Did he want me out of the way so I wouldn’t see more of their training? But no, there was honest concern on his face.
I shook my head. “No. I can manage.”
He was still frowning, but just then Lady Enit took his arm. “Lord Rhys,” she said imperiously, “I’ve had a splendid idea: why not hold a competition to see who’s the best archer?”
Lord Pellyn nodded his head vigorously. “An excellent notion! I’ll put up a prize for the winner.” He slipped off a golden ring from one of his fingers.
“And Owena can present it,” Lady Enit added with a fond glance at her offspring, who smiled with delight.
Lord Rhys didn’t look particularly taken with the suggestion, but he called his armsmaster over to confer. A prize for the best killer! My stomach turned over at the idea, but I would freeze in the deepest hell first before letting these people see my dismay. So I lifted my chin and stared out at the field where the fences were shifted to new positions.
Very soon more men started to ride by with short gaps between each group. I recognised some of Lord Rhys’s men, but others were clearly from Lord Pellyn’s retinue. The difference between them was startling: while the former wove through the obstacles nimbly and quick, the latter cantered by ponderously and uncertain. Clearly they weren’t used to this style of combat. As one of the last riders, Owl entered the practice field, hanging low over her horse’s withers and getting arrows off quicker than I could follow. Suddenly I realised where I had read about this kind of skirmish before.
“You’re fighting Khotai style!” I exclaimed.
Lord Rhys turned to me, surprised. “That’s true. The Khotai are unmatched as archers from horseback.” He hesitated a moment, as if uncomfortable. “Their recurve bows have a longer shooting range, so we traded for some of them.”
Trading with Sikhand’s old enemy! And what did they give in exchange for the bows?
“Good idea,” Lord Pellyn grunted agreement. “Yet eventually you will have to close with the enemy to force a decision.”
Lord Rhys nodded. “Yes, but on the grounds of my choosing. And for that I need enough men.” He cast the other man a challenging stare, which made Lord Pellyn look away. I remembered what Cerwen had said about the lords swearing allegiance. Would Lord Pellyn do so too?
It took a while for the differently marked arrows to be collected and counted, but I felt no surprise at the winner: Owl. Lord Pellyn was clearly annoyed at how poorly his men had fared.
“They’re good archers,” he grumbled. “We should have a competition without all these silly obstacles.”
But Lord Rhys shook his head. “No. You have to practise in realistic conditions or you might as well not bother at all.”
“Realistic? You just have to choose the right field of confrontation.”
“Against mages that can set up earthen walls, water ditches and fires wherever they please?” Lord Rhys asked back. He did not look at me. “We can only fight the Sikhandi one way: by surprising them and wearing them down.”
I bit my lip, but I could not deny the truth of his words. No mage would use his magic to kill another human being outright, because that would mean losing his talent, for the Elements did not look kindly on the taking of human life. However, there were hundreds of ways in which magic might be used to help your own side, from setting fires to killing the enemy’s horses. In fact a lively debate was raging in the temples whether such an application of a mage’s talent would have repercussions in his next life. However, I doubted the Aneiry were willing to accept such long term justice.
That moment Owl rode up to collect her prize. Owena bent down gracefully, a smile on her lips. “Well done, warrior!”
“Thank you.” Owl took off her helmet and reached up to accept the ring the girl held out.
But Owena flinched back. “It’s a woman!” She looked dismayed.
“A woman?” her brother echoed her words, equally put out. “Impossible!”
I could tell Lord Rhys had to bite down a grin. “Not at all. Owl is my best archer.”
Not amused, Owl gave the pair a look as if she would cheerfully have cut them into ribbons. When Owena took another step back, Lord Rhys gently prised the ring from her clenched fingers and handed it over to Owl. “Here, you’ve earned it.”
Lord Taren clapped her on the back. “She’s beaten me by three hits, no less!” He still had the ribbon wound around his arm and smiled up at Cerwen. “But you brought me luck, I didn’t end up in the mud after all.” He transferred his gaze to Lord Rhys. “So will you have a go?”
“Me?”
Lord Taren grinned. “I’ve been watching you, you’re itching to have a go at the course yourself, aren’t you?”
At once Lord Pellyn and the others urged him to have a run, and even Owena recovered enough to add her voice to the pleading. I wondered if he would ask her for a token, but he simply mounted Gwynt while Wynn was sent off to alert the armsmaster. A frantic shifting around of obstacles ensued and the horn rang out again.
Despite my misgivings, I found myself clutching the wooden railings, next to Cerwen and Taren, when Lord Rhys came cantering in from the side. Why was he going so fast? That moment a burning pile of wood that he had just passed went up with a whoosh as somebody poured oil on the fire. He paid it no attention, already shooting at his first targets and weaving round some barrels. Man and horse were one, the war mare responding instantly to every command as if she could read her rider’s mind. I realised Lord Rhys had several arrows on his bow at once, a trick that allowed him to shoot faster. Learnt from the Khotai?
Just then a couple of logs came tumbling down the hill on which the targets were set up and rolled out onto the field.
“That’s new!” one of the men exclaimed. “Surely it’s not fair.”
Taren shrugged. “War is not fair.”
However, Lord Rhys and Gwynt flowed across the logs without even breaking stride. When he splashed through the water trench his men whooped with excitement, but a brief glimpse of his face showed a closed, focused expression. He reached for more arrows from his quiver and jumped one of the fences. That moment a couple of straw targets popped out from behind the fence, showing only the very top. Lord Rhys turned in the saddle and shot. Two arrows hissed through the air.
“Lady of Darkness,” Taren cursed, “he got them! That was my idea.”
Lord Rhys was already weaving between the obstacles again where three more stacks of wood went up in flames. Gwynt showed briefly as a black shape against them, her rider bent low over her withers, and they raced out the other side of the field with a last volley of shots.
I released a breath I had not known I held while the men all cheered. Even Lord Pellyn got caught up in the excitement. When Lord Rhys came riding up with the armsmaster, they surrounded him and shouted congratulations at the score: twenty-seven hits.
Lord Rhys patted Gwynt’s neck. “Well done, my beauty.”
He grinned with pure enjoyment, as if he liked nothing better than riding through fires and risking his neck jumping obstacles. Suddenly I remembered what he had said to me on our first encounter: I enjoy killing the guilty. Lord Rhys had just demonstrated that he was the best killer of them all. And yet…this joy seemed different, not so much for the actual shooting, but rather for the sheer physical accomplishment.
“Oh, Lord Rhys!” Owena trilled. “That was splendid.” She looked ready to melt into his arms.
That moment our eyes met and the joy bled out of his face.
I could almost feel regret.
ELEVEN
Late in the afternoon we all rode back to the Eyrie and after putting the horses away, I went for a quick check on Hami. To my surprise I found a group of men in the courtyard, clustered around the elephant. As I hesitated in the doorway, I spotted Lord Rhys feeding him a carrot.
“See how soft his trunk is,” he was saying, “it makes an excellent target to distract them and is one of the few places not covered by Sikhandi ar
mour, together with the eyes.”
“A distraction for what?” one of the men asked.
“For another group to charge with two-sided axes or scimitars and hamstring the beasts,” Lord Rhys answered and pointed at Hami’s legs. “But the attacks have to be carefully coordinated. Watch out for the archers carried on towers on their backs. And it’s best if you shoot down the mahouts first.”
Blood pounded in my ears. How dare he instruct these people on how to butcher an elephant! Poor Hami guilelessly searched his pockets for more food, and the man even chuckled and patted his trunk.
I ran into the courtyard and picked up a bucket of water left there for Hami to drink from. Lord Rhys whirled round in surprise, but too late. I emptied the bucket over his head. “You pig!” The other men jumped back when water sloshed everywhere.
“Arisha!” Lord Rhys sputtered.
“Leave Hami alone!” I snarled. “Or…or…”
Dripping with water, Lord Rhys took a single look at my face. “Gentlemen,” he said to his companions, “we’ll continue another time. Would you excuse us?”
They retreated with more haste than dignity, leaving the courtyard empty except for myself and Lord Rhys. I bit my lip, realising that my temper might have got the better of me. But the rat deserved it! Clutching the now empty bucket to my chest, I watched him warily and wondered what he might do. Unconcerned, Hami snaked his trunk inside the bucket, looking for more food.
Lord Rhys shrugged out of his shirt and started to wring it out. “Lady Arisha, I consider the care you spend on your elephant to be one of your more commendable qualities,” he said, “and I can sympathise that you don’t want him to get hurt.” He took a step closer. “But I will win this war and to that end I am willing to use every weapon that comes to my hand. Understand that.”
His voice remained perfectly calm and even, but his eyes bored into mine. I could not help noticing the faded scars crisscrossing his chest, mute witnesses to his calling. He loomed over me, every inch the hardened warrior.
I clutched my bucket tighter, but glared right back at him. “Hami is not a weapon. He is a friend.”
Some of the rigidity left him, and he sighed. “Not to your Prince Bahram. And not to me, I’m sorry.” He pulled his shirt back on. “Is Hami’s leg any better?” he asked, changing the subject. “Kestrel left more salve for him.”
Suddenly tired, I set down the bucket with a clang. “He moved well this morning. I suppose I’d better rub some more on.” Even if ultimately it only helped my enemies.
Lord Rhys watched me silently while I retrieved the jar of ointment and began to massage Hami’s leg. The sharp scent of camphor filled the air. Afterwards I got Hami to walk in a circle around the tree to see if he still favoured his leg. The chain rattled and clanked with every step and I glared at it, wishing for a Fire mage to melt the hated thing on the spot.
When we reached Lord Rhys, he held out a hand and Hami, his usual indiscriminating self, searched it for something to eat and promptly got rewarded with a carrot. “Lady Arisha,” Lord Rhys said suddenly, “if you give me your word not to try to escape, I will let Hami roam free within the courtyard as long as the gates remain closed. I do not want an elephant running wild in the village.”
Briefly tempted, I hesitated. Hami could probably break the gate down. However, for my part I could not break my word. “No.”
He threw me a sharp glance. “Look, there’s no need to cast me as the cruel gaoler!” He took a deep breath, and I sensed that the next words cost him dearly. “I realise that I probably owe you my life and I’m willing to redeem the debt. If you wish, I’ll give you an escort to the border to see you safely across to your grandfather.”
There was no need to ask if I could take Hami with me, he had made his position clear enough. I crossed my arms on my chest. “No.”
In an unusual display of temper, Lord Rhys kicked the empty bucket. “You’re as stubborn as a mule! Can’t you see, your elephant is like a gift from the Lord of Light, a sword to my hand. I cannot relinquish this chance.”
A gift from the gods! “Don’t flatter yourself,” I snapped, “it was just my stupidity in getting caught.”
“Lady,” he said through clenched teeth, “I will see the Sikhandi gone from these lands. And to that end I will use any means.”
“Most Sikhandi soldiers would be more than pleased to leave,” I pointed out bitterly, “but they have no choice in the matter.”
“Your prince has a choice.”
I remembered my audience with Prince Bahram and bunched my hands into fists in helpless anger. “Yes, I told him so, but he would rather see his men dead than retreat in ignoble defeat.”
“You told him so?”
Suddenly it got too much. “Yes!” I hissed at him. “But he’s just as pig-headed as you are. Oh, what a pair. You’re like two millstones, grinding everything into dust between you!”
I brushed a tear from the corner of my eye and left him standing there.
* * *
I had to stop in the corridor for a moment to recover my composure. Why did it feel so much like a betrayal for Lord Rhys to use Hami that way? After all, I’d known from the start that the man had only one purpose. And countless dead Sikhandi soldiers, ambushed while on patrol and killed by arrow, knife and sword, bore witness to the fact that he would do anything to get rid of them. He was as bad as Prince Bahram! Why couldn’t those two just fight it out between them? Yet I had to snort at the idea of the portly, pleasure loving prince having to face Lord Rhys in single combat. He wouldn’t last a minute!
Cerwen had invited me to share her room with her, so I asked a servant to direct me there. I found Cerwen already changed into a rich blue gown and sitting in front of a table littered with pots of cosmetics.
“Is the elephant all right?” she asked.
I nodded, and luckily she was too busy braiding her hair to pay me much attention. Her room was as full of the personality of its owner as Lord Rhys’s had been bare. Clothes cluttered the narrow bed, obviously tried on earlier and discarded, while on the shelves lay books, a stitching frame with a half finished motif of horses and a bunch of dried flowers. A colourful tapestry covered an entire wall, depicting a hero slaying a dragon in some rather improbable looking feat.
The servants had put up a truckle bed for me, making the place even more crowded, and I sat down on it gratefully. My bags had followed me from Lord Rhys’s room, the clothes freshly laundered and folded up much neater than I ever managed.
Cerwen looked up from dabbing perfume behind her ears. She held a small hand mirror of polished bronze with a glass inset. “All the lords will be assembled for the meal tonight,” she said and cast my crumpled tunic a critical look. “Would you like to borrow one of my dresses?”
I shook my head. Why hide who I was? For a moment I was even tempted to put on the rich court dress of green silk that I had worn for Prince Bahram’s audience, yet that would put Cerwen’s blue gown to shame. However, Lord Rhys’s bundle had also included a long robe of the type worn in the capital. After a quick wash Cerwen helped me into the silken underrobe and arranged the covering robe on top, so the sleeves of white silk peeked out from under the heavier overrobe. I liked the colour, a dark red like rich wine, with an unobtrusive pattern of stylised lotus flowers.
Cerwen took a step back. “You look very elegant. See for yourself.” She handed me her mirror. “This was a gift from Rhys,” she added proudly, “commissioned specially for my last birthday.”
Startled I took the small mirror and involuntarily remembered Hami’s old stables in Roshni, where every elephant had a life size mirror. A former governor had considered that a befitting way to show his wealth. I had better not tell Cerwen! I peered in the mirror, though I couldn’t see much. “The robe is probably years out of fashion.” From my time at the court of Roshni’s governor, I knew that the fashionable colour combinations changed with every season.
Cerwen laughed. “Don’t worry
, we wouldn’t know here.”
It was the first time that I got a proper look at my face since I had cut my hair. Dark eyes looked back at me defiantly, on their guard from the world. I frowned. Somehow the short hair accented the line of my neck, giving me an air of false vulnerability. That would not do! I tried to look more stern.
Hesitantly Cerwen touched a strand of my hair. “I meant to ask you, Arisha. Is it a new fashion in Sikhand to cut the hair so short?” Dubiously she fingered her long blond tresses.
I was startled into a laugh. “Of course not!” I sobered. “We cut our hair as a sign of mourning.”
“Oh! I had no idea.” She hesitated. “Whom are you mourning?”
“My father.”
Ready sympathy filled her face. “I’m so sorry! What did he die of?” Suddenly her eyes widened and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Arisha, not in combat I hope?”
“No. From too much wine,” I replied curtly. And a heart broken long ago, but I didn’t say that aloud. Quickly, so Cerwen would not express her pity, I went on. “Do the ladies here follow Sikhandi fashion? Even though our countries are at war?”
She regarded me searchingly, but shrugged in answer. “That is men’s business. The ladies of Arrashar are acknowledged as the most elegant in the world, so we’re willing to learn from them.”
Men’s business? Yet the women still suffered from it. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “You tempt me to tell Lady Enit that cutting one’s hair is the latest fashion in the capital.”
Cerwen chuckled. “That’s perhaps not the best of ideas. She’s already annoyed at people starting to call her Lady Lammergeyer behind her back.”
“What? How did that get out?”
She grinned. “Some of the pages waiting in the corridor caught your words.”
I grinned back. “Ah well, your cousin called the lammergeyer a magnificent creature. Maybe that will appease her.”
“I’m not sure it will.” She wrapped up the mirror in a piece of soft cloth and put it away carefully. “But let’s go and dazzle all the men now.” Her eyes sparkled, but then she paused. “While we still can.”
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