*How do you remember every word you said?
*I remember everything from that day. That's the day you gave me your troth ring, the memory that brought me out of my witch stupor.
I swallowed. *What she wrote about the Landers servants? Is that true?
Safire sighed. *Most of them witnessed me in that witch stupor and a few witnessed me heal your father that day on the front steps of Landers Hall, though they don't understand what they saw. They just thought I had another fit. They've been kind, Merius, patient and gentle like good people are in the presence of madness.
*But you're not mad. I buckled the flaps of the saddlebags slowly, listening to the hum of the air, the trembling of all living things.
*Better they think me off kilter than realize I'm a witch. Her tone made a tart taste in my mouth. *Now you watch yourself. Images flashed through my mind of Sullay barking orders at servants in an underground chamber like a root cellar, lit with oil lamps. The full, rich smell of thick earth hung in the air with a cool dampness. *No, I don't suddenly have the gift of farsight. she thought in anticipation of my question. *I wish I did have farsight--I could use it to help you, but that vision was only my artist's imagination of where Sullay is, not reality. Please, Merius, be careful. I wish I could help you. I wish I could stop you, that another man could go.
*How do you know about that? I demanded. *I blocked that from you. What other secrets have you ferreted out?
*No, dear heart. I wouldn't dream of trying to breach the defenses of your mind. That would be wrong. All of us need a private place to ourselves that no one else can see.
*So how do you know about my plans?
There was a long pause. *Eden and I may have eavesdropped on you men once or twice this summer.
*She's a bad influence on you.
Safire chortled. *You have no idea, my love. A wall dropped between her mind and mine then. Wicked creature, blocking me so abruptly. And eavesdropping with Eden--what the hell? First she plotted with Father behind my back and now she gadded about with my spying cousin. Shaking my head, I slammed the wardrobe door and slung my saddlebags over my shoulder. I had spoken more truly than I realized when I had told her she was an impossible knot I wanted to spend the rest of my life untying.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sullay Manor, Torana Province, Middle Cormalen
July, 3 years ago
Dawn stained the sky reddish, the trees of the horizon black shapes against the bloody backdrop. The fields around us lay gray and quiet, the only sounds our horses' hooves thudding against the packed dirt of the road and an occasional distant cock's crow. "Red sky at morning, sailor's warning," I said, trying to keep my tone light.
"There'll be rain later," Ragnar muttered beside me. It was the first exchange we'd had since we departed his magistrate headquarters two hours ago. I'd left him to his thoughts, figuring he needed some time to absorb the idea that he no longer had to protect his family. Jared and I had arrived in Torana Province to find Ragnar crouched behind the archway leading to the main courtyard of his headquarters, ready to ambush us. It was a good thing he and I had met before and recognized each other. Lowering his blade, he explained that he had been prepared to shed any nighttime intruders' blood because Sullay had threatened to harm his family. These threats had prompted Ragnar to move his wife and children to headquarters where he and the guards who had remained steadfast could keep an eye on them. After some whispered discussion, Ragnar and I decided to send his family, most of the guards, and Jared to Landers Hall while night still covered the land. Two of the guards would remain at headquarters in case anyone needed the magistrate. In the mean time, Ragnar and I would go together to present Sullay with his summons. The brute assassin followed us on horseback at a distance, a lurking, silent presence I was grateful for at the moment.
"How far, do you think?" I asked, breaking the silence again.
Ragnar shrugged his knobby shoulders. He had a cadaverous build, one of those men who looked like his bones had grown faster than the rest of him. No one would suspect he was a skilled wrestler and man-at-arms. His skeletal appearance hid a lean toughness that only became apparent on the practice floor and in battle.
"Perhaps a quarter hour," he answered finally. "I haven't been to his manor but twice before, and that was during the day. Once Sullay realized he couldn't buy me, he wanted nothing to do with me."
"I wish you were the magistrate of our province. Everyone and his brother has bought that fool Lemara and then gone back for seconds. It seems he went into the wrong profession."
Ragnar chuckled, a thin sound in the cool dawn air. "Perhaps, though likely even the worst brothel would be too honest for him. Even with Lemara as magistrate, though, the rule of law still prevails in Silmer Province, a tribute to your father's iron fist."
He had just paraphrased a lesser-known Lhigat verse about a mythical general. "You know Lhigat?" I asked, a bit surprised. If he were lucky, a peasant boy's education usually consisted of basic reading, writing, and figuring numbers, no frills like poetry.
He offered a slight smile. "When my parents died, I ended up in a monastery for awhile. The monks taught us orphans with the sons of lesser noblemen, so we learned things like poetry."
"A monastery? How in the world did you end up trained at arms?" The bay gelding I rode whickered and tossed his mane as my hand tightened on the reins. I had sent Shadowfoot with Jared to Landers Hall. I didn't want to risk him in this chancy venture, and besides, a fresh, well-rested horse seemed a necessity in case Ragnar and I had to bolt suddenly.
Ragnar gazed at the road winding ahead. "As a stripling, I ran away from the monastery and took up with a highwayman. I thought it would be an exciting life but soon realized he was a violent villain who'd just as soon kill as draw breath. One night when he was in a drunken stupor, I went to the magistrate and turned him in. The magistrate took pity on me and instead of sending me back to the monastery or putting me in the stocks, he trained me as a guard."
"He sounds like he was a good man," I said after the silence lengthened and it became apparent Ragnar would say no more. Ragnar nodded but didn't otherwise reply, and I turned my attention back to the road.
Like blood thinned in water, the sky had faded to a pale hue, only a few red streaks of clouds a hint of its former ruddy glory. The growing light glowed brown against the edges of my horse's head and ears, the grayish fields slowly turning green. Safire would have seen subtleties of color here I couldn't even imagine. I knew--I had stumbled into her mind when she was in one of her witch reveries and found a fascinating, if befuddling, kaleidoscope of vivid forms and colors and strange stories. She worshipped light in all its transmutations, from flickering candles to the harsh noonday sun to the moon silver on snow, and thought about light with an intensity akin to my obsession with flight. It was no wonder our shared fantasies when we made love or dreamt together generally included flight paired with some source of light like the moon or a blaze, the shared fantasies that brought us to heights of ecstasy I could never have imagined finding with anyone else. The shared fantasies were so beautiful and mysterious, the most puzzling part of the mind bond. Even though Talus had mentioned mind bonds several times in the journals (he called them 'twined souls'), his descriptions were maddening in their vagueness. I had so many questions about the mind bond, and Talus had answered none of them. Of course, maybe I hadn't read far enough yet or maybe my translations were faulty.
I wanted to know where we actually were when we mated in flight. Was I in Safire's mind? Was she in mine? Did our minds leave our bodies somehow? If so, how? Why did we always return to reality at the peak of our union? Why were we only in the fantasy world while we dreamt or made love? What was it about those two states that made us vulnerable to a mutual mind-body split? Safire quickly grew impatient when I asked these questions, saying that there were some things not meant for us to comprehend, only enjoy. I often shook my head at the witch's medieval mindset--she trusted so much to fate an
d faith. I didn't understand her sometimes.
*I don't understand you either. Her voice broke into my thoughts, that tart taste on my tongue again.
*It's barely dawn--you should still be asleep.
*How could I sleep with you wandering the night and putting yourself in danger? I miss you. It felt as if a puff of warm air brushed my cheek, the scent of burning cedar suddenly all around. I felt very aware of physical sensation suddenly, the easy sway of the horse under me, the cool breeze against the exposed skin of my neck, the oiled smoothness of the leather reins against my palm.
I swallowed. *I miss you too.
*You be careful.
*And you stay put.
I felt her roll her eyes. *Don't worry. Randel's under orders to lock me away if I so much as step out the front door.
"Merius?" Ragnar said, snapping me out of my reverie. "We're close."
I blocked Safire and leaned forward in the saddle, peering ahead. The tall firs that lined the road here loomed like shadowy sentinels in the mist. The gurgle of flowing water echoed nearby. As we turned left and crossed an arched stone bridge, I realized the echo came from the sound reverberating off the stones. Our horses' hooves clopped on the bridge, then thudded again as we reached the dirt road on the other side. I glanced over my shoulder when I didn't hear any hooves behind us--the assassin had disappeared, damn him.
"Where's your bodyguard?" Ragnar asked.
I made a vague gesture toward the woods, feeling foolish. "I told him before we left headquarters that there might be armed men in the woods near the manor," I lied. "I suspect he's gone to investigate."
Ragnar raised his brows. "Oh. Doesn't say much, does he?"
A bowstring twanged sharply to my right then, and I saw an arrow bury itself with a dull thwack in the trunk of a tree mere yards in front of us. Ragnar and I bent low and urged our horses into a gallop. Mud splattered up as more arrows came hissing out of the woods. How many men did Sullay employ? The woods suddenly seemed full of archers with really terrible aim. Of course, the arrows were likely only to scare us away, not actually aimed to hit us. Sullay would be stupid indeed to order his men to kill Ragnar.
My mount whinnied then, a whinny that swelled to a sickening horse scream that seemed to burst my eardrums. I glanced back and noticed an arrow sticking out of the poor creature's right flank. His hooves faltered. In an instant that seemed to last an hour, I stood straight up in the stirrups and threw my right leg over the saddle as if to dismount. My foot slipped out of the left stirrup, flinging me backwards. Green leaves and gray sky flashed overhead. The ground knocked the wind out of me as I landed on my back. "Umphh," I heard myself gasp. My vision went dark, everything seemingly coated with a layer of grimy smoke, tiny painful lights in the blackness darting about like evil pixies.
I drew shallow breaths, the air only seeming to feed the fire in my lungs. The burning pain spread through my chest, and I groaned, forcing myself to sit up. An arrow whizzed overhead. I lurched forward and crawled toward the side of the road, where I rolled into the ditch. There I lay for a moment and caught my breath. The leaves and sky whirled above me, a gray and green pinwheel. At least the arrows seemed to have stopped. Then I heard the steady thunder of hooves.
"Merius?" Ragnar said. He turned his horse sideways on the road so it made less of a target for stray arrows.
I lifted myself up and found that although it still hurt to draw breath, the moment resting in the ditch had revived me to the point that I could stand. My horse had collapsed on the other side of the road, trying to raise his head. His ears lay far back, the whites of his eyes visible as he squealed. A large pool of blood already blackened the dirt under his belly, the broken end of the arrow in his flank trailing feathers in the sticky mess. A gut wound--it could take him hours to die.
I pulled out my dagger as I leaned over the horse. The arrows seemed to have stopped, at least for now--maybe hitting my mount had made our attackers consider the consequences of accidently murdering the magistrate. I patted the horse's ears and forelock, whispering to him as I eased his head back down. The white of the one eye I could still see vanished, his squeal of pain but a low whistle now. Then I drew the dagger across his throat, severing his windpipe and the major arteries in one stroke. His whole body trembled, his hooves rattling against each other, and I blinked, my eyes watering. "Good boy," I murmured as he bled out, upset but also thankful that this wasn't Shadowfoot. I wiped my dagger on the grass and started to rise, ducking down again when yet more arrows flew wildly out of the woods. I was surprised the aimless archers hadn't shot one of their own yet. One hit the road nearby, the shaft clattering against a rock.
"Those damned nitwits. They'll answer for this deadly foolishness." Ragnar held out his hand so that I could mount behind him.
Someone yelled then. More yells followed. Men poured out of the woods with a rustling of leaves and thud of boots, and Ragnar and I were surrounded. I shifted my dagger to my right hand and drew my sword with my left. At least twenty men circled us, armed with daggers and bows.
A graybeard wearing a patch over one eye stepped toward me then, his mouth twisted in a nasty grimace. "These lands belong to Sir Eleasir of Sullay, and he don't like visitors. I order you to leave now or die."
"I'm Ragnar of Chelis, magistrate of this province, and I have leave from the king himself to go where I must to enforce the laws here. We have a summons for your master, and you'd best let us deliver it," Ragnar said, showing the magistrate seal he wore in a livery chain around his neck.
Cyclops spat in the dirt. "It don't matter who you are. You'll die just as quick as any other poacher. Boys . . ."
I noticed several of the men glance at each other, hesitating. "Even though you apparently have no respect for king's offices and orders, you fool, you should know that you can still die by them. My father and His Majesty Arian will see you hang, all of you, if you continue to accost us," I said, hoping my tone held just the right amount of aristocratic disdain.
I could see the cogs turning in Cyclops's brain. "And just who might your father be, young poacher?"
"Sir Mordric of Landers."
"Does he know his son's a lawless brigand who poaches for sport?"
"Jestin," one of the men exclaimed.
Apparently Jestin was Cyclops's real name, for he turned to face the man. "What, cur?" he snarled.
"Jestin, if he's really a Landers . . ."
"I don't give a damn. He'll bleed just the same." Jestin lunged toward me, drawing a stout cutlass. I raised my sword and spread my feet apart as I moved into a slight crouch. Something hissed through the air then. Jestin paused and glanced to the side. Then he collapsed, a Numerian throwing star sticking out of his throat. A scarlet bib of blood flowed over his neck and upper chest as he gasped his last. His muscles jerked in a final, violent spasm before he went limp. The other men shuffled back, staring at him. Only one came forward, the one who had spoken up about me being a Landers. He knelt beside Jestin and ran his fingers over the exposed points of the star.
"What's that?" he asked, glancing up at me. A man accustomed to the outdoors and hard work, his skin had weathered to the consistency and color of wrinkled leather. His eyes were hard blue gleams winking from crinkled pockets of worn flesh.
"A Numerian throwing star."
"Where did it come from?" he demanded. I could sense Ragnar shifting on his horse behind me.
I met the man's gaze. "I don't know. Maybe it came from the same place all those arrows came from earlier. Now I suggest you men take us to your master. We have a summons to deliver."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lord Rankin and Father hadn't been in jest when they said Sullay was holed up in a root cellar. We passed the main house, a gaudy brick affair ugly with newness, then the stables and other outbuildings, and still no Sullay in sight. I glanced up at Ragnar, still on his mount, to find him looking at me, and I knew we were both wondering if this was some kind of trap. Then the man who had asked me abo
ut the throwing star veered toward a rough-hewn door in a hillside. He knocked, then whispered something through a knothole in the door. After a moment, the door creaked open, and he slipped inside. I understood then why Sullay had chosen the cellar--its position was far more defensible than the house.
Ragnar wisely stayed in the saddle. If we needed to flee suddenly, it made no sense for him to dismount. It began to occur to me how close we had come to sharing my horse's fate. Any one of those stray arrows could have hit Ragnar or me. I had considered mortality before, but this was different. Ragnar had a family, a wife and half-grown children depending on him. And I had a family now too. What if one of those arrows had hit me? Not even born yet, Dominic would have already had a dead father and a grieving, vulnerable mother. I should be more careful.
The root cellar door flew open, and Sullay himself stormed out. He looked a bit worse for wear, his velvet doublet rumpled and dusty, sweat stains around the collar and armpits. What little hair he had left hung in dirty straggles around his bald spot. It surprised me that he graced us with his presence at all--I had expected him to send out one of his lackeys.
Ragnar inclined his head. "Sir Sullay."
"What is the meaning of this outrage, Ragnar?" Sullay demanded. Then he saw me, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. "And you, hiding behind Ragnar's horse--Mordric sent you to do his dirty work?"
I met his glare with what I hoped was a stolid expression. "I came of my own accord, sir."
"Liar. We all know you hardly dare piss without your father's leave. He persecutes me for his own gain, the conniving snake, and sends his pet toads to torment me."
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 28