My phoenix’s rebirth is designed for evasive maneuvers, but their horses are designed for stamina. I can tell because as they trade trots for gallops, each of their sprints lasts a little longer than mine. The thought has me fired up again. Must be nice to choose rebirths knowing no one’s going to try to put you into the wall. It’s a classic example of an early alliance. I shake my head because no one approached me about forming an alliance. And why would they?

I’m just the Dividian.

“Let’s show them who we really are.”

We burn around corners and dig deeper with each stretch. An hour passes. A second hour. I can see the surprise on the faces behind me. I have to remind myself that this was always the part where I could hold my own. I am as fine a rider as any of them. It’s what happens at night—on foot and defending my ashes—that separates me from the rest. That truth is a good reminder of my goal for the first leg: survive at all costs.

A particularly long straightaway comes, and that’s when they catch me. I nudge my phoenix to the right as I hear the approach of their beating hooves. A girl name Thyma leads the pursuing pack. I recognize her from all the pre-race activities. Her eyes swing over to me with every promise of violence. Riding in her shadow are two others: Capri and Darvin. I’m half expecting them to just skip past me. We’re behind the leaders. Swinging in for contact with me will only slow them down. But after a brief and silent exchange, their riding formation shifts.

Thyma commands her horse with a firing get-get.

All three of them glide slowly across the canyon. The threat almost has me fumbling the reins. I’ve logged thousands of hours at Martial’s ranch, but I’ve never had someone actually press me like this. It takes all of my focus to push that fear aside. I have to remember why I was invited here. I have some tricks these Ashlords have forgotten.

Thyma pushes the pace. The control she has over her phoenix is impressive. I watch as her horse noses slightly ahead of mine. Both of them are pinning ears at each other. There’s still a gap—four or five widths—but the distance keeps shrinking. I’m so close to the right wall that my riding pants are almost scraping the stones. I’d be worried about my phoenix spooking if it wasn’t designed for this exact moment. A turn is coming up and I can see what’s going to happen as clearly as any prophet.