Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  FOR the thousandth time, as they cantered down the tricky road, Tayse wondered if he should have fought to what surely would have been his death back there at the ambush. Had he had even one Rider next to him—Justin, or any of them—he would have risked it, because he knew that he could have accounted for at least five of them, and there had only been twelve arrayed against him. But alone he could not have taken them all on. And if their orders had been to fetch him alive, they would not have dared to kill him outright, but they would have injured him seriously to avenge the deaths of their companions. And injured, he would have less chance to escape, less ability to plan.

  But it had gone sorely against the grain to remove his hand from his sword hilt and lift both arms into the air and meekly surrender.

  Now his hands were tied before him, and he rode in the center of the entire troop, all twenty-five of them. That their leader was delighted with their catch was obvious, for he hadn’t been able to hold back a smile when the smaller party came riding in with the hostage. But he hadn’t said much, hadn’t let any careless words fall, and the whole group was too well-trained to talk a lot during the journey south. Tayse overheard scraps of conversation but nothing that really helped him, nothing that told him for certain who these people were and where they were going.

  Although he knew.

  As Donnal had reported, they all wore the black and silver of the Pale Mother. Most were young—in their early twenties, he thought—though a few appeared to be more seasoned. He was guessing that the youngest ones were third and fourth sons who could easily be spared from the lower ranks of the gentry, while the veterans were probably lifelong soldiers who had shifted allegiances to a cause that seemed to them more meaningful than merely guarding a noble or a town. Indeed, here and there, Tayse caught glimpses of a pair of gloves embroidered with the Nocklyn crest or a cloak pin ringed ’round with the pearls of Fortunalt. They were believers, most of them, or so Tayse would guess; and that made them, if not as skilled as the Riders themselves, in many other ways just as dangerous.

  They stopped only once, to give everyone a chance to take care of personal needs, and were back on the road in less than fifteen minutes. They ate on the run, someone handing Tayse utilitarian rations without comment. He drank from his own water bottle, using his bound hands to lift it to his mouth. He was not sure how far they were from their destination, but he was fairly certain this group didn’t plan to stop for the night. And that despite the fact that the whole lot of them had to be even more exhausted than Tayse’s small party, since they couldn’t possibly have gotten much more sleep.

  When they reached an east-west intersection, they turned to the right. West. Then Tayse had been correct: They were heading to the convent that housed the Daughters of the Pale Mother. Well, he had said he wanted to see it. Looked like he would get his chance.

  It was close to dusk, and Tayse could feel his own weariness reflected in all the men around him, when he took the chance to speak to one of the men riding nearest him. The recruit looked young—maybe not even twenty—with short brown hair and an eager expression. Tayse could spot no colors on him except for the ubiquitous black and silver, and wondered if the boy might be a merchant’s son, or a farmer’s. No one important. Not likely to rise in the ranks. Maybe a touch indiscreet.

  Tayse leaned over and caught the young man’s eye. “How much farther?” he asked.

  “Another hour,” the soldier replied. A pause, while he apparently determined whether or not he should actually be having a conversation with the prisoner, and then he added, “That’s a good horse.”

  Tayse nodded. “I think he’d last longer than I would. And I’m a heavy burden.”

  “Big man,” the soldier acknowledged. “But strong, I bet. Impressive reach with your sword.”

  Tayse almost smiled. “So they tell me.”

  The young man hesitated, then the words burst out of him. “Are you really a Rider?”

  Are you really a traitor? Tayse wanted to ask in return, but he knew better than to antagonize the first person who had showed him the slightest sign of friendliness. “I don’t think I should be discussing who I am until I’m talking with someone—a little more official.”

  “Oh! Right! Yes, and I—stupid,” the soldier said and seemed to blush. He must not have been with this outfit for long, Tayse thought. His skills probably weren’t very good, either. Something to keep in mind if Tayse had a chance to try to hack his way to freedom. Go for the young ones, the inexperienced ones. They would fall faster to his sword.

  “Where’s your home?” Tayse asked, trying to put the young man at ease again. “Originally, I mean.”

  “Helven. Fellows here from all over, though.”

  “Even the northern counties?”

  “Not so many of those. But one or two.”

  “How’d you hear about it? The Daughters—this place.”

  The young man shrugged. “Some soldiers came to town, talking about it. Well, we’d all heard about the convent and a couple of women from town, they went to join. I didn’t think there was a place for men. But my ma, she’s always had a little shrine out in the woods—gone to it since her grandmother’s day. Took me there when I was a little boy.” He looked earnestly over at Tayse. “There are plenty who don’t follow the Pale Mother—who don’t understand her. But I’ve felt her presence since I was a kid—I always knew she was real, that she was with me. So when the chance came to serve—I don’t know who wanted to pack me up the fastest, my ma or me. I never cared for woodworking anyway. It’s not like I was leaving anything behind.”

  “They train you? In swordfighting, other soldier skills?”

  “Yes,” the young man said proudly. “And I’m good. Or I will be good. And I get better every day.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  The soldier opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped and considered that he was speaking to an enemy. He blushed again, deep red this time. “Plenty of us,” he said stiffly. “And more every day.”

  Tayse tried to think of something else innocuous to ask, just to keep the conversation going, but it was clear his young informant was not about to accidentally let slip any more facts. The soldier nodded at him, just to be polite, then spurred his horse forward and rejoined the ranks of his fellow guards.

  No one else spoke to Tayse for the rest of the ride.

  Finally, just before full dark, Tayse got his first glimpse of the building that housed the Daughters of the Pale Mother. The sight would have brought him to a dead halt if he hadn’t been swept along by the other riders. They were in deep forest now, and the path ahead was more often than not obscured by heavy growth and the solid bulk of ancient trees. There was a flash of luminescent white—then a turn in the trail hid it from view. Another quarter mile and the block of white became bigger, more lustrous, but still hard to make out—and then the winding of the path put it out of sight once more. Finally they broke free of the forest and into a monstrous clearing—and sitting at the heart of the open space was one of the prettiest sights Tayse had ever seen.

  Before him lay what looked like a castle made of lacy stone architecture, with tiny turrets at a dozen points along the roof. It was built entirely of white stone and graced with a hundred windows, and in each window burned a candle with a still, white flame. Tayse could not immediately gauge its scale or how many stories it might encompass, but he thought it might be four or five levels high and big enough to hold twenty or thirty rooms on every floor. Behind it to either side he could make out lesser structures—both smaller and not as ornate—and he supposed these were the barracks for the soldiers as well as stables and other working buildings. The entire compound was enclosed by a wall higher than Tayse’s head and set with a grilled gate that looked strong enough to withstand even a determined battering. He was guessing that the convent had its own water supply—a deep well or perhaps even the upsurge of an underground stream—and probably a vegetable garden and some livestock
on hand as well. The entire compound was about the size of a small farm and no doubt could be self-sufficient for an extended period of time.

  If anyone was thinking of laying siege to it. If anyone had reason to.

  Tayse’s escort closed around him as the heavy metal gates swung open. He counted ten men at the gate and spotted more dot-ting the far perimeter of the wall. No doubt there were also soldiers stationed on the roof of the castle, and even more guards now off duty in the barracks. Still looking, still counting, he followed his escort and rode in.

  It was hard to take in much during their brief ride up to the castle. It was almost dark, and he was surrounded by bodies. But he caught a glimpse of a fountain here, a stand of decorative trees there, a statue or two, and a carpet of faded brown grass that would no doubt turn lush and green come spring. A lovely place, obviously, designed for graciousness. A serene site for losing oneself in contemplation of the Pale Mother’s many blessings.

  Though he imagined that serenity was harder to come by when it was intruded on by troops of armed men riding out to scour the countryside.

  Flambeaux flung wavering light onto the long stone pathway leading up to the massive door of the castle, and more soldiers guarded the entrance. Tayse became aware that most of the other riders in his group had turned off the path to head toward the out-buildings, whereas he and a small escort kept proceeding forward. The commander of the riding party was already out of the saddle and standing beside his horse, awaiting him near the entrance. Tayse came abreast of him and pulled to a stop.

  “Dismount,” the officer said. Awkwardly, because of his bound hands, Tayse slid from his horse. “I have a knife at your back,” the officer said—and, indeed, Tayse felt the point prickle against his neck. “And there are guards everywhere. You would be wise to just go straight forward and enter the manor without resisting.”

  “You’ve taken all my weapons,” Tayse said calmly. “I have nothing with which to resist.”

  A small grunt for that and a nudge with the knife tip. Tayse walked forward, mounted the broad stone stairs, and stepped through the great doors.

  He had entered an anteroom big enough to serve as the king’s audience chamber. The ceiling was groined with delicate woven arch work; huge circular chandeliers threw brilliant light onto the flagged floor and the embroidered curtains hanging on the distant walls. Several hundred people could fit in here at once and not feel crowded; a troop of mounted soldiers could wait here for an assault on the door.

  At the moment, there were only a handful of people in the hall, most of them young women crossing the room from one doorway to another and casting quick, curious glances at Tayse and his guard. There were, of course, additional soldiers inside, and two of these hurried over as soon as Tayse and his escort stepped through the doors.

  “So this is the Rider,” one of them said, but the other silenced him with a sharp gesture.

  “A room has been prepared for him,” the second guard said, which made Tayse realize that someone must have ridden ahead with the great news of his capture. “And the Lestra wants to speak with him.”

  Tayse’s guard made a quick half bow, clearly a gesture of respect for a senior officer. “I’ll leave him in your hands, then.”

  “Good work,” the other said. “The Lestra will be pleased.”

  Tayse’s guard touched the first two fingers of his right hand to the embroidered moon over his heart. “Praise the Lady,” he said quietly, nodded again, and smartly stepped away.

  The senior soldier turned to Tayse. He looked older than Tayse, dark hair graying to silver, hard face starting to lose some of its shape to the pull of old age. The green eyes were cold. “So, Rider,” he said in an even colder voice, “do you have a name?”

  No need to conceal it. If word returned to Ghosenhall that a King’s Rider had been taken in the southern provinces, Baryn would know instantly which Rider it was. “Tayse.”

  “Where are your friends, Tayse?”

  “We got separated on the road.”

  “Are they likely to follow you?”

  Tayse lifted his eyes and glanced expressively around the room. “Here? To what end?”

  A wintry smile from the veteran. “To negotiate your release?”

  “It would seem,” Tayse said carefully, “that they might have better luck continuing their own journey and meeting their original goals.”

  “They will return to Ghosenhall, then?”

  “Eventually.”

  “I don’t know that you will be joining them there.”

  Tayse met the frosty eyes with a cold look of his own. “I expect not. Will the king be told where I am?”

  “That’s up to the Lestra. I’m sure in time the king will learn what’s happened to you.”

  That was pretty plain, Tayse thought: They did not expect him to ever leave this place. Could it be they truly planned to kill him? It seemed impossible—with no war declared, no overt enmity at all between the king and any of the southern factions—but as an opening salvo in a planned rebellion, it was sure to get attention. Tayse tried not to shiver. A lifelong soldier, he had always lived intimately with the shadow of his own death; he did not particularly fear it. He would fear it less if he was allowed to face it with a sword in his hand and the prospect of bringing some of his opponents along with him. But that seemed unlikely to be his destiny. More likely a fairly public execution, though he would like to think a religious order would balk at torture. Hanging, then, or beheading, or burning.

  He had to suppress another shiver.

  “This way,” the soldier said and turned into one of the many doorways that opened off the grand hall. Tayse followed him, and another guard fell in step behind him.

  What Tayse saw of the rest of the convent was as impressive as its exterior. The white stone walls gave every hallway a sweet, glowing beauty; the proportions of the arches and doorways and occasional niches were exceptionally pleasing to the eye. Now and then they passed some of the inhabitants of the convent—mostly young girls in the white robes of novices but some in darker colors of green and blue—though his guards spoke to none of them and the women did not even look their way. Tayse paid close attention to the turnings they took and was pretty sure he’d be able to retrace his steps—less sure that he’d ever have a chance.

  They eventually made their way into a small, more dimly lit corridor lined with dark wood doors, and the guard unlocked the one at the very end. The room revealed was small and featured spare furniture: a narrow bed, a straight-backed chair, a night-stand and pitcher, a chamber pot. There was a meager fire burning in a tiny grate, though it did very little to chase the chill from the room.

  In the single window, small and high, a solitary candle burned. Iron rods eliminated any thought of escape through that opening.

  A long chain had been shackled to one of the window bars, and as soon as they entered, the senior guard attached the other end to Tayse’s left wrist. Then he slit the rope tying Tayse’s hands together. The manacle was heavy; the weight of the entire chain would quickly become tedious if Tayse tried to do much pacing.

  The guard gave Tayse a curious look as he stepped back toward the door. “You’re tame, for a Rider,” he said, a note of contempt in his voice.

  Now—when he was utterly powerless, when he could not for a moment inspire in anyone a desire to kill him for an implied threat—Tayse gave him back a slow, dangerous smile. “You only think I am,” he said.

  The guard actually looked taken aback—almost alarmed—but he recovered immediately. “The Lestra will be by to see you shortly. Food will be brought to you. Do not speak to any of the women—they are pure. Do not—” He shrugged. “Do not do anything foolish.”

  I already have. I have let myself get taken by your men, Tayse thought. “Is there anything you can tell me about my probable fate?” he asked coolly.

  The soldier hesitated and then shrugged. “Much depends on the king himself and answers he gives to questions t
he Lestra poses. But you are a rich prize, as you must know. The best you can hope for is a long captivity. I do not think it will be made unduly unpleasant, no matter how your king responds.”

  Tayse nodded. “What I would expect, then. It will be interesting to speak with the woman who heads your order.”

  “If you are wise, you would be respectful.”

  Tayse shrugged. “I’m a Rider,” he said, and left it to the other to determine whether that meant habit would compel him to graciousness or arrogance would lead him to disdain.

  The soldier nodded and left the room without another word. Tayse heard the lock fall in place seconds after the door shut.

  He stood there a moment, glancing from side to side, but there was little else to see, nothing to assess that he had not noticed when he first walked in. No way to escape, no chance of getting word to his king or his companions. He was here until they killed him off or decided to set him free.

  He moved closer to the window, gauging its height. He missed on his first try, but the second time he leapt up, he was able to knock the candle from the sill. It rolled to the stone floor, its flame instantly extinguished.

  One empty window looking out over the convent walls. It was an exceptionally minor victory, but it pleased Tayse nonetheless. Dragging the chain, he crossed the room and relit the candle at the hearth fire, then stepped across the room to seat himself cross-legged on the bed.

  Nothing left to do now but wait for Senneth to find him.

  CHAPTER 25

  TAYSE had been in his room maybe two hours when the lock clicked back, and the door was opened. He was sitting on his bed and made no effort to stand as the two white-robed novices entered. One carried a tray of food, the other a fresh pitcher of water. Neither of them looked at him, and he did not attempt to speak. He was a little surprised that there weren’t servants to do such work, but then he supposed that there might be some clause of humility in their order that led them to care for themselves or take turns caring for each other. Clearly no one considered him a threat so great that young girls could not risk exposure to him. It made him want to roar and shake the shackle, but he did not.