by Cas Peace
His eyes on the prancing horses, he replied, “All my life, really. We’re born with it, although it’s not always apparent.”
She took a sharp breath. “It’s not something anyone can learn, then?”
He flicked a glance at her. “No, Jinny. You either have the talent or you don’t. It’s not like riding or shooting. You can’t just learn it.”
“How do you know if you’ve got it, then?”
Taran turned to face her, sensing genuine interest. “It usually manifests itself by the time you reach twelve or thirteen. Some people discover it much younger, and some when they’re much older. Sullyan, I believe, discovered her talent at a very early age.”
Jinella’s lips thinned. He noticed she did this every time Sullyan’s name cropped up. “You really do admire her, don’t you?” she said.
Her tone was a touch acidic, but Taran ignored it. “How could you not? She’s extremely skilled, highly talented, powerful, and very beautiful. She’s also the most unassuming person I’ve ever met, which is quite remarkable when you consider her merits. There’s no one else remotely like her, Jinny.”
“Well, thank—” Jinella changed her mind mid-sentence. “What’s your relationship with her?”
“She’s my teacher, my friend, and my superior officer.”
“Oh! So, you’re not in love with her, then?”
Taran frowned. “She’s already wed to a man who’s also a very good friend of mine.”
Jinella stared at him and he felt his color rising. Had she noticed he hadn’t actually denied it?
She abruptly changed tack. “How did you discover your… talent? Can you read people’s minds, like they say? Can you read mine?”
He was thankful for the change. “Of course not. It doesn’t work like that. People who are not Artesans have a very effective natural barrier that can’t be breached by force. I couldn’t use my powers to make you do anything you didn’t want to. I can read your emotions, and I could do things that would affect you through my mastery over the elements, but apart from that, you’re quite safe from me.”
Jinella stared intently. In a small voice, she asked. “But could you kill me? I’ve heard it said that Artesans can kill with their powers. Have you ever killed anyone that way?”
He was horrified. “No, of course I haven’t! That’s the sort of thing ignorant people say. It’s a gift, what we have. It’s something precious and wonderful, and I don’t know anyone who would use it to kill. We’re not like that.”
A fleeting memory crossed his mind; Robin’s voice describing how Sullyan had drained Rykan of his essential self before striking off his head. That was different, he thought, but he couldn’t explain it to Jinny. She wouldn’t understand.
His vehemence had made Jinny nervous. Maybe she was worried she had upset him. Maybe his voice had been too loud; perhaps he had allowed his indignation at her ignorance to show. He didn’t want to frighten her, and sought to get back to their earlier easy companionship.
“Should we find something to eat, Jinny? I don’t want to miss seeing Sullyan win that horse race. I also want to place a bet before the odds get too short. Are you coming?”
Jinella allowed him to lead her toward the food stalls, her lips thinning at yet another mention of Sullyan’s name. As she walked by his side, her eyes were clouded and thoughtful.
*****
Sullyan’s meeting with the King was short, as Elias could tell her nothing new. Neither of them had made any progress toward finding the person responsible for making Rykan’s Staff. There had been no further attacks against Artesans since she had destroyed it, and Elias was of the opinion that the threat was over. Sullyan remained unconvinced.
The Hierarch of Andaryon had agreed to question Rykan’s former nobles, if any of them could be found, although they all knew that the unlamented Lord Sonten was probably the only one who could have given any real information. As he had perished in the siege of Taran’s village, that knowledge was lost. Sullyan would pay Pharikian a private visit after the inauguration of the College to inquire after his progress in the investigation.
Acknowledging the futility of speculation, Sullyan and Elias abandoned the subject. The King wanted to know how the Artesan College’s first outside student was progressing. Aged just twenty-one, the olive-skinned Lord Ozella hailed from Beraxia, a hot and dusty country far across the southern seas. He was on secondment from his government and had come to Loxton mainly to learn the workings of a diplomat, and also more about the Artesan craft. Ozella had the beginnings of power, but the Beraxian masses had little in the way of education and superstition was rife. Any peasant child showing signs of emerging power was immediately killed, and only those born to privileged families had any chance of reaching maturity. Even then, they were rarely taught to control their gifts.
Ozella’s father was a more enlightened individual who had traveled widely in his role as ambassador. He recognized the advantages available to the trained Artesan and had asked the Beraxian Chief Minister to send Ozella, his second son, to Elias for diplomatic and Artesan training. Elias, in turn, had sent Ozella to Sullyan.
Sullyan described the young man’s development—or lack of it—as they left Elias’s private rooms and made their way to the stables, where they would collect their mounts for the race. Elias was troubled as he listened to her account of Ozella’s many failures, and she sensed it. When she was done, she asked him why he was so concerned.
“I received an urgent message yesterday from Ozella’s father,” he said, his blue eyes clouded. “He’s quite distraught because his two daughters have vanished.”
“Vanished? How?”
“The girls had been staying with friends in South Fells Province and were making their way home. They never arrived. Their carriage was eventually found, well away from the proper route, and the coachman and guard were found dead some days later. But of the two girls there was no sign.”
“When was this?”
Elias sighed. “Last week. I’m amazed we received the news so quickly, especially when you consider the message had to reach Beraxia first. My network of runners is proving very fast and efficient. Anyway, Ozella’s father is awaiting a ransom demand, as that’s the only reason he can think of for their disappearance. So far, he has heard nothing. He begged me not to tell his son. He fears Ozella might be captured as well if he tries to find them.”
“How old are the girls?”
“Sixteen and nineteen, I believe.”
Sullyan shook her head. “If you tell him, he will want to return home immediately. If you do not and something… permanent happens to them, he will be distraught that you denied him the opportunity to help.”
Elias shrugged. “I know, but I can’t go against his father’s wishes. I can’t take responsibility for his safety if I do.”
“I will say nothing, then. But he will be sorely vexed if he finds out we withheld this knowledge.”
“I’ll just have to take that risk.”
When they reached the stables, they found both Drum and Darius waiting for them. The horses’ hides were gleaming, their tails glossy from the brush. Sullyan moved around Drum, checking his legs and hooves, while Elias made friends with the colt. So far the King had not had the leisure to spend any time with him. Darius nuzzled his hand and gently accepted the half apple Elias had brought him. The King walked admiringly round his new acquisition, comparing the colt to Drum’s powerful and faultless physique.
“If he performs for me as well as this black brute does for you, I shall be well pleased,” he said, slapping Drum’s neck.
Sullyan grinned. “We shall soon see.”
She vaulted effortlessly onto Drum. Elias more decorously used the mounting block, as befitted his station. Neither horse bore a saddle, as was the rule of the race, but each would be fitted with a weighted cloth once all the entrants had weighed in, in order to handicap lighter jockeys such as Sullyan.
The King, simply dressed in a white shirt
and dark red breeches, moved gracefully on the young stallion’s back as they jogged out of the stables and down to the course. It was set in the vast parklands surrounding the castle and incorporated natural jumps such as fallen trees, the stream running down to Loxton Bay, fences and gates, and even a short tunnel below a folly which had been built by Elias’s father. The whole race would last about fifteen minutes with the runners negotiating the entire course twice.
Sullyan and Elias joined the other riders who were gathering. There were eleven runners in all, and Sullyan studied them. Most she dismissed instantly as being no match for the Manor-bred horses. Two were lean and long-limbed and looked like they had a fine turn of speed, but she thought they were probably too highly strung to cope with the more testing obstacles. Only one, a raw-boned chestnut with a rather ugly head, was an obvious rival. He was strong and powerful and was looking about with interest, much as Drum and Darius were doing. His rider was a slim young man in russet red. Sullyan saw him studying the two Manor horses, probably identifying their threat.
Hearing her name called, she turned to see Denny, Ardoch, and some of the King’s Guard approaching. They clustered around her and Elias, giving them advice and information about the runners. While speaking with them she caught sight of Taran by the rail, and smiled to see the firm clasp Jinella had on his arm. She spared him a wave, and he waved back.
The riders weighed in and received their weighted cloths, which were placed on the horses’ backs and fastened with a surcingle. Anyone whose cloth fell away during the race would be disqualified. Then the horn sounded to summon them to the starting line, and they formed up side by side behind a red ribbon held by two stewards. At a signal from the starter, the ribbon would drop and they could race.
Sullyan nudged Drum closer to Elias. “That large chestnut is our only serious rival,” she whispered. “We should easily outrun the others. I think we should hang back and let the field thin out. Then the three of us can race properly on the second lap.”
Elias raised his brows. “Do you never stop thinking about tactics, Brynne?”
She grinned. “It is what you pay me to do, your Majesty.”
He grinned back. “Well said! All right, I like your plan. Why exhaust ourselves and risk our horses’ legs when these also-rans will drop out on their own?”
“Exactly,” she said.
*****
Taran leaned on the rail and studied the horses. He couldn’t see many that looked like they might give Sullyan or the King any trouble. He returned Sullyan’s wave and touched Jinella’s arm, drawing her attention to the beginning of the race.
Jinella, however, wasn’t paying him any heed. She was watching someone in the crowd, craning her neck to get a better view. Taran scanned the press of people that had gathered to watch the race, but couldn’t make out who she was looking at. Suddenly, Lily gave a small squeal and Jinella stiffened. She turned to Taran, an expression of disgust on her face.
“Oh, Taran, look! Here comes that dreadful simple boy who lives in the nursery. I want to move farther down.”
Taran glanced at the redheaded lad, who was rocking his body forward and back on the railing while he watched the riders prepare. “Why? He looks harmless enough. I think he likes the horses.”
“It’s the way he looks at you,” she hissed behind her hand. “He’s an adult, with an adult’s feelings, but he has the mind and manners of a horrid little boy. And he dribbles! He frightens me, Taran. He’s strange and I don’t like him. Please let’s move farther down.”
Taran was irritated but couldn’t ignore Jinella’s distress. They moved farther along the rail, which meant he didn’t have such a good view of the start.
“They’re lining up,” he said, straining forward for a better view. Jinella didn’t seem interested in the slightest and hadn’t once glanced at the horses. But neither did she want to relinquish his arm, so she had to endure his distraction. After all, the race would only take fifteen minutes.
Chapter Ten
There was one fair-goer who also had his mind on other things besides horse racing. Baron Reen strolled about the fair attended by two servants; one to carry his dark blue sunshade and one to carry his purchases. Not given to unnecessary spending, he had nevertheless made one very expensive purchase, intended as a gift for his niece. He had observed her more than once during the day, and smiled to see her hanging on the arm of her despised Artesan escort. They were talking, so she was hopefully learning much in the way of useful information. The Baron anticipated an interesting trawl of news. His gift would be both reward for her obedience and an ease to his conscience; not that he felt particularly guilty over his manipulation. After all, hadn’t she done the same in begging him to bring her to court? Since she was here, she might as well prove useful.
Reen approached the race course with time to spare. He selected a shady spot near the finishing line, opposite the exit to the folly tunnel, and leaned against a tree. He had no need to stand at the railing like a commoner. His servants would keep his view of the race course clear. Satisfied, he glanced around.
His lip curled in distaste when he saw the shock-haired simple lad, the youth’s eyes glued to the milling horses, a line of saliva drooling down his chin. Reen turned away, disgusted. He had nothing but contempt for the boy. The Baron despised anyone not fully in command of themselves, and couldn’t understand why his Queen had ever seen fit to take the boy in. Her children found him amusing, he supposed, and it wasn’t his place to question his lady’s motives.
Ignoring the crowd’s rising excitement, he relaxed in the shade and permitted his manservant to prepare him slices of cool fruit.
*****
The horses wheeled and curveted, catching their riders’ excitement. Foam dripped from their mouths as they impatiently tossed their heads. The booksmen were still calling the odds, but word was out and there were no more long odds to be had on Sullyan. Those who had given them at first were trying to think up ways to avoid paying out should she win.
The horses finally stilled long enough for the starter to flourish his flag. The ribbon dropped to the ground, shredded instantly by churning hooves as the eleven riders urged their mounts forward. Sullyan and Elias didn’t surge ahead with the others but stayed at the back of the field as the horses careered toward the first obstacle: a line of post and rail fencing.
Two of the leading riders were unseated as their mounts, overexcited by the roar of the crowd and the press of horses, got too close and pitched over the top rail. They landed in a heap to great cries from the watching crowd, and those coming behind were forced to leap awkwardly over them. Both horses surged upright and galloped off. Their riders had been thrown clear. One limped badly when he struggled to his feet.
Sullyan and Elias were far enough back to see and avoid the mêlée. Their mounts leaped the fence cleanly farther down. Glancing over her shoulder, Sullyan could see the rider of the chestnut emulating their tactics and easing back on his horse’s mouth. She grinned at him and saw his answering smile.
The field thundered toward a stand of trees growing along the banks of the Lox, a swift-flowing stream running down to Loxton Bay. It wasn’t very wide, but it was deep and its bed was rocky. The banks were steep and friable and would need careful handling to jump well. A few of the other horses had taken hold of their bits and wouldn’t answer their riders’ commands. One, a long-legged bay, took off far too soon with a mighty leap, and landed half in the water. The bank was so steep that he was unable to struggle out and his rider, half-unseated by the huge jump, only just stayed on. He had to pull his horse back into the stream and wade along until he could find a shallower bank to scramble up. He would be far behind when he finally managed to get out.
Another horse tried to refuse and, forced to jump by its rider, took off too late. The crumbling bank disappeared under its hooves. They made it across, but the horse pulled up lame, probably having strained a tendon. The field was down to seven already. Drum, Darius, a
nd the chestnut were running together at the rear. Their riders eyed each other, trying to gauge their staying power. Sullyan was confident that Drum could outlast either of them in a flat race, but the obstacles in his path would tax his strength as much as theirs.
Toward the end of the first lap, another runner dropped out when his weight-cloth fell away over a huge fallen tree. That left six horses. Two of these were blowing hard and Sullyan didn’t think they would last the course. Drum and Darius were not even sweating, and the chestnut didn’t show signs of distress either. The last horse was an iron gray, one of the lean types she had first picked out as a possible rival. It was still running well and its rider was clinging expertly to its back. These four, then, were the contenders in the second lap.
In single file, they barreled through the tunnel under the folly and crossed the starting line again, flashing past the watching crowds. Sullyan vaguely heard voices yelling her name. Denny, Master Ardoch, Taran, and the other men were all urging her on, and she wondered how Elias would feel at his Guardsmen changing their allegiance. Feeling the time was right, she asked Drum to lengthen his stride.
He did so at once, and she knew that the huge stud was thoroughly enjoying himself. Bred for combat, power, and speed, he possessed a lively intelligence. She had nurtured this by involving him in as much challenging activity as possible to keep his brain sharp. He would recognize the race for what it was and give his strength and heart to his rider.
Noting her increase in speed, Elias asked the same of the colt. Darius was quite happy to keep up with his herd-mate and lengthened his stride obediently. He flattened his ears at the strange chestnut on his right, who was matching his pace and coming too close. The iron gray, pushed hard by its rider since leading though the tunnel, now began to fall back.
They flew the post and rails and approached the river again. One or two of the riderless horses were still milling about the course. Steered toward a clear section, Drum and Darius leaped the stream together, black beast and mahogany in perfect stride. The chestnut was only a second behind.