“Not only does Jusson Iver’son claim him as cousin,” Wyln said, his face mild, his eyes full of flame, “His Grace the Fyrst Loran of Elanwryfindyll claims him as cyhn. And while His Grace does not have to bother with the inconvenience of a beard, Her Grace has no complaints in the marriage chamber—” The enchanter broke off, looking startled at what he’d just said about his sister and his liege lord’s married life to a bunch of whisker-sprouting humans.
Munir ignored that too. “I’ve heard the Fyrst had attached both Sro Rabbit and King Jusson to his line, declaring kinship through his daughter even though she was lost centuries ago.” His appraising look at me deepened, his gaze lingering on the fire and air spheres hovering innocuously over my shoulders. “His Grace is probably right—there is a strong family resemblance, for all that he says that he is human.”
Despite my family ties, I didn’t think I looked anything like Jusson or Wyln with their finely drawn, almost delicate dark elf features. But more important, while Munir was correct about certain aspects of the king’s maturity, I also didn’t think that this was the time, place, or company to discuss them. I kept my gaze on the wizard, deliberately not looking over where Jusson stood with his nobles and officers.
“Neither my nor my king’s ‘interests’ are a suitable topic for discussion, Lord Munir,” I said, keeping my face pleasant.
Munir’s grin merely broadened. “Oh, ho, such a staunch and loyal partisan.” His head cocked to the side, his tattoos bright blue in the sunlight. “Or perhaps loyalty has nothing to do with it. Tell me, Lord Rabbit, have your racial memories started to emerge?”
Once more my mouth hung open. Closing it with a snap, I drew in a breath and let it out again. It didn’t help. “What?”
“That also is none of your concern, Adeptus,” Wyln said, making a recovery. Moving in front of me, he turned to more fully face Munir, damn near bumping the wizard’s toes. “In fact, there are very few things that are up for discussion, unless you wish to talk about the amir’s efforts in returning the Border folk who were stolen from their homes and sold in your marketplace—”
“Beg pardon for interrupting, Lord Wyln,” Jeff said quietly, “but Lady Berenice is trying to get your attention.”
Wyln broke off to stare at Jeff before turning to see Berenice and Princess Rajya watching us. The enchanter looked as if he’d forgotten not only that they were there, but why he was there too. He started to join them, then stopped, his flame-filled eyes once more going to Munir standing beside me. “You first, Rabbit,” he said.
Great. Thinking that I’d rather face a thousand fully armed bandits while dressed in just my smalls, I grabbed a handful of arrows, thrusting all but one into my belt, and stepped up to the line. Staring down at the shrunken target, I nocked the remaining arrow and once again took a deep breath as I lifted my bow, praying that I’d be able to draw the string without injuring myself.
“Son of a pox-ridden whore!”
I—and everyone else around me—shifted to see several hulking longshoremen facing a couple of Turalian sailors by the baker’s booth. On the ground between them were the squashed remnants of pies.
“Tosai,” Munir swore.
I was already moving, my bow and arrow lowered and forgotten as I looked for King’s Own and troopers to help separate the longshoremen. I wasn’t the only one. I caught Munir motioning out the corner of my eye and the Turalian soldiers also moved. As I pushed through the crowd, one of the sailors, a brown-skinned woman with wild black curls, blue clan markings on her face, gold and copper bangles on one wrist, and an anklet of bells, beads, and shells, gave a short bow and smiled apologetically. “I beg pardon, menhi; it was an accident. Please, let me buy you new pies and perhaps a tankard—”
The longshoremen ignored her.
“You’re an effing clumsy ox, Antero,” one said, glaring at one of his fellows.
The sailor stopped midbow and I faltered, surprised.
“I’m an ox?” Antero asked. “You’re the one who couldn’t watch where he was going, tripping over people.”
“You ran me into her and then you dropped the pies,” the first longshoreman said. “Just like you drop everything else. Remember that crate of Baern porcelain that Master Guilherme had ordered?”
“I did not drop it!” Antero shouted.
“Yeah, you did for all that you blamed it on the shippers,” said another longshoreman. “Someone should tell the old buzzard how much butterfingers here has cost him in breakages—”
“Lies!” Antero roared, and snatched a metal-studded cudgel from his belt, raising it high over his head. But before he could bring it down, there were a couple of soft thumps, one after the other, and Antero froze in mid-swing, his sleeve pinned to the booth’s wood side. Rolling his gaze up, Antero stared at the arrow holding his arm over his head. Then, dropping his head, he looked down at the arrow quivering in the booth between his legs, damn near brushing his promise of future generations. Berenice, her face calm, stood with another arrow nocked and ready and aimed once more below Antero’s belt. Cringing, Antero immediately dropped the cudgel, the sound of it striking the ground with a dull thud.
“All right, so what just happened?” Jeff asked in the quiet hush.
“You tell me,” I said, just as baffled.
“Strangeness,” Arlis said, giving me a sideways look.
“That was odd,” Wyln said, the startlement back on his face. He caught Arlis’ glance at me. “No, that wasn’t Rabbit. This time.”
Hearing our comments, Munir cast me another speculative glance, but before he could say anything, there was a stir and castle armsmen appeared. One wearing a captain’s insignia on her tabard strolled over to Antero. With a wide grin, she surveyed the arrows before grabbing Antero’s upraised arm, ripping it from the booth and leaving a strip of coat sleeve flapping in the breeze. She then hustled the longshoreman and his friends away, once more followed by the armsmen. As they disappeared, I again started towards the sailors, who were standing surrounded by an increasing knot of Turalian soldiers.
“It was an accident,” the first sailor said, bewildered. “None of us were watching where we were going—”
“Jasry?”
I turned once again to see Suiden had also shoved through the still thick crowd. A quick grin split the sailor’s face as she saw the captain, and she bowed much lower than she had for Antero. “That’s Caefan Jasry to you, menhi,” she said, coming up for air. She pulled aside the collar of her coat, showing a worn amulet hanging on a silver chain around her neck. “M’Aurflagrare is mine.”
Suiden gave an answering grin and suddenly I saw a man capable of swinging a daughter up for shoulder rides while showering her mother with kisses. “Yours?” he said, moving closer. “I see that you’re as nimble a thief as ever. From whose pocket did you pluck it?”
Jasry also moved closer. “No one’s pocket,” she said. “Though there was a matter of a card game …”
The two of them met in the middle of the clearing in a massive hug and the Turalian soldiers fell back; however, the sailors mobbed Suiden and Jasry, liquid voices raised in excitement. And off to the side, Princess Rajya appeared, her face benign.
“Interesting,” Jusson said softly from behind me.
I turned once more to see the king and the lord commander standing in their own knot of royal guards. Munir had moved off to stand closer to Suiden and Jasry, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his robe, his attention now fully on their reunion.
“Yes, sire,” I murmured. “I wonder if the amir knows what’s happening.”
Jusson’s eyes were bright and a smile quirked Thadro’s mouth and was gone. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” the king murmured back.
The soldiers were now also diffidently pressing close to the captain, softly saying sa Abbe over and over, their faces alight. Princess Rajya, however, was now watching us, one brow raised in challenge, but before she could speak, Lord Idwal appeared and climbed up
on a convenient barrel.
“Your Majesty,” he bellowed, “Your Highnesses, my lords and ladies, gracious sirs and gentlewomen, guests of Mearden. After conferring with the contest master, I announce a tie between my daughter, Berenice, and Princess Rajya.”
Apparently there was to be no mention of Wyln’s and my turn at shooting, which was fine by me. I quickly edged over to the bowyer and handed him the bow and arrows before joining in the smattering of applause. Lady Margriet popped out into the clearing carrying two gleaming longbows and quivers full of arrows, which she presented to Her Highness and her daughter.
“It was some of the prettiest shooting I’d ever seen,” Idwal said, “especially the last couple of shots.”
There was more applause mixed with laughter.
Idwal smiled, his hazel eyes glinting. “And in celebration, there will be free pies for everyone.”
Folks gave a faint cheer and started edging towards the baker’s booth, where Bertram had appeared standing next to the baker.
“And the cost of a tankard of ale is on the House.”
This time there was a roar of approval and the crowd surged, some towards the baker’s booth, but many more to the ale kegs to get theirs before supplies ran out.
“One last thing!” Idwal shouted. “Those who are entering the horse race, be at the starting post in a half hour!”
Completely distracted from the recent pending violence, the crowd splintered, some continuing in their quests for free food and drink, others hurrying to check out the entries in the horse race and place bets. Idwal himself jumped down off the barrel and also hurried off. As folks rushed about, I stepped closer to Jusson to help keep the area around him clear of jostling elbows and stumbling feet. Princess Rajya made her way to us through the crisscrossing currents, her own guards keeping the press away from her.
“Sro Idwal is a very wise man,” Her Highness remarked, reaching us.
“Yes,” Jusson agreed. “However, we wonder whether others have thought out the consequences of their actions.”
“I’m sure Caefan Jasry knows exactly what she’s doing, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said, deliberately misunderstanding. “She was my father’s second officer upon the m’Aurflagrare.”
“Then she was a potent choice for the amir to include in your train,” Jusson observed.
Princess Rajya shrugged, a gentle movement of her slender shoulders. “His Glory is grateful to you for sheltering his sister’s oldest son during uncertain times,” she said.
Jusson rolled easily with the princess’ change of subject. “And now that the uncertainty has passed, he expects us to give Suiden back?” he asked.
“Is he yours to give, Your Majesty?” Princess Rajya challenged.
“Oh, yes,” Jusson said. “Very much so.”
“Perhaps, then, there is a compromise,” Princess Rajya said. “His Glory has remarked often on the potential benefit of closer ties with Iversterre.”
“Has he?” Jusson said, his face mildly interested.
“Yes,” Princess Rajya said. “And in expanding that potentiality, he has given me authorization to negotiate.” Her gaze shifted to me. “There are seventeen royal princesses whose children would be in line for the throne, including myself. As Lord Rabbit is not committed to anyone—”
Once again I found myself drawing in breath through my open mouth. Beside me, Wyln made an elfin exclamation, his eyes going near round before narrowing to slits. But before either of us could react, a voice spoke up from beside me.
“But he is committed, Your Highness,” Berenice said. “To be at the starting post.” Dropping a curtsey, she smiled, taking my arm. “Your Majesty, if you’ll excuse us. We have a horse to race.”
Fourteen
At Jusson’s nod of permission, I hurried away with Berenice, Jeff, and Arlis once more following after us, doing my best not to break into a run. While I wasn’t worried—much—that Jusson would seriously entertain Princess Rajya’s proposal, I was very concerned that Her Highness would start to enumerate the reasons why the king should agree to it, starting with what had nearly happened on the broad walk last night. I did slow down some when there was a roar and I turned my head to see Ryson in the sword yard, fighting with a rapier in one hand, a long dagger in the other. He was poetry in motion and I came to a halt, staring.
“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff said, awestruck. “Do you see that?”
“Yes,” Arlis said, his voice faint.
It was my turn to drag Berenice as I made an abrupt turn and went to the yard, fetching up against the ropes next to several troopers from both units, off-duty royal guards, and Lieutenant Groskin. The troopers and guards also had stunned expressions on their faces, except for Groskin, who looked like the proverbial cream-filled cat.
“Just missed the wagering, boyos,” Groskin said, his eyes glinting gold.
“Good thing,” I said. “Else I think I would be several coins lighter.”
“Me too,” Jeff said. “Where did he learn to fight like that?”
“He told me that he once was a sword master,” I said. “Drilled both basic and advanced forms.”
“He was?” Arlis asked, him and Jeff goggling. “He did?”
“Yeah,” Groskin said. He gave a smug smile as he looked at the royal guards and King’s Road patrollers, all who looked as though they were already missing their money. “All sorts of surprises in the Mountain Patrol, right, lads?”
At that moment, Ryson’s opponent’s sword went spinning into the air to land on the ground some distance away.
“Damn,” I whispered.
“Weren’t you all in the same troop unit?” Berenice asked as Ryson walked over to the water barrel and drank down a dipper. “Haven’t you seen him fight before?”
“Battle is altogether different from the practice yard,” I said.
“Yeah,” Jeff said. “In the yard it’s one versus one with dulled blades and referees and other witnesses. In the battlefield it’s chaos magnified—if you’re lucky.” He touched my arm. “Look.”
“Oh,” I said as a Turalian soldier walked into the yard. Ryson grinned and, along with the contest master, went to meet him to confer over fighting style and weapons. I leaned over the ropes, wanting a closer view. However, I was brought up short by a hand tugging at my arm with surprising strength.
“We can watch later,” Berenice said. “Unless you want Her Highness to catch up with us? Surely she will want to witness one of her men’s bouts.”
Reminded of the seventeen royal princesses, I started moving in the opposite direction, fast. Groskin’s rough chuckle followed on the wind behind me.
“You know,” Berenice said, once more easily keeping up, “Her Highness’ offer makes me wonder exactly what happened between you two last night.”
“Nothing that would cause the banns to be published,” I said, my gaze on the line of mounted horses just inside the gate.
“Oh, so something did happen,” Berenice said.
I again came to a halt, the notion suddenly occurring to me that in my eagerness to escape Princess Rajya’s frying pan I just might’ve jumped into a very hot fire. But before I could say anything, a hand clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send me sprawling.
“There you are!” Idwal said. “Come along, we’ve got to get you mounted.”
“Mounted, Lord Idwal?” I asked, regaining my balance.
“Yes,” Idwal said. “The race is starting in a few moments.” Releasing my shoulder, he grabbed my arm and, spheres bobbing, hustled me over to the line of horses, coming to halt in front of a big, rawboned brute of a stallion with wicked eyes.
It was the horse from the stable fire.
“Dandelion?” I asked, my voice going hoarse. “You want me to ride the horse from hell?”
Jeff made strangled noises behind me while Arlis fell into a suspicious cough fit.
“His normal rider could not be here for the fair,” Idwal said. “Family emerg
ency.”
“I bet,” I said, eyeing the horse.
Laying his ears back, the beast of a horse bared his yellowed teeth at me and made a sound that was more like a growl than a whinny, and I unashamedly took a step back.
“I can place one for you if you wish,” Idwal said. He saw me hang back and gave a glinting smile. “His Majesty said that you could handle any horse. That wasn’t true?”
About to argue that wasn’t what Jusson had said, not exactly, I paused when I realized we were the focus of everyone’s attention. Including Berenice.
I let out a sigh. “I’m sure I’m about to find out.”
“Good,” Idwal said, jovially. “Up you get.”
I barely had time to give Jeff my cloak, staff, and sword before Idwal tossed me into the saddle. Adjusting the stirrups, Idwal went behind the horse. The wicked beast cocked a hind leg, but Idwal punched him. Finished with the stirrups, he punched the horse again, this time in the side. The horse let out his breath in a whoosh and Idwal tightened the cinch. Balked at destroying Idwal, the horse snaked his head around to see if he could reach my foot and mangle it some. I quickly shifted, at the same time hauling back on the reins. The evil brute merely rolled a glowing red eye at me as it again growled.
“Sheesh, Rabbit,” Jeff said, snickering. “It’s Groskin’s horse’s sire, Fiend the Elder.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, not amused.
“We called him Dandelion because he was so fuzzy when he was born,” Berenice said, the prim set of her mouth at odds with the merriness of her eyes.
“And cute and cuddly too,” I muttered.
“Oh, he was never that,” Berenice assured me, her eyes dancing, and all of a sudden instead of Mearden’s badly dressed plain daughter, a beautiful woman stood in front of me. Dazzled, I stared at her but before I could say anything, Idwal emerged from the shadow of the beast, wearing a grin that reminded me forcibly of the horse. “All right, Lord Rabbit?”
I turned my dazzled gaze on Lord Idwal. “What?”
Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel Page 17