by RJ Blain
Great. My horse wanted a fight, and I’d have to give it to him or get cut down. Just what I needed. I’d spent the past six years of my life drifting, limiting my fighting to sparring or self-defense. It’d been so long since I’d taken the offensive my mind blanked on what I was supposed to do.
My body, however, remembered.
Dipshit went straight for the leftmost horse, slamming into the animal with bone-jarring force. The animal and its rider fell with a shout and a squeal. I hadn’t realized how much larger my stallion was than the nag until my arm moved, my katana slashing down on the man who’d stalked me to the Holly residence.
The blade caught him across his shoulder and chest, and I put all my strength into the follow through, the tip digging deep as I carved across his breastbone. Bright blood stained my steel, darkened my victim’s clothes, and filled the air with its coppery tang. A dark blur in my peripheral vision warned me Devil Spawn was on the move, and judging from the pound of her hooves and her enraged scream, she meant business.
Like Dipshit, Devil Spawn thrived in battle, and she plowed into the smaller animal, snapping her teeth at its shocked rider. She connected, seized the man’s arm, and reared. The dull thump of Devil Spawn’s hooves striking flesh preceded a pained scream.
Between me and my two horses, the three riders didn’t last long. Blood dripped from my sword and my horses’ legs, and the putrid stench of death hung in the still air. Dipshit gave the leader of the band several parting stomps. I rode stiff in the saddle, staring at the bodies. Far too many cuts marked the corpses, and I didn’t remember making most of them.
My katana dripped far more blood than I expected.
“Devil Spawn,” I called. I doubted the mare would listen, thus requiring me to go chase her down.
She blew air but approached, allowing me to take her reins. Sliding off Dipshit’s back, I stared at the bodies scattered over the road, my heartbeat pounding in my throat. Holding both sets of reins in one hand, I wiped my blade clean on one of the bodies and slipped it back into its sheath, returning it to its hiding place among the packs Devil Spawn carried.
The thunder of hooves behind me warned me of someone’s approach. Jabbing my foot into the stirrup, I swung up onto Dipshit’s back. I should have spurred my horses into a run and left, but I was shaking too much, and the shock of the brief battle had stiffened my muscles.
“Courier?”
I turned Dipshit with my legs, and my stallion whirled, his ears lying flat. Four men on horseback reined in, wearing matching fire-orange shirts beneath black body armor. Recognition of the color froze me in place.
What were Dawnfire mercenaries doing patrolling the outskirts of Charlotte?
The four took in my horses and the fallen bodies, and a tiny man perched on a massive draft horse came several strides closer. “It seems we were too late. Are you injured, Courier?”
I hesitated before I dismounted and took a few moments to check. My body trembled while I checked their legs and hooves for injuries. Somehow, we’d all emerged unscathed, which astonished me almost as much as our systematic, brutal murder of the three men and their mounts. I secured my hold on my horses’ reins and turned to the guild mercenaries. “Thank you for your concern, but we are fine. They, not so much.”
“We were notified a courier, I presume you, was harassed this morning. My apologies we were unable to locate them before you were attacked. We are from Dawnfire, a Charlotte mercenary guild tasked with the investigation of all violent incidents involving couriers. We request your cooperation. Please come with us for questioning. You’ll be compensated for your time, and if you have any additional deliveries to make today, we’ll provide someone to handle your affairs.”
I grimaced; an official courier couldn’t refuse requests issued by hired mercenary companies for basic questioning. Fortunately, I had all the proper paperwork proving my status—and immunity—as part of being an active courier working a delivery. “I just finished my final delivery. I need to confirm the health of my horses.”
Delaying the inevitable wouldn’t do much for me, but at least I’d have a chance to change out of my bloodstained clothes and groom my horses.
“As we are at fault for not acting in due haste. We will have your things laundered, if you will permit it. There is a hotel not far from here with a stable. We can stop there so you can clean up and tend to your horses. Is that acceptable?”
“That’s acceptable. Thank you.”
“Your cooperation is appreciated.”
All I had to do was answer some questions without anyone realizing I was a woman, didn’t actually have black hair, wasn’t actually a part of the Cheyenne tribe, and had a name other than Runs Against Wind. How hard could it be?
Chapter Twenty
It took ten minutes to reach the hotel, and I refused to leave my horses in anyone’s care. I was caked in drying blood and ached, but I needed to groom my animals and ensure there was no heat or swelling from the fight. Both tolerated my handling, and I bribed them with several carrots so they would pretend they liked me.
Three Dawnfire mercenaries stood guard at their stalls while their leader led me into the hotel, speaking to one of the employees before guiding me to a suite on the top floor. Mystic magics illuminated the place while blue orbs dangling from the ceiling chilled the air. I firmed my grip on my pack, which contained my tribal leathers.
“I’m Al,” my escort announced, unlocking the door. “We’ll try to make this as quick as possible so you can return to your work.”
“Runs Against Wind, courier from Cheyenne.” I would allow the mercenaries to decide for themselves if I meant I was from the city or the tribe. Warm colors decorated the luxurious room, and I grimaced at the thought of shedding dirt and blood over the carpeting. I peered through an open doorway to discover a white-tiled bathroom. “I’ll try to be quick.”
Al took a guarding stance at the door, ignoring my presence.
I locked the bathroom door and went to work, shedding caked blood, my clothes, and enough dirt to turn the tiles a dull brown-gray. Unclipping the feathers from my hair, I held them away from my body and touched the tiny turquoise beads tied to the feather’s shaft. The prayers the elders had taught me tumbled from my lips, and the beads’ magic rippled up my arm and took control over my tongue.
The feathers flashed with a golden light, and the dirt, blood, and grime of battle fell away in a fine powder. According to the shifters in the tribe, the feathers would eliminate my scent for a while, too, a protection I cherished on the road when I wanted to make myself less of a target.
I unbraided my hair, carefully gathering the beads and placing them beside the feathers. The glow infused them, renewing their color and shine. It’d take time restoring my hair as I’d been taught, placing every bead and feather exactly as they’d been gifted to me.
The turquoise cuffs came off last, joining the rest of my gifted trappings so they could also benefit from the feathers’ magic.
It took me almost an hour of scrubbing to feel clean, braid my hair, and wiggle my way into my Cheyenne tribal leathers. The decorative beading and fringed front of my hooded leather poncho helped obscure my breasts, which were wrapped to further disguise them. They ached, and I looked forward to heading home, where I wouldn’t have to hide my gender. Underneath the poncho, the thigh length tunic hung far looser than most clothes I wore; it was comfortable and easy to move in. The pants had few trappings, but the leather was thick enough to withstand abuse.
The blue and gold beaded moccasins were significant, too, but when I had asked about them, the elders had merely smiled and kept their secrets.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Al glanced my way, and his eyebrows rose. “Ready?”
“My apologies. There was quite a bit of blood.”
“Blood’s a bitch to get off, especially after it cakes, right?”
I nodded, grabbed my repacked bag, and followed him out of the hotel and back to the stable. In
the time I was gone, the three mercenaries had cleaned my horses’ tack. I narrowed my eyes, taking in the pile of packs beside Devil Spawn’s saddle.
My katana rested on top in a Cheyenne-gifted sheath; I’d left the original in Wyoming. No one had touched the guard or pommel, wrapped to prevent observant eyes from recognizing the blade.
Within ten minutes, I had both of my horses saddled. Both animals accepted my bribes of carrots, cooperating without taking any bites out of me or stepping on my feet. I mounted, and the Dawnfire mercenaries surrounded me, ensuring I wouldn’t be able to make an escape.
Devil Spawn’s ears turned back at Al’s close proximity.
“They bite,” I warned.
Unlike the three men we had killed, the mercenaries eased out of range of my horses’ teeth.
Over the past six years, Charlotte had expanded its boundaries, stone and brick buildings rising in what had once been farm fields skirting the city. It took almost an hour to reach a part of the city I recognized, although I continued to inspect everything with the open interest of someone in a new place.
The mercenaries rode in silence, something I appreciated. If they asked anything of me, I wouldn’t have much to tell; news did travel with couriers, but I hadn’t delayed often for other jobs. For most most people, train deliveries every two weeks were sufficient; few wanted to pay the high cost of hiring a rider to carry something faster.
In the distance, I spotted the bright red of the Lancers’ Alliance guild barn, and I stared at it, my chest tightening at the thought of what I’d left behind and the trusts I had betrayed. Al glanced at me, and I caught him following my gaze.
“Ah. That building belongs to one of the other guilds. Stands out a bit, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” I shifted my weight in the saddle. “It’s rather bold.”
“That it is, as is its guild master. Belongs to the Lancers’ Alliance, the second-best guild in the city.”
“And the first?”
“Dawnfire, of course.”
“Of course.” I shifted my weight in the saddle, aware of the high number of people in the streets, many of them staring at me and my horses. “There are many curious people in this place.”
“They aren’t used to seeing traditional garb or such fine horses. Good horses are in high demand right now.”
The tidbit of information captured my attention. “Why?”
“A social event, as far as I know,” the mercenary replied, his tone disgusted. “The guilds are being pitted against each other in foolish demonstrations. There are lucrative contracts on the line, and even freelancers are trying to get in on the action. You’re not the first courier with good horses to be accosted. You didn’t hear this from me, but I don’t think the stolen horses are going to the event; proof of ownership is required to ride.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for the warning.”
“My pleasure. This won’t take long, and your horses will be safe at our guild while you’re being questioned. As they violated your status as a courier, you will face no charges for their deaths.”
Despite Al’s reassurances, I worried anyway. There were too many at Dawnfire who knew me and my scent, and I knew my life well.
If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
Dawnfire occupied a former warehouse, and the guild had made little effort to improve the building’s aesthetics beyond slapping on a coat of white paint. A stable flanked one side of the building; I took the extra few minutes to strip my horses of their tack and borrowed a pair of halters so I wouldn’t have to fight to get their bridles on later.
I stashed my katana beneath Devil Spawn’s saddle and kept my satchel, which contained my official courier documentation and seal.
Al escorted me around the building while his three companions left. The inside of the guild was much like other guilds I’d been in with an atmosphere of strict efficiency. Like the Lancers’ Alliance barn, a receptionist sat behind a large desk, and a large board dominated one of the room’s walls, listing jobs for guild members.
“Another courier was attacked,” Al announced. “Unfortunately, his assailants bit off a little more than they could chew and didn’t survive to talk to us.”
The mercenary didn’t sound very concerned over their deaths.
Turning in her chair, the pale-haired woman touched a button on the wall. “Courier for interview,” she barked.
I frowned. “This is commonplace, then?”
“Dangerous business being a courier lately.”
The intercom buzzed before a voice ordered, “Send them in.”
Turning her attention to Al, the receptionist gestured to a door behind her desk. Al grunted, circling around while I followed in his wake. A long corridor curved out of sight, leading deeper into the building. The first door opened, and my escort slipped inside.
When most people thought of mercenaries, they imagined uneducated men and women who hit things for a living. The library beyond the door pleased me on several different levels; few risked drawing blades in a room filled with books and knowledge, and knowledge often prevented unnecessary fights, which in turn saved lives.
I would have loved the place if Gentry Adams hadn’t been sprawled on an armchair, his huge hands dwarfing the book he read. The years hadn’t changed him, and I wasn’t sure what I thought of that.
“Sir,” Al greeted, offering his guild master a bow.
“How many horses lost this time?” Gentry demanded, his gaze fixed on his reading.
“None, sir.”
Gentry snapped the book closed. “You have my attention.”
“This is Runs Against Wind, a Cheyenne courier. Three men attempted to steal his horses and lost their lives as a result. A witness claims they tried to purchase one of the horses first.”
Sliding the strap of my satchel over my shoulder, I pulled out the envelope with the registration papers supporting my identity and origin as a courier. I also retrieved the stamped invoice for Periwinkle’s delivery, including the notarized anonymity of my hire. “I was hired to deliver the horse in question to a residence outside of Charlotte.”
I was grateful for the hoarseness of my voice and the graveled burr making me sound more like a man than a woman. My throat ached, and I cleared it, holding out the papers to Al.
The mercenary took them, stepped to his guild master, and offered the folded sheets. Gentry sat up in his seat, reading over the documents. “The horse went to the Holly pride?”
“The Holly residence,” I confirmed, careful to keep my tone neutral. “For one Lady Holly.”
“Interesting. And you were hired anonymously?”
“Yes, sir. It was arranged through a notary attached to Cheyenne’s courier headquarters.” It’d taken a lot of string pulling, a few bribes paid out to the tribe, and patience. It would take a miracle and a lot of work for anyone to trace the contract back to me. “I have additional documentation if you require it.”
“I do.”
I dug through my satchel, sorting through the papers until I found the full contract for Periwinkle’s delivery, which I handed over to Al.
Gentry’s eyebrows rose as he read over the documentation, which included the instructions for the ribbons and tag. “Unusual requirements. Did you meet the previous owner of this horse regarding this assignment?”
“No, sir.”
“There is no confirmation signature. Why not?”
“The notary and courier headquarters required a tribal mystic to verify delivery of the horse. I’m not required to obtain a signature.”
“Unusual. The horse was delivered without incident?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you attacked?”
“Approximately one mile from the Holly residence, sir.”
“Gentry,” Dawnfire’s guild master ordered. “Were there any witnesses?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Your mercenaries arrived after.”
Gentry t
urned his gaze to Al. “Report.”
Straightening, the mercenary cleared his throat and said, “The courier was uninjured. The attackers, three men previously suspected assailants of couriers, were trampled, although there was evidence of bladed combat involved in their deaths. Both of the courier’s horses’ forelegs were covered in blood. It appears they attacked and were not expecting warhorses and a courier capable of swordplay.”
“I’ve heard rumors of the western tribes and their prowess in battle. I was unaware they possessed warhorses, however.”
I shrugged, neither confirming or denying his statement. “They’re real mean, sir. My horses, that is. Dipshit and Devil Spawn don’t like anyone who gets too close to them, and they got too close.”
Both men gaped at me.
“Dipshit?” Gentry blurted.
“I was more wondering about Devil Spawn myself, sir.”
I lifted my arm and tilted it so they could see the forming bruise. “From this morning. They bite.”
The grizzly shifter rose to his feet, headed to one of the shelves, and returned the book he’d been reading. “Have you ever seen your assailants before?”
“Not before today, sir.”
“How long have you been in the Charlotte area?”
Giving anyone any hints about my movements bothered me, but I could see no way to avoid giving Gentry the answers he desired. “Arrived last night, sir.”
“How many people know you’re a courier?”
“The inn and stable’s management, a few of their employees, and one of my assailants, who I informed I was a courier when he inquired if the horse I was delivering was for sale. Arrived late last night, took care of the horses, and went to bed. Prepared to leave for the delivery first thing. I was approached as I was leaving. They followed, finding me after the delivery.” The soreness in my throat crested, and a cough burst out of me. I shuddered, fighting to suppress the next. A few more slipped out before I managed to swallow back the itching ache. “Sorry, sir.”