The Windrider, Episode 3: Broken
Becky Minor


Morning.

It always came so early.

I slid several feet down the bench upon which I sat to avoid the beam of brazen sunlight that lanced through the upper windows of the dining hall. I had ample space to choose my seat, since nary an elf sat within three tables of me. If this morning mimicked all the others I had spent in Delsinon’s fortress, most of the seats around me would remain unoccupied, for those few elves who might have risked my demeanor at this hour would never share a breakfast table with me again. Our pitched battle with the dragon-kin the day before had ensured that. I sipped my porridge without tasting it, submerged in my bleak sense of loss.

Not only did I lack a sense of taste this morning, but my ability to comprehend the spidery script on the parchment that lay beside my bowl also suffered. I had little hope of reading such scrawl through eyes that opened to little better than slits. Grogginess waged a battle upon my intentions, a battle in which I lost ground with each passing moment.

I started at the leathery thwack of a book on the table beside me.

“Good morning, Captain.”

I gritted my teeth until I could feel the bands of muscle on the sides of my jaw bulging. Not her. Not now.

Though I stretched my heavy eyes wider, my clearing vision revealed no improvement in my circumstances. The prophetess Veranna stood beside me, sporting a grin that glared like the winter sun on the surface of snow.

“Morning.” I lifted my bowl again and took a long sip.

“Are you ready to learn that which Creo has ordained?” Veranna’s singsong tone might just as well have been a mosquito whining beside my ear. Was it not bad enough that the enigmatic half-elf’s irritating mannerisms had plagued my dreams, that now I should have to confront them in waking life?

“Do I have a choice?”

Veranna laughed, the sound of it not unlike the tiny bells that jingled on her riotous attire. “We all have choices before us at every moment, young Windrider,” she replied. She stepped over the bench beside me and sat. Her straight posture rivaled that of many of the seasoned footmen who dined in the hall around us.

She patted the leather tome she had dropped on the table. “Do you know The Tree, Captain?”

“I am familiar with its teachings, yes.” I cast my glance to the cracked binding of her copy of the sacred writings of Creo.

“Well, if you are to fulfill your calling, you must be not just familiar, but intimate with every word within these pages.”

“I shall be certain to peruse a copy at my earliest convenience,” I said, my gaze drifting back to the parchment beside my breakfast bowl. Without looking up I continued, “Will that be all?”

The prophetess’s already straight spine went rigid.

“Are you at all serious about undertaking this training, Vinyanel Ecleriast?” she asked.

“I prefer you call me ‘Captain,’” I replied. “And yes, I certainly would never pass over the chance to become a Commander among my people.”

Veranna folded her arms. “Then perhaps you might address the process with a modicum of interest.”

“Did not anyone inform you that engaging me over breakfast would prove fruitless? Especially on a morning after I have returned from such grueling toil and loss?”

“They did,” Veranna said. “And I chose to ignore such council. The will of the Creator waits upon no man, elf, or beast’s whim.”

I failed to suppress a moan. Again, this emissary of the Creator hamstrung any argument I might make by claiming no ownership of even the words that passed her lips.

“I will not be taught in this moment or in this manner, Prophetess.” I stood. “If you wish to pursue this charge Creo has laid upon you, seek me later. Draw upon your own wisdom as to when an elf may have had sufficient time to mourn his fallen comrades.”

The lily-white edges of Veranna’s pristine nails vanished as she curled her hands into fists. Her face remained dispassionate, but her tight knuckles told the full tale. I had not ascended to my rank of Captain of the High Elven Cavalry by stroking those around me with velveted words. I would not practice such delicacy now.

“Captain, Creo will see you to your appointed destiny, whether you follow his lead or stubbornly insist he push you from behind.” Veranna gestured to my seat. “Please, sit, and I shall offer you guidance on how to glean all you might from The Tree’s matchless council.”

I snatched my parchment from the table and shimmied it into a tight roll. “I know how to read, Prophetess. Surely, you have not come all this way to teach me something so mundane as that. So take some time--a lot of time--to decide upon a lesson more worthy of my attention.” I stalked out of the dining hall, leaving the half-elven maiden seated beside my unfinished breakfast.


The sweet scents of grain and timothy hay greeted my nose as I strode into the stables. Always, that scent brought me a sense of peace, for on those draughts of thick air I smelled dutiful provision being offered the noble animals of my trade. Today, however, the aroma brought with it a bitter note. I hesitated before a stall, its door ajar, its clay floor bare of bedding. Absently, my finger traced the carven nameplate that read “Solaris.”

“Captain Ecleriast!”

I jumped, quick to swipe away the tears that threatened to brim over and spill down my cheeks.

“At ease, Private,” I said, releasing the stable-hand from his bow of protocol.

“We did not anticipate your presence today,” the young soldier said.

“That is good,” I replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at my features. “I am glad to see the stables in much the same condition as the days you do expect me.”

The soldier relaxed.

“I came to assess the progress with the new colts. Do you have any of them trained yet?” I asked.

“All but one, Sir. The sorrel warmblood has molten iron in his veins. We have been able to little more than saddle him.”

“Is that so?” I cast a withering glance at the soldier, who shrank beneath it in a satisfying way. “Take me to this thick-headed creature, and we shall see his mettle.”

I found the beast in the third wing of the stables, spinning and straining against the cross ties as two grooms fought to saddle him. The commotion of their alarmed cries and the clatter of the colt’s hooves raised a din in the aisle that only compounded the headache I had tried to ignore all morning. As the grooms and the horse skittered about in a dance of defiance, the elves waving a bridle at the animal’s raised head, I blew a whistle through my teeth that brought all to a standstill.

“Bring me the full bridle,” I said. “Once you have, you three are dismissed to whatever remains of your tasks today.”

“The full, Sir?” one of the grooms asked. My glare sent him bounding for the tack room.

By mid morning, both the horse and I wore a thick layer of sweat as we stood still in the center of the fortress arena. My stiff fingers protested my grip on the reins. My muscles throbbed from not only the continual exertion of my will against that of the thousand-pound animal, but the many falls I had taken in proving to this creature he had a job to do as a resident of the stables of the High Elven army. Trickling sweat cut pale tracks through the dust and grime on my face. I could feel the horse’s flanks heave as he blew through flared nostrils. But when I nudged him with my heels, he stepped forward. Obedient. Collected. A useful, though green member of my cavalry. Yes, he still needed work, but the horse now knew his place.

I reached the edge of the arena. After performing a weary dismount, I handed the reins to the groom who stood nervously behind the fence. “Cool him,” I said. “He has worked hard today.”

As the horse disappeared to the opposite side of the barn, I felt a shadow envelop me. I turned to see Majestrin’s gleaming form perched upon the roof of the grandstands, eclipsing the morning sun. Shielding my eyes with one hand, I raised the other in salute to the silver dragon.

He spread his marvelous wings and drifted serenely to the arena floor. The wind that gusted from his landing sent more dirt to cling to my sweaty face.

“How did you pass your morning, Vinyanel?” Majestrin asked.

“Breaking a horse,” I replied. I leaned against his flank, allowing my tired legs a respite.

“Breaking? What a curious practice. Why would you want a mount ‘broken?’”

I smiled, wiping the grime from my eyes.

This was the first moment that day I had fully been able to push aside my grief and anger. “Perhaps you misunderstand the terminology. ‘Breaking’ simply means to take a wild, unruly animal and teach him how to be useful. How to begin to hear the commands of his master and execute them.”

Majestrin cocked his head at me. “So, you mean to say ‘training.’”

“Well, no. Not entirely.” I sought my mind for the precise words. “The horse I broke this morning surely needs further training, but will likely make a valuable comrade to the rider who takes him into battle someday.”

“Valuable? How do you know?”

“His headstrong nature comes only from his intelligence. The smarter the beast, the harder he is to break of his unlearned ways. Yet the greater the reward in the end for both horse and rider.”

I had not known Majestrin long, but I began to recognize the expression that overtook his scaly maw as a smile. “And so, even a lesser creature, like a horse, can learn to submit to the wisdom of his betters.”

“In the right hands.” I hesitated, casting a suspicious glance at the dragon. “How have you passed this morning, my reptilian friend?”

“Inactive, comparatively,” Majestrin lifted the scales on his withers, a sort of draconic shrug.

“You have kept council with that insufferable half-elf.”

“Only because she sought me. But I had no answers for her frustrations, Captain. It seems Creo arranged his own object lesson between you and this stubborn equine you met with in a contest of wills today.”

One quick heave brought me upright. “Whose ally are you, anyway?”

“Creo’s, first and foremost,” Majestrin replied. “And most undoubtedly yours. Whatever ways I can help my two friends to work in concert, I shall explore.”

I shook my head in bafflement. With a sigh, I took a few steps from the dragon’s side. “Very good, then. I shall look for you another time.

“You have a pressing engagement?”

With a rub of my neck, I replied, “I believe I have a protracted appointment with an old book of mine.”

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