Read Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses) Online

Authors: Sharon Shinn

Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses) (39 page)

But the girls, appearing all innocent, blocked her way. The first one said, “Won’t you please give me your hand so I can share the blessing of the Pale Mother with you?” Her hand was already up, palm toward Senneth. Tayse thought the nearest soldiers looked even more interested.
Not hesitating at all, Senneth leaned from the saddle and pressed her hand against the Daughter’s. Her moonstone bracelet slid forward on her wrist and brushed against the novice’s arm.
“Your skin is so hot,” the girl observed, her voice concerned. “Are you ill? Should you perhaps pull over for a day and rest?”
Tayse straightened in his saddle and waited for Senneth’s response.
“Am I warm?” Senneth said, just a shade of worry in her voice. “I hope I have not caught the fever.”
“The fever?” one of the girls said.
Senneth motioned with her head. “My two companions. They have been sick for days. I am trying to get them home where they can be cared for, and there have been many delays on the road.”
Now the novices’ attention turned to the others in their group. “Ah,” said one, “we wondered why they were wrapped so closely on such a sunny day. Let us give them, too, the blessing of the goddess, and offer them her healing strength.”
“No,” said Senneth sharply. “I do not know how contagious this fever is, and I will not be responsible for introducing illness into a convent of several hundred women. You cannot touch them—it is not safe.”
“The Silver Lady fears no fever,” one girl said softly.
“But I do, and it is my conscience that must be answered to,” Senneth said. “My guards would happily take your blessings, however, and my friends would be grateful for your prayers.”
“May we see their faces?” one of the girls asked. “So we know for whom we pray?”
“Certainly,” Senneth replied, and turned in her saddle to nod at the two riding behind her.
Kirra reached up a shaky hand and pulled the hood back from her head. Tayse had to admire her handiwork. Her face was pallid and dull, her eyes watery and red, and her glorious hair hung limp and brown to her shoulders. She put a hand across her mouth before speaking, as if to keep from breathing infection on her well-wishers.
“Please,” she croaked. “Do not get too close.”
“The Pale Mother spreads you with her benediction,” one of the girls said solemnly. “We will pray that you will soon be well.”
“Thank you,” Kirra whispered.
Donnal also tugged off his hood to reveal a face as ravaged as Kirra’s. He did not even try to speak, just made an effort to control his labored breathing, and nodded as they spoke their words over him. Then both of them rewrapped their faces.
“Thank you for your concern,” Senneth said gravely.
The women moved over a few paces, one turning toward Tayse, one to Justin. “The blessings of the Pale Mother upon you,” they murmured, holding up their hands. Tayse pressed his palm against the novice closest to him and saw Justin do the same.
“Many thanks,” Tayse said.
“Much appreciated,” Justin added.
“We must ride on,” Senneth said. “May the Silver Lady guard you both.”
And, in no apparent hurry, she nudged her horse forward again and began to pick through the crowd. Once clear of the knot of Daughters, they were able to move more rapidly. Tayse was ready to draw a breath of relief as they reached the edge of the market square.
Where three guards were blocking their way.
Senneth pulled to an abrupt halt, her horse snorting and dancing under her. Tayse moved up alongside her, and Justin came up on Tayse’s other side. Tayse quickly took in details of the men before them. All appeared to be in their early thirties or forties, clean-shaven, well-muscled, intensely serious. They had as many weapons strapped to their waists and saddles as the Riders had, and they were dressed in the black and silver colors of the Pale Mother.
All three of them looked as much like zealots as the novices bestowing blessings on chance wayfarers.
“Greetings, travelers,” said the middle guard in a civil voice. He looked to be the oldest of the three. His dark hair was worn short, and there was a battle scar across his chin. Holding his black cloak to his shoulder was an ornately wrought silver clasp of a falcon holding a flower in its talons.
The Gisseltess crest.
“Greetings,” Senneth replied in a neutral voice. “Is there some reason you will not let us pass?”
“You talked for some time with the Daughters in the market square,” he replied. “And yet you ride on in apparent haste with two members of your party hiding their faces. I was wondering what tale you told them and what trouble makes you move so fast?”
“The two who hide their faces are ill, and we are in a hurry to get them home,” Senneth said, her voice just a shade combative. “Does this somehow fail to meet your approval?”
“If they’re ill, perhaps they should stay in town and be tended by healers or the Daughters themselves,” the guard suggested.
“I would not want to risk the contagion,” Senneth said. “And they will be more comfortable in their own beds.”
“Anyone so ill perhaps should not risk spreading disease through the whole countryside,” the guard said. “I wonder what sickness they have that worries you—but only worries you so much.”
“I wonder what right you have to question me,” she replied.
He gave her a short, hard nod. “The right of any concerned citizen to keep his neighbors and himself safe.”
“Ah—and you live here?” Senneth said. “In this town? You guard its gates and its people?”
Tayse could tell she had vexed the guard. He was fairly certain they were about to make their visit to this town memorable. Even now, bystanders were gathering on the corners of the street, watching them and whispering to each other. Travelers passed them on either side, glancing over at what was clearly a confrontation, and hurrying on before they got ensnared in the quarrel.
“Nearby,” the guard said stiffly. “Close enough to have some concerns for the residents of this city.”
“Well, I have some concern as well, and that is to keep from spreading fever through these streets,” she said. “So if you will let us pass, we will be on our way.”
“I think I should take you first to see my captain,” the guard replied.
Senneth’s voice was very soft. “I think you will be sorry if you try to detain us,” she said. “We travel on royal business—my friends are friends of the king—and, sick or well, they have a duty they must perform on his behalf. Stand out of our way.”
“Prove your affiliation,” the guard demanded.
With one hand, Tayse scraped his sword from its scabbard; with the other, he pulled back the front of his coat to reveal the golden lion embroidered on the sash beneath. Beside him, in perfect synchronization, Justin did the same. Neither of them spoke, but their faces offered expressions of cold menace.
The guard and his companions reined back a pace or two, looking both nervous and alarmed. One of them whispered an oath and pulled back even farther. The guard who had addressed them forced his horse forward again as if he felt no uneasiness.
“That is no proof,” he said. “Anyone may wear a vest of any design he chooses.”
Tayse effortlessly swung his sword upright, holding it motionless right before his face. “I shall offer you any proof you choose,” he said. “But perhaps you would prefer not to suffer a massacre here on the market streets.”
“It would be no massacre,” the guard said.
“Yes,” Tayse replied, “it would. We are King’s Riders, these travelers are under our protection, and we will not sit here longer and bandy words with you. Move aside and let us pass.”
He wasn’t sure what it was—the absolute assurance of his voice, his unyielding expression, or the fact that this guard really had no rights here and knew it—but the Pale Mother’s soldiers slowly and reluctantly backed their horses from the road. Not sheathing their weapons, Tayse and Justin escorted their companions forward. It seemed as if they, as if the whole town, had been enveloped in a waiting silence, holding a deep collective breath as the standoff unfolded. The whole world seemed to be watching, wordless and uncertain, as the five of them trotted down to the edge of town and then continued onto the outer road. No one shouted after them; no one followed. Yet neither Tayse nor Justin put away their swords as they continued to ride, shifting to a canter as they got farther from the city.
“All the great goddesses defend me,” Tayse heard Kirra’s voice, for naturally she was the first one to feel the need to break the silence. “We barely got out of there without a battle.”
“That would have been disastrous,” Senneth said. “This was bad enough.”
“I’m almost dumbfounded,” Tayse said. “I’d expect soldiers from one of the Twelve Houses to have that sort of nerve, but a personal guard? From what amounts to a single manor? What kind of power do they think they have behind them to be able to question private citizens that way?”
“He wasn’t even frightened at the sight of your lions,” Senneth said. “When’s the last time that’s ever happened to you?”
Justin glanced over at her. “Never.”
“Well, if we ever thought we were riding incognito through the southern provinces, we can rid ourselves of that notion,” Kirra said. “Coralinda Gisseltess will learn very soon that Riders are investigating the mood of the southern towns. And if she pieces together all the stories about us, she will be able to figure out that Riders are guarding mystics. What will she make of that tale, I wonder?”
“Do we care what she thinks?” Justin asked.
Senneth was the one to answer. “Oh yes,” she replied. “Coralinda Gisseltess is greatly to be feared.”
Tayse said nothing more. His eyes were scanning the way before them; his ears were straining to hear any sounds of pursuit from behind. He finally judged it safe to replace his sword, but he kept his hand upon the hilt. He was relieved when they came around a bend in the road to find Cammon awaiting them, already mounted and ready to travel. He had expected to find the boy sitting somewhere off to the side, plucking winter grass and languishing in boredom, but he had forgotten: Cammon never misread the moods of his companions, even from a distance. He had probably been in the saddle and ready to ride while they were still arguing back in the city.
They didn’t even have to break stride as Cammon swept his mount around and fell in beside the others. “I suppose we didn’t have a chance to buy supplies,” he observed.
A laugh from Kirra. “Why, no. Somehow in all the excitement, we forgot.”
“How’s the raelynx?” Senneth asked.
“Calm,” Cammon replied. “Tell me the details. All I could tell was trouble.”
“Trouble about sums it up,” Justin said, and launched into the tale.
“I’m guessing we’re going to find all of Nocklyn given over to the Silver Lady,” Senneth said when he was finished. “We may find it impossible to stop at any of the small towns with the hope of spending the night.”
“Maybe the mystics can detour around the settlements and the Riders can pick up provisions,” Cammon suggested.
“Even at Nocklyn Towers?” Kirra said, her voice faintly mocking.
“Nocklyn Towers will be a different story,” Senneth said. “I think Cammon is right—we should skirt the towns along the way. But we’ll have to ride into the city. We’ll have to see just exactly what Els Nocklyn has gotten himself into.”
CHAPTER 21
 
I
T was two and a half more days before they made it to Nocklyn Towers. Along the way, they were actually successful at being circumspect. As Cammon had suggested, they mostly boycotted the small towns, though Tayse and Justin did ride in for supplies once while the others waited a reasonable distance down the road. All the towns they passed through were, like Neft, festooned with evidence of the Silver Lady’s presence: moonstones in the windows, flags over the doors, shrines in the squares. A young shopgirl handed Tayse a few coppers in change, accidentally brushing his palm with a heavy moonstone charm hung from her silver bracelet. He found himself wondering what it would be like if that cool touch brought a searing pain instead of the faintest sensation of glasslike smoothness.

Other books

Around My French Table by Dorie Greenspan
Another Homecoming by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn
In Too Deep by Coert Voorhees
Destiny by Pedro Urvi
Right Before His Eyes by Wendy Etherington
Killing Casanova by Traci McDonald
The Future of Success by Robert B. Reich
Into the Storm by Ruth D. Kerce
The Perfection of Love by J. L. Monro