown-and-white stallion gave one last flap of his wings, knocking a gray mare toward the ground. He caught the apple neatly in his jaws, dropped down, and galloped away to enjoy his prize.
“We’re going to
ride
them?” Danielle asked again, in a very different tone.
“Have fun!” said Nexxle, grinning for the first time since they had met. She actually giggled as she disappeared back into the woods.
Arlorran grabbed another apple. “Trust me. You try to cross Fairytown on your own, you’ll face all manner of trouble and challenges. These beasts will fly straight and true, and most importantly, they’ll keep you safe.”
“Come on,” said Quink. “Let’s find you ladies some mounts.”
The aviars backed away as Danielle and the others followed Quink down to the field. Some rustled their wings. The brown-and-white stallion nickered and reared. Wings spread, he balanced on his hind legs far longer than any normal horse could have.
“How do you ride them?” Danielle asked.
“Us? We use carriages.” Quink pointed to a spotted aviar near the back of the herd. A long, basketlike contraption was strapped to the aviar’s back. Two pixies sat inside, their light clearly visible through triangular windows. A third pixie stood on the beast’s neck, his arms and hands wound in the long mane. A thin riding crop, twice as long as his body, hung from his belt. “These aren’t pets, ladies. When pixies go to war, we can pack five or six warriors into every one of those carriages, firing arrows and casting spells in all directions while the rider controls the animal. That doesn’t even cover the damage a well-trained aviar can do in a fight.”
“But you won’t be riding one of the warbeasts,” Arlorran said sternly. “Isn’t that so, Quink?”
The pixie stuck out his tongue. “You’re no fun anymore.” He emitted a shrill series of chirps, and several of the other pixies began to lead aviars their way. Arlorran pressed an apple into Danielle’s hand, then did the same for Snow and Talia.
“No loud noises or sudden movements,” said Quink. “On the ground, these fellows spook even easier than your horses.”
Danielle smiled and held out her apple. She could see some of the other aviars snorting and stomping in their direction, but the pixies held them at bay. She stepped toward the leftmost aviar, a gray mare whose wings and mane were black as the ocean at midnight. Those wide blue eyes never blinked as she sniffed the apple. Slowly, she drew back her lips and plucked the apple from Danielle’s hand.
The aviars smelled like fresh-cut hay, with a hint of a sharper, nuttier smell. “Can I touch her?”
“Pretty hard to ride if you don’t,” Quink said.
Danielle reached up to pet the fur on the side of the mare’s neck. One ear flicked back.
“You’re beautiful,” Danielle whispered, stroking the neck. The aviar’s skin was warm, almost feverish, and the fur was stiffer than it looked.
An orange pixie flew up beside the aviar’s head. He waited until she finished eating the apple, then slipped a brass bit into her mouth. The aviar took a step back, but the pixie was faster, darting around her head and buckling a light halter into place. The reins appeared normal, if longer than she was used to, but a third line ran along the top of the aviar’s nose. This line was knotted to the center of the reins, right between where the rider would hold on. Danielle stared. In the past month, she had barely gotten comfortable riding a normal horse. “How do I—?”
That was as far as she got. The mare shook her head sharply, then sneezed. Spit, snot, and bits of apple sprayed over Danielle’s face and chest.
“They’re not too fond of the bit,” Quink said, stifling a grin.
Danielle wiped her face on her sleeve. To her left, Talia had already climbed onto a bay with black wings. Danielle brushed the worst of the mess from her shirt. “So how do I control her?”
Quink flew up to stand on the base of the mare’s neck. “If you’re a pixie, you use the braids in her mane. For you, I’d suggest the reins.”
Danielle ran her hands through the mane, finding one of the knotted braids. It was little thicker than a string, far too small for her to get a proper grip.
“Don’t worry. If those meat-fisted dwarves can ride them, you’ll be fine.” Quink took the reins in his hands, holding them so that most of the slack fell between his hands.
“Guiding them left or right is the same as your land-bound horses.” Quink tugged the reins to the left, walking the aviar in a tight circle. “Make sure you keep the flight line loose.” He pointed to the third line.
“To fly higher, shift your grip like so.” He slid his hands back, until they touched the knot of the flight line. The length of the reins meant the flight line pulled taut before the reins. “Control the head and you control the animal.”
He tugged, pulling the aviar’s head up. The mare took a few quick steps, then surged up into the air. The rush of wind from the aviar’s wings pushed Danielle back a step. “Slide your hands forward on the reins and pull the head downward to bring her back to earth,” Quink shouted, guiding the aviar down. “You’re not a screamer, are you? They don’t like that. And unless you’ve got wings, you don’t want to annoy these beasts while you’re up there.”
He hopped off and handed the reins to Danielle. “Need a boost?”
There was no saddle, and the wings were too high for her to use to pull herself up. She was still studying the aviar when tiny hands seized her collar. Quink’s wings blew her hair into her face, and then her feet left the ground. Her shirt dug into her arms as Quink carried her over the aviar. She could have been light as air for all the strain the pixie showed.
“Pixie wings are magical,” Snow explained. She had already mounted her own aviar. “They can carry twenty times their own weight, just like insects.”
“I beg your pardon?” Quink said. He gave a disdainful sniff, then turned his attention back to Danielle. “This is one of the older mares. Probably the most easygoing aviar we’ve got. They calm down once they’re past childbearing age. Still a lot of strength in those wings, though.” He stepped away, shaking his head and muttering, “Insects, indeed.”
The aviar started to follow Quink. Danielle leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the aviar’s neck to keep from falling. The great wings jutted into the back of her thighs, shoving her farther up on the back than on a normal horse. There was no room for a saddle, and the aviar’s spine promised all manner of interesting bruises before the night was over.
Talia guided her aviar alongside Danielle. “What’s the matter, Princess? You look like a marionette with half her strings cut.”
Danielle flushed. Her hands were damp around the reins as she forced herself to straighten, trying to mimic Talia’s relaxed pose. The aviar chose that moment to do a little hop to the side. Danielle clamped her legs beneath the aviar’s wings to keep from tumbling off.
“Relax,” said Arlorran. He held another apple over his head. The aviar’s movements stopped as she snatched it from his hand. “Keep your knees bent like that, beneath the wings.
She
doesn’t want you to fall either. The more comfortable and relaxed you are, the easier it is on her.”
Quink flew up beside her, dodging an annoyed flick of the mare’s tail. “Careful with that sword. Try to keep the scabbard from poking her beneath the wing.” He grimaced as he watched Danielle fumble with the reins. Talia trotted alongside, looking like she had been born to ride aviars.
Danielle gave the reins an experimental tug. The aviar jumped to the side, nearly knocking Arlorran to the ground. Quink glanced at Arlorran, a skeptical expression on his face.
Danielle closed her eyes. This wasn’t working. She could barely control a regular horse. She could practically feel the aviar’s discomfort growing with every clumsy move Danielle made. She took a deep breath and turned to look at Quink. “What are their names?”
The pixie pointed to Snow. “Your pale friend is riding Midnight, and the sour-faced girl is on Socks.”
Talia led her aviar toward Quink. “Socks?”
The pixie grinned. “One of the kids named him.” He pointed to the white fur on the ends of the aviar’s legs. “It was that or Bootsie.”
His lips quirked slightly as he turned back to Danielle. “As for your aviar, her birth name was Zoё. One of the dwarves renamed her, though. These days we call her Zirdiclav.”
Danielle did her best to imitate the chirping sounds of the name. “What does it mean?”
“Hard to translate into your tongue,” Quink said, glancing away. “Roughly, it comes out to ‘Stormbreaker. ’”
Arlorran sniggered. “They might not understand dwarvish, but I’ve picked up a smattering.” He shook his head. “‘Zir’ means breaker all right, but ‘clav’ is a dwarf word for an unexpected gust of wind.”
“So she’s . . .” Danielle covered her mouth with her hand. “Breaker of Wind?”
“She’ll be fine,” Quink said. “Ah, your friends might not want to fly directly behind her, though.”
“I’ll call her Wind,” Danielle said. She leaned forward, pressing her body to the aviar’s neck. She had never tried to talk to any animal this large before. Would the aviar understand? Even if she did, there was no guarantee she would listen.
“Please,” Danielle whispered. Wind’s ear flicked back. “I need to get to the chasm. My stepsisters are there, and they’ve taken my husband. My mate.”
The aviar snorted. Danielle couldn’t tell if she understood or not.
“I know I’m clumsy. I’m doing the best I can. Could your foals run and fly so beautifully when they were born?”
Another flick of the ear, and a slight shake of the head. The reins tugged free of her grip.
“I understand,” said Danielle, praying that she did. She reached down until she touched the metal buckle. A sharp tug loosened the strap, and then she was sliding the reins up and off of the aviar’s head. Wind shook her head, spitting the bit from her mouth and tossing the whole halter toward Quink.
“What do you think you’re doing, lass?” Arlorran asked, hurrying to her side. “She’ll dump you to the ground like—”
The aviar leaped, wings slamming down with such force that Arlorran tumbled onto his back. Danielle hugged the aviar’s neck, pressing her legs beneath the wings. Her weight was too high, and she felt like she would topple off the instant she relaxed at all.
“Well, all right, then,” Arlorran said, brushing dirt from his backside. “What do I know about flying horses anyway?”
Wind nickered as she cleared the treetops, where she stilled her wings and began to glide in slow, wide circles. Her head turned slightly inward, and Danielle swore she saw amusement in that ocean-blue eye.
Gradually, Danielle loosened the muscles in her legs, letting them slide down Wind’s side until the wings no longer beat the back of her thighs. She could feel the powerful muscles pumping as the aviar maintained her flight.
Quink flew after her, the discarded halter dangling from his hands. “And how will you control her, you addlebrained, wingless nit of a girl?”
“I won’t.” Danielle swallowed, hoping this wasn’t a mistake. “I’ll trust her.” She lowered her voice, speaking to the aviar alone. “Can you take me back down to my friends?”
The aviar’s wings spread wider, slowing their flight. Danielle tensed as they swooped down, but Wind landed as lightly as a sparrow.
“Better,” said Talia. “But you’re still stiff as a statue. Keep riding like that, and you’ll end up feeling like an ogre pummeled your legs with his club.”
“Oh, hush,” said Snow. “You’re just jealous because you have to use the reins.” She clapped her hands and beamed at Danielle.
“Princess Danielle?”
She looked down at Arlorran. “You don’t have to call me princess.”
Arlorran turned to watch Snow and Talia as they bickered. He lured Wind away with another apple, until they were out of earshot. Lowering his voice, he said, “You’ve a dangerous path ahead of you. Keep them safe, lady.”
Danielle stared. “Me keep
them
safe? Talia’s the one who can kill a giant with nothing but a bootlace, and Snow’s magic is powerful enough to—”