Nightstorm and the Grand Slam
Stacy Gregg

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2011

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

PONY CLUB SECRETS.

Text Copyright © Stacy Gregg 2011.

Illustrations © Fiona Land 2011.

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020 Cover photography © Shutterstock.com CBBC logo © British Broadcasting Corporation 2016

Stacy Gregg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

ISBN 9780007299324

Ebook Edition © MAY 2011 ISBN: 9780007435883

Version 2020-08-18

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Map

Nightstorm and the Grand Slam

Chapter 1

It was day one of the Badminton Horse Trials. The…

Chapter 2

With the dressage behind them, the Laurels team were now…

Chapter 3

Mystic stamped a hoof impatiently against the gravel and looked…

Chapter 4

Issie felt like she had only just fallen asleep when…

Chapter 5

Issie and Avery arrived back at the horse truck that…

Chapter 6

There was a stunned silence in the horse truck and…

Chapter 7

After Nightstorm’s bout of colic, Issie was worried sick that…

Chapter 8

The last person in the world Issie had expected to…

Chapter 9

Oliver Tucker surveyed his surroundings, running a property developer’s eye…

Chapter 10

In the final week of the lead-up to Burghley, preparations…

Chapter 11

Issie’s hands were trembling at her throat as she tried…

Chapter 12

On the sidelines, the crowd who had seen Victory fall…

Chapter 13

Oliver Tucker unbuckled the sling and took hold of Victory’s…

Chapter 14

It was a moment of madness, but it was too…

Chapter 15

Back at the ‘hold box’, Avery did his best to…

Chapter 16

The prize-giving was preceded by a display by the Belvoir…

Epilogue

Spring weather in New Zealand is unpredictable. When Issie Brown…

Acknowledgments

Other Books in The Pony Club Secrets Series

About the Publisher

Nightstorm and the Grand Slam

In the glamorous and dangerous world of three-day eventing there are three super-elite competitions that together are regarded above all the rest as the very greatest test of a rider’s skill and courage.

These three events are: The Kentucky Four-Star, The Badminton Horse Trials and The Burghley Horse Trials.

Winning any one of these famous equestrian contests is considered a remarkable feat. Even more incredible, however, is the rider who can win all of them in a clean sweep. This three-in-a-row victory is, without a doubt, the most coveted title in the world of eventing: a phenomenon known simply as the Grand Slam.

Chapter 1

It was day one of the Badminton Horse Trials. The first crucial phase of the three-day event was underway and throughout the morning, one after another, elite combinations of horse and rider had performed their dressage tests with precision and elegance as the crowds in the grandstand looked on.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the final competitor rode into the main stadium. Like the other riders before her, she was dressed in a long black tailcoat and a silk topper. Underneath the top hat, her startlingly youthful face was fixed in a serious expression as she took her last warm-up lap, cantering her magnificent bay horse around the perimeter of the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” commentator Mike Partridge began his introduction, “our last rider of the day is only seventeen years old and this is her first time here at the Badminton Horse Trials. However, do not dismiss this young equestrienne just because of her age. Two weeks ago this talented girl rode at the prestigious international Kentucky Four-Star in Lexington, USA and took home the winner’s medal in an astonishing performance on a horse that she had ridden for the first time just two days before!”

Mike Partridge’s voice shrank to a whisper as he watched the rider on the bay stallion line up ready to begin her test.

“We have already seen her in the arena this morning, putting in a very good performance on Victory, the Australian-bred gelding owned by Mrs Tulia Disbrowe. This is her second ride of the day, on her own horse this time…” Mike Partridge paused for dramatic effect, “…ladies and gentlemen, this is Isadora Brown riding Nightstorm!”

As she cantered down the centre line, Issie tried to keep her composure. To the crowds in the stands she might have looked calm and collected, but beneath the heavy tailcoat her shirt was soaked with sweat. She was exhausted and shaken, having just spent the past hour in a heated battle of wills in the warm-up arena with Nightstorm – a fight that had ended emphatically when the stallion finally threw a massive hissy fit and bucked her off!

“Easy boy,” she murmured as they halted. “Please don’t lose it again, not now…”

Storm was the most talented horse she’d ever ridden – but the counterbalance to his genius was a hot temper which surfaced at moments like this one. She’d been trying to practise their flying changes when Storm had decided he’d had enough of this dressage stuff. Putting in a swift and violent buck, he’d taken Issie totally by surprise, and before she knew what was happening the ground was rushing up to meet her.

The sand of the arena made for a soft landing and there was no damage done – apart from a slight dent to her top hat. Still, it was the last thing her nerves needed right before going in to perform her test and as she dusted herself off and mounted up to enter the arena she felt very rattled indeed.

As she saluted the judges and cast a glance around the crowded stands of the main stadium, she hoped that Storm had got it out of his system. If he threw her again here in the arena – with thousands of eyes upon her and everything they’d worked for on the line – it would be another matter entirely.

Urging Storm forward into an extended trot, she had a sick sensation in her belly. They were about to cross the centre of the arena and execute the first of three flying changes. This was the moment of truth! Would Storm fight her again, in front of everyone?

Bracing herself for the worst, Issie put her legs on and asked the stallion to perform the first change. There was a moment of terror when Storm swished his tail – but he didn’t buck. He changed legs perfectly at her command and Issie felt a wave of confidence surge through her. Storm was on her side and he was moving magnificently as she urged him on through two more flying changes and then came down the long side of the arena in a graceful extended canter.

“My word!” Mike Partridge sounded frightfully impressed. “A stunning extended canter – just look at the paces on this young horse!”

In the arena, Storm was performing a half-pass, crossing his legs like a ballerina. The stallion seemed to float above the ground, neck arched in submission, muscles and sinews flexing and trembling as he carried himself across the sand surface.

“Nightstorm has the most remarkable bloodlines for an eventer,” Mike Partridge continued. “He was bred from Isadora’s pony-club mare – a chestnut Anglo-Arab named Blaze. Nightstorm’s sire was the great Marius, one of the legendary horses of the performing Andalusian troupe – El Caballo Danza Magnifico – and certainly you can see from the way this young stallion moves that he has inherited his father’s incredible movement and grace.”

As Mike Partridge was speaking, the bay stallion flew through the last flying change, and then cantered once more up the centre line to complete the final manoeuvre of the dressage test.

Issie halted the horse square, saluting in three directions to the judges who were placed around the sides of the arena, and then, dropping her reins, she bent down over her horse’s neck with a huge grin covering her face and gave him a massive, slappy pat.

“And she has every reason to be happy with that!” Mike Partridge enthused. “That superb test will put her right up there on the leaderboard!”

As she exited the arena to the applause of the crowd, Issie was shaking from the adrenalin rush of performing. At the start of her test she had been genuinely worried that she might be publicly dumped to the ground by her temperamental, difficult horse. Instead, Storm had shocked her completely by delivering his best-ever dressage performance!

Outside of the arena and out of view of the crowds, Issie threw her arms around Storm’s neck, able to give him a proper hug at last.

“You are a super-clever boy!” she said proudly.

“Don’t give him all the credit!”

Issie turned around to see Tom Avery smiling at her.

“You deserve the lion’s share of the praise,” Avery insisted. “It was your riding that saved the day in there. Storm was on a hair trigger the whole time but you handled him perfectly.”

Issie brushed off the compliment. “He’s not trying to be naughty, Tom, he’s just got too much energy.”

“Well, he’ll need all of it tomorrow,” Avery said. “That cross-country course is over six kilometres long.”

Badminton’s infamous cross-country phase was considered to be the most difficult four-star track in the world. For the riders who survived and made it all the way round, the showjumping would follow the day after. It would take a clear round in both of these disciplines, as well as an excellent dressage test score, to bring home the coveted trophy.

Despite her stellar performance at Kentucky, Issie was far from the favourite to claim glory here at this prestigious British horse trials.

Her win in the States had been put down to good fortune. Valmont Liberty was an eventing superstar and there were some on the eventing circuit who speculated that Issie had been handed a gift when she was given the last-minute chance to ride on a push-button mount.

In reality Liberty was far from easy to handle and her win at Kentucky had been hard-fought. But clearly the bookies believed that Issie was a one-hit wonder and had put her odds of winning at 50-1.

There was no chance of Issie repeating her dream ride with Liberty here. Kentucky was only two weeks before Badminton, which made it impossible to ride the same horse at both events as you couldn’t transport a horse from the USA to England with enough recovery time to compete.

But Issie had never planned to ride Liberty, or her other Kentucky mount, Comet, at Badminton. Her plan had always been to keep two of her best horses back in England. Nightstorm and Victory had both been chosen over a year ago as her Badminton rides.

Victory had been an unexpected but very welcome addition, not long after they’d moved to England and set up their stables at The Laurels, a farm in the heart of Wiltshire.

Issie knew Victory from long ago. She had once ridden the athletic brown Thoroughbred at the Pony Club Express Eventing competition in Melbourne, Australia. Then, out of the blue, Victory’s owner Tulia Disbrowe got in touch to ask if Issie wanted to take over the ride on her horse.

“Victory’s rider had a bad fall at the Adelaide four-star,” Tulia explained over the phone from Australia. “He’s fractured his back so he’s out for the rest of the season. I’ve trialled several other jockeys but none of them really clicked – and then I thought of you. I hear you’re setting up training stables with Tom Avery and Francoise and I was wondering if you’d like to take the horse to England with you.”

Issie couldn’t believe it. Over the years since she’d last ridden him, Victory had become an experienced advanced eventer. He was competing at four-star – the very top level. And Tulia was offering to sponsor him to the UK so that Issie could ride him!

One foggy morning in December, Avery, Issie and Francoise met Victory off the flight from Melbourne at Heathrow, and after the gelding had been through quarantine they took him home to The Laurels where he settled in as if he had been there all his life.

When the eventing season got underway a couple of months later, Issie began riding Victory on the circuit. It didn’t take long to rebuild their bond and by the following October they were in good enough form to place third at the prestigious Boekelo horse trials in the Netherlands.

By the season’s end, both Victory and Storm had clearly marked themselves out as the stars of The Laurels’ stables. When the call for entries for the Badminton Horse Trials rolled around, there was no doubt in Issie’s mind that they were the ones she wanted to ride.

Entering two horses was common practice at Badminton. However, Issie had her work cut out adapting her riding style between them.

Victory was a typical Thoroughbred – catlike and elegant with lean limbs and a gallop that swallowed the ground on a cross-country course – Nightstorm was burly and heavy-set with the strong haunches and powerful neck that spoke of his Andalusian bloodlines.

But it wasn’t just their physiques that were opposite. Their personalities were also worlds apart.

“When you ride Victory, you ride with your head,” Francoise once said. “Nightstorm is different – he must be ridden with your heart.”

The French dressage trainer was right. To get the best out of Storm, Issie needed more than technical perfection – she needed to emotionally connect with the stallion; to convince him that he wanted this as much as she did.

It wasn’t easy. Storm had a mind of his own – as he had proven today in the warm-up arena! Even as a young colt he had been headstrong, and now that the stallion was fully grown he had become even harder for Issie to manage. Issie would often end a schooling session frustrated by the power struggle between her and the obstinate bay stallion. She would have given up on him entirely if Storm weren’t so ridiculously talented. His dressage paces were elevated and spectacular, his jumping ability was unrivalled, and despite his burly conformation he was speedy and agile across country. He was the perfect eventer. Or at least he would have been if it weren’t for his unpredictable dressage antics. At the Boekelo horse trials, he had thrown what could only be called a tantrum – kicking out his hindquarters in a dramatic buck every time Issie asked him to change his paces. Issie had stayed onboard but she had left the arena almost in tears.

“Storm’s problem is that he is too clever for his own good,” Francoise had consoled her back at the horse truck that day. “He knows all the dressage moves, but he is easily bored and some days he simply cannot be bothered! That is the price you pay for his genius. When he is bad he is horrid, but when he is in a good mood – he is unbeatable.”

Today had definitely been a ‘good mood’ day. It had been a fabulous test and as Issie rode back towards the stables Stella came running up to greet her.

“They’ve posted your scores already!” she said.

“How did we do?” Issie asked as she vaulted down off Nightstorm’s back, passing Stella the reins.

“Guess!” Stella said brightly.

“Stella!”

“Come on!” The bubbly redhead grinned. “Take a guess.”

“Stella!” Issie took off her top hat and wiped her forehead. “I’m hot, I’m exhausted and I’m not in the mood for guessing games! What was my score?”

Stella pulled a face. “You know you were more fun before you turned pro…”

Issie shot her a glare and Stella laughed. “OK, no messing around. You really want to know? You got thirty-eight!”

Issie’s jaw dropped open. In eventing a low score was a good thing. She had been hoping for perhaps something in the forties. But thirty-eight? It was beyond her wildest dreams.

“So where does that put me?” she asked Stella. “Have I made the top ten?”

Stella smiled widely at her best friend. “Better than top ten,” she said. “Issie, you’re sitting at number three!”

Issie couldn’t believe it. A few minutes ago she’d been on the ground dusting the arena sand off her top hat, and now she was on the leaderboard in third place with the cross-country and showjumping, Storm’s two best phases, still to come!

As they walked back to the stables, Issie tried to contain her excitement. After all, this was Badminton, the biggest four-star competition in the world, and there was so much that could still go wrong in this dangerous game.

She had no idea how right she was.

Chapter 2

With the dressage behind them, the Laurels team were now completely focused on the next phase. The cross-country tomorrow would be the biggest challenge that Issie had ever ridden. Not just because of the size of the fences – although at the maximum height of a metre-twenty they were massive. More than the sheer scale, it was the devilish complexity of the obstacles at Badminton that threatened to trip up even the most experienced equestrians. With demanding combinations of ditches, banks and angled corners, the course was treacherous. It was so tough that half the competitors would fail to finish – many would be eliminated for falls or refusals, while others would retire halfway around when their horses couldn’t cope.

While the horses weren’t allowed to see the course beforehand, the riders were encouraged to walk around it as many times as they liked.

So far, Issie had walked it three times – and considering the course was a little over six kilometres long, she figured that was a pretty good effort. When Avery suggested they walk it a fourth time after the dressage test, she thought he must be kidding.

“I think we need to take another look at the Vicarage Ditch,” Avery said. “I’m still not certain we’ve got the best path resolved into the spread. It’s going to be very hard riding to get your angle right into the jump…”

“Tom,” Issie shook her head. “We could walk the course a hundred times but it’s not going to make those jumps any smaller. We’ve figured out my line for that spread. It’s going to be fine.”

“All the same,” Avery said. “I think we should walk the course one last time.”

Tom Avery had been Issie’s instructor since she first started riding at the Chevalier Point Pony Club. She knew better than to argue with him. And so, she dragged herself up off the sofa in the horse truck and pulled on her boots.

“Let’s go then.”

The cross-country course began in the main stadium with the flower bed. From there a broad blanket of grassy track led on to the brush, the quarry and then the Huntsman’s Close complex which involved a tricky combination and a very acute angle on a corner fence. The lake complex and a broad wooden tabletop fence came after that, and then the trickier narrow obstacles that required precision riding – two round tops and the intricate farmyard fences. After that, the horse had room to gallop until they reached one of the biggest fences on the course. The Vicarage Ditch was a massive obstacle. The ditch itself was almost three metres wide, with a hedge and solid wood rail set into the middle of it, placed at an odd angle.

“So how are you going to face him up to this? Will you turn straight towards the rail?” Avery asked as they walked towards the jump.

Issie frowned. Avery knew exactly how she planned to attack this fence. They had talked it over three times already!

“I’m going to ignore the ditch and take a straight line at the rail,” she said tersely. “It’s a big jump so I’ll really put my legs on to get a strong canter into it, but Storm and Victory are both fit and they should have loads of energy…”

“…Maybe too much energy,” Avery cut her off. “The last thing you want to do is rush it at a gallop and risk mis-timing and crashing into the rail…”

“Well, obviously!” Issie said. “I…”

But Avery had turned his back on her and was now walking the perimeter of the ditch. “I’ve decided that the best thing to do is to avoid the Vicarage Ditch entirely. If you take the long route here you don’t have to jump it, you can go around and take the two offset hedges instead…”

Issie couldn’t believe what she was hearing!

“Tom, that’s the alternative route! If I avoid the Ditch it will take me three times as long!”

“I know that,” Avery said, “but it’s the safer option.”

“Not if I want to win!” Issie replied. “The long option will add at least ten seconds and that would kill my chances of coming in under the allowed time. I’ll be penalised.”

“A few time penalties is better than twenty faults from a refusal,” Avery argued.

“A few time penalties is all it will take to lose me the competition!”

Issie was stunned that her trainer was suggesting this change at the eleventh hour.

“You’ve never suggested that I take the soft route before. It’s always ‘go straight through!’ So why the sudden change? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I told you.” Avery looked distressed. “It’s better to risk the time faults.”

“No,” Issie shook her head. “It’s not…”

“Yes, it jolly well is!” Avery snapped. “It’s better to risk the time faults than your horse’s life!”

The words hung there in the silence between them. Issie now understood why they were out here standing on the cross-country course, with her instructor in a complete meltdown. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Victory and Nightstorm. This was about Avery and something that had happened long ago. She’d been a fool to forget what this jump in particular meant to him. Back in the days when Avery was competing, the Vicarage Ditch was known as the Vicarage Vee. It was this fence that had ended her trainer’s professional eventing career. He had fallen here on his horse, The Soothsayer. Avery had come away with minor cuts and bruises, but The Soothsayer had not been so lucky. The horse’s life had ended when he broke his leg attempting this fence.

Avery had never spoken to Issie about the accident – in fact he never spoke to anyone about what happened that day. It must have been so painful for Avery to be here now, reliving the agony of that moment all those years ago when he lost his beloved horse.

“I’m so sorry,” Issie stammered. “I wasn’t thinking…”

Avery’s voice was choked with emotion. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I made,” he said.

“I get that, I really do,” Issie said gently. “But you’re trying to change history. Even if I take the safe route on Victory and Storm, it isn’t going to bring him back.”

She looked her trainer in the eyes. “The alternative route is too slow and I will lose if I take it. You have to let me take the risk and jump the Vicarage Ditch.”

Avery sighed, admitting defeat, “When exactly did you become the smart one in our relationship?”

Issie smiled. “Oh, please! If I’m the smart one then we really are in trouble!”

Avery put his arm around her shoulder. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go back to the truck. I think you know exactly what you’re doing. Straight through the big jumps all the way to home.”

They kept the conversation purely on practical matters as they walked back to the truck. This wasn’t difficult since there was still so much to prepare for tomorrow. Francoise was running a last-minute check on their tack and equipment. And Stella was down at the stables with both the horses, bedding them in for the evening.

Victory and Storm had both been allocated stalls in the main Badminton House stable block, a stately stone building constructed around a quadrangle courtyard. The main stables took 45 horses, almost half the contingent who were competing over the period of the three-day event, and the loose boxes were beautiful with high ceilings and elegant flagstone floors. They were also high maintenance and Stella had spent most of the day down there, mucking out and replacing Victory and Storm’s bedding, organising their feeds and water troughs.

She arrived back at the horse truck at the same time as Issie and Tom, her curly red hair scraped back beneath a cheesecutter cap, which looked like it had been stolen out of Avery’s closet. Her jodhpurs were covered in straw and muck, which she made a half-hearted attempt to brush off before she stepped inside the kitchen of the horse truck and collapsed on one of the bench seats.

“Ohmygod!” Stella groaned. “I am exhausted and starving. When is dinner?”

“Dinner,” Avery told her, “will be on the table shortly.” Stella looked pleased until he added, “…just as soon as you cook it.”

In the end, all four of them pitched in to make spaghetti with tomato and tuna sauce and a green salad on the side.

“Carbo loading for tomorrow,” Stella told Issie as she dished up a second helping of pasta onto her plate.

“I don’t need to fuel up,” Issie insisted. “Victory and Storm are the ones who’ll be doing the hard work!”

“They’ve already had their dinner,” Stella said. “I gave them their feeds before I left the stables. Victory bolted his down as usual, but Storm wasn’t really that hungry.”

There was something about this comment that rang alarm bells for Issie. Storm was a greedy sort, known for snuffling his feed down in five minutes flat and nickering for seconds.

“Was he OK?” Issie asked Stella.

“He was a bit tense,” Stella admitted. “You know, after the dressage test, and being somewhere new. He was walking around his stall when I left him, taking little bites of his feed and then wandering away again.”

Issie looked up from her plate. “Maybe I should go check on him?”

Avery shook his head. “Issie, you’re worrying unnecessarily. Storm is fine, finish your dinner.”

It had been the strangest day. Never in her wildest dreams had Issie expected to be in such a strong position after the dressage phase. Her test on Victory had also put her right up there in contention, sitting in eighth place on a score of 39.5.

The real test of courage and ability would come tomorrow. She had put on a brave face in front of Tom and argued that she had to take the Vicarage Ditch head-on. But underneath her bravado, she was worried about her horses too.

She had never lost a horse on the cross-country course, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand Avery’s pain. She had suffered the same heartbreak – many years ago now – when she had the accident with Mystic.

It had been the day of the Chevalier Point Pony Club Gymkhana, Issie’s first-ever competition. Mystic, her beloved pony, had been a total star all day long. The little swaybacked dapple-grey was getting on in years, but he was still a keen jumper and they had just taken out a ribbon in the showjumping class when it happened.

Chevalier Point’s resident brat, Natasha Tucker, furious that she’d failed to take first place, had thrown a tantrum and used her whip to take a swipe at her poor pony, Goldrush.

Issie had looked on in horror as the terrified Goldrush backed away from Natasha to escape and barged into Stella’s horse Coco and Kate’s gelding Toby, who were tied to a nearby horse truck. The next thing Issie knew, the ponies had pulled loose in fright and bolted, along with Goldrush, heading for the pony-club gates.

As people began to run after the horses, trying to divert them before they reached the main road, Issie realised they’d never catch them in time on foot. But maybe she could stop them on Mystic.

By the time she caught up the ponies were on the main road. Issie had taken one look at the cars whizzing past and then made the fateful decision to follow them. Every moment that the ponies were on that road their lives were in danger, but if she could ride around and herd them back, she might be able to drive them on to the gravel road back to the pony-club grounds.

Her plan worked. She had managed to get the ponies to safety and she was just about to get off the road too when she heard the deep low boom of the truck horn.

As Mystic turned to confront the truck, rising up on his hindquarters, he threw Issie off his back. The last thing she remembered was the sickening screech of the truck tyres and the horrific sound of her pony’s terrified whinny. Then her helmet hit the tarmac and everything went black.

In the hospital she woke up with her mother beside her bed, and it was only then that she discovered what had happened. The grey gelding had thrown her clear but it had cost him his life. Mystic was dead.

In the weeks that followed Issie became consumed by grief. Her loss overwhelmed her and she never thought she would be capable of loving another pony ever again.

And then Avery had brought her Blaze. He was working for Horse Welfare and the chestnut mare was a rescue pony that had been placed in his care. When Issie caught sight of the emaciated, terrified mare at the River Paddock she didn’t have the heart to turn her away.

Slowly, the broken-spirited mare and the broken-hearted girl began to heal each other and Issie fell in love with Blaze. But she never forgot Mystic. In her heart, she never let him go and the bond between her and the grey pony proved to be more special than Issie had ever imagined.

When Mystic first turned up to help her – alive and real, a flesh-and-blood pony and not some ghostly apparition – Issie should have been astonished, but instead she accepted his presence straight away. She had wished so hard for him to still be there with her, that when he actually came back she never questioned it. They were meant to be together.

In the years that followed, whenever Issie or her horses were in trouble, Mystic would come to her. He was her guardian, her protector and her secret.

While the horses had luxury accommodation at Badminton, Issie and her team weren’t quite so well off. Their horse truck was comfortable enough to live in for a few days, but it was a little cramped with four people in it. Avery and his wife Francoise had the double bed in the cavity above the driver’s cab, Stella had created a makeshift bed on the banquette seat next to the kitchen table, and Issie was out at the back in the part of the horse truck where the horses themselves usually travelled, on a camping cot bed. It wasn’t exactly the Plaza Hotel, but it suited Issie just fine. She loved the sweet smell of horses and the quiet chirp of crickets right outside as she lay there, trying to get to sleep.

With the cross-country starting at seven-thirty in the morning, an early night was crucial. As Issie had two horses to compete, the organisers had split up her two rides at either end of the day. Her early start was on Storm. The big bay was due in the ten-minute box a little before eight a.m. Victory was her second ride, with a late allocated start time of one-thirty p.m.

Although Nightstorm wasn’t due in the box until nearly eight, their day would start much earlier. Stella would be up and grooming him before sunrise and Issie would be down at the stables not long after that. After the exhausting day she’d just had, Issie desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Of course, just when you need it most, that’s when sleep refuses to do the business. For almost an hour she lay in her cot bed, thinking about the day’s events. She was finally beginning to relax, could feel drowsiness overwhelming her, when she heard hoofbeats.

Convinced that the sounds were nothing more than echoes from the stables on the other side of the competitors’ park, she ignored them and tried once more to sleep. But in a moment of clarity she sat up, suddenly wide awake. The hoofbeats were too close. They couldn’t be coming from the stables.

And then she heard another sound, quite distinct. It was the soft nicker of a horse and it was right outside!

Padding over to the back of the truck in pyjamas and bare feet, Issie pushed open the canvas flap at the rear by the ramp and peered out. It was dark, but there were a few lights on in the competitors’ park, providing enough illumination for her to see. There was a horse standing just a few metres away.

Eventing horses tended to be solidly built and at least sixteen hands high. By comparison, the swaybacked grey pony in front of her was tiny, no more than fourteen hands. He stared at her with coal-black eyes, standing so still that he looked like a marble statue. Then he shook his long mane and the statue was suddenly alive and impatient. The gelding gave a snort as if to say, ‘Come on! What’s keeping you? Let’s go already!’ Issie couldn’t believe it.

It was Mystic.

Chapter 3

Mystic stamped a hoof impatiently against the gravel and looked up at Issie, his dark eyes making his intent quite clear. They needed to leave now.

“OK, wait!” Issie ducked back inside the canvas flap and hunted frantically for a pair of boots. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t think straight – the fact that Mystic was here now meant that one or both of her horses must be in real trouble. She began to panic. They needed to go now!

There was a sound of hooves and Issie looked back to see Mystic pushing his muzzle through the canvas flap to look for her. She could see his nostrils flare as he sniffed for her. “I’m coming!” she insisted. She unearthed the boots from beneath a pile of coats and pulled them on and pushed her way back out through the canvas flap. Mystic was standing close to the ramp so that Issie could use it as a mounting block. She vaulted on expertly, not worrying that the pony had no saddle or bridle. She had always ridden Mystic like this. She remembered the very first time when they had taken a midnight ride to the pony club from her house. It had been terrifying at first, trying to bounce along bareback at the trot without anything to cling to. But Issie was a far more accomplished rider now. Her natural balance was so honed she relied on her seat alone. Not that it was far to fall anyway if she had come off. Compared to being on big, sixteen-two hand horses like Nightstorm and Victory, the grey pony felt very low to the ground. It had been a long time since Issie last rode Mystic and she was suddenly aware of how much she had grown. She was far too big for him – but Mystic didn’t seem to mind. As soon as he felt her weight settled on his back he set off at a brisk trot, weaving between the horse trucks. Issie wrapped her hands in the pony’s coarse mane as Mystic trotted his way through the twisting maze of vehicles, heading towards the Badminton House stable block.

It usually took about ten minutes to walk from her truck to the stables, but in a matter of a few minutes the grey pony was pulling up to a halt in the shadows outside the stately stone buildings.

“Good boy!” Issie gave him a slappy pat on the neck and then slid silently to the ground. The grey pony knew he could only take her this far. There was a watchman at night on the gates so she’d need to go alone from this point.

As she ran towards the stable block, Issie cast a glance back over her shoulder at Mystic. She had hoped to catch one last glimpse of his snowy face in the darkness but she should have known better by now. The grey pony was already gone.

As she ran through the entrance gates the security guard dropped the magazine he’d been reading and shone his torch on her.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He put out an arm to stop her as she tried to race past.

“I need to get to my horses,” Issie said. She was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. Her mind was flashing back to that night in Chevalier Point all those years ago when Storm was stolen. He had been just a colt at the time and the ordeal had been terrifying. Now, Issie was worried that it was happening once more. Had someone come to take her horse? She couldn’t stand to go through it again.

“ID tag?” the guard said.

Issie lost her cool. “I’m wearing pyjamas! Does it look like I have my tags on me?”

The guard looked closely at her. “So what’s the big hurry about?”

“I need to get to my horses.”

The guard looked unimpressed by this vague explanation. “I’m sorry but without tags… hey!”

Before he could say anything more, Issie had ducked under his outstretched arm and was running through the courtyard towards the stable block.

She entered the corridor of the stable block and ran down the row of stalls. Victory was there! She could see him through the bars on the top of the door to his stall. He seemed to be totally fine.

“Hey, you!” Issie could hear the guard running up the corridor behind her but she ignored him and continued on to the next stall.

“Storm?”

Her breath was coming in gasps as her throat constricted with nerves. Her heart was racing. When she reached the door to his loose box she half-expected to find his stall empty, her best horse taken from her once again. But Storm was still there too!

Relieved to see him, Issie collapsed against the loose box door and put her face up to the bars.

“Hey, boy!” Issie smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re OK. I was worried about…”

The smile disappeared from her face. Storm usually came to the door to greet her, but he was acting like he wasn’t even aware that Issie was there. He seemed preoccupied. He kept turning his head around to look at his flank and then lifting his hind leg to kick at his belly.

Issie was confused. She had seen Blaze behave like this once when the mare was about to have a foal. But Storm was a stallion. He wasn’t about to give birth, so why was he behaving like…

Suddenly, the big bay dropped to his knees in the loose box and began to roll. At that moment, Issie knew what was wrong. She was about to slide the bolt to his stall when she felt a hand clasp her roughly on the arm.

“You’re in serious trouble!”

It was the security guard. His face was flushed from sprinting and he was clearly furious.

“No!” Issie turned to him, “You don’t understand. I’ve got to get in there! Look at him!”

Storm was lying down on the straw bedding of his stall, and rolling frantically from side to side, grunting in pain.

“He’s got colic!” Issie said. “If we let him roll he’ll end up killing himself! He’ll twist his bowel and then he’ll die!”

The guard let go of her arm. He was an officious sort, but he had also been hired because he was a skilled horseman and he knew immediately that Issie’s assessment of the bay stallion was probably right. Colic was like a very painful stomach ache – and the horse would keep rolling to try and relieve the pain. But the rolling would actually make matters much worse. The situation could very quickly turn deadly if they didn’t act fast.

“Let’s get him up!” the guard said, reaching out to pull back the sliding doors of the box.

Issie was already way ahead of him. She reached for the halter and lead rope that were hanging by the stall door and slipped the halter over Storm’s head. The stallion was still lying down and even as Issie tried to buckle the halter up, he was attempting to roll again.

“Hey, no, Storm,” Issie said, trying her best to subdue her own panic and speak gently to the horse. “Easy, boy, don’t roll. I’m here now. We’re going to get you up on your feet…”

But Storm wasn’t listening. As Issie tried to secure the buckle on the halter he flung his head up, narrowly missing her face. She reeled backwards and before she could grasp the halter again Storm had flung himself to the ground, legs flailing over his head. Issie was forced to flatten herself against the stable wall to avoid the flying hooves.

“Storm! Stop it!” There was a wild look in the stallion’s eyes. He was in so much pain that he wasn’t listening at all. A wall had gone up between them and she couldn’t get through.

Issie looked at her beautiful horse, writhing in agony. She had to pull herself together and act now if she wanted to save him.

Avoiding the thrashing hooves, Issie stepped closer to Storm’s head and shouted out to the security guard. “I’m going to need your help! Can you get to the side of him and prepare to push?”

The guard immediately grasped her plan and backed his way around the loose box, avoiding Storm’s legs which were still waving violently in the air, until he’d managed to get himself into position near the stallion’s flank.

“Stay back from him until I tell you to move!” Issie told him.

The guard nodded. He wasn’t arguing. Those hooves were deadly weapons.

Storm stopped thrashing for a moment, and Issie immediately seized the chance and lunged forward to grab the lead rope. “Do it now!” she yelled at the guard. With an almighty heave, she gave a yank on the rope while the guard put his shoulder to the stallion’s side and shoved against the horse as hard as he could.

With a grunt of effort, the stallion heaved himself up to his feet, and immediately repaid the guard’s efforts by lashing out at him with a hind leg.

“Are you OK?” Issie asked.

The guard nodded. “He missed me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Issie said. “He’s just in so much pain…”

The guard looked pale with shock. “Well, let’s get him outside into the courtyard. You need to keep him moving.”

Issie had never looked after a horse with colic before, but like most riders she knew the drill. Keep them walking, keep them calm and, no matter what, don’t let them roll.

But keeping Storm moving wasn’t an easy matter. The stallion was in terrible pain and all he wanted to do was lie down again. He tried once more to drop to his knees and Issie had to bellow at him and yank sharply on the lead rope to make him step forward and leave the stall.

Even when they were out in the stony courtyard, Storm was still reluctant to walk. It was taking all of Issie’s strength and patience just to keep him moving.

“Will you be OK while I go and call the vet?” the guard asked her, looking worried.

Issie nodded. “It’s OK, I can handle him. Go make the call.”

The guard must have only been gone for ten minutes but it felt like a lifetime as Issie walked Storm around the yard alone. She could feel her own stomach tying in knots. Her horse had colic, but everything depended on what happened next. If she could stop Storm from injuring himself further, and if the vet arrived in time, then the stallion still had a chance of survival.

She thought back to Stella’s comment that the stallion had been off his feed. Why hadn’t she followed through and come down to the stables to check on him? Had Storm been in this state for long or had the colic set in quickly? Issie put out a hand to reassure the horse and realised that his whole body was drenched with sweat.

“It’s going to be OK, boy, they’ll be back soon…” she reassured the stallion. But inside she was panicking. Where was the guard? He’d been gone for far too long!

Suddenly there were voices in the darkness. The guard was back – and he had the vet with him.

“I’m Maurice Cross,” the vet introduced himself with a brisk handshake. He dropped his medical case to the ground, dug out a stethoscope and began to examine Storm straight away.

“So he’s showing signs of colic?”

“He’s been getting to the ground and trying to roll,” Issie confirmed. She ran through the rest of Storm’s symptoms while the vet examined his heart rate and breathing.

“His pulse is very high,” the vet looked concerned. “He’s at over 100 beats per minute at the moment.”

“Is that bad?” Issie asked. “Is he going to be OK?”

The vet shook his head. “I can’t tell you that yet. There are different types of colic. If it’s just a nervous muscle spasm then he’ll recover overnight. But if it’s something more serious, like a twist in his bowel or an impaction, then he’ll deteriorate in the next few hours…”

The vet stopped talking and began to hunt about in his bag. He pulled out a hypodermic needle and loaded the syringe with clear fluid.

“We’ll give him a muscle relaxant and see what happens,” the vet said. “With any luck, he’s having spasmodic contractions and the relaxant will help to ease them.”

The vet took the hypodermic needle and thrust it firmly into the muscle of Storm’s neck. The stallion didn’t flinch as the needle went in all the way to the hilt.

“It should take effect in a few minutes,” the vet said. “The main thing now is to keep walking him. It’s vital that you don’t let him roll.”

The vet gestured towards the security gates at the front of the yard. “They have my number on speed dial,” he told her. “I’ll come back and check on you in the morning. But don’t be afraid to call me before then if there’s any change.”

Issie watched the vet leave and hoped that a phone call wouldn’t be necessary.

“Is there anything I can do?” The night guard was clearly feeling awful that he had tried to turf her out earlier. “Do you want me to lead him for you for a while?”

Issie shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to leave Storm’s side, not even for a moment.

“Can you do me a favour?” she asked. “I need you to make a phone call for me.”

By the time Avery, Francoise and Stella arrived at the yard the vet’s injection had begun to work and Storm’s pains seemed to be easing, but the stallion was still distressed and Issie still needed to keep him moving.

“It looks like we might be lucky,” Francoise said gently to Issie. “If the pains are lessening then the chances are that he has spasmodic colic. It is painful – but it is the best kind of colic to get – he’ll get better again quite quickly.”

“It’s not because I overfed him, is it?” Stella looked distraught. “I gave him a regular feed…”

Francoise shook her head. “No – this kind of colic attack is usually brought on by nerves and stress, not food. He needs to be walked for the rest of the night, but the chances are good that he will recover.”

Avery agreed. “It looks like the muscle relaxant is working.”

“Will I be able to ride him tomorrow?” Issie asked. “It’s only a few hours until the cross-country.”

Avery shook his head. “It’s too soon. Even if all of his symptoms were gone by then, riding him would be a huge risk. He could develop a second bout and it would kill him.”

Issie’s heart plummeted. If you had asked her an hour ago she would have wept with gratitude just knowing that her horse was going to live – but to have her dreams yanked away like this… ohmygod, they were in the top three after the dressage! It was too cruel. But she knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t ride – she had to retire. She was pulling Storm out of Badminton.

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