Name: Champion of Fate
ISBN: 9780062977205

Kendare Blake

Champion of Fate

Izaac Richards

'Not ours," Orna said again. Not mine and not yours, plain for anyone to see. So why get attached?"

They were Areion, sacred mounts of the order of the Aristene. They could have run for days without drinking, reaching speeds that would outpace the fastest of hunting cats. It was also said that the horses could speak, but only if one was worthy of words. 

"I felt Her there today," said Aster, and Veridian didn't need to ask who she meant. Kleia Gloria, the goddess of glory. The only god an Aristene answered to.

She woula be like them and have what they had. Strength. Wisdom. Great purpose in service to Kleia Gloria. And all of that immortal time.

"Combat training," Gretchen said when she reached her. She leaned over the fence and gave Silco a smacking kiss on the muzzle; he shook his head and turned to swat her in the face with his tail on his way back to the herd. Not nice. He was a very not-nice horse. 

"Glory is ours to make, Gretchen, and ours to bestow." 

"As its humble servants," said Reed. "Don't forget."

"It's not her body they're testing," said Reed. "It's her heart. If they threw you into the air, vou would find a way to fly."

Lyonene grinned. "Yes, but not all of us are walking miracles." 

Lyonene also had some of that soothing quality, or at least she could fake it. Reed could not fake it at all. She could barely manage a "there, there," and a stiff slap to the back in the face of tears. But how often, really, did heroes cry? 

Gretchen snorted. Lyonene was always going on about seducing her hero. Bedding her hero. Tossing a collar around her hero's neck and leading him about like a well-trained hound. It would be a good strategy. But it wouldn't be Reed's

"True, true." Lyonene smiled. "And why would the well do that to Reed? A waste of beauty when she's never even looked at a boy. Or a girl. With her it is all swords and horses, swords and horses."

"I look," Reed said. "I have looked. I just ... Haven't looked as often as you." 

"In the world of men we take no glory for ourselves. Our names are not known; our deeds are not preserved in song, But Atropa is our city. And in the Citadel we revere those who have come before."

"Veridian is an apostate. And apostates are killed. In every church in every faith, by every god I have ever heard of" 

"Not by ours," Reed said. "Kleia Gloria is mother to us all."

"Thank you," she said, even though having him there only added to the seething flies in her stomach. She wanted to vomit but feared she'd look down and see a pile of wings.

"When you become an Aristene, she can delve into your memories. Your old name can be reclaimed, if that is something that you wish." 

This prophet is known as the Prophet of Scylloi-the Prophet of AIl. During the winter months, the Scylloi Prophet made his pilgrimage to Roshanak, to prophesize for King Oreas.

But that was how it was with all forgetting: one didn't know what was lost until it was far too late to recover.

The city of the Docritae was almost pretty as the sun rose, and to the north tucked into the hills Reed caught sight of the sea and smoke from what must be a port. The soldiers who had come from the Salt Flats, she remembered. Like the one who had "slayed" the sea serpent.

"That's only your magic," said Reed. "Borrowed." 

"Her or me" Aster shrugged. There is really no difference.

"I think that fate is not worth guessing about. It is only worth making. You'll make your own fate, Reed, and Hestion's along with yours."