The Swan Riders Read Online Free PDF Page A

standing still enough to be such a statue.
    â€œFX,” Talis prompted.
    Francis Xavier turned around and locked on to my eyes. “I will protect her.”
    I was stunned by the slow certainty. It sounded as if he were saying wedding vows.
    And then.
    A flash. A blow to the eyes. Solid black shadows rushed out from everything, from Talis, from Francis Xavier, from the horses and the hillside, from every blade of grass. For an instant the sky was white and the world was flat and blackened.
    Francis Xavier was moving. Before I even got a hand up to shield my eyes he was running forward, spreading his arms. He slammed into us, wrapping one arm around Talis and one around me, pushing us to the ground, sheltering us with his body.
    For a moment I just huddled under Francis Xavier, stunned by the flash, by the blow. My eyes watered. The dry grass scratched my face. Like a chick under a wing, I was glad enough to be covered.
    Not Talis, though. “Get off  . . .” He pushed his way free. “It’s miles away, honestly . . .”
    Francis Xavier stood up.
    There were spots in front of my eyes, and the night sky glowed a strange, sulfurous yellow.
    â€œPlasma in the ionosphere,” said Talis. “An orbital weapon.”
    He squinted toward what seemed to be the source of it—behind the horizon to the south and west. It looked as if the sun had mutated and was swelling back where it had set.
    â€œI’ve never seen one,” said Sri.
    â€œI have,” I said. Talis had once stopped Elián from escaping with a bolt from the blue, scooped a small crater out almost at his feet. “But—”
    â€œBut not like that,” said Talis. “That was a city killer.”
    â€œWhere . . . ?” breathed Sri.
    Francis Xavier was counting under his breath. For a moment I thought he was trying to keep his temper, but then there was a distant crackle, not quite thunder. The sky made a sound like glass creaking. From the delay between light and sound, one could calculate—”Four hundred miles,” said Francis Xavier. “Calgary?”
    â€œWe don’t have to guess,” said Sri.
    Right. At least one of us could talk to the orbital weapons platforms.
    â€œCalgary,” said Talis, like a one-word eulogy. He stood a moment, looking at the sick, false sunset. Then he clapped his hands together and twirled round to face us. “Well, kiddos. Something is obviously up, but no worries. I’m sure I’m on it.”
    There was still, in the Red Mountains, a master copy of Talis. Someone—something?—who could access every networked sensor in the world, examine any database, command any satellite. Someone who was, apparently, “on it.” Our Talis might be able to talk to the weapons platform and confirm its firing strength and its target, but without the real-time access to information, he couldn’t know the why of it.
    â€œSo,” said Sri. “You were saying, about the medium-sized cities?”
    â€œIt might have nothing to do with Greta,” said Francis Xavier.
    â€œYeah,” said Talis. “But how likely is that, really?”
    â€œWe should go,” said Francis Xavier. “If there is a threat to you. Or to her. We should go. Our refuge is less than fifty miles.”
    â€œNo,” said Talis.
    â€œWe could use it as an extraction point. Or at least update the sitrep.”
    â€œNo,” said Talis. “Greta is a novice. She can’t ride fifty miles at a stretch. Not to mention I just pushed an ultrasound pulse through her prefrontal cortex. And it’s dark.”
    â€œYou want us to stay here,” said Francis Xavier, obedient, soft-voiced, walking the knife edge between statement and question.
    â€œWhat I want,” said Talis, “is for you to take first watch.” He was framed against the false sunset. Structures were developing in the charged sky as it